diatribes and dish

I'm baaaaa-aaaack!

2012-01-27T12:10:00.001-06:00

After 2+ years, I actually feel like I'm able to blog again. I left off with the birth of my son, Leo, and as you can imagine, a lot has transpired since then. I'll get to all that later, but to whet my blogging whistle, a quick little tale about the joys of mothering a two-year old boy. Last night at dinner, before I could stop what was happening, Leo grabbed a mittful of hummus and smeared it across one of his cheeks.

"No, Leo! That's for eating, not playing!"

Then he grabbed a Wheat Thin and began using it to scrape the hummus off his cheek.

"What are you DOING?" I asked.

With his little stinker grin, he replied, "Thaving." (Shaving.)

So effing cute.

Anyway, as with many of the things he does, this followed:

Leo Thomas

2010-01-01T13:35:00.001-06:00

Born at 10:08 am on December 31, 2009, 8 lbs. 7 oz., 20.6 inches long. I love him to pieces. He was well worth the wait.

for ekc

2009-12-29T19:26:00.003-06:00

40 weeks, 3 days.

For the uninitiated, babies are supposed to come out at 40 weeks.

you know what they don't tell you?

2009-12-14T10:23:00.004-06:00

They don't tell you that, when you're soon to give birth, it feels like someone kicked you in the crotch. Seriously, it's a soreness in your bones. It makes you walk funny. It's unpleasant.

They also don't tell you that the collection of any amount of urine, even a couple tablespoons, in your bladder actually hurts. So much so that sometimes you can't stand up straight. You go to the bathroom expecting a deluge, but then all you get is a trickle, probably because the kid's head is resting directly on your urethra. How very unsatisfying.

No one ever told me you can get carpal tunnel from pregnancy. Did any of you know that? Swelling in the wrists causes everything to get all squeezed up, which compresses the nerves that go to your hands and fingers. For a couple months now, I've woken up every morning with tingly fingers. Lately, my hands have begun to throb. I wear the carpal tunnel wrist braces to bed, but they aggravate my skin. I actually lost one the other night; apparently I was so annoyed by it in my sleep that I took it off and threw it somewhere. I haven't found it yet.

Anyway, I'm now 38 weeks, two to go until my due date, but I'm measuring 41 weeks. I'm huge. I feel like I look like this:

I'm stuffed up, short of breath and just plain over this entire fucking episode. Unfortunately, I'm apparently a super incubator, and even though the kid is fully developed and capable of living in the real world, it's making no moves whatsoever to come out. While I'm sure I'll love my baby with all my heart, mind and strength, right now, I'm just hoping the little shit stops freeloading and decides to vacate the premises.

Of course, I will keep you apprised of any and all developments that may occur.

phases

2009-11-20T11:44:00.003-06:00

I was looking at the post secret site today, and was struck by one secret that said, "Seeing your socks in my laundry makes me happy."

Remember when little things like socks in laundry or a new type of beer in the fridge or the car radio being set to one of his stations -- all things that can signify the existence of a new love -- made you happy? Those times, when I was brimming with excitement, nervousness and infatuation, were so much fun. I loved those feelings.

It's different now, five years into our relationship. Of course it is. I can say with certainty that seeing his socks in my laundry doesn't elicit any emotional response, except maybe weariness. It's no longer "my" laundry anyway; it's ours.

But the stuff now is awesome, too. Especially as we wait for our little one. Little notes predicting the date the baby will come, helping me put on my socks when I feel particularly huge, never bitching about the love affair I'm carrying on with the couch, these are the things that make me happy now. They don't cause excitement or nervousness. Instead, they cause contentment, security and appreciation. I love this, too.

I'm sure that, after all the trials and tribulations of having a newborn, there will still be little things that make me happy. It will be interesting to see what those things turn out to be.

big

2009-11-13T22:39:00.000-06:00

6 weeks to go. I'm measuring 2 weeks ahead. I feel like I'm big enough, thank you. Seriously, if you're feeling bad about your body, just take one look at me, and you'll walk away feeling like a Victoria's Secret model.

Looks uncomfortable, doesn't it? Yeah, well it is.

looking ahead

2009-08-13T10:55:00.003-05:00

I have one case that strikes fear into my heart.

It's a huge litigation, big money at stake, weeklong jury trial. I am overcome with dread whenever I think about it.

It's a case where, if common sense prevails, my client should come out with no, or very little, liability. It's a jury case, though, so you never know.

Plus, the other side consists of a guy suffering from a debilitating brain disease. He comes across as untrustworthy, but you can't really beat up on a guy when it's clear he can no longer function like he once did.

Only one thing is making me somewhat hopeful about this case: it's looking like the trial will be scheduled during my maternity leave.

Halleluia!!!

I really, really, really, all digits crossed, hope this occurs. Then my big boss will have to do it, and I'll get off scot-free.

I think I'll still have to try at least two cases before my leave, but both should be relatively straightforward. As I've tried more cases, the stress associated with litigation has decreased. It still keeps me awake at night sometimes, but not as much as it used to.

That's the benefit of losing. It helps you realize that life (and work) marches on.

Stress is necessary to keep you sharp, but it shouldn't be paralyzing. For me, that's been a tough lesson to learn.

halfway there

2009-08-11T19:15:00.004-05:00

I reached a big milestone this past weekend, the big week 20. Halfway there.

And today, I had my ultrasound. Let me introduce you to my alien baby.

Ain't s/he cute?

Just kidding. I know it's almost impossible to see anything in these photos.

And considering the baby is almost ten inches long but only weighs about 10 oz., I'm sure it wouldn't be that cute face to face. It needs the next 20 weeks to fatten up.

We decided not to find out the sex of the baby. I had waffled back and forth on the subject, but Mr. W was firmly in the "surprise" camp. That didn't stop me from trying to check out my kid's goods, though, and I'm pretty sure I saw a little penis. I could be wrong ... it could've been the umbilical cord. We shall see.

Things are starting to change shape around here. My stomach is now undeniably round. And I have my first stretch mark. My mom has horrific stretch marks, so I guess I was being delusional when I hoped I would go without. Oh well, time to invest in some cocoa butter and one piece swimsuits (not that I've rocked a bikini any time recently).

Luckily, I achieved my goal of wearing non-preggo pants until 20 weeks. This week, though, there's no denying it ... I need the sweet relief of the elastic waistband.

I started feeling the baby move about a week and a half ago. All of the baby websites say it feels like bubbles or fluttering. Not for me. For me, it was more like my stomach was dropping. And every once in a while, I feel a swift kick to my bladder. As annoying as that may sound, I actually enjoy it. Again, it's nice to have that reassurance that all is going well in there.

So, anyway, halfway there. I think the second half will go faster than the first half did. First, it's the fall, my favorite time of year. Fall always goes fast. Second, because things are only going to get more noticeable, it's much easier to see the progress. Third, now I get to start really getting ready ... buying cute onesies, outfitting the nursery, etc. All fun stuff.

Still no booze, though. The next 20 weeks can't go fast enough.

all's well that ends well

2009-08-03T08:59:00.005-05:00

So...I ended up calling the court on Friday to find out whether I won. Unfortunately, because of budget cuts, the judges no longer have their own clerks, so once the order is entered in the main court administration system, it basically takes an act of Congress to get someone to look the order up. Suffice it to say, at the end of the day and throughout the weekend, the outcome of the case was a mystery.

On Saturday, my family and I went to Bellisios for a little nosh. I could see my office window from the parking lot and thought that maybe I should run over there quick to find out. That thought lasted less than a nanosecond (the office? on a weekend? when I have no impending deadlines?) before I thought, "Fuck it."

But first thing this morning, I saw the envelope on the front desk as I walked in. I ripped into it as fast as I could, not bothering with customary morning pleasantries.

Skip the findings, straight to the order. Relief Granted. SUCCESS! Yay!

Incidentally, my brother also adopted my cat effective this morning, so today's starting out pretty great. I hope it continues.

P.S. Just got off the phone with the client. This goes without saying, but calling with good results is WAY more fun than calling with bad.

to call or not to call, that is the question

2009-07-31T10:37:00.003-05:00

I had a trial last Tuesday, a one-day-er, pretty straightforward court trial.

I've been checking the court's online record system every single day to see if the judge had made his decision.

This morning, sure enough, I found that the case had been marked "closed" and that, yesterday, the judge had entered his findings of fact, conclusions of law, order for judgment and judgment.

Unfortunately, the judge's decision did not come in today's mail. So now I'm faced with the conundrum: should I call the court to learn the judge's decision or not?

I usually cannot stand suspense. I have been known to unwrap and carefully rewrap Christmas presents because I just couldn't take it.

The last time this happened, however, I found out I lost, and I had to live with the news over the entire Memorial Day weekend before I actually received and was able to read the basis for the negative decision. The not knowing sucked.

So, internet, what shall I do?

do you ever wonder how you're going to die?

2009-07-30T10:00:00.002-05:00

I usually don't. I choose not to dwell on the macabre.

However, with yesterday's big report of how swine flue affects pregnant women, I can't help but wonder, "Is this how it will end for me?" Being 7-9 months pregnant during the heart of flu season doesn't bode well.

Add in the fact that I also have asthma (which places me into another "high risk" category), and, hey, there's some cause for concern.

Truthfully, I think my chances of suffering from swine flu this fall/winter are pretty slim. I rarely, if ever, come into contact with kids. None of my co-workers have kids. I already cover my mouth when I cough, and I carry hand sanitizer in my purse. And when it comes to sickness-type things, I'm an ox. So I'm not nervous.

I contemplated these things yesterday as I had to drive to a neighboring county to walk a roadway for my work. The county in which the roadway is located is currently playing host to the annual Hells Angels rally. Apparently, thousands of Hells Angels have flooded into the area. In anticipation of their dastardly deeds, local, state and federal cops have also flooded the area.

I wondered whether my chances of being killed by a Hells Angel were greater than my chances of being killed by swine flu. Considering that I saw not one motorcyclist, other than two state patrol, I'm guessing swine flu it is.

Incidentally, I saw the state motorcycle cops on the freeway heading back to my office. They were passing everyone, sirens blaring and lights flashing. I was hoping I'd come upon a gang fight or something, but when I finally caught up with the state patrol, guess where they were? Driving into the parking lot at McDonalds.

Hmmmm, so glad they're here to protect us.

whoosh whoosh whoosh

2009-07-24T13:37:00.003-05:00

So ... I had my third doctor's appointment earlier today, and it was good.

Mr. W accompanied me so he could hear the baby's heartbeat.

And, boy, did we hear it, loud and clear.

There's a period between when you know your baby's alive in there and when you first feel it that's kind of a no man's land. Like, you think you're getting fatter, but you're not a hundred percent sure, you think something's just not right down in your lower abdomen, but it could be digestion gone awry, you know you should be good, but you really want that glass of red wine. It just kind of sucks. Not as bad as the morning sickness, but still a state of non-fun limbo.

Unfortunately, during this time, I negotiated my maternity leave, studied up on day care costs and analyzed new and exciting expenses that come along with an infant.

So between last month's check-up and this month's, I was blue because there was no real affirmation that this whole process would turn out for the good.

It's amazing how quickly that little heartbeat can brighten one's outlook.

The heartbeat was strong and showed up on the doppler immediately. It was between 155 and 160 beats per minute, which is on the high side for an in utero baby. There are old wives' tales that say baby girls have faster heartbeats, so of course, I'm on cloud 9.

I know they're not medically necessary, but it would be really nice to have the affirmation that comes with a checkup more often than every 4 weeks.

We have our ultrasound in 2 & 1/2 weeks. I can't imagine how giddy I'll be after that.

awwww

2009-07-22T15:26:00.008-05:00

In engaging in my new favorite pastime (looking for baby shit on craigslist), I found these:

Baby mukluks.

Generally speaking, I resent winter. Especially Minnesota winter. But these are adorable.

Maybe winter isn't so bad after all.*

*Just kidding. I still hate it. I just didn't know how else to wrap up the post.

hey, it's nothing worse than you'd see on wild america

2009-07-20T21:52:00.000-05:00

My pervy little dog decided to hump himself a toy tonight, and he got himself into quite the situation.

He must've found a weak spot in the seam and worked it into the perfect size. Because when he was "done," this was his predicament:

It stayed like that for a half hour. Yuck.

Stuff like this is why I want to have a girl.

Boys are gross.

another news tidbit --- this time funny

2009-07-17T14:08:00.002-05:00

In our local paper, one of the day's major headlines is that "Duluth Police Search for Rubber Ball Fetish Burglar."

Apparently, some guy in town has a major thing for big exercise balls. He's broken into several health clubs and medical practices to slash and pop large exercise balls.

Only in the Twin Ports.

A couple years ago, it was a guy who, ahem, had his way with a dead deer on the side of the road. After his release from prison, he was sent back to the clink after violating the conditions of his parole by staring longingly at a cow at the county fair.

I'm serious about this.

I know it's sick, but I also find it extremely hilarious.

I also found one of the comments on today's newspaper article extremely hilarious:

"Don't knock it until you try it, prudes."

my experience with indonesian bombs

2009-07-17T08:59:00.014-05:00

The news of the terrorist bombings in Jakarta, Indonesia caught my attention this morning. The bombings were the first after several years of effort by the Indonesian government to ramp up anti-terrorist measures.

I don't remember if I mentioned it on my blog, but Mr. W and I took a quick swing down to a northern Indonesian state during the last couple days of our honeymoon.

We flew from Bangkok to Singapore a couple days earlier than we had originally planned in order to take the mini excursion. Within an hour of landing in Singapore, we were on a ferry across the Straits of Singapore to an island named Pulua Batam.

Customs was easy, quick passport scan and $10 (U.S.) for a visa. We hopped on our resort's shuttle and off we went.

The resort was beautiful. It was an old resort, but half of it had burned down within the past couple years, so one side was rebuilt with chic, modern rooms and the other still had old thatched roof huts. Luckily, we scored rooms on the new side.

(Our room.)

(Wide shot of new side of resort, from pier.)

(Pier and part of older side of the resort with thatched roof huts.)

(Lobby and Mr. W checking in.)

(Modern side.)

(Infinity pool with ocean in the background.)

(I love this picture of Mr. W. Cracks me up.)

We met Mr. W's brother and family at the resort. That night, we rented a van and ventured out into the nearest town for dinner. We ate at a fish market, located on a pier. While the resort was clearly geared toward western travelers, this fish market was clearly geared toward the locals. It was the only place in all our travels that I experienced the traditional squat toilet.*

The food was phenomenal. Shrimp, clams, grilled fish and more, all served with steamed rice and various sauces. We also had snails. To say I was not a fan is putting it lightly. Gag. Mr. W didn't mind them, but they weren't his favorite. Unfortunately, I forgot to get a picture before we plowed our way through the dishes, but I did get a picture of the aftermath.

(Fish market on pier.)

(Snail in butter sauce.)

(Aftermath.)

On the way back to the resort, we stopped at a little store for some beer. Bintang, which is Indonesian for "star", was the flavor du jour.

When we arrived back at the resort, we were stopped at the gate by guards. Mr. W and I were wondering what was going on as the guard peered inside the van and then circled the van with a weird stick that looked almost like a metal detector. As we were waved through, Mr. W's brother explained that the guard just swept the van for bombs.

Huh. OK.

I looked at Mr. W and (playing on Dorothy's words), "I don't think we're in Minnesota anymore."

Which become extremely evident as we were walking to our room and noticed this ginormous spider. It was about 3-4 inches across and probably poinsonous. It just looked mean. And gross. See?

It was also extremely evident that we were no longer in Minnesota the next morning when I got a massage at the resort's spa. As normal, she started with my back. When she asked me to flip over, I expected that she'd do the neck and shoulders as normal, and maybe the legs, too. Imagine my surprise when her hands kept going down once she finished with my shoulders. I was thinking, "Nope, couldn't be, wait, whu? ... wow, full boob." It was hard to keep from giggling. I mean, that's just not something that happens everyday. Or ever really, in a non-amorous situation. I guess when they advertise a full body massage, they really mean it. I'm glad I kept my undies on.

The only other notable occurrence during our foray to Indonesia was that we visited a shopping center in a larger town about 20 miles away. Before entering, again the car was swept for bombs. Mr. W's brother's wife, Dija, is Malay/Indian/Indonesian, so she wanted to get some local groceries before heading back to Singapore. She helped me pick out spice packets and other stuff to bring back to the U.S. It was really fun and interesting to see the differences in ingredients and packaging and marketing in an Indonesian grocery store.

Mr. W and I stuck out like a sore thumb in that store. We were ogled, and not because of our good looks. I still never once felt any danger or insecurity. But the bomb sweeping made me think that maybe I should have.

Anyway, right after the visit to the grocery store, we caught a ferry back to Singapore, where I spent the last night of my honeymoon writhing on a couch because my stomach had had enough of the all the unrecognizable stuff that I'd been asking it to digest. Mr. W was out with his brother getting hammered on Tiger beer. Dija and the kids were out at a birthday party for a cousin on Dija's side of the family.

Despite the feeling in my stomach, I was very sad to leave southeast Asia. It was fun, hot, and completely different than anything I had experienced before. I hope to make it back someday.

*I had heard terrible things about squat toilets, but I didn't think this one was that bad. If you've ever been camping, it wasn't much different than a squat in the woods, except it was over a small basin with a drain in it. I guess I didn't really think about how a #2 would work, but #1 was no problemo. Of course, there was no toilet paper, but I had been warned by other members of Mr. W's family to always carry tissues with me. So, all in all, squat toilets are OK by me.

the gory details, pt. 1

2009-07-08T12:31:00.002-05:00

When I made the big announcement regarding my pregnancy, one commenter wrote that she wanted to hear all the gory details. Well, here are some of them.

I'm feeling nothing of the happiness and love that Ms. Feisty is currently experiencing. Rather, I'm feeling a bit of resentment.

Early pregnancy sucks. Pure and simple.

First, there's the nausea and general malaise.

Then there's the constant threat/worry of miscarriage.

Then there are the big announcements, which may or may not be welcomed by certain parties (ie. employers).

Then there's having to go to social functions without the benefit of booze. Do you know how lame a wedding is without booze? Or how about the entire 4th of July weekend? Barbecues? It's excruciatingly tough.

Then there's the crazy second semester stuff: headaches, bloody noses, shortness of breath and a rapidly decreasing wardrobe because NOTHING FITS ANYMORE.

Then there are the thoughts that, "Holy fuck, I no longer have freedom. I will have this kid forever. I won't be able to travel anymore. The phrase 'footloose and fancy free' no longer applies."

Then there's the really disappointing meeting with your bosses when they tell you what they're going to give you for maternity leave.

Then there's the realization that anything fun I planned to do before the baby comes is now out of the question because all my money is now going toward baby-related items, not the least of which is our survival during the period when I will be receiving no compensation from my employers. My last big fling to New Orleans I was going to take in October? Gone. The Wii I wanted for my birthday? Nope. Fuck fuck fuck.

And what benefits have I experienced so far? I heard the heartbeat.

This may sound cold, but 15+ weeks in, I don't feel like I've bonded much with the baby. I mean, what is there to bond to? You can't feel it, you have no relationship to it, and all it seems to have done so far is interrupt my life.

I went out at lunch today, and I met an acquaintance on the street. As soon as she saw me, she showered me with congratulations and excitement. As we were separating, she said, "It's SO worth it."

"I hope so," I said. And I really do because, right now, it's the pits.

little houses made of ticky tacky

2009-07-01T11:05:00.005-05:00

Or, as the case may be, Laffy Taffy. Or Ding Dongs. Or Big Macs and Cokes from the McDonalds drive-thru.

I don't know if you remember a couple months ago when Anna Wintour made a statement regarding her observations of Minnesotans' obese tendencies. These were her words:

I'd just been on a trip to Minnesota, where I can only describe most of the people I saw as little houses.

I was miffed at the time I first read the quote. I mean, Minnesota is generally known as one of the healthiest places to live. Clean air, clean water, clean environment, readily-available medical care--the list goes on and on.

Yes, people in the Midwest are sometimes described as being "thicker" than those living in warmer climes. And I am among those "thicker" types.

But, hell, at least I'm not from the South.

Once again, the South has dominated the obesity contests, as recently reported in this report. And where does Minnesota come in?

31st.

We're below the median. And many notable states, such as Pennsylvania, Washington and Oregon, rank higher (more obese) than Minnesota.

So if most of the people in Minnesota are little houses, does that mean most of the people in these other states are little mansions, little office buildings or little Pentagons?

Really, though, in light of the findings of the report, I just want to tell Anna Wintour to go suck it. Why single Minnesota out when it's doing better than the balance of the country?

Don't pick on my state unless you want my wrath, bitch. Oh, and Anna? Your hair is ugly.

finally

2009-06-30T13:50:00.003-05:00

The great state of Minnesota finally has its second senator. Only seven months or so late.

Yay for Al Franken! And for the Minnesota Supreme Court!

My fetus and I are happy. I'm proud of my blue state.

Now all this assumes that Norm Coleman won't file yet another appeal, which I suppose he could, but I think he'd waste a large chunk of the little political capital he has left if he pulled that move.
So, warily I say again, yay!

Now I'm curious to see what the Senate can do.

you know what's good?

2009-06-24T13:04:00.003-05:00

A mid-pregnancy fountain coke from McDonalds. It's almost as good as a morning-after-a-bender fountain coke from McDonalds. Almost.*

So, yeah, I'm pregnant. Just kicked off the second trimester, and I think I'm going to like it. Compared to the first trimester, though, I'm sure just about anything would be an upgrade.

I reached the big milestone of 13 weeks this past Sunday. On Monday, I still felt the pukey affecting my every move, just waiting for the opportunity to pounce and launch me into a series of dry heaves.

Yesterday, though. Yesterday, I felt pretty damn good. And it was weird, I actually didn't get sick from eating. No dry heaves at all. I even helped Mr. W eat an entire bowl of popcorn, which I hadn't been able to do for the past 7 weeks or so.

And today? A craving. For a Big Mac.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it's not healthy or organic or gourmet, but, f$%&, was it good.

I know I'm going to have to rein it in and start eating the healthy stuff for the baby's development, blah blah blah, but for today, or this afternoon at least, I'm going to revel in my eating prowess.

On that note, I'm off to find me a Milky Way.

*I actually used the time it took me to travel between the drive thru and my workplace to analyze which was better. On one hand, in light of the fact that I have not had caffeine in over a week, the coke I had for lunch today was really fantastic. On the other, as I'm sure all my (two) readers know, that coke during a hangover, when you're parched and tired and headachy and nauseous and know you're going to have episodic diarrhea, is super really amazing fantastic. So hangover coke won.

liveblogging a court appearance

2009-06-04T17:13:00.001-05:00

So...I'm again waiting for a hearing to begin, and this time I'm spending the time marveling at the sight of a 65+ year old woman wearing a fake blonde Barbie doll pony tail perched perkily atop her old lady blow out. I guess some people done get gussied up for court!

liveblogging a tribute concert

2009-05-28T21:06:00.001-05:00

I'm sitting at a concert in which the various artists are performing their renditions of Johnny Cash and Neil Young songs.

I just heard one of said artists didjeridoo "Sugar Mountain".

I have lived.

in need of a new home

2009-05-27T20:58:00.003-05:00

So...after much deliberation, I've decided that I need to find my kitty Lola a new home. She's a sweet cat but independent. Definitely not a lap cat.

I'll be sad to let her go.

If you know of anyone who may be interested, please let me know.

liveblogging a township property tax meeting

2009-05-12T09:46:00.000-05:00

At or before the crack of dawn this morning, I jumped in the car and drove north to appeal a property tax assessment. Seems everyone is feeling the pinch, including small rural townships. This particular township, though, is home to some of Minnesota's prime lakeshore real estate, so when they saw the need and the opportunity to collect revenue, they took it. In a BIG way. Considering I'm one of about 40 people commencing an appeal, I have a feeling this is going to take a long time.

I've mentioned on this blog before that I love township law. Everything is informal. The cases often require that I view the property at issue. I've actually had to wear mud boots in the line of my lawyerly duties. For me, that's way better than sitting behind a desk all day.

Plus, and this is no small plus, I actually get to bill big chunks of time while listening to my favorite tunes, sipping on a latte, and watching the countryside whiz by on the way to my particular destination. It's almost as good as if I could bill for watching my favorite show. Love it.

Anyway, it'll be my turn to speak here in a minute so I should run. Wish me (and my clients luck)!

yeah, right.

2009-04-24T13:22:00.005-05:00

I was reading one of the blogs on my blogroll--one of those considered to be a "mommy" blog--and found the ad that I'll post below.

First, though, on my reading of the mommy blogs, I'm not quite sure why I'm so intrigued by these mommies and their kids, born and soon to be born. Maybe because I'm fascinated that these people would share such personal stuff so openly. Possibly because I have no idea what's going on in that realm, and if I ever want to have a kid someday, maybe I should learn. Or maybe because their kids are cute. Who knows.

Anyway, onto the ad. It's an American Apparel ad, so the fact that it is what it is should not come as a surprise. I can't say I've ever really liked an American Apparel ad--average, non-make-upped people in nondescript cotton clothes just don't do it for me.

This one doesn't just not do it for me, it makes me want to barf and laugh at the same time:

Isn't that just horrible? Who the fuck would dress like that? And if it's warm enough to prance around in a unitard, aren't the leggings a bit superfluous? I don't think anyone that pregnant is going to be pulling off any "Fame" moves any time soon.

Based on the sheer ridiculousness of the ad, I clicked on the "here" link, just to see what other "comfy and cute" looks they offered, and let me tell you, you're looking at about the best of it.

I then started looking at other stuff on the site, including new styles "coming soon"--among them, and I kid you not, was a hair bow. Like the ones you wore in your hair in the late 80s.

When I saw that, I was all, "Fuck you American Apparel. I'm done with this shit."

And even though I have never owned a piece of American Apparel clothing, I am. Done. With that shit.

here it is

2009-04-17T18:40:00.001-05:00

Summertime.

Ahhhhhhhh.

at this point

2009-04-07T12:52:00.003-05:00

This point is the point at which you walk away.

When, in a couple years, you could build a house for marginally more than the house you're considering.

New house, new construction, your choice, your style.

Nothing to fix, nothing to redo.

Yup, this is the point.

Hear that? That's the sound of my heels on the hardwoods, walking away.

at what point do you walk away?

2009-04-06T14:09:00.002-05:00

OK, the house.

We want it.

The seller's not making it easy on us, though.

The septic is failing. It still works, but it's not in compliance with applicable codes, and it will need to be replaced within the next 2 years.

The seller has indicated that she will not pony up ANY funds toward that expense.

I think that's bullshit.

I know the sale's tight. I know she owes very close to the asking price. However, I also know that she already stripped out about $60K in equity from the place within the last five years. So I don't really feel sorry for her.

But all of that doesn't really matter. What matters is what we now do in response. Counter with halfsies? Give her the under-the-chin italian finger snap and a hearty "vaffanculo"?

I don't know. Boo. I hate uncertainty.

i'm a lucky bitch

2009-04-05T21:40:00.001-05:00

More about my weekend to follow, but as I sit here in the Mpls airport waiting for my flight to Duluth, I'm reflecting on how absolutely lucky I am that I have my girls in my life.

The laughter, holy shit, the laughter.

The frankness, the openness, the knowledge that these girls will be with me forever.

Eff me, I'm tearing up.

EKC just called, we're both elbow deep in a bottle of wine. I'm sure her bottle's way yummier than mine, considering mine's the house at the airport TGI Fridays, but, anyway, I love it that we're doing the same thing a couple time zones apart.

Shit, I'm getting all Feivel (or drunk) on your asses...Ok time to wrap up.

Thanks, girls, for yet another truly fantastic weekend. I love you guys!!!!!

liveblogging my weekend getaway

2009-04-03T17:24:00.000-05:00

So...I'm sitting here in Scottsdale, Arizona having dandy old time. I got in yesterday evening, and after a ride across town, finally arrived at the gorgeous home of my friend EKC's in-laws for Girls' Weekend 2009.

It goes without saying, but Arizona is SO different from Minnesota, and right now, that's a very good thing.

The weather's been nice, if a little cool, but it's still better than the near- freezing temps at home.

And check out the back patio of the house at which we're staying. One word: Stunning.

Just got a pedi:

And going for dinner tonight. Tomorrow, more of the same.

I love girls' weekends.

out of the blue

2009-04-02T08:12:00.002-05:00

I made an offer on a house last night.

Granted, it's a contingent offer, so there are a plethora of little things that could make the whole deal go away, not to mention the possibility that the seller won't accept my offer, but still. An offer.

I made it alone, too, without Mr. W's involvement. This relates to the fact that the credit market's in the toilet, and Mr. W already has a house and an investment property on his credit report.

But, anyway.

Holy shit.

Two weeks ago? We weren't even looking.

Then Mr. W found this house on a local realtor's website, and we decided to go take a look.

We loved.

The yard? Awesome.

The storage? About 3x more than we have now.

The fact that it's close to town, yet still surrounded by woods? Exactly what we wanted.

The kitchen? Tres puke. But hey, for the price, we can fix it up in due time.

So, AHHHHH!

I'm super excited, but I'm trying to temper my excitement because, as mentioned above, the sale's contingent on us selling our home.

My mantra is trite but applicable, "If it's meant to be, it will be."

wow.

2009-03-27T23:23:00.003-05:00

Sometimes, I forget why I'm a fan. Usually this occurs about 2/3 to 3/4 into the Minnesota Vikings regular season, when everything falls apart.

But tonight, TONIGHT, holy moly rocky.

Now that was a game.

UMD (University of Minnesota Duluth), the alma mater of both my father and husband, pulled the proverbial rabbit out of the proverbial hat.

39 seconds left in the game. Things were grim. UMD pulled their goalie, and scored two, yes TWO, goals in that final 39 seconds to tie the game.

And then in sudden death overtime? SCORE!!!!! UMD wins.

I haven't been a part of the winning side of such an exciting sporting event in, I don't know, forever?

And I'm not one of those types of people who can compartmentalize. No. When I'm following a game, that game is the entirety of my life.

So tonight? Was a very awesome night.

Good luck 'Dogs!!!

eye spy

2009-03-22T13:37:00.004-05:00

I recently blogmitted (get it? Blogmitted? Admitted on my blog? I'm so freaking clever.) that I have some heavy baggage and wrinkles under my eyes. I think it's the result of genetics, asthma (and related pharmaceuticals) and not-so-clean living in my twenties. OK, ok, in my thirties, too. Anyway, I've recently become annoyed enough about the situation to actually try to do something about it.

In conjunction with a recent order from Sephora, I was sent a sample of StriVectin Instant Deep Wrinkle Filler. I want your input. Based on the photos below, did it do anything for me?

Before:

After:

So, what do you think?

My thought? It didn't do $59 worth of wrinkle-filling. I think I see a little difference, but it's negligible.

Does anyone out there have any products they like for this kind of thing? Or any products they LOVE and can't live without? I'd appreciate any recommendations.

So would Lola. She was sitting in this box wondering what the hell I was doing when I was taking all these photos of my right eye. She would appreciate recommendations for anything that would reduce my crazy factor.

P.S. Note the part in my eyebrow. I can't tell you how much aggravation that little feature has caused me throughout my life. Seriously, look at those hairs grow toward the middle of my head. So stupid.

oh to be rich

2009-03-20T16:19:00.006-05:00

Remember when I showed you how great Katie Holmes looked at a recent movie premier?

Well, she had better look great because her makeover cost $43,000. Yes, that's right, FORTY-THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS.

Foxnews.com posted a report from the UK's Daily Mail that Ms. Holmes camped out at the Tokyo Ritz Carlton for 48 hours before her debut. Her treatments included hair extentions ($2,983), spa treatments, ($10,123) and tooth veneers ($28,921) and makeup ($1,446).

And now, like a week later, she looks like this.

So, let me get this straight. $43,000 and she's back to looking exactly like she did BEFORE the makeover?!?

I'm sure that one night was SO worth the money.

it starts off so well

2009-03-20T08:54:00.004-05:00

I stayed up drinking until 2:30 last night. Or this morning, I guess.

I haven't done that on a school night in probably three years. When I used to do it all the time.

I feel damn good, too. And I'm just not trusting it.

Sometimes, when I wake up after going on a bender, I actually look better than normal. My cheeks are rosy, my lips are plump and my eyes are wide open. This usually lasts about an hour.

Then I realize my cheeks are rosy because my rosacea's starting to flare up, and the ugly little bumps will be canvassing my face in no time.

My lips are plump because they're horribly chapped.

And my eyes are wide open because my body's asking my brain, with fear and alarm, "What the fuck did you do to me last night?"

Then it starts to change. The center of my universe decides to camp at a point right between my eyebrows. All my energy, all my focus, and all my care in the world just decides to sit in this one little point and it HURTS. My eyes go squinty due to lack of sleep. My lower GI tract should be starting to bark right about ... yep, there it is. Excuse me.

OK. Back.

I'm pale now. And all I want is sleep and ibuprofen. It's 9:04 a.m. Holy hell, this is going to be a tough day.

stay at our house!

2009-03-19T17:47:00.002-05:00

Actually, on second thought, don't.

Mr. W offered up our home as a stopover for some of his friends as they travel up north for a cabin weekend. Me? Not too whipped on the idea.

It's taken me a while to realize it, but I've determined that I'm not a fan of having overnight guests.

It's not because I'm a cold bitch. It's the opposite.

I worry much too much about their comfort.

With the doggies and the kitty, things at our house are not quiet. Or particularly clean.

And this visit? Mr. W's headed out for his own northwoods weekend at the insanely early hour of 4 a.m.

And I have to get ready for work, which, on normal mornings, requires the use of 3 separate room. (What can I say? I like my space. I spread things out. So sue me.)

So these poor souls will have to put up with him. Then the loud pets. Then me. And I'm sure all they will want is some peace and quiet.

Ugh.

Just not good.

bright lights, small city

2009-03-18T10:29:00.006-05:00

I brought my camera to work today because, the other day, as I was turning onto London Road toward downtown, I caught a glimpse of a gorgeous sunrise over Lake Superior. No such luck today, but the view outside my office window is inspiring nonetheless. To wit:

This whole area was filled with ice as recently as last week. I can't tell you how heartening it is that it is now open. While I'm much too pessimistic to declare that spring has sprung, I will venture to say it's coming. Thank goodness. Because I was thisclose to getting a prescription for Wellbutrin.

sunday cookday

2009-03-15T10:12:00.005-05:00

One of my favorite traditions is, when I'm not out of town, making Sunday my day to cook. I find something I've never made before, and I try it out. Today is Coq au Vin. I know it's more of a wintery-type dish, but when the yard's still full of snow, I think it's acceptable.

First, though, I came across the last of my frozen blueberries and raspberries from last summer, so I'm going to whip up a batch of my mom's blueberry muffins. They're my favorite, super light, not the dense bricks you get at coffeeshops.

Cream shortening, sugar and eggs and then alternately mix in dry ingredients (flour, baking powder and salt) and milk.

Add floured berries. I only had one cup of blueberries, so I used a cup of raspberries, too. Both were picked from my mom's backyard last summer. Ahhhh summer, how I miss you and long for your return.

But anyway, spoon into muffin cups and sprinkle with sugar.

Bake for 20 minutes.

Slather with butter. Mmmmm.

Onto the Coq au Vin. I used a recipe from a Barefoot Contessa, and I think it's pretty darn good.

First, cut up a whole chicken. This was a first for me. Luckily, I have a cookbook that explains the proper way to do this, so I didn't completely mangle the poor bird.

The recipe starts with sauteing some bacon and then browning the chicken pieces.

After the chicken is browned, saute carrots and onions and, later, garlic.

Add some brandy and cook that off, and then add chicken stock, red wine and thyme. Bring to a boil and then put in the oven.

Finished product. Very, very yum.

Now I have to go clean up. Always the worst part.

book smarts don't necessarily equal common sense

2009-03-14T10:13:00.009-05:00

Most people, at least those in Duluth, know that we had a snow event this past week. While our trusty local weatherpeople were predicting up to 16 inches of snow, we ended up with 4-5. Fine by me.

This 4-5, though, was still enough to throw a wrench into my life.

Mr. W's out of town this week. And snow removal falls squarely on his side of our domestic division of labor. In the 3+ years we've lived together, I don't remember ever shoveling. And snow-blowing is definitely his bailiwick.

But, because I absolutely HATE wet ankles, I got my ass out of bed before 6 a.m. to remove the snow from the walkway between the house and the garage. (I'm lazy. If I didn't hate wet ankles, I wouldn't have even shoveled that much. I would've just trudged through it and waited for the snow to melt. It is MARCH, after all.)

I didn't bother removing the snow from the driveway because I knew my all-wheel-drive vehicle could power through. The rest of my yard didn't even enter my mind.

We got our mail the day after the storm. I saw the steps of the mailman through the snow up to the front of our house. It did not occur to me to shovel the front walkway.

We did not get any mail the next two days. This was weird, but I just figured that because the economy's so bad, no one's sending junk mail anymore. I actually thought this. The thought of shoveling, again, never crossed my mind.

Today, we got our mail. A big bundle of it. Stamped clearly on the envelope atop the bundle was a note, "Mail delivery may be suspended due to failure to remove snow and/or ice."

What?

Now that I think of it, I get it. Postal delivery is a privilege and not a right.

But still.

What about the Postal Service's creed*?

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.

Perhaps there should be a qualifier.

Neither snow (other than snow that has not been removed within a reasonable time after the end of a snow event, such reasonable time not to exceed twenty-four (24) hours after the official end of the snow event as designated and reported by the local trusty weatherpeople) nor rain ...

Just so clueless people like me know.

Anyway, I guess I'll get off my duff and shovel the front sidewalk today.

*Wikipedia informs me that the USPS does not actually have an official motto or creed. The commonly-accepted "creed" is engraved on one of the post offices in New York. I think it's been used in an ad campaign, though, so close enough.

fuji!!!!!

2009-03-13T19:52:00.007-05:00

I bought a new camera in Singapore. I had planned to buy a digital SLR, but after seeing the features of this high tech point and shoot, I was hooked. Here it is:

Trust me; it's a beaut.

The new hardware has caused me to become somewhat of an artsy fartsy amateur photographer. The following are some of my favorite shots from our trip to Southeast Asia:

Best portraits:

And self portrait:

Finally, the first night after the daylight savings 'spring forward'

so, i'm going to grace you all with a new post ...

2009-03-13T16:33:00.008-05:00

... 'cuz my posts are that fucking cool, yo.

Just kidding, of course.

Since about June of last year, I've had a big mental block with regard to the blog. A struggle because somehow I got it in my head that each and every post needs to be a masterpiece. Or funny. Or poignant. Or worthwhile.

Now, I'm saying fuck it.

I'm just going to write about whatever I feel like. Maybe dear diary, maybe dear universe, maybe neither of those things. Who really cares anyway? All we all want is a little entertainment, right?

So, without further ado, my "whatever I feel like" post today relates to Katie Holmes' extensions that she showed off at Tom Cruise's Valkyrie Japan premier. Remember what she looked like last summer?

Look at her now. 1000000% better, non?

It's amazing what some extensions and a little make-up can do for a person. She shines even while wearing that straight-from-the-depths-of-fugly-hell dress.

Tom Cruise looks about 1000000% better, too. I've read rumors he got a face lift and lost some weight. I'm thinking yeah. If not a facelift, then definitely some sort of chemical peel.

Speaking of peels (nice segue, or segoo, as I like to pronounce it), I've recently switched to the philosophy "make-up optional" skin care line, which consists of a face wash, a firming serum, moisturizer, an eye- and lip-firming cream, and a weekly micro-something peel.

Digging the face wash and moisturizer.

Am having a mad, passionate love affair with the peel. It is the best thing I've ever done for my face.

It's a two-step process. The first step consists of massaging some orangey-smelling crystals onto the face. The directions are careful to say that the crystals should be "massaged" not "rubbed" into the skin, but they don't clarify the difference between the two actions. Am I supposed to turn down the lights and put on some Enya or something? Pop in that Kama Sutra DVD?

The second step consists of putting a softsoap-like activator over the crystals. When the activator is applied, the concoction foams and gets all nice and warm. I suppose here's where the low lights and Enya could come in handy. Ooooh, yeah.

Anyway, the instructions say to leave the peel on for two minutes, wash off and then voila!!!! Awesome, gorgeous, glowing, velvety skin. I suppose I could employ the overused claim that it's softer than a baby's butt, but frankly, I have no idea how soft babies' butts are. I was never a babysitter, and I have no close family members with babies, so I've had no opportunity to get up close and personal. I do know velvet, though, and that's what my face feels like after the peel.

The eye- and lip-firming cream? OK, I guess. Definitely moisturizing, but almost too much if you're going to wear make-up (which, despite, the name of the skincare line, is still necessary in my case because I have some seriously dark and heavy baggage under my eyes).

And the serum? Jury's out. I'll probably use it up, and then go without to see if it's really necessary.

So, anyway, on that random note, have great weekends all. I know I will ... I get to do the peel tomorrow. Oh yeah, baby.

i interrupt regularly scheduled programming ...

2009-02-18T20:06:00.002-06:00

... to bring you two small tidbits.

First, our office settled a huge case this week; news of the settlement just hit the airwaves. For all you Duluthians, if you want to see what I'm talking about, watch WDIO tonight at 10. You can't miss it.

Second, this, the 5th season of LOST, has largely been a disappoinment for me. Not because of the subject matter, but, rather, because my schedule has been so messed up that I've only caught one episode at its normal time, and I had a huge bowel attack during it, so I only saw about the first ten and last 12 minutes. So I've been spoiled and/or catching up the whole time. But now, NOW, I'm watching the 6th episode of the season real time, and it's blowing my freaking mind. I. LOVE. THIS. SHOW.

Now, back to regularly scheduled programming ...

on flights

2009-02-17T11:06:00.007-06:00

The flight there? Hella long. 747 from MSP to NAA (Narita Airport, Tokyo). Flight path runs west over the US/Canada border, then up the coast of British Columbia, then curves around the bottom of Alaska, then down the coast of Russia and into Japan.

The flight itself is about 12 hours. Which is long. But it seemed even longer because the whole time, we were chasing the sun. So it was light the whole way, and sleeping was out of the question, especially in light of my crazy excitement and anticipation.

I think we got in around 4 p.m. Tokyo time, but it was really like 2 a.m. central time. After a couple airport Sapporos, we were back on a plane to Singapore, for another 6 hour flight. At this point, I was numb. I tried doing logic and word puzzles, but I had been looking at that shit for so long, my eyes scrambled and I just started filling in the blanks willy nilly. Luckily, I caught a few zzzzzzzs, like maybe a half-hour, before we landed in Singapore at 2 a.m.

At that point, my teeth were fuzzy, and I'm pretty sure I smelled (having worn the same clothes for like 24 hours straight). Which is exactly how you want to meet family members you haven't seen for 2 years.

We hugged it out with Mr. W's family and then headed back to their flat, where I promptly passed out. It was bliss.

The next flight we took was from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia to Krabi, Thailand. The Thai/Malay peninsula has a couple airlines that operate daily flights; it's easy to just go to the airport and buy a seat. Pretty cheap, too.

We flew Air Asia, which is a budget airline, like Sun Country or Southwest here. Because the flight was relatively empty, it was a decent flight. No water or anything, though, and since we didn't have any Malaysian ringet (Mr. W had drunk them away the night before), we were forced to go without. Not a big deal, though ... the flight was only an hour and half long.

The KL/Krabi flight occurred on January 22, 2009, the day after Obama's inauguration. I had woken up the night before at 1:30 a.m. and watched the inauguration on BBC from my hotel room in KL. I thought it was great and poignant and momentous until John Roberts effed it up (once again, great pick, Bush!). Anyway, going through customs to leave Malaysia and enter Thailand the day after the inauguration, both the Malay and Thai officials held me back to talk to me about Obama and congratulate me on my new president. Mr. W? Straight on through. Me? Holding up the line with the overenthusiastic customs agent, pumping his fist in the air, yelling "Go Obama!" It was heartening to see the hopefulness in both of their faces, but I wasn't too keen on being loudly proclaimed as a US citizen. Some things should just be kept quiet when traveling abroad.

Anyway, next flight was from Krabi to Bangkok. This flight was on Thai Airlines, the fancy schmancy local airline. The difference was stark. Very pretty, attentive stewardesses, personal service, and these great little nuggets of joy called Pudding Puffs or something like that. They were just like Little Debbie swiss cake rolls, without the waxy chocolate coating. Mr. W and I hungrily ripped into ours, pulling them out and eating them with our hands. When we were about 3/4 of the way through, we looked around and noticed that everyone around us (all Asian) were eating them with silverware (and dignity). Once again, gauche, bumbling, fat Americans grossing up the joint.

The next flight was from Bangkok to Singapore. Back to Air Asia, the charter-type flight. Now this, THIS, was something to behold. I knew we were in trouble when we got behind a huge Chinese tour group at check-in. Normally, I have very little patience. In traveling, when it's all hurry up and wait, I have absolutely zero patience. Waiting in the check-in line was torture.

But that was nothing compared to how I felt when I saw the whole group (probably 100 or more) approach our gate. They all crowded around the area where they take the tickets ... my heart sank as my competitive streak rose. I started to brace my elbows because I could see what it was going to take to get a decent seat on this flight.

At first, Mr. W just kind of sat there marveling at the spectacle of the mob waiting to board our flight. Then, when the crowd began emitting a loud roar (due to, from what we could decipher, a heated game of keepaway), Mr. W's ire rose, too, and we starting moving toward the gate.

Finally, the ticket taker came, and it was a full body press to the front. We did pretty well; Mr. W gave a couple elbows, and I hipchecked one gal, but we got ourselves some sweet seats in the 4th row. The whole thing was nuts.

Anyway, the final flight was from Singapore to Narita to MSP. It was pretty uneventful. I slept as much as I possibly could to try to stave off the effects of jet lag, but no such luck. I still feel like I'm recuperating. Going to bed at 7 every night isn't normal, is it?

Anyway, here is the only photo that really ties in with this post:

This is the port of Singapore. Tons o' ships. Neato.

on procrastination

2009-02-17T10:56:00.003-06:00

You know how you plan to do something, and then you wait and wait and take a nap and pick your nose and watch a bunch of TV, and then either the moment has passed or you're in deep shit for waiting so long?

Well, the vacation recap blog is firmly lodged in the "moment has passed" category.

But guess what? I'm going to do it anyway.

Now, I'm not going to bore you with the minutiae of the daily ins and outs. I've decided that I'm going to do series of posts relating to various aspects of the trip and my observations of said aspects. It should be fun.

So, without further ado ....

lord i was born a traveling (wo)man, yeah

2009-01-26T05:37:00.002-06:00

Blogging from Ao Nang, Thailand ... who woulda thunk it?

While I've been loving my vacay, I've also been missing the little things I've come to enjoy ... things like Screwbie's morning kisses, English-speaking TV and, of course, BLOGS!

I read a book, Love is a Mix Tape, that was kind of written in blogger style, and I loved it. I suggest reading it, especially for those of you who consider yourselves to be music fanatics. But anyway, it gave me enough of a fix until I could make it to an internet cafe on the mainland.

Our travels have been fun so far ... highlights include a Thai cooking class on the beach, staying at a non-electrified bungalow 20 steps from the sea, watching the inauguration from a somewhat sketchy hotel room in Kuala Lumpur at 1 a.m., and being congratulated on my new president by everyone who discovers I'm an American. This is the stuff I'll never forget.

WM--I have a monkey video that I'll upload when I have a chance. You'll love it.

Feisty--Mr. W named the monkey in the video after your husband. It's hilarious.

Mr. W is beckoning; we're off for some Thai massages. Yes, life is tough.

on my mind

2009-01-13T12:43:00.004-06:00

On seeing three bundled weirdos walking on the shores of Lake Superior in this morning's -21 degree temps, "Those are some hearty motherfuckers."

On discovering an ambiguity (if not in the real world, then in my mind): "Hearty or hardy? Or both?" [Answer (as just retrieved from Merriam Webster): both.]

On wanting a pedicure before my vacation: "Is it too cold? And why, dear god, WHY am I living in a climate where the temps actually get too cold to brave the quick dash from the salon to my car in flip-flops?"

On LOST, the ABC drama about a plane crashing on an island (and so much more), "I love you. Why are you coming back to me when I'll be half a world away? Thank god you (and the two episodes I'll miss) will be here for me (at http://www.abc.com/) when I return."

On getting defrauded on ebay: "Really? The $65 you just got from me is worth the ruse of creating an ebay advertisement, seller profile and paypal profile? Huh. Well, good thing I'm covered by paypal."

On knowing I should be trying to watch what I eat, but wanting that rich, creamy, hearty/hardy, cold-banishing soup for lunch, "Fuck it. Soup it is."

On working the week before I go to Thailand, "Work? What work? I'm not supposed to be sitting around thinking of things like SNUBA, kayaking through karst formations and golden buddhas all day?"

On trying to figure out the U.S. dollar to Thai baht conversion, "I'm really terrible at this. Note to self: Bring a calculator."

On trying to figure out the time difference: "If it's 8:00 a.m. here and Thailand's 13 hours ahead, then it must be 7:00 p.m. there. Wait ... (on fingers) 1, 2, 3 ... . I'm really terrible at this, too."

On inquiry as to whether I'm getting nervous, "Fuck no! Excited? Yes. Nervous? No."

On clarification as to whether I'm getting nervous about getting everything at work done, "Oh ... I guess I haven't really thought about work or getting it all done. But I suppose I should be."

is it terrible ...

2009-01-09T19:29:00.002-06:00

... that, after waking up at 3:30 a.m. and being in trial all day, all I want is for Mr. W and his buddies to LEAVE on their snowmobiling weekend? Like now? Like quit eating pizza, drain your beers, get up from the table, head out the door and GO?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

head cold fog

2008-12-31T11:32:00.002-06:00

Both Mr. W and I are suffering from a head cold. Mouth-breathing, sinus pressure and exhaustion have decided to camp out at our house this week.

Which is great, considering we're hosting a New Year's party this evening.

By some stroke of luck, though, we decided to have a white trash new year's party in our garage, so, really, not much preparation is required.

We've got our keg of Milwaukee's Best Light chilling; I made my booze slush and it's on the back steps slushing up, and we bought myriad goodies to deep fry. That and the cardboard box pounder of ripple chips and top the tater will keep us happy.

I think I'm going to take my slush with a shot of robitussin. Mmmmm.

Anyway, I'm currently sitting at work trying (unsuccessfully) to get some stuff done. I just heard probably the funniest thing I've heard this month. The big boss man's secretary answered the phone and took a message for my secretary. The message related to serving a summons on a party in one of my cases. The party who we served has the last name Cox. Here's the quote:

"So ... Cox .... when did you serve her, Dick?"

Again, it must be the head cold fog because the use of the words cox and dick in the same sentence made be laugh so hard I started hacking like a 50-year smoker.

Or maybe I'm just a teenage boy.

So, anyway, for all you out there, have fun and be safe tonight, and may 2009 be your best year yet.

tension letting go

2008-12-19T09:49:00.003-06:00

I have just reached the end of an intense legal-writing marathon. I have been drafting memorandum after memorandum after memorandum, and you know what? I'm spent.

For some damn reason, all of my office's litigation files lined up so that they entered the memorandum-heavy phase all at the SAME TIME. You'd think they were a bunch of pheromone-ridden college freshman girls or something.

My last reply memorandum is due today, and after getting up at 4 a.m. to complete it, I finally made the last revisions, and it's on the fax, being served on opposing counsel (who (digression!) made some of the dumbest arguments I've ever seen ... apparently the guy is a surveyor who also went to law school, and the law gig is only his secondary job ... judging from his ludicrous arguments and use of the word "relyed", this is quite clear ... my advice for him? keep your day job, sport) as I type.

So, in addition to the stress and the deadlines and the occasional court appearance tossed in for fun and the fretting about whether to use that or which, I've been experiencing some psychosomatic bullshit, too. My face? Pizza-like. Seriously, what the fuck, I'm 32, I've had great, clear skin for my entire life, and NOW I get skin issues? Fuck you hormones or whatever's causing it! (Wait ... could it be the truckloads of chocolate I've been consuming? If so, fuck you, too, chocolate! You should be there for me in my time of need.) My body? Let's just say not in the best shape. Unless you think "round and kind of lumpy" is the best shape. And my skin? I got a stress boil. I kid you not, a STRESS BOIL. Disgustifugging yucky. But bless my doctor's heart for trying to convince me that such things are normal.

But, ahhhhh, I'm done. It's Christmas party time, and I have only small shit to do until after New Years.

I can feel the tension letting go, like it's draining from the outside corners of my eyes. Maybe I should take some time for myself, close my office door and do some shavasana, just to complete the effect.

Or maybe I'll do what I always do and surf celebrity gossip. Yup, that's the ticket. That and a martini at lunch.

Have great pre-holiday weekends!

poked and prodded

2008-12-17T09:45:00.003-06:00

Yesterday, I had my yearly physical. Yes, I'm sure you want to hear ALL ABOUT IT. Don't worry, I won't make you queasy with the intimate details, but suffice it to say, I hate going to the doctor. (Which, of course, singles me out from the masses because so many people absolutely LOVE having one of these shoved up their hoohahs.)

This visit was different than most, though, because I had to get shots to immunize me from all the crazy diseases that still exist in non-first-world countries. It's exactly one month from today that Mr. W and I will be boarding a plane heading to the exotic destination of Singapore. After spending a couple days with Mr. W's brother (who lives in Singapore with his Singaporean wife and their two kids) and NOT engaging in vandalism, we are planning to board the Singa-Malay-Thai train and head north to the tropical environs of the Andaman Sea.

We haven't yet decided what we're going to do once we get there. I would love to charter a sailboat and float around like these people. Doesn't that sound awesome? But the jellyfish and monkeys and other assorted crazy shit they talk about makes me all the more happy that I am now immunized against typhoid fever, hepatitis, lockjaw and rabies.

Four shots in all. My upper arms still ache. Can't raise them above boob-level. It feels like I worked out really hard, when actually, all I did was complete my crafty gift and make Pumpkin Soup (yum yum YUM) for tonight's Homemade Holiday Hoe-down III.

So anyway, one month until what will probably be one of the most unique travel experiences of my lifetime. Can't wait! I'm sure all the poking and prodding will have been worth it. Especially if I get bit by a monkey.

days like these

2008-12-14T14:54:00.003-06:00

I love days like these.

Got up at 8 a.m.

Went to the groc to buy everything I could possibly desire; we're having a snow event, so stocking up is essential.

Got home. Mr. W cooked breakfast ... eggs, sausages and bagels.

Researched recipes for toffee and caramels.

Created a stew that's cooking away in the crock pot.

Made those almond bark pretzels.

Slaved over a hot stove to make toffee.

All the while, listening to the "adult alternative" mix on cable. Currently on? Oasis.

The Vikings game is on in about 12 minutes.

I have a bottle of prosecco chilling; it's calling my name.

I'm going to do some sewing later this afternoon.

I'll probably go for a walk (or ski?) with Mr. W and the doggles.

And that's about it.

Hopefully, it will snow like crazy overnight, so I can have a day just like this one tomorrow.

Postscript: It's an even better day when the Vikes score three TDs in the first quarter.

douchey mcselfrighteousworshipleaderson

2008-12-12T08:27:00.002-06:00

So...in making my morning foray into the world of the facebook, I came across the absolute douchiest status update I've ever read:

"[Douchey McSelfRighteousWorshipLeaderson] is making more money than ever before."

So many things crossed my mind when I read that statement. As you can guess, most of them were expletive-ridden. Here are some of the select thoughts (expletives expleted) for your reading pleasure:

First? You're still a raging nerd/geek/dweeb/tool. I knew Douchey in high school, and he was one of those guys who obviously lacked social grace, enjoyed computers too much and played some nerdy instrument (french horn maybe?) in the high school band. Oh yeah, and he was so painfully shy that it was extremely difficult, and therefore unadvisable, to talk to him. He had a crush on me there for a while (I was friends with his sister), and so it was even worse for me, going over to their house, making small talk while going to/from his sister's room, thinking that he was thinking about my boobs the entire time. Yuck.

Second? Why the hell would you put that on your facebook in the middle of one of the worst economic downturns people of our generation have ever experienced? We hear it on the news every single day ... Bank of America laying off 30,000+ people, the big three motor companies poised on the brink of bankruptcy, unemployment creeping up, our country's economic viability going down. How many people do you think he alienated by writing that statement? Was it just to make himself feel good? To get back at others for all those years he was treated like the big nerd/geek/dweeb/tool that he is? It must be. That's the only explanation I can come up with.

Third? This guy, on his page, proudly proclaims to be a right-wing Christian. Favorite music? Christian Worship and Christian Hard Rock (heck yeah, Stryper!!!). Interests? #2 on the list is Worship Leading. Favorite Books? The Left Behind series. I kid you not. So, anyway, as this guy so clearly broadcasts, he is a Christian. Why, then, does he not take advisement from that Bible verse that says, "It's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to get into heaven."? If he followed up his douchey status update with "and is giving more away to the poor than ever before, praise be to God" then I might have a little more respect for him. But it doesn't say that. Instead, I see pictures of him looking douchey posing in front of a Beemer.

Now, I don't have any problems with people making money, being wealthy or plush-ifying their lot in life. What I do have a problem with is people bragging about it, especially when, in the next breath, the people then preach to me about what it is to be a Christian. Again with the hypocrisy, it makes my blood boil.

I'm tempted to make a really snarky comment on his status update. I really, really, really want to. But I won't. Why? (1) We have a lot of common friends, and I don't want to look like a bitter, envious bitch; and (2) I don't want to be a proponent of bad feelings. So ... I won't. But, still, I really want to.

so true ...

2008-12-05T09:43:00.001-06:00

on 123

2008-12-03T19:15:00.005-06:00

Today is December 3 ... 12/3.

A good friend had her baby this morning at 3:21. So it will be easy for her to remember the exact moment of his birth ... 321 on 123.

Here's a photo of the happy family:

I visited the little one and his proud new parents after work today; I got to hold the little dude for about a half hour. I've never held this little of a baby before, so it was a treat. At the risk of sounding trite, he is so completely precious, all helpless and clueless and swaddled. He stretched once and made one little squawk, but other than that, he just slept.

The parents were tired but upbeat; they said once the epidural kicked in, it was a peaceful experience; nothing like they show on TV.

I've been having some stirrings for a while now, stirrings like I want to have one of my own. Could it be that it seems everyone around me has had or is having a baby? Sure; I would join the ranks and benefit from all who have gone before me. And we could have playdates! Or could it be that my clock is ticking? Yeah; I'm 32 and not getting any younger. Or could it be that I just want to buy cute baby clothes? Possibly. Some of those clothes are really fucking cute. And, yes, there's a part of me that's really that shallow.

But then there are the thoughts like how can I possibly maintain the same workload with a baby? And what about when Mr. W goes out of town for work and I'm at home alone with a baby, two dogs (one of which can be a real fucker sometimes) and a cat? And, I'm pretty selfish, so will I even like motherhood or will I be resentful that my footloose and fancy free lifestyle is a thing of the past?

I don't know, but I would guess that a lot of people have these same questions. They're similar to those questions you have before getting married, like so is this really the guy I want to spend the rest of my life with? What if his [annoying habit] becomes something I simply cannot deal with? What if he changes into someone or something I didn't bargain for?

There are no answers to these questions. And so, at some point, you just have to decide either to run away or to take the plunge, based on what everyone else who's experienced it tells you.

In that sense, parenting is an easier choice than marriage. Yeah, getting rid of a spouse is easier than getting rid of a kid, but on the flip side, how many parents have you ever heard of that say they wish they never had their kids? Yup, very few if any. But people who say they wish they never got married? You get my point.

So, anyway, for me, on taking this particular plunge, the baby plunge, it's not going to happen in the immediate future, this I know. But it will probably happen soon. And when it does, I think I'll be ready. And if I'm not ready? Well, too bad for me. I guess I'll just have to focus on the clothes.

my kinda hunting

2008-12-01T09:06:00.007-06:00

Once I set up my fantasy football team early Thursday, I spent the rest of the long Thanksgiving weekend looking not once at this:

But looking at a lot of these:

And this:

Once the family dinner was finito,* Screwbie jumped behind the wheel, and the fam and I headed off for a weekend trip to South Dakota. Mr. W wanted to fill out his pheasant hunting permit, and I wanted 72 hours of no work, no stress, lots of reading, lots of sudoku, lots of napping and lots of fun.

Because eastern South Dakota doesn't have much to offer in terms of action, I got just what I needed.

I actually accompanied Mr. W when he went out hunting. I was curious to see how pheasant hunting occurs. From watching Mr. W in action, I learned that, basically, one drives around until s/he finds a ditch-ful of grass next to cut corn, and then s/he walks the ditch with a dog, hoping to rustle up birds who are hiding in the grass. If some poor bird does get rustled, BAM! Bird gets shot. Or shot at. Not necessarily hit.

I saw this scenario play out several times. It was interesting. But Mr. W didn't get much action because, apparently, it is now late in pheasant hunting season, and all the dumb, slow birds have already been killed, and the smart, skittish and fast birds take off way too early for a hunter to have any accuracy.

I actually thought it was more fun trying to spot the pheasants hiding in the grass than watching the actual hunt. They're very pretty. And I can't say I'm bummed that Mr. W didn't do well in terms of hunting. I don't really like pheasant; I much prefer chicken.

After the hunting was done, we went to another big tourist draw of eastern South Dakota, the Terry Redlin museum. You've seen this guy's work; a lot of wildlife, cabins and tents, folksy scenes. I'm not a fan of Redlin's work; it's just not my style, but it was still fun to look at his paintings as they progressed from the 70s through his retirement last year. That guy was nothing if not prolific. And his museum? Some fancy ass shit. See below.

Anyway, I finished one book, started another, played a shit-ton of sudoku and took several snoozes. It was a good weekend. And now back to the grind.

*Nothing much to say here. Except I made an awesome new side dish, baked artichoke hearts, and the same pies (bourbon pecan and apple with cheddar crust) I make every year, and I got drunk, and became ornery when playing trivial pursuit. Kept yelling at my little brother that he was getting "gimmes". Good times.

everyday minutiae

2008-11-25T16:44:00.005-06:00

When asked by ekc why I haven't updated my blog in ages, I answered that chronicling the minutiae of my days no longer interests me much. She responded by telling me that she misses reading about such minutiae, which got me to thinking, "Ok. Why not?"

So here is story about something I noticed, and then continued to think about, during the course of my day.

While waiting for the elevator, I saw a woman come out of the bathroom. She had on a granny-apple-green, tight sweater. To paint a more complete picture, this woman was not slight in stature. No, I'd put her somewhere around two fiddy, with knockers to match. Now normally I do not note these physiological attributes on women. And in fact, I probably wouldn't have noticed this woman's knockers on any normal day. But today? Those babies were at full attention, like green torpedos, ready to launch shamrock-shake rockets at unsuspecting passersby.

Despite being really pointy and swathed in green, the most notable thing about these boobs was that they were perfectly aligned. And when I say perfectly aligned, I mean it looked like she got out a level and adjusted so there was a direct, perfectly level invisible line stretching from tit to tit. I was speechless at this amazing feat of engineering. From my own experience with big boobs, sometimes the nips just don't line up right. In fact, because I wear jackets for work all the time, I rarely even care where my nips end up; they're firmly ensconced behind about three layers of clothing, so no torpedo action here.

But I'll tell you, there's almost nothing more horrifyingly embarrassing than catching a glimpse of yourself in a mirror when you're sporting the wonk boob. I say almost, because shitting your pants at work would be horrifyingly embarrassing, too. Not that I'd personally know, but I've shit my pants enough other places, and I think work would be the worst.

Anyhoo, wonk boob is a new phrase I just coined. It's a derivation of wonk eye, a famous sufferer from which is Paris Hilton. See below.

I knew a guy in high school who had serious wonk eye; when one eye was looking straight at you, the other was looking down the hall. The poor wonk-eyed dude's name was Dan. People used to make fun of him by saying, "Hey Dan, I'm over here." I never showed it, but I was laughing on the inside. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I'm a bitch. Whatevs.

Incidentally, when I googled "wonk boob", an entry about Rachael Ray appeared, so apparently I didn't coin the phrase after all. But check out this crazy photo:

As I've written before, I'm not a fan of Rachael Ray. And while her boobs don't look wonked out in this photo (how would you know anyway? that fabric is making my eyes scramble), what's the deal with the shiny, Hooters-style hose? With open-toed shoes? Am I alone, or is this a HUGE fashion no-no? I would NEVER wear hose with open-toed shoes. Am the only one? I mean, you can see the seam across your toes. Or even if you're clever and tuck it under, you can still see that your little piggies are smushed under a confining layer of nylon, right? Just .... no.

I've seen Martha Stewart wear hose with open-toed shoes, too. Martha, if you're reading this, that's NOT "a good thing."

So anyway, that's where my rumination about wonk boob and wonk eye ended. And thus ends this blog entry. Good day all.

yearbook me

2008-11-03T16:34:00.003-06:00

A moment of levity in light of all the serious stuff going on around us.

Here's what I would've looked like if I graduated in 1952:

Not bad.

How about 1960?

Still not bad. I think I woulda done OK for myself in my boss's era. And I like the specs.

1964? It's crazy how much I look like my mom in this photo.

More glasses.

Yikes! The 80's weren't good for me in real life, and they're proving not to be good for me now.

And finally, the year that I actually graduated. I was much more natural than this, though. And I think by 1994, the high hair was pretty much over, but oh well.

If you want to yearbook yourself, click here. A worthwhile waste of time, I'd say.

get out and vote ...

2008-10-30T13:37:00.001-05:00

... just not for these guys:

these ladies ... ugh.

2008-10-22T08:38:00.005-05:00

Is anyone else annoyed to shit by Michele Bachmann? What the hell is up with this lady? She's worse than Kathy Lee was in the 90s!

Toeing the Republican party line, not only on the social issues, but on the economic issues as well. So, basically, she's someone I cannot stand or relate to in any possible way.

I actually lived in her district when she was elected two years ago. Obviously, I did not vote for her. Mr. W almost caused a break up of our relationship when he led me to believe he voted for her and kept up the ruse for a half hour while I railed and railed and RAILED against him.

But I don't think anyone at that time had any idea of how much of an embarrassment she'd be to Minnesota. If they did, they couldn't have elected her, right?

I suppose we'll see in about two weeks, when she's up for re-election again. Northern and eastern suburbs of Mpls/St. Paul, don't fail us!

First, the inappropriate presidential shoulder clutch. Don't you just cringe?

Then she introduced a bill entitled the "Light Bulb Freedom of Choice Act" because she thought the government's mandate to phase out incandescent bulbs was an egregious intrusion of the government into our personal lives. So let me get this straight ... she's a proponent of freedom of choice when it comes to something personal like light bulbs, but not when it comes to something personal like our uteruses? (uteri? uteres?) Hmmmmmm.

And now, the whole "McCarthyism" thing ... Bachmann called for the media to investigate members of Congress to determine who among them is anti-American. In so many words, she accused liberals, and therefore Obama, of being anti-American.

It echoes Sarah Palin's recent comments naming the denizens of small towns and rural areas as the the exclusive holders of pro-American thoughts and beliefs.

John Stewart said it best.

America is a country that was founded upon the virtues of freedom, equality and justice. And I'm proud of America for legislating and protecting these virtues.

Unfortunately, the policies that these ladies support so often lead to a limitation of these virtues for certain citizens. This is why I cannot support, or even stomach, their candidacies.

And if politics were just politics, that would be fine. We're all entitled to our own opinions, and we're entitled to proclaim those opinions to anyone who will listen.

The thing that worries me most is that these ladies support these types of policies while waving the Christian flag. They justify their prejudicial and divisive policies by reciting the tenets of the Christian Right.

The problem with that, though, is that these prejudicial and divisive policies do not comport with the basic, fundamental tenets of the Christian faith, which are to love God and love others. Now I don't want to get all preachy here, far from it, but I think that the positions Palin and Bachmann take are hypocritical. Where is the love and compassion in their fervent efforts to ban gay marriage? Or to keep the minimum wage low? Or to prevent Medicare from being able to negotiate with drug companies to reduce the cost of drugs for the elderly? Where's the justice in making specious claims of anti-Americanism?

It's just not there. In fact, the stances they take on many of the social justice issues with which I'm concerned are a blatant contradiction to the Christian bases on which they proclaim their stances are grounded.

And this is what makes these ladies so aggravating to me. They are at the forefront of the Republican party's strategy of using "Christian" beliefs to front the conservative agenda. And what is the conservative agenda? Pro-business, pro-wealth, less help for the poor, less freedom and acceptance. I ask you, isn't this completely opposite from the two main fundamental tenets of the Christian faith?

So anyway, another diatribe another day. Let's just hope my aggravation will be somewhat assuaged by November 5 when we'll (cross your fingers) have some hope for change.

bon anniversaire et toi

2008-10-17T10:47:00.002-05:00

My blog is a year old. Wahoo!

A year of bringing mediocre and sometimes downright crappy tidbits of my life to you, the internet surfers.

So what have I learned during this year?

Dogs shitting in the woods is apparently a big deal.

I should not blog about Mr. W, my relationship with him or my feelings toward him. Unless what I blog is good. Then it's OK.

Finding blog material is sometimes very, very difficult. And sometimes, you just have to throw all hopes of being a good, witty or clever (that's for you, Chels) blogger out the window to just get something out there on the screen.

Blog friends are fun. If I refrained from reading and writing blogs, I think I would miss some of my blog friends as much as I would if I were unable to continue relationships with people who I have actually met.

Sometimes, you have to choose your words very carefully.

And finally, blogging is not what I thought it would be. I thought my blog would be a depository for all my snarky thoughts, angry diatribes, etc. I suppose, in theory, a blog could be just that. However, blogging is in part about publicity. And sometimes the things you want to say are about the people who read the blog. Ergo, if you want to not lose friends and alienate people, you keep it to yourself.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. On to year 2!

i'm floored

2008-10-16T08:27:00.005-05:00

It's been ages since I wrote about the turmoil that has occurred at our office. It's been quite the road we've traveled here. Can't remember where I left off, but here's a quick synopsis. My former assistant was terminated because she had a run-in with one of the bosses. They kept her on for an additional two months, however, to allow her to work while looking for another job.

The bitchy intern Blondie turned in her two weeks' at the end of June. Good riddance. Unfortunately, the paralegal of the big boss man turned in her notice at the same time, so as of July 4, we were down to two support staff, one of which was a short timer herself (my assistant).
Eventually, at the end of July, my assistant found another job, so her last day was July 31. We didn't hire a front desk/billing person to replace her until July 31, so my assistant had one day to teach the new person the entire billing system.

We also hired a dude to take over big boss man's paralegal spot, and while he started off really slow, he caught on relatively quickly. We liked him, except he always called me "Ma'am."

The front desk/billing person, we soon discovered, was either suffering from the early stages of alzheimers or a severe loss of short term memory. NOT GOOD for billing issues. Trust me. We still can't figure out what she did or didn't do, bills that did or didn't go out, files opened or not opened. And she shed no light on the matter, because she couldn't remember anything.

Then the dude quit. Got another job doing criminal paralegal work.

So, out of the four support staff positions that we have in our office, three have recently turned over and two have turned over twice.

But, starting in early September, we hired a lady who had been the long-time paralegal of an attorney who had been appointed to the court of appeals. She's AWESOME. Smart, experienced, irreverent ... I love her.

Then, in late September, we hired a gal from a Superior law firm to be our new receptionist/billing/part-time assistant. She's AWESOME, too. Smart, good with billing, attentive and the maintainer of a new candy dish (not that a dish full of fun-size Milky Ways is a good thing for me) ... but I love her, too.

So, as if all this weren't enough, they came into my office this morning with a cyclamen plant and said, "Happy Bosses Day!"

Wuh?!?!?!? I have no words. This is the first time I've ever had an assistant or anyone treat me with respect, let alone kindness.* Dear God above in heaven, please let nothing disturb this new utopian office atmosphere that we have. Please oh please oh please. I beg, I plead.

*I guess there was one other time when, after barely meeting a very strict deadline, I bummed a ciggie from my assistant; she gladly handed over the ciggie but said, "Hey, if you want something a little more stress-relieving, I got my one-y in the car." Looking back, that was pretty kind of her, too. Inappropriate, yes, but kind.

self betterment

2008-10-13T15:50:00.004-05:00

Like any normal person, every now and again I find myself feeling the need to better my life. Along with this feeling comes the desire to keep my life more organized, less hectic, more tidy, less tv-filled and more focused on literature and intellectual discourse.

To this end, I've resolved to actively engage in the book club in which I've been a member for about 4 years now. In those four years (each of which have held about 11 selections), I've probably read about 10 books total. Usually, I don't read the books because the subject matter just doesn't interest me. Sometimes, I've just lost track of the list and have absolutely no idea what book's up for the month. But, as I said, I've now resolved to actually read the books, no matter the subject.

As a means of accountability, I'm committing myself to writing reviews about the books I read. Now, I do not assert that I am a good reviewer. In fact, I don't recall writing a review for anything in the past. But hey, if practice doesn't make perfect, at least it makes better, right? So, with that said, onto the review:

Up for this month was Loving Frank by Nancy Horan, a novel of historical fiction, written from the perspective of Mamah Borthwick, a Chicagoan who was involved in an extra-marital relationship with Frank Lloyd Wright for several years in the early 1900s.

The relationship cost them both dearly, in personal, professional and societal ways, but they apparently both deemed each other worth the cost. Other themes included Mamah's yearning for acceptance and value in her own right as a woman, rather than just in her role as a wife and mother, and Wright's absolutism with regard to his work.

I really liked the book, though I thought it lacked a bit of direction and an overarching moral or plot. To me, it was more of a recitation of the fictional occurrences that comprised the love affair between Mamah and Frank, which, I suppose, was fine. It felt like there should be more, though, with all the attention dedicated to women's rights and the inherent selfishness of artistry and humanism.

On a side note, and I have absolutely no idea if there is any tie here or not, but Horan's descriptions of Wright were reminiscent to me of Howard Roark, the fictional main character of Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. He was an architect who was consumed and driven by his own artistic vision such that he would not consider anyone else's vision in the achievement of his own. At times, he was rude and even violent in defense or protection of his own work. It seemed to me that Horan may have had Roark in mind when writing some of the passages of Loving Frank, or conversely, Rand may have either known or read about Wright and thought of him when writing The Fountainhead.

Anyway, having no artistic ability of my own to speak of, I can't say I've ever experienced that kind of selfishness or conviction, but I do find it interesting.

So, onto next month's selection, which I haven't yet started: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. This was my selection for the club, so hopefully it's good. I'll let you know in about a month.

no great shakes, but still good

2008-10-12T19:45:00.004-05:00

It's been ages since I had a weekend with nothing going on, so I was so looking forward to this weekend, with Mr. W away hunting and no plans for me at all, except a quick client meeting this morning.

Yesterday, I did my favorite Saturday morning activity ... alternately snoozing on the couch and watching the Food Network. I finally got in the shower at 11am, with a plan to return some wedding gifts and find some baskets for our new bathroom storage bench in the afternoon. The planets aligned, and I actually found the baskets at the same place I returned the wedding gifts, so I didn't even have to shell out any money. Nice.

Once I got home, I took another little nappy. Then I was up for about three hours in the evening, long enough to watch a stupid tweener movie on the Oxygen network, put out some Halloween decorations and make a leafy wreath for our front door. I called in a night about 9pm.

This morning, I spent three productive hours with a client; it was actually great to meet with her on a Sunday ... no interruptions. Dedicating that much time to a single client during the week is all but impossible.

Then, inspired by Whiskeymarie's recent tamale post, I bought the ingredients for chicken tamales. I found an easy recipe on the internet, and set to making them. Five hours later, I'm finally done, but I'm tired and don't have the energy to clean up. I'll eventually rally, but right now I'm content just sitting on the couch, watching "Murder She Wrote" and surfing the interweb.

Though nothing earth-shattering, it was a restful and restoring weekend. Much needed.

eight inches

2008-10-10T19:37:00.002-05:00

so here's the new cut:

me likey. a lot.

that little f%#$er

2008-10-10T10:32:00.005-05:00

As anyone who routinely reads this blog knows, I have not kept my love for my little doggie a secret. I am mad for the little rascal. I mean, seriously, so madly in love with him that I got him a tuxedo and had our wedding photographer take some professional pictures of him. Love. This. Dog.

But he has been causing me so much stress lately, I'm almost to the point of giving him up for adoption. Almost.

First, two weeks ago, he ate something that caused him some EXTREME gastrointestinal distress. Trust me, I know gastrointestinal distress, and what he was experiencing was worse than anything I've ever had to deal with in my life.

It started out with barfing, no fewer than eight times. Then it went to pooping, no fewer than ten times. Then it went to something that no living being should ever have to experience. I'm not going to write about it, but if you've ever watched the shower scene from "Leaving Las Vegas", then you've had the misfortune to encounter it.

I read a magazine article a while ago about a sweet little puggle that ate a mushroom and died a few days later, victim to poisoning that, once the process started, could not be cured with any antidote. With those words inhabiting my mind, I visualized myself having to care for an ailing Screwbie until his tiny 8-pound body just shut down.

Thank God that didn't happen. After two trips to the vet and a week's worth of two different kinds of antibiotics, Screwbie returned to his normal, rambunctious self. Vet said he likely ate something, whether a mushroom, some other dog's crap or garbage, and it just had to work through Screwbie's system. What a relief.

Which brings me to last night, at which time he scratched at the door to go out for his last pottie break of the night at 11:52 p.m. When I opened the door to grab his run, bleary-eyed from the 3-hour nap I had just taken on the couch, Screwbie thought he saw a rabbit or some damn thing, growled and somehow wrangled himself from my grip. Off he shot like a rocket, spanning the distance from my house to my neighbor's backyard, which just happens to abut Lester Park in three seconds flat. I fumbled with my shoes, and ran after him, but it was useless. That little f%#$er was gone, as was any traces of the listlessness he may have been experiencing from his earlier health problem.

I tried to follow him; I even ventured about 20 feet into the woods, but I'm a pansy when it comes to that kind of stuff. I immediately start thinking that there's someone in the woods waiting to attack me and do terrible things to me, and then I start imagining the manhunt and the resulting discovery of my mangled body. Pleasant, no? So, yeah, 20 feet was as far as I got before heading back to the house, crying, and getting really pissed off that the little f%#$er f%#$ed me over again.

A tense and teary half hour later, Screwbie comes sauntering back to the house, all proud from his walkabout and all exhilirated from his recent freedom. I tried to grab him to clean whatever shit he rolled in off his face. Of course, he wouldn't let me get near him, but you know what he did do? He attacked a garland of leaves that I planned to use for a craft project, and ate about three cloth leaves before I could get it away from him.

And there commenced another hour-long bout of puking. And cleaning.

And then the cat started in. I'm thinking it had to be sympathy puking on her part, because there was nothing out of the ordinary about her day.

F%#$ers. Both of them. Right now, the only one I like is Barley.

She's a good dog. Except for the weak bladder.

So, anyway, no point, no moral, no nothing in all this. Just a recitation of the facts that may lead up to the slaying of my pets, depending on the amount of puke I have to deal with when I get home from work.

Just kidding, of course. Maybe.

hair

2008-10-01T09:18:00.007-05:00

Inspired by a fellow blogger, who is currently facing a conundrum regarding hair color choices, this post is a request for thoughts regarding what I should do with my locks.

One thing is for sure, I will be cutting them off. Next Friday. 5:15 p.m.

At issue, however, is the style.

Right now, my hair is long. To wit:

(Gratuitous photo of me and Mama Diatribes ... do you think we look alike? People say we do, but I don't really see it.)

I want it to be cut into some sort of style that is about shoulder-length. Kind of like this:

Is it terrible that I really like a 60+ year-old's hairstyle (granted she's a pretty stylish 60+ year-old) from 2004 (yep, this style was worn by Ms. Keaton in 2004's "Something's Gotta Give")?

What should I/can I do to update it?

Now, unlike with the rest of my life, I'm actually pretty conservative when it comes to hair. It all stems from a terrible perm/cut I got from a guy named Bob at the local CityLooks salon when I was in 4th grade. Wanna see it? Here it is:

(Gratuitous photo of the whole Diatribes clan. Pure beauty. Those church directory photographers sure knew their stuff.)

Granted, the glasses didn't help, but now you understand why I'm very careful when I make my hair decisions.

So what do you guys think?

in re the economic meltdown

2008-09-26T08:38:00.003-05:00

So ... is anyone else worried? I generally don't think much about the economy, but since it has been the subject of intense discussion for the past, oh, I don't know, year?, I'm getting a little uptight.

A lot of my apprehension, I've determined, comes from the fact that I just don't really have a handle on what's going on.

Now, I get the mortgage crisis. I've handled, and am handling, some cases where there were some clear misdeeds regarding the provision of financial products. And they are ugly cases.

What I don't understand, though, is how the crisis in the financial sector will affect the other sectors of our economy, like manufacturing, technology, etc. I feel like there's been a gap in the provision of information regarding this important relationship.

Take Duluth and Northeastern Minnesota in general. Right now, the Iron Range is on the verge of enjoying a boom. New technologies have created the potential for great mining opportunities. This will relate to a surge in shipping and related industries in Duluth. And, hopefully, prosperity will abound.

I know my office is really busy. We've experienced no downturn whatsoever in our workload. I haven't heard that others are really hurting, either.

So, with that in mind, I wonder if I should be worrying at all. I understand that my retirement funds are in banks that will be affected by the crisis. But as for everyday life, making my wage, buying my groceries, etc., will I be affected?

Does anyone have any insight on this?

think, question, PLEASE

2008-09-16T08:15:00.005-05:00

I can stay quiet no longer.

Contrary to my nature, I've sat back and watched the campaigns progress from the comfort of my couch.

No more.

This election is so critical, and once again, like in the past two elections, I'm seeing the Republican machine twist and turn the media so much that Americans seem to lose sight of what's really going on.

But, in case you haven't read the paper or internet, or watched the news, here's what's going on:

Our country is imploding.

We're racking up debt to fight a war that is not our own. Our middle class is disappearing. Our financial systems are damaged. In the global arena, we're viewed as bumbling idiots.

Enough is enough.

How anyone in the world can like Sarah Palin is beyond me. But she is singularly responsible for the surge that the GOP is enjoying right now.

The only reason for this that I can think of is that those people comprising the surge are sheep. Blindly following, never questioning.

Sure, Sarah Palin is a decent-looking and well-spoken woman. But that's about as far as it goes, politically speaking. She's not well-informed. She's not well-prepared. She has a very narrow worldview. She has absolutely no foreign affairs experience (other than the fact that apparently Alaska and Russia are within sight of each other at their western- and eastern-most points, respectively--which, correct me if I'm wrong, but this does not equal foreign affairs experience, right?).

Come on Americans, put on your thinking caps!

Don't buy the "McCain for Change" ads. Frankly, the gall he has to even create those ads blows my mind and should blow the minds of all Americans who are capable of critical thought. Change? What change? Siding with Bush ever since you lost to him years ago? Bending all your once independent thoughts/platforms to the whims of the Republican party so you can garner support for yourself? Yeah, that sounds like groundbreaking change to me.

Please people, for the love of all that is American, wake up and realize what's going on here. What has been going on here for the past eight years. WE CANNOT AFFORD TO CONTINUE THE REPUBLICAN PARTY'S CONTROL OF OUR COUNTRY.

If McCain/Palin (or as my new sister-in-law calls them "McSame & Caribou Barbie" (love my new SIL!)) win this election, I am very worried about our (meaning American citizens') health, welfare and freedom, and basically the continued existence of our country.

It's time for REAL change. Think Americans, think. Question these ads. Question the soundbites. Don't just buy what's being dished at you.

End of diatribe. Carry on.

back to it

2008-09-10T20:53:00.004-05:00

Aaaaaah, yes, i'm back to the old grind. Wedding, and all its festivities, over. Boo.

It was all I could've hoped for. Weeeeeelllllll, almost all. A couple hiccups, but other than those small things, it was perfecto.

The day started off nice. I slept until about 7:30, which was great for me considering everything on my mind. After some websurfing and a couple cooking shows, I started my day by having brekky with my Oregon girls, who just happened to be inhabiting the room next to mine.

Noonish, I headed off to the hair dresser. The night before, she had done my trial run perfectly. Unfortunately, she had some sort of lapse of brainpower during the night because it appeared she completely forgot about what we had decided. Instead, she shellacked my hair up something fierce. I think she used a half aerosol full of aqua net to secure my sausage curl coiffure. Not at all what I wanted. But time was short, so I left the salon without saying a word, and went straight to my Oregon girls' room. First words out of my mouth, as I blasted through their door: "I need a comb out, stat!" They started cracking up, both at my 'do and the terrorized look on my face, but promptly grabbed hair implements and started softening up the shellack. Eventually, the hair got to a point that I could stand it, so I determined it was time to get dressed.

Weirdly enough, I was all alone in my room getting ready. I don't know about you, but I've watched probably a hundred fifty episodes of "A Wedding Story" on TLC, and all those brides seemed to be surrounded by teary-eyed mothers and sisters and aunts and grandmas. Not me. Which I guess was fine. It was all business. Make-up first, then dress. Then a very careful slamming of a half a cranberry-vodka that my girls had anticipated I would need.

During my prep time, I put on some John Denver to soothe my nerves that were, by that time, starting to frazzle. Knowing the dedication with which I have listened to John Denver's music throughout my life, when my mom came in to zip up my dress, she said, "Ohhhhh, John. Im sure he'll be with you today." I thought this was cheesy, but hey, whatever.

I was the first to arrive at the appointed picture spot. The photographer said that was the first time that the bride was the first one there. Inside, I was patting myself on the back for being so punctual. Within a minute, though, I had gotten over myself, and started getting a littly antsy for everyone else to arrive.

During the morning, the skies were clear and the sun was out. As I got ready, some threatening clouds moved in. As we posed for the first couple pictures, we could hear thunder rumbling to the north. As the photographer led us through a swamp for the perfect shot, drops began to fall. For a while, the drops were pretty consistent. I was getting worried. But then the skies cleared as we were doing the family photos, and by the time the ceremony rolled around, the skies were mostly clear, and there was a rainbow. A freaking rainbow. That's right.

When the ceremony started, I was stuck inside, so I didn't get to see everyone get their champagne or beer and mingle. I wish I had been able to take a peek, just to see if people were enjoying themselves. As the first strains of Canon in D filtered into our meeting room, I realized people were just milling around, so I yelled, "GO!" I think that was the single episode of bridezillaness throughout this whole weekend, and I only engaged in it because I was caught off guard as to when the ceremony was actually going to begin.

Stepping out of the room was weird. All eyes on me. I tried to make eye contact with everyone, but then I realized that I knew everyone and that there was no way I could make eye contact with everyone, and I was supposed to be looking at Mr. W anyway. Luckily it was a short walk, and the ceremony was underway.

In this photo, I'm going with the old saying that the camera adds 10 pounds.

Only I think this particular camera adds 50 pounds.

Mr. W's brother did a phenomenal job with officiating our wedding. He was sweet, funny, poised and perfect. The ceremony went so fast. Before we knew it, he was pronouncing us husband and wife, and I bolted back down the aisle. After that, it was all pure fun.

Incidentally, during the ceremony, an eagle and a hawk were circling overhead. I didn't see either, as my mind was on other things. But more than one person saw them and commented on them to me later. So maybe a reincarnated John Denver really was with me that day. Or maybe, and more likely, some reincarnated relative was with me that day. That or just a curious eagle or hawk. Whatever, it was something special, a story to tell.

After a few more photos, we headed in to begin the reception. The DJ was great; he did everything we asked and everyone seemed to have a great time. He even played "Spanish Eyes" by Al Martino, which is the only song my grandpa will dance to. Here they are, my 92-year-0ld grandpa and my 90-year-old grandma with the replaced knee, making their one dancing appearance of the night. So cute.

The food and cake were great, too. I loved my cake.

I also loved the flowers. Here's a picture of a centerpiece, with my grandma and great aunties in the background.

Our guests enjoyed the booze; I think we reached double digits with the number of people who vomited from alcohol consumption ... definitely a sign of a great party.

Another sign of a great party was the fact that the dance floor was as packed at midnight as it was at 8. I couldn't believe how much fun everyone was having. I loved it!

Alas, this may be too much information, but I did not get lucky on my wedding night. Too much Patron resulted in my being counted as among the vomiting population. Too bad for Mr. W.

Which was one of the small hiccups of the night. The others were that there was no champagne behind the bar at the reception and that the baker used a raspberry jam filling rather than the raspberry mousse I requested on the white cake layer. The tables were a little screwed up, too, but it all worked out, so who cares?

Yes, it was great. Wonderful. Joyous. Relaxed. Fun.

And now, now that I'm back to the grind, I'm feeling a bit of loss. Sadness that it's over; disbelief that I'm actually married and have a husband. But happy, too.

I'm going to savor this for a while. I'm going to enjoy hearing people's thoughts. What they particularly liked. Maybe even stuff that they didn't.

But, yeah, I'm going to be relishing it for a while.

here i am

2008-09-06T07:04:00.002-05:00

So, here I am. Sitting in my jacuzzi suite sans Mr. Wonderful, poised to make the biggest commitment I've ever made. In my whole entire life.

As anyone who's read this blog might realize, when it comes to commitments, I usually have really great intentions when making commitments, but then I fizzle out part of the way through. Like remember my new years' resolutions? Yeeeaaaaahhhhh, no. I'm still a lazy, procrastinating celebrity gossip addict. And remember my top five personal challenge? I was supposed to blog a top five list every day during the month of April. Can you guess how many blog posts I made in April? 19. 19 is significantly less than 30. And not all of those 19 entries were top fives. So, yeah, in the short 10 months that I've maintained this blog, my track record at commitment has not been stellar.

But I'll let you in on a secret.

With Mr. W, it's not a commitment. I know it technically is ... licenses, witnesses, forsaking all others, blah blah blah.

Instead, it's just that we are. We, me and him, together, apart, we just are. Us.

Last night at the rehearsal, he was staring at me so intently. I can tell he's nervous about today. But I also know he was looking at me for support, strength and assurance. And the fact that he does look for these things from me, me above anyone else, makes my heart cave in and collapse on top of itself with the strength of the emotion of it.

There was so much going on last night, that thankfully I didn't cry. But now, alone in my room, as I contemplate the enormity of this day, I'm bawling. But ready.

I woke up happy, content, calm.

And this afternoon, when the clock strikes five, I'll say "Here I am."

And I'll mean it, fully and forever.

rain rain go away

2008-09-04T07:01:00.006-05:00

Well, if the weather reports are true, it's going to rain all over my parade on Saturday. Of course, said weather reports are coming from our trusty local weatherpeople, who have about a 50% accuracy track record, so really it's a toss up. Admittedly, I will be disappointed if we're forced to move our ceremony inside, but, hey, it's not the end of the world. I still get the guy.

Things are starting to gain speed around here. Last night, some of my relatives from Washington came into town to go for a little boat ride around the harbor. These relatives are some of my favorites, partly because they are singularly responsible for teaching me how to drink red wine like a pro. When I first moved out to Oregon, I would go visit them for long weekends; we'd sit around the kitchen table drinking all night long. Unlike with my Minnesota relatives, there was never any judgment when I refilled my glass. For the 8th time. These relatives are awesome ... loudly liberal, openly affectionate about good wine and food, and dryly hilarious.

Our cruise was great ... mild temps, light breeze, three bottles of red, olives, salami, baguette and 5 kinds of cheese. I could eat that stuff all night long.

As we were heading back into the landing, we came across a stranded sailboat. The single lady manning the boat had to have been higher than the top of the Space Needle. With heavy-lidded eyes, she explained that she decided to go for a half-hour sail and forgot to put her contacts in, so she couldn't see anything. Okaaaaayyyyyy. She was easily confused. Not the best time for her motor to die.

Anyway, my feisty 84-year-old great aunt made Mr. Wonderful ask who she was voting for president before we agreed to tow her in. She answered correctly, so we threw her a line and towed her back to one of the marinas, but not before we brought her into the wrong one, which she didn't realize until she was already moored up, again because she couldn't see anything. In years of going out on the Lake, this was the first time we've had to do anything like that.

We got off the Lake around 9; it was dark. The only picture I got of the whole night was of the Blatnik bridge with its pretty lights.

When I got home, I was excited to find a big box waiting for me. Of course I opened it before I did anything else, including let the dogs out. I'm selfish like that. After digging through Crate & Barrel's environmentally friendly packing materials (they actually put a little card describing the recyclability of their packing materials in every box), I found these:

I'm not sure why, but they made me giddy. Despite not being hungry, I immediately cooked something so I could try them out. They worked. And I was totally stylin' eating my weight watchers quesadilla.

Then I turned on the tube just in time to catch that insipid fuckshow that was Sarah Palin's speech. Seriously, if they win, I'm moving outta this country. I cannot spend the next four years having to deal with her and her shit. Hockey bulldog with lipstick? Shut up.

Anyway, today is my day of pampering. On the docket are a body treatment at Elysium, an eyebrow wax with my hair lady and then a mani/pedi at a place called a Le Salon. Ooh la la. A bastion of French style in a strip mall in Hermantown.

So I'm off. But, if you read this and feel so inclined, I'd appreciate if you would send some good-weather-vibes toward northern Minnesota. To focus those vibes, if you want to think about Ely at 5 p.m. on Saturday, that'd be great. Thanks!

getting closer

2008-09-02T12:37:00.002-05:00

Alas, my wedding is a mere four days away. Despite having been engaged for over a year, the time flew by. Trite but true.

As I approach the day, I've been spending a lot of time thinking about the life that Mr. Wonderful and I have built together. The twists and turns, the highs and lows, and today in particular, how it all started.

It was four years ago today, that Mr. W and I met. Four years. Wow.

I had been in Duluth only three weeks at that point. I had just moved back to Minnesota from Oregon. It was a time of major upheaval in my and my family's life. Four months earlier, my mom had been life-flighted down to the Mayo Clinic for emergency aneurysm surgery. Aneurysms run in my family ... an uncle died when he was 28 from an aneurysm located in the exact same place as my mom's.

I was lucky to get a flight home in time to see her before she went in for surgery. We were all extremely nervous ... the doctor had said that there are lots of potential side effects of the surgery ... stuff as bad losing the ability to communicate, having to relearn everything from eating to walking to talking ... and that's if the surgery's successful and the aneurysm is repaired.

Even though her aneurysm burst while she was in surgery, the surgeons were sufficiently along in the process to make all the repairs she needed, and she came out of the surgery relatively unscathed. She had one of the fastest recovery times the Mayo ever encountered; surgery was Friday, and she was home by Tuesday. It's really amazing when you think about it, especially considering they had removed part of her skull and were fiddling around in her brain. You'd think that would take more than 3 days to recuperate.

But anyway, while I had been feeling some pangs of homesickness (not really for Minnesota, just my family) before this occurred, after my mom was safely through the ordeal, those pangs became a full on campaign to move home.

I started applying for jobs, and got three interviews--two in Duluth and one in Minneapolis. Living in Portland, I was used to city life and wasn't sure about Duluth. Of course, it had it's good points ... you know, the Lake, the North Shore, Park Point ... but it was small. And being the single lady desperately seeking love that I was, I was worried about my prospects.

So, during my search, I decided I'd check out match.com to see if there was anyone, ANYONE, that I deemed to be a prospect. Admittedly, I didn't find much. But there was this one really cute guy with a yellow lab. Lots of fishing photos on his profile. And some photos of Alaska. Nothing wrong with that.

Weirdly enough, that profile was enough to satisfy my apprehension. I didn't try to make contact with the guy, it was enough just to know there was at least one guy out there that seemed to have some qualities I liked. So, after everything else fell into place, I decided to take the job in Duluth.

It was insanely hard to leave Portland. With my cat and all my gear, my parents and I convoyed across Oregon, Idaho, Montana and North Dakota, finally to reach Minnesota three days later.

I cried the first three hours I was in the car, non-stop from Portland to Hermiston. After that, I was just empty. When we passed the Rockies and were faced with the seemingly endless plains of eastern Montana and North Dakota, I kept thinking, "All it takes is three short days, and I could be back to Portland."

The first couple weeks home were great. My cousin got married, so there was a lot of fun family time involved with that. I started a new job, which is always an attention consumer. Moved into a new apartment, explored the city, located a decent dry cleaner .... lots of things to fill my time. After a while things started to settle down, and I came to one Friday night where I was all alone. No friends, no plans, nothing. A feeling of dread filled my stomach. I realized I was alone. I realized the gravity of the move and starting over. It was not a good night.

Shortly thereafter, I decided I needed to try to get into the game, so back to match.com I went. One night, I found that the guy from the profile I noticed when I still lived in Portland winked at me. That was all the prompting I needed. I sent him an email, hoping that he'd respond. He did. We spent a week emailing about anything and everything. Finally, he asked if I wanted to meet. Of course I did, so we decided to meet at the Anchor Bar for a burger.

September 2, 2004. California Burger, Leinies Light, Connect Four. Perfect. For us.

Only later did he tell me that I was one of about 20 people he had drunken-winked that night. No matter. I was the only one to respond, and he's made my life pretty great. Those other girls were suckers.

Now, I don't believe that there is one person in this HUGE world that will meet one's every want and desire. I believe there are several people who have qualities that I would deem are good enough to warrant commitment. But looking back, it does kind of seem as though things in my life fell into place so that I could meet Mr. W. And I'm thankful.

But enough mushy. I'm getting married in four days!

how did that happen?

2008-08-27T21:12:00.002-05:00

Lately, I've been feeling the need to get into the kitchen and cook. Not sure why. Maybe because I find it therapeutic. It's my version of manual labor...chopping, mixing, timing things out...it's so different from what I do, day in and day out, it makes me feel good.

This past weekend, I made a corn bisque with lump crab meat. Late summer in a bowl. So good.

Tonight, I made salmon with tomatoes, shallots and herbs and lemon pasta.
The tomatoes and herbs came from our own humble container garden, so I feel even more accomplished than normal.

Anyway, I was really thirsty when I got home, and the only thing that looked good was a bottle of Prosecco that's been chilling for a couple days. It's Wednesday, hell, it's Hump Day, and that's enough of a reason to party for me. So cracked it I did.

Glass after glass after glass...all of a sudden, bottle gone. No shit. Wuh?

I barely feel drunk at all. No wait. Hmmm. I'm sleepy. This crept up on me. It's hard to type. I'm not sure that what I'm writing is making sense. I htink I need some of those sour cream and onion chips in the cupboard.

Yeah, definitely chips. All right then.

Until tomorrow.

looking back

2008-08-26T21:11:00.008-05:00

Mr. Wonderful and I are in the throes of feverish wedding preparation right now. It seems that every spare moment is spent making some sort of decision. Today's show-stopper came at about 5:15 p.m. when I was trying to wrap up my workday. I got a call from our catering lady, and her big Q de jour was this, "Now about the horseradish ...."

As if I give a shit. I suppose I should be (and am) glad she's paying enough attention to our dinner to warrant a request for instruction about the horseradish, but it was just funny, after dealing with bigger things like cakes and flowers and wedding licenses and videography all day long.

But I digress. Tonight, Mr. W and I are working on our photo slideshow. Now, most of the night has been spent debating the dpi at which we should scan the photos. But since we agreed that 150 is the magic number, I'm now spending my time looking for photos we want to include.

I picked out photos from my youth months ago, but I've put off choosing recent photos until now. Looking at these, it makes me realize once again how AWESOME my recent years have been. To wit:

Those are just quick snapshots of my life over the last 4 years. Lots of fun, lots of sweetness, lots of love. Not to sound trite, but looking at all these pictures really made me step back and savor what my life has become. I'm a lucky, lucky girl.

Now, for one last shot, NOT taken in the last four years ....

I think this one is the earliest photo ever taken of me (and that handsome devil is a young Papa Diatribes, of course):

Awwww.

parties, parties everywhere ...

2008-08-19T12:42:00.004-05:00

... and too many drops to drink. Foshizzy.

Other than that occasional albatross around my neck known as work, my life's been pretty damn fun as of late.

As reported, the Bachelorette Party de Diatribes ("BPdD") occurred the weekend before last, and HOOOOOEEEEY! It was a blast.

We arrived at the Cabin de Diatribes midday Saturday. Of course, as my friends and I are wont to do, we thought it a good idea to start eating, so the girls pulled out 4 different pasta salads for lunch. They were soooooo tasty; as good as, or better than, the salad sampler at D'Amico. And even better, they didn't cost me $10.

After lunch, time for a swim. The weather was perfect, and the water was warm, so it was a pretty good little time. We all brought floaties of different sorts, so "swimming" was actually floating around while drinking cool adult beverages.

I'm saying this in all seriousness, I don't think anything else on earth makes me happier than floating in a lake on a warm summer day drinking a mood-altering bevvie. So the party could've ended then, and I would've been thrilled.

But it didn't, no sirreee.

Right about the time we were getting a little chilled from the water, some dude from across the lake rode by on his pontoon (aka "tooner"). He was alone, so we hailed him over and he took us all for a ride around the lake. When our liquor reserves were depleted, he opened his cooler for us. He was like the guardian angel of the BPdD, bless his heart. I think his name was Stan.

An hour and a half and three frantic jumps in the lake to relieve my weak bladder later, Stan dropped us off back at the cabin. I'm pretty sure Stan wanted the party to keep going, but we had business to attend to .... a very important, shot-filled trivia game starring who else but Mr. Wonderful.

Unbeknownst to me, Annaconda emailed Mr. W with a bunch of questions. The game consisted of me trying to guess Mr. W's answers. If I got three wrong, I had to take a shot of tequila. If I got three right, I got to pick someone to take a shot.

I must have been experiencing performance anxiety because, about 4 questions in, I was taking my first shot. I was pretty happy about it.

I started to warm up and soon began dishing out the shots. I think this was Preblicher's reaction to hers.

Apparently some people aren't as big of fans of tequila as I am.

I think the game, and the accompanying tequila shots, can be pinpointed as the time at which the proverbial wheels fell off the proverbial bus. Because what happened later wasn't too pretty.

We all decided to get dressed and head over to the local country bar. As soon as we walked in, the bartender, a fat 30-something dude with a braided beard, with a mean glare said, "It's gonna be 2 hours for food."

Whatever. While food was somewhere in our thoughts, it didn't hold star billing right then.

We started playing some pool. The tequila started kicking in. People started to get a little testy, a little handsy and a little belligerent. Fat Bartender glared on, hating our very existence.

At some point (it got a little fuzzy for me, too), one of the girls knocked a pitcher of beer off the table with a loud crash. With another loud crash, another one of the girls slipped in the spilled beer. All I really remember from the incident was her face dripping with beer when she popped up as if nothing had happened. Goodness gracious, that's a funny picture in my mind. But, anyway, it became apparent that Fat Bartender's hatred of our group was probably justified.

Sidenote: While at the country bar, I decided to be hip hop bride. Ergo:

Not sure why. But I would probably agree with Fat Bartender that I was annoying as hell.

Somehow, we managed to pay the bill and head back to the lake, but not before one of the girls tossed her cookies several times. Luckily, that girl was not me.

Back at the lake, we started a fire, made smores and chilled. It was a great end to a great day.

I was sad to see the BPdD end. Until then, with all the showers and events, I had just been taking everything in stride. That weekend, though, I don't know if it was the realization that the only big event left is THE event, or that summer's on its way out, or just because my friends left, or I was experiencing some sort of hormonal imbalance, but I was really sad. I even cried.

But my sadness didn't last long. After another week of work interrupted my schedule of fun, we had a great time this past weekend. That's the subject of another, forthcoming blog.

In the meantime, enjoy this little gem I found while shopping for my wedding undies. Tell me what could possibly be the point of this:

Discuss amongst yourselves.

they came bearing gifts ...

2008-08-08T08:29:00.003-05:00

... of tequila, vodka and hot sex. For the uninitiated, hot sex is a Bailey's-like creamy liqueur/cordial/shooter. (Note: I just learned searching for a picture of "hot sex" on google at work is NOT a good idea.)

But yes, the gifts of alcohol are pouring in (pun intended). Why, you ask? Because this weekend is the long-awaited Bachelorette Party de Diatribes (hereinafter "BPdD").

You know how you can tell you have good friends? Here's one way: When they can't make it to something as special as BPdD, they buy a bottle of booze for you to enjoy in their absence. Seriously, nothing says, "I wish I could be there" like "Here's a bottle of tequila, get drunk on me!" Love my friends. Love them.

But anyway, about BPdD, it's a typical "me" party ... no bar-hopping limo ride ... just a weekend up at the family cabin and possibly a trip to the old country bar down the road.

On the docket are lake-floating, paddle-boating, an Apples to Apples tournament, naughty videos on the laptop (in lieu of a visit from a "cop" or a "plumber", the latter of which would be really suspicious considering the cabin doesn't have running water) and myriad fried foods, courtesy of my favorite of the home appliance set, the fry daddy. My mouth is watering thinking of the mini-corn dogs and mini-tacos, mmmmm. Hey, no one said BPdD was going to be a healthy affair.

So anyway, I'm cuckoo excited. I have no interest in work today, none at all. I just want to get on with the fun stuff. So, if anyone out in the blogosphere has any thoughts as to how to make the day go by fast, without requiring me to do any actual work, I'd appreciate the suggestions.

a shout-out to the commenters

2008-08-07T09:50:00.005-05:00

I read a comment on Whiskeymarie's blog today by fellow blogger jon, and thought it was so poignant and funny, that I had to reprint it:

The key to happiness is lowering your standards.

Ain't THAT (usually) the truth (especially as you get older).

Another comment that has stuck with me, and that I have added to my repertoire, is this:

I love [it] more than salt loves meat.

That one was from a Crazy Days and Nights commenter (can't remember who, or to which post the comment was directed), but, DAMN that was funny.

So props to all the commenters out there who provide (almost) as much entertainment and pleasure as the bloggers themselves.

you know you've been neglecting your blog when ...

2008-08-06T10:56:00.006-05:00

... you forget your login name and password. Seriously. It's been too long.

I've been weathering the 9-month itch with my blog. I just feel sort of "blah" about it. I've started a couple posts, but then I decided they were boring, lame, whatever, so now they're languishing in my post list.

But I suppose I could just bite the bullet and share a little of what's been keeping me busy. So here it is.

On my first full day being a 32-year-old, I did this:

It was pretty fun ... one near-capsize in our practice run (a video of which can be seen on YouTube ... warning, the video makes the near-capsize look pretty lame, when in reality, it felt like we were a nanometer from spilling into the frigid waters of our dear old Gitchee Gumee), but other than that, it was all smooth stroking. Which is exactly what Mr. Wonderful and I did in our tent later on that night. Ha! Just kidding!

After that, my entire work week sucked ... two stressful hearings and continued dysfunction around the office. For a couple days there, I was miserable. The only bright spot was watching these come into the harbor from my window:

When Friday finally rolled around, though, I was feeling good. I headed up north to my parents' house for my final wedding shower. This one was thrown by my family, so it was more relaxed (for me anyway) than the other two. And again, I made a hauling. The gift I'm most excited about is this:

Watch out etsy, here I and my non-existent sewing skillz come! I ordered an old fashioned sewing book off ebay, so as soon as it arrives, I'm going to get my sew on. Totes, pillows, dresses, pjs, t-shirts for Screwbie ... I'm going to do it all.

So anyway, that's all that's new here. Oh, and my wedding is exactly one month from today. Yay!

yo shorty

2008-07-25T15:18:00.002-05:00

it's my birthday

i'm gonna party like it's my birthday

i'm gonna sip bacardi like it's my birthday

you know that i don't give a $%&# that it's my birthday

Actually, I do give a $%&# that it's my birthday. These birthdays bother me. Except for the gift part, of course.

I used to love everything about birthdays. Getting a year older was fun and something to be excited about. "Oooh, I'm 10 now, double digits!" "Oooh, I'm 13 now, a teenager!" "Oooh, 16, I can drive!" "Oooh, 18, I can gamble and smoke ciggies ... let's go to the casino!" And finally, "Oooh, 21, I can get punk in drublic!"

Even my late twenties were great; I was a young career chick with the world at my disposal. I thought and am pretty sure I was hot shit.

But now? Not so much.

Now it's like, "Oooh, 32, that's one more year closer to death. Yipty fricking do. I might as well start scheduling mammograms and colonoscopies."

When I turned 30, I had nightmares for several days before and after my birthday. I dreamt that every time I opened my mouth to speak, my teeth would just crumble and spew forth.

When I turned 31, I got drunk and started telling everyone younger than me to eff off. I wouldn't talk to anyone who wasn't at least 31, which left one lucky dude who had to listen to me vocalize my sorrows all night long. (Sorry Ben.)

Tonight, I'm heading up the shore to go camping near Grand Marais. I bought myself a bottle of tequila for the occasion.

Despite my poor treatment of them last year, my friends seem excited to help me celebrate. Except for Ben. For some reason, Ben isn't coming on the trip. He said he had a family obligation. Hmmmm.

So anyway, another year, another dollar, another bottle of some sort of liquid that will likely lead to vomiting, anger, depression and a bad headache.

Happy birthday to me.

[I'm not really as depressed as this post makes me sound. 32 is going to be a great year, and I'm actually excited about it. And, from the emails, calls and other correspondence I've received today, I'm a very blessed gal, so every year should be, and is, something to be cherished.]

community announcement

2008-07-23T13:50:00.003-05:00

Generally, I wouldn't mention or plug community events, but this is one on which I (and several other people) have been working for several months, and which I believe will be a really unique and entertaining event, so here it is.

For all you Duluthians out there, come on down to the FinnFest 2008 Opening Ceremony. It's being held tonight at 7:00 p.m. at the DECC Auditorium. It's free to the public and promises to be really interesting. One segment in particular will be exciting .... called the "Synergy of Cultures," it's a blend of Ojibwe/Anishinaabe (northern Minnesota native people) and Saami (northern Finland/Lapland native people) singers, dangers and drummers.

So anyway, again, DECC Auditorium, 7:00 p.m. tonight. Hope to see you there!

Postscript: The Opening Ceremony went really well; it was long (an hour longer than planned!), but very well attended and interesting. Thanks to any of you out in the blogosphere that attended.

well THAT was pleasant

2008-07-22T15:17:00.002-05:00

I love going to the doctor ... like I love hemorhoids, timesheets, processed organ meats and Blondie. So I was thrilled to go to the doctor this afternoon.

The reason for my visit? Nothing too gross. Nope, I just had a little white pimply-type thing under my eye. Because I want to look as good as possible for certain photographs that will be taken of me in about a month, I decided to get it removed.

Under normal circumstances, I would have removed the little thingy myself. I've been known to take a tweezer, or worse, a fingernail clipper, to those mutant taste buds that seem to appear after too eating many sour patch kids.

But not this time. As I said, I want to look good for those pictures, and this little thingy was a mere milimeter from my tear duct. There's absolutely no need for clumsy old me to be sticking anything sharp near my eye, let alone lancing off a portion of my own flesh.

So to the doctor I went. I only had to wait 45 minutes before being ushered to my own exam room, and then only another 15 minutes before the doctor came in. (Believe it or not, this was actually a quick visit. Usually I wait for at least an hour and a half. I would leave, but she's the best doctor I've ever had, so I just can't bring myself to do it.) Anyway, she told me the thingy was normal, completely benign (which was good considering the thought of cancer hadn't even crossed my mind), and easy to remove.

"Easy" must be a relative term. She must have been thinking it was easier than, say, removing a limb. Removal of the thingy (medically known a milia) in my case involved the use of a sharp needle and a pointy set of tweezers. Basically, a milia is a hard little nugget of skin that didn't properly slough off and got stuck beneath the skin, so removal thereof involves some digging.

So she had me lie back, tilt my head toward a light and brace myself for some "mild discomfort." Again, "mild discomfort" must be a relative term. Because here's what she did:

She stuck the needle in the skin under the thingy and then used it to make a small incision. I'm not exactly sure how that occurred but it felt like she jammed it in there and then just dragged the needle, ripping the sensitive skin to which I so carefully apply eye cream every morning.

Then she started digging for the crud with the pointy tweezers, stopping only when the tears gushing out of my tear duct impeded her exploration and when I tensed up so tightly that the incision and all skin around it receded into my eyesocket.

The doctor said that usually these things just pop out. Yeah? Well, not for me. Digging, digging and more digging. And the crud didn't come out all at once. Of course not. Nope, it started to disintegrate, so she had to go back in there for four chunks.

So anyway, I wouldn't say there was anything "mild" about the discomfort I experienced. In fact, I wouldn't characterize it as "discomfort" at all. No, this was straight up pain.

But now the thingy is gone, and my goal of perfection is that much closer to being realized. No one said being beautiful is easy.

huh.

2008-07-16T14:12:00.002-05:00

So I guess Katie Holmes took my advice about Suri's bang trim and her own coif. Though I still can't say I'm thrilled about Katie's 'do, it's nice to know I'm being heard.

how did i not know this?

2008-07-15T09:07:00.007-05:00

How was I not informed that former Bachelor, the Officer and Gentleman, Andy Baldwin, would be visiting Duluth this week? As someone who believes she has her finger on the pulse of local current events, that I didn't know about his visit is a crime ... a crime I tell you!

Someone on his PR team completely dropped the ball on this. I had no idea about it until this morning when I heard about his visit on the radio. Apparently he's in town to recruit for the Navy. According to the paper, he's talking to the Chamber of Commerce today.

He's so dreamy. You know, I'm not married yet. I'm thinking I might make a play for him.

Do you think he'd be interested in me? A chunky, midwestern white girl with funky eyebrows, a flat-ish nose and knock-knees? Sure he would! Who wouldn't?

On second thought, I don't know if the military-wife lifestyle would really suit me. There are just too many rules, too much structure, too little freedom. I probably wouldn't be able to get crazy bitchy drunk, occasionally run around without my shirt on or completely ignore housekeeping tasks, all things to which I've become accustomed and enjoy.

Alas, it appears that a relationship wouldn't work between us. Too bad for Andy Baldwin.

slowly but surely

2008-07-14T13:31:00.003-05:00

My life, of late, has been revolving around that certain rite of passage known as a wedding.

Who knew there was so much to organize?

We got most of our invitations out this past week. So that's done, for the most part.

We met with the caterer this weekend and decided on our menu. So that's done, too.

We've largely decided on things like booze, cake, decorations, flowers, favors, etc., but there are always little things that can't be determined until the final RSVP number comes through.

Then there's the attire. Now that the jewelry has been decided, all I have left to do is find the perfect "shapewear" undies, and my vision will be complete.

We picked out the tuxes last week, so as long as the gents go get themselves measured, we'll be all set there.

And all three moms have discussed and confirmed their outfits, so it's all good with them, too.

As for showers, two down and one to go. I've been liking the shower thing. Although it's kind of tiring to be "on" all the time, it's fun to finally be the one that everybody else is celebrating.

And then there's the bachelorette party at my cabin. A weekend of drunken swimming, card-playing, dancing, bonfiring, backwoods-bar-crashing and junk-food eating fun. Perfect.

Finally, we loaded up my credit card with the outrageous cost of our honeymoon flights. We're going to Singapore, Malaysia and Thailand in January. Cannot wait. Seriously.

So anyway, all things wedding are marching along, slowly but surely. I'm sure that everything will start careening out of control at some point, but for now, I'm enjoying the fact that all my ducks seem to be in a row.

finally, it has happened to me

2008-07-11T13:45:00.004-05:00

I finally found my wedding jewelry, and yes, for those of you urging me to look on Etsy, that's where I found it. Pretty, no?

And with only 57 days to spare. Phew.

it's the most wonderful time of the year ...

2008-07-09T09:10:00.004-05:00

...for the daytime denizens of Superior Street. You know why? Because it's Sidewalk Days.

For three glorious days, the cops close off Duluth's main street so the vendors located thereon can display and try to hawk their clearance items to shoppers caught up in the fantasticness of the moment.

But it's not the shopping that does it for me. No no no. It's the food.

And actually giving this stuff the name "food" might be going overboard. More apt would be "consumable items guaranteed to result in indigestion, greasy stools and heart disease."

On my way over to Starbucks this morning, I saw the first indication that this week will be a bad week for my diet. The mini-donut/fried cheese curd/garlic cheesy breadstick cart is located right in front of my building. Good for my taste buds, though .... appetizers.

On the next block over is the bratwurst tent sponsored by some local fraternal organization ... Moose, Elks, Lions, Masons ... who knows and who cares? All I know is that they grill a mean brat with beer-soaked onions.

Across the street from the brat tent is the gyro table. So we're talking options, people.

Finally, down a little further is the fresh-squeezed lemonade, kettle corn and root beer float vendors.

Damn, I can't wait til noon. Meanwhile, my gastro-intestinal tract is already bracing itself for the onslaught of terror I intend to impose on it.

It's going to be an awesome week.

absence makes the heart grow fonder

2008-07-03T10:46:00.004-05:00

Right? You guys missed me, admit it.

So anyway, I'm sitting here in my office, the day before the 4th of July holiday, and I'm fighting an mild hangover, willing the day to go by fast. Apparently I have no willpower whatsoever because the day is dragging by slowly. Molasses in January slowly.

In an effort to make it go by faster, I have been surfing the celebrity gossip sites. I came across this picture, and became aggravated for so, so many reasons:

Not sure if you can really see it, but you know what Suri has in her (I'm assuming perfectly manicured) little hands? A $100 bill.

Listen, Katie, I know you and your husband are loaded. I know you spend more on shoes than I make in a year. I know your average hair cut costs more than my mortgage payment. But do you really have to rub it in by allowing your two-year-old to play with money like it's a toy? There are families in the U.S. that can't afford to put food on the table, for pete's sake. Don't rub your wealth in our faces, OK?

Maybe you should take that $100 bill over to Great Clips to get Suri a bang trim. Don't tell me you're too busy. It would take about 5 freaking minutes. And then you could give the $95 in change to Suri to play with again.

I have to admit it, Suri's a cute little kid. And you're a great looking mom. But that doesn't mean you should wear your hair like Laura Bush. Grow the hair out again, you looked so cute when it was longer.

Oh yeah, and one more thing, a smile would be nice once in a while.

Thanks.

could it be?

2008-06-25T09:04:00.003-05:00

For real?

Yes, it's true.

Blondie's leaving.

Oh heavenly day.

ten years

2008-06-24T09:05:00.003-05:00

I got the invite yesterday ... my ten-year college reunion is planned for September.

I have absolutely no desire to go. I looked through the little contact information book and realized that I barely remember anyone and have no interest in reacquainting myself with any of them.

First reason? I went to Bethel. A pre-eminent midwestern college for those of the Baptist persuasion. Translation: boring and strict as hell. I mean heck.

No drinking, smoking, drugging, fornicating, gambling or anything else fun. No dancing on campus. Chapel everyday at 10 a.m. Peers who don't believe in evolution, global warming or recycling. Lifestyle contracts.

The only liberal thing about Bethel was the way in which the administration handed out suspensions for violations of the suffocating rules.

Second reason? On the questionnaire meant to gather lifestyle info for all us alumni, there was a line, "Church Affiliation." I don't know why that bugs me so much, but it does. I guess I just wonder who the hell cares? And what does it matter?

Third reason? I don't know about you, but my idea of a good Friday night is not sitting around a bonfire singing Kumbaya. If you added some dube and a campchair to the mix, then maybe. But without it? No way.

Alas, a friend's getting married that weekend, so I won't be able to attend. I'm positively heartbroken.

Normally I would just recycle the invite, but maybe, in honor of my alma mater and former classmates, I'll toss it in the trash.

autopilot

2008-06-23T10:37:00.003-05:00

You know when you wake up, and you do everything as if you're on autopilot?

Such was my morning. I didn't awake from my autopilot state until halfway through my shower, at which time I realized I doing the Axl Rose snake-shimmy to the tune of "Sultans of Swing" playing on my shower radio.

And so starts my week.

running on empty

2008-06-20T13:39:00.003-05:00

I just picked up my race packet for the William A. Irvin 5k, which starts at 6 p.m. tonight. Interestingly, they allowed us to pick up our race t-shirts at the same time.

Query: As the t-shirt is usually my only motivation for running a race, and that motivation is now gone, why should I even bother?

Oh, and now it's raining.

I suppose there's my self pride. And the fact that I'm supposed to run it with Mr. Wonderful. And the fact that my boss keeps coming into my office to talk about it.

OK, fine, I'll run it. Geez.

new things

2008-06-19T08:43:00.000-05:00

I love newness, which is why I enjoying my current state.

First new thing .... I got my first wedding shower gift today, one setting of my chosen china pattern. Love it!

Second new thing .... I found some different wedding jewelry. I wanted to have a picture to upload, but due to camera issues, I do not. The jewelry is pearls and smoky quartz on fine gold wire. Very pretty, but still not sure.

Final new thing .... today, Mr. Wonderful accepted a position at an up and coming Duluth business. He's in sales, and his territory will be the East Coast. Because I intend to tag along on some of his business trips, I would rather his territory be the West Coast, but hey, a trip to New York or New England never hurt anyone, right?

Newness and goodness all around.

grumpy old men

2008-06-18T08:46:00.003-05:00

In my experience with family members, family friends and members of my profession, old men are generally pretty nice ... joking, mischievous and laid back. It's always fun when older guys kick back, have a couple drinks and recount stories from their glory days.

But, every once in a while, I come across a couple bad eggs. Grumpy old men. Hating the world, pissed off because they feel entitled to, but are getting, no respect.

I've run into two grumpy old men this week.

The first encounter relates to the Animal Control notice we received last week. At first, I went through all the stages of dealing with the notice ... denial, fear, anger, sadness and acceptance. I felt betrayed by my neighbors, or at least one of them. I felt that we were the subject of unfair discrimination because Screwbie is not the only dog that barks in our neighborhood ... within 50 yards of our house, there are at least five other dogs that have the ability to, and sometimes do, bark. I was scared that somehow the City would take my dear Screwbie away. And finally I resolved to work harder to curb his barking habit.

After I worked through all these emotions, Mr. Wonderful learned that we were not the only subjects of the complaint. Turns out some old guy called Animal Control on every single dog in our neighborhood. Even Dakota, the old yellow lab across the street who spends the vast majority of the day sleeping on his back, legs in the air, and who barely even acknowledges when someone walks by. Best part? The grumpy old man doesn't even live in our neighborhood, he just walks through it on his own daily constitutional.

The neighbors are all PO'd. Can't say I blame them. I'm a little PO'd, too, but I'm more relieved that the world is not conspiring against Screwbie.

Query, though, if you make a blanket complaint such as this, are you not diluting the power of your complaint? In other words, if you call the cops with a general complaint lodged at a neighborhood full of people, how much care or concern will you really garner for yourself from the authorities and from the persons against whom the complaint is lodged? I know I cared a lot more about the complaint when I thought it was directed at Screwbie and me than I do now, knowing it came from a grumpy old man with a vendetta against dogs.

Query also, that if you have a problem with what occurs during your daily constitutional (ie. dog barking), why not just change your route?

On to encounter #2 ... last night I had a hearing before a nearby town board. The subject of the hearing was my client's petition for a cartway. I generally love these hearings ... its fun talking to a board of laypeople rather than formally addressing a court. People wear jeans and t-shirts, and they generally have a much more laid back approach to decision-making. Not only that, but they are truly interested in what's before them. They're service on the board is voluntary, so they are there because they care about what goes on in their township.

So I was looking forward to last night's hearing ... that is, until the opposing attorney showed up. I had forgotten that he had become involved in the matter on behalf of the opposing party. This guy, we'll call him Mr. Wrongagain, is notorious for being difficult to deal with. Actually, "difficult" is putting it nicely. Impossible is more like it. To say he plays fast and loose with the law would be a compliment to him. He generally doesn't even acknowledge the law when arguing for his clients unless, of course, it helps his clients in a particular case. You can't rely on anything he says; you must always follow a discussion with a confirmation (aka CYA) letter. He always seems to show up at the worst possible time. In my experience, he likes to be involved in the negotiation part of a case (though he is not helpful at all in negotiation; I don't think he knows the meaning of the word "compromise"), and when the case doesn't settle, walks away when litigation commences. Helpful, huh?

The most aggravating thing about Mr. Wrongagain, though, is none of the above. The most aggravating thing is that, whenever he talks to anyone younger than him (which, because he's in his 70's, is almost everyone), he makes sure to (1) insult them for their youth; (2) tell them he knows the law better than they do; and (3) rub elbows with the adjudicating entity (whether it's a judge or a town board).

Luckily, everyone in the local legal community has Mr. Wrongagain's number, so when dealing with adjudicating bodies, all you have to do is let Mr. Wrongagain do his song and dance, and then make your argument.

Last night pretty much went the way I described above. First, he insulted me ... Mr. Wrongagain complained that neither my clients or senior partner was at the hearing ... "I was hoping to discuss resolution with the petitioners, but that won't happen because all we have here tonight is Ms. Diatribes." Of course, he never tried to discuss resolution with me, so he had no idea what my settlement authority was.

Then, of course, he made a grand statement about how he has been practicing this kind of law since before I was born. He probably has, but who cares? That has no bearing on the matter before the town board. And I guarantee you I know more about the current state of the law than he does.

And then he started talking about all the years he spent as legal counsel for the township. "Twenty years I sat up there with you folks, making decisions about these cartways. I know the law, and petitioners' placement of the cartway is just not the best placement."

To which the chair of the town board replied, "Oh, we're familiar with your term as the town attorney. We've been cleaning up messes you left for years."

SNAP!

So, even though I was personally aggravated by Mr. Wrongagain's statements and behavior, I felt some vindication by the chair's statement. In fact, I laughed about it for a good minute when I got in my car after the hearing.

But seriously, as an old man, why wouldn't you just choose to be nice rather than grumpy? Why sow nastiness when you could sow kindness? Why focus on being negative?

Life is short; isn't it better spent being happy?

daily constitutional

2008-06-13T20:32:00.005-05:00

I took my doggies for a nice little walk this evening, taking advantage of the nanosecond of sunshine we were lucky to see today.

Taking two dogs for a walk is a challenge. Murphy's law, as it relates to walking two dogs on retractable leashes, dictates that, no matter how you hold or maneuver the leashes, they will constantly get wrapped around each other until they form a clusterfuck of epic proportions. So, to keep one's sanity, it's better just to give up any semblance of care. This is especially true when one of the two dogs is a horny little toad that likes to lift his leg and will travel the entire span of his leash to hit every possible target.

So we walked.

We've trained Barley to hold her #2 until we walk the block and a half to Lester Park. Sure enough, when we were about 20 yards away from the wooded edge of the park, I saw her starting to sniff and hunt for the perfect spot. We picked up the pace, and I'm proud to admit that #2 was delivered safely to its intended destination, the woods. Best part was that I didn't even have to waste a Mutt Mitt.

Because of the nice weather, we decided a walk down to Brighton Beach would be just the ticket. Apparently we were of the same mind as the majority of Duluth's population of new lovers. PDA was plentiful. I even saw some cougar action.

The first time we walked by, I thought a mom and her son were checking out the lake. On our way back toward home, they were flirtingly holding each other's hands and looking longingly in each other's eyes. Of course, when I saw that, I had no choice but to assess the situation.

It was obvious he arrived at the park via his bicycle. It was parked right there on the rocks. It was obvious she arrived via her Honda Civic, parked on the side of the roadway.

The difference in their ages was obvious, as well. He had hockey hair, and was wearing a pair of baggy, nylon basketball shorts and high tops. She, on the other hand, had Farrah Fawcett hair and was swearing a pair of Mom-style Lee jeans. Tapered legs, no joke. And Reeboks.

All I could think of when witnessing that scene was Mary Kay LeTourneau, the Seattle teacher who kept on hooking up with her 14-year-old student, despite being the subject of restraining orders and some jail time. So maybe what I saw wasn't so much cougar action as it was illegal action. No way to discern or know the reality of the situation.

Anyway, the dogs marched me on.

When I got back to the house, I saw that we had received a note from the Animal Control department. Someone ratted us, and specifically Screwbie's barking, out to the cops. Bitches.

Admittedly, Screwbie does bark. A lot. So I guess from here on out, I have to be more vigilant. Maybe get a bark collar. Maybe start some training. Ugh.

Now I'm relaxing on the couch watching a "Murder She Wrote" marathon. The Hallmark Channel just put up a little pop-up box on the screen that said, "Want to chat about 'Murder She Wrote'? Log on to HallmarkChannel.com now!" I may, out of curiosity, check it out after I'm done with this post. I can only imagine the conversations taking place over there ...

I lead an exciting life, don't I?

the song remembers when

2008-06-12T23:49:00.004-05:00

It's funny how a song can bring you right back to where you were when it first made its impression on you.

Tonight, as I was leaving a local watering hole, I heard the familiar strains of "Bittersweet" by Toad the Wet Sprocket. I was instantly transported to one of the best afternoons I ever had at the Portland law firm where I had my first legal job.

To set the stage, it was the first really nice day, early summer. Warm temps, but not too warm, sunny and slightly breezy. Simply put, it was a gorgeous day.

The firm sponsored two teams in a golf tournament for a good cause. Because it wasn't a premier event, the firm opened the teams up to anyone who wanted to play. Even though I sucked at golf, I decided a day on the links beat a day in the office, no question.

Two other girls, EKC and the Clueless*, also signed up. The rest of the foursomes were filled by guys, partners and fellow associates. Luckily, EKC and I were assigned to the same foursome, so we golfed together, got hammered thanks to the traveling refreshment cart, and golfed like shit. The other team did better, but who cares? Not me.

After the tourney, the whole crew headed to an Irish bar for a bump, as if we needed more beer. I have no recollection of what actually occurred at the bar, but I do remember being driven from the bar in the backseat of a partner's souped up Beamer with the Clueless. Said partner, and another younger partner rode up front.

The partner who was driving is known for his affinity for fast cars. The Beamer was no exception. When we got in the car, he cranked the radio, and "Bittersweet" was playing. He drove us back to the firm parking lot, and, for some unknown and unfathomable reason, commenced whipping tight, squealing little shitties.

Windows open, breeze coming in, tunes cranked, being tossed around in circles ... damn that was fun. We were all laughing like maniacs.

Eventually, the neighbors started opening their windows and yelling at us, so we decided it would be a good idea to bust out of there before the cops showed up.

The next day, the older partners shook their heads when they saw the shitty marks on the pavement. Later in the day, the firm received a phone call complaining about what happened the night before. The best part? The call was referred to the partner who was in charge of handling those public type issues .... who also happened to be one of the partners in the front seat.

So anyway, "Bittersweet" will always be the perfect weather, the perfect buzz and shitties in the parking lot.

*I call her the Clueless because she's a bona fide Republican. She named her dog Cheney. She willingly moved from Portland, Oregon to Dallas, Texas. In other words, I have nothing at all in common with this girl. Ergo, she is obviously clueless.

ecstatic

2008-06-10T16:46:00.002-05:00

Remember that huge case that I wrote about way too many times? Like here, here, here and here?

One word:

Settled.

One more word:

Hallefreakinlluia.

Celebratory beers on me.

worried

2008-06-09T09:27:00.005-05:00

This is the day of surgeries in Ms. Diatribes' world.

First, Grandma Diatribes is currently undergoing knee replacement surgery. I'm completely nervous about this one. She's 90, and though she's successfully completed all the requisite tests to ensure her body can handle the surgery, I'm still scared that something bad will happen. She went in at 7 this morning, and I'm anxiously waiting a call from my dad informing me that she came out of it OK.

Second, my uncle B is undergoing gallbladder surgery later today. He's a healthy 58 year-old guy, so I'm not too worried about this one. Apparently, they make three holes in one's abdomen and somehow suck the gallbladder out. If all goes well, he'll be home by tonight. Waiting for a call from my mom on this one.

Third, our next-door cabin neighbor, Glady, is having cataract surgery today. I'm sure she'll survive this surgery, but the question is whether she'll be able to see. She lives by herself up at the lake, so if something bad were to happen, I'm sure moving from the lake would be devastating for her.

So, as you can probably guess, I'll be spending the majority of my day with all my appendages crossed for good luck.

UPDATE: Grandma Diatribes came out of surgery and all went as planned; I am so relieved. My heart feels about 100 pounds lighter than it did this morning. Can't wait to see her tonight after work!

UPDATE #2 (as of June 14, 2008): Grandma Diatribes is headed home from the hospital today. She'll be going through some pretty intense rehad in the months to come, but she's doing really well. Uncle B did well in his surgery, too; after the pain subsides, he should be as good as new. Finally, Glady came through her cataract surgery wonderfully; next eye, next month. So in the event any of you in the blogosphere sent good vibes to these peeps, I and they thank you.

bump ... set ...

2008-06-06T08:29:00.003-05:00

miss.

Bump ... set ... miss again.

Such is my experience with volleyball. But I don't really care that much. I still have fun with it.

Last night I subbed for my old team, Team Pong. I lost my place on the roster when I took my 9-month leave of absence from Duluth in 2006.

The weather and volleyball gods welcomed me back with freakishly cold temps, howling wind and, of course, rain. At one point, I took a direct raindrop hit in my eye, and my face was not tilted upward at all. That's right, folks, the rain was horizontal.

Once my feet numbed up (we were playing in sand that I don't believe has fully thawed from winter's freeze), I had a great time.

I'm sure the actual team members will ask me to play again when the forecast calls for gorgeous weather like we had last night.

sometimes i wish i had tourettes

2008-06-05T22:36:00.004-05:00

Or a similar medical condition that would provide me with an excuse to act completely inappropriately.

So when I hear or read something that bugs me, I could just respond with a quick stream of obscenities directed at the utterer or author. The recipients of my wrath would just shake their heads, chuckle and think, "Oh that Diatribes and her tourettes."

Now, of course, I don't REALLY wish I had tourettes, but I would love to be able to defy the rules of conventional society from time to time and not suffer the consequences.

Wouldn't you?

writer's block

2008-06-05T14:09:00.003-05:00

I'm gonna put it out there ... I have absolutely nothing interesting to write about.

I suppose I could write about the mouse that we found and ultimately ushered from our house earlier this week, but when I told the story to some friends, they didn't react as if they thought it was funny, so I'll spare you.

I suppose I could also write about a friend's engagement, but so much has already been said about the subject that I just don't have anything more to say, other than I hope she and her fiance have a long, happy and successful life together.

I could write about my job, and the settlement I salvaged by some fancy footwork this week, but I feel like I'm becoming (or already am) pretty one-dimensional. Enough with the dwelling on my job.

I could show you some pictures of the wedding jewelry I bought ... OK I will show you the pictures (see below) ... but I'm feeling kind of blah about it, so I think I'm going to return it. The only reasons I bought it in the first place are (1) that it matches the fall colors that I'll be featuring at my wedding and (2) it's from Thailand, where we're planning on honeymooning. I don't know ... what do you guys think?

I suppose I could write about how, deep down, I really hate confrontation. I love mediation. I hate anger, resentment and disappointment. I prefer sensitivity, kindness and acceptance. But there, I wrote it, and I don't feel the need or urge to pontificate.

I could detail my exhaustive, but fruitless, search for the perfect songs to walk up and down the aisle at my wedding, but since my efforts have left me a tad disgruntled, I really don't want to dwell. By the way, if anyone wants to help me out here, I'm looking for some cool songs that can be translated into a good piano piece. If you make a suggestion and I take you up on it, I'll buy you a Sephora lip gloss. Promise.

Same thing for a good reading ... a poem, a cute short story, etc., anything that's fit to be read at a wedding ... if you make a suggestion and I take you up on it, Sephora lip gloss.

On that note, I'm done for today.