Resolution for 2007

I normally don't make a new year's resolution. But this year, I resolve to be happier. I know, I know. It sounds like some non-resolution resolution. But my plan is to facilitate this goal by not comparing myself to other people. When I do this, I pick the top .005% of people out there and end up feeling like a loser.* Unless it's Britney Spears. I always feel like a winner when I read about her. This is a wuss resolution since I generally subscribe to the view that one should be happy with oneself and accomplishments, blah, blah, blah. So, it's more of resolution to stop doing something that I don't do that often, but when I do, makes me depressed.

In other news, looks like my long habit of skipping lunch explains my brilliance. "Facing the LSAT, a final exam or a half-day job interview [or, trying to figure out some dicked-up area of the law]? Go in mildly hungry, not carbo-loaded for endurance, and snack to maintain that edgy state." See, yogurt and animal crackers - the diet of champions.

* You may be wondering, "top .0005% of what? Well, anything. The chick in the Pantene commercial with dreamy hair; the hot chick who jogs down my street and manages to have a tan in the winter that doesn't look like the result of fake tanning; anyone with healthy, strong fingernails; Supreme Court clerks; people who live with hardwood floors and cats who have managed to solve the age-old problem of litter tracking. And for those of you thinking that I am a malcontent who should be medicated, I don't actually spend that much of time worrying about other people and how I stack up. It's just that when I do, I manage to pick the wrong people.

Shopping = good; cooking = bad; hair = awesome

I spent all my Christmas gift cards on Thursday. Shopping was glorious, especially since I didn't have to spend my own money. Good thing, since my efforts to get out of debt don't appear to be paying off. It's like being on a treadmill - I pay and I pay and my balance appears to stay exactly where it is. Again, I have no idea what I've been buying. Nothing cool, that's for sure.

I tried to cook dinner last night. It did not go well. Turns out, I can't cook rice. Who knew?? I keep thinking that if I actually cook, I will come to enjoy it. Nope. Which is probably good since I'm not very good at it. I end up eating a little bit and then tossing the rest of it. What a waste. At least when I eat a frozen pizza, nothing goes to waste. Although I will be attempting a few enchilada recipes sometime soon since I miss my Tex-Mex.

And, for those of you who haven't seen me in a while, here's me and my hair. It's like officially girl-length. Sorry about the piss-poor editing. I felt weird about posting a picture of myself online, so I attempted something along the lines of the "fashion don't" line in Glamour. And I decided to whiten my teeth while I was at it. Compliments please - the highlights are fierce (trust me on this, even if you can't tell). Thanks to Kate for allowing me to use the Chi, resulting in an ultra-smooth look. Mark my words, I will own a Chi.

Post-holiday crash

Coming back to work after vacation should really be a gradual process. Like maybe four hours the first day, then up it to six for a day or two, on and on until you're back to a usual 10-hour day. I mean, I love the job and all, but returning to work after a few days off is always depressing. As is leaving the fiancé behind for a few more weeks.

Christmas was super. My family was in Houston at my sister’s, so my better half and I were able to spend quality time with both families without running all over the state. I planned my Christmas well. I decided to just be straight with people when they asked me what I wanted and told them that I really wanted to gift card for a certain store. I haven’t really been shopping in months and I miss it. So part of the gift is the shopping experience. Anyways, using this method, I was able to get a pretty good haul, which should make for an excellent shopping experience. I did leave my book at the future in-laws’. Which totally blows since it’s like an 800-page book and I have less than 100 pages to go. Hopefully, the future m-i-l can mail it to me.

The low-light was when the present exchange with the future brother-in-law and his wife. The better half and I got them a gift. They got everyone in the family a gift. There was a gift for my future s-i-l’s fiancé. And for me? Nada. Nothing. Zilch. At first I didn’t think much of it because I just assumed that the gift to my better half was to the both of us. No, it was just to him. And not to knock the fiancé of the future s-i-l, he’s super, but I’ve been coming around a lot longer than him and he got something. I was totally snubbed. Now I know what Scorsecse feels like. I didn’t take it too personally, but it was a little weird. I’m just glad the discovery wasn’t made (at least by me) until after they left, because that would have been super-awkward.

I did get multiple pairs of fuzzy slipper socks. Which is good because the rising price of gas means that I keep my apartment pretty cool to avoid a gas bill that tops $120 a month.

What I learned this week

I learned that "inane" is not pronounced with a long "i." It's one of those words that I don't think I had ever heard spoken out loud, so I always went with the long "i" because I really didn't think it would be pronounced any other way. And then I got called on it in a somewhat embarrassing way. That sucked. I mean, what's the point of calling someone out in front of other people and being like "did you just say I-nane?" just to highlight that I've said it wrong. Maybe it's how we say it here (is it?), maybe I was accenting the "i" sound to really highlight how inane something was. Anyways, I guess that's the last time I say something out loud without checking the pronunciation key in the dictionary.

I learned that my fiance rocks. I mean, I knew that before I got here, but it's nice to be home with him and his awesomeness.

I learned that Talladega Nights sucks. I was really looking forward to seeing this and I got, at most, a few chuckles out of it. In other news, I really liked The Devil Wears Prada.

Nice timing

Part of my horoscope today: "it's best to avoid participating in capitalism." Well, thanks. This is the advice I get five days before Christmas?? I have one present to go. Unless this lucky person wants something from the dumpster, I guess I'll have to ignore the advice of the stars.

I have writer's block. I keep trying to put a thought into words and then I delete what I just wrote. And then repeat this process over and over again. I'm getting a little frustrated. But then I try to picture Einstein pulling his crazy hair out and feeling like an idiot when coming up with the theory of relativity or whatever, and I feel better. I'm not saying that what I do is akin to what Einstein did (hey, I don't even know what the theory of relativity is), but it lifts me up a little. Thinking of geniuses feeling stupid always makes me feel better when I feel stupid.

Cool wedding

So the reason I am in town so far ahead of Christmas is because a good friend of mine got married last night. It was a cool wedding, very laid back. I wore a dress. I could have worn jeans and I wish I had. Anyways, I was supposed to be a bridesmaid in her wedding, but she got fed up with the whole wedding racket and just said "screw it." For example, when looking at a venue, she discovered that it was $3,000 for a wedding (just for the keys to the space) and $700 for any other event. What the hell? So her judge married her in her backyard (Reason 101 Why Texas Rules: a backyard wedding in December).

Anyways, I decided long ago to screw the whole traditional wedding thing. I'm still deciding how I'll do it, but I won't be giving $12,000 to some country club just for the keys to the room, that's for sure. My friend has a house in the boonies and owns the lot next to it. So we have been thinking about having the wedding at her house. Plenty of parking; plenty of space; it doesn't cost $40,000. I think my friend is into it; she said last night that she's been really thinking about it. So I apparently have some kind of built-in wedding planner. Sweet.

Happy Holidays, whoever you are

I got one of those Christmas letters in the mail. It was addressed to the 2-bedroom apartment my fiance and I used to live in, and delivered to the one-bedroom we started living in around the start of law school. Along with the letter was a lovely picture of three blonde kids wishing me a Merry Christmas. But I have no idea who the people are that sent it to me. It came from Charleston, S.C. and for the life of me I don't know why they sent me the update letter. I was a little annoyed because (assuming the last name of this family is "Smith") the thing says "Merry Christmas from the Smith's." What's up with the possessive? I was like, the Smith's what? Their dog? But then I started to like the Smiths because the letter was awesome. I started reading it and rolled my eyes because it was the typical year-end spiel highlighting how the oldest kid cured cancer and the youngest is an Olympic bobsledder. Then I flipped over to the back and it said that if you know them, you know the letter on the front was a joke. Well, of course I don't know them, so I didn't know it was a joke. But then I reread the letter and it was pretty funny. So, Merry Christmas to you, too, stranger family.

I am back in Texas. I woke up really early yesterday to get here. I then slept for like six hours. I am such a baby when I have to wake up early. I flew through Cleveland. Bad idea. The airport there sucks. It's like Highland Mall - like weird off-brand food that's twice the price of what the offerings from a regular fast food place would be. And then I had to fly in a little plane all the way to Texas. I always have to take a little plane to wherever my connection is, but I don't like the little planes. I don't like flying in general, and being in a little plane makes it worse. You can feel every bump and I think the plane even shudders when the pilot farts. Just makes me nervous.

Shout out to my sister for running 20 miles yesterday. She's training for a marathon (don't even get me started on why people will pay like $30 to run 26 miles). She's insane. But good for her!!!

It's the little things

We got new computers this week. The smaller CPU is nice, but the best part is the dual monitor set-up. After 2 days with dual monitors, I am not sure how I ever lived without them. I am debating on whether to set one of them vertically, so that I can see more memo at a time. Yes, maybe it's sad that this is the highlight of my week. My life is relatively uneventful. Sue me. Really. I dare you. I am getting really good with the bullshit detector, so bring it on.

It will be the death of me

I don't know why I can't seem to manage my back stairs. I have managed to stumble or fall up or down the stairs several times in the past few weeks. Maybe the steps are too small or something. But if I die here, I am pretty sure I will be found at the bottom of my stairs. Or I'll go to some holler somewhere and some nutjob hillbilly will kill me. I think that's what has surprised me the most about living here. I totally thought the news would be painfully boring, which it generally is. But it seems like crazy white people from the boonies are killing each other off. Like every other night there's a story about how Bobby Jean killed Billy Ray and there's always a trailer behind the reporter who is on the scene.

So, I'm not shocked that Nicole Richie got busted drinking and driving. I am shocked that she is apparently a little over five feet tall and weighs 85 pounds. I don't even know if I could manage to get down to 85 pounds if I tried. Oh yeah, just for the record, if you see or hear her described as a "size 0," don't believe it. No way she's a size zero. We're not that small.

What the hell?

"A 4-year-old girl was mauled at a children's birthday party by a cougar that had been brought in by a wild-animal business to entertain the youngsters, authorities said." Who the fuck thinks to themselves, "Hey, a cougar is so much cooler than a lame pony for the party. Let's get a cougar." I simply do not understand why and how people forget that wild animals are, in fact, wild animals. And, to Shamu, I say kudos. I mean, if I had to spend years doing some show with a guy standing on my face, I might get a little testy, too.

In other news, it's cold here. I think it was like ten degrees when I went to work this morning. I have decided that seasons are overrated. I don't know how my sister is going to handle living in Minnesota.

Can't compete with high def

So, I was out of town for a few days for work. We got into town on Monday night and my coworker and his wife went shopping, so I was on my own for dinner. I went to the restaurant across the street with my book to eat dinner and have a beer. I was sitting at a little table in the bar area and I see a man staring at me. It was a little creepy, but I am sitting there thinking, "Man, I must look good tonight. Maybe I look mysterious and smart with my big book. I am on fire." Then I realize I am sitting underneath one of the bar televisions. And he's watching the football game. And then I was just annoyed that it seemed like this man was staring at me while I was eating.

The circle of life

I learned yesterday that when I marry my better half, I will have the same name as my great-grandmother on my dad's side. My fiance and I are both at least half-Irish with Irish names. I think it's kind of cool.

Raisins the clown

I finally got the makeup I ordered like five weeks ago. I generally wouldn't buy makeup online, but it was a special launch deal where everything was $1, so I figured what the hell. The lip gloss is good. The blush is definitely a little too pink. Like scary-clown pink. And I am pretty sure I didn't order eyeshadow in a silver/dark blue color palette. Not that these colors wouldn't look awesome on a fair-skinned redhead. Whatever. At least I finally have an eyeshadow brush, which is fun. Now I just need some eye shadow.

I do want to learn how to do the whole makeup thing. I figure I should learn what eyeliner is all about before I hit 30. Or not. I am a Taurus and I don't think we're supposed to wear that much makeup. And my better half thinks that any amount of makeup equals Tammy Faye Baker. But I don't really know where to turn for makeup advice. The mall makeup counter people look like trannies, so I really don't want to ask them.

Work tomorrow. Thank you lazy intern for ensuring that I get to spend part of my weekend fixing your work. Thanks a lot.

Hair, and other weighty issues

I finally got my hair done. Imagine Catherine Zeta-Jones in Chicago. Now substitute a flat chest, bony ass, chicken legs, and a skin tone the color of death. Yeah, I am smokin' hot. I'm just glad to have the large mass of hair gone. I am still growing it out, but anyone who has done this knows that sometimes you have to get some crap cut off to make the process as pretty as possible. Unfortunately, I left my brush in Austin and haven't had a chance to replace it since I worked late tonight. So I don't really know how it will look when I try to do it for real.

In other news, my post-move weight loss is starting to freak me out a little. Small women generally don't complain much about their weight because other women may be tempted to punch them. I don't have any girlfriends within punching distance, so I'll just go ahead and bitch about it. The thing is that small women are generally just as paranoid about their figures as other women - we just happen to want a bigger everything rather than a smaller everything. And then there's skinny-fat - when you're small but have a relatively prominent gut. That one really sucks. Normally I am okay being small because I am just small. My weight can go up or down by 10 or 15 pounds and I am still pretty much the same size, which is weird to me; maybe my body has a gift for distribution. But I think today I may have caught a glimpse of my sternum. It could have been weird lighting in the elevator, but it still weirded me out. Nicole Richie isn't my hero. So tomorrow I shall go to the grocery store and load up on fattening, preservative-laden fare. I should probably start eating something than animal crackers for lunch. But I haven't been much of a lunch person in a long time. I find lunch distracting. It disrupts my groove at work and I inevitably experience a mid-afternoon crash. Plus, I am crazy cheap and don't really want to eat sandwiches every day. If only there was a drive-thru close to me so that I could easily gorge myself on chicken nuggets and a cheeseburger, a classic and favorite fast-food combo.

Of course, in a few years I will probably be suffering from the almost inevitable problem of a formerly small woman whose metabolism comes to a screeching halt but who has no clue how to count calories or fat grams and who has no desire to exercise.

Thankful

I overslept Thursday since I accidentally set my alarm for 4 pm instead of 4 am. The cab driver didn't seem to know where he was or where he was going. Other than something of a rough start to Thanksgiving Day, it's been all good since. My flights left on time, everyone kept their shoes on, I got a seat in the emergency exit row. Jamie and the food fairies made a feast. The best part was the banana cream pie he ordered just for me and pulled out as a surprise when it was time for dessert. I have put back four feasts since Thursday evening, which should go a long way towards putting on a few of the pounds I have lost since moving and that I would like to have back. Leftovers are by far the best part of Thanksgiving. And my fiance. But the leftovers rock. Maybe I'll just make him cook a turkey like once a month.

Dr. Who??

It occurred to me today that I have no idea who the surgeon general is. Of course, not everyone can be as cool as Koop or as awesome as Shalala (come on, her name is Shalala), but still, I'd think this is one administration official that could be parlayed into some good PR. He's presumably anti-disease, and that's something that we can all agree on (as long as we don't get into those sticky questions about curing said diseases).

In other news, I woke up to snow falling this morning. It was the first time I've seen big, fluffy snowflakes, I think. I've seen dinky snowflakes in Texas, but this was like real snow. Of course it didn't last and I was forced to wear boots with pants when that didn't really make sense, but it was fun nonetheless.

I am everything I despise

So, one of my pet peeves (among many) is when people waiting to get on the elevator don't wait to see if anyone is getting off. But, despite my best efforts and keen awareness of my own tendency to do this, I just charge forward and then have to say "excuse me" and apologize profusely because I have just done something rude. I"m working on it. So, if I charge into you as you're getting off the elevator, I apologize in advance.

Work = craziness. Getting in early, working late, working weekends. Thanksgiving is actually turning out to be a pain in my ass - totally messing with my normal routine. Although I am sure I'll be glad for it when I get to see my better half and Jenn's house, and that magical moment when I have to unbutton my jeans because I stuffed myself to maximum capacity with turkey and stuffing.

A sign?

I just saw the Volvo commercial with the little girl blathering on about something unintelligible and the dad looking a little confused, but amused at the same time. This commercial just seems to confirm for me that kids are weird. I've never been good with kids. My better half can get down on all fours with a colander on his head and have some kind of babble conversation with a kid. I stare at the toddler who has just attempted to communicate and all I can do is smile and nod because I'm really wondering what the hell this kid just said. It's even better when people put a babbling toddler on the phone. Then I really don't know what to do. It worries me that I won't be good with my own kids. But then I remember that my mother, who is a saint and the best mom in the world, didn't particularly like other kids and swears she never felt maternal before having kids. Of course, there was the poor girl down the street whose mom also didn't like other kids and wasn't maternal. The only problem was that she apparently wasn't all that into her own kids, either. I hope I'm not that lady.

A note to Fox: Watching a new episode of Justice was going to be the highlight of my evening last night. And it wasn't on. Jerks.

Too much time

This recent, solitary three-day weekend has highlighted my predicament. I either need friends, a hobby, or both. I left Texas on purpose when I graduated from law school. For some reason, I thought I would have the same kind of social support system I did in Texas. Or that it would be relatively easy to build such a support system. Not so much. Now I am faced with a conundrum I have only heard about and never experienced: making friends in a new city as a working adult. I think my sister is currently experiencing the same thing since most of her friends from dental school have moved and she works in a small office. She runs with a woman from the office, but this woman refuses to call her by her first name, insisting on calling my sister "doctor." I tend to agree with my sister that someone who will only call you "doctor" can't for sure be on the friends list.

I haven't ever really had hobbies. Unless drinking with your girlfriends counts. But I don't have girlfriends here, so drinking as a hobby would involve me drinking alone. I think that's called a disease. I have been thinking that maybe I can find an art class to take - maybe meet some people and learn what it means when people use the word "perspective" when talking about art. I always wanted to take an art class in college, but since I have no artistic talent to speak of, I was worried I would fail such a class. Do college art classes give A's for effort?

I'll do some investigating and figure this out. There has to be a better way of spending my time than watching entire seasons of Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team and House of Carters. Of course, watching House of Carters made my appreciate my own family: decidedly messed up, but in a safe, middle America kind of way. Those Carters are really fucked up. It is entirely possible that this feeling will pass and I'll end up spending my year here like I did in Austin: sitting on my ass, perfecting the butt-groove in my couch.

File it under "not my job"

Today was like Christmas. I got my purse and my frames for my diplomas and whatnot. My office will look all official and stuff. Turns out I need two more, but luckily they're cheap. I did have to call UPS to see what was up with my purse since the online tracking thing was telling me that my purse wasn't coming until Monday. The woman was nice enough to tell me that I was welcome to go the UPS facility to pick up my package. You're a delivery service and you so far have made all of one attempt to deliver my package. Your helpful suggestion that perhaps I want to do your job for you was unwelcome.

In the same vein of "not my job," are you ever in the elevator when someone gets on and asks you to push the button for their floor? I always offer if someone's hands are full or if I'm just feeling extra nice. But when someone is fully capable of pushing the button, why ask me just because I am like six inches closer to the button? Am I wearing a funny jacket with gold buttons or some other odd piece of clothing indicating that I am the elevator operator? It's not like I'm hugging the button panel or blocking anyone's access. Push your own button, people.

UPS, where is my purse?

So, I was a little bummed at not being able to make it to Austin for the swearing in, so I decided to console myself with a new purse. Banana had some 40% of deal if you paid with your Banana credit card. I only have the card because I wanted the 10% off when I was buying a new suit. Anyways, UPS left one of their little notes on my door saying they tried to deliver it, but that I wasn't home and they'd try again. Well, they didn't try today and it doesn't look like they're going to. I'm working from home tomorrow since it's a holiday and I am expecting another package, so it's not a huge deal; I'll get it. But when your life is as uneventful as mine, getting a purse in the mail is a real event. And UPS is ruining it for me.

Tomorrow is veterans day. Thanks to all our veterans for doing what I won't because I'm a wuss. I would like to take the day off to reflect on the sacrifices made by our men and women in uniform while watching tons of crap on tv, but work is rearing its ugly head.

The prison was interesting. I have never felt so pretty or desired. They don't tolerate cat calls at this prison, but I guess there's nothing they can do about obvious leering. The prison is in Appalachia (I actually work with a guy who grew up in a holler not far from where we were; really, he grew up in a holler). Apparently they get a lot of prisoners from D.C., so the warden said there were some, um, cultural issues at first with the staff and the prisoners. What struck me as we walked around was that prison seems a lot like high school, only with shanks, homemade "hooch," and a good chance of getting raped by your roommate. You can go to art class, computer class, join a band, maybe do some ceramics. No free weights, though. Those aren't allowed in federal prisons anymore. And I did learn that you can cut through a chain-link fence with a binder clip. There wasn't a gift shop, so no souvenirs. I did get a coffee mug, though. It'll look nice on my desk. Maybe people will be afraid of me. You know, because I've been to prison.

The excitement never ends

So I left work early to go vote today. Good thing the county coroner was running unopposed since I must admit that I'm not sure how I would have evaluated the candidates' platforms. There's some weird eminent domain issue on our ballot - the county wants to condemn the water company. I'm not quite sure why, although apparently it's owned by a German company, so I've heard that there may be some xenophobic undercurrent. I'm not quite sure that I would ever vote for the government to take over a service that seems to be operating just fine since I can't really think of anything that the government does especially well (okay, except waste tons of money).

Last night we took in a basketball game. This is a big basketball school and we heard that we'd never get tickets to a real game, so we went to the exhibition game against South Carolina Upstate. I thought the upstate of South Carolina was North Carolina. Anyways, it definitely wasn't as exciting as I'd hoped, but I guess the experience is different for real games.

Tomorrow we get to go on a prison tour. Federal prison. Apparently someone was killed at this prison a few weeks ago. Super. All I can think of is that episode of The Simpsons where Lisa goes to visit the cute environmentalist in jail and she's walking down the corridor and someone shouts "Fire in the hole!" and the flaming roll of TP goes flying. As long as we don't have to like tour the yard or anything I'm sure it will be fine.

Who are these people?

Apparently some designers are coming out with sub-zero sizes. For women with 23 1/2 -inch waists. Who has a 23 1/2-inch waist? Even if there's like .001% of the population that is this small, do they really have 35-inch hips? It sounds like the physical impossibility of a Barbie doll. I wonder if people that small are grumpy all the time from the lack of food. Because being this small must result from a lack of food. Or being nine years old.

And it's good to see that the NAE president who stepped down actually threw away the crystal meth he bought and only got a massage from the gay prostitute. I just knew there would be a perfectly reasonable explanation for what was supposed to be a prime example of utter hypocrisy on the far right. Close call there, guys.

Go Horns. Please don't freak me out tonight with your crazy antics and your affinity for getting pushed around the entire first half. And remember to protect the ball. I'll be watching. Please don't make me talk to the television.

I'm like practically a lawyer

I passed the bar. Now, I wasn't all that worried that I would fail. I had some paranoia, but nothing crazy. Although it was entertaining to watch the page view counter on the results page go up by like 50,000 in the course of a few hours today. Not that I was refreshing for any other reason than to watch the page view counter go up. It's just good to know that it's all over. And, God willing, I will never have to face the MBE again, which is good, because I'm still not sure who my declawed bobcat can kill without the potential for liability.

I won't be in Austin for the swearing in and, to be honest, I don't even know if I will get my license until I get back to Texas in 2008. I think the bar results are good for two years. We'll see. I don't see why I would pay the fees and be subject to CLE requirements when I am out of state until this time in 2008. I need to figure this crap out. I guess it would be cool for me to say "I'm sort of a lawyer" when someone asks me what I do. Wait, no one asks me what I do. And I guess I am still sort of a lawyer since I did pass the bar.

Yay for me!! And my friends!! Send me gifts.

Cute pants = tree falling in an empty forest

Like most women, I generally dress to impress other women (one problem is that the one woman I work with pays as much attention to my clothes as the men I work with). Anyways, it's cold here and I am back in the office, so I was excited at the idea of wearing my cute new wool pants to work tomorrow. But it's just me and one of the guys for the next 2 days in the office, so I feel like wearing them would be something of a waste since no one would be around to take in the cuteness of my pants. But would it really be a waste since no one pays attention to what I wear anyways? Is having one guy ignore my cute outfit worse than having four guys and one woman ignore my cute outfit? It's a conundrum. Of course, I could wear them tomorrow and later next week. There's only one person who might notice that I wore the same cute pants 2 weeks in a row and I seriously doubt he would even notice. I can't wait to work with a girl again.

Gosh, it is so involved being me. Really, I think the above totally proves that I should have my own reality tv show.

A message to advertisers

I don't want to see animated versions of gross things. Toenail fungus? Nope, don't want to see it. Mucus? Nope, don't want to see it. If you have a toenail fungus problem, it's nothing to be ashamed of* and you deserve to know that there are treatment options. But do I really need to see some nasty blob digging into some cartoon toenail? I can only pray that the next nasty ailment to be animated isn't jock itch.

Today's sad news is that Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe have separated. We all know that celebrities are better human beings than us regular people.** If they can't make it work, what hope is there for the rest of us?? I'd like to see Reese shake things up a little on her inevitable rebound. Maybe snag Pete Doherty from the arms of Kate Moss. Nothing would give Reese a little street cred like hooking up with some British junkie with the teeth of a British junkie.

* This only means that you're allowed to talk about it with your doctor and maybe your spouse.
** Just go with me on this. It's the only way I can justify spending money on trashy celeb gossip magazines.

There, I said it

I'm a small girl. I probably don't deserve to be given my eating habits. I think I get it from my grandfather, who was able to eat a pint of ice cream every night without gaining weight. I guess I'm lucky. But damn it if it doesn't take me hours to be able to find a nice pair of pants that fit me. Either the pants are cut for a woman with hips, which leaves me looking like I'm wearing some kind of weird riding pants, or they're cut for a woman with a butt, which leaves me wearing a pair of pants with a big saggy pouch of fabric where my butt would be if I had one. I sometimes hear other women complaining that the pants they try on are cut for someone like me. I would like to know where they're shopping. And maybe I should tell them where I'm shopping. That way, we can all be happy.

The good news is that I was able to complete my mission of finding a cute pair of winter pants. It only took me like three hours. Tahari for really cheap. Sweet.

ho-hum

Nothing doing. I sort of fell down my stairs again. This time it was a little weird since I just knew I would probably fall. So I steadied myself at the bottom of the landing before I had to tackle the two or three stairs that lead to the driveway. And then I almost fell. Luckily, because I was at the bottom of the stairs, it was more of a stumble. I felt pretty awesome not being able to avoid falling after preparing myself not to fall.

I hope I didn't fail the bar. I haven't given it much thought since I took it. But since we get results next week, the thought of potential failure has been creeping into my mind. I'm sure it'll be fine. I'll just cry at the thought of trying to work and study for the bar again. That would totally suck since I am convinced the MBE is a beast that cannot be tamed by this woman.

I got my schedule for December. Looks like things will be pretty hectic. With the Thanksgiving holidays, I'll have to do the same amount of work as usual but I'll be missing a week in there. That will be pretty awesome. But I still love my job. And I have a whole new appreciation for the classes I took in law school. I mean, golf law would have been cool and all, but the bread and butter stuff has served me well thus far. Sometimes I even feel like I know what I'm talking about.

God bless my hair lady. Although she wasn't planning to work the Saturday after Thanksgiving, she said she'd be willing to give me a cut and redo my highlights anyways since I'm coming from out of town and she loves me. I am afraid to let anyone here touch my hair. My highlights grow out really well and I'm worried that if someone else tried to do the three-color combo my lady uses I'd get skunk stripes. Not that skunk stripes aren't awesome. Just not for me.

A travesty in Texas

I was catching up on legal gossip at abovethelaw.com. I was shocked and dismayed when I saw the winners of America's Hottest Law School Deans. How did UT Law Dean Larry Sager not make the cut? I mean, it's a no brainer. Evan Caminker of Michigan? Are you kidding me? It's not even close. Remind me to write a letter. I am not pleased. On the bright side, soon I'll be able to change my Larry Sager calendar over to November. I think he's trussed up like a sexy turkey for the November picture. Sweet.

More pointless weather-blogging: Forecast for this Thursday? Yup, rain. What is it with this place? Why does it rain every Thursday?

Victory!

I fried 2 eggs over easy last night. You may be thinking, "so the hell what." But I think I have successfully fried an egg once in my entire life. And to actually flip the eggs without breaking the yolks? Amazing. This was the first time I have cooked since I moved here. I have the worst eating habits ever. I really don't like to cook. I don't really know how to cook. I am lazy. I am the kind of person who will eat cereal every night for a week because it's just easier. I don't have a relationship with food. I like food. I like good food. But I generally don't care what I eat.

I spent some money today, but also saved some money. The kind folks at the eye doctor wouldn't release my contact lens prescription until I came in so they could check to make sure my contacts were okay. I was supposed to go last week, but thought I was supposed to go today. Apparently if you skip your appointment, the make-up is supposed to cost like $35. No one seemed to notice or care. So they didn't charge me $35.

I went to the mall to get some brown heels, which I need. I saw a lot of skinny jeans and leggings with tunics. I am still anti-skinny jean. It would seem that most women would avoid wearing pants that are designed to make their asses look bigger. This look is fine if you're 6 feet tall with no ass to speak of. The rest of us should just run away. Leggings and tunics? Yeah, I'd look really good in a sack. I distinctly remember doing this in junior high. I have pictures. It wasn't good then and I don't anticipate it will be any better this time around.

That's what friends are for

Yesterday the office went on a field trip. We spent the afternoon at the racetrack, which was pretty fun. It was a nice day and it was good to get away from the office. One of my coworkers came out of his office with a bolo tie on. The clasp was turquoise. It was a souvenir from Arizona. I stopped him and told him that (1) he wasn't going to a rodeo and (2) it's never okay to wear a bolo tie. I am sure there are old timers out there for whom a bolo tie makes perfect sense. Maybe even one with a turquoise clasp (that's a really big maybe). If you're a New Yorker who got here by way of D.C. by way of Chicago, it will never make sense. Save it for the vacation to the dude ranch.

I felt a little bad about posting this because it probably seems mean. But then I figured that the fifteen people who ever read this don't know this guy. And a bolo tie is always funny.

In other news, it's raining. It always rains on Thursdays here. If I wasn't so lazy, I'd go find some almanac to see if this is something that other people have noticed. I don't even watch the weather on Wednesday nights. Because I know it will rain on Thursday.

If Pedro can't do it, neither can Venezuela

I saw on the news the other day that Venezuela and Guatemala were handing out some goodies in the course of gladhanding diplomats as they gun for votes for a seat on the U.N. Security Council. Venezuela handed out some chocolate; Guatemala at least did something native, a card with fabric on it (why not just go all out for the friendship bracelet, really?). Um, I am pretty sure that tactics such as this are banned in most high school student council elections. I'm not sure what the benefit of these gifts are. I mean, we should be really worried if some guy is deciding on what country to vote for and says to himself, "Chavez may be crazy, but that was some good chocolate." It's not like the people there need reminders of the two countries gunning for the same spot. It's not a crowded field. Again, we should be really worried if some guy is deciding on what country to vote for and says to himself, "Why am I here? Ah, yes, the Security Council. Who's gunning for it? Ah, yes, the people giving away the fine chocolates. And the friendship bracelet people."

You know what sucks about the credit card bill? When you look around and wonder what the hell you bought that will take a year to pay off. I mean, I know I bought a couch on sale and the cheapest bed I could find (okay, the second-cheapest; the cheapest one really sucked). But these things together were well under $1000. I got my drinkware and utensils at Big Lots (um, yeah, no one working there had teeth; but there were deals to be had). My dresser is plastic drawers. So, I look around and wonder what the hell happened. It was like I was drunk for three months and don't remember what I did. I know that I don't have any cute shoes to show for it.

So I worked this weekend because of the unexpected uptick in workload. I was not successful in terms of getting anything accomplished. When I took a certain class in law school, I never knew what was going on. Whenever I would profess confusion, my professor would assure me that I understood everything. He called my state of mind "intelligent confusion." I'm not quite sure what that meant. I think it meant that I sort of understood what the relevant issues were, even if I didn't have a clue what the answer was. I just sort of talked in circles. Welcome to my weekend at work (and the entirety of last week). I don't even know if my current confusion qualifies as intelligent confusion. My sympathetic coworker said that I was entitled to a brain fart every now and again. But I fear that I am suffering from what amounts to the brain equivalent of a full-on gastrointestinal blockage. But I soldier on. Because that's how I roll.

Seasons! (and other random crap)

The leaves are changing. I am used to the leaves just turning brown and falling off. But this year I get to see colors. Maybe I'll take a drive one day to take it all in. Not this weekend. I will be working all weekend due to an unexpected explosion in the amount of work I have to do. I don't so much mind the work thing, but I'm a little peeved that I didn't find out about the explosion until today. Ah well. My weekends are mind-numbingly boring, so I guess work can't hurt. And I guess as long as I can sleep in, I have realized what I consider to be the most important benefit of the weekend.

With the coming of fall (today the cold front blew in, highs in the high 40s), here's my public service announcement. Ladies, when it's ass cold outside and you're wearing a miniskirt and furry boots, you're an idiot. As I've admitted previously, I don't really have a lot of room to talk. I have taken full advantage of the fact that I work with men who don't pay attention to what I wear by wearing outfits that I am pretty sure don't match. But still, miniskirt and furry boots when it's freezing? At least my fashion sins tend to stem from pure laziness.

And reason #101 why I rule: I fell down my back stairs on my way to work a little while back. It was loud and embarrassing (luckily, no one saw it happen). I banged up my knees and scraped my foot (how I injured the top of my foot falling down the stairs is still something of a mystery to me). Why does this make me awesome? Because I only lost like two drops of coffee. Now that's skill. Grace and skill.

Columbus Day - I don't know what I'm celebrating, but I have the day off

One benefit of working for the government is the holiday schedule. I don't really know what Columbus Day is all about. Italian-Americans? I'm down with that. The destruction of an entire group of people upon the "discovery" of America? Not so much down with that. Either way, I have the day off. Apparently some bosses make their underlings work today since Columbus Day is a bogus holiday. My feeling is that, if there's one thing Congress knows all about, it's vacation and time off. And who am I to argue with the experts?? I went to get my eyes checked out. Which meant that they dilated my pupils, which means that my plan of spending the day reading on my porch is shot to hell. I did finally solve the mystery of the blurry, floaty thingy that happens every now and again and prevents me from being able to see what I'm typing or reading. Ocular migraines. Apparently I am lucky that they're not followed by actual migraines. Annoying nonetheless.

I would do laundry, but some jerko has decided to just leave his crap in the washing machines in the basement. I am never comfortable touching other people's laundry, so I just wait to see if this person may get inspired to take his stuff out. Then I can wash my darks. Ohhh, the excitement never ends.

I went to the horseraces this weekend. It was packed as it was opening weekend. It was interesting to see that the races inspire men to wear pink. I guess horses bring out the genteel side of frat guys. It's better than seeing a horde of them in T-shirts memorializing the last date-dash or foam party they attended. I didn't gamble since (a) I'm broke-ass and (b) it proved to be far too complicated. Apparently I should stick to slot machines.

I'm blind

I can't see anything. My contacts have been all sticky the past few days and everything is sort of fuzzy. I thought maybe it was time to replace them, so I did. Problem not solved. I would wear my glasses, but the prescription isn't right so that doesn't really help since I can't see much with them and wearing them gives me a headache. I guess I should go get some new lenses to go in my frames. Maybe next month. The bills for this month along with a somewhat aggressive get-out-of-debt plan means I only have like $200 for the month. Which may be plenty. Or not. I'm never very good at estimating how much money I actually spend in a month, so I guess we'll see.

Work was hard today. But we happy hour-ed. So then it was better. But I have a sinking feeling that I am going to totally muck up what I'm currently working on. Then people will be all, "Man, she's got great highlights, but she's super dumb. How'd she even get this job?" And then I'll be all, "At least I didn't overuse the passive voice. Werd." Because that will be all I have to say to defend my work. Because I apparently know very little about the law and sometimes learning it proves difficult and confusing. Whatevs. What's the worst thing that could happen?

yippee

My sister got into endodontics school. An endodontist is a dentist who does hard root canals. Which, for some reason, sounds like it would be a smelly job. Or at least smellier than then the job of a regular dentist. The bad news is that it's at the University of Minnesota. She still has an interview in Houston, so maybe she'll get that and go there. Not that I should object to her moving since I'll be away from the great state of Texas for the next two years. Apparently endodontists make big bank. Between her and her soon-to-be-orthodontist husband, I better get some kick-ass Christmas presents starting in a few years.

On a more shallow note, I am a little annoyed that Honda redesigned the CR-V for the 2007 model year. I am annoyed because the new one is cuter than mine. If I were totally irresponsible I would trade in my 2006 for the new one. But I'm not that irresponsible. Yet. Maybe if I had gone straight to the firm and were making three times what I currently earn, I would be so irresponsible.

And, like many others, I am feeling like a fraud about to be discovered. Other than that, I still love my job. But today my brain hurts.

Why I hate to travel

Flight #1, Friday night. I remember that the stupid liquid-on-planes rules require that my liquid products (including mascara - wtf??) must be in a ziploc bag. I figure that my makeup carrier is made of ziploc bags, so I figure there's no problem. It takes the TSA geniuses at least five minutes to determine that there's nothing in the regulations saying that I can't also have empty ziploc bags (since all the liquids have to be in one bag, the other bags making up my makeup case are empty). I am allowed to pass, "just this once."* Flight takes off almost an hour late. The people in front of me can't figure out how to close their air blower thingy, so they point it at me so it's not blowing on them. When I finally get the nerve to tell them I'm freezing, they complain that the thing won't close and move it about a millimeter. I continue to freeze. About 20 minutes before we land in H-town, I am overcome with an awful stink. I can't figure out where it's coming from or what it is until I look down and see that the woman next to me has removed her shoes. Now the unidentifiable stink is identifiable as nasty-foot smell. Awesome.

Flight #2, Sunday night. Again with the bags. To avoid the hassle of the first flight, I get a separate bag for my liquids. I pick the bag that looks like it's the same size as what the other passengers were carrying when I flew in, thinking it would suffice. The TSA people tell me that my bag is too small. What the hell kind of safety concern is presented by my ziploc baggie being too small?? The TSA people decide that I can pass, "just this once."** Takes them about five minutes to come to this conclusion. Flight takes off almost an hour late. The woman in front of me talks nonstop for two hours. I look up from my magazine once every few minutes to try and will her mute with my brain waves. The woman next to me comments that her two-year-old isn't that talkative. I say that I hope this chick at least knows the person next to her. Right after I express this hope, the chick welcomes the poor guy to the city. I join the woman next to me in a good laugh. Still want to kill the talky-talky girl.

But, at least I got to see Mr. Raisins, the future in-laws, and my sister. Overall, not a bad weekend. I'm glad I didn't spend it alone (as per usual).

* The TSA people took a little bottle of water from some guy next to me. He asked if he could take a sip of it before they threw it away. This request was declined. Once the water was in the secure area, he couldn't have it back. Which generally makes sense to me. But I don't see how letting this guy take a swig of water poses a safety threat. Is he gonna fart a fireball on the plane? Pee a deadly laser beam? Maybe Tom Clancy can come up with some scenario that makes letting the guy take a drink turns out to be deadly. I can't think of one.

** I think the rules are totally stupid. But it's even more stupid to let people break them, just this once. I'm sure this phrase is music to some nutjob's ears.

file it under "inappropriate responses"

I have an odd habit of saying "thank you" to people who ask me for money on the street. I always say that I don't have any cash* and then I say "thank you." Which is odd. Thank you, street person, for asking me for money; unfortunately I don't have any. Today I corrected myself and said "sorry" right after thanking the guy. He was quite nice about it. Which is better than the guy who says "yeah right, bitch."**

Counting down the days until I get to see Mr. Raisins. We're going to his high school reunion in Houston. Which will either be really fun or really boring. I'm putting my money on boring since I don't know these people. But as long as I get to see my man, it's all good. And maybe some chick I've never met will compliment my highlights. Because getting compliments from people I don't know and whose opinions I couldn't care less about is what life is all about, right??

And it sounds like the class behind me really kicked ass and took names in the clerkship department. Good for them. Although I worry that many of them will die of heart attacks before they hit 50; they seem so high strung. I thought I was high strung, but I am pretty sure that this crop takes the cake and makes me look positively relaxed. Or maybe it's just the fact that they're all together a lot and they feed off each other's high-strung-ness. Like that'll get any better in a clerkship followed by life at BigLaw.

* Which is invariably true; I only work as late as I do every day of the week because the garage is free after 6 p.m. and, since I never have cash, I generally can't leave any earlier.

** Clearly the person who responds this way should really think of honing his strategy. Or wait. Maybe it's true that nothing makes people open their wallets like being called a bitch.

A total misunderestimation

Last year I had an awful interview where the interviewer spent most of the time telling me how worthless and stupid my undergrad major was. Kept telling me I should have majored in math. That would show I was actually smart (because apparently my performance in law school didn't shed any light on that). Well, here's why I didn't major in math: I was off by about $400 when estimating my monthly take-home pay. If I thought my budget was ugly before, it's really bad now. Looks like the cereal diet will continue indefinitely. I guess I should buy some vitamins or something to make up for the meat and other essentials I'm missing. At least I'll get some calcium, which is good seeing as how I have osteopenia in my mid-twenties and would hate to see that progress into something that's actually worth worrying about. And I'll lose a little chin fat. Losing a little chin fat never hurt anyone. Maybe I'll mix it up this week with some Raisin Bran (not the name brand kind but the generic kind). I'm really making a go of this whole budgeting thing--I didn't renew my subscription to Us Weekly. It's a sad day when a girl can't even get her weekly dose of celebrity gossip. Sad, sad day.

There is good news in this post. I was worried I would have to go shopping for work clothes when I got here. Turns out I work with four men who, from what I can tell, pay absolutely no attention to what I wear. I am sure that I could probably get away with wearing the same outfit three days in a row and no one would notice. This doesn't mean I am wearing sensible shoes or anything. I'm not letting myself go. But at least I know that my current wardrobe is more than adequate.

Throwing money out the window

I love my apartment here. It's an old building with cool doorknobs and other assorted charming things. But the former tenant told me that the heating bill is huge in the winter because the windows apparently aren't energy efficient. The heat just goes right on out. He said that a tenant in one of the other apartments bought some kind of window insulation stuff that looks like big scotch tape. I saw it at Wal-Mart the other day. Has anyone ever used this stuff? Worth it?

The good news is that I am off the interview hook tomorrow, meaning I can get some work done. The bad news is that I am on the interview hook, alone, all day on Saturday. I am sure that I'll probably be an easygoing interviewer, so the poor souls have nothing to fear.

When Time Warner Cable moved around all the channels a few years ago, I remember being annoyed because I didn't know where my channels were. But the whole grouped-by-theme thing grew on me. And now I miss it. When I want news, I can't just skim five channels in a row. Not that I watch much news anymore. But if I wanted to, it would be harder.

How to not make a good impression

Remember that episode of Friends where Joey says that something is a "moo point." It's like a cow's opinion; it doesn't matter. It's moo. I assume that everyone has seen that, so when I drop that line people look at me like I'm a total idiot that doesn't know that the point is actually moot. I guess not everyone watched Friends. Same goes for the line in Pretty in Pink where Ducky Dale says something that sounds like "toush" instead of "touche." Remind me to not say "toush." Especially to men since it's much more likely that men have either never seen Pretty in Pink or don't remember this line if they have seen it.

Thank goodness for rebates and deposit refunds. I got some money that I can use to (a) pay the student loan payment that was actually due last week but that I only paid 1/3 of because I didn't actually have any more to give them, and (b) pay the other three student loan payments that are due within the next few days. I know some people kept their BarBari books. I wanted them gone from my life and I wanted the book deposit back. I don't think it's hubris. Heck, maybe I failed. But $175 never seemed so important to me. Ditto for the rebates received from the cell phone company from when Mr. Raisins finally moved him into the new millennium with a cell phone and I got myself a really cute new cell phone.

I make five different student loan payments a month. I consolidated when I graduated from college. Unfortunately I didn't know at the time that interest rates would drop like they did, so I am locked in at 7.75%, which totally sucks. What sucks more is the private loan from undergrad that has an interest rate of over 12%. Then I have a few consolidation loans from law school at much better rates. But I am not good enough at math to figure out if I should put all or some of this crap into one loan or what. So I make five student loan payments a month. By the end of the year I'll be making seven or eight as my grace period ends on a few more loans. I think I may lose my mind. Nevermind, I have lost my mind.

I knew it

I knew it. There is a conspiracy to make us look like idiots when all we're trying to do is look cool. This is why I am not a trendy dresser.

Glad and glad

I'm glad I get cable tomorrow. Please God, let there be a Project Runway marathon. I haven't seen an episode since the dress-my-mom show. I was supposed to have gotten cable by now, but I had to work when they were supposed to come and it takes forever to get a weekend appointment. I don't know why the cable company keeps bankers' hours. I mean, I could have gotten a weekday appointment in a matter of days. But of course I work. So I had to wait weeks for a weekend appointment. You'd think that if there's such a high demand for the after-hours appointments, the cable company would have more people available during those times. But that would make sense, so of course the cable company won't think of doing it.

I'm glad that I have my job. I am thankful for my job. I love my job. And, after looking through a gazillion applications, I realize that I am lucky to have it.

I'm glad for the book I'm reading. All I had with me when I moved was my boring history book that I finished and East of Eden, which I only had because my brother left it in my car a long time ago. I usually don't do fiction, but I didn't have anything else, so I cracked it open. Totally addictive. I've read Steinbeck before and as far as I remember I enjoyed whatever I read. But I'm really enjoying this one. After that, it's on to other things. EY has assigned me a book that I will buy as soon as I get paid. I'll buy a lot of books when I get paid. The library here is supposed to be good and I guess I could get books there, but I like to keep my books. I sometimes reread them. And I also like for people to see all of my books and think of how well read I must be. That's probably the real reason. Except that no one ever hangs out at my apartment or even comes to my apartment. So maybe I just do it to remind myself how well read I am.

I'm glad that I am doing really well at just being happy with where I am. I have a tendency to compare myself to other people and focus on what I don't have or what I didn't accomplish rather than all the reasons I have to be thankful. I'm getting far better at just being able to look at what I have and be happy for it. I'm sure I'll always be fighting off some form of evil self-doubt, but I'm getting better.

Ewww

Is it just me or is Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas one of the scariest looking women on the planet? Like a young, toned Joan Rivers. She's got abs to die for and maybe I'm supposed to think she's hot because she refers to her "lovely lady lumps" in what has to be one of the most annoying songs ever made. But her face scares me. It's like she took some dangerous cocktail of collagen, restalyn, and botox and injected all of it into her face. I guess she doesn't know that whatever she's doing is making her look older. Maybe whatever she's doing now will ensure that she'll look great when she's old. But I doubt it.

On another note, Jessica Simpson says she hasn't done anything to her lips after restalyn made her look like she was pouting after someone punched her in the face a few months ago. The unfortunate cover of the most recent Us Weekly says otherwise.

Ladies, if you're gonna inject crap into your face (not that there's anything wrong with that) the goal should be to smooth some stuff out and look the same as you otherwise do. Don't try going into Cher territory because only Cher can pull that off.

lazy days

I just finished a detailed history of the Middle East and I feel like I did after watching Good Night and Good Luck: How can people take interesting subjects and make them utterly and completely boring? I've read a number of books on the region and this one, although far more detailed, was the hardest to get through. Parts of it read like the really long passages in the Bible regarding who begat whom. I'm glad it's over. Now I can move on to something else. I need to order a few books, but for now I have some things laying around that will tide me over.

I decided to go shopping yesterday. I keep hearing commercials for a discount store here in town, so I decided to go. It was like the scene in Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion where Lisa Kudrow's character gets a job at the Barney's outlet and has to leave immediately because it's just sad. But I stuck around and dug. Managed to get some dress pants for $15 that would have cost closer to $80 at the store from whence they came. The store also had some decent denim. But my days of living in jeans are over, so I passed up the opportunity to get some cheap Earnest Sewns. I also went to Wal-Mart because I needed some essentials. I used this as an opportunity to pretend to shop by just walking up and down just about every single aisle. It was therapeutic. Other than that I have spent the greater part of the weekend sitting on my large covered porch reading. It's a nice porch and the weather is great - highs near 80 during the day. So I just sit out there all day long.

Today I may try out my RoboMaid. The old tenant left it behind for me. It appears to be something of an automatic swiffer propelled by a ball and will hopefully be good at getting the dustbunnies that are a natural part of life when you have cats and hardwoods. We'll see if it scares the shit out of the cats. I think this is the fun I've been looking for.

Even when I win, I lose

So I started thinking that maybe I was paying too much for car insurance, so I go online and get some quotes. Turns out I am paying too much for car insurance. So I settle on a new company, thinking that the savings will cover like 2/3 of my cable bill. Sweet. Then I call to cancel my other policy. Between the cancellation fee and other such nonsense, I owe the old insurance company almost exactly what I was saving by switching. Even my best efforts at budgeting are being thwarted.* I guess in six months it will make sense.

And I don't have to work this weekend because I think I am all caught up. I mean, not like all caught up, but in a good place. Not that I have anything to do besides work. Although I did make sure to bring my Star Wars box set with me when I moved. So, between Star Wars and the cats, I guess I have reached a new, nerdly low.

I am torn. I need a new suit. I only have 2 that I really like and one of them doesn't have pants, just a skirt. I prefer pants so as to avoid anyone seeing my legs. My other suits are ill-fitting monstrosities involving poly-blends that I got as a 1L when I was broke and trying to get a jobby-job. I was talking to my sister about this and she offers to get me a new suit as a late graduation present. Which is awesome. She's insisting on it. But since I owe her a not-insignificant amount of money, I am thinking that I'd be better off knocking off part of the debt. Which just makes me feel cheap, like I'm trying to not pay her back. And it's less fun. I'd still be paying her every month and wouldn't have a new suit. It's a tough call. I think I am going with the suit option. Instant gratification.

* To anyone who wants to say something about how if I'm budgeting I shouldn't have cable: Shut up. Some things are just necessary. It's not like I'm getting highlights anytime soon, and those are really necessary.

What it would feel like to give birth through your foot

So, the other night I was sitting on my couch and I felt this creeping pain in my foot. I looked down and the second-to-last toe (right next to the little piggy) is in a weird position - like if I were to spread all my toes out. I had a toe cramp. I could not will my toe back into its normal position. Have you ever had a toe cramp? It hurts like hell. And I couldn't quite figure out how to massage it out. Speaking of giving birth, here's a shout out to AB and Baby Barraza. I hope you had lots of drugs, AB. And I can totally sympathize with whatever pain you were going through. You know, because I had a toe cramp and that hurt. A lot.

Speaking of toes, the evil company with cartoon internet ads and television commercials for its toe fungus stuff should really just stop. The idea of toenail infections is gross enough. I don't need the animated version.

And, despite the fact that I'm still a little lonely, I have discovered one benefit of living alone. When I know I will want to drink a lot of juice, like more than one glass, and don't feel like constantly getting up to get more juice, I can just bring the carton into the living room and drink straight from it. It's pretty awesome. As is my life. It's the little things.

will blog for food

So I don't get paid this week. I get paid 2 weeks from this Friday. I have $50. And the level of deficit spending going on is unlike anything I've ever engaged in. I have made something of a budget that will hopefully let me get my credit cards paid off in a year, my sister (a.k.a. the provider of my interest-free bar loan) paid off in six months, and other assorted people paid off within 2 months. I think my budget leaves me an amount less than $200 for life after bills. I weep for myself and all the shoes I won't be buying, the highlights I won't be getting, and the cereal I will be eating for every meal for the foreseeable future. The upside is that I don't have to worry about my gut spilling over even more. Since cereal doesn't really give you a gut (I'm a Cheerios girl).

I know, if everyone who reads this blog sends me like a dollar, I'll have like $10. Then I'd be more financially secure. Cough it up people, I've earned it by giving you a destination on the Web to visit when you really should be working.

So, that song about the horse and the cherry tree (made famous by the chick on American Idol who didn't win) is on the radio all the time here. Which is really annoying. I don't know anything about music and don't pretend to, but I know when a song is annoying as shit and this song is annoying as shit. Why it's like the most popular song in the world where I live is a mystery.

Let the games begin

I am one of those people who is rarely comfortable. Even in the summer, once the car is nice and cool, I really don't need the A/C blasting away. Makes me cold. I wear a pashmina at work because I'm cold. I wore the same two hoodies to law school for three years because I was cold. Today I had to leave work (yes, I was working on a holiday; my life is sad, I know) because it was so cold that I couldn't really feel my feet, my nose was running, and my hands were so cold I couldn't type. So I left and started a two-hour boondoggle to find a heater appropriate for use in the office. Turns out that my original plan to hit up the super Wal-Mart was right on the money. Unfortunately, I kept hoping that every store I stopped at along the way would have something to meet my needs. I suppose I could have borrowed the super-fancy, remote-controlled heater in the office of one of my coworkers, but he seems like maybe he's not the kind of guy who's okay with other people just borrowing his stuff. I should probably wait until I'm sure he can stand me before I move into borrowing territory. And Mader may have convinced him that I'm a spastic troll, so we'll see how long it takes to get into his good graces.

This week begins the avalanche of clerkship applications. I can smell the tension in law schools and journal offices everywhere. It really is a little tortuous that you're not supposed to get calls for interviews for like a week. Whatevs. I got through it and so will they. Maybe they can experience the crushing feeling of rejection that inspires adults to cry openly on airplanes as they fly home in defeat. Or the feeling that comes along with showing up at an interview only to have the judge walk out of his office with one of your friends and say, "I'm sure you two know each other. Sorry you came all the way out here, but I just hired your friend." And having that happen more than once. Or getting a law school essay question during an interview whose subject matter is nowhere within your universe of knowledge or experience and literally laughing out loud in response because, in reality, this interview has gone so far off course that all you can do is laugh and hope you don't fall on your face on your way out the door. Because not falling on your face is the best you can hope for. The list goes on and on.

But most interviews won't be like that. Most people will land something and, in the end, everyone will end up where they're supposed to. So don't freak out, and feel free to slap some sense into those who are freaking out. And remember that no one likes an asshole. Unless you're the guy who got a clerkship with Kozinski. Who cares if anyone likes you. I'd go ahead and make a t-shirt to mark the occassion. Because, well, you're a badass and you can always make new friends.

I'd like that time back, please

I just watched Closer. I want that 2 hours back. Movies involving tragedy should be sad. Movies involving romance and couples should be happy. Reality is depressing enough. Why would I want to watch a movie that isn't sad enough to make me cry, but is depressing enough to make me depressed? I always try to watch a few Oscar contenders just because I figure that I should watch some "good" movies every now and again. It almost always turns out to be a waste of time. Since I'm convinced that Tommy Boy is one of the greatest movies ever made, I guess I should just stop trying to watch movies that critics think are good and stick to Jack Black and Will Ferrell.

What smells like miso soup?

I do. Or I did. For much of the day. I managed to spill the entire thing all over my pants. So then I got to wear wet pants. That smelled like miso soup. And I managed to drop the soup at lunch in front of all of my coworkers, including the boss. Good thing I already got the job. Then I got into a debate about when it's appropriate to split the infinitive. I'm a big fan of split infinitives. Which means I have to be careful. But I also know that sometimes you just gotta bite the bullet and do it. So I did. And I'm not changing it unless the boss is also of the mindset that there's never a good reason to split the infinitive.

So, yes. This is my life. It's gotten much less exciting in the past few weeks. And I think I am officially a cat lady. I'm sure I was a cat lady before, but since I was living with Mr. Raisins, I think I wasn't officially a cat lady. Now that I'm all alone without my better half, I am one of those people who comes home to an empty apartment, eats a sad dinner comprised mostly of children's snack foods, a talks to my cats because, well, there's no one else to talk to. I mean, I don't talk to them a lot. Just a little. But I don't think this fact makes it any less sad.

So there's no one here who thinks that the occassional happy hour is a good idea. They also live alone, so I'm not quite sure what excitement they have going on after work. So, no beer for me since that would invovle either drinking alone at home or drinking alone at a bar. Either scenario seems sad to me.

Come visit. Please. I don't even care if you're some stranger who managed to stumble into this wellspring of insight and brilliance.

drat

No cable. Apparently that comes next Wednesday. At least I get to watch the one channel I get on a couch and not an air mattress or dining room chair. I can't believe I'm going to miss Project Runway. Now that Mr. Raisins is gone and I don't really have anything to look forward to when I get home from work, I was really amped for the show. Ah well. Maybe the one channel I get will have something watchable.

Why does it always take so long to get cable hooked up? It's like a government operation or something. Just seems exceedingly inefficient. And there's no competition here, so I am at the cable company's mercy.

The weather here is gloomy and quite appropriate for my mood. I don't know why we decided to try to do a year apart. It's only been three days and it sucks. A lot. But I vow to not spend a year moping. That would just make it worse.

I'm boring

Sorry peeps, I got nothing to say. I am sitting alone with my cats in an apartment likely to large for my needs. I got freaked out being in the back of the apartment alone in the dark, listening to the clock in the kitchen tick-tock, so I dragged the air mattress into the living room. Nice apartment done up all ghetto; it's a pity. I get my couch and bed tomorrow, plus cable. Then I'll be a baller. I don't even know why I got cable. I probably shouldn't have. I bitch about money and I suppose cable isn't a necessity. But it's the middle of the season of Project Runway. You can't just turn away in the middle of the season. I'm rooting for the guy from Hotlanta. His take on Pam Grier was hot shit.

I am adjusting to east coast TV time. How do people in this time zone stay up as late as they do to watch the news? They get to work at the time as those living on central time. Do they just need less sleep? Are they more tired? I'm baffled by this. I have a feeling I'll be exhausted the entire time I'm here.

I still don't have my diploma. I am starting to feel inadequate at work. Maybe I'll just print something out saying "I went to UT Law" and hang it on the wall, just so that the five people I work with will remember that I also went to law school. I probably shouldn't be worried about my diploma since I am far too cheap to frame it right now. And certain professors made me feel inadequate enough about my undergraduate school/major/Honda CRX that I'm debating whether to ever frame that or if I should just hang something up saying that I really went to nail tech school (not that there's anything wrong with that).

And I can't figure out how to get myself off the OSCAR mailing list. Does anyone know how to get these people to leave me alone? I don't really care anymore that five more judges have joined the OSCAR system. I'm out of that game. At least it's e-mail, I guess. Ever since school and the bar ended, people apparently have less to bitch and whine about (except me, there's never enough to bitch or whine about) and therefore send less e-mail.

I may have a visitor this weekend; crossing my fingers that KO can make it out here. Not that I'll know what do to with her since I just moved here and get lost relatively easily. But I'm sure she'll love to hang out with me and my cats. Or not.

So far, so good

Made it here alive. All is well and my new city is really nice. My cats are finally accepting their new reality. I only had to dope up Opie once for the drive. He spent the next 18 hours with his mouth open, wearing a drool beard. That was creepy. Once we finally got the cats into the apartment he totally flipped out and hid in the bathroom closet for a few hours. Mr. Raisins thought it would calm him down to show him the balcony off of my second-floor apartment. Opie flipped out even more (expected since this cat never goes outside) and proceeded to jump over the railing, bounce off the metal awning, and land on the ground (I'm not confident that he landed on his feet). I found him cowering in some bushes with a busted lip. It was sad. And now he's sitting at my feet, seemingly content. Man, this is one dumb animal.

My apartment is nice - it's in an old house converted into a fourplex. I apparently live in a very nice part of town, which is new for me. The layout is a little odd and I think I am going to make the dining room my bedroom. It's bigger and it's where the really big closet is located. I don't really have any furniture and the fewer rooms I have to deal with, the better. It would be weird to have people walk through my bedroom to get to the kitchen if I was one to have guests over with any regularity. But I'm not, so that's not really an issue.

I got a couch today. I got it half off. I thought I would be totally cool with getting some used number that I would then give back to the Goodwill or whoever a year from now, but then I discovered that my aversion to used mattresses applies to any used furniture that's potentially absorbent. So I got a new couch. I did keep my vow of keeping my clothes and other assorted goods in drawers made of cardboard or plastic. But now I have discovered that no dresser or armoire means no surface space for crap like the mickey mouse doll I drooled all over as a baby or the music box my mom gave me that plays the song from Love Story. I'll have to get some shelving or something I guess. I never knew I was so attached to my dustcatchers until I had to box them back up because they didn't have anywhere to go.

OK, I am off to go choose a health insurance plan. The fun never ends.

Later taters

My last day in Austin. It was exciting. I bought sunglasses. And not cheap ones. Not super-expensive ones, but not cheap either. I never wear sunglasses, so I'm always squinting,which sucks. Not anymore. Although it was depressing. I always thought my glasses were crooked, but it turns out that it's just my face. I can't even tell if it's like my ears are uneven or just my eyebrows. I mean, I know my eyebrows aren't symmetrical, which my lady says is the norm. So my sunglasses look crooked. But they also feel crooked, leading me to believe that my ears are uneven. Which wouldn't surprise me since my chin isn't exactly in the middle of my face, a slight defect that becomes more and more obvious with every ounce of chin fat. Man, I am a freak. I bet I'd discover that one arm is like six inches longer than the other if I measured them.

I also drank too much coffee. I saw my Jenn one last time before I left and we had coffee. Then I went to the wrong Starbucks to meet my high school friend, but didn't realize I was at the wrong one until after I bought a grande latte. So then I had to go to the right Starbucks and get another coffee. The good news is that my car was hot enough while parked in the sun at the correct Starbucks that my first coffee wasn't cold after an hour.

My last night in Austin will be perfect - I'm catching up on Project Runway. I hope Mr. Raisins doesn't expect me to help load the car. I can't even load the dishwasher, so hopefully he'll just want me to stay out of it. Crossing my fingers.

Later Austin peeps. Feel free to come visit me. If you need lodging, just call 1-800-Marriott.

Everyone wins

I hate packing. I am glad I bought the new car because no way in hell my clothes would fit into the Accord with the cats. I have a lot of clothes. Which makes the fact that I wear the same crap over and over again really sad. But the more I get sick of packing, the more I think things should just go to Goodwill. So now I have a huge stack of crap that I was just too lazy to pack that someone will love more than I do. I am not even sure that everything I have packed will fit in the new car. Cross your fingers that I can successfully manage to bring it all. I'll die if I have to leave behind part of my jacket collection. I'll really just die. Or mail the box to myself. Whatever works.

Got to see some peeps last night that I'll miss. One of my best beer buddies was among them. I'll think of her when I am having beer alone in my new city. Maybe we can arrange to be having beer at the same time and then text each other. Not sure how effective that would be.

Tomorrow is the last full day in town. Need to run to pick up repaired halter top at the cleaners (warning - Banana basics totally falling apart on me all summer long). I'm having coffee with super pregnant friend from high school that I feel ashamed about never seeing (she lives in Pflugerville, which might as well be Oklahoma as far as my driving habits are concerned). Need to load up car. Need to see Jenn. Need to hug Mr. Raisins a lot.

Since I never posted pics of the vacation, here's some.

Crooked arch in Amsterdam. Lots of issues with subsidence in the city and there's more than a few buildings leaning precariously. This archway was one of my favorites for some reason.




Rembrandt's Night Watch, a really friggin huge painting.

Let the freak out begin

Good news - the random $700 was really just one of those confirmatory temp charges. Even the chick at the hotel thought it was a bit much. I'm glad I didn't have to deal with that. What I was not glad about was the gentleman in front of me on the 9-hour flight home who wasn't tight with our friend Mr. Deodorant and seemed to think that his airline seat was a fucking rocking chair.

I will pack up some things over the next few days and then we're off on Thursday for a really long drive to horse country. On Friday I do paperwork and get the keys to my as-yet-unseen apartment. Monday I start work. I am the last clerk to start. Great. I love being the new one. By this time next week I will be trying to sleep, but will be totally freaked out by the new job. When I was little, I would be so nervous about the first day of school that I would put on my new outfit and lie awake until my mom came in telling me it was time to get up. I don't do that anymore (the clothes thing and my mom waking me up).

I'm not the only one who is a little freaked out, right? I mean, do any of us really have any clue what we're getting ourselves into? What if law school was a fluke and it turns out I was really good at law school but will suck ass at being a lawyer or a clerk? Like some poor soul who is really good at playing spoons, but not a real instrument. And today I got the resume of the co-clerk for the second clerkship. She seems much more impressive than me. So yeah, I am a little freaked out.

Closing vacation thoughts

Tomorrow we depart for home. I can't wait to have a chicken sandwich. And the upgraded hotel room may not have been so free. You know how when you check in they run your credit card and some temp charge is there for a few days and then goes away? Usually those aren't for $700, right? I shall protest that I did not agree to pay an additional $700 for the privilege of staying in the superior suite. I shall be an obnoxious American if needed. I haven't wanted to drag that part of me out in Europe, but $700 is $700 and since I have negative dollars right now, it matters.

Now for my shallow observations of Europe (or at least the two places I actually went to).

The man-bag is big here and I'm a fan. I always wonder how men get by with just a wallet. And no one likes a fanny pack (okay, so a lot of people like the fanny pack, but that doesn't make it okay). I know Seinfeld tried the man-bag. I think American men should jump on this train. I tried to get my better half to jump start this trend, but I don't think he's playing along.

Speaking of Seinfeld, what the hell is up with Europeans eating burgers with knives and forks? I feel like I am in the episode with the candy bars. I want to scream at them, "Pick up the burger and eat it like a man!!"

French fries go with everything. Eggs benedict? Side of fries. Lasagne? Side of fries. Pizza? Side of fries. The people here love their fries. At least they eat them with their hands.

I could never live here because people aren't in enough of a hurry. I almost prefer fast food because it will take about an hour to get your check at a regular restaurant. And everyone walks like they're out on a stroll, which I guess a lot of them are. I am by nature something of a power walker; I don't stroll. I may not know where I am going, but I will get there fucking fast. And no one else here is in that kind of a hurry.

I could also never live here because I don't think I could ever dress like a European. You know how when you in the U.S. and you can tell that someone is from another country just by the way they dress? The subtle differences that are a tip off (usually with foreign men, this leads to the debate of is he gay or foreign?). Well, here I stand out as a boring, unadventurous, typical American woman. Which is fine with me. I think the whole effort of putting together a look that screams I carefully planned this outfit to look like I didn't plan it at all would just be too much for me.

I have seen the skinny jean at its best and worse. It seems that they only work if you have the luck (or curse, depending on your ideal of the feminine form) of having your ankles be the same size as your thighs. That's about 1% of the population. I recommend that the other 99% of us just stay away. Far away. I have seen it go terribly wrong and it ain't pretty.

Best marketing award. The restaurant in Dublin called Gruel. Irish food is nasty and that name sums it up, but is it smart to just put it out there like that?

Best potential tort liability. An establishment here called Dolphins had 2 lights hanging over the bar that doubled as fish bowls, each holding a few gallons of water. I just about peed myself when one of them crashed down onto the bar, covering the patrons sitting there with nasty fish water. No one was hurt. But if someone was, can you say lifetime supply of free weed?

Another 11 euro down the toilet. You people better comment out the ass.

Amsterdam? Superior.

Apologies to the five people who read this thing. Our hotel doesn't have free Internet, so we're shelling out 11 euro for two hours. That is the only bad thing I will say about our hotel. I thought initially that Amsterdam and I may get off on the wrong foot since I had to walk too far in the rain to get the hotel, dragging my luggage through the streets. But no, all was well. We got to the hotel and were upgraded to the superior suite. It is superior and costs more than the Raisins were willing or able to pay for a hotel room. So we're happy.

Amsterdam is awesome. I've done the touristy things. The Van Gogh museum was cool, as was the Rijksmuseum (although a lot of it is closed right now, so I feel a little robbed). I always feel a little weird about going to museums since my thoughts on art boil down to, ohhh, that's pretty. People around me are waving their arms, no doubt using words like "perspective" and other such nonsense. I just assume they're poseurs and I am the one keeping it real since my response is visceral, even if it's the same reaction a five-year-old would have.

I dragged my other half to the Oude Kerk, which was great. Saw where Rembrandt's wife is buried in there. Creepy. Walked through the Red Light District, which was just depressing.

Mostly, we just walk for hours every day. My feet are killing me, even in tennis shoes. Every joint below the waist aches. Apparently I am made for the sedentary lifestyle I have been living. But it's good walking. I just really like this city. And I have managed to figure out the bike lanes so I can avoid having the natives ring their little bells at me and call me a *$%#^ American. That only happened once, on the first day (before I realized that bikes rule this city). I don't know what the adjective was, but I don't think it was something nice.

People who don't know me well enough to know better are probably thinking that I am smoking all the weed in the country. But, no. Pot's not really my thing. I don't really have a thing. I don't have an issue with pot in the abstract. Just not my thing. So, I'm not here for the drugs. Strangers and acquaintances often ask me where to find weed, so I guess I look the part in some way.

Anyways, it's probably a really boring vacation by a lot of people's standards, but it's been great for me. I get to sleep in. I don't feel a need to see everything. But I will be glad to get back, if only to eavesdrop on a conversation in English (Dutch is a hideous language, in my humble opinion) and to get a chicken sandwich.

Kersplat

Damn these people for driving on the wrong side of the road. Even though the sidewalk helpfully tells you which way to look before crossing the street, I have still managed to almost be run over by a bus at least twice a day. Speaking of buses, I have decided that American cities should spice up public transportation by making our buses the double-decker variety. Maybe then people would see taking the bus as some kind of adventure. I'm not totally sure it would work, but I would totally rock the double-decker at home.

We have decided that, from now on, we are only traveling in the off season. Sure, the weather will suck, but we'd be surrounded by fewer of our kind (a.k.a. annoying tourists). I always knew that I had the temperament of an easily-annoyed elderly person, but it really hit home the other day when I repeatedly shushed a bunch of really annoying German teenagers who were on some kind of organized trip. And when I say shushed, I mean I really shushed them good. I'm sure they were super scared of me. But I did see the Book of Kells, which was pretty awesome.

Oh yeah, there is something I've been meaning to say for a long time, but it's really been killing me on vacation. If you're gonna wear a racerback tank, for the love of all things holy, buy a racerback bra. A peeping bra strap isn't something to hang your head in shame over, but the straps should at least follow the cut of the shirt. And, to those clever ladies out there buying the bras with the clear, plastic straps, this applies to you too. Clear doesn't mean invisible; we can still see your bra straps, and the fact that they're plastic makes it almost worse, since you're wearing plastic and all.

Dublin, again

So, is it sad that the one thing that sticks in my head about Ireland is that the signs for the emergency exits just do away with the pretense of proceeding calmly and in an orderly fashion to the exits? The signs have the handless, footless guy hauling ass for the exit. I think I like that they just admit that, if there was a fire, 99% of the population would step over their own mom to get the hell out the building. Charming. It sort of meshes with the fact that the Irish don't really move for anyone and, if you should get bumped, don't expect an "excuse me" or an apology. They're like really old people who have just earned the right to stand their ground. I would show a picture of said exit signs, but us Raisins are operating with a disposal camera since the digital camera gave out about five pictures into Dublin. Apparently Ireland doesn't have the Euro plug, so we have to no way to charge the digital camera. Film - it's so retro.

Today was all about beer. We did the Guinness tour. Tomorrow is all about old shit and the baby Jesus. I am sure Mr. Raisins is sooooo excited about the historical tour!!!

Dublin

It's the end of day 2 in Dublin. Day one consisted of me buying a much-needed flat iron for the hair and then sleeping until dinner time. Day two thus far has consisted of me buying two new pairs of shoes (loving the leopard print ballerina flats) and a new green leather jacket that Stacy and Clinton would approve of. Then we came back to the hotel and slept. Tomorrow is when we begin seriously being tourists. Maybe we'll even feel a need to bust out the camera.

The hotel is okay; three-star European, which is apparently the equivalent of a sideways thumb from Roger Ebert. Kind of a mixed bag. Of course the room is small. Of course the bedspread looks like something from your grandma's nightmare. But the bathroom is a nice surprise since it's apparently been redone sometime recently. Although nice, it throws off the whole aesthetic, like someone just forgot to remodel the rest of the place after they finished the bathroom. Overall I'm okay with it. Except the television that won't let us turn it off unless we unplug it. It will just turn itself right back on over and over again. Obstinate bastard.

Obviously the Raisins know how to kick up their heels on vacation. We're tired, sue us.

I am such an idiot

I should never have let my hair lady give me free highlights for graduation. I weaned myself off haircolor when I went to law school so that I could save money. Now I'm hooked again. I am one of those women whose natural hair color just doesn't make any damn sense. At least I got in with my hair lady on the ground floor, before her prices got expensive. Cut and highlights for 80 bucks before tip is kick ass, and so are my highlights. So I guess I can't complain. Except that I don't have any money and highlights aren't so much a necessity. On second thought, I think maybe they are. Yes, they totally are.

But then the hair salon is next to the store where I often buy my overpriced jeans. And I needed a new pair for vacation since most of mine are so long that a heel is necessary and I can't do walking tours in heels. Who these jeans are designed for is a mystery for me. There must be some tribe of amazon women with small waits and 40-inch inseams. I'd like to see one up close. Anyways, I just dropped way too much money on a pair of jeans. And I bought them an inch too small in the waist. Remind me to get a gym membership because these things are barely fitting. How I didn't notice this when trying them on is beyond me. And I probably don't need new expensive jeans when I am complaining about not having any money. But jeans are something you just have to drop some serious cash on; I am a believer in getting what you pay for when it comes to jeans. The Gap just isn't my butt's best friend. And I don't feel bad about it because my purses are generally cheap, my highlights are bargain basement, I never buy shoes that cost more than $100, and I generally live in $12 wifebeaters and Gap sale-rack tank-tops during the summer, so my thing with jeans totally makes sense. Just go with me on this.

I realize this post is totally meaningless. But that's what this blog is for. Can you imagine getting a call with someone talking about the above subjects? How fucking annoying would that be?

Tasty

Has anyone else seen the commercials for the new season of Flavor of Love on VH1 (or am I the only loser who watches VH1?)? Seeing Flava Flav make out with or make googly eyes at the women on this show makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit. Seeing him with Brigitte Nielsen is charming after just seeing the commercials for this show. Gross.

Tomorrow is vacation day, which I am excited about. Luckily for me, I can sleep on planes without a problem. It's the poor sap next to me that I'm drooling on that has the problem.

I have been spending a ton of time at home this week to avoid spending money. Which is making me a little crazy and I'm not really saving any money that I can tell. But this week wasn't too bad; I had meals with some of my favorite people and hopefully will catch up with a few more before I move. I got a cool, gorgeous, fancy fountain pen from a good friend. I am saving its first use for something super cool and important. Like maybe when I get my zero-percent-interest-on-balance-transfers credit card. I love being at the point where I have to save my cash for rent. Anything else goes on the credit card so I can deal with it when I have a job. Why can't landlords take credit cards?? Then I could totally afford to move.

Oh yeah, shout out to Ellen for agreeing to feed the cats and fish when we're on vacation. I'll show you how to scrub the litter box when you come over tonight. It'll be great.

It's the little victories

Today was vet day. Normally Nikita hates to travel and usually takes a crap the second the carrier gets into the car. Today I put her into her new carrier and sat her in the front seat so I could talk to her the whole drive there and back hoping she would be courteous enough to not take a crap a mere foot away from my face. Success. She did take a crap on the floor the second we got home, but it was still a victory overall.

Opie is just shy of twenty pounds. He's husky, not fat. He has a little bit of a gut, but he's mostly just thick. Not that he's not a healthy eater. Hell, yesterday he ate a ball of hair I had jut pulled out of the brush after brushing Nikita. And then he got sick. Nothing like seeing a black hairball come out of an orange cat. And all cat owners know that a cat will sprint 200 yards just to puke on the carpet. Thanks for that.

Today we get to clean Nikita's ears and teeth. Grooming this cat is like grooming a badger. She makes the most awful noises - like if Linda Blair was a cat and wanted to kill me. Can't wait.