You ever wake up to the realization that it is 7:00 am and you are going to be the attending parent for the morning because your husband is playing possum better than a rodent in Alabama, so you go downstairs, drink all the coffee and put on your Monster Ballads CD set just loud enough so the bass actually makes furniture move?
Yeah, me neither.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Friday, March 17, 2006
Planes, Rains, and ice cream stains
We are back from Hawaii. Despite enough rain to make one contemplate the best design for an ark (on a cocktail napkin accompanying a Mai Tai, of course), we had a delightful time. We had more sushi than people are eating in Japan and our Coppertone baby is living proof that SPF 50 really does work. He doesn't exactly glow in the dark anymore, but it's not like he got much sun.
We met lots of really nice people (Hi, Allenette!) and survived all 22 hours of plane rides.
Which brings me to the point of this post. What moron brings a baby on a plane for hours and hours to Hawaii? Apparently there are lots of us. I thought Hawaii was the honeymoon capital of the US, but there were tons of babies Ethan's size or smaller. It was bizarre. Did everyone else bring their mother along so they could wander down to the pool bar for a couple of Mai Tais, a couple of Blue Hawaiis, a couple of Pina Coladas? In one sitting, of course.
As a side note, I would like to relay a conversation I overheard in line at Cold Stone Creamery in Waikiki between two vacationing 20 year olds who were size 0 and size 00.
0: I just love ice cream.
00: Oh, my GOD, BECKY. That ice cream is TOO BIG. Do you know how many grams of fat are in that thing?
Side note: Saying that an ice cream cone is "too big" is like saying the Pope is "too Catholic."
0: I guess you are right. But I just love ice cream.
00: We are going to be here a few more days.
At this point I interjected, because a) I'm old enough to not care and b) they were idiots.
K to 0: Aren't you on vacation? This ice cream is so worth a little indulgence (while subtlely trying to suck my fat gut in and blatantly trying to justify my own bad behavior).
0: Well, we are going out for a drink after this.
K: Maybe you could just drink light beer.
0: Oh, we are already going to do that.
I got the most colossal ice cream cone you have ever seen which had a half gallon of mint ice cream with 1 cup of chocolate chips and a giant brownie mixed into it. And it was orgasmic. I turned around as I left, just in time to see 0 and 00's grand purchase. A kiddy cup of vanilla ice cream. That they were sharing.
Lucky for them that they finally figured out the key to true happiness in this world. Staying skinny.
Maybe I should have gotten the hot fudge on top?
We met lots of really nice people (Hi, Allenette!) and survived all 22 hours of plane rides.
Which brings me to the point of this post. What moron brings a baby on a plane for hours and hours to Hawaii? Apparently there are lots of us. I thought Hawaii was the honeymoon capital of the US, but there were tons of babies Ethan's size or smaller. It was bizarre. Did everyone else bring their mother along so they could wander down to the pool bar for a couple of Mai Tais, a couple of Blue Hawaiis, a couple of Pina Coladas? In one sitting, of course.
As a side note, I would like to relay a conversation I overheard in line at Cold Stone Creamery in Waikiki between two vacationing 20 year olds who were size 0 and size 00.
0: I just love ice cream.
00: Oh, my GOD, BECKY. That ice cream is TOO BIG. Do you know how many grams of fat are in that thing?
Side note: Saying that an ice cream cone is "too big" is like saying the Pope is "too Catholic."
0: I guess you are right. But I just love ice cream.
00: We are going to be here a few more days.
At this point I interjected, because a) I'm old enough to not care and b) they were idiots.
K to 0: Aren't you on vacation? This ice cream is so worth a little indulgence (while subtlely trying to suck my fat gut in and blatantly trying to justify my own bad behavior).
0: Well, we are going out for a drink after this.
K: Maybe you could just drink light beer.
0: Oh, we are already going to do that.
I got the most colossal ice cream cone you have ever seen which had a half gallon of mint ice cream with 1 cup of chocolate chips and a giant brownie mixed into it. And it was orgasmic. I turned around as I left, just in time to see 0 and 00's grand purchase. A kiddy cup of vanilla ice cream. That they were sharing.
Lucky for them that they finally figured out the key to true happiness in this world. Staying skinny.
Maybe I should have gotten the hot fudge on top?
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Getting caught up in the letter, rather than the spirit of the law
There is nothing better than being I.D.'d on a trip to the supermarket.
"You want to see my I.D.? That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day."
Until you forget your I.D. at home, you are at the liquor store because it will fit into the 7 seconds available today and you are getting ready for a party of 50 to celebrate your friends getting engaged.
Clerk: Can I see I.D.?
K: (while searching through the wallet) Uh, no. I don't have it.
C: Well I can't sell you anything if you don't have I.D.
You can only imagine how ugly this is about to get.
K: Isn't it your policy to I.D. under 30?
C: That's why I'm I.D.-ing you.
K: I am (insert age that passed 30). I was born in (insert year that is not 1976).
C: (with a head shake) Well you look under 30 to me.
K: Uh, yeah, no I don't.
C: You do to me.
K: Let's try a little realism then. Do you think I look under 21?
C: I think you look under 30.
K: Last time I checked, I have to be over 21. My I.D. isn't to prove that I am over 30.
C: Well once I ask, I can't sell unless you show me I.D.
K: You are joking right. Cause there couldn't be anything more asinine than not letting me purchase ORANGE VODKA and HYPNOTIQ because you think I might be under 30. Not that I'm under 21, but under 30. It's not like I'm buying a case of Busch Light Draft and I'm paying with change. I'm buying the ingredients for a Reserve Red Ruby Martini. That I am serving at an engagement party for 50.
I haven't been this mad since they cancelled "V" What a bitch.
"You want to see my I.D.? That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day."
Until you forget your I.D. at home, you are at the liquor store because it will fit into the 7 seconds available today and you are getting ready for a party of 50 to celebrate your friends getting engaged.
Clerk: Can I see I.D.?
K: (while searching through the wallet) Uh, no. I don't have it.
C: Well I can't sell you anything if you don't have I.D.
You can only imagine how ugly this is about to get.
K: Isn't it your policy to I.D. under 30?
C: That's why I'm I.D.-ing you.
K: I am (insert age that passed 30). I was born in (insert year that is not 1976).
C: (with a head shake) Well you look under 30 to me.
K: Uh, yeah, no I don't.
C: You do to me.
K: Let's try a little realism then. Do you think I look under 21?
C: I think you look under 30.
K: Last time I checked, I have to be over 21. My I.D. isn't to prove that I am over 30.
C: Well once I ask, I can't sell unless you show me I.D.
K: You are joking right. Cause there couldn't be anything more asinine than not letting me purchase ORANGE VODKA and HYPNOTIQ because you think I might be under 30. Not that I'm under 21, but under 30. It's not like I'm buying a case of Busch Light Draft and I'm paying with change. I'm buying the ingredients for a Reserve Red Ruby Martini. That I am serving at an engagement party for 50.
I haven't been this mad since they cancelled "V" What a bitch.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Probably not what the girl bargained for
This morning my husband was filling out a recommendation form for a girl that took his class last semester. He mentioned that she was apparently trying to get into a study abroad program in London and she asked for a recommendation from him.
K: What's the program?
D: Hell if I know. This form is bullshit.
K: Does she realize that she has put her life/future in the hands of a total slacker?
D: This form even asks about her proficiency in English.
K: Do you even remember who she was from last semester?
D: I think so.
K: Is she a native English speaker? (a valid question for his class)
D: She's American.
K: Then why are you bitching about about the proficiency question?
D: I think I am going to write that she has excellent American English skills.
K: Why do you have to solidify Britain's poor opinion of us?
D: How do you spell "cultural?"
K: Oh Lord.
D: How do you spell "receive?"
This girl isn't gonna even be able to get into an MTV Spring Break party at this rate.
K: What's the program?
D: Hell if I know. This form is bullshit.
K: Does she realize that she has put her life/future in the hands of a total slacker?
D: This form even asks about her proficiency in English.
K: Do you even remember who she was from last semester?
D: I think so.
K: Is she a native English speaker? (a valid question for his class)
D: She's American.
K: Then why are you bitching about about the proficiency question?
D: I think I am going to write that she has excellent American English skills.
K: Why do you have to solidify Britain's poor opinion of us?
D: How do you spell "cultural?"
K: Oh Lord.
D: How do you spell "receive?"
This girl isn't gonna even be able to get into an MTV Spring Break party at this rate.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
At least he'll have legroom and free drinks as he watches the baby
D called today with the news that his flight got ticketed and he managed to use his miles to upgrade to First Class (note the capitals--first class doesn't look as good as First Class) so he'll be joining us "up front" on our trip to Hawaii next week. I had already booked my First Class ticket on miles (his miles--that's why I married him) but his ticket is courtesy of the federal government and thus requires ticketing 20 minutes before departure and that he be seated in the middle seat on the last row right next to the lav.
After I booked my ticket, he said, "You booked a First Class ticket on my miles? You didn't even try for a Business Class seat? You went right to First? Was Economy available?" Apparently his memory is short regarding our last flight with The Boy. I'm going to need all the free cocktails I can get and please keep them coming.
I was going to feel so bad for him if he was stuck in peasant class with the baby while I was sipping cham-pag-ne in First Class. Now we get to be one big happy family. However this has presented me with a dilemma. If my husband is sitting beside me on the plane, it forecloses all hope that this man will be sitting beside me in 1B. Damn.
After I booked my ticket, he said, "You booked a First Class ticket on my miles? You didn't even try for a Business Class seat? You went right to First? Was Economy available?" Apparently his memory is short regarding our last flight with The Boy. I'm going to need all the free cocktails I can get and please keep them coming.
I was going to feel so bad for him if he was stuck in peasant class with the baby while I was sipping cham-pag-ne in First Class. Now we get to be one big happy family. However this has presented me with a dilemma. If my husband is sitting beside me on the plane, it forecloses all hope that this man will be sitting beside me in 1B. Damn.
Monday, February 27, 2006
I hope the supermarket isn't my Magic 8 ball
It all started when the old lady in the produce section said to E, "aren't you so adorable" and then leaned over to me and said, "you are going to be fighting off the girls with a broomstick."
Was that a reference to me being a witch?
Then it happened again in front of the meat counter. We were approached by a 60-ish woman sporting the exact same bouffant hairstyle she wore to her senior prom in 1959. She went on and on about E's eyes, blah, blah, blah. She was telling him she loved him and was kissing his forehead. I know I should have been concerned but I figured that between the e coli and salmonella on the surface of the cart handle that he was sucking on and the afternoon at the rotavirus infested pediatrician's office, what the hell could this woman give him? And then the conversation went haywire...
Bouffant: Look at how long your fingers are...maybe you'll be a piano player. Wouldn't that be nice? You could be just like that Liberace.
She hesitated long enough for me to envision E, fastforwarded 50 years, wearing blue eyeshadow, pink lipstick and a full length fur coat.
Bouffant: But you don't have to be a faggot like him. You can just be a good piano player.
I looked across the meat counter in time to see the guy behind it double over and hide behind the counter in order to block anyone from seeing the hysteria that descended upon him.
K: OK, we need to keep shopping. It was lovely talking to you.
Sometimes it is just nicer to lie.
When I relayed this story to my husband, he took a twist that really could, once again, only come from a man.
D: I don't want him to be gay, but if he is, I sure hope he has better taste than Liberace.
Lord, help me.
Was that a reference to me being a witch?
Then it happened again in front of the meat counter. We were approached by a 60-ish woman sporting the exact same bouffant hairstyle she wore to her senior prom in 1959. She went on and on about E's eyes, blah, blah, blah. She was telling him she loved him and was kissing his forehead. I know I should have been concerned but I figured that between the e coli and salmonella on the surface of the cart handle that he was sucking on and the afternoon at the rotavirus infested pediatrician's office, what the hell could this woman give him? And then the conversation went haywire...
Bouffant: Look at how long your fingers are...maybe you'll be a piano player. Wouldn't that be nice? You could be just like that Liberace.
She hesitated long enough for me to envision E, fastforwarded 50 years, wearing blue eyeshadow, pink lipstick and a full length fur coat.
Bouffant: But you don't have to be a faggot like him. You can just be a good piano player.
I looked across the meat counter in time to see the guy behind it double over and hide behind the counter in order to block anyone from seeing the hysteria that descended upon him.
K: OK, we need to keep shopping. It was lovely talking to you.
Sometimes it is just nicer to lie.
When I relayed this story to my husband, he took a twist that really could, once again, only come from a man.
D: I don't want him to be gay, but if he is, I sure hope he has better taste than Liberace.
Lord, help me.
Friday, February 24, 2006
A solution only a man could come up with
There are many a discussion these days regarding what to do with The Boy, specifically how the hell to get him back in HIS bed before I kill him. We crossed some line and now the crib is viewed as a torture chamber into which babies are thrown by mothers that are only seeking to desert their children in order to go downstairs and eat Cheerios and climb on the dog. That must be what we are doing because what is better than feeding the dog Cheerios while playing king of the mountain? Even walking within 3 feet of the crib causes unabashed wailing and hysteria.
So my sister suggested that we just put a mattress on the floor, babyproof his room, gate the door and let him have at it. She also suggested that maybe if the kid was sleeping on a pillowtop mattress with 600 thread count sheets of his own he might stop jones-ing for mine.
I made mention of this to my husband. He immediately suggest the race car toddler bed at Ikea. The kid is a year old. Who the hell is the race car bed for? Really? We also discussed how we might be able to keep him from falling out, if only to keep his sleep uninterrupted so that the rest of us could make a valid attempt at making it until morning without being BOTHERED (and that really is the only way to explain it) by the child that ALREADY bothers for 16 hours a day.
K: Maybe we could just put one of those bed rails by the mattress on the floor so if he rolls against it, he might stay asleep.
D: You know what he really needs. One of those dog beds with the foam sides on it.
K: You didn't just suggest that your child sleep in a dog bed, did you?
Crickets.
So my sister suggested that we just put a mattress on the floor, babyproof his room, gate the door and let him have at it. She also suggested that maybe if the kid was sleeping on a pillowtop mattress with 600 thread count sheets of his own he might stop jones-ing for mine.
I made mention of this to my husband. He immediately suggest the race car toddler bed at Ikea. The kid is a year old. Who the hell is the race car bed for? Really? We also discussed how we might be able to keep him from falling out, if only to keep his sleep uninterrupted so that the rest of us could make a valid attempt at making it until morning without being BOTHERED (and that really is the only way to explain it) by the child that ALREADY bothers for 16 hours a day.
K: Maybe we could just put one of those bed rails by the mattress on the floor so if he rolls against it, he might stay asleep.
D: You know what he really needs. One of those dog beds with the foam sides on it.
K: You didn't just suggest that your child sleep in a dog bed, did you?
Crickets.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Email I received this morning regarding the behavior of my dog while I was off being tortured
so i'm up early this morning, buzzing around, trying to put the house together in a vain attempt at achieving a peaceful existence over here, and it dawns on me that zinni is nowhere to be found. figuring it would be just my luck for zinni to be lying dead in the middle of the road directly in front of my house, i check the street, but thank god, no zinni. then i check all the usual places--the piles of laundry in the basement, my lovely creamy white sofa, the lush (formerly cream) shag rug--alas, no dog. then i hear a little puppy sigh of bliss which sounds like it could be coming from upstairs. i search the piles of laundry in various rooms, and alas no dog. where could this 100 pounds of soft, wispy black hair be hiding, for god's sake? i crack open the door of my bedroom, squint in the darkness to see madeleine and...what???? the ever so comfy, ever so snuggly, zinni, who is practically UNDER the lovely yellow down covers, deep in the sleep of toddlers on their way home from disney world. evidentally everyone on the planet--including small children and large black dogs--prefers 400 thread count sheets.honestly, guys, he looked like a goddamn william wegman portrait. maybe zinni needs an agent. i guess he must have figured after days of being subject to the drama world of madeleine where she makes kubrik look like a cake walk, he can sleep anywhere he damn well pleases.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Elvis has LEFT THE BUILDING
It's finally over. Hopefully forever. I'm back at home, in bed, thinking that a Valium would sound good right about now. Thanks to everyone for all your thoughts and prayers. They were greatly appreciated and I think they did the trick.
During the test today I drafted several posts in my head, to include "Why Do We Have To Be Such A Butt Ugly Occupation?" and "That Hair Style Went Out With Working Girl And Why Do You All Insist On Keeping It Alive" and finally "Who Picked Out Your Clothes This Morning?" The last is certainly the one for which I am the biggest hypocrite because as I was drafting the post this morning in between question 47 on easement appurtenants and question 48 on depraved heart murder, I looked down and realized what EXACTLY I was wearing. Recycled from yesterday (except for a new shirt and new underwear, and maybe new socks but I'm not so sure), I realized that the jacket I had pulled from the closet to go with my black pants was actually my NAVY jacket. Did I mention I was wearing a chocolate brown sweater? And I had a broken heal on my boot?
Cookie is so wrong. On so many levels.
I'll be selling the t-shirts soon. Stand by.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
You LOVE me! You really DO!!
As overheard getting out of the car this morning:
K: Buddy, if God loves me, this morning I'll get a wills question involving testamentary capacity.
It was the 2nd question. Not only did I nail it, I wrote a treatise that would make a hornbook look trivial.
What more does a girl need? 8 hours down, 8 to go... Keep praying. He is clearly listening.
K: Buddy, if God loves me, this morning I'll get a wills question involving testamentary capacity.
It was the 2nd question. Not only did I nail it, I wrote a treatise that would make a hornbook look trivial.
What more does a girl need? 8 hours down, 8 to go... Keep praying. He is clearly listening.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Redefining the term "fun"
So we swung by the scene of the crime this evening when we strolled into the sleepy little town that will make or break 700 lives by the close of business Wednesday. Up, up, up the escalator. Nice airy ballroom. With a dance floor that has probably seen the "Chicken Dance" at one too many weddings.
D: Let's go down the elevator.
You know how you know in the pit of your stomach that something is a bad idea? But you just ignore it?
We walked into the elevator already occupied by two blondes.
B#1 to B#2: I already passed (insert embarrassingly easy/lame/communist adjoining state) bar so I'm just taking this for fun.
Colonoscopy fun? Root canal fun? Passing a 15-INCH-HEAD OUT OF YOUR VAGINA fun?
Derek slowly moved in between me and B#1. I guess he didn't think he had enough cash to get me out on bond before tomorrow morning.
D: Let's go down the elevator.
You know how you know in the pit of your stomach that something is a bad idea? But you just ignore it?
We walked into the elevator already occupied by two blondes.
B#1 to B#2: I already passed (insert embarrassingly easy/lame/communist adjoining state) bar so I'm just taking this for fun.
Colonoscopy fun? Root canal fun? Passing a 15-INCH-HEAD OUT OF YOUR VAGINA fun?
Derek slowly moved in between me and B#1. I guess he didn't think he had enough cash to get me out on bond before tomorrow morning.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
I'm in my tree, chopping up the Board of Bar Examiners with a machete, while Celine Dion sings "My Heart Will Go On"**
Two job fields for which I am qualified should this whole test thing not pan out:
1. Mall Security
2. Bouncer
**reference to "I Heart Huckabees" for those who missed it.
1. Mall Security
2. Bouncer
**reference to "I Heart Huckabees" for those who missed it.
Friday, February 17, 2006
How bad can the bar exam be?
Seeking validation, I now give you the list of subjects that I must know by Tuesday...
Agency
Partnerships
Conflict of Laws
Personal Property
Constitutional Law
Professional Responsibility
Contracts
Real Property
Corporations
Sales
Creditor's Rights
Suretyship
Criminal Law and Procedure
Taxation
Domestic Relations
Torts
Equity
Trusts
Evidence
Uniform Commercial Code
Commercial Paper
Secured Transactions
Federal Practice and Procedure
State Pleading, Practice, and Procedure in law and equity (including appellate practice)
Local Government Law
Wills and Estate Administration
You think I could just suck it up, huh?
Agency
Partnerships
Conflict of Laws
Personal Property
Constitutional Law
Professional Responsibility
Contracts
Real Property
Corporations
Sales
Creditor's Rights
Suretyship
Criminal Law and Procedure
Taxation
Domestic Relations
Torts
Equity
Trusts
Evidence
Uniform Commercial Code
Commercial Paper
Secured Transactions
Federal Practice and Procedure
State Pleading, Practice, and Procedure in law and equity (including appellate practice)
Local Government Law
Wills and Estate Administration
You think I could just suck it up, huh?
It's his sensitivity that I love the most
I came home from the library yesterday and confessed to Derek that I had contemplated throwing myself into traffic yesterday.
D: Well, that’s stupid.
K: Why?
D: You are still taking that test. Even if you broke your leg, I would carry you into that room because you are taking that test.
K: You and what army?
D: Very funny.
K: Do you know why I didn’t throw myself in front of traffic?
D: Tell me.
K: I knew that if I threw myself into traffic, everyone would know that I did it because I didn’t want to take the bar exam. No one would think, “oh, poor Kristen got hit by a truck.” Just, “I can’t believe she got hit by a truck just to get out of taking that damn test.”
D: Can you imagine how bad the test would be if you had a broken leg?
D: Well, that’s stupid.
K: Why?
D: You are still taking that test. Even if you broke your leg, I would carry you into that room because you are taking that test.
K: You and what army?
D: Very funny.
K: Do you know why I didn’t throw myself in front of traffic?
D: Tell me.
K: I knew that if I threw myself into traffic, everyone would know that I did it because I didn’t want to take the bar exam. No one would think, “oh, poor Kristen got hit by a truck.” Just, “I can’t believe she got hit by a truck just to get out of taking that damn test.”
D: Can you imagine how bad the test would be if you had a broken leg?
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Lawyers are viciously superstitious
My husband would disagree with me, because he is not superstitious, but he's an economist in lawyer's clothing.
Ask Bob if he is superstitious. He is sitting in the exact same study booth that he has been sitting at for the last 4 days. Bob is studying for the CA bar. This is his second time, actually second bar (he clarifies) so he is feeling OK. I tell him that it is my second time, SAME bar and that I too am confident.
As long as I have Elvis. This morning I drove frantically, cutting off school buses and old ladies. What would happen if I got to the library and someone was sitting with Elvis? I only have $3. Would you get up and move if a strange woman with a glazed look gave you her forlorn tale of missed opportunities and superstitions? For $3? I got lucky today and was not faced with this dilemma. But there is always tomorrow.
Nobody hassles Jeter for tugging on his shirt one last time before stepping into the batter's box. I feel like I should pull a Sosa and kiss the tips of my index and middle fingers twice and then plant them on the tacky gold ode to Elvis at the top of my study booth. Would it help?
Does Elvis care? If someone else sits in my chair? After 9 weeks of studying, am I really going to forget everything if I can't spend the day with Elvis?
You betcha.
Ask Bob if he is superstitious. He is sitting in the exact same study booth that he has been sitting at for the last 4 days. Bob is studying for the CA bar. This is his second time, actually second bar (he clarifies) so he is feeling OK. I tell him that it is my second time, SAME bar and that I too am confident.
As long as I have Elvis. This morning I drove frantically, cutting off school buses and old ladies. What would happen if I got to the library and someone was sitting with Elvis? I only have $3. Would you get up and move if a strange woman with a glazed look gave you her forlorn tale of missed opportunities and superstitions? For $3? I got lucky today and was not faced with this dilemma. But there is always tomorrow.
Nobody hassles Jeter for tugging on his shirt one last time before stepping into the batter's box. I feel like I should pull a Sosa and kiss the tips of my index and middle fingers twice and then plant them on the tacky gold ode to Elvis at the top of my study booth. Would it help?
Does Elvis care? If someone else sits in my chair? After 9 weeks of studying, am I really going to forget everything if I can't spend the day with Elvis?
You betcha.
Oh, there'll be a birthday, damn it.
Thanks to my sister for realizing that yesterday was E's birthday and for pulling a party out of her ass, a-la-(insert last name here) style.
My brother-in-law came back from picking up Derek and takeout and said, "did you just make all those decorations while I was gone?"
Oh ye of little faith.
I, of course, was studying because that's all I do these days. If you want to see pictures of the impromptu party, they are over here. You can tell the kid hasn't had much sugar.
My brother-in-law came back from picking up Derek and takeout and said, "did you just make all those decorations while I was gone?"
Oh ye of little faith.
I, of course, was studying because that's all I do these days. If you want to see pictures of the impromptu party, they are over here. You can tell the kid hasn't had much sugar.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
To the "Mouth-Breather" on the other side of the Elvis desk
In my ears I have placed ear plugs that will successfully reduce the sound of a shotgun blast to a mere "pop."
If I can still hear your MOUTH-BREATHING through these magnificant earplugs, you need to seek some form of medical treatment for that condition before I am forced to create a situation that will REQUIRE medical attention on your side of the partition.
You are killing me.
If I can still hear your MOUTH-BREATHING through these magnificant earplugs, you need to seek some form of medical treatment for that condition before I am forced to create a situation that will REQUIRE medical attention on your side of the partition.
You are killing me.
Happy V-D
I'm torn in my decision of which I liked best. My present or my Valentine sentiment from my husband.
Here's hoping you and I remain in long-run equilibrium.
For you I could find no substitute,For you are my perfect complement.
For you, my love knows no budget constraints.
Sweetheart, you're the only one on my indifference curve.
May this love be more than just an intertemporal choice.
Whichever way the wind shall blow,You will always be in my contingent consumption plan.
Today I throw diversification to the wind,And make you my single asset portfolio.
Price sensitivity be damned!Inelastically, this heart does demand.
If an optimized utility function borne of love is wrong,I don't want to be right.
Darling, as you consider the cost curves of our shared future,Does the marginal lie below the average?
If I called your body a dependent variable,Would you regress it on me?
You had me at "interpersonal utility comparison."
As my love for you grows stronger,A public good can you be no longer.
Sweetheart, on the distribution of possible love interests,You are a two-sigma event!
Roses are red,Estimators are BLUE,I longed for the Best,Until I found you.
Dork. Yes.
Dork who thought about putting a stripper pole in the kitchen. Oh, yeah.
Hot dork. Definitely.
Happy VD to you to, Baby.
Here's hoping you and I remain in long-run equilibrium.
For you I could find no substitute,For you are my perfect complement.
For you, my love knows no budget constraints.
Sweetheart, you're the only one on my indifference curve.
May this love be more than just an intertemporal choice.
Whichever way the wind shall blow,You will always be in my contingent consumption plan.
Today I throw diversification to the wind,And make you my single asset portfolio.
Price sensitivity be damned!Inelastically, this heart does demand.
If an optimized utility function borne of love is wrong,I don't want to be right.
Darling, as you consider the cost curves of our shared future,Does the marginal lie below the average?
If I called your body a dependent variable,Would you regress it on me?
You had me at "interpersonal utility comparison."
As my love for you grows stronger,A public good can you be no longer.
Sweetheart, on the distribution of possible love interests,You are a two-sigma event!
Roses are red,Estimators are BLUE,I longed for the Best,Until I found you.
Dork. Yes.
Dork who thought about putting a stripper pole in the kitchen. Oh, yeah.
Hot dork. Definitely.
Happy VD to you to, Baby.
Monday, February 13, 2006
And now, to add insult to injury....
I have done 2,424 multiple guess questions in preparation for the multi-state portion of my exam.
Wow, Kristen! That's great.
I've referred to them as "multiple guess" for a reason.
So there I am doing Criminal Law questions. I've read hundreds and hundreds of questions about Brown doing this and Adams doing that. And there it was.
"(Insert last name here) was planning a bank robbery." The question went on to refer to a felony murder that my relative apparently committed and was subsequently convicted for that murder. Idiot.
To the Browns and Adams out there, I'm sorry. Not only have you spent a lifetime of getting called on first at the beginning of the school year and having to sit in the front, left corner, you are the easy out when someone has to make up a name. But you know what? It's common. That's all there is to it.
I'm not a Brown or an Adams. I'm a (insert last name here). I've been a (insert last name here) for over 30 years and I didn't even give it up for love. I like being a (insert last name here) because it makes me the individual I am. Don't get me wrong. My last name isn't what I would describe as uncommon. There is a (insert last name here) city in one of those middle states, but I think everyone has a last-name city in those middle states. They seemed to have missed the creativity boat.
But I have never met another person with my last name that was not related to me. This is impressive considering I have worked two jobs that required interaction with at least 1,000 names a day (and upwards of 3,000 names) for over 5 years. But back to the injustice.
How do you go from hundreds of Browns to (insert last name here). That's a mighty big stretch.
To the National Board of Bar Examiners. Screw you. It's not bad enough that you stood between me and bliss the last time around, you are now making it personal. If my peeps were hitting banks, we wouldn't be killing anyone nor would we be getting caught. Don't offend me.
Wow, Kristen! That's great.
I've referred to them as "multiple guess" for a reason.
So there I am doing Criminal Law questions. I've read hundreds and hundreds of questions about Brown doing this and Adams doing that. And there it was.
"(Insert last name here) was planning a bank robbery." The question went on to refer to a felony murder that my relative apparently committed and was subsequently convicted for that murder. Idiot.
To the Browns and Adams out there, I'm sorry. Not only have you spent a lifetime of getting called on first at the beginning of the school year and having to sit in the front, left corner, you are the easy out when someone has to make up a name. But you know what? It's common. That's all there is to it.
I'm not a Brown or an Adams. I'm a (insert last name here). I've been a (insert last name here) for over 30 years and I didn't even give it up for love. I like being a (insert last name here) because it makes me the individual I am. Don't get me wrong. My last name isn't what I would describe as uncommon. There is a (insert last name here) city in one of those middle states, but I think everyone has a last-name city in those middle states. They seemed to have missed the creativity boat.
But I have never met another person with my last name that was not related to me. This is impressive considering I have worked two jobs that required interaction with at least 1,000 names a day (and upwards of 3,000 names) for over 5 years. But back to the injustice.
How do you go from hundreds of Browns to (insert last name here). That's a mighty big stretch.
To the National Board of Bar Examiners. Screw you. It's not bad enough that you stood between me and bliss the last time around, you are now making it personal. If my peeps were hitting banks, we wouldn't be killing anyone nor would we be getting caught. Don't offend me.
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