Strike While the Iron's Hot

Strike While the Iron's Hot

I've given myself 60 hours since her death to think about it.

I want to move, that in her memory, we rename Highway 11, either here in town, or the entire length from Florida to New York, in honor of Anna Nicole Smith. It's a nice, hilly stretch of road. It's what she'd have wanted. The Anna Nicole Smith Highway. Yessir.

What's more, I think we should also rename the length of Tennessee Highway 30 that runs from Etowah to Decatur "Anna Nicole Smith Pike." It's a very curvy road, so the tribute would work on a couple of levels.

Also, I'm thinking of changing my name to "Big Stupid Anna Nicole Smith," and I think I'm free to be the sole Big Stupid Anna Nicole Smith, since the other is dead. I could only hope to achieve her level of stupidity. To Dream the Impossible Dream.

I'm doing this because the way I've been paying tribute to the fallen legend thus far is by eating TrimSpa by the handful. And I think I'm beginning to experience side effects not listed on the package. Seriously. I haven't eaten or slept since Thursday, which I hadn't considered a problem, except for the fact that R.E.M.'s "Shiny Happy People" started playing in my head around noon yesterday, and has since gotten louder, and louder, and louder. But this morning, my nose started bleeding. And not little drip drops of blood, but a steadily flowing stream. I've filled 3 Solo Grip Cups with the stuff.

Last night, the leprechauns appeared and started ripping apart my furniture and clothing.

There is a large, rabid dog that has taken residence in my hall closet. And by large, I mean "Rhinoceros" large. It ate my bed last night.

Also, this morning, I think I crapped out one of my kidneys. Which was one of those moments where you say to yourself "I just crapped out a major organ. Huzzah."

So, I'm gonna cut back on the TrimSpa. Because I need one kidney to survive, to keep up with the news coverage of Anna Nicole Smith's death.

Priorities, people.