The "real" word for it, I suppose, is procrastination. But I prefer to think of it simply as "last-minuteness."
Actually, I think I do both. I admit, there are certain things that I tend to procrastinate about; things that I dread doing, and so always search for some excuse to put off or some diversion to delay doing the thing I don't particularly want to do.
But there are other times, frequent times, when I wait until the very last minute to do something I have to do, not because I dread doing it, but just because, well, I can't seem to help it. That might sound ridiculous, but since I have absolutely no excuse or explanation for it whatsoever, all I can say is, I can't seem to help it. Which makes me wonder: maybe this last-minuteness is a disease?
Every year, I have to file a notarized document (in a particular format, their format) with the entity that governs lawyers in my state, attesting to the fact that I have completed the required number of credit hours attending continuing legal education courses within the past year. Our year is March 1 through February 28, which seems rather random to me; our filing deadline is March 1. I have to take all the required courses for my year before March 1, and then I have to file my certificate listing those courses on or before (but not after) March 1. Which, this year, is a Sunday.
As of today, February 27, I am 2 credit hours shy of meeting my CLE requirements for this year. I'm allowed to take a certain number of credits per year online, which I can do at any time; so, tonight I am watching 2 hours worth of video on the art of oral argument and appellate brief writng. Fun fun fun for a Friday night, I tell you what. But I need to do it to meet my requirements; if I don't, I'll be disbarred. (Seems kind of extreme, don't you think? I mean seriously, how much do we all learn at these damn cle's anyway?)
I can file my certificate of completion by sending it in the mail; it will be counted as timely filed as long as it's postmarked on or before this Sunday. And since the USPS doesn't mail things on Sunday, that means I have to make sure it's at the post office before last Saturday pickup tomorrow.
So far, it actually doesn't sound too bad, does it? I mean, yeah, last minute, but no BIG deal.
Of course, we're required to use an original certificate form provided by our governing agency, that is already half filled out with all our registered information and such, in order to comply with the rules for reporting; and I have no fucking clue what I've done with my certificate form. I think it's around here somewhere. Hmmm.
And oh yeah, once I fill in the information on my form, to reflect these last-minute hours of CLE credit I'm earning by watching online videos tonight, and then put my signature on the form to attest that I have indeed met my CLE requirements for the year, I have to get said form notarized, before I can send it in for filing.
So, let's see: (1) I have to watch my last two videos tonight to earn my credit, (2) I have to find my certificate form, hopefully somewhere in my house, or maybe my office, or perhaps my car, and fill it out once I've watched those videos; (3) I have to find a notary public to notarize this certificate, once I find it and fill it out; (4) I have to find that notary before last mail pickup tomorrow, Saturday, so that I can get the form in the mail so that it will be timely filed. And, um, oh yeah, I have no idea who might be able to notarize my form (if I can find it) on a Saturday morning.
Sure, this conundrum could have been avoided had I simply done my duty timely, completed the required hours and submitted my form well in advance of the deadline. I knew it was coming, after all. And in fact, I've been in this position before, unfortunately, trying to do all this at the very last minute. I'm capable of doing it in advance; there's nothing prohibiting me from doing it in advance; yet so very very often I find myself like this - - - at home on a Friday night, hoping I can get in my last hours of CLE credit AND find my form AND get it notarized AND get it postmarked in the mail ALL within the next 17 hours or so (I think I need to get it in the mail by noon tomorrow to be safe), OR ELSE I'll get disbarred.
A normal person would be worried about this. Let me modify that: A normal person would not have put oneself in this position in the first place; if for some reason beyond help this nevertheless happened, a normal person would be worried about this. Yet here I am, writing this post, knowing I have all this to face, and thinking to myself: "eh, it's no biggie. I'll get it done somehow. Let's have another drink."
Cheers.
- - -
UPDATE: WooHoo! Form found! At 10 til 1 in the morning ... 11 whole hours to spare! And courses taken, proof obtained online; now all I need to do in the morning is find a notary and then make it to the post office before last Saturday mail pick-up, and I won't be disbarred - nice!!
(Btw, the form was under my bed. Seriously the last place I looked for it in the house before I was going to move on to the car and the office. Whew.)
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
"A large penis is always welcome."
I don't get HBO, just the basic cable channels for me. I wish now I did get it though. But I suppose it's because I don't that I'd not known much of anything about this show "Rome" on HBO. I was recently introduced to it, however, through a friend. And I have to say, I fucking love it.
It's entertaining, to me, on many levels: I like historical fiction, I've always had an affinity for mythology and old Rome, and I love a good juicy storyline with lots of sex and drama and action and comedy and naked people. And this show seems to have all of that, and more.
I'm still in the first season. I've only seen 5 shows so far. Well actually, the one I'm watching tonight is the 6th. And I'm loving Atia. She's gorgeous and sexy and smart but hard and cold and bitchy and conniving, all in an entertaining way. (Who loves a good girl anyway, right? At least on tv.)
And I do have to agree with her, as she's picking out a male slave to send as a gift to a female friend she screwed over in a previous episode and is now trying to win back over as a friend: a large penis IS always welcome. And holy mother, what a large penis that is, too. Goddamn, I need to get HBO.
It's entertaining, to me, on many levels: I like historical fiction, I've always had an affinity for mythology and old Rome, and I love a good juicy storyline with lots of sex and drama and action and comedy and naked people. And this show seems to have all of that, and more.
I'm still in the first season. I've only seen 5 shows so far. Well actually, the one I'm watching tonight is the 6th. And I'm loving Atia. She's gorgeous and sexy and smart but hard and cold and bitchy and conniving, all in an entertaining way. (Who loves a good girl anyway, right? At least on tv.)
And I do have to agree with her, as she's picking out a male slave to send as a gift to a female friend she screwed over in a previous episode and is now trying to win back over as a friend: a large penis IS always welcome. And holy mother, what a large penis that is, too. Goddamn, I need to get HBO.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
...huh?
First of all, my excuse as to why I'm even watching ET in the first place is that I WAS watching the local news, and I just didn't change the channel after it ended. Because otherwise it would be just plain embarrassing to admit that I'm watching ET at all right now, wouldn't it?
Anyway ... I just saw a clip of Nadya Suleman (you know, the crazy baby lady) and her mother on ET, fighting with each other. The mother was saying something about how she should've thought of her other children before she became pregnant with her eight new children. Nadya's retort was: "you can't go back and ring a bell. You can't go back and alter the past." Somehow I think she got that analogy wrong...
Which reminds me, actually, of this great person I know, who is ALWAYS getting analogies wrong. And in such a humorous way. Usually in the course of a serious conversation, too. And he's just so likeable that you don't want to laugh or smile when he garbles some common expression, because you don't want to hurt his feelings, but you just can't help but be amused. I've heard him say some of his mixed-up expressions over and over again, too. He always gets them wrong, but always in the same way. One of my favorites is when he says "you know, I just don't have a bone in that fight." I mean, how can you not love a man who uses that expression in serious situations, and who has such a look of sincerity and compassion on his face when he says it?
If I had heard this great man I know say, (and actually, I could see him saying it), "you can't go back and ring that bell," I would smile nicely and nod in agreement and think to myself "I just love you so much. You're the best." But yet I hear Nadya psychomom say it, and I think, "Jesus, she's an idiot." It's funny how that is.
Anyway ... I just saw a clip of Nadya Suleman (you know, the crazy baby lady) and her mother on ET, fighting with each other. The mother was saying something about how she should've thought of her other children before she became pregnant with her eight new children. Nadya's retort was: "you can't go back and ring a bell. You can't go back and alter the past." Somehow I think she got that analogy wrong...
Which reminds me, actually, of this great person I know, who is ALWAYS getting analogies wrong. And in such a humorous way. Usually in the course of a serious conversation, too. And he's just so likeable that you don't want to laugh or smile when he garbles some common expression, because you don't want to hurt his feelings, but you just can't help but be amused. I've heard him say some of his mixed-up expressions over and over again, too. He always gets them wrong, but always in the same way. One of my favorites is when he says "you know, I just don't have a bone in that fight." I mean, how can you not love a man who uses that expression in serious situations, and who has such a look of sincerity and compassion on his face when he says it?
If I had heard this great man I know say, (and actually, I could see him saying it), "you can't go back and ring that bell," I would smile nicely and nod in agreement and think to myself "I just love you so much. You're the best." But yet I hear Nadya psychomom say it, and I think, "Jesus, she's an idiot." It's funny how that is.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The trip down memory lane continues ...
I'm watching "My Cousin Vinny" on tv tonight. (While I sit here trying to finish up my pear painting.) They just did the scene where Marisa Tomei goes off on Joe Pesci on the porch of the hunting cabin in the woods as he prepares for the murder trial of his cousin the Karate Kid because they said they'd get married when he won his first case and that was 10 years ago and it looks like this case is going down the toilet and her (stomp, stomp, stomp) biological clock is ticking. She's wearing that awesome black w/ flowered print tight jumpsuit that probably nobody could wear and still look good but Marisa Tomei. (I love this scene, btw. One of my favorites, ever.)
And as I was watching, I suddenly picked up on something I'd never noticed before, in all the many many (many many many) many times I've watched this movie over the years: I used to have the very earrings that Marisa Tomei is wearing in this scene. They're big and gaudy, a huge gold circle (so big it almost looks like a medallion)with three strings of beads hanging down from it. I wore those to death in, um, 1989 I think. I can even remember some of the outfits I wore them with back then. That's crazy. It's so funny too; back then, I bet I thought I was the height of fashion and coolness wearing those earrings. Today, watching "My Cousin Vinny," I remember wearing those earrings back then and I think wow, maybe that's why I had so few dates in high school.
And as I was watching, I suddenly picked up on something I'd never noticed before, in all the many many (many many many) many times I've watched this movie over the years: I used to have the very earrings that Marisa Tomei is wearing in this scene. They're big and gaudy, a huge gold circle (so big it almost looks like a medallion)with three strings of beads hanging down from it. I wore those to death in, um, 1989 I think. I can even remember some of the outfits I wore them with back then. That's crazy. It's so funny too; back then, I bet I thought I was the height of fashion and coolness wearing those earrings. Today, watching "My Cousin Vinny," I remember wearing those earrings back then and I think wow, maybe that's why I had so few dates in high school.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Wow. I'm 5 again.
Somehow I got into a conversation tonight with someone about the children's movies that were popular that we watched when we were growing up. "The Rescuers" was always one of my favorites. (The one about the two mice [Bob Newhart and Eva Gabor] who rescued the little orphan girl who'd been kidnapped by the mean lady who was making her search for hidden treasure.) We remembered that we had picture books back then to go with those movies, so that it was kind of like re-living the movie when you read the book. And then someone else remembered that there was a record that went with that little book; that's why it felt like you were re-living the movie, b/c you listened to the record while you were looking at the pictures in the book. I got to feeling so nostalgiac about it once we went down that path that I did a google search and came up with this great link.
So now, my question is twofold (btw, you know you've been drinking when you're blogging about something like this, and find yourself using words like "twofold"):
(1) Do you remember those records with the picture books too? and
(2) Seriously, just how sad is it that it's a Friday night and I'm at home listening to the audio from "The Jungle Book" (that site lets you download the records, score!)?
("Look for the bear [haha] necessities, the simple bare necessities, forget about your worries and your strife; I mean the bare necessities, that's why a bear can rest at ease, with just the bare necessities of life.")
So now, my question is twofold (btw, you know you've been drinking when you're blogging about something like this, and find yourself using words like "twofold"):
(1) Do you remember those records with the picture books too? and
(2) Seriously, just how sad is it that it's a Friday night and I'm at home listening to the audio from "The Jungle Book" (that site lets you download the records, score!)?
("Look for the bear [haha] necessities, the simple bare necessities, forget about your worries and your strife; I mean the bare necessities, that's why a bear can rest at ease, with just the bare necessities of life.")
Mmmmmm.
I just "friended" a guy on Facebook I had a huge crush on back in high school. (And had hot sex with one summer between college years. But I digress.*) Sure it's about a decade and a half later, and I haven't thought of him in, well, at least half that time, actually probably more, but still ... there he is, looking nice and scruffy in his pic. Sure, a stranger in some ways, and married of course, but, in my mind, tonight, a sexual ghost from my past, one I'm sure is going to make its way into my daydreams/fantasies tonight and help me find a release that takes me off to sleep. Mmmm.
*Actually, after publishing this post, I realized that it was stupid of me to say that was a digression. Because really, that was some hot sex back then, and that's a huge (ahem) part of what's going to drive (ahem, plow, prod, ahem) my dreams tonight. Oh yeah.
*Actually, after publishing this post, I realized that it was stupid of me to say that was a digression. Because really, that was some hot sex back then, and that's a huge (ahem) part of what's going to drive (ahem, plow, prod, ahem) my dreams tonight. Oh yeah.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
And man, I'm sexy to boot.
Yeah, I just wrote that last post a short while ago, bragging about my painting. I'm just so fucking cool, you know. So cool, in fact, that I just went to the bathroom, and as I was washing my hands, I glanced up at my reflection in the mirror, and realized that I had a HUGE streak of yellow-ish paint right down the middle of my nose. Don't know how that happened. But there you go. That would be me.
Sadielady is painting. Her pears are looking awesome.
Sorry, I feel like I'm stuck in facebook speak. You know, how it asks you, "what are you doing?" And if you type something in, it comes out like you're talking about yourself in the third person. Well, you know you've been looking at facebook stuff for too long when you start talking about yourself in the third person like that in a non-facebook-update kind of way.
But seriously, I just came back from art class tonight, and my pears are kicking ass. Kicking the asses of all the other pears in my class, that is. They fucking rock, in my humble opinion. I am totally going to hang this painting up in my house somewhere when this class is over.
I might take a picture of it and post it here, too, so you can admire it as much as I am admiring it right now. Seriously, I'm full of myself right now, I realize that; I'm probably half full of shit, too, but I can't help it. I'm fucking impressed with myself, with this painting. FIRST PAINTING EVER. In acrylics. Woo-hoo!
But seriously, I just came back from art class tonight, and my pears are kicking ass. Kicking the asses of all the other pears in my class, that is. They fucking rock, in my humble opinion. I am totally going to hang this painting up in my house somewhere when this class is over.
I might take a picture of it and post it here, too, so you can admire it as much as I am admiring it right now. Seriously, I'm full of myself right now, I realize that; I'm probably half full of shit, too, but I can't help it. I'm fucking impressed with myself, with this painting. FIRST PAINTING EVER. In acrylics. Woo-hoo!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Nothing like the climb up those courthouse steps to bring your clients to Jesus
My 2-week trial is supposed to start tomorrow morning. Tonight, at 7 pm, the parties are so fucking close to settling.
I mean, they're so damn close to settling, with the start of trial so few hours away now, and I'm so damn anxious for them to seal the deal so I don't have to worry about this case anymore, that I'm tempted to offer to throw in free blow jobs for all the men if that'll help any. Of course, there's one woman in the group, but heck, I might be able to do something there too, if it'll make this trial go away.
Keep your fingers crossed for me ....
I mean, they're so damn close to settling, with the start of trial so few hours away now, and I'm so damn anxious for them to seal the deal so I don't have to worry about this case anymore, that I'm tempted to offer to throw in free blow jobs for all the men if that'll help any. Of course, there's one woman in the group, but heck, I might be able to do something there too, if it'll make this trial go away.
Keep your fingers crossed for me ....
Thursday, February 12, 2009
My new addiction:
Antacids.
Dude, my stomach has been killing me all fucking week. It must be stress-related.
I'm trying to get ready for a 2-week trial that starts next week. I'm also trying also to make sure nothing important that's non-trial-related will slip through the cracks while I'm in court, which is kind of hard actually, considering how unfocused and disorganized my brain seems to be these days (not to mention my office). As soon as this trial is over, I'll have to help another attorney in my office with a 3-week trial that starts in the beginning of March. I just received notice that I have to argue a case before the state's appellate court the third week of that March trial, though, so I'll have to step out of one court and go over to another that day for oral arguments. Which I'll have to find some time to prepare for, between now and though. And, oh yeah, somewhere in there I'll have to find time to write an appellate brief in yet another case. My deadline will be mid-March on that one, so I imagine I'll be asking for a continuance of that deadline, or else I'll go bat-shit crazy.
And every time a new thought enters my head that has anything to do with anything even slightly unpleasant, which is quite a lot lately, I get a sharp pain in my stomach. Hence the antacids. Which actually seem to help. I'm carrying them around in my purse now. I wonder how important it really is to pay attention to the maximum daily dosage on those, btw ... I mean it's just calcium, really, right? Can that really be all that bad, to have too much calcium in any given day?
Dude, my stomach has been killing me all fucking week. It must be stress-related.
I'm trying to get ready for a 2-week trial that starts next week. I'm also trying also to make sure nothing important that's non-trial-related will slip through the cracks while I'm in court, which is kind of hard actually, considering how unfocused and disorganized my brain seems to be these days (not to mention my office). As soon as this trial is over, I'll have to help another attorney in my office with a 3-week trial that starts in the beginning of March. I just received notice that I have to argue a case before the state's appellate court the third week of that March trial, though, so I'll have to step out of one court and go over to another that day for oral arguments. Which I'll have to find some time to prepare for, between now and though. And, oh yeah, somewhere in there I'll have to find time to write an appellate brief in yet another case. My deadline will be mid-March on that one, so I imagine I'll be asking for a continuance of that deadline, or else I'll go bat-shit crazy.
And every time a new thought enters my head that has anything to do with anything even slightly unpleasant, which is quite a lot lately, I get a sharp pain in my stomach. Hence the antacids. Which actually seem to help. I'm carrying them around in my purse now. I wonder how important it really is to pay attention to the maximum daily dosage on those, btw ... I mean it's just calcium, really, right? Can that really be all that bad, to have too much calcium in any given day?
Monday, February 9, 2009
Keeping with the themes of my last two posts,
dealing with maturity and depositions (and maturity during depositions), tonight I'd like to recount another moment from yet another deposition that I sat through today.
Scene: Three lawyers, a court reporter, and a witness, sitting around a conference table in a law office in a high-rise building downtown. The person being deposed has been named as an expert witness for one of the parties. Joining the deposition via conference call from his office in another state is the expert witness for one of the other parties, who will be called to rebut the expert being deposed. Said other expert is connected to those of us in the room through the telephone speaker sitting in the middle of the conference table.
Action:
Q: Have you been asked [by Party A] to come up with any opinions for trial with respect to [Topic 1]?
Speakerphone: huhhh, huhhh, huhhh ...
A: Yes, I have.
Speakerphone: huhhh, huhhh, huhhh ...
Q: And are you prepared to answer questions regarding your opinions here today?
Speakerphone: huhhh, huhhh, huhhh ...
A: Yes, I am.
Speakerphone: huhhh, huhhh, huhhh ...
Q: Ok, and ... ok, just a second. Uh, Larry? Um, we can hear some heavy breathing coming through the speaker. Um, maybe you didn't realize.
Speakerphone: Oh. Sorry.
Me [in my head]: Yeah, dude, really ... if you're going to get someone to blow you while you're sitting in on a conference call, at least remember to put the phone on mute.
Scene: Three lawyers, a court reporter, and a witness, sitting around a conference table in a law office in a high-rise building downtown. The person being deposed has been named as an expert witness for one of the parties. Joining the deposition via conference call from his office in another state is the expert witness for one of the other parties, who will be called to rebut the expert being deposed. Said other expert is connected to those of us in the room through the telephone speaker sitting in the middle of the conference table.
Action:
Q: Have you been asked [by Party A] to come up with any opinions for trial with respect to [Topic 1]?
Speakerphone: huhhh, huhhh, huhhh ...
A: Yes, I have.
Speakerphone: huhhh, huhhh, huhhh ...
Q: And are you prepared to answer questions regarding your opinions here today?
Speakerphone: huhhh, huhhh, huhhh ...
A: Yes, I am.
Speakerphone: huhhh, huhhh, huhhh ...
Q: Ok, and ... ok, just a second. Uh, Larry? Um, we can hear some heavy breathing coming through the speaker. Um, maybe you didn't realize.
Speakerphone: Oh. Sorry.
Me [in my head]: Yeah, dude, really ... if you're going to get someone to blow you while you're sitting in on a conference call, at least remember to put the phone on mute.
Maturity: maybe it's just not for me.
So, even though things didn't work out in the end with the hometown guy, we've stayed somewhat in touch since we broke up last September. He's still a nice guy, and we've exchanged some friendly emails over the past several months. When he wrote me last weekend to say that he's seeing someone new, someone he started seeing shortly after Christmas, I wrote back wishing him well. Yeah, it hurt a little bit when I first read the news in his email, but then I thought about it and realized, there's no reason for this to hurt; we've been broken up for months, life has moved on in the meantime, I'm used to not having him in my life anymore; this news doesn't affect me in any way. I'd still like to consider him a friend, which means I hope he's happy, so yes, I'm fine with this, and I can wish him well and mean it. And move on.
Then a couple days later, I received an email notification that he'd added me as a friend to Facebook. I really wasn't using Facebook much at all back when we were dating, so I'd never thought to add him as a friend back then. I guess he wasn't using it all that much back then either. Well, I thought, we're friends, aren't we? We said let's keep in touch, and meant it, yes? So, yes, ok, we're Facebook friends. That's fine.
Once again, though, I felt a little bit of hurt, couldn't help it really, when I checked out his profile and saw the proclamation of "in a relationship" on his page. Just another reminder that what we once had is long gone, and that he's found someone new to love. And of course, I haven't. Which is probably why there's that little bit of pain; I doubt I would feel it if I were all excited about someone new myself. You know? So, once again, I reminded myself about how I was fine with all this, life has moved on, just staying friends, which is a good thing, ... quite mature of me, of us, really, I told myself, feeling somewhat proud and good about that.
I've added a few other new friends on Facebook since then. Well, mostly some family members. I've started signing on more, actually using it a little, kind of getting into it. Seeing what all the craze is about.
What I hadn't counted on, though, was all those updates I'd get on my home page every time I sign on. Alerts about new updates on my friends' pages. Rather, I hadn't thought about the fact that now, every time I log on to my Facebook page, I'll see news alerts updating me about new stuff on my ex's page. Including, of course, comments exchanged back and forth between him and his new girl on his wall; comments his friends leave on his wall about his new girl; his updated profile picture, showing him with his new girl, both looking all nice and happy; her comment below that update, saying "aww, that's my new background on my desktop;" all this happy happy happy new and exciting lovey stuff.
And what I'm realizing now is, maybe I'm not quite as mature as I'd hoped, as I'd like to think I am. Because even though I've tried to be logical, tried even to ignore, I can't help but think to myself now, each time I log onto Facebook and see new alerts on my home page .... "goddammit, I'd like to throw this motherfucking computer against the motherfucking wall and watch it smash to motherfucking bits. Motherfucker." And I'm afraid that's just not very mature.
Then a couple days later, I received an email notification that he'd added me as a friend to Facebook. I really wasn't using Facebook much at all back when we were dating, so I'd never thought to add him as a friend back then. I guess he wasn't using it all that much back then either. Well, I thought, we're friends, aren't we? We said let's keep in touch, and meant it, yes? So, yes, ok, we're Facebook friends. That's fine.
Once again, though, I felt a little bit of hurt, couldn't help it really, when I checked out his profile and saw the proclamation of "in a relationship" on his page. Just another reminder that what we once had is long gone, and that he's found someone new to love. And of course, I haven't. Which is probably why there's that little bit of pain; I doubt I would feel it if I were all excited about someone new myself. You know? So, once again, I reminded myself about how I was fine with all this, life has moved on, just staying friends, which is a good thing, ... quite mature of me, of us, really, I told myself, feeling somewhat proud and good about that.
I've added a few other new friends on Facebook since then. Well, mostly some family members. I've started signing on more, actually using it a little, kind of getting into it. Seeing what all the craze is about.
What I hadn't counted on, though, was all those updates I'd get on my home page every time I sign on. Alerts about new updates on my friends' pages. Rather, I hadn't thought about the fact that now, every time I log on to my Facebook page, I'll see news alerts updating me about new stuff on my ex's page. Including, of course, comments exchanged back and forth between him and his new girl on his wall; comments his friends leave on his wall about his new girl; his updated profile picture, showing him with his new girl, both looking all nice and happy; her comment below that update, saying "aww, that's my new background on my desktop;" all this happy happy happy new and exciting lovey stuff.
And what I'm realizing now is, maybe I'm not quite as mature as I'd hoped, as I'd like to think I am. Because even though I've tried to be logical, tried even to ignore, I can't help but think to myself now, each time I log onto Facebook and see new alerts on my home page .... "goddammit, I'd like to throw this motherfucking computer against the motherfucking wall and watch it smash to motherfucking bits. Motherfucker." And I'm afraid that's just not very mature.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
In deposition today,
a witness testified that he mostly deals with clients from the front end; he said they don't like to see him on the back end.
I wonder if I was the only one in the room left thinking about fucking doggie style.
I wonder if I was the only one in the room left thinking about fucking doggie style.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Hair of the Dog
The other night, I had a little too much to drink. The thing is, I totally didn't realize it at the time, though. I was just hanging out at home, drinking wine and painting. This went on for hours. I was having fun, and making a lot of progress on the painting that I started in art class. And I guess I'd been refilling my wine glass little by little as I sat there painting, listening to music. I thought I was fairly sober actually, but before I knew it my bottle was empty. So I must have been pretty buzzed, probably drunk actually; that's the only way I can explain what happened next.
What happened next was that I decided, out of the blue, that I was sick of having my hair as long as it was. I'd been letting my hair grow longer and longer since the summer, and it had gotten to the point where it was down to my shoulder-blades somewhere. And I like having long hair; I always have. But for some reason, the other night, it struck me that it was time to cut a bit of it off.
So I did.
Cut my own hair, that is.
After drinking a bottle of wine.
Oy.
It started small; I just intended to cut off an inch or two, get off some of the ends that had been there a little too long, make it just a little bit shorter. But then I realized that I hadn't cut as straight as I thought I had, so I cut a little bit more. Just a little bit. But then I realized that the right side was still a little longer than the left side, so I cut just a little bit more, to make it even. Except ... well, yeah, do I really have to explain it further? It kept going on like that, just "evening it up" little by little, until finally I figured I'd gotten it right. Then, since I was covered in little pieces of cut hair, I jumped in the shower. Got out, jumped in bed. And quickly fell asleep.
Cut to the next morning.
You know how you wake up on a morning after a night of too much imbibing, and it takes you a few minutes to really gain full consciousness, and memories of the night before oh so gradually start to return to you, and you slowly realize that you might've done something really stupid the night before? And you're then a little bit sick to your stomach, as you remember all the alcohol, and start to remember the stupid thing(s)? That's what I had going on in bed that next morning. I knew I'd done something stupid; I was just trying to remember exactly what it was. And as I stretched, I ran one hand through my hair, to push it out of my eyes ... and suddenly my eyes were wide open, and I was wide awake, and I was a little bit scared, and totally cursing myself.
With much trepidation, I got up and went to the bathroom, and looked at myself in the mirror. Man oh man oh man, did my hair look bad. Granted, a lot of it had to do with the fact that I went to bed with wet hair, so I didn't just wake up with regular bed head, I woke up with crazy bed head, all curly and dented in weird places from having my head on the pillow all night. But on top of all that, it was short crazy bed head. Like, chin-short.
Oh, man, did I get mad at myself. I jumped in the shower again, to wash my hair so I could get out with it wet and straight and try to survey the damage. It turned out that it wasn't quite as short as I'd thought at first; it had just looked that way from the crazy curls, but the ends ... oh, man, the ends: there was nothing even about those ends. What the hell had I been thinking?
Well, just as you sometimes need to have a beer in the morning after a night of heavy drinking to help ease the hangover, the only thing to do that morning to cure my crooked crazy short haircut was to cut yet more. I thought about the fact that I probably should go to the hair salon to get this done, of course, as any normal person would do; but at that point, I figured I'd take my chances of fixing on my own if I could rather than risk the total mortification of having to explain to my hairdresser what had happened. And at least I managed to get it straight this time, finally. But shit, I was not happy.
Now that a few days have passed since my bad behavior, though, I'm feeling better. I don't think it came out so bad. In fact, I think it's kind of cute. Sure, I said goodbye to months and months worth of growth in those long locks that I cut off, but now it's much bouncier. Cute. (And thankfully longer than chin length after all; over an inch longer at least.) And I got compliments on it all day today at work.
But while my hair may have come out looking cute enough in the end, there definitely is a moral to this story. One that is obvious, apparently, to everyone but me. NEVER, EVER, EVER CUT YOUR OWN HAIR WHILE YOU'RE INTOXICATED. If you're very lucky, you might come out looking ok in the end, after much fixing; but the process, oh the process, once you realize what you've done, is extremely painful.
What happened next was that I decided, out of the blue, that I was sick of having my hair as long as it was. I'd been letting my hair grow longer and longer since the summer, and it had gotten to the point where it was down to my shoulder-blades somewhere. And I like having long hair; I always have. But for some reason, the other night, it struck me that it was time to cut a bit of it off.
So I did.
Cut my own hair, that is.
After drinking a bottle of wine.
Oy.
It started small; I just intended to cut off an inch or two, get off some of the ends that had been there a little too long, make it just a little bit shorter. But then I realized that I hadn't cut as straight as I thought I had, so I cut a little bit more. Just a little bit. But then I realized that the right side was still a little longer than the left side, so I cut just a little bit more, to make it even. Except ... well, yeah, do I really have to explain it further? It kept going on like that, just "evening it up" little by little, until finally I figured I'd gotten it right. Then, since I was covered in little pieces of cut hair, I jumped in the shower. Got out, jumped in bed. And quickly fell asleep.
Cut to the next morning.
You know how you wake up on a morning after a night of too much imbibing, and it takes you a few minutes to really gain full consciousness, and memories of the night before oh so gradually start to return to you, and you slowly realize that you might've done something really stupid the night before? And you're then a little bit sick to your stomach, as you remember all the alcohol, and start to remember the stupid thing(s)? That's what I had going on in bed that next morning. I knew I'd done something stupid; I was just trying to remember exactly what it was. And as I stretched, I ran one hand through my hair, to push it out of my eyes ... and suddenly my eyes were wide open, and I was wide awake, and I was a little bit scared, and totally cursing myself.
With much trepidation, I got up and went to the bathroom, and looked at myself in the mirror. Man oh man oh man, did my hair look bad. Granted, a lot of it had to do with the fact that I went to bed with wet hair, so I didn't just wake up with regular bed head, I woke up with crazy bed head, all curly and dented in weird places from having my head on the pillow all night. But on top of all that, it was short crazy bed head. Like, chin-short.
Oh, man, did I get mad at myself. I jumped in the shower again, to wash my hair so I could get out with it wet and straight and try to survey the damage. It turned out that it wasn't quite as short as I'd thought at first; it had just looked that way from the crazy curls, but the ends ... oh, man, the ends: there was nothing even about those ends. What the hell had I been thinking?
Well, just as you sometimes need to have a beer in the morning after a night of heavy drinking to help ease the hangover, the only thing to do that morning to cure my crooked crazy short haircut was to cut yet more. I thought about the fact that I probably should go to the hair salon to get this done, of course, as any normal person would do; but at that point, I figured I'd take my chances of fixing on my own if I could rather than risk the total mortification of having to explain to my hairdresser what had happened. And at least I managed to get it straight this time, finally. But shit, I was not happy.
Now that a few days have passed since my bad behavior, though, I'm feeling better. I don't think it came out so bad. In fact, I think it's kind of cute. Sure, I said goodbye to months and months worth of growth in those long locks that I cut off, but now it's much bouncier. Cute. (And thankfully longer than chin length after all; over an inch longer at least.) And I got compliments on it all day today at work.
But while my hair may have come out looking cute enough in the end, there definitely is a moral to this story. One that is obvious, apparently, to everyone but me. NEVER, EVER, EVER CUT YOUR OWN HAIR WHILE YOU'RE INTOXICATED. If you're very lucky, you might come out looking ok in the end, after much fixing; but the process, oh the process, once you realize what you've done, is extremely painful.
Reunion: You suck.
One day last week, I received an email that appeared to be from an old friend of mine. At first I thought maybe it was some kind of spam (note to self: learn to trust your first instincts). I didn't recognize the name of the sender right away, and the subject line said that this person had added me as a friend on reunion.com. But then I realized that the name in the sender column was in fact the name of someone I used to be friends with, I just wasn't used to seeing her married name.
So I was kind of interested to see that this person was looking me up online, wanting to reconnect. Of course, I did think that it was odd that she was doing it by reunion.com, which I've never visited before but had seen ads for and didn't think anyone actually used, instead of something like facebook. But I wanted to see if she had something interesting online there that I could respond to or whatever. So, I followed the link in the email, and filled out the initial information to sign up for a free membership. Dumb.
Dumb, because (a) even though I saw her name online as if she's a member once I got online at the site, I was informed that I couldn't access any more of her information or send her a message or anything unless I first purchased their "premium" membership, which no way was I going to do; and (b) after leaving the site, I checked my other two email accounts, (a work email account and a second personal account; man I have too many email accounts), and I saw new messages in both accounts from myself, saying that I was trying to add myself as a friend on reunion.com and sending a link that I'm supposed to follow to read the message from myself. So, I guess that when I filled out the info to get a "free membership" on reunion.com, (which isn't an actual membership, b/c all it does it get you to the page that says memberships cost money), the site took advantage and gathered my contact info in my first email account, and automatically sent emails to all those contacts, telling them all that I'm looking for them online.
So, great. (A) I've probably downloaded some kind of virus onto my home computer; (B) some random site out there has probably sent who-knows-how-many emails out to people, some of whom I may not have spoken to in years or may never have been friends with at all, saying that I'm looking for them on reunion.com, just because my email account has their email addresses automatically stored in my contacts file; (C) those people are all probably wondering "wtf," when they get that email that looks like it's from me; and (D) the person I thought at first had been thinking and wondering about me and wanting to look me up and drop a line probably in fact hasn't thought about me in years and has no interest in looking me up or dropping a line but instead just made the stupid mistake, as did I, of following a link on a spam email and then actually, incredibly, dumbly, filling out personal information on that site for a free membership.
MAN, I'm an idiot.
So I was kind of interested to see that this person was looking me up online, wanting to reconnect. Of course, I did think that it was odd that she was doing it by reunion.com, which I've never visited before but had seen ads for and didn't think anyone actually used, instead of something like facebook. But I wanted to see if she had something interesting online there that I could respond to or whatever. So, I followed the link in the email, and filled out the initial information to sign up for a free membership. Dumb.
Dumb, because (a) even though I saw her name online as if she's a member once I got online at the site, I was informed that I couldn't access any more of her information or send her a message or anything unless I first purchased their "premium" membership, which no way was I going to do; and (b) after leaving the site, I checked my other two email accounts, (a work email account and a second personal account; man I have too many email accounts), and I saw new messages in both accounts from myself, saying that I was trying to add myself as a friend on reunion.com and sending a link that I'm supposed to follow to read the message from myself. So, I guess that when I filled out the info to get a "free membership" on reunion.com, (which isn't an actual membership, b/c all it does it get you to the page that says memberships cost money), the site took advantage and gathered my contact info in my first email account, and automatically sent emails to all those contacts, telling them all that I'm looking for them online.
So, great. (A) I've probably downloaded some kind of virus onto my home computer; (B) some random site out there has probably sent who-knows-how-many emails out to people, some of whom I may not have spoken to in years or may never have been friends with at all, saying that I'm looking for them on reunion.com, just because my email account has their email addresses automatically stored in my contacts file; (C) those people are all probably wondering "wtf," when they get that email that looks like it's from me; and (D) the person I thought at first had been thinking and wondering about me and wanting to look me up and drop a line probably in fact hasn't thought about me in years and has no interest in looking me up or dropping a line but instead just made the stupid mistake, as did I, of following a link on a spam email and then actually, incredibly, dumbly, filling out personal information on that site for a free membership.
MAN, I'm an idiot.
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