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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Ilaine who wrote (38175)	9/18/1999 3:12:00 PM
From: Ish	Respond to of 71178

They not only had it but it's on sale- amazon.com That's the good thing about the lottery, however slim there is still a chance for escape.

To: Ilaine who wrote (38175)	9/18/1999 3:14:00 PM
From: Gauguin	Read Replies (4) \| Respond to of 71178

OT ~ Does anybody here know what causes thirteen years of bad luck? Traditionally, I mean. You know, folkloricologically. Just curious. I wonder what I touched, you know. Feeling pretty optimistic though, because, well, I think thirteen years are up. Well, I wouldn't know it by Friday. But there might be a difference between bad luck and "Cursed." Cursed could go a long time. I did steal a piece of Hawaii. Screw Hawaii. That's what I said. "Oh screw that mythology shit. I'm taking this piece of lava home." They're obviously making more, as a matter of fact we better move. I felt pretty, you know, smartypants, like Alexander when he cut the knot, and when told the oracle to shove it. Ooooops....... But that was in 91 or so, and the Poop started hitting the fan when I was 33 and a half. Of was it 34 and a half? Lemme think. I think it was 33 1/2. August. I know which month, for sure. Within a month of that, by September, I'd had my first near death flyby. So if it's August (almost) now, and I was born in May, that would be.....impossible to figure out. Okay. I asked for help. 46.5 minus 33.5 is 13. Thirteen years. That part I guessed. Thirteen years before now would be 1986. In August of 1986 I got sick. Real sick, and by September I was almost dead; but I didn't. I did, but I didn't. It was what we call in medicine "a squeaker." Lung Disease. Pneumonia-like. Then that happened about twelve times, yadda yada. Oh, and a couple of near-bies from Anaphylactic Shock! Those are wild. Trust me. 1953 plus 33 also equals 1986. So, WOW! The math checks out!!! Frontways and backways! Now all I need to remember is August of 1986 (I remember where I was in the garden the day I realized I was sick. And what I was doing.) Then a year later, or was it two, I think it was two and I was 35, MJ and I were showering together down at my Dad's place, and she said, "What's this bump under your arm?" "I don't know." So I went back to my lung Doctor, and when he was done with treating the serious lung stuff (prednisone!), I told him about the bump, and he let me know through body language, that it was time to panic. He said I'm going to call Dr So and So. "What about our tests?" "They can wait." Eeek. Uh-oh. I remember I was still mentally okay back then, cept for, you know, ADD and anxiety maybe, but thirteen years later, I'm not. Not so sure, anyway. It never let up once in there. Maybe for two weeks, a month , before the climbing accident. That was a bad one. And I went there under Dr's orders to "celebrate" surviving two trips to ICU and deathland from the lung disease. Looked like I was going to be in a wheelchair forever. BUT I'M NOT!!! :o) (That one hurt, too.) Then the hips break up; getting this new one soon; and now maybe the knees. Oh boy! I am The $300,000 Dollar Man. Not 6 million (like they could build Steve Austin with THAT.). ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ So what did I touch in the Summer of 86? I didn't get to Hawaii until 1991 I think it was. So Pele, unless she can retro-curse, is not my problem. I must have gone to bed "....with those feet."