up to snuff
 

I bet you never had sex with that woman, Ms. Loopenske, either.

TM

I hope this is not too morbid for a Friday.
 

Many people get their ashes buried, actually, rather than scattered. Or they get scattered on a family gravesite - you don't run into the same "crowding" restrictions in graveyards doing that. I guess there is some comfort in the idea of physically being someplace specific, even if you acknowledge that you aren't around to really care about such things as overpriced grooming, pickling and boxing up.

I was seeing them as likely exclusive. However, I leave myself the amusement of imagining the following scenario:

BRC's great-great-nephew at breakfast one day: [After glancing several times at the urn.] "Aaauuurrrgggh!! AAAUURRGGHH! I can't take it anymore! You, you old bitch, sitting there, day in day out, watching me!! Judging me!!! Here! Here! Are these fucking good enough for you????" [Flings shoes at urn, and then is hauled off to the looney bin in a straight jacket, there to spend the rest of his days burbling incoherently about necktie knots.]

Rest of BRC's extended family: "Um, I guess maybe it's time to put bad old Auntie Chic away, don't you think?"

[Party in 3 ensues.]

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I concur. Doctor's are different. Plus mine is in his 70s, so he is completly a-sexual as far as I'm concerned. He's probably also senile, but he's very good at telling me that I don't have the rare diseases that I think I have without making me feel like I am crazy. "No, CtD, you don't have SARS (or a tumor, or menengitis, or a hernia, or diabetes, or arthitis, or parkinsons). I can see how you would confuse that sneezing during allergy season with one of the world's deadliest and rarest illnesses, so it's nothing to be ashamed of, but you are fine."

I hope this is not too morbid for a Friday.
 

I was recently at a wake, and the whole open casket thing absolutely skeeves me out. The whole intended-to-be-comforting, "he looks so nice!" thing people say--fuck, he's DEAD! Please don't anyone cake 40 pounds of makeup on me and put me in a dress I'd never wear and stick me in an open box. Cremation in my favorite pair of butt-ripped jeans and paint-covered t-shirt, scatter my ashes in the ocean where I grew up--I then expect an evening of major drunken carousing and booze-sodden tears from my friends. After that, drink a bottle of excellent champagne for me on my birthday and toast our good times.

Oh and I guess donate my organs. Though if I know I'm gonna die in reasonable advance, I'm breaking out some fantastic whiskey well ahead of time and taking my liver with me.

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Maybe I cannot fathom this bc, in the mind's eye of a certain misogynistic hypocritical biter of the hand who feeds him, I am a slut, but if a religous repressed girl acquiesces to the sex, why would it matter to her which position>

Drinking
 

Both grandfathers died of alcohol or drug related illnesses. One of them, an alcoholic for 50 plus years, but on the wagon entirely for 10 or so, lingered for five years in a VA nursing home with symptoms resembling alzheimer's. He couldn't recognize the woman he'd been married to for 50 years, his kids, or tell you anything about his life, except for the gruesome days as a halftrack driver in his unit in WW2. Fortunately, he also smoked for 50 plus years, so he got lung cancer, and the family opted not to treat it so he could finally die.

The other one liked to prescribe his own medication, and when he stroked out the first time, he lost a hell of a lot of brain capacity, and he lived for 15 or so years in a crazy sort of existance, still self-medicating, despite attempts by the family to get the pharmacy to stop filling his prescriptions. The second time he stroked out, unfortunately, a family member plauged with guilt let them put him on a ventilator so he lingered for two years before finally giving out in another VA hospital. It also wasn't a pretty way to die.

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Hey!

And it is a combo of depth, spot stimulating and probably the angle allowing the optimum amount of blood to go to the clit (my theory, I invented it). But nothing is better then when you are in this position and the penis suddenly develops an almost sharp quality ( cant describe this that well)- I call it the Sword. You dont get this in any other position.

and of course it is the easiest to add a toy to.

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POTW.

which is sort of a silver medal. POTY being gold (taking claps our of Jack and Diane) and POTD being bronze.

I hope this is not too morbid for a Friday.
 

For various reasons, I've done a bit of research on this subject (real world research, not legal) -

The "back of the license" thing isn't that binding in and of itself, but then, in reality, nothing is when it comes right down to it if your family is in a dispute about it. What the back of the license sig really provides is a clear indication to your family what your wishes are. The Drs. can say "as you can tell, this is what Stiff wanted," which makes it a LOT easier for the family to then say "oh, of course, then." If your spouse objects, your guts ain't goin' anywhere, no matter what. If your spouse approves and your more distant family objects, the Drs. may or may not consider it worth it to take it to court, in which case the back of the drivers license is pretty persuasive evidence about Stiff's wishes.

If you put your donation wishes into your will it is irrelevant - it will almost certainly too late by the time it comes into force and is read.

If you put your donation wishes into your living will or durable medical power of attorney, it frankly has little more effect than signining the back of the license - if your spouse/decision maker objects, no hospital anywhere is going to take your organs, no matter what you've said. If there is a dispute among the decision maker and the rest of the family, again, it will basically have influence, probably a bit stronger than doing the license thing, but only because they can argue that, having gone to considerable effort and expense to clarify these wishes, you REALLY, REALLY meant it.

If you die somewhere where no family/decision makers are, and there is no opportunity to notify or ask them what to do with your guts when you die, there is a somewhat better chance that a Dr. would harvest your organs on his own authority based on a formal living will/DPOA than based on a drivers license. However, in that situation the Dr. is fairly likely to have your drivers license and very unlikely to have your living will.

However, keep in mind that, as the Stiff, your wishes aren't really relevant. You are dead (hopefully) when your organs are donated, therefore you have no interest in the matter. It is the wishes of your family/decision maker/executor that really matter. Despite superficial appearances, this is not a situation like treatment refusal, where the most important matter is the wishes of the patient.

The fact of the matter is that no Dr. is going to take your survivors to court to get your organs with only a piece of paper to back him up. If a family member with at least a decent claim to act for you isn't pushing for it, the ghoulish "organ snatching" PR is totally not worth the effort. The best way to ensure your organs will be donated, if feasible, is to have your primary next of kin very, very aware of your desire, and make them promise to respect it.

Frankly, I think the whole system should be switched to an "affirmative opt out" system.

BR(I have only taken cremated bodies on planes a couple of times; the family has gotten pretty scattered, so post-mortem travel is pretty usual)C

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Except for the girl buying the guy a drink part, I think I am in love here. Not only do we both love the fireplace/from behind kissing thing/joint, we are equally judgmental about women with fake tits. Though I stand my ground better. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. ltl, what are his stats?

"Rear Entry" v. "Sex from behind"
 

Cooter? I will never think of you in the same way again.

"Rear Entry" v. "Sex from behind"
 

Clarification please: this should say "most men find it difficult to prolong not having an orgasm" right? a prolonged orgasm is a good thing.

my experience tells me that men have the best orgasms in a position where they might be at the end of the bed, or ottoman, standing or keneeling and I am on my back with my legs in the air. In a not unocmmon romp, after I come in my favorite position "dstyle", they flip me over and do this.* And yes, Thurgreed, I wash my ass.


*Except for Fingerman who will ask me to suck his dick.

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Because religion tends to make stupid people even more irrational than they were in the first place.

I hope this is not too morbid for a Friday.
 

My great-aunt had to move back to Texas from the mountains a few years ago, because the altitude was killing her. (Actually, the emphysema and related heart problems were killing her, and SD, you'll be happy to hear she's a heavy drinker—preference is Johnny Walker black label, though she’ll accept red wine if we’re not drinking hard stuff—and has been so for most of her 87 years, the smoking is what is doing her in.) When she moved back, her health was extremely poor, and she started getting ready to die. She knew she wanted to be cremated, and she found out from the funeral home that unless she specified specific clothes, she would be cremated naked. So she sent her daughter out to find the fanciest pajamas available. Her daughter came back with these beautiful coral-pink silk pajamas that would have worked perfectly. Anyhow, the lower altitude helped, and my great-aunt started feeling better, and she never had an opportunity to wear the pajamas. Last year, we had a sleep-themed party, and everyone was encouraged to wear pajamas. She showed up in the pajamas she thought she’d be cremated in and looked great.

Forget the ice wine. If all of this stuff about funerals and organ donation is bumming you out, get yourself some New York state pinor noir.

http://www.drfrankwines.com/pinotlab.jpg



(full disclosure: I've never tasted the stuff)