Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Speaking of pots

One of Amstaff mom's comments on my last post and something Deals had on her blog recently (or was it on impatientbee) made me think of my views on hot tubs, which I think I should pass on. So here it is:

Hot tub=human stock pot

That's right. It's like boiling people. The hot tub is like one giant stock pot. You're sitting there, cooking, stewing away. Think about what happens to chickens while they're been boiled. Uh-huh. You know what I mean. Chicken juices. It's how you make chicken stock. Same thing with hot tubs. All the people juices are just swirling around in there. You're stewing in other people's juices. So I hope you really like the people you're in the tub with (and everyone who's been in that tub before you), because you're soaking in them.

Mmm. Yummy.

Hope everyone has a great time this Labor Day weekend. Stay out of stock pots.

Monday, August 29, 2005

The Pot Thickens

So. Here's what I'm thinking. I'm thinking that there ought to be a way to let everyone in the office know that there's a fresh pot of coffee available.

As every coffee drinker knows (and I am not referring to those namby-pamby "I only drink caramel frapuccino" types--they aren't really coffee drinkers), if you let a pot of coffee sit on the burner for long enough, it turns into something considerably less desirable than what it started out as. It doesn't congeal exactly, it kind of . . . I don't know what the word is. All I know is, it doesn't taste the same, and when I add cream, it turns a sort of thick gray color. It's like the coffee is a black hole--you can pour all the cream in you want, but it won't make a difference.

So today I'm standing there in front of the coffee, wondering if this is fresh coffee or no. The cup I had when I arrived this morning was decidedly not fresh. So I sit there for several minutes debating whether it smells fresher, whether the coffee level is higher than it was this morning (which would indicate a new pot), whether it looked different, etc, etc. This is, of course, an incredible time-waster, especially since I'll be drinking it either way. But I like to know what I'm getting myself into, you know?

So can't we set up some sort of automatic alert system?

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

I Will Survive

I am beginning to think that the semester won't be so horribly awful as I had anticipated. That is, I think that I will have time to juggle school, law review, and work. I just won't have time for anything else, like friends, family, fun, or bathing.

Just kidding. You know I will always make time for bathing.

My classes are ok. I pretty much sit through every class chanting "not me, not me" when the professor pauses and you know that she's about to call on someone. It's not like I'm not prepared, I just don't like being called on. I don't like hypotheticals. I have never liked "what ifs."

Tax is about as bad as I thought it would be, and we haven't even gotten to the tax stuff yet--we're just covering the constitutional basis for taxes, types of taxes, how to appeal a tax decision, that kind of thing. The professor seems very nice and very knowledgeable, but I don't think that knowledge will be transferred to us. I have taken almost no notes so far, and we've had two classes. Yesterday, at the end of the class, my friend who sits next to me had exactly two words typed on her screen: "Shoot me."

As far as my other classes go, I have one professor who's both humorous and obnoxious, which can be entertaining, two professors who seem very knowledgeable and demanding but not intimidating, and one who is FABULOUS. I've had her for three other classes in the past. Her classes are challenging and her exams leave you feeling entirely drained of the energy to function, but she's a dynamic teacher--and her exams, though tough, are fair. The only problem is that this is an ethics class, so it will be countless "what ifs" with no clear answer. No thank you! If it weren't required, I'd not be in that class.

Law review: I'm practically finished with my part of an issue. That means we are now only four issues behind. Progress! Woohoo!

In other news, the carpal tunnel thing seems to be back, but I think I can handle it. I had some fabulous fro yo today. I found out that yet another friend is moving away--boo!

I have no other news to report, except that I managed not to eat my weight in m&ms today, and for that you should all be proud of me.

Monday, August 22, 2005

And So It Begins

School has started. I have the new bottle of Mylanta all ready to go. I have no idea what time I'll get to bed tonight. I do know that tomorrow will be a very, very long day.

So I decided to take exactly five minutes to blog about the fact that I have no time to blog, except for the five minutes I'm setting aside to blog about having no time.

My brain is so addled right now that I can't really come up with a coherent, cohesive post. So I'm just going to post a few [note to Jes: this word does not mean three or more!] random observances.

(1) Today I went to school and then to work. I was dressed for work. It was good to see so many of my friends again, and, in a way, heart-warming to realize that they know me so well, as every blessed one of them made some variation of this comment: "you look nice . . . do you have to work today?" The unstated but implied finish to that comment was " . . . because I can't think of any other reason why you'd be dressed up."

It's true. Having spent 5 years previous to law school in the work force, I have relished the opportunity to dress like a slob. But how sad that others have noticed!

(2) Not too long ago, I accompanied jes to her apartment on our lunch break. Everything there was extremely tidy, including their magenetic poetry on the fridge. There were a number of things about the apartment that I'd like to comment on, but that's another blog. Today I will just say this:
Image hosted by

(3) Last week we cleaned out the staff room for the law review. I carried a lot of old paper and a number of boxes. I somehow got a cut on my arm, which looked really gross for a while, but not just looks kind of gross:
Image hosted by

At least it's not puffy any more. And I'm not so paranoid about having anthrax .

And that's it for me for now. I have to get back to my reading, which is taking me for-ev-er.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Mild panic: my day so far

[No time for posting week continues, and so we bring you part II of III of old e-mails from me updating my friends on my goings-on]:

Approximately 8:15am: Go to the professors’ lounge to turn in legal writing assignment before deadline. Promised classmate I’d put her disk in her professor’s box. Can’t find it. She is in a certain section, but I can only find a different section for her professor. Mild panic ensues. Another classmate with the same professor assures me that the box is mislabeled, the professor’s box I found is the correct one. Panic subsides.

Approximately 8:30am: Trip to The Eatery as part of daily ritual to get morning coffee. The Eatery door is locked. No note saying “be right back.” Mild panic as thought occurs to me that The Eatery might be on Fall Break with the undergrads. Slight resentful feeling towards the undergrads.

9:02am: Second trip to The Eatery in hopes that it will be open. It is. First glance at cream options reveals all are expired. Mild panic. Re-checking reveals that the “whole” milk has one day to go. Discover that all the caffeinated coffee is gone. Mild panic. Then notice that there is one pot of flavored coffee fully caffeinated.

11:00-11:50am. Develop feelings of nausea. May have something to do with the not-good-tasting Pria bar I ate before class. Sure professor is going to call on me and I’ll throw up in class. Mild panic ensues. Professor does not call on me. Panic subsides. Eat my lunch, nausea subsides--slightly.

12:20pm. Can’t get online. Restart computer. Can’t get online. Restart wireless connection. Can’t freakin’ get online. Stupid &*@#$ school wireless network piece of @#$%. Resentment and anger tempered only by being too tired to feel any strong emotion.

12:30-1:00 Gearing up for criminal law class and inevitable dumb-ass comments on subject of rape from certain ignorant yet arrogant classmates. Mild panic that I will stab said classmates with pen (“What is a battery, Alex?”). Remember they sit on other side of room, would have to leap over three rows of classmates. Am not good at leaping. Panic subsides.

1:00-1:50 Apparently unworried about appearing predictable, annoying classmates make expected asinine comments. Blood pressure raised exponentially.

2:00 Finally remember to get form filled out to defer undergrad student loans. Blood pressure goes down slightly.

2:20 Can finally get online—for now. Deep yoga breaths in lobby of library—not too deep, though, as library has funny smell. Try to calm down before diving into studying. Prediction: will not have enough time to get sufficient amount of work done, mild panic will ensue.

(Unlike many fellow classmates have yet to have full-blown panicky feelings about ability to pass classes. Am way too preoccupied with other, more important matters.)

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Law School Is a Black Hole In Which Time Has No Meaning

It has begun. Already, all my spare time is being sucked away by something involving law school (except today, when my spare time was sucked away by going to the dentist, getting four cavities filled, and then hiding in my house until I had feeling back in my mouth and could talk, drink, and keep from drooling).

As I had no spare time today to post and can't see that I will tomorrow, either, I decided, in honor of the school year staring up next Monday, that I will post an old e-mail I wrote. This is the first mass e-mail I sent to my friends after I started law school. It's not interesting, but it's something to read if you're bored. So without further ado . . .

Law School Is a Black Hole In Which Time Has No Meaning

Greetings from The Pit, the nickname that the law students here at [law school] have for the ground floor of the law library, a popular meeting place for the law students. Popular because there can't be too many meeting places around here considering that the law school consists of 4 buildings, one of which is for administration and one of which holds offices for professors and student organizations. One other building is the law library and one is for classrooms. Tiiiiiny space.

Anyway, [rr] calls this "the pit of despair," and it does, admittedly, smell a little bit like urine, and I haven't figured out why yet. It may have something to do with "the Old Lady Who Comes Here to Read" and who is, so far as anyone can figure, homeless, a conclusion supported only by the fact that a) she's here every day and b) she carries her underwear around with her in a plastic bag. She seems perfectly clean to me, though, so I don't think that she's the source of the smell. Besides, she doesn't spend much time in "the pit."

I just finished my first assignment for my Legal Writing and Research class, one which I have been assured will "suck". That's in quotes because it's a direct quotation from *every* 2L and 3L. Literally and figuratively, in that it sucks away all of your spare time and that it just sucks in general. It's not supposedly very difficult, just tedious and time consuming. I just spent 4 hours looking up articles for no purpose other than writing down article names and page numbers to prove that I had, in fact, looked them up. Apparently [my law school] has one of the toughest LRW courses in the state. I tell myself that I'm lucky to be doing this, because it will give me an edge on getting that paying job my first summer, the job that I won't actually get, but that, had they actually been hiring 1Ls and paying them, I would have gotten.

The "scary" class is Civil Procedure, and it's taught by a guy who's supposedly a well-known litigator [one of those where you just say his name and other attorneys know who he is]. In my other classes, when a professor asks you to go over a case you have read, you just need to give a little summary and answer the first question he asks, and then he moves on to another student for the next question. It's really not too intimidating. In this class you have to stand up, and then he asks you a series of questions, the answers to which you will not have, no matter how carefully you've read. I say this because I'm convinced that he will keep asking you questions until you hit one you can't answer. The upside is that everyone knows what you're going through, and everyone is so glad that they aren’t the one that's being asked that you don't feel humiliated at all. And also, I think that so long as you've actually tried to understand the case he won't yell at you . . . much. And plus, if we can handle this, we'll be much better prepared for presenting something to a judge.

The downside is that there is SO MUCH READING for that class, and you have to be so prepared for it that I have had to give up watching my Spanish novella because I just have no spare time whatsoever for, well, anything.

Anyway, this has been, without a doubt, the LONGEST WEEK OF MY LIFE. It feels like I've been here a very long time. Despite that, I still have not gotten used to the subspecies making up a percentage of the student population around here. Think James Spader in "Pretty in Pink."

(to be fair, most are nice, but let's just say that our sense of humor is different. The expression "tough crowd" comes to mind. And "frat daddy." [and other words I'm to polite to send into the web])

Ok, well, I’m going to scoot. I don't know when I'll have a chance to write again, so I wanted to say that yes, I'm alive, yes, school is interesting, and no, I cannot survive on the amount of sleep I've been getting. I hope that everyone is doing well!

Thursday, August 11, 2005

The Unfortunate County Fair Incident of 1996

I love the fair. LOVE it. So I was thrilled when rr pointed out to me that the State Fair is only a month and a half away. Because I.LOVE.THE.FAIR.

But this post isn't about the State Fair. Today I wanted to discuss county fairs, and in particular, the Waller County fair. Steve mentioned he recently went to a county fair, and it reminded me of the one time that I’ve ever been to one.

It was Spring of 1996. I was a sophomore in college, and my brother was going to a college baseball game in a city about an hour away from where I went to school, and my sister, BF/R, and I decided to take a trip over to see him. Well, rr and I wanted to take the trip, but we didn’t have a car, and BF/R has a “well, why not?” approach to life, so she drove us. On the way, we passed the Waller County fair. It was decided—unanimously—that we would be stopping there on the way back. It just seemed like it would be fun. Maybe BF/R was reminded of the small town she grew up in, but I was thinking about the rides and the funnel cake and the corn dogs (or as they say in Tennessee, “pronto pups.” Boy, didn’t my grandparents get some weird looks the first time they went to a Sonic in Texas). I was also thinking about the incredible people-watching opportunity. Yea! What fun we’d have.

And we did stop. And we did have fun. We rode a few rides, including one of those spinning things where you sit in your little car, and the car spins, and the car is attached to a big lever-swing thing, and it twirls you around in a big circle like a merry-go-round, so you’re spinning around and then also doing smaller circles. When I was younger, I’d loved that ride. Then I’d gotten a little older, and the older I got, the more I inclined to motion sickness, which isn’t fun, but at least I always get to ride shotgun. But rr (who also suffers from that affliction) and I had decided to brave the ride, and to our delight, we felt great.

All was good, all was well with the world.

Except—and this should have been a premonition—we did go on the Ferris Wheel, and we felt a little queasy afterwards, but we just assumed that we were not cut out for the Ferris Wheel. Plus, I thought maybe it wasn’t the ride, but rather maybe it was the speakers blaring out “Your Cheatin’ Heart” that was making me feel a little nauseous.

The next day, we went to another game, where we met two women. They were the girlfriends of my brother’s friends. We told them of the fair. They were interested in going. Of course they were! It’s the fair! In a small town! So we went. This time, things did not go so well.

We ate funnel cake and other fair food. We got brave. We went on the spinny thing again. Twice. MISTAKE. And then, for SOME REASON, we took leave of our senses and went on one of those boat rides with a boat shaped like a dragon or viking ship or something, where they flip you upside down a bunch of times. When we got off of that ride, it was very apparent that we had made what you’d call a “tactical error.” Here we were, a good 45 minutes from our home, and we’d gotten ourselves all motion sick right before we were due to get in a car--a moving vehicle. And there was nothing we could eat to settle our stomachs, because we were at the fair, where everything is fried, even the Twinkies and the candy bars.

So all we could do was drive home. I won’t speak for rr, but all I kept chanting in my head the whole time ‘you’re going to make it, you feel fine,’ my version of “I feel fine, I feel great, I feel wonderful.”

The chanting didn’t work. As we drove along it became more and more clear to us that we were definitely going to throw up, and we weren't going to make it home first. But driving down that country highway didn't give us a lot of options. BF/R had to pull over so that we could run into Burger King and throw up. And you know I didn’t feel well if I was willing to get close and personal with a public toilet (also, it was years before I could eat there again). BF/R was, unsurprisingly, very good natured about it. I felt so sorry for her. We were really miserable company. But that’s what friends are for—to drive you to BK so that you can throw up in a toilet rather than out the window of a moving car.

A few years ago, rr and I found a Hallmark Fresh Ink card, and on the front cover is a picture of a Ferris wheel, and it says something like “Nothing says fun like puking a bear claw.” And it made us think of her. [It also makes us think of Hills, but that’s another story.] But now whenever I see a county fair, I think of BF/R, and the stupid things that you do when you’re younger, and the amazing memories (good and bad) I have of those three years we were roommates.

Also, I feel slightly sick.

Monday, August 08, 2005

Fun with Food

This has been an exhausting weekend. Got up early on Saturday morning, spent 9 hours in a car, got up early on Sunday, spent almost 12 hours in a car. Today, got up early, ran all over creation, then went up to rr's work to help with a crisis.

But something good did come out of it. Well, several things, actually. I got to see my grandpa, which is always good. And he let me take one of my grandmother's old cookbooks (I say "let," but really it was his suggestion--his motto is the more we take now, "the less discussion there'll be later.").

The cookbook is fabulous. Published in 1967, it's one of those compilations of recipes published by some women's organization, in this case, the Grace Club Auxiliary. Each recipe lists the contributor. Normally the contributor is someone like "Mrs. Richard Rutenberg" or "Mrs. Harry M. Rhett, Jr.," but there are occassional non-wife contributors, like the "Chances 'R' Supper Key Club, Carriage Inn Motor Hotel" (contributor of Crabmeat Au Gratin with Toast Points).

The recipes are exactly what you'd expect. There are plenty of the gelatinous delights, such as "Congealed Christmas Ring" and "Mandarin Duet." Personally, I'm not eating anything that has the word "congealed" in the title. In my book, "congealed" is rarely a word I want associated with food that is to be eaten. I use it almost exclusively to describe something that should have been thrown out weeks before.

There's also something called "Chicken Chartreuse." Chartreuse is another word that I do not want associated with my food. I know it's a liqueur and all, but it's also an unpleasant color. According to Merriam-Webster, chartreuse is "a variable color averaging a brilliant yellow green," which I'm pretty sure is the color you turn right before you throw up. It is not a color I find acceptable in chicken I'm about to consume. Maybe I could eat the "Breast of Chicken Tropicale," which as far as I can tell is "tropicale" only because the recipe includes pineapple. Tropicale, indeed.

Another favorite is "All-Bran Refrigerator Rolls." Please. Do not serve these to your unsuspecting guests.

I could go on and on about "Party Chicken with Cling Peaches," "Hamburgundy Balls in Wine Sauce," or "Italian Spaghetti" (listed under Foreign Foods), or tell you about the entire section just on recipes with water cress, but really, you have to see it to believe it.

The only thing that would make this cookbook better is if it had pictures of the food. If I ever do actually have a dinner party, and you are fortunate enough to be invited, don't worry, I will not be serving you bran rolls. But as for the rest of the recipes, all I can say is, I hope you like shrimp in your jello.

Friday, August 05, 2005

Really, it's not you, it's me.

Someone I know recently told me that I’m “sort of bad” about mailing things. He said this because I promised to mail him something seven months ago. As I told him, I’m not sort of bad about it, I’m terrible. But can I help it if I lost what I was going to mail him? Well, obviously I can, but my point is that it isn’t like I’m just lazy.

Ok, that’s part of it. I am lazy. I’m very, very lazy. RR and I used to only check the mail once a week (if then) because we had to walk across the street to get it. Also, it was fun to see how much the mailman could stuff in there. We liked to picture him struggling with all the circulars and valpaks. Now, the mailbox is right next to our apartment, and if we don’t remember to check until we’re sitting on the sofa, then it has to wait for another day.

[RR can afford to be lazy, though, because she gets plenty of exercise at work, mostly from me calling her. Her museum also has a research library, which is upstairs from where her offices are. So I first call her office, and if she’s not there, I call upstairs, and if she’s not there, I call back downstairs again. Many, many times when I call she is on the stairs between floors and is forced to run back and forth towards the ringing phone, only to get there and discover that I have hung up and have called the other number, now ringing on the other floor. And she knows it’s me, because I’m the only person who harasses her like that, and being the sweet sister that she is, she feels compelled to run and answer it. Then I throw in her cell phone for good measure. By the time she gets to her desk, her coworker tells her, “uh, I think your sister was trying to call you.” That way she KNOWS it’s me, and I’m sure she’ll call me back right away. Because it’s usually something important, like “hey, what was the name of that guy in that movie we saw last night?”]

But mostly, I’m just forgetful. For instance, yesterday morning jes had to notarize something for me—my declaration of intent to study law. You are supposed to mail this in your first year of law school. I am starting my third. So it’s a little late. The worst part of it is, I had it completely filled out BEFORE I started school—I just never got around to sending it in.

Case in point. Just now I called rr at work, and she didn’t answer, so I called upstairs, and she didn’t answer. So a minute later I remembered I had needed to talk to her about something, and her voice mail picked up really fast so I knew she was on the other line, so I decided to leave her a message. I did. A few seconds after I hung up, I remembered what I had actually called for, which was not at all related to the message I left. So I called her again. Thank heavens she answered, or I might never have managed to have that conversation with her.

So at first, I thought e-mail was fabulous. It involved no walking to the post office, no remembering to buy stamps, no “where did I put that again?” laps around the house. But nowadays, I’m not e-mailing so much either.

But part of that is the busyness. I’m usually so busy that I don’t have time to write e-mails. So I wound up sending mass e-mails updating everyone with what’s going on. I felt kind of bad for the impersonal nature of it, but at least they knew what was going on with me (usually not very much). But even that started to take too much time.

Then I started blogging, and that saved me time because I didn’t have to insert anyone’s address. But now I spend TOO much time blogging. Don't consider this summer to be any kind of precedent. I fear very much that once school starts, there won’t be so much blogging from me. Unless of course tax class is as boring as I predict it will be. That’s what wireless internet access is for.

So, anyway, the point of this post is that if, when school starts, the posting greatly decreases, don't take it personally. I'm ignoring everyone.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

One last thing, and then I really will get back to work

This is why I'm going to miss coming to work everyday. Because I get to have conversations like this IM I just had with jes:

jlr: gmail is google mail? Didn't realize that. I have one of those already!

jes: ha.

jes: ha

jes: ha

jes: ha

jes: ha

jes: ha

jlr: what, do you have the hiccups?

jes: no. just laughing at you in long, drawn out segments.

jlr: wouldn't that be more like haaaaaaa

jlr: haaaaaaa

jlr: haaaaaaaaaaa

jlr: because otherwise, it just seems like short bursts.

jes: yes, it was short bursts of laughing at you.

jes: like rapid fire

jlr: Ah. Like a machine gun. I think that must sound very attractive.

jes: ha

jes: haha

jes: hah

jes: ha

jes: ha

jes: yes, it does.

jes: i'll impersonate it for you sometime.

jes: very "Beevis"

jlr: I can't wait to hear it. It might be as good as my "tennis shoes on a gym floor" eeping laugh. It does earn me quite the admiring glance now and again.

jes: you should try it next time you go to Starbucks.

jes: you know, the one with the cute police officer?

jlr: hmm. Good advice. Maybe I'll take you with me. Your machine gun approach could draw their attention. You know, because they'll think someone's opened fire.

jlr: btw, TOTALLY posting this on my blog.

jes: ha.

jes: ha.

jes: ha.

Katie, maybe this will help you

For some time now, I've been anxiously awaiting the arrival of this little baby in the market.

If that link isn't working, try this one.


It's a busy day today, so in lieu of posting my own stuff, I've collected stuff for you to read if you get bored:

Cool scientific advance
ElectroNeedles may provide diabetes patients a painless way to check blood glucose levels; Micron-sized ยตPosts can also diagnose heart attacks by sensing proteins

Sarcasm at PopSci: "Yes, moviegoers, the plane has turned evil so evil that it illegally downloads music."

How the grinch stole summer

Crazies, crazies everywhere
On the ground and in the air

Well, she's definitely leaving him now

I really wanted to be low maintenance, but this is probably more accurate

thanks to heidi
You Are an Espresso

At your best, you are: straight shooting, ambitious, and energetic

At your worst, you are: anxious and high strung

You drink coffee when: anytime you're not sleeping

Your caffeine addiction level: high

I gotta say, though, that I'm not really ambitious at all. That takes too much work. So maybe I can be low maintenance?

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

We would like to take this opportunity to officially reject you.

Rejection line: It's been awhile since I called this number up for a good laugh. I'm sad that my favorite poem isn't playing now ("Why? Why no friends in high school?"), but it still works.

So I thought I would call it again, and then mention to everyone to remind you to call when you need a good laugh.

Or just to feel better about yourself because no one's ever done this to you. Yet.

I'll even copy their webpage for you:

Someone won't leave you alone?

Give them "your" number: 212-479-7990
The official New York Rejection Line!

The rejection line team takes care of the rest, providing premium rejection services -- completely free of charge!!

It's that simple.

We do the rejecting. You spend time doing things you enjoy, like walking in the park, going to cultural events, and dating attractive people.

One of my all-time favorite writers once said

"The wit makes fun of other persons; the satirist makes fun of the world; the humorist makes fun of himself, but in so doing, he identifies himself with people--that is, people everywhere, not for the purpose of taking them apart, but simply revealing their true nature."

--James Thurber.

If you've ever read My Life and Hard Times (one of my favorite books), you can see how greatly Thurber's musings have affected my writing. I really believe by telling stories that (lovingly) poke fun at ourselves and family, we reach out to others. Surely everyone can relate to such stories in some way. It's a way that people with seemingly nothing in common can connect. And it's my way of not taking myself too seriously.

So I just wanted to thank all of you that read my blog regularly (and especially those of you that comment as well). Thanks for relating. Thanks for laughing at me. Thanks for sharing your own stories. I can't believe all the fun I've gotten out of this--not from writing, but from discovering other people. We all seem to come from different backgrounds, but we also seem to have a lot in common. And isn't that the whole point?

So thanks again.

Ok, we're done with mushy. Back to happy.

Steve's Nervous Song

After the round of comments on my last post, I decided to take AM's cue and translate steve's song, Easy (Like Sunday Morning). I can't decide which part is my favorite.

The translation sequence is: English to German, German to French, French to English.

Easy Like Sunday Morning (Simple Simple Morning)

Do you know resound merry, me the girl pain being donot can however precisely which I seem itself you girl leaves tomorrow, know you that I can see you all me me asked, and borrow I made of Stola of Ooh who is,

why I am me simply that in the morning of Sunday am simple which is, why me me is simply that mornings of Sunday is simple,

why in the world each chain balanced on me became? I paid my rights, to form them, wishes of Everbody me to be, which they do not wish his me me are fortunately, if I try to falsify! Not! Ooh, this, why I I simple that the simple morning, which, why I I simple that the simple morning, which I to want high, therefore high it to want I free knowledge, which the thing I, right I free right to want I, baby!

this, why I I simple that the simple morning, which, why I I simple that simple morning,
because I like simple simple morning,
because I like simple simple morning

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

You freak is such

One time, my friend Hills (Hillary), RR and I decided it would be fun to use an internet translator to translate something from English into another language, and then from that language into another language, and then back into English, to see what it would come up with. Naturally Hills decided that she would translate “you are such a freak,” since that’s what she says to me almost daily. It came back “you freak is such.” So now, sometimes, just to mix it up, she says that instead.

I suppose she has good reason. I am both a freak and a nerd. That makes me a . . . frerd? A neak? Hmm. We’ll go with “unique.”

I was telling jes only today about how suggestible I am in terms of getting grossed out. It happens very easily, and it stays with me a long time. Just now I went into the kitchen area to get some coffee, and there was a repairman up on a ladder, and as he lifted his hands over his head, his shirt came up and I saw his belly. Now I don't want my coffee.

I must be a difficult person to be around. For one thing, I come with a lot of baggage. Literally. I carry a lot of stuff around with me. You know how in Sleepless in Seattle, Meg Ryan and Bill Pullman are sitting on their bed doing their nightly routine of sprays and Kleenexes, etc? That’s totally me. I have a bottle of nasal spray with me everywhere I go. In fact, I have allergy spray AND saline spray. Tissues? Yeah, got that too. Chapstick of some sort, always. If I even hear someone taking the top off of their tube of chapstick, my lips instantly go dry. Oh, and hand lotion. I cannot function without the hand lotion. If get stuck somewhere without it, and heaven forbid I have to touch some sort of paper product, I just flip out. I have been known to throw a stack of paper away from me and scream “I can’t do it!”

Speaking of flipping out, I can’t walk around the house barefoot. I cannot stand the feel of carpet on my bare feet. Consequently, I wear flip flops. If I get out of the shower and discover I forgot to bring in my flip flops, which means I’ll have to walk around the apartment looking for them, I panic. I then run around looking for them—literally running, so as to make sure that my feet touch the ground for as short a time as possible. Most of the time, though, I yell for my sister, who for some reason tolerates this behavior. It’s gotten to the point where all I have to do is call her name, and she can hear the panic in my quivering voice. “Hang on,” she says, both resignation and humor. I don’t even have to say what it is I’m looking for—she just knows.

But I like to think that we all have our little "quirks." So now it's your job to make me feel better about myself by telling me some of yours.

Monday, August 01, 2005

She's leaving home (bye, bye)

My friend Steph is leaving. *sniff*

She's moving to UTAH of all place. For heaven's sake, why?

Steph is a curmudgeonly graphics designer (is there any other kind?). She is also extremely talented at it. At my old job, she brightened my day, every day, with her dark office, her entirely black wardrobe, her random and unpredictable use of profanity, and her constant predictions of impending doom. I don't know why, but her affectations of misery just always made me happy, perhaps because she's not really a grump. She had the best work ethic and, despite her efforts to seem otherwise, she had that attitude of "we're going to get this done," no matter how crunched for time we were.

She's a non-conformist in the best way and never just because she wants to be a non-conformist. She calls her friends "babe" and "hon." She went on the JDRF walk to cure diabetes with us last year sporting jeans and smoking the whole time. She has a fear of Mr. Winkle. She likes bad movies and odd things. Her goal is to be the world's noisest ninja. I could go on and on. It's a joy just to be around her. I will miss her sooooo much that I'm tearing up just writing about it.

Steph--DON'T GO.

It may be a long semester, but at least all my clothes will fit me again.

Today I confirmed with my boss that I would continue to work during the school year. Jes's reaction was "Yea!" but the collective reaction of my classmates was "are you CRAZY?"

Yes, yes, I am crazy. But also I'm hoping to work so much that I waste away to almost nothing. That's my new diet plan, as I will clearly not have time to work out. Between school, law review, and work, I think it just might happen.