Me and my twin Oola

Skunk!

2011-05-18T20:48:00.002-04:00

A Typical Wednesday Evening in My House:
8:37 OMG. Skunk in the backyard. OMG. OMG. OMG.

8:39 OMG.

8:40 Maybe if I pound on the door it will go away.

8:41 OMG it looked at me (run into the dining room).

8:45 ::Pound some more on the door:: Skunk looks up again, pound on the door some more. Skunk practically skips through the fence, a la Pepe Le Pew.

8:51 Dad suggests buying moth balls. Apparently skunks hate the smell of moth balls. Ironic.

Some Assembly Required

2011-02-16T11:11:00.004-05:00

So I assumed that, with homeownership, comes a certain amount of DIY-iness. I expected it, and was a little prepared for it. Today, at 10:14 a.m., my television media console was delivered. The box is taller than me. The poor delivery man (who delivered it out of a conversion van, btw...I'm a little concerned this thing may or may not have "fallen off the back of a truck"....) could barely get it up the front steps. He more or less pushed it across the front hall. I'm not sure that Oola and I will be able to lift it.

I'll post pictures when I get the box open....if I get the box open.

It's been awhile....

2011-01-22T17:17:00.002-05:00

So it's been awhile....over a year. Since the last post, Oola and I bought a house. Well, I bought a house, Oola found a place to put her shoes and wine. I'll try to keep better tabs on our home-owning shenanigans.

We turn 30 this year. I can't seem to get Oola to realize this, and I can't seem to forget it.

The day after the day after a night out

2009-07-26T23:08:00.003-04:00

So today was the day after the hangover; the day after the day after the night of gallons of adult beverages being quite literally poured down one's throat straight from the bottle. I should say that for the first half dozen martinis I at least made some effort at etiquette and went through the ritual of pouring the gin into a glass with a couple of olives. But for the last of the bottle, I stopped going through the motions and just walked around with the bottle as my "bessfriend." How drunk was I? Well, I can't quantify it in scientific terms, but let's just say I spent half the night wondering where my pants went when I finally realized about 10 o'clock the next morning that I had worn a dress that day....

Anyway, back to today. Today, the day after the day after. Today is the day when one can finally eat solid foods. As Bridget Jones once wrote, the best cure for a hangover is to eat anything in sight that might possibly make you feel better. In her case, it was:
2 packets Emmenthal cheese slices
1 quart freshly squeezed orange juice
1 cold baked potato
2 pieces unbaked lemon cheesecake
1 Milky Way
1 chocolate Viennoise dessert thing with cream on top
Steamed broccoli
4 cold frankfurters

In my case, the menu du jour was:
1 cranberry smoothie from Robeks
1 french onion soup from Panera
2 bags of kettle chips
1 bag of honey wheat pretzel stick thingys
1 Auntie Anne's Pretzel
2 fried chicken legs
1 frozen Snickers bar
7 Diet Cokes
1/2 can of green beans

Hmm. Seems to be missing something....something from the dairy group, perhaps? Maybe there are some cheese slices in the fridge....

Biggest Pain in my Butt

2009-07-23T19:09:00.002-04:00

So I'm on a conference call the other day and it is really, really boring. Like soul-crushingly boring. I tried to put my feet up on my desk but the desk is too high (my office mate says my legs are too short, but I prefer to blame the inanimate object rather than genetics). I finally got my feet perched near the edge when I suddenly feel the chair slipping out from under me. I scrambled to catch a hold of something and end up grabbing the phone as I plummet to the floor. I land in a "V" and manage to bring the entire phone down on my head. The only saving grace to all of this was that the mute button remained fully functional during the whole episode.

It now hurts to sit, stand and walk. I am so graceful.

Give me head with hair, long beautiful ha-air

2009-03-15T13:24:00.006-04:00

So it's been awhile. Sorry.

When I was in second grade, I got my hair cut. The style at the time was the bobbed look, and my stylist decided that this would be perfect for a 7 year old with chubby cheeks. Also, in an attempt to be "hip" and "chic", she cut one side shorter than the other (I have no explanation for this other than it was 1987). Needless to say, the short bobbed look did not work with my swollen face and I could never, ever get the hair to line up perfectly....I always had a few stragglers on one side that we supposed to be parted to the other side. I was so traumatized by the entire episode that I really have not had my hair cut short since. Until now.

My salon decided to do a Locks for Love event in connection with Valentine's Day. They needed 10 inches of hair for the wigs. So I had a secretary in my office get out a ruler and we measured my hair. I had more than enough:

See? Just like Polamalu. And more than enough to spare. Ten inches went right to my shoulders, which is short (for me) but no where near the disasterous shortness of '87. So I made my appointment and went in.

The whole thing was televised on a local morning show. My stylist was nervous, and it is never a good idea for the lady with the scissors to be nervous. She divided my hair into four sections and made a ponytail of 10 inches long. Then she cut off the ponytails. It was heartbreaking to see my 10 inches of hair sitting on the counter. But my sadness turned to panic as the stylist continued to cut. And cut. And cut. And cut. And cut. I wanted to scream out "For the love of God, honey, please stop cutting or I won't have any left!!!!"

When the carnage was over, this is all that was left of my hair:

No, I was not happy. It's second grade all over again.

Analog TV

2008-10-29T22:13:00.005-04:00

So my grandmother is one of the millions of old people who, for whatever reason, is still confused about the analog/ditigal switch. Even though she has been a loyal cable customer for many years, she had my uncle get her an analog converter. Which they attached. Somehow. To the cable box.

I'd like to think of this clip as a farce; however, I know all too well that it is reality.

In other news....

2008-09-26T13:59:00.001-04:00

Hee-hee.

Deposition Day!

2008-09-19T13:52:00.002-04:00

9:40-- Yay! Today is my first deposition! I don't have to do anything-- just sit here and look pretty! ;o)

9:55-- I really should go to the bathroom before this thing starts.

10:01-- Eh, maybe I'll jsut wait for the first break.

10:20-- Blah, blah blah. This is easy-peasy.

10:34-- Oo, though. Really do have to pee now.

11:00-- This guy does not seem to want to stop....

11:15-- OMG, let us go.

11:21-- Maybe if I concentrate really hard, I can make the plaintiff ask for a break.

11:25-- Break.

11:26-- Break.

11:28-- BREAK!

11:32-- ..............

11:45-- WTF, I stopped taking notes over an hour ago--! What has this guy been saying?!?

11:50-- Ha! Hahahaha. Break time.

12:01--Damn, now the laptop battery is dying....

It was...windy.

2008-09-11T14:19:00.004-04:00

OMG, I know we are supposed to respect hurricanes, and I'm probably going to regret posting this later, but DAMN IS THIS THE COOLEST THING EVER OR WHAT?

(Give it a second to fully load.)

Ow! My Eye!

2008-07-31T09:22:00.001-04:00

Am I the only person who thinks this is the worst idea in the world?

That's what SHE said....

2008-06-17T10:22:00.007-04:00

So I regularly check-in on ESPN.com to see if they are saying anything about my teams (usually nothing good). This was today's homepage:

There, next to Tiger's beautiful smile, was the greatest headline of all time. With the Yankees in third place in the AL East and the looming possibility that they will not appear in the playoffs for the first time since 1994, I would say the Yankees' Wang will be shelved much longer than September....

Wheel. Of. Fortune.

2008-06-13T09:52:00.003-04:00

This is the most fitting tribute to the man who tells us every weeknight to spin that wheel. It is so insightful, so thought-provoking, so intimate in its portrayal of Pat Sajak. Not even Inside Edition, Entertainment Tonight, or TMZ could get so deep inside a celebrity's personal life to report this kind of information.

Good night and good luck

2008-04-30T17:29:00.003-04:00

So apparently reading the news, listening to the news, and watching the news isn't enough anymore. Now we have to wear the news.

Falafel!

2008-04-29T13:04:00.003-04:00

So I tried to shove a whole falafel ball (pellet? cake? loaf? patty?) into my mouth and I was watching a bird out the window and the bird tripped and I laughed and bits of falafel came out my nose.

All I can smell is Middle Eastern cuisine.

Transubstantiation To Go

2008-04-23T11:59:00.001-04:00

Hallowed Be Thy Name.

Front or back??

2008-03-14T18:18:00.003-04:00

So I am not the most fashion-forward person in the world, but with the help of my (former! sad!) secretary and friend I am getting better. Anyway, I purchased this lovely frock from Banana Republic. It is silk, mostly white but with pink and navy accent flowers. Not something I would normally wear but really pretty nonetheless. So I ordered off of their website, waited 7 to 10 days, and finally received the shirt in all its glory. One problem: I can't tell which is the front and which is the back. Normally, buttons go in the back. However, the buttons were on the opposite side of the tag. I tried it on both ways, and both ways worked, although the buttons in the front allowed for a little more room in the boobal area. However, it did seem a bit strage to place the buttons, which were around the neckline, in the front. I tried to consult the website as to how the stick insect model was wearing my garment, but the item was no longer available (apparently lots of people loved the shirt and knew exactly which way to wear it)......

So what is a girl to do?

This girl contacted Customer Service. (What else are they there for but to tell you how to properly wear your garments??) This is my response from Matt, the Customer Service Consultant:
"Thank you for your e-mail regarding your Silk floral smock blouse, item#547606. We were happy to hear of your excitement for your blouse, and we hope it becomes a favorite item in your wardrobe. After reviewing our records, we show that the blouse should be worn with the buttons in the front. We hope this information has been helpful to you. We appreciate your business, and we look forward to shopping with you again soon."

I sense a tone in his e-mail. A tone that reads: "Freak! Learn how to dress yourself!" Also, I was not excited about the blouse. I said it was pretty. That makes it sound like the blouse was the highlight of my life. I refuse to admit that the blouse was the highlight of my life...although it may have been the highlight of my Thursday....

Pet Peeve of the Moment

2008-03-05T10:15:00.004-05:00

ODOT maintenance vehicles (plows, salt trucks) ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HIGHWAY while the back end and the front end of my Saturn were taking turns to see which end could go forward faster.

Gimme your head with hair

2008-02-01T17:40:00.000-05:00

So I know this guy. We went to high school together.

From a legal prospective, I'm not sure the judge got it entirely right in this case. I think Noah wins on the basis of an anticipatory repudiation. Wow, big words like that take away from the awesomeness of the video.

Look at all that hair.

Drip, drip, drop

2008-01-22T14:34:00.000-05:00

So my firm just installed an indoor water feature down the hall from me. It is a beautiful piece of polished copper that water slowly trickles down and filters through a pile of stones. Very peaceful, very calming....very reminicent of someone peeing.

Oh holy hell, now I have to pee. Constantly.

Blinded by the light

2008-01-19T11:02:00.001-05:00

So I was in the office today (Saturday) and since no one is there I usually stream my oldies station and rock out while lawyerin' out.

So the song "Blinded by the Light" by Manfred Mann came on. I generally like the song, I guess, but the lyrics have always eluded me. I mean, the first line of the chorus is easy enough: "Blinded by the light." Okay. Now its the second string of nonsensical syllables that have me confused. To me, he sings: "Wrapped up like a douche a holy roller in the night." Hmm.

After the song came on I was tempted to look up the lyrics. But I decided against it, because there is no way the real lyrics are better than the ones I came up with.

Running just as fast as we can...

2008-01-16T13:12:00.000-05:00

So I don't think I can ever go to my gym again.

Two of my bosses, the ones I most often work with, are also members. The Head Honcho goes in the morning before work, so I can pretty much guarantee that he and I will never run into each other, as I much prefer to spend the pre-dawn hours in bed. The Nice One usually goes at lunch time. And I go after work. We had a system, a schedule in place so that my bosses never had to witness me all sweaty and gross with wobbly bits. At least that's the way it was in my head.

So last night I went to the gym and I am running/jogging/loping along on the treadmill and I look over and there is a cute guy running a few rows ahead of me. I can only see the back of him and it is kind of far away. Well, after he finishes his run he steps off and…it was Nice One. I tripped forward on the machine, inches away from smacking my head against the console and falling only to be flung off the end of the treadmill. Well, I pretended that I didn't see him and me and my wobbly bits kept on r/j/l along.

So I officially checked out my boss while looking completely disgusting on a moving platform. Yup, I am never going back.

Everybody was Kung Fu fighting....

2008-01-04T17:39:00.000-05:00

So, wouldn't it be so much easier if elections were decided this way?

(Many thanks to charismatic Christa in Colorado for the link. She said she fought Hilary and Huckabee and Huckabee won. Scary stuff.)

Mr. Damn Goodbar

2007-12-11T15:56:00.000-05:00

So today I had the best Mr. Goodbar I have ever eaten. I know what you're thinking: how can the mini candybar that is AT BEST tied for third behind Krackle and Hershey's Special Dark be the best ever? I'll tell you how: the peanuts that are normally soft and almost a non-entity in a Mr. Goodbar were CRUNCHY. It was like the Mr. Goodbar was freshly made. And it wasn't just one Mr. Goodbar. Oh no, when I went back to the reception desk for a second and third Mr. Goodbar, they did not disappoint either.

Officially, for today, they shall be referred to as Mr. Greatbar. Yeah.

Brush with greatness.

2007-10-17T11:56:00.000-04:00

So I always thought that if I met a celebrity I would act completely cool and normal. At least I hoped I would. I think those of you who know me know that this of course is completely not possible.

I went to Starbucks today because I am pmsing and I am addicted to their Pumpkin Spice lattes. As I'm walking toward the door a man is on his way out. I hold the door open for him and he says "No, no, after you". As I say thank you and pass him I notice that is Paul Byrd, starting pitcher for the Indians and winner of two post season games, including a very dramatic win last night to put the Indians up three games to one over the Red Sox. I had just got done telling my boss this morning that I had developed a minor crush on Mr. Byrd AND told my friend Erin that he was one of the cuter Indian's players. AND THERE HE WAS IN STARBUCKS. A normal person would have said "Hey, great game last night, you have a hell of pitch, love that double wind up" etc. But the only thing a complete spazz like me could say is "Umm, ohmigod." and then practically screech at the barristas "Did you see who that was?!?" after he left.

Sigh.

Little nugget of joy

2007-08-17T15:45:00.001-04:00

So it's been a horribly stressful and brow-wrinkling week. What is more soothing than pictures of cakes and babies? Well, maybe not so much babies, but every other picture is a delectable dessert, so it can't be all bad.

Best. Website. Ever.

2007-08-02T10:20:00.000-04:00

So.

Support for the well-endowed

2007-07-26T10:12:00.000-04:00

So I went shopping with my sister the other day for a bra. I don't mind spending too much money on a bra; Oprah says you should spend between $50 and $1.1 million for proper support (she should know). So I went to Victoria's Secret. VS has not always been the BFF of C-DD. So I was a bit skeptical when the saleslady handed me a bra and sort of whispered"Oooooh, this is soooooo suppooooooortive." The bra was great, I'm not going to go into specifics there, but it was what happened afterwards that put a stink on future personal appearances at Victoria's Secret.

As I walked up to the cash register, the same saleslady with the sibilance raised her voice above a whisper and said "Noooo! Don't do that!" I looked around in horror to see whether I had run over a small child and was dragging her by my flip flops or I had snagged a bra on my trousers and was now pulling along the entire store's merchandise by my beltloop. Seeing nothing so alarming, I looked up and said "Don't do what?" as I placed my bra on the counter. "DON'T FOLD THE BRA!" she growled, grabbing the bra out of my hand and smoothing it out, petting it like it was a large white Persian cat. "You must always keep it flat or it will wrinkle," she purred more to the bra than to me. "Um, okay, but it's not going to be flat when I wear it." She didn't appreciate my irreverance. "Well, OBVIOUSLY. But you must keep it flat when you are not wearing it." I didn't want to argue with her, in case she might grab the container of thongs on the counter and use one to garrote me and any other witnesses and then fly into the night with my bra in her safe keeping. She started arranging the bra in pink tissue paper and then looked about for the bag. This presented a problem. The normal VS bag is small, about the same length as a Kleenex box. A bra is folded up nicely, tucked into the pink tissue paper, and slid into the small bag. But my bra HAD. TO. BE. KEPT. FLAT.

Her solution? The giant "I just purchased the entire VS line of bras, panties, underthings, jammies, hair products, make-up, and a stuffed dog to boot" bag:

This picture does not do it justice. I could have worn this bag as a minidress if I used the handles as straps and cut a hole in the bottom. I felt that I needed to explain to people as the gawked at the size of the bag in the mall "No, no, don't worry, my bra is not so ginormous that it needs a bag this big. You see, I can't fold my bra....."

Things that make you go WTF #4

2007-06-26T13:16:00.000-04:00

So this is from the Spring 2007 edition of the American Bar Association's IPL Newsletter:

Sex Toys Are Likely Too Utilitarian for Copyright Protection

ConWest Resources, Inc. v. Playtime Novelties, Inc., 2006 WL 3346226 (N.D. Cal. 2006). Plaintiff ConWest Resources, Inc. (ConWest), owner of copyright registrations in models of human penises, asserted defendant Playtime Novelties, Inc. (Playtime) was infringing its copyrights and sought a preliminary injunction. ConWest had previously licensed Playtime to manufacture and distribute the adult novelty items but terminated the relationship and contracted with another company. Playtime asserted that ConWest was unlikely to prevail on the merits, and argued that the adult novelty items were "useful articles" under 17 U.S.C. Sec. 101 and possessed no separable creative features, especially given that the novelty items were cast from the penises of actual persons.
The district court agreed with Playtime and denied the preliminary injunction. The district court found that the novelty items likely did not embody any creative features that were conceptually separable from their utilitarian aspects. Under the law of the Second Circuit, the independence of the utilitarian features from the artistic features is determined by whether the design elements can be identified as reflecting the designer's artistic judgment exercised independently of functional influences. The district court drew similarities to a Second Circuit case that found that mannequins of partial human torsos were utilitarian works not entitled to protection. Due to the probable lack of success on the merits, the district court denied the preliminary injunction.

In short: dildos must be shaped like dicks, otherwise they lose their functionality, therefore no copyright protection. I would have loved to see the discovery in this case. I also love the court's decision to refer to the dildos as "novelty items".

Toe pic[k]!

2007-06-12T13:18:00.000-04:00

So some of you may recall the legendary bachelorette weekend. At some point during the drinking and debauchery, I injured my left big toenail. It turned blue and looked just lovely for a few months and then it just fell off. It slowly started to grow back (fun science fact! toe nails grow at 1/3 the speed of finger nails! now you know the answer to the Jeopardy question "This body part grows at 1/3 the speed of finger nails" "What is a toe nail?"). But instead of growing into a lovely normal nail, it grew into an ugly catawompus sort of nail. So I went to the doctor, an incredibly hot foot doctor who had to look at my festering foot and who I could not utter two syllables to except to say "Mind if I don't look while you hack at my toe?"

This is the result:

I think the hot pink bandage is the perfect summer accessory.

Sicko

2007-06-06T13:50:00.000-04:00

So am I sick, or is the TB guy really cute? Aren't people with life-threatening illnesses supposed to be ugly?

Deposition excerpt 2

2007-06-04T16:34:00.000-04:00

So one of the lovely claims that our judicial system affords us is a claim for loss of consortium. This basically dates to a time when a woman's duties to her husband included sexual services, and if she was hurt in any way her husband could sue to obtain the value of those services. Nowadays it applies to both men and woman and has come to have a value beyond sex (love, companionship, fuzzy bunnies, etc.).

With the law lesson out of the way, this is part of a deposition from one-half of a May/December relationship.

Q: Your husband is also claiming loss of consortium, is that correct?
A: Yes.
Q: Can you describe for me how [the accident] has affected your sex life with your husband?
A: How do you mean?
Q: Well, for example, can you describe it in terms of frequency or quality?
A: Oh, well, there sure hasn't been a drop-off in frequency. Only in experimentation, because my jaw hurts.

Things that make you go WTF #3

2007-05-07T14:26:00.000-04:00

A small, cynical part of me believes this is actually a publicity stunt designed to make more people go see the new "emo" Spiderman.

Things that make you go WTF #2

2007-05-01T16:04:00.000-04:00

So I can't think of anything to add to THIS except to say that if you do not make this website part of your daily blog-skim, I don't think we can be friends anymore.

Earth Day

2007-04-23T13:54:00.000-04:00

So Earth Day was Sunday. In celebration, my neighbor decided to run his snowblower all afternoon to burn off the gasoline.

When the ozone layer burns off and we are left to whither away under the sun's ultraviolet rays, I am going to go to his house to use him as an umbrella.

(Editor's Note: so for some reason Google and Blogger have booted Oola's account. We are working on getting her back on the Internets. Rest assured she is doing well and probably having a martini as we speak.)

Sock it to me

2007-04-18T11:43:00.000-04:00

So I consider myself a reasonably stylish individual. I usually match. I enjoy clothes that have a timeless quality to them. I try to keep up with trends, but I generally do not give in to fads (I can honestly say I NEVER wore a dress or a skirt with work boots, thank you).

My problem has always been socks.

I've never been good with socks. No matter what I have on, they always seem to be slightly off. Like today, I thought I was fine, everything is of the same general color scheme, but upon closer inspection it seems patterned socks are too busy for striped pants. I look like one of those old people who insists on wearing multiple patterns at the same time (I see plaid pants and a polka dot shirt in my future).

It doesn't help that I seem to have a penchant for children's footwear. I am supposedly an adult, and yet I own: 1 pair of socks with Carebears, 1 pair with the Powerpuff girls, 1 pair with neon sailboats, 1 pair with the American flag, 1 pair with flamingos, 2 pairs with hearts, 2 pairs with cats, 1 pair with a cat and a dog, 1 pair with shoes (footwear displaying other footwear? BRILLIANT), 1 pair with umbrellas, 1 pair with the Abominable Snowmonster, and a Happy Hanukah pair with many Stars of David.

I need an "Extreme Makeover: Sock Edition". I need a celebrity stylist guru to assess my sock drawer. But I will never, ever give up my Abominable Snowmonster socks.

Things that make you go WTF #1

2007-04-13T11:47:00.000-04:00

So I have become addicted to this website Even though a part of me began to weep for the future when both Rachel Weiz and Alan Rickman were deemed "Famous-r" than Sammy Davis Jr.

Dance like nobody's watching...or just Weird Al

2007-03-23T15:46:00.000-04:00

So it's been awhile. What can I say?

Hopefully this little nugget of pure joy will make up for my long absence. (It's best if you watch it without sound--adds to the hilarity--but with the sound is okay too).

Deposition excerpt

2007-01-22T11:02:00.000-05:00

So I was reading a depo today and just had to share some of it:

Q: Have you ever been deposed before?
A: Ever been de-what??
--
Q: What was the 401(k) benefit?
A: It's where you put money into it for your retirement.
Q: ..........Thank you.........
.....How much would they put in?

You can almost hear the veritable rim shot on that last answer.

There is nothing like a clean, close shave...

2006-12-21T16:26:00.000-05:00

Check out this website. I actually watched it at work with no speakers (my bosses do not trust me to have speakers) and I still found it amusing. After the robed man finishes his schpiel, click on "Test Drive".

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

2006-11-15T15:31:00.000-05:00

So when I participate in my daily afternoon ritual of a Diet Coke from the vending machine, I usually anticipate some sort of surprise: a cockroach, an encounter with my ex-boyfriend in the hallway, being run over by a runaway radial, etc. But today my unwelcome surprise occurred when I put the money in the vending machine and out came: a Christmas can of Diet Coke, complete with happy polar bears sending a note to Santa. Now, despite how irritated I get, I understand that some retailers need to remind people that Christmas is coming before Halloween. Although it makes me want to go into a tinsel-induced-frenzy, I get that malls and other department stores need to get people in the holiday mood early so that they will buy things and boost their pre-holiday profit margin. However:
COKE.
IS.
NOT.
ONE.
OF.
THESE.
COMPANIES!
People do not need to associate Diet Coke with the holidays in order to buy Diet Coke. It's not like people are in the grocery store and they see the polar bears and think to themselves "Aw, how cute, the polar bears are celebrating Christmas, I think I'll buy a 72 pack of Diet Coke in November in the spirit of a holiday that is still over a month away."
Grr-argh. I may have to stick with Diet Dr. Pepper until February....unless Coke has special Easter cans.....do you think a crucifixion on a can is too much?

Vote or die, or not

2006-11-07T16:53:00.000-05:00

So today was election day. I usually enjoy election day; there is a sort of electricity in the air as people exercise their rights in the democratic fashion. Today, the feeling was less electric than it was "on-the-lookout-waiting-for-someone-to-commit-voter-fraud-without-having-any-reasonable-cause-for-concern" tension.

As previously noted, my family and I recently moved, so we had to switch voting districts. We all did so in a timely fashion, and so voting should not have been a problem. If I were telling this story outloud, the "should" in the preceding sentence would have been accompanied by a raising of the eyebrows and possibly a lean forward for emphasis on what was expected. However, the people (and lets face it, we could probably call them geriatrics or octegenarians or really, really, old folks) who facilitate the voting process are like the Barney Fife of the Board of Elections. For those of you not familiar with the Andy Griffith's deputy, his gun was not loaded and he was only allowed to carry a bullet in his pocket, because he was so eager to arrest and shoot people. The polling place workers have obviously been trained to within an inch of their lives to be on the lookout for fraud, and by golly they were going to find it. When my father presented his driver's license, which still has the old address on it, the woman wanted additional proof that he lived in the new district. This he did not have, and a small skirmish insued. But the real battle was waiting in line behind my father.

When I got up to the table, the woman asked for my driver's license, which has the new address on it. She complimented me several times on how it was good of me to have my new address while she signed me in as my mother, who is in fact right above me on the list of eligible voters but who also happened to have already voted by absentee ballot. So when it came time for me to sign in, I of course signed in as myself. When she read the signature she said "Wait....why didn't you sign your real name? Who are you?" The error was then discovered, but rather than shift the blame on the incompetent numbnut nearsighted old cow, they decided to accuse me of "shenanigans". After a few more minutes and a little yelling, I was finally allowed to vote, but I am absolutely certain that one of the old bats "accidentally" shredded my ballot for use as kitty litter.

"I, state your name....."

2006-11-07T16:49:00.000-05:00

So the State of Ohio decided I was fit to practice law. Since last week, I have been looking over my shoulder for a guy in a black robe and barristers wig who will tell me that, sorry, they changed their mind, I am not allowed to be an attorney, and that I should look for work in the food service industry or human resources.

I had a dream to that effect the night before I was sworn in. I was walking through a courtroom and was approaching the little swinging gate between the gallery and the space in front of the bench. I put my hand on the gate to push it open and it was stuck. Then I looked up and the judge from Ghostbusters II was there and he said something about having me “BURNED AT THE STAKE” and Peter MacNicol and the evil guy with the really big head escorted me out of the courtroom and out of the building and then when I looked back it was covered in pink goo. Besides infringing on any number of copyrights, I was convinced that this meant I was not going to get my license.

When we took our oath, I made sure I clearly annunciated every word, just to make sure it “took” on the first try.

Oh, and how is it that I can go through three years of law school and not know that Joe's middle name is Cosmo??

Mama if that's movin' up than I'm movin' out....

2006-10-16T15:51:00.000-04:00

So this weekend was moving weekend. My parents are upgrading their familial residence to an empty-nester estate. Unfortunately for all involved, they are not quite empty-nesters: they still have me.

When I lived by myself, "I'm too busy" meant exactly that. Now, the parents know that "I'm too busy" actually means "There is a Star Trek marathon on" which actually translates into "Yes, I will in fact help you lug 18 tons of crap out of the basement, drive it five miles down the road, and haul it into another basement." Isn't language a beautiful thing?

It has become painfully apparent that when my parents designed their new palace they assumed that I would be living the fabulous life of an associate somewhere else. I am moving from a shoebox to a sardine tin (or an Altoids tin, if you are unfamiliar with the fish reference). The closet is the size of a casket and will be filled when I put just my shoes in there, let alone a fall and winter wardrobe. My mother said I could put my clothes in my sister's closet until she gets home from college, or I could put them in the closet downstairs. I am envisioning getting dressed in the kitchen or the front hall.

I will say this: my mother has terrific taste in hardware. All of the fixtures have a leafy-theme that would have looked perfect in Rivendell or Lorien. However, maybe if she had spent less on cabinet handles than on square footage I wouldn't have to make the choice between wearing pants or a shirt when I come downstairs in the morning.

The sexy misadventures of Jessica*

2006-10-10T13:42:00.000-04:00

So this weekend was my friend Kathy's surprise bachelorette weekend in Chicago. Except she knew about it. And her sister Julie knew that she knew about it. And her friend Anna knew that she knew about it. And Kathy didn't know whether we knew that she knew about it. And I didn't know that Kathy knew, or that Julie and Anna knew that she knew but kept it from me. And Melissa from Chicago didn't know that Kathy knew, either, but she did not have to sit in the car for five hours figuring out who knew what. So really the only surprise was mine.

The best part of a bachelorette weekend, of course, is the alcohol. Rather than compile a hazy albeit highly amusing play-by-play of the entire weekend, I will relay one story that pretty much sums up the entire night.

I woke up on Sunday with my jeans on one leg and my pajama bottoms on the other. I was also wearing a scarf. On the floor were the contents of my purse, my purse being still in bed with me. I crawled out of bed and started putting things back in my purse (after I straightened out the jeans/jammies situation, which took more thought than it probably should have). I picked up a receipt from the night before. I looked at the laundry list of alcoholic beverages and recalled drinking a few of the items on there. When I got to the last item, however, I read something that made my throbbing head draw a blank. I stumbled out to the hallway, pausing briefly to survey the damage that is caused by dancing all night in front of an industrial strength fan that alternated between blowing my hair straight up in the back and sucking strands of hair into the rotating blades.

"Ladies, I just found the receipt from the bar last night........Did I pay $21 for Sex?"

Turns out it was in fact a bucket of Sex on the Beach with five or six straws. I didn't know whether I should be worried that I paid for sex at all, or that I only paid $21 for it.

Pictures to follow.

* Blog title compliments of Boko.

This is an occassion for genuinely tiny knickers....

2006-09-05T14:13:00.000-04:00

So I am a bridesmaid in a wedding for a very good friend from high school. So far, the process has been relatively painless: I have the dress, I have the shoes, I have a hair appointment, no need for a date: all the other bridesmaids have wisely chosen not to perform an act of desperation and are going stag (doe?). The only thing left was to purchase of the scary undergarments to go with the dress.

I went to one of the old lady department stores to find some old-lady corset-type underthings. I found a pair that loudly proclaimed "Look 10 pounds lighter in 10 minutes!". Ten pounds in 10 minutes, I thought as I picked out my size, I wonder why it takes 10 minutes?

After 10 minutes of heaving and hemming and hawing in the dressing room, with the scary undergarment only half-way up my body, I realized that the tag really should read: "Look 10 pounds lighter in about half an hour or so with the help of a friend or a small crane." When I finally got the scary undergarment in to place, it did in fact do the trick. I couldn't breathe, but who needs to breathe at a wedding?

Having decided to purchase the scary undergarments, I needed to get them off and allow my lungs to start receiving oxygen again. Well, as you may imagine, the scary undergarments are just as difficult to remove as they are to put on. For this reason, they come with little hooks at the bottom that hook the front to the back so that you do not have to remove the whole thing to use the bathroom. I decided to test the hooks to see how easy/difficult it was to unhook them. After all, at the crucial moment, I will not standing there in a large dressing room with just the scary undergarment on and no reason to be hasty in my movements--oh no, I will be standing in a tiny bathroom stall trying to hold on to six yards of crinoline and trying to unhook them while getting ready to break the seal on the obligatory amount of alcohol that a bridesmaid has to drink in order to feel better about herself. So I'm leaning over with my head trying to see the hook that I am trying to pry apart when I hear this resounding FWWAPP and instantly feel pain and see stars in front of my eyes. I had succeeded in my attempt to unhook the scary undergarment, but had also unleashed an enormous amount of potential energy that had been building in the half an hour or so that I was wearing it. I looked in the trio of mirrors and in the hundreds of reflections I saw a tiny little red welt on my forehead where my scary undergarments had exacted their revenge.

I bought them for the wedding. I'll just have to begin the dressing process the day before and hope to God and all heaven that I don't have to pee.

Who says you can't go home

2006-08-07T12:04:00.000-04:00

So after seven years of periodic absence and three years of complete independence, I am living back at home. There are some benefits, I suppose: no utilities, free rent and food, plus CABLE, by God (three hours of Star Trek TNG a day). But the drawbacks can be summed up by one example:

I am sleeping in my big-girl bed.

You know the first bed you ever had? The one after the crib? Mine had a rainbow canopy. The rainbow canopy is gone. But the bed remains.

I turn 25 on Saturday. And where will I be sleeping off the hangover that is a quarter century in the making? My big-girl bed.

And I'm spent....

2006-07-28T10:13:00.000-04:00

So I survived the bar exam. I can't think of anything to say about it, but I do have a few highlights:

On the way down to Columbus, the Subaru in front of me had a license plate that said JJH 778. JJH are my initials, and 778 adds up to the same number that my exam number (958) adds up to (22). (I like adding numbers when I drive). I thought this was a good sign.

I had a kingsize bed. I have never had a kingsize bed. I slept sideways in my kingsize bed because I could.

I sat next to Perpetual Sigher. Every five minutes or so, Perpetual Sigher would heave the heaviest of sighs. They were seriously like he was taking a last breath, but then he'd do it again so I knew he wasn't dying. By the end of the first hour I had to restrain myself from shouting "Shut the fuck up! At least let me read the question first before I get your commentary on it and we can both fucking sigh together!!!". There is a rule against talking during the exam; I think that statement would be considered talking.

Perpetual Sigher was taking the bar for the fourth or fifth time. Daniel and I figured out that the odds that two people at the same table will fail the exam are roughly 6000:1. Oddly enough, I don't like those odds. :heavy sigh:

32 hours to go

2006-07-24T00:17:00.000-04:00

So this is it. Thirty-two hours until the bar exam. I feel like an alien is going to pop out of my stomach, like Alien or Spaceballs, but in my case it will not kill me or start singing Al Jolson but will instead recite the rule against perpetuities ("no interest is good unless it must vest, if at all, not later than 21 years after some life in being at the creation of the interest") dressed in a black robe and a white barristers wig while banging a gavel against my forehead before preceeding to tell me that its been weeks since I've had my eyebrows done and I should really think about doing something with my hair because it has absolutely gone to shit.

Ugh. Tell me when it's over.

You'll Love David's Bridal

2006-07-12T23:13:00.000-04:00

So I heard today what was quite possibly the most uncomfortable one-sided conversation I have ever heard in my entire life. I was waiting for the salesman at David's Bridal (yes, I said salesMAN) to give me my dress for Kathy's wedding when I overheard him on the phone.
"Hi, can I speak to Sharon, please?"
Silence.
"Hi Sharon, this is Mark from David's Bridal. I wanted to see if you wanted to schedule an appointment to come in and look at some of our dresses for your upcoming wedding."
Silence.
"I see that you have a wedding scheduled in February."
Silence.
"Oh, well what is the date for your wedding?"
Long silence.
"Oh. Well. Um, if you ever do get a date for your wedding, please give us a call so that we can--Hello? Hello??"

Poor Sharon. She's better off without him.

Rain drops keep falling on my head

2006-07-11T22:54:00.000-04:00

So I never thought I'd say this, but....yesterday I hated the rain.

I had to go to the post office to put something in the mail. First, an explanation: I live under the delusion that if I actually go into the post office and put my letter in the slot, it will somehow be delivered faster than if I put my mail in the little blue drive up mailboxes. I know it's silly; I know there is no Sméagol-like creature back there whose only job is to wait for me to put my mail down the slot so that he can grab it and scan it and run it to the mail truck as fast as his spindly legs can carry him all the while stroking it and calling it his Precious. I realize all of this. But it makes me feel better to physically take my letter into the post office--I feel like I have done something constructive in getting the letter to its final destination.

So anyway, I went to the post office. Of course, the minute I pull into the parking lot the heavens open up and Perfect Storm erupts. Hail, lightning, torrential downpour...and me in a white t-shirt and straight hair. After a few minutes hoping in vain it would let up a little, I decided I was just going to leave the car door unlocked, run in, and run out. Once I had settled on the dash and deliver approach, I prepared myself to go outside. Just as I was placing my hand on the doorhandle, Zeus hurled a huge lightning bolt in my general vicinity. I screamed and instinctively locked the car door (as if to keep out the lightning?). I ran into the post office, slipping and sliding and finally placed the more-trouble-than-it-was-worth letter in the slot (from which I did not hear a comforting gollum). I waited in the doorway of the post office for a few seconds and, realizing the tempest was not going to let up, I ran to the door and tried the handle. No dice. I ran around to the other side. No such luck. I tried the rear doors. Nothing. Through the pouring rain I looked through the window and realized to my horror not only had I locked myself out of the car, I had also left the car running. Through the wind and rain I could hear Howie from the local talk radio station warning everyone of the severe weather and telling people to get inside. As I was already completely soaked, I walked slowly into the post office to see if I could use their telephone. It was then that I had a second horrible pair of realizations: 1) I didn't know anyone's phone number but my mother's; 2) I had talked to my mother earlier in the day and she said she was going to be gone for the afternoon doing errands. I called my mother anyway and tried to leave a calm message while I kept the string of obscenities in check.

Two hours later my amazing sister came with a spare key.

I hate the rain. In limited circumstances. And I'm thinking of getting my keys grafted to my wrist. And I may just start using those little blue drive up boxes instead.

Here comes the bride

2006-07-03T23:06:00.000-04:00

So I think this story is a good example of my attitude towards weddings.

I was at the wedding of my friends from college Jon and Hallie. Gorgeous wedding, gorgeous couple, etc., etc. I am there (of course) with a gay man because that's just how I roll. The food was good, company excellent, the music was fun, but then came the part that all single women HATE at weddings.....the bouquet toss. I had not planned to go up: I didn't know anyone besides the bride and groom and since I was not family I was not required to participate in the sardonic ritual. But my darling friend René was also a bridesmaid, and she dragged me out to the dance floor with a dozen little 14 year-old cousins of the happy couple. Right before the toss, René looked at me and said "Jessica, you know you're going to get the bouquet." "I'm not even going to try." I replied.

When the bride tossed the bouquet it made a bee-line for my head. In an effort not to get clocked in the head by orchids, I instinctively put my hands up to protect my face. In the confusion, I somehow ended up holding the bouquet.

I apologize in advance if the wedding video shows me mouthing the words "Oh, fuck."

Me and the Bachelor

2006-06-26T19:54:00.000-04:00

So apparently my father is on a first name basis with Andrew Firestone (a.k.a the gorgeous bachelor from television who is also the great-grandson of Harvey Firestone who started the Firestone Tire company). I was at the 50th anniversary of the interstate highway system shindig when Mr. Firestone started walking toward my dad, his secretary, and I.
Me: "Ohmygod, Andrew Firestone is coming right toward us."
Dad: "Hello, Andrew, how's it going?"
Andrew: "Fine, sir, going well."
Dad: "This is my daughter Jessica."
Andrew: "Hi, Jessica, nice to meet you."
Jessica: ::gaping mouth with slight gurgling noise::
Dad's secretary: "Jessica just graduated from law school."
Andrew: "Oh, really, where from?"
Jessica: ::wide-eyed stare when she realizes he is looking at her and engaging her in conversation::
Silence.
Dad: ::clears throat::
Jessica: "Um, Akron...." (pointing off into the distance at who knows what)
Andrew: "Oh, my brother went to Pepperdine."
Jessica: "Oh, that's a way better school."
Silence.
Andrew: "Well, I guess its less the school and more the person, really. I mean, I went to a lot of nice schools, and that really didn't help me."
Jessica: "HAHAHA...hahahaha......ahem."
Silence as Dad and Andrew stare at Jessica and Jessica looks at her toes.
Dad: "So, I had dinner with your brother last month."
Andrew: "Ah, at the Inventor's Hall of Fame. Yeah, he said that was really neat. Although it was weird that it took them 100 years to get Harvey in there."
Dad: "That's what my wife said. They also inducted the guy who invented Prozac......"
The two best friends walk off together chit-chatting while Jessica stares ahead with her head tilted to one side until the euphoria wears off and she realizes with horror what she had done.

My dad commented later that my face was as red as the Firestone shirts and that he had never, ever seen me at a loss for words.

Fashion Rant

2006-06-22T23:58:00.000-04:00

So you know what I hate? Shirts that have "built-in" necklaces. If you do not have enough fashion sense to know what necklaces compliment what neckline, then you should not be allowed to purchase clothing at all. You should be forced to wear a potato sack and a lanyard with a card on it so that those that are curious may look at the card that reads "I do not know how to pair shirts with necklaces properly."

Case of the Missing Shoes (again!)

2006-06-19T14:18:00.000-04:00

So you will be happy to know we found the pointy leather sling backs. But now there is a more urgent and frightening problem: I have an empty shoe box and I CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT THE SHOE LOOKED LIKE THAT WENT IN IT.

It is difficult looking for a lost shoe as it is....but trying to find a shoe when you don't even remember what it looks like?!? (Let's just overlook the fact that I have so many pairs of shoes that I am beginning to forget what they look like...) Oh, the horror. I tried looking up the brand name on line (it's an Audrey Brooke shoe called "Melanie") but of course they don't have a website. I have deduced that I bought the shoes from DSW, and am now trying to rack my brain to remember what shoes I have purchased from there.

What is even more upsetting (I know, I know..how could it get any worse?!?) is that under normal circumstances I write on the outside of the box a description of the shoe and when I purchased it ("Black Kid Suede High Heel with Buckle Winter 2005"). This box has NO LABEL.

I don't know what I'm going to do until I find those shoes.

Backfield in motion

2006-06-05T21:27:00.000-04:00

So I went to the park today with my gigundo bar review book. After awhile, my mind started to wander and as I read the same sentence over and over again I became aware of a periodic ::thunk:: behind me. I turned around and saw an old man with a football. He would take the football in one hand, and after what looked like a baseball pitch wind-up he would chuck the ball through the branches of a nearby tree. The football would hit the ground with a ::thunk:: a dozen yards or so from the old man and he would slowly walk to retreive it. Then he would throw the ball into the tree again from the other side.

As crazy as it sounds, it looked like fun.

Wedding shower

2006-06-04T23:43:00.000-04:00

So a very good friend of mine is getting married this summer. Today was her wedding shower. To me, wedding showers are one of the worst marital traditions since the bouquet toss. They really don't even make sense anymore; most couples are living together before they get married ("Living in SIN" as my mother likes to remind me), so they don't need all their friends, family, and second-cousins to buy them blenders and toasters, etc. The food is always bland, the party games suck, and worst of all they never serve alcohol.

This bridal shower was worse than most because it was run by my friend's 10 bridesmaids, six of whom were all in the same sorority in college. It was like being at a shower run by the Stepford Wives: they're all thin, pretty, smiling, contemptuous bitches. I went to high school with a few of them and other than the slight variations in hair color (almost all blonde highlights, like, Ohmigod) and huge rocks on their left hand, it was exactly the same cliquey bullshit. I wanted to shout at them, "OH yeah? Well while you were off getting married and pregnant I got.....um, a law degree. So there."

The icing on the proverbial cake? The party was alphabet themed (a large chunk of the bridesmaids were also teachers). Each guest was assigned a letter and you could only bring a gift that started with that letter. I got "B" (my mother asked if that stood for "bitch"...with the femnazis in charge I wouldn't be surprised). My mother got "G". After perusing the wedding registry, my mother despaired that there was nothing that started with G. I told her to be creative and get cake products and say the "G" stands for "gateaux" which is French for cake. Proud of our witty solution to the thematic conundrum, we watched in dismay as the gift was handed down the assembly line of sorority sisters who opened the package for her and presented it to her for her approval.

My gift? A Bundt pan and beige bath towels. Double word score for the towels.

Let there be light

2006-06-02T15:07:00.000-04:00

So I there are four light bulbs in my bathroom, and for the past six months or so three of them have been burnt out. So the bathroom lighting has been provided by one brave, solitary bulb. It gave the bathroom a 1970s atmosphere, like an old photograph, where everything is dim and had a tinge of burnt sienna. Since studying for the bar exam affords ample opportunity to procrastinate, I decided to replace the bulbs. When I first moved into my apartment my mother had bought me these new special lightbulbs that were only supposed to filter white light so you can see the "true color" of things. I had three of them, so I decided to use them. The bathroom went from being soft and beige to being dazzlingly white---and appallingly filthy. It was like I had never cleaned the place, ever. The new bulbs revealed that the true color of my bathroom was not cream: it was dirty.

In the middle of the night, I got up to go to the bathroom. I had forgotten about the new bulbs and turned on the light. I was instantly blinded by what seemed to be a giant lighthouse bulb above my bathroom mirror. It was like that scene in Christmas Vacation, when Clark W. Griswold finally gets the lights on his house to work and it blinds the next-door neighbors, who end up knocking over expensive wine glasses and a glass tabletop, except I was running into the counter over and over again, stubbing my toe and flailing my arms about while I pulled down the shower curtain and knocked various toiletries from the counter into (ironically) the toilet.

The casualty list included a bottle of Candy Apple body spray, an eyeliner pencil in Pewter, and a box of Kleenex.

KY is not short for Kentucky

2006-05-25T00:09:00.000-04:00

So you know that couple in the Johnson and Johnson KY Two-in-one Warming Gel/Lubricant commercial? The one where the woman reads the label to her husband with one eyebrow expertly raised and he folds over a corner of his newspaper to raise an eyebrow at her? I am really pulling for them.

Headline news

2006-05-22T10:31:00.000-04:00

So this was the lead story on CNN's website today:
"Barbaro eating, flirting with mares"

On what planet is this a top story? For the daily racing form, maybe, and maybe a small bit on a sporting website, and some small part of me is happy to know that they may not have to put the horse down, but seriously folks....the horse is hungry and horny. That ain't news.

Spa day

2006-05-21T09:30:00.000-04:00

So my parents got my a spa day for finishing law school classes. Now, I am very wary about certain things, namely:
--public nudity;
--people touching me while naked;
So the spa thing may not have been the best way to relieve stress.

When I made the appointment, the receptionist asked "Do you want a man or a woman doing your massage?" Now, I could add to the list of things that make me nervous:
--talking, being touched by, or interacting with a man in general;
So I think you can guess my answer. When I showed up at the spa, there are like three or four gorgeous men walking around and I'm literally starting to turn around to forget the whole thing when one of them said "Do you have an appointment?" I nodded and he took me back into the spa sanctuary. He led me into a room with a bed and he pulled the covers back. I had to remind myself to breathe. Finally he said something about what to do next but finished with "....and Cindy will be in here shortly". Phew. But as he was leaving I realized I didn't know what I was supposed to do. Was I supposed to take my top off? Every time you see a massage on TV they are lying on their stomach with their top off. So after a few moments panic, afraid "Cindy" was going to come in with me standing half naked in the middle of the room, I took my top off and hurled myself into bed. The bed had this weird pillow that came about half way up my legs that was really uncomfortable and the covers were turned down so they were smushing things. Just when I am beginning to doubt my position "Cindy" walks in. Stifling a laugh, she says "I'm going to leave the room again. When I leave, I want you to lie, face up, under the covers." As she is shutting the door she lets the giggles escape. So that's why the cute guy turned down the covers. And apparently that weird leg pillow was supposed to go under my knees. Oh well.

After Cindy was through laughing at me she said that the bones in my face are higher on one said than the other. I've been walking around for 24 years with a crooked face. Maybe this explains everything. She also said I needed a facial to get rid of the dead skins cells on my face. I wanted to say the dead skin cells should feel right at home on my crooked face, but I kept my mouth shut because that point she was kneading my shoulder and my left arm had gone numb.

As I was leaving the spa, with a bruised body and and a battered ego, I heard a familiar voice: "Thoze eyebrowz are are bushy az ehva, like Groucho Marx". It was my waxologist. In my weakened condition, I could not even put up a fight as she walked me back to the land of molten sticky goo while she decimated my eyebrows. As she ripped the last piece of, grinning (or grimacing? it's hard to tell with giants) she said "You know vat? You have eenuf eyebrow hairz that I ripped out to donate to vimen who don't have any." Then she got up and taking the pieces of material that contained the other two-thirds of my eyebrow and said to one of the men "Look at thees, it lookz like an entire eyebrow?" I was going to say something about keeping her giant Kuchen hole shut, but I was too busy admiring my crooked face with my perfect eyebrows in the mirror.

Finals Finale

2006-05-11T16:29:00.000-04:00

So I went to turn in my final final, my Law and Psychiatry take-home exam. There were no spaces, so I parked at a metered spot. I didn't have a quarter, I had two dimes and a nickle, so I thought, what the hell, I will run in, run out, bing, bang, boom.

As I was coming out of the law school, the metermaid man was giving me a ticket. Fucker.

What a fitting end to my law school career--another $25 owed to the Wal-mart of Law Schools, the Harvard of the Midwest.

Finals Part 2

2006-05-07T22:54:00.000-04:00

So I was angry after my Commerical Paper exam I went out into the parking lot and ran my book over with my car. Twice.

God damn it.

Finals

2006-05-05T02:06:00.000-04:00

OHMYFUCKINGGODINHEAVENASSHOLEGODDAMNSHITFUUUUUUCK

I hate finals.
I hate Commerical Paper.
I have developed an ulcer.
I am watching my dream of being a high powered corporate whore in gray pin stripe suits wither and die like a worm stuck on the pavement after a rainshower in the summer that eventually gets run over by a bicycle so that one half becomes crispy and the other half is eaten by a robin. Or a raisin. No one really likes them, either.

::sigh::

Overheard in the coffee shop

2006-05-02T20:25:00.000-04:00

So this was overheard while I was studying at the coffee shop with my adorable friend Carly:

"I don't want to go to hell, I want to go to bed!"

I love finals.

Exploding noise!

2006-05-02T19:17:00.000-04:00

So I am extremely stressed out. When I get stressed out, I break out. Not dancing. Blemishes. Usually not a lot, only one or two. But my God are they the mother of all facial imperfections. There is one, growing, stewing, multiplying, rabble-rousing, right under the surface on my nose. When I wrinkle my nose up, it hurts. But it is not yet visible. It is hiding, waiting until it is at its full strength, like You-Know-Who. It is waiting patiently, like Mount Vesuvius, then it will explode and take out thousands of innocent lives in the process.

Party like it's 1999

2006-04-26T20:28:00.000-04:00

So this was overheard today at the doctor's office:
Female Receptionist: "When was this song done? I mean, was it written like way before 1999 when people thought it was going to be like way different?"
Male Nurse: "I don't know, man...I think they thought it was going to be a big party."
Female Receptionist: "Yeah, well, 1999 was not that much fun."

I weep for the future.

Tweet-tweet

2006-04-25T23:57:00.000-04:00

So has a bird ever been saved from starvation by birdseed? If we stopped putting out birdseed, would any birds die? What did they do for food during the winter before we started spreading peanut butter on pine cones and rolling it around in a pound of birdseed?

Wake up call

2006-04-23T14:26:00.000-04:00

So this morning I was woken up at 6:00 exactly by HAIL. It wasn't very big (the few pieces I measured where less than two centimeters in diameter) and the storm only lasted a couple minutes, but it was still a fantastic way to start the day!

Holy Crap

2006-04-23T12:13:00.000-04:00

So I was late to church today. When I am late, I try to force myself to sit in the front pew, kind of as a reminder that I was late and I should try to get to church on time. Today there was a family in the front pew but there was more than enough room for me. I sat down and service began. As the various people walked up the aisle, I spotted him--gorgeous red hair, great Roman nose, bright blue eyes. I almost melted. He was the liturgical minister, which meant he sat near the altar off to one side. I tried not to stare but I had lost control of my eyes which kept drifting over to him.

So we had a visiting priest (the normal guy was sick). He was the fastest talker I have ever heard. It was seriously like being in the presence of an auctioneer: "INTHEnameofthefather
ANDofthesonANDoftheholyspirITweaskthisthroughCHRI-ISTourlord." I giggled slightly and the Cute Boy caught my eye and smiled. We had a moment! Laughing about the priest! We were totally meant to be. I spent the rest of the first half of mass practically making out with him with my eyes.

Then as the first part of mass ended the Cute Boy got up to go sit down with the congregation. He was walking toward me! I have to admit, I was a little shocked...I mean, I know I'm really charming, but I didn't think I could convey all that in a wink and a smile. But as he got closer I realized he wasn't looking at me, he was looking to my right....to his family. He hadn't been looking at me at all! When he got to the pew he finally looked at me and said "Excuse me, can I squeeze through? You're kind of in my spot." OHMYGOD.

I spent the rest of the service trying to blend in with the oak pew. When we got to the kneeling part of mass, I didn't have a kneeler. He started to offer me a portion of his kneeler, but didn't finish his sentence when he realized I would have had to put one knee between his to actually fit (which would have been an amazing kinetic experience if in fact he had been silently falling in love with me as I had with him during the past half an hour). I kneeled on the ground like the pentitent man and prayed that auctioneer priest would get the service over with as quickly as possible. No wonder the deacon was looking at me funny--I hope he didn't think I was thinking about the caridnal sins with him! I took an extra long sip of wine at communion which helped a little but as soon as the final blessing was delivered I grabbed my purse and high-tailed it out the door.

I am going to have to find a new church.

Basketcase

2006-04-22T17:31:00.000-04:00

So I just wanted to share some notes I just came across that I wrote at some point in my Law and Psychiatry class:

"Dillusional Disorder
--non-bizarre delusions
--non-prominent hallucinations
Example: man raped cousin; believed his butt smelled bad."

I don't know why, but that sentence makes me giggle.
Hee-hee.

Dreamweaver

2006-04-22T11:48:00.000-04:00

So after a long night of drinking (actually, it was a really short night of drinking...I was in bed by 10 o'clock) I woke up this morning at 7 and just kind of laid around in bed. I was thinking about whether I wanted to blog about anything that happened the night before, none of which I could really remember. Then I got up, and realized that my bedroom floor had been cleared and everything was put away. As I looked through the room my gaze went into the hallway and saw that it was clean, too. I walked out to the kitchen and saw that I had brand new kitchen cabinets, all done in this very pretty mahogany color. Then I saw my furniture had been moved around and my carpets had been cleaned! The television was on, and the radio, and there was a note that said "Maintenance" on it. Apparently they had come in while I was passed out and done repairs on my apartment! It all looked amazing, like a brand new place! I was so happy, but I was still really tired, so I went back to bed. My last thought before going to back to sleep was "I'm definitely going to have to blog about this."

Three hours later I woke up in a messy apartment with old brown cabinets. I had dreamt the whole thing.

"I can't hear you when I flush"

2006-04-19T16:07:00.000-04:00

So I hate, hate, HATE it when people talk on the cell phones while they are in a public restroom. I don't even like it when there are other people in the ladies loo that can hear me pee, let alone someone in another time zone might get to hear me pee. I especially don't understand it when people talk on their cell phones while they are on the toilet. I don't get it. There is no conversation that is important enough to have while your bare ass is sitting on a public seat. Whatever you have to say IT CAN WAIT UNTIL YOU PUT YOUR GODDAMN PANTS BACK ON AND YOU ARE OUTSIDE. Plus there is the potential for lots of germs (do you wash your phone with soap and water afterwards?) and the added risk of dropping your phone into the toilet (just typing that made me gag little). I was actually in the bathroom today and a girl was leaving a voicemail with what sounded like a potential employer that was interrupted when she flushed the toilet.

I could make some joke here about her career being in the crapper or flushing her future away, but the whole thing makes me a little nauseous.

The case of the missing sling-backs

2006-04-18T00:43:00.000-04:00

So I think that someone has broken into my apartment: my pointy black sling-back heels are missing. Now I know those of you who have been to my apartment in recent months will say, "Jessica, really, the shoes are probably in the earthquake rubble you charmingly refer to as your bedroom." To you I say--NO! I know exactly where every pair of shoe I own is. Like shoe sonar or something. Without going to look, I can tell you:
The green Union Bay sneakers? Under the glass table in the living room.
The peep-toe heels that were a party to the tumble? One is sitting on top of a pile of clothes, the other is on the bathroom rug.
The green flip-flops with pink flamingos? Kitchen.
The distressed brown Mary Janes? Under the coat rack.
The Abominable Snowman slippers? Under the desk near my feet.
The caramel color slip-ons that make my feet smell? Coat closet.
The gray pointy sling-backs? One is on the kitchen table, the other is in a purse near the kitchen counter. (I keep mistaking this one for the shoe that is MIA.)

The point to all this is that I know where my shoes are when they are not on my feet. And I have no clue where the pointy black sling-back heels are. And I have looked in all the usual places: closet, under the bed, under the couch, in the fridge (that's usually where my keys or cell phone hide), etc. I think a robber came in and took my shoes. Or a weird little gnome with a shoe fetish.

Speaking of which, I wonder if Oola took them.

Hippity-Hoppity

2006-04-16T19:43:00.000-04:00

So is it sad that this is a) the first year I didn't get to search for Easter eggs and/or an Easter basket and 2) I missed it?

Deposition Drama

2006-04-11T13:17:00.000-04:00

So this would be an example of lawyer's behaving badly.

For those of you who haven't spent three years learning to act like this, here is a small explanation: prior to going to trial, lawyers on both sides will do what is called a deposition. It is basically a time when the lawyer on one side gets to question the other party's witnesses. There is usually a court reporter who creates a deposition transcript (so every little "um" "okay" and "uh-huh" is typed out). The lawyer who is doing the questioning is not limited by relevance rules and can pretty much ask any question he wants (with certain limits). The lawyer who is defending the deposition (the lawyer who is representing the witness) can object to questions, but unless it involves privileged information or something the witness is not supposed to discuss, the objection is just noted in the transcript and the witness will answer the question (so usually an objection during a depo does not have the same function as an objection at trial).

With that mini explanation, enjoy the clip.

(Interesting fact: the lawyer doing the questioning is a famous (or infamous?) Texas attorney who is permanently barred from practicing law in Delaware).

Search for the Samoa, Part I

2006-03-22T00:21:00.000-05:00

So after reading the post by my favorite mother in the world (besides Carol Brady and my own mother, of course) I decided I might be interested in tasting the new flavor of Edy's Ice Cream inspired by the Girl Scout cookie Samoas (or as I remember them from my days as a green-uniformed, patch-wielding cookie peddler, Caramel DeLights. No doubt the powers that be in the Girl Scout Universe felt that changing the name of a wafer cookie covered in coconut drenched in caramel and then drizzled with chocolate that only come in packs of ten or so so you end up eating the whole package in one sitting and then feeling horribly guilty about it would be a fitting way to pay tribute to our tiny little Pacific island territory and another culture that is slowly being driven to extinction by development and tourism--politics aside, it is still a damn fine cookie). After reading the post, I felt that this is something that I might like to try some day, like flamenco dancing or online banking or eggs benedict.

This past weekend, however, the mild attraction turned into a full-on, large-scale, salivating craving of epic proportions. Before I could even worry about whether this sudden craving onset was pregnancy-induced I was in the car driving toward the super market to get me a quart of the frozen dairy goodness.
But my Topps didn't have the ice cream.
And my Giant Eagle didn't have the ice cream.
And my parent's Giant Eagle didn't have the ice cream...!

My dear friend Carly said she saw it at the more up-scale Giant Eagle near the mall. The pursuit of the ice cream was no longer an errand; it was now a sacred quest. So after class, with almost no gas in my car, I raced to the third Giant Eagle on the wings of ....well, you get the idea. The sign out front "Open 24 Hours" was like a beacon of hope, like the image of the holy grail or the Bat Signal. The doors opened with a soft "sssshhhh" and my pulse quickened. I forced myself not to break into a run toward the frozen food section. After frantically looking up and down aisles, I found it: the ice cream section. Not able to contain my excitement any longer, I practically leaped over a stock boy to peruse the labels to find what I was seeking: Edy's Slow Churned Special Edition Girl Scout Samoa Blended Ice Cream. I found the Edy's section! Throwing cartons of ice cream aside while the stock boy shielded his face with his arms from the onslaught of quarts, I spotted the Girl Scout Symbol! A weird green hand holding a girl in the shape of a bug with wings amongst a sea of beige cartons. With a jubilant shout I claimed my prize: Edy's Slow Churned Special Edition Girl Scout THIN MINT Ice Cream.

Bullocks.

I bought the damn thing anyway. But it's not the same.

And the search will continue.

I don't think we're in Kansas anymore

2006-03-09T00:26:00.000-05:00

So the National Weather Service has unleashed some amazing radar imaging systems for us armchair chasers. The new radar actually allows you to see warning boxes on top of the storm cells so you can see which particular cell is producing the warning. It also has county lines and major roads so you can pinpoint exactly where the storm is located. You can also loop the imaging so you can see the supercells form right before your eyes. The best feature: wind velocity relative to the storms. There are two different colors: one designates wind blowing away from the radar center and one for wind blowing toward the radar. Where the two winds converge, you often have circulation (which could be an indication of a forming tornado). Although on a smaller scale, this type of imaging is what they use at the Storm Prediction Center in Norman Oklahoma to issue a warning for a Doppler indicated tornado. Today was a great day to see this stuff in action: a surface low near the Great Lakes region was drawing all sorts of warm air ahead of an approaching cold front, resulting in a highly unstable air mass in the south. Awesome.

It is going to be a fantastic tornado season.

I'm going to have start taking my laptop to class more often.

I get knocked down, but I get up again; OR One tequila two tequlia three tequila FLOOR

2006-03-05T01:32:00.000-05:00

So I went to my adorable friends' engagement party. And there just happened to be a Guy there that I have a Crush On. So of course I was dressed up. And of course I drank way too much. The evening went quite smoothly for awhile. And then: it happened.

The bar we were at has these little cylindrical stools that I call "tuffets". I went to talk to this Guy and I don't know if slipped on my slippery skirt or if my giant ass just has so much momentum going into the chair or what, but as I went to sit down my entire body continued on to the floor. I also somehow took out a table on the way down. Like Bridget Jones and the fireman's pole, I keep replaying the image of me flying through the air and onto the ground. And it all happened in front of Him. The worst part: when I got up, I looked around and there was a sea of faces just staring back at me NOT LAUGHING, including Him. They all had this look on their faces of pity and disdain. Words cannot express how humiliated I was and am. I had been doing so well with Him, too. I was chatting and flirting and blah blah blah, and then I took a tumble off a tuffet.

Damn it.

Editors note: This was the original post, which Oola created as soon as she got my drunk ass home from the bar. It's too entertaining not to keep up.
So I really, really like this friend of my dear friend Andy (I am so fuckig wasted as I tyape this, so if therea are any misprints, I appoligize to all two fo my fathful fuviewers.)

sO ANYWHAY, this man....I realy,r alyye like thim. howeve, thifs evening. I managedto fall off of my seat while I was in his presense. I brokke three glasses.

I am a FUCKING MORON. Who wants a ungracrful hippo? ::sigh::

Try not to think where it came from

2006-03-04T14:40:00.000-05:00

So I just received in the mail from Delia's (a.k.a. clothes for 12-year-old stick insects) a pair of mittens with gloves hidden underneath the mitten flap! They are creamy white with gold flecks and are much more convenient than my Muppet gloves for dialing cell phones and operating door keys and car keys. I feel like such a Bohemian, homeless-because-I'm-an-artist type person with them on (although they make my already child-like hands look like little cocktail wienies (minus the red sauce)). However, my joy at receiving something in the mail (I really do feel like they are presents because usually I have forgotten that I ordered something) was quickly stiffled when I ripped open the package. There, on top of my virgin white gloves, was a little black curly hair.

I'm going to pretend that some sort of shaggy little black puppy named Buttons was Inspector #24 and that's where the hair came from.

Service at the speed of the roadrunner (a fat, lazy, roadrunner that has been hit by a semi.)

2006-02-25T14:29:00.001-05:00

So my cable and internet have been out since last weekend. On Sunday night, after being on hold for an hour and half, I spoke with a lovely Time Warner Representative who informed me that a repairman would come as soon as possible, which meant next Saturday. I told her that was unacceptable, I'm a student, I need my internet, blah blah blah. There wasn't anything she could do, but she did say "I'm so sorry" 18 times. Before we finished the call, she asked "Would you like to purchase additional Time Warner services?" "What, and have to wait a week for you to repair those when they go out? Hahahahaha" Click.

I tried calling them again later in the week to express my disappointment in their services and the Saturday repair job. Again, no dice.

Tuesday while I was checking my school email at work, I received this lovely email from Time Warner (ironic, isn't it, that they chose to communicate with me by email when I didn't have an internet connection.). I have taken the liberty of adding a few clarifying remarks.

Dear Ms. (Schmuck):
Thank you for contacting our office. At this time, the service appointment that is scheduled for 2/25/06 is the soonest we can get a technician out to you (in the middle of ghetto Akron where we can't get anyone to go because someone will probably try to steal our van and hock the parts). I do apologize for the inconvenience this matter has caused you. If you have any questions or need further assistance please feel free to contact our office (although it is most likely that we won't do a damn thing to help you).
Thank you for choosing Time Warner Cable for you home entertainment needs (even though you really didn't have any choice in the matter because in these parts, Time Warner Cable is God). The cornerstone of our philosophy has always been to provide "excellence in customer service" and we will continue to provide the high quality of service you expect and deserve from Time Warner Cable. (Of course, our cornerstone will crumble unless high quality of service means going for weeks without said service.) (I swear I did not put that bit about excellence in quotes...that is their language.)
Sincerely, Your On-Line Time Warner Cable Representative

My scheduled appointment was between 12 and 2 o'clock. At 1:45, I received a call from Time Warner asking me if my cable was still out. I said "Oh my god, it is! What are the odds of that?". At 2:30 a repair-lesbian knocked on the door. Five minutes later I had cable again. Actually, 148 hours and 35 minutes later.

Boogie-woogie Flu

2006-02-13T23:52:00.000-05:00

So why is it that you can't smell the boogers while they are in your nose, but once you blow your nose, the kleenex stinks?

Editor's note: The original title to this post was "Boo-woogie Flu" which of course makes no sense since I was trying to tie the title of the blog and the song in with the subject (boogie--boogers) and the word "boo-woogie" does not mean anything unless I have just invented a new way to address the love of your life, your boo, if you will.

This is the year we get that one for the thumb...

2006-02-06T23:57:00.000-05:00

So who is Bill Cowher smiling like a big ol' Chershire cat for?

Ben Rothlisberger? Nope: in all his mountain man studdly-ness, Big Ben had a quarterback rating of 22.6, the lowest of any winning Super Bowl que-bee.

Joey Porter? Nah, the walking mouth of the Stillers D was mostly silent all Sunday night.

Jerome Bettis? Eh, maybe: the Bus did have a few carries but could not put it in the garage from the one yard line.

The officials: Bigger maybe, although they have not been a fan of the black and gold in the past few decades.

No, I think that Cowher is smiling rather than spitting because of me and my lucky yellow thong.

You're welcome, Coach.

Have mercy

2006-01-25T10:11:00.000-05:00

So I was listening to Elvis Pressley's Jailhouse Rock the other day in the car. One of the lines in the song goes: "Number 47 said to Number 3/You the cutest jailbird I ever did see/I sure would delighted with your company/C'mon and do the Jailhouse Rock with me/Let's Rock".

This statement leads to me to believe three possible conclusions:
1) In Elvis' southern land of make believe, jails were co-ed; or
2) Elvis was in reality a champion of prison reform and was bringing to the forefront of the country's consciousness the problem of rampant sodomy in our prison system with a number 1 single.
3) The King was homosexual and was advocating sexual tolerance through song.

I think it's #3: he liked to wear bedazzled capes; he is adored by lots of old ladies; he married a woman with hair like a drag-queen.

Tears of a clown

2006-01-20T22:16:00.000-05:00

So I learned from a very reliable, trustworthy source (who I happen to think very highly of) that men generally don't like goofy girls. This presents a slight problem, as I can be very, very goofy. Why is it that guys can be goofballs but girls can't? What happens to the girl that was voted Class Clown? Does she take her act on the road and lead a lonely existence as a stand-up?

I know men generally prefer a little mystery to their women, but just because I enjoy a good laugh does not make me less mysterious.

There is a musical called Funny Girl about Fanny Brice, a famous Broadway singer (portrayed in all her divaness by Ms. Barbara Streisand). After she visits her husband in jail for a bad investment or gambling thing or something or other...he is always playing cards...(the always ethnic-chic Omar Sharif), she sings a song about being a funny girl:
Funny
Did ya here that, Funny
Yeah, the guy said Honey
You're a Funny Girl
That's me I just keep them
In stitches
Doubled in half
And thought I may be all wrong for the guy
I'm good for a laugh
I guess its not funny
Life is far from sunny
When the laugh is over
And the joke's on you
A girl oughta have a sense of humor
That's one thing you really need for sure
When you're a Funny Girl
The fellow says a Funny Girl
Funny, how it ain't so funny
Funny Girl

I'm here all week, folks...make sure you tip your waitress.

That's all, folks!! (Seriously.)

2006-01-20T00:57:00.000-05:00

So my favorite people in the world, Netflix, just delivered Citizen Kane to my mail box. Actually, they delivered it about a week ago, but I am currently at war with the postman for delivering crap to me so I refuse to go get the mail until he stops sending the crap but then my mailbox gets full and he gets mad and dumps my mail on my welcome mat which is how I found the movie on my sidewalk. I had never seen the movie before, and the only thing I really knew about it was a vague memory of a Bugs Bunny cartoon that parodied it. Something about a sled called Rosebud.

And wouldn't you know, THE WHOLE FUCKING MOVIE IS ABOUT WHO THE HELL ROSEBUD IS.

That wascally wabbit.

Doctor, Doctor, give me the news....

2006-01-11T23:58:00.000-05:00

So I hate being sick. I make the worst patient: I bitch, I moan, I complain, I sneeze, my eyes get shiny and my hair attempts to defy the laws of gravity. Ugh.

Right now, all I want to do is deep-throat a popsicle.

Here we go, Steelers, here we go!

2006-01-10T08:57:00.000-05:00

So I thought this was cute:

A Cleveland family of football fans head out one Saturday to do their Christmas shopping. While in the sports store, the sone picks up a Pittsburgh Steeler jersey and says to his older sister,
"I've decided to become a Steeler fan and I would like this for Christmas."

His big sister is outraged by this and promptly whacks him 'round the head and says,
"Go talk with Mom."

Off goes the little lad with the Pittsburgh Steeler jersey in hand and finds his mother.
"Mom?"
"Yes, son?"
"I've decided I'm going to be a Pittsburgh Steeler fan, and I would like this jersey for Christmas."

The mother too is outraged, promptly whacks him 'round the head and says,
"Go see your father."

Off he goes with the Pittsburgh Steeler jersey in hand and finds his father.
"Dad?"
"Yes, son?"
"I've decided I'm going to be a Pittsburgh Steeler fan, and I would like this jersey for Christmas."

The father is so outraged that he, too, whacks his son 'round the head and says "No son of mine is EVER going to be seen in THAT!"

About half an hour later they are all back in the car heading towards home. The father turns to the son and says,
"Son, I hope you've learned something today."

The son says, "Yes, Dad, I have."
"Good, son. What is it?"

The son replied, "I have only been a Pittsburgh Steeler fan for an hour and I already hate you Cleveland bastards."

1/2 man + 1/2 goat = true love

2006-01-02T23:39:00.000-05:00

So my favorite part of the Chronicles of Narnia: the Lion, the Witch, and Wardrobe? The faun, Mr. Tumnus.

Beastiality questions aside, he is so a Jessica guy.

Ven you got eet, flaunt eet

2005-12-30T12:05:00.000-05:00

So I am in a musical!!

Yes, Oola is currently starring in the Brooks/Strohman musical comedy "The Producers". Although they spelled my name Ulla...I think they were put off by my thick Swedish accent. Who knew I would look so good as a blonde?

Happy (belated) Christmas!

2005-12-26T00:23:00.000-05:00

Sorry this is going up late. God Bless Cable Internet.

Cha-cha-cha-Charmin!

2005-12-13T00:56:00.000-05:00

So I really enjoy living by myself. I enjoy being on my own schedule, sleeping when I want, eating when I want, cleaning when I want (which right now is never). I thinking moving in with anyone would be a huge, life-altering adjustment. However, there are times when I hate living alone.

I hate the fact that when I run out of toilet paper in the middle of the night I have no one to blame but myself.

The Golden Rule(s).

2005-12-08T23:52:00.000-05:00

So it's law school finals time, which in essence means time to find things to procrastinate.

Here is the quiz that answers that age old question: which Federal Rule of Civil Procedure are you? I know every law student is dying to know.

Thanks to darling René for the link. You truly are Rule 15.

Alcohol, a party time necessity

2005-12-02T13:12:00.000-05:00

So some of you may know my incredible knack for saying some of the dumbest thing ever. In college, my darling friend René (of Sweetest Things fame) used to keep a quotes webpage and I was on there quite a bit.

I just got in to work after a meeting with a local attorney (who asked me to come work for him "if I ever wanted to use my conscience" (!!)). I was really wound up. My new cubemate, Erin, informed me that the office holiday party was going to be taking place at a local bar. In my agitated state, my only concern was: is there going to be alcohol, and are we allowed to drink it? Now, in my own defense, this is a fair question: I work for a large corporation that has a strict policy when it comes to alcohol at parties (alcohol --> drunk employees --> sexual harrasment, drunk driving, falling into chemical mixing vats and becoming life-size plastic army men, etc. --> lawsuits!!). So I was curious whether we would be allowed to drink. Erin said it really didn't come up, there wasn't a lot of talk about alcohol. In my panic, I saw the head IP lawyer walking past. He is new, Southern, polite (definitely not a Wookie)--and I have a huge crush on him. I called to him over the cube and said "John, question: is there going to be alcohol at the alcohol party??" The people in the area around my cube dissolved into giggles (it really doesn't take much). John offered to take me to the bar that very instant and call me a cab for the ride home. My boss (who happened to be walking past when I announced my alcoholism) said clearly we need to turn the office holiday party into an intervention.

The moral of the story is that no matter how much you try to repress your inner alcoholic, every once in awhile she rears her fermented, gin-soaked head and says "fugyouimnotdrunkenufyet" to the world before falling asleep in a pile near the toilet with her keys still in the lock on the front door.

It's a tit bit nipply out there

2005-11-24T10:34:00.000-05:00

So yesterday I had to go out and buy a scraper for my car. I should have been prepared when I was watching the news the night before and Dick Goddard was talking about the Alberta Clipper. You know Cleveland weatherman legend Dick Goddard gets a hard-on every time he says Alberta Clipper. The Alberta Clipper is one of his favorite weather things, besides wooly bears and Nor'easters. So he's going on and on about the Alberta Clipper and all I keep thinking about is what sweater I will wear.

When I got up on Wednesday my car was covered with this snow/ice mixture that I couldn't just push off with my glove (damn that Alberta Clipper). I went to look for my scraper but remembered that I broke it last winter when I tried to hack the glacier that had formed behind my tire that was so large I could no longer turn the wheel (it was a solid block of ice that snapped my scraper in two and was eventually removed with several trips out of my apartment with a tea kettle). With no scraper, I had nothing to do but sit in my car for 10 minutes with the heat on hoping it would melt the snow off of my car.

After work I drove to the store to buy a scraper. I left the store with facial soap, a frozen dinner--but no scraper. I walked all the way out to my car before realizing it, threw a tiny fit in the parking lot, decided I didn't want to go back in because it meant going past Quasimodo the creepy bell-ringer from the Salvation Army, got in the car and drove home.

I went to get my hair cut later in the day, so I decided I would stop at the store to buy a scraper on the way home. My hair looked so fabulous (and my new eyebrows gave me a 'surprise!' look) that I spent the whole time driving home eyeing myself in the mirror and completely forgot to buy a scraper.

After the frozen dinner my mother called: they were stuck in traffic bringing the sister home from college, could I go buy some wine for dinner tomorrow. While I was at Topps trying to pick the best wine from a selection $14.99 and under, I saw them: scrapers, a whole display of them. A tear came to my eye at the sight of them.

I bought two. Just in case.

What has it got in its pocketses, precious?

2005-11-16T16:17:00.000-05:00

So the first day of wearing the old winter coat is always exciting because there is a chance that you left something in your pocket for three seasons. Usually its something mundane, like a kleenex, a piece of gum, or chapstick. Occasionally it is your lucky day and you find money: the best days in the world are when you find a twenty. Today, as the temperature plunged after the first artic cold front of the season passed overhead, I put my winter coat on to go to class. After class, as I'm chatting with my professor, I put my hand in my pocket for the first time and felt something unknown. Curious, I pulled it out: it was a sparkly green lighter. My professor looked at me and said "Lady, do you smoke??" "No. This isn't mine, I swear. I don't know where this came from. I must have been holding it for a friend." I don't think she believed me.

I'll be Oola was the last person to wear the jacket.

Pennies from heaven

2005-11-03T23:48:00.000-05:00

So I was in the ladies restroom this afternoon when the girl with the chipmunk voice from Local Government class drops some change out of her pocket onto the floor (that happens sometimes when the trousers are slouched around your knees). She giggles, flushes the toilet, exits the stall, washes her hands and leaves. As I finished I happened to look on the ground to see that three pennies--yes THREE pennies--were still on the ground.

I am not above picking change off the bathroom floor. It's not like they fell in the toilet or anything.

Come again?

2005-10-12T22:21:00.000-04:00

"The test to be applied in resolving the question of whether the complaint set forth facts showing plaintiff is entitled to relief under any theory susceptible of proof is whether, in the light most favorable to plaintiff and with every intendment regarded in her favor, the complaint was sufficient to constitute a valid claim..." Veach v. City of Phoenix (1967)

Well, duh!

Oh-oh-oh, the sweetest thing

2005-10-11T14:59:00.000-04:00

So guess who was asked to be a guest-blogger on the best blog in the world, hosted by the divorce diva herself, René and the coolest mommy since Britney, Caley?

If you guessed Oola, you are half-way there.

The little people.

2005-10-11T12:21:00.000-04:00

Scientists have discovered a species of small humans rather like hobbits.

An entire island of Elijah Woods. Mmmmm.