Misery loves suggestions

Ugh...I'm in misery. (If I said it aloud, it would sound like this: uff...ahm an mibbery...uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...hurts.....*kachoo*...*cough cough*...uhhhhhhhhhhh)

I guess I have a cold. My left nostril is stopped up and my right one is running. My head hurts. My ears ache. I alternate between having a phlegmy throat and a hacking cough. Sweet, eh? I went through an entire (new) pocket pack of Kleenex in a 50 minute class. I now have a brand new box of Puffs Plus in my office, having finished off the old one. I'm about 1/6 through it already.

For the second week, I'm trying to return my glasses. The LONE person who can take them back was on vacation but is now sick. The employees are pretty dodgy about when she'll return. I think they're trying to outwait me for the return period.

In the meantime, I've surpassed the 12,000 point mark on Westlaw. I guess now is as good of a time as any to start thinking about what I'm going to do with all those points. I figure I will rack up another 6,000 or so before the semester ends (daily research, trivia, bonuses for being on Law Journal, etc.). I was going to get the Jack Georges briefcase but then I decided that I would just buy myself a nice, lady-size one after graduation. Provided I find that J-O-B or whatever. This means my points have no purpose anymore.

Suggestions?*

*I will entertain some begging for gifts for yourself purchased with my points but the begging must be appropriately humble and funny. Of course, there is no guarantee that I will buy you anything.

This day in history

One year ago yesterday, I have written in my calendar: 4:00 Westlaw happy hour. 5:30 Law Journal happy hour.

As I recall, I went to neither and instead went home and did homework.

This year, yesterday, I sat at home, coughed and sneezed and watched more Made and Shallow Hal (the tv version).

Because I have nothing else to do on a Saturday night

I present...E. McPan, the Present, the near future (Hawaii), and the hopefully not too distant future. There wasn't a horse available, so I chose what I considered the next closest thing.

As seen on Frolics & Detours and The Hot Librarian
Make your own doll here! The instructions are sort of hard to follow, though.

I hate gmail

It's been down all day.

E hearts ebags.com!

I got my iPod case on Friday afternoon. I ordered it Wednesday night. I didn't even expedite the shipping (free!) or anything. I love my case. The only downfall is that it's a little snug and you have to jam the iPod down inside. Maybe it will stretch a little bit. Anyway, it's supercute and ultra-pink (no purple available).

Pictures to follow...gotta find my cord to plug the camera into the computer first.

Lil' E

I'll be frank: I'm completely "not hip." Unhip. Unhop. Un-everything.

But when Lil' Jon says he wants a lady in the street but a freak in the bed, doesn't that strike you as odd?

After all, no "lady" would be in the street. Ergo, for enough money she would be a freak in the bed.

And now...the E McP True Hollywood Story: E. McPan

A guest post by my mom who often chides me in my comments under the name E. McPan's Mom. Now you know.

In 1976 there was a family in Texas who were lucky enough to have 7 healthy, beautiful children. They didn't have any money to speak of, but they decided to add another child to the family through adoption. Their thinking was that they could offer a happy home to one more child. They had already adopted a little 7-year-old boy from Korea. He was deaf and the family was attending classes to learn sign language and thoroughly enjoying the cheerful little imp.

When they applied for a second child, they assumed that they would get another little deaf son. They thought it would be a boy because they already had 5 daughters. They thought he would be deaf because they could now communicate with a deaf child.

In adopting, just as in having a biological child, you never know what you're going to get. After waiting nearly a year for a placement, the family received a call about a 7-month-old GIRL. They were told that she was considered "special needs" because of a heart murmur and that the family could only have her if one of the parents would go to Korea to get her.

The father had to work, so the lucky mother (that would be me) got to go to Korea. I had only flown a couple of times and never alone. I had to quick get a passport and pack my bags for Korea.

We had received the picture of the baby and she was beautiful. When I joined the group I would be traveling to Korea with, we all showed off our pictures. I, of course, felt sorry for the others because my baby was the cutest! I think each of the parents had the same feeling about their child. [Naturally, my mom was right. I was by far the cutest.]

For the record, I believe that my baby was born in a hospital and thus the birthday is accurate. [Great...no more free shots any day I feel like pretending it's my birthday]

There were twenty something people in our group. We were mostly mothers (only two fathers) and we were all getting baby girls. One older couple was getting a 7-year-old boy.

What a group we were. We shopped our way through Seoul, Korea. Every day we would get cabs and go somewhere different to shop. [Technically, this isn't too different than what she does in the States. My mom is a champion shopper. Seriously. I get worn out when I shop with her. She has endurance like a marathoner.]

Finally came the day we got to go see our babies. I was a little embarrassed because I had been telling everyone that my poor baby had a hole in her heart. When they brought her out, she was very healthy looking with rosy cheeks and crawling everywhere. The others were holding their frail babies and glaring at me.

I was in Korea for two weeks. My husband is still mad because I didn't call home once. I thought it was too expensive to call that far away. After flying about 18 hours with a sick baby (she had a cold and I had to give her a powered medicine that was in a paper envelope), I finally arrived home.

I was ready to sleep for 12 hours but first all the children wanted to see what was in the bulging suitcases. I had bought more luggage in Korea and filled it! There were dolls, toys, clothes and tennis shoes.

It was about seven years later that we learned that the hole in our little girl's heart had closed by itself. [Unfortunately, she made up for it by opening her mouth and letting loose all sort of jibber jabber for the next twenty-odd years.]

I don't know who reads this blog but this is a true story of how one family was created. Sometimes I forget that I didn't give birth to her.

Now, if anyone else wants to guest blog, it's $3.00. For the most awesome mom in the world it's on the house.

Heh...my parents are still nuts about kids. Thanksgiving with (some of) the grandkids.

Be alert!

The world needs more lerts.

Seriously, though - stay tuned. Stag wants to know about my humble background (although I suspect that really, she just wants to know if I have a good excuse to celebrate my birthday every day of the year so I can get free drinks at bars) about being adopted and all.

So I wrote my mom (that's Mother McPan to you) and said please, please, if I can make one person in the whole wide blogosphere happy, let it be Stag.

And so she wrote my story and emailed it to me.

The post will be up probably tomorrow afternoon. I have a doctor's appointment that I made in early December for allergy stuff. Conveniently I have become sick with a cold or a swollen throat or something just in the nick of time to be seen. I are awesome!

Doing my part for the economy

I finally bought a case for my iPod. It's pink. I've been tossing it (gently) into my purse, usually nestled in the pages of my checkbook but I recently noticed some ink marks on it (oops). I managed to wipe them off but I figured it was time to just get something. It should be here next week. Pictures to come if it doesn't look dumb.

I also finally bought my first swimsuit in over 10 years. I did buy it on the internet, so I am slightly wary of what it will be like. I bought a suit in my early years of high school and have used it for the perhaps 2 occasions I have been in swimming situations. Okay, they were both hot tubs. Expect no pictures of the suit unless I run into a very short supermodel who happens to be wearing the same suit.

For my readers who don't want to read anything I wrote

100 Years by Five for Fighting

"Every day's a new day... 15 there's still time for you Time to buy and time to choose Hey 15, there's never a wish better than this When you only got 100 years to live" 2004 was about thinking and reflecting - but isn't every year?

What 2004 Hit Song Are You?

I haven't actually heard this song but I do know that the band name (Five for Fighting) came from hockey. I heard it on an interview.

Well, I'm adopted, so my birthday could really be today.

But I didn't like my results for Aquarius, so I went with the my alleged date of birth.

You are 60% Sagittarius

How much do you match your zodiac sign?

I'm on the cusp and I'm unsatisfied with my results, so I'm going to take the other sign I share.

You are 80% Scorpio

How much do you match your zodiac sign?

That's more like it, except all the questions are along the lines of, "Do you put the fanatic in fan?" Yikes.

As seen on Kurtie!

Well, this disrupts my plan to enter into my midlife crisis at age 31

The best laid plans...Oh well, what's another 8.5 years, right?

'Cuz I'm a creep...I'm a weirdo...What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here...

To the person in Iowa who found me through this search, thanks but I'm not amused.

Eye Spy

I got new glasses last week and I hate them. First off, I tried to enlist Charlotte's help in picking out frames, but she was busy thinking about her latest weirdo and wasn't much help. She did give me a Hello Kitty alarm clock, though, so the day wasn't a total loss, haha.

I ended up picking out some Nicole Miller frames which were pretty cute but I had my reservations about them. A and I picked them up and I felt that they were sort of "off" right away. The optical person-chick-worker said to try them for a few days and come back if I needed readjustments. If tripping over my own feet = needing an adjustment, I'm long overdue. I've gone for three adjustments since and they still hurt my ears. Furthermore, I'm not entirely sure they ground the lenses right seeing as how I can see far away but not close up anymore (hence, the falling off three-foot-wide sidewalks, etc.). I called today to see about returning them and I can't take them back until next week when the manager is back in town.

So that gives me some time to think.

I considered just getting new lenses but the cost is so much that it only costs like $20 more to get a whole new set of glasses. Also, I'm tired of the glasses I have. Remember in the third Godfather movie, where the one guy goes to kill the guy in his office (Lucchese, I think) and they don't know how he's going to do it, seeing as how he'll be frisked and all? Anyway, he stabs the boss in the throat using his eyeglasses. Yep. My current frames are reminiscent of the "Don't make me stab your jugular!!!" style. Ahhh, classic.

A suggested (after I'd already gotten my new pink zebra-stripey frames) that I get contacts so I can see underwater in Hawaii. I guess he thinks I will be doing a substantial amount of swimming or something. : ) If I had horrible vision, that would be a good point. But I can see enough to know when to start thrashing around for dear life. Ex: an octopus, a shark, jellyfish of any size but especially any animal with the words "man" and "war" in its name, dolphins, fish, etc. Basically, if it's not water, I'm going to swim away from it at my top speed of negative 3 miles an hour. So I don't need contacts per se.

Here's what I see as the Pros for contacts:

• I don't have to keep shopping for frames that I always end up hating anyway
• I'm pretty irresponsible, and now they have those daily and weekly contacts, so yay for the irresponsible folks (me)
• I don't have to keep going in for the inevitable frames adjustment ("How did you manage to twist these into a pretzel shape?")
• I can wear "cool" sunglasses and not my prescription ones

Cons

• Um, I just bought another pair of glasses...hopefully I'll get all my money back
• I won't be able to use the Hot Librarian's line anymore ("Don't make me take off my glasses") without looking like the guy in Airplane (you know...he takes off the dark aviator glasses and has another pair on underneath)
• I am horrible at accidentally poking my eye with all sorts of objects
• One of my hobbies is rubbing my eyes to the point of redness
• I'm pretty irresponsible...but I think that one was taken care of (see above)
• I'd have to go for another dreaded eye exam. I'd rather take a civil procedure exam than have an light shining in my eye. Seriously.
• I don't know how much they cost, but I'm sort of thinking they can't be that much because I see commercials and stuff on tv. Plus, if I went for glasses, I'd get prescription indoor and outdoor glasses. That's two times the four eyes...wait...math. Forget it.

Thoughts? Complaints about your contact experience?

Zap!

A signed up for a consult appointment for Lasik.

I'm not scientifically inclined and all I know is that they zap your eye with a laser or some such. Yikes. Then again, not having to look at his coke-bottle glasses might be nice.

That's coke-bottle with the extra-thin, extra-expensive lenses. Yeah...Lasik is sounding pretty good.

That's hot.

Go see Vera Drake

Now, posting this right after my debacle of gossiping through a college musical-talent show is probably a dumb idea. But I learned my lesson at 19. I feel there is NO excuse for these people.

Right when the lights dimmed, an older guy came and stood next to us for 5 minutes while his very overweight wife huffed her way down the aisle. They sat down, then stood up and began moving to another aisle. A and I shared a big sigh of relief. Then they came back and sat down again, at which point they proceeded to have a long discussion of whether or not they should get something to eat. This theater is a dinner-and-a-movie type of place where you can order from your seat. Wife couldn't get the menu clipped in an upright position so as to flag the waiter, so she punished us by having a very loud whispering conversation. That part was frustrating but Husband was apparently very hard of hearing but really quiet excellent at speaking loudly.

Do you want a coke? I can get the waiter if you want a coke.
WHAT, MOTHER? A COKE? YES, A COKE IS FINE WITH ME.
Wife tries to flag down waiter just using her eyes in a dark theater. Obviously not successful. I can't get his attention! Do you want me to get up and get you a coke?
YOU WANT A COKE? WHAT?
Well, I can't get his attention, so can you do without a coke?
I DON'T NEED A COKE. [30 seconds of silence] WELL, I'D LIKE A COKE BUT I DON'T NEED ONE. UNLESS YOU WANT ONE.
[Rather petulantly] I don't need one.
More silence. We are relieved.
Are you sure you don't want a coke?
NO, MOTHER. I AM FINE.

The movie begins and it is a quiet sort of movie, mostly focusing on dialogue and emotions, etc. Think In the Bedroom kind of film. Anyway, Vera (the main character) is running around asking all the people she meets if they want tea and it's very obvious it's set in Britain, hence the British accents. THEY AREN'T IN BROOKLYN, ARE THEY? No grandpa...they aren't, so shut your trap.

Granted, it was sometimes difficult to hear what some of the characters were saying because they were mumbling but they were speaking English, for crying out loud. THIS MOVIE NEEDS SUBTITLES. I CAN HARDLY UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY'RE SAYING. Naturally, the irony of shutting the hell up so he could hear them was lost on him.

When Vera is arrested and the cops are taking her to the station: I GUESS THIS WAS BEFORE MIRANDA, ISN'T THAT RIGHT, MOTHER? That's right, grandpa. Before Miranda. Furthermore, the Brits really don't follow our law. I don't know if you know that, but I wish you would SHUT UP. And tell your overweight wife that if she's going to sneak candy into the theater, it ought to be something quiet. Tootsie rolls, perhaps. She had skittles or M&Ms or something and I could hear her drop each individual candy into her mouth as they clinked against her teeth. At one point, I counted 15 separate clinks in one handful. Disgusting.

Spoiler alert! - Milbarge, this means don't read it. You know that I tend to spoil the ending!
------------
The movie itself was really really excellent. And it's not a pro-abortion movie so much as it invites discussion on whether the policy behind strict no-abortion laws is really very good or not. I especially like the way the characters are sort of paired up. (I'm not very good at like, um, film critic-ing or whatever, so this is kind of the dumber version of what a real critic might say.)

There's Vera: matronly, caring, helpful, sweet, and oh yeah, completely breaking the law. The "best friend" who turns out to be a total bitch, using Vera's services to make a little money on the side for herself. The lady whose house Vera cleans and her daughter. The lady won't be a character witness for Vera at her trial yet her own daughter had an abortion, unbeknownst to the mother. Of course, they are very wealthy and so the daughter goes to a "weekend spa" kind of place to have the procedure done. The sister-in-law whose contribution to society is having a baby and buying consumer goods. Vera's shy and simple daughter and the good-looking son. Daughter loves Mum anyway. Son is appalled, though the fact that he is (probably...I couldn't tell whether his actions were actually illegal or just a matter of having leverage over someone else by having something they want) doing a bit of under-the-table stuff himself apparently doesn't prick his own conscience.
------------
Anyway, if I were a more eloquent person, I'm sure I could have whipped all that into a "good" review of a really fantabulous movie. But I'm not, and my stab at film criticism is now officially over. Until the next movie. So consider yourselves warned.

McPan Science Theater 3000

Back in college, there used to be a fundraiser (I think it was a fundraiser...or maybe it was just for fun) where all the sororities, fraternities, and other big organizations (mainly the residence halls) would compete in this sort of talent/skit show. Actually, I think there was some sort of requirement that it be a mini-musical because the only time I went, all the groups did musicals.

I went to support my roommate, Malibu Barbie and her sorority. Our hall also had an entry but, as usual, I wasn't exactly invited to be in it. Throughout the entire night's festivities, I entertained my to-be next roommate (though I didn't know it at the time) by making snide commentary in a low voice.

Unfortunately, the voice wasn't low enough because it was caught on microphone by the lead singer's brother who was behind us, videotaping his sister's performance as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. Later, Dorothy's roommate asked me if I had gone to the show and I said, "For a little while, why?" She said, "We were watching the tape the other day and we kept hearing someone's voice and it sounded just like you."

Thus marked the day when I felt a calling to provide commentary on everything I saw. I still think the snide comments, but now I try to keep them to myself until after the show. It's like MST3K, except cheaper.

Shazam!

I would hardly call 50% "lightly" nerdy. That's at least "halfway to a pocket protector." Of course, if I'm going to fight about it, it's probably an indication of my nerdiness.


It recommends getting help soon.

From Brian's Frazzled Mind


Duh.

In other news:
Galimony! I just like saying it.
Rumor has it that Portia is going to get a tattoo removed of her former girlfriend. There's also a nice bit about other celebrity tattoos that involved their former significant-others. Ouch.

Stating the obvious

I've been toying around with the template. I like this one but have problems expanding the posting column so there's not a wall of argyle on the right. I end up with a ginormous wall of argyle on the bottom.

But in the meantime, Yay? Nay?

A day in the life of...

Could it be any worse?

Your Famous Blogger Twin is Wil Wheaton

You're a friendly, funny guy (or girl) next door With more than a touch of geekiness

Who's Your Famous Blogger Twin?

As seen on Waiting For the Punchline. Please...someone punch me for being Wil Wheaton.

Funny, she doesn't look Druish

I'm an associate editor for the law journal. Yesterday was sign up day for the staff writers (they get to pick who they want their AE to be rather than being assigned).

As of 5 minutes ago, everyone except two AEs were full....I'm one of the two AEs with no staff writers.

Just as I always suspected...they don't like me because I'm Druish.* Okay, I really just wanted to use that line more than anything. But not being picked is true.

*Or it could be that I didn't do the AE position last semester and nobody knows who the heck E. McPan is. Which isn't true because I went to meetings and am in the journal's book and stuff. I'm gonna go with the Druish theory, though.

UPDATE: Two days later, and the other AE now has 1 person filled in. I guess those last three staff writers are doing the rock, paper, scissors thing to decide who gets me. And let me tell you, when I finally get them, I will let them know exactly how much I appreciate their enthusiasm and dedication to the journal. Every single time I review their work. They ain't seen nothin' yet! (Appropriate evil laugh here, please.)

All over but the hollerin'

2 and 3L grades are (finally) out (all 1L grades have been out). The class I was worried about, it turns out I didn't have to worry about. The class I thought I ruled...I sucked. So I guess it ends up being a wash.

At least that's done with.

The Ring

Resurrected from the drafts section. If it doesn't make sense, blame Fitz-Hume. -- ed.

I recently wrote about not being able to find my wedding ring.

One Mr. Fitz-Hume made a comment basically saying that when I find it, I should hold it tightly and murumur My precious, my precious.

Normally, I would just pretend that I never had to read those books in high school, but about the only thing I remember from The Hobbit is that the ring had invisible powers or something.

My point? When Fitz-Hume commented, I never got the email notification from Haloscan. In other words, merely by referencing the ring, he was invisible!!! Amazing.

Try this one at home.

My Contract with America

Dear American blog readers (all others, I'll get back to y'all):

I recently announced a potential hiatus. Naturally, the NHL then announced some fake breaking news that I had to comment on. I feel sort of like Kramer in that episode where he says he's going to take a vow of silence but he keeps saying something and then says he'll start his vow now. I'd rather pledge chastity than silence. Hmm. Well, maybe not.

Anyway...my point is this - I think that the small point my blog ever had is now is now radically different. If you look at my earliest posts, they're about my trip to France. My blog was started so I could share my vacation photos along with my attempt at funny commentary with my family without maxing out their email inboxes. This would be why my family reads my blog and why certain other people are rated NC-17. You know who you are.

Now it's turned into an all-day rage/complaint/inane comments/not-so-unusual observation-fest. I feel that the only thing that is the same is my lame commentary. And the fact that my mom can always tell y'all things that are only partially true, like I failed driver's ed. I didn't fail it but I also didn't take the test which I surely would have failed. There's a small but important difference.

Sometimes I feel like what I'm saying might sound like I'm bragging or some other equally not-cool quality. Like when I talked about my Mikimoto pearls, or my trips, or my "should I take X class in hopes of improving my rank to a single digit or take an easy semester and hope everyone else sucks" "problems"? I put "problems" in quotations because it seems in comparison to real problems, they're totally lame. But this is how I really am. Ask anyone who admits to knowing me in person.

What brought this on? Well, it's been sort of floating around in my head but a particular episode of Made on MTV really brought it home. This fat kid who was a little light in his loafers decided to do a triathalon even though he could barely walk a mile and routinely ate two full platters at IHOP. The whole way through the episode he whined and whined. If he was an animal, I would have put him out of his misery. Then I wondered if I was like that too. Maybe I do complain a lot. It's my nature. Usually I'm not serious about the complaints. I just don't have anything intellectual or law-related or whatever to say. This isn't bad per se except I also can't keep my posts short. I think this blog would be a lot more tolerable if I were a lot more succinct. See, if you've even read this far, you have nothing better to do.

Okay...succinct, succinct. Back to succinct. I have a bunch of stuff written in drafts that I will start posting in lieu of fresh lame posts. Some of them might make little to no sense because way back then they were relevant. Some of the might make little to no sense because they just don't. I'll leave it to you to guess which is which.

I'll continue to post new stuff when I get inspired (e.g., if hockey came back, if I won the lottery, if I won a date with Tad Hamilton, if I found out that I was on the Truman Show, etc.). I won't shut down The Neutral Zone Trap unless forced by law. In which case, call the police. (Nine...one...one. [unless you're in a building where you have to dial 9 to get out; then it's 9911, I guess.])

PS - Please sign on the line below and return to me as an indication of acceptance of this contract.


Your signature (there was a line here...not sure what happened to it)

Credit card number; Expiration date; That 3-digit number on the back (see above)

Choose two (2) of the following options. Choose the two you most frequently use as "hint" questions:

Your elementary school
Your pet's name
Your spouse's birthday
Your favorite movie
Your mother's maiden name
Your favorite ice cream
Your favorite teacher

Oh, and your bank account plus routing number. Trust me, this is totally necessary.

And that fat kid on Made? He did it, in 1 hr and 25 minutes.

We interrupt this hiatus to say

That the NHL is going to have a meeting on Wednesday to try to salvage the season.

Prognosis: won't happen. And if it does, it'll be such a mess that I'll probably have to jump off a bridge or pay Sports Nephew my allowance for the next 10 years.

And some lockout trivia for y'all: "If the season is wiped out, it would mark the first time in 86 years that the Stanley Cup wasn't awarded. A flu epidemic canceled the 1919 final series between Montreal and Seattle. No North American sports league has lost an entire season due to a labor dispute."

Even sadder, the NHL's official puck supplier has laid off half of its staff. Dude...what I wouldn't give to work at the puck factory and end up being swept off my feet by a guy in a white uniform. Oh wait, that's An Officer and a Gentleman (the Canadian version). That movie was on non-stop on WE or something the other day.

We now return to hiatus status.

More later...and I mean that in an un-ironic way. More about what the hiatus will entail, I mean.

Betrayal

On the first day of the winter break, my hair dryer croaked.

I've had it since before law school so it's at least 3 years old. Maybe closer to 5. Actually, I think I bought it before I got married, which, if true, means that it's closer to 10 years old. I have some vague memory of it in college. In other words, it was old. (Hairdryer years are probably akin to dog years; 1 = 7).

But it was awesome.

And when it died, I was sad. I went around for two days with wet hair and decided it was much too cold for that. I broke down and bought another one after looking at three different stores for the old one.

I hate it. The buttons are in the wrong place. The speed and heat settings are unsatisfactory. It comes with a ginormous monster claw called a "diffuser." It shoots ions at my head. The only positive thing about it is that it's almost as quiet as the old one.

This post had no point.

I'm thinking of taking a hiatus from blogging.

I didn't know how else to introduce it except by writing the lamest/worst post EVER. But I don't want to be like some blogs and say Hey, I'm quitting...and then three days later...Suckas! I'm back! So this isn't an official announcement. Maybe I'm just SAD* despite the sun being so bright I practically need sunglasses indoors. We'll see. Maybe I'm just out of ideas for the oh, minute or hour.

*From acronym finder, I bring you what all SAD could be and let you decide what my problem is:
Seasonal Affective Disorder
Safety & Arming Device
Safety Assessment Document
Schizoaffective Disorder
Search and Destroy A personal favorite
Security Association Data
Seek and Destroy A personal favorite
Self-Aware Data
Senior Air Director
Separation Anxiety Disorder
Serial Analog Delay
Service Application Description
Shiromani Akali Dal (India)
Sierra Army Depot
Silicon Avalanche Diodes
Single Administrative Document
Single Awareness Day (slang for Valentine's Day) N/A
Single, Available, and Desperate Again, N/A
Site Adaption Data (FAA ARTCC configuration of site resources)
Situation Awareness Display
Sjedinjene Amerièke Države (Croatian: United States of America)
Small Area Data
Social Anxiety Disorder
Sociedad Anónima Deportiva
Software Architecture Description
Solar Array Drive
Source Axis Distance
South Atlantic Division (USACE)
Special Assignment Division
Speech Activity Detector
Splitter-And-Delivery (network architecture)
Staging Area Director
Stand Alone Dump
Stand and Deliver
Standard American Diet
Standard Auto Discount (insurance)
Stanford Athletic Department (Stanford University)
Station Address Directory
Station Arrival Date
Status Advisory Display
Stay Another Day
Stock Assessment Driven (fisheries)
Structured ASCI Design
Students Against Destruction
Subacromial Decompression
Submarine Anomaly Detection
Sum of Absolute Differences
Summary of Audit Differences
Supplementary Alteration Drawing
Supply And Demand
System Activity Display (IBM)
System Administrator/Administration
System Allocation Document
System Analysis and Design
System Analyst Designer
Systems Architectural Directorate

"Caution"

I was checking my grades (yes, on Saturday; yes, I'm a moron) and there was a new section that said CAUTION! and had a link. I clicked. This came up:

Warning! Since law grades are still being posted, summary information about
an individual's grades could be incorrect.

Really..."warning" with an "!" is just too strong. Warning...or what? Nothing. Exactly. "Note" and ":" might have been better.

I don't think they mean my streak-worthy grade might be wrong. I think they mean that the little thing that tells me my GPA is 0.0 right now is (duh!) not up to date. For those people who can't freaking figure it out. I feel a throat punching coming on...

Damn it

I just checked again and I got a grade.

It is a "E is sad" type of grade.*

This is more unfair than not having any grades.

All that stuff I said about not having grades? I take it back. Now I will streak the library, but this time out of anger, sadness, and despair. If I'm still sad after that, I will streak the administration building, the parking lot, the undergrad campus and the cafeteria. Quite possibly the gym also.

UPDATE: Constantly checking and rechecking the grade in the hope that it was a mistake that the grade lady will soon fix won't make it go away. Take it from someone who knows but hasn't learned the lesson yet.

*In case anyone was afraid that I would be in their class (again) and this time somehow amazingly kick ass (apology to Mom), don't be. I don't have to take the class again.

Peanut Butter 4 Ever

As it turns out, I will have another class with Peanut Butter. Luckily, I graduate after this semester.* If PB follows me to wherever I end up after graduation, I'm calling the cops, the U.S. Marshalls, Interpol, etc. PB is whack.

I wrote about PB once before, I thought, but blogger seems to disagree. Anyway, I call PB that because no matter what hour of the day I have a class with PB, PB is eating a PB sandwich. Furthermore, PB often lays the sandwich on their pants leg between bites. Sure, I've eaten picked up and eaten food that has fallen on my shirt, pants, the couch and depending on what it is, the cat. (Today's tip: don't drop macaroni and cheese on a long-haired cat. It's hard to get out, plus the cat is interested in eating it.) But putting a sandwich on purpose on your pants and then continuing to eat it? That's hardcore.

In my last class with PB, the professor was a minute or two late, so PB left the room, apparently made a sandwich and came back to class to freakin' eat it.

My preferred method of annoying my classmates is just staying in the room. I figure that that is punishment enough.

*Provided I ever get my grades and they are passing.

Negotiation time

If I don't have any grades by the end of tomorrow, I'm gonna...hmmm. I'm not sure yet but here are the ideas I've been kicking around.

Shoot someone. This would probably end up in the cancellation of school and thus no grades would be posted as the campus would be evacuated, so that one's out.

Sit outside the door of the grade-putter-inner person until I get a grade. Ineffective, I'm sure, and boring for me. Nobody goes in the administrative building. And I'm not willing to stage an Iranian-type takeover of the university.

Complain to a higher-up. Completely ineffective. I've complained before about semi-legitimate things and was met with nothing but condescension (a word?) and sarcasm.

Threaten drastic measures such as burning something down, taking off an article of clothing, parking in the Dean's spot, and/or breezing through the parking lot stop sign.

Suggestions welcome.

Anyone got the number for UNOS?

Or whatever the organ transplant service is?

I need a brain transplant. (Yeah, just staing the obvious.)

Two days ago I forgot my computer. Yesterday I left my office at 5:30 and got home at 6:20. As I was getting my stuff out of the car, I realized that I didn't know where my computer was. It was either in my office (not locked and it was a "come and get a free will done" night) or maybe I had put it on top of my car or something and drove away.

7:30 - I am home again, computer in my hot little hands. It was sitting on my chair in my office. Ahhhh.

Still. No. Grades.

Girl, unplugged

My first class today was at 9:30. I got to school with 15 minutes to spare, so I thought I was really rockin'. Then I realized that I had forgotten my laptop. Like at home forgot it. That may not be a major crisis to you all but me: forgetting laptop is like you: forgetting pants. Really. I think I've only attended 4 days' worth of classes in my 2.5 years of law school without it. And three of those days were because Bill Gates hates me.

It was devastating.

I had to find three sheets of paper. I had to go to my carrel in the library to find a pen. My only working pen was hot fuschia. I ended up signing my name on my permanent spot in hot fuschia. I bet I will be called on a lot. Really, hot fuschia is hard to not notice.

The rest of the day I felt lost. I didn't know what day it was (I use the date on my computer). I couldn't write a paper that was due that afternoon. I couldn't listen to the audio thing I was going to use to write the paper. I couldn't check email. It was...disastrous.

Oh, and no grades. Still.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

All the gossip

Okay, so it's not gossip. It's more like reading the "people" section of the newspaper. Or is it the same?

My old moot court partner got engaged. He proposed at a Fuddrucker's. That's right - Fuddrucker's. And not even inside, where they have yummy cheese sauce. In the parking lot. He said he just couldn't wait any longer and so just proposed (he had a ring and everything). As they were driving off, she named off all the other fast food restaurants they passed that he could have proposed at...Taco Bell, Wendy's, McDonald's.

An old study partner also got engaged, except no details are known except it was in Seattle.

Charlotte went on a "coffee" (doesn't qualify for full date status) this weekend. I'd just like to reiterate that she is nuts. The guy calls and says that he'll coming to our town and the first thing she blurts out is, "Is it for business...or pleasure?" Okay, so she probably didn't say it like that, but she did say that phrase. I said it sounded far too suggestive, but as it turns out, nothing happened. Not even a kiss. Which is a relief - I was at Starbucks (I know, it probably sounds like I go there all the time) the other day and this early 20s couple was truly (I had written "literally" but I know how Ex Mea feels about it [no link anymore to the original post]) sucking face. Like, I saw lip sucking and cheek licking and...it's too disgusting. This is perhaps the only time I've thought about saying Get a room. The worst was when they started pawing each other. They weren't even attractive (individually or as a couple).

Mr. O came up to me before lunch and said, "I've never won anything before but I just won 10,000 points from a Westlaw drawing." Whoa, ten thousand points? Seriously, he could buy an iPod because he already had a few thousand. I told him I wanted a good spring break present. I'm sure he's shopping right this instant.

I ended up not going to the class I was thinking of dropping. Add/drop is sometime this week and hopefully I'll get to see my grades before that. Really, that would be the biggest factor right now. If I got a really bad grade in a class from the fall, I'd want to keep that one class.

First day analysis: Fair. Outlook: Depends on if I end up sitting next to this one person all semester long. If so, then sub-fair. If not, then probably sunny.

I've gone to the wrong class already. Twice. I went into 103 and was pleasantly surprised to see all my friends. I thought, I didn't know they were taking Remedies. As it turns out, it was Trusts. Oops. I then went to the other 103 and poked my head in. Oh good, another friend. "What class is this?" "Business tax." Fudge. I found someone with a master schedule and it turns out that my class was actually in the first 103 but an hour later. See, I'm not completely dumb.

Dilemma

Hmmm. I am currently signed up for 3 classes and the clinical program. I also have a duty to the law journal but I'm not paying for the credit hours.

If I drop one of the classes and add the law journal for credit (1 hour as opposed to the 3 hour class), I will save a nice sum of money and brainpower. The dilemma? I think I could make an A in the class I want to drop. I've had this professor before and made an A. I can't drop the other classes because I need them to fulfill certain requirements.

Which should win? Money/time/brainpower v. Grade?

As far as "would it raise your GPA" the answer is Yes. Where I'm at in the class is pretty tight; we're separated by 100ths of a point and the more good grades I can get, the better. I know, that sentence was dumb. But it's another factor.

Oh, and I'm not going to the potential drop class today. I didn't buy the books; I didn't read (I can't read without compulsively highlighting, and I would want all my money back from the bookstore).

Really, I'm just asking you all to validate my decision to drop the class.

Stag on Hockey

For more information about guest-blogging on The Neutral Zone Trap, please send me $3.00. And if you've ever wondered what exactly the neutral zone trap is, let me explain. Well, no, I'm not going to explain. I'm just going to give you a common critique of it: It has produced boring hockey, partly due to the lack of high scores. I don't share that critique, but I thought I would let you all decide for yourselves.

And now, the guest post.

Thanks to a comment I made on a hockey related post, E. McPan (who is not Canadian, [not that there's anything wrong with that!] but plays one in cyberspace) asked if I’d guest blog on her site. She wants to increase the public’s acceptance of hockey by talking about it. Only my comment really didn’t have much to do with hockey, other then mentioning that I had been to a few Dallas Stars games. But anyway, here I am blogging about hockey, when really the only substantial thing I have to say about hockey is that I went to a few Dallas Stars games. Did I say that already?

So, let me elaborate. My first job out of school was in Dallas. I met a bunch of young people there and kept pretty busy with happy hours and parties. I had never been to a hockey game before living there and really had only seen people playing street hockey on rollerblades. While I was there the Stars were doing pretty good.

My First Game
Went with a friend I met in my apartment complex. He had a friend in town who was just graduating from Temple. I got his friend an interview at my employer. (See how nice Stag is?) The guys got tickets to a Stars game and invited me along. I have no idea who the Stars were playing or who won. I remember we sat pretty high up, although there really weren’t any bad seats in the arena (I concur) considering that the arena was pretty small. There’s a new stadium in Dallas now, one with suites that the rich people and the corporations can purchase tickets to. (Yes, and the rich and corporations have bought them by the bundle which contributes to the 9 million sold out games. But if you go or have seen them on tv, you'll notice a lot of empty seats. I think the worst people to sit next to are business people) but I haven’t been there.

My Last Game
My parents came into town to visit and I got tickets for all three of us. The amount of money I’m getting paid at this point in my life is laughable and my expenses consisted of beer, cat food and toilet paper. I was barely getting by. Still, I was able to buy three tickets to the Stars because tickets to the Stars really weren’t that expensive. I’m guessing they were about $18 a piece. Anyway, it was my parents’ first hockey game ever (I’m not really sure about my dad; he’s from St. Louis, and he’s a guy, so maybe he had been to one at some point in his life; I could be lying). Again, I have no idea who the Stars were playing or who won.

For both games I took the DART rail to downtown (affectionately known as the Stars Cars on game day). It’s the light rail system in Dallas. It was very convenient for the games as you didn’t have to worry about traffic. And before the games, the trains were full of fans making the ride a good pep rally and warm up for the game.

Those are the only two games I went to.

The Cup
The Stars won the cup in 1999, and after they won there was a parade downtown and then a rally in the arena. All the local news stations aired it live, like it was actual breaking news. The friend that I went to the first game with had tickets to the rally, so I skipped out of work for a few hours, met him at the parade, and then went to the rally. I got a free sweat rag for attending the rally. E. McPan requested a picture of the sweat rag, but it was one of those things I decided not to take with me on my move from Texas to California. (I don't blame Stag. I finally threw away my car flags. I used to get my sister to get them for me when I was living too far away. Note: those flags = drinking a lot of Dr. Peppers)

Here’s what I learned little about hockey while living in Dallas:
-There are three periods in a hockey game. Not four quarters like pretty much every other sport. Check.
-There are bouncers at the entrance of the seating (i.e. coming from the concession to the seating), and they won’t let you enter the seating area until the game is paused. Apparently this is to protect you from getting hit with the puck on the off chance it flies near you. Check. Even if you are at the top of the stadium, and even though there’s plastic between the ice & the seating, apparently there’s still that chance and the bouncers are serious about this. Trust me, people can get knocked out by a puck even at the upper levels. You don't want vulcanized rubber coming at your head at 100+ miles an hour.
-When they play the national anthem at Stars games, the crowd yells “STARS” when it’s mentioned in the song. It’s pretty cool. Yeah, that part is cool if not disrepectful. They also yell STARS whenever the word STARS comes up. Like "For tickets, call 214-4GO-STARS" or whatever the number was. It had the word STARS in it.
-Beer is served. And nachos too. My god, it's a hockey game; I would hope there would be beer and nachos. I guess Stag didn't have my favorite arena food: Hebrew Nationals.
-This thing called a Zamboni is driven on the ice between periods and it runs over all of the ice to smooth it down (sort of like sweeping it). I love the Zamboni. They also have a guy with a t-shirt gun that sits on the Zamboni and shoots it into the crowd. My dad actually caught one. I heard an interview on NPR once with the Dallas Zamboni driver. He actually did not care for hockey at all (blasphemy!).
-Hockey players are scary looking. This is subjective, I guess. Well, okay, some players are probably pretty objectively scary looking. I'm thinking...Mike Ricci right off the top of my head. You can't see it in this picture but his lack of teeth is pretty scary. Plus all that black hair streaming behind when he's on the fly. Who else? Mmmm...oh wait. There's this guy who used to play for the Avalanche. He's got bright red hair and this really scruffy beard. It's not Peter Forsberg. I think who I'm thinking of retired. I'll think of it eventually.
-There’s a penalty box that people actually have to sit in if they “foul” another player. (I’m not sure if it’s called foul, but you know what I mean.) It’s like being put in time out or something. It’s a little room just off the side of the ice. If you've ever seen the penalty box, it's got a plexiglass door so the hockey player can see/be seen. Where I used to work at, I would beg for permission to install a similar plexiglass door at the entrance of my cubicle. It never happened. They also wouldn't let me put up a curtain rod and put up a shower curtain or anything so as to block out all other people. They did allow me to wear my jersey on Fridays. If they had put a ban on that, I probably would have quit. On a barely related note, the penalty box is sometimes called "the sin bin," which I think is cute. And when a player is in the penalty box, the team doesn’t get to substitute another player in his place, but instead they must play with fewer team members. When one team has more players than the other (due to someone being the penalty box) it’s called a Power Play.

That’s all I have to say about hockey. I hope I’ve contributed to E. McPan’s mission. I got a little technical with the Power Play thing and the information I’m giving you may not be accurate. I’m really not qualified to be writing about hockey, but I do what I can.

Nicely done, Stag. Now all y'all people out there, go and read Stag's blog. I promise that I won't be guest-posting any hockey stuff there, so you know where to go to get some hockey relief.

Ex becomes "ex" again

Ex Mea is not going back to law school.

He got accepted into a graduate program and got a cool job doing something he really wanted to do. Therefore, I say good luck and, uh, stop teasing me by starting your blog up every six months or so, okay? : )

Uh, zdravstvuite?

[slaps head] Why didn't I think of this earlier? We should have gone to Russia for spring break. Geez, I'm dumb.

Sports Illustrated has a nice, long article on NHL players in Russia. What I learned from the article:

• The KGB had a hockey team (I already knew the Red Army had one).
• I feel sorry for Fred Braithwaite (at first I thought, he can stay there for all I care...but now I feel sorry for him).
• Russia has the same problem the Rangers (that's the, uh, New York Rangers, not Texas...I'm only talking about ONE SPORT in this post) have: The best team rubles/dollars can buy won't necessarily be the best team.
• I have no grasp on the Cyrillic alphabet, despite being told some helpful hints by two people and also having a "Learn Russian" cassette in my car for like, two years. Of course, my tape deck is broken, so I haven't learned any more Russian than I knew before I started listening to the tapes.
• "Ak Bars" means snow leopard in Tartar.
• Bring your own toilet seat. Seriously...There aren't any in some of the visitors' locker rooms.

You're right...going to Hawaii is probably a lot more pleasant.

What you gonna do when they come for you?

As seen on Cops (another Ft. Worth edition): Woman has been lying outrageously about her age, giving fake dates of birth and then not being able to add fast enough to give the right answer to "How old are you?" It would vary from 24-29. This woman, as it turned out, was in her 50s and looked about 73, so she wasn't foolin' anyone.

Anyway, I guess the cop was just trying to make sure (before he beat her down) that she wasn't mentally ill or had a low IQ or something.

Cop: Ma'am, do you have any medical conditions or anything?

Woman, plaintively: No...Just cramps.

At which point, I knew nothing better would come on the tv and so I should go to sleep right then.

Oh, and either haloscan has been eating comments or someone just hates me and is deleting them. I figure it's probably a combination of both.

As Larry might say, Taco Kissies for everyone

Last week, I put out an APB to bloggers everywhere asking for some scotch recommendations for my loyal sidekick, Mr. McP.

I was disappointed that I didn't get even one response that went something like this: Someday, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me. But until that day, accept this scotch recommendation as gift on your husband's birthday.

I was stunned by the amount of scotch drinkers who pulled it together and commented coherently. Even Mr. P, who has been suspected of being on drugs lately. I thought I would be lucky to receive maybe five recommendations, three of which would be Wild Turkey or Kilt-Made, Ergo No Underwear! Scotch, Master & Commando or some such. But, as I found out, you like me scotch, you really like me scotch!

If I were technologically advanced, I would have just made a screen that had rolling credits like on a movie and listed everyone who helped me out with my burning scotch question. Instead, the ones I know about will be listed at the end of this post. Also, it's like me starting a blogroll, except not on the side of the screen. Of interest (to me, at least): there were people who picked it up off of someone else's blog and ran with it. Apparently, asking for a scotch recommendation is sort of like sending a chain letter: Suggest a scotch or find 5 people that will or you will be smited! Smitten [that is almost definitely not right]? Smote? Smat?

For those of you who complained that you had just seen a similar request on someone else's blog...tough beans.

The purchase
I ended up with a 12 year old Macallan. When I got to the liquor store, I recalled that Mr. McP had bought a Glenmorangie before and maybe one of the Glen Livits. It's hard to remember these things. All I have to go by are recollections of the pictures on the bottle, and they all seemed to have a picture of a house and a duck.

I also got Mr. McP some more scotch glasses. I had bought a set of four for his father a couple years ago and somehow we ended up with two of them. I think the reasoning was that Father-in-Law wouldn't ever need more than 2 (for the two of them) and when In-Laws came to our place, we wouldn't have any, so they split the set. Silly rabbits.

The reaction
He was completely surprised. For one, I had put it in a ginormous box (the old big box full of smaller gifts trick). Second, the fact that I would encourage his scotch-ing was amazing in itself. He was also surprised when I told him how I came to a decision. He thanks you all (as he sits downstairs with a glass of Macallan and the Johnny Cash Live at Folsom Prison CD I got him). He says it's smooth but pleasantly spicy.

My reaction (this being my second ever whiskey experience, the first being too traumatic to write about right now) was about like the first. I felt like someone had opened up an air vent to my brain, my tongue was sweating despite the physiological impossibility, and also that my tongue felt like it had been lashed with a chile. In other words, I thought it was quite spicy. But A put a little water in it and it's tolerable in coffee-stirrer-size sips.

More birthday madness
Saturday - E tells A, Don't buy anything for like a week. Your birthday is coming up. So don't ruin it by going out and buying everything you happen to want.
Sunday - A tells E, I'm going to use that Barnes & Noble gift certificate your sister sent me for Christmas. I'm going to get American Splendor.
Aloud, Didn't I just tell you not to buy anything?
On the inside she is cursing up a storm, having considered buying it for him but then not being able to decide if he had liked it well enough. Now that was one less thing she could get. Instead of going beserk and showing her hand, she smiled and said, Why don't you just wait?
Geez, I'm just getting the DVD. Oh, and the double-disc special edition set of Amadeus. At which point, I just gave up on the idea of buying him any more movies.

The movies came. We've already watched them.

And finally, thanks to all you guys (and gals) who posted my question aloud and/or emailed me recommendations. Really (note the lack of sarcasm mark)!

Begging the Question
Brigid23
The less-crazy member of the McPan Clan, The Hot Librarian (despite the fact that her readers were much more interested in the Tackleberry story than the scotch question)
Ex Mea Sententia
Frolics and Detours
Hearse Driver
Kurtie
Law, Life, Libido (I know, the cool kids call it L-cubed), who's good in a scotch emergency
Legal Quandary, kitchen organizer and mass-production of cookies extraordinaire
Nuts and Boalts
PG, over at Half the Sins of Mankind
Spilt Milk
Various friends who don't have webpages
My father-in-law

And the winner of the Diet Dr. Pepper is...Tim Marman! The boys over at BTQ can take whatever cut they feel is appropriate. Mr. Marman, please contact me whenever you will be in town.

I'd also like to give a special shout out to Mr. P for so excellently expressing his feelings about scotch. A man after my own heart.

Just think of all we could accomplish if we all put our minds together. It might even produce some Heartbreaking Works of Staggering Genius (with no Official Mark of Sarcasm, either, mind you).

What the last post said.

Insanely unfair

1L grades are out (some of them). Some 2 and 3L grades are out.

But none of mine are, except the PR class I took and finished in October. I've had that grade for a while, though, so it doesn't count.

To sum up: It's not fair.

In the beginning, there was nothing...Then there was hockey.

Soup asks how I got "into" hockey. Whether he was being sarcastic or for real, I'm gonna answer.

I grew up in Texas. Now, one might think, Hockey? In Texas?! but there was a minor league team in the next town over, so I knew that such a game existed. I never went to any of those games, but I had heard of people who did.

Later, the "big city" closest to College City also had a minor league team. Again, I never went to a game but I knew people who did. In fact, Mr. McP's boss at the sandwich shop also ran the penalty booth there.

Anyway, we got interested in hockey when the Stars got into the playoffs in '99. I mean, it's a Texas team and all. At first we were like, What's that whistle mean? Is it bad? Good? It turns out that it was the offsides whistle, so it wasn't necessarily good or bad per se. Eventually we picked it up and were amazed in general by the whole concept of sports on ice (ice skating doesn't count; we had yet to hear of curling).

I got my first Belfour t-shirt that year. The next year I got a jersey. After Eddie went to the Maple Leafs, I got a TML shirt with his name and number on the back.

Side story: Eddie has always been my favorite player. I almost got into a fight in the law library last year when a six-foot-plus dude insulted him. Potential Opponent later said I looked like a hockey player when I shoved back my chair, dropped my figurative gloves and made a rush at him. Actually, it might not have been the insult to Belfour that did it but some crack about Buffalo or something.

The day of the Cup-winning game, we drove over 6 hours to his parent's house. We were about to embark on a month-long driving tour of the western half of the US and had every single day mapped out so we had to leave that day. We got there in time for dinner and the game...which went into triple overtime. We were exhausted and needed to get to sleep. The Stars weren't cooperating. Finally, a goal! But then there was a big controversy over whether or not the GWG (game-winning goal) was valid or not. At any rate, they won and we pressed on with our trip. I washed my shirt at every place we stayed so I could wear it as often as possible. I felt cheated that Belfour didn't win the Conn Smythe that year.

At the third place we lived at there weren't any cable lines in our area and we weren't about to pay for installation. We spent a lot of money at bars to watch the playoffs on their tvs. Finally, A bought me a satellite dish for Christmas so I could watch more hockey. He hooked it up right in time for me to catch a Stars game. That was probably the worst thing you could do. I watched hockey nonstop. The only break I took from it was to watch the Yankee-Mets subway series and that was really only because it wasn't hockey season yet.

For the next few years after the '99 New Year's Eve game, we made it a point to go to a Stars game. We went to a playoff game that ended up being the last winning game ever in Reunion Arena (another triple OT). They were later swept by the Blues and moved to the AAC the next season.

We went to one game at the AAC. It was our last year to go (we'd be moving too far away to attend within reason, although I had considered flying to playoff games after finals were over), so I got us some lower level seats, 8 rows off the ice (wow!) for more money than Mr. McP needs to know. Ever. During the pre-game skate, some dude on the section to the right of us got beaned by a loose puck and left the game. He never came back but he was able to walk out on his own. This is before that girl died at a Blue Jackets game and all the arenas put up that netting. The Stars won that game too (Mr. McP and I have a perfect record) but we lamented the fact that the AAC apparently doesn't sell Hebrew Nationals...the hot dog. Don't start getting weird now.

Anyway, the current state of affairs is this: there are several minor league/farm teams within a few hours' drive of me but I have yet to go to any games. It's just too depressing. The ultimate diappointment is that I had actually planned ahead, for once in my life, to be as free as possible during the playoff season so I could watch games without any guilt and/or fear of not passing any classes. I scheduled only two classes with tests and the clinical program. When I found out that there wouldn't be any hockey, I added more hours.

Same song, second verse

I had an eye appointment today. You know, the one where they confirm that you're getting older and that you need new lenses. And puff your eye. I hate the puff part. I also hate the color blindness test because I'm always afraid that there's a number on the page where there's not one. I can never decide whether to lie or not.

Observation: the receptionist and eye-puff technician dude both wear full scrubs like they're gonna be called to operate at any second or something. The doctor, however, wears Dockers, a button-down denim-look shirt with no tie, and boots. He looks sort of like Rob Riggle, most recently seen on VH1 and Comedy Central's Straight Plan for the Gay Man.
My appointment is at 9:45. I get there and am done filling out paperwork before 9:45.

10:15, I get called back for the color blindness test and eye puff.

10:20, I go to the room where "the doctor will be in in a minute to finish your exam."

10:25, The doctor comes in, says, I'll be right back and then when I don't say anything says, Say "Okay." I gave him a doped-up cheesey smile and shot him two thumbs up.

10:35, He comes back and has the same conversation he had with me 18 months ago. I'm still from the same place; my husband still has the same job; I'm still not a pro football fan; I'm still a hockey fan (and had to explain again how it is I got "into" hockey); I'm still blind.

10:40, He says You don't like my sense of humor, do you? I respond with nothing.

10:43, I'm outta there. Geez.

You'd think a small Asian girl from __________ who likes hockey and hates glasses would leave an impression. I'll have to try harder next year.

Can you say Aloha?

We did it! We got our tickets to Hawaii! We got a rental car (convertible - woo hoo!) and a b&b. I can't believe it. It seems fake. The cost was getting prohibative; we were even discussing Tokyo on the way to the travel agent's. I was practicing my konnichiwas, arigatos, and hais. I figure no one would call me in Japan, so no need to practice moshi moshi. (As an aside, the 5, 6, 7, 8s are blasting downstairs.) We couldn't find the first travel agent and just happened upon the second one. She had a ginormous cat with a tail that had been cut off about 2/3 of the way. It was friendly, though and came right up for pets. Her name was TJ Mouse. The cat, not the agent's.

I dug out A's old The Pocket Hawaiian Dictionary, which is a joke because it's the same size as a paperback novel. It's because for every English word there are like, 4 choices of Hawaiian words.

For your entertainment, I give you What's Hawaiian for ?

Cat = Popoki, 'owau, or 'oau
(Meow isn't listed but Testicles [hua, huahua, or laho] is? What kind of dictionary is this?!)
dolphin = mahimahi
United States of America = 'Amelika-hui or 'Amelika-hui-pu-'ia.
No Korea, but they've got Denmark (Kenemaka or Denemaka)?
On the same page, Democrat = kemokalaka
Republican = Lepupalika or Repubalika

They also have a "What's your name in Hawaiian" section, which is pretty good if you have an old-school name. And by old-school, I mean Socrates and Stanislaus and stuff.

My cat Thomas = Koma, Toma or Kamaki
My cat Misha (first translated to the English Michael, then Hawaiian-ized) = Mika'ele or Mikala

Polycarp = Polikape. I put that there in case any of you are really named Polycarp. If that is the case, I pity you and will bring you something good back from Hawaii.

I'll take reader questions for "What's Hawaiian for________?" But remember, I only have 4,800 English words (6,000 Hawaiian words).

I feel pretty, oh so pretty; I feel pretty and witty and gay!

Pretty, witty and gay just ain't gonna cut it anymore, ladies.

Posted by Evan, formerly of Going to Cooley, now posting over at Law School Neurosis's place, along with Astay and some other people I don't know. Not that I actually know any of these people, but you know what I mean. But if you know me, it's likely that you have no idea of what I mean, seeing as how I often don't know what I'm talking about.

-----

May I just say that I have The. Best. Ever. Hairdresser lady (whatever she's called). Her name is Norma and she has done miracles with my if-it-were-a-child-I-would've-sent-it-to-military-school-by-now hair. Seriously. I admit to perfidiousness (a word?) when it comes to hairdressers, rarely going back to the same one. Usually they just cut it straight across in varying degrees because my hair perplexes them. When I got my hair done for the wedding, the girl doing it ended up on the verge of tears and calling the manager at home. My hair is that bad. The manager came in, recognized me from previous visits (there were only two hair salons in that town and one tanning salon I went there to tan [before I became afraid of skin cancer]) and got right to work. I was only an hour and five minutes late to the wedding. (But it wasn't solely because of the hair crisis. We got lost. But that's another story.)

Back to the original thought: I heart Norma. She has never been afraid of a challenge and my hair certainly qualifies. It's like a Mensa test...it will make most people give up after five minutes of looking at it. Yesterday I went in for some more work (I got a trim last week) and it turned out perfectly. Truly fantabulous. It might just look weird or slightly messy to most people, but considering the natural state of my hair, I think it's wunderbar.

This ends my paid-for advertisement.

-----

And another thing: You thought Star Trek conventions were weird? How about JAG conventions? Yikes. Seriously. I mean, I'm weird but not weird enough to attend either a Star Trek (which is just the future space navy) or JAG (which is just the fake present-day navy) convention.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?

Happy Hullennium !!! (5 years late)

The day: December 31, 1999
The place: Reunion Arena, Dallas
The event: The Hullennium

My most memorable New Year's Eve/Day was going to the Stars New Year's Eve game. My sister who lives in Dallas had given me and Mr. McP tickets to the game. The seats were awesome: center ice, first row on the second tier, so there was no one in front of us. In Reunion, there were no bad seats (as opposed to when they moved to the American Airlines Center), so these seats were extra-extra good.

The Stars had won the cup back in June, so we were stoked to see them in person. We took the Trinity Railway Express which was full of people in Stars getup and cheering every time Stars fans would board the train. I had a Stars t-shirt (with Belfour's number on the back) but it was way too cold for it, so we were anonymous fans. The whole experience was mind-blowing, to me at least. It was just like tv! I mean, I know that sounds dumb, but it's like if you visited the set of a tv show. It's...surreal.

The big deal about this game was that Brett Hull (now of [if there were any hockey going on] the Detroit Red Wings) was on the cusp of scoring 600 goals. It turned out that he scored that one and another to top it off. Right there at our game! Wow! The crowd was out of control. The applause was literally deafening. It was like in a movie where the crowd is so loud it fades out and everything goes to slo-mo. It was just like that. Suddenly it seemed like there was no crowd at all. Amazing.

Anyway, that's my story. And I'm stickin' to it. If things remain slow (which all signs point to YES), I'll write more hockey stories. And you'll like 'em, dammit!

Konnichiwa?

Can someone explain to me why it's cheaper to fly all the way around the world (to Tokyo) than it is to Hawaii? This whole planning the trip thing is getting on my nerves. Seriously. I'm thinking of going to a travel agent and letting them think for me.

I think all of Hawaii is a ginormous rip. The whole place is a tourist trap and the airlines are somehow in on it.

Oh, and TP, how was it?

Not quite mussels dynamite, but

You are Kip Dynamite. You have an obscene craving
for nachos and can live it up, gangsta style.

Which Napoleon Dynamite character are you? brought to you by Quizilla .

As seen on The Hot Librarian.

I haven't seen the movie, so I have no opinion on what this means. I do like nachos, so so far it's lookin' good.

Well, that was easy

Mrs. McP wants a sports car and has decided that the only way that Mr. McP will let her have one is if she starts out with small requests, seeing as he has so far been unfazed every time they drive by the Porsche store and she asks, "Can I get a Porsche?"

Earlier in the day, Mrs. McP points out an article to Mr. McP on the new Mustang. He says nothing at the time but later asks for it after she's already recycled it. She digs it out of the recycling and gives it to him.

Mr. McP and Mrs. McP are riding in Mr. McP's car on the way to the bookstore.

I like the new Mustang.
[non-committal] Uh-huh.
I guess that would be a good starter sports car for you.
[still non-committal] I guess.
That article you gave me said they're coming out with the convertible.
Uh-huh.
I think we should get the manual [looks at Mrs. McP]...not the automatic.
I may be a girl, but I know that you can't get an automatic sports car. I'm not completely dumb.
Oh good. I thought you might insist that we get the automatic.
I know what's important.
I also think we should get the V8.
So you're saying the GT, then?
I guess so.

Mrs. McP thinks to self, awesome.

Of course, this is probably two years away. Mr. McP keeps talking about this idea of me getting a job or something. Whateva! But at least I've got him thinking. My plan is working!

As seen on Cops

Shortened and paraphrased for your reading pleasure!

[Ft. Worth police car pulls up to a lady in a pink t-shirt.]

That woman stole my $20! She got my $20 and won't give it back!
Okay, tell me what happened. How did she get your $20?
Well, I gave her $20 and now she won't give it back.
What did you give her $20 for?
Whatever she wants to spend it on. I want my $20 back.
You just gave her $20?
(As if the police office was a complete idiot) No. I was tryin' to buy some crack and so I gave her $20 but the crack weren't nothin' but a rock of plaster and now she won't give me back my $20!
Wait a minute. You were tryin' to buy some crack and it was fake so you called the police?
(Missing the irony completely) Yes! I just want my $20 back.

[Police officer goes to the accused fake crack seller, Red Shirt.]

Tell me what happened. This lady says you took her $20.
Naw, man. That lady come over, straight up asked me for $20 worth of crack, I say I ain't do that no more.
You don't sell crack.
Naw, man, I a pros-ti-tute (emphasizing each syllable).
You're a prostitute.
Yeah! (irony obviously lost on her too) And she come over here disrepectin' my baby (her 17 year old son standing beside her) asking me for crack but I don't do that.

Ultimately, the policeman persuades Pink not to file a report, telling her that it would sound really stupid and puts a criminal trespass warrant or something out on Pink so she can't go into Red's yard anymore to ask for crack, sex, or anything else. Pink seems pretty amiable to this and signs some sheet of paper saying she is aware she'll be arrested if she goes back over.

*sigh* If only I cared about college football, I could be watching that instead of Cops: Ft. Worth.

What I did for New Year's Eve
6:30 Decide to trade in some winning scratch-off lottery tickets in for not-scratched and hopefully extra-winning tickets and get some gas too.
6:38 Miss the turn into the closest gas station (they made a new concrete sidewalk at the turn-in)
6:39 Miss the turn back into the missed gas station because the turn lane only goes one way. I must drive several miles before I get to the next station.
6:45 Get tankful of gas. Go inside to get more scratch-offs. Wait in an interminable line as grungy-looking guys get 4-packs of ginormous beers and scratch-offs and chicks in spiked heels and party dresses try to stand as far away as possible from the grungy dudes.
6:48 Head toward ______, the nearest fast-food strip to my house. It's also in the, uh, not so nice area of town, so probably not exactly the best thing to do. It's packed. I meant to go to Taco Bell but instead went to a competing local fast food chain. I get a burrito dinner to go and drive home.
7:05 Get home, eat the dinner.
8:00 Have a glass of wine, begin my 5.5 hour marathon of VH1 and Style.
11:52 The usually quiet neighbors stage a duck hunting massacre outdoors. At least, that's what it sounded like. They had those party favor horns, noisemakers, and other assorted noisy items and began hollering Happy New Year and Happy mother ------- birthday (they actually omitted the F word) at the top of their lungs. This continued until 12:21. It was nutrageous.
11:55 I consider shooting them. Or calling the cops on them. Or shooting first, then calling the cops.
12:05 They start shooting off roman candles and semi-large-for-the street fireworks right between our houses. I grab my phone and prepare to dial 911.
12:22 I realize that they are finally done being idiots and retire to the bedroom.
1:20 I turn off the light and set the tv on "sleep."

Thus ends E's new year story.