Oh, I almost forgot to put something here.
ABSTRACT
My brain in on call. I think it's vacationing in the Alps, the lucky bastard. This would be a real problem if I were on Jeopardy; as is, I give you all unfortunate mental images. The proof of my brain's vacation is that I have fogotten three very important things, but they are none of them so important I can't live without them, but it does mean I have to go back to the club tomorrow, which I wasn't planning on doing, but whatever. In sum, I am retarded. (NO, YOUR RETARDED.) I did get a $150 check from Arlington County, though, because they are retarded, an affadavit to which effect I may require from all of you in the near future. It will totally mean I win, though, and that will be awesome. Man I wish I were rich. I did work overtime this weekend (although not enough to make me rich) and also I made some cookies! But what I really need is someone to cook for me. See again about me being rich. Not right, though, because then I'll be forced (and therefore so will you) to contemplate Ann Coulter. Really, a fate worse than death. PEN FIGHT!!! Law school? And a Christmas lette from my parents! Which is actually, really, rather depressing. Sorry, that was kind of a bum way to end this entry.
#$#%(*#$(*&^@#($*&@#_)($&*)($*%^@)
I made a joke the other day that I had put my brain on hiatus until after Christmas. This isn't really true--it's more like it's on call, because I can still think when necessary (for example, while plotting curling strategy; thank goodness I don't have anything that's actually mentally taxing to be doing, because the delay between the call for the processing power and the response is pretty long. When I'm curling I can just stand around and scratch my head ["It's the first rock, Nick, don't you want a guard?" "Look, I'm just trying to decide, uh, what to do with, uh, my, uh. Shut up."]) but if I were, like, on Jeopardy I would be SCREWED. I would be all ringing in because I know I know something (it's like I've got an index to my brain--I know what's in there, but don't actually know what it is without taking the effort to look it up; furthermore the index is incomplete becuase the secreatry in my brain is also on hiatus, not to mention a lazy sumbitch, and so it hasn't been updated since I can't even remember when [it's not on the index] and so it's barely worth the time for the gofer in my head to run and get it; after all, even if I end up with -$28,000, I still get a year's supply of [most people say garlic when they really mean] Garlique and some other kind of parting gifts. All in all, actually, it's rather like how we deal with the files here at work) but then I would be all hmm, er, uh and then I would drool a bit and Alex Trebek would make fun of me. I would be like the anti-Ken Jennings, and it only annoys me a little bit that I still remember his name, whom Alex liked to verbally fellate once an episode or so. It was really kind of gross, since I don't like to think of either Alex or Ken as being sexually active creatures, although I have this feeling that Alex is totally into kink. Can you all see it? Well, now you can! You are so welcome.
I offer as evidence of the above the fact that I have become a total Forgetful Franny of late (by which I mean, within the last day). Like, scarily so, to the point of forgetting things that are obvious and habitual. I even wrote a list so that I remember what all it is that I've forgotten. This is very deeply meta.
ITEM THE FIRST: Last night, leaving work, I unplugged the iPod, wound the cord and stuck it in my bag, which I then put on my chair. I grabbed my coat, put on my scarf and gloves, thought about putting on my hat but didn't because I'm only just crossing the street and then I have to deal with hat hair and that's fine if I'm not on the Metro for half an hour, but I have to see people at curling later so I won't just yet, grabbed my bag and left the office after turning out the light. I was into the Metro station with my train pulling in when I realized that I wan't hearing any music. OOPS. Remembered the cord, but not the iPod itself. Dur. Oh well, no trouble, I'll just pick it up after curling.
ITEM THE SECOND: After curling (we won, after a game that was a series of one point ends. It was a very fun and exciting game, with no one able to break it open, although we had a shot for six in the last end, after it didn't matter anymore) there was the usual sitting about and chatting and drinking. It was a good time. Later I was walking out to the car and thinking how chilly my hands were. I got into the car and started it, and noticed the ice patch on the top of the (passenger's side of the) windshield--which I remembered brushing off earlier in the evening, when I was wearing gloves. Clearly, still somewhere in the club. Oops. It's okay, because I'm going to have to go back to the club to get
ITEM THE THIRD: which I didn't even realize until today that I had forgotten. I hadn't planned on going back to the club this week before Friday, when I hope a plane to Albany, for a curling tournament in Schenectady this weekend. But in remembering the story about how I left the club gloveless, I also realized that I had left my broom and my shoes and my pants and my everything that I need to actually curl at the club, including the bag that I take it on airplanes with. So now on the way to pick up one of my teammates to take him to the airport, I'm going to have to get my crap from the club, too. What's funny is that about 30 minutes before I left, I made a point of clarifying whether or not we (as a team) were meeting at the club, so I would know if I had to pack up that night or not. Oh, well.
IN SUM:
I am betarded.
In good news, though, I got a check from Arlington County the other day. It's a refund check in the amount of about $154, for overpayment of my personal property (read, car) taxes. Remember, these are the car taxes that they were about to put a lien on my car about because they had never billed me for them? I like living in Arlington County, really I do, but they genuinely have no idea how to oragnize this whole car tax thing. In any event, someone must think that I suddenly don't need to pay it anymore, or something, because, hey, money back in my hand. I was a little concerned about how I was going to pay for this weekend and Christmas presents, and now I know! At least, this covers the flight and entry fee, so that's cool. Hotel and rental car and (most importantly) beer, well, that's out of pocket. But whatever! Yay free money! I want you all to be my witnesses that in six months when Arlington County gets a bug up its ass about how I didn't pay my taxes again that they were the retards that sent me the check and that they can suck it. I want you all to make that very observation in your depositions. "Well, I didn't actually see the check, but Arlington County can suck it." "Well," Judge Yee will say, "if all of these people, including several Canadians and a Briton," (Judge Yee, bless his soul, learned English relatively late in his life, having only moved from Taiwain in his 20s, and thus has a rather stilted way of speaking) "agree that Arlington County can suck it, then clearly they must. Judgment for the plaintiff, plus costs." And then I will give you all big smooches on your foreheads! As long as you all come here to get them, because as much as I love you all I can't actually afford to fly to you all for the purpose of forehead kiss distribution. Although I would if I were wealthy. (My firm, aside from the insurance stuff we usually do, does some while collar and bankruptcy work. We're apparently representing the liquidators of some estate in Florida, as a part of which we got this HUGE stack of invoices for work done on a condo. Purchase price of the unit aside, the cost for just the redecorating was a mere $3.34 short of Three hundred and forty thousand dollars. These people were buying fabric that cost more than $70 per yard! I hope it was made from the skin of virginal lambs born on nights with a full moon! Well, actually, I really don't because that's a) gross and b) macabre and c) gross, but it had better be something that is really rare and exotic. It's made from pressed Lamborghinis! It's made from Vermeer paintings! It's made from the moral fiber of the Bush Administration! It's made from unicorn mane! Great for over-protective fathers of teenage daughters.)
On top of which, I was at work both days this past weekend. Only for an hour on Sunday, but for a good six and change on Saturday. I went in thinking, hey, okay, I'll be able to get in and do what I need to in an hour or two, and I'll have time to go to the gym and then head on up to the curling club for the holiday party! Alas, no. Instead I went drinking with synchrony. Truth be told, I probably had more fun the way it ended up, but I do feel guilty about bailing on the party. Which I was in theory supposed to be helping with. OH WELL. Plus it was a potluck and I don't know how to make anything so that would have been lame. Although I did make cookies! Twice! Chocolate chip on Sunday and Sugar on Tuesday (okay, both times I had "help," by which I mean "direction," from indydc, and on Sunday he actually did most of the actual stuff but the sugar cookies were mostly me AND AND AND no one has yet died from them! Which is awesome. Not that I'm going to be all Mr. Baker Man now because when I make cookies then I want to eat them, and also it's not the actual cooking/baking I object to, it's the drudgery of prepping and the cleaning and also the not actually having what I need to prepare things. What I really need is a sous chef. Also, a whole hell of a lot of give-a-shit. Alternatively, someone to make food for me! That would be super duper. See again the part above where I talk about how I want to be rich. I originally typed "right," which is also true, excepting in the sense of Ann Coulter who epitomizes why the right isn't. ("I love to engage in repartee with people who are more stupid than I am," she said recently; "What, with retarded people?" I ask, feeling guilty for being so mean to retarded people who are often not at all stupid, merely developmentally challenged, but I can't use my other paradigms for stupid people, because one is her and the other is the Bush Administarion, and she wouldn't at all get how it's insulting. ["WHO'S A RETARDED ASSWIPE OF A NEMATODE? WHO IS? WHO IS? YES YOU ARE ANN, YOU ARE!!"] I suppose I could suggest that she is like one of those birds that likes to talk to themselves in the mirror--because you just know she spends an hour or so every morning tossing her hair and looking at herself tell herself how pretty she is, how smart she is, and how everyone important loves her and the cold, dessicated empty husk of humanity she aspires to be--but birds are pretty.)
So, anyway, yeah, I'll have some OT in my next paycheck, too.
I have two pens on my desk, one from WestLaw and one from LexisNexis. I like to make them fight.
I've kind of sort of a little bit kicked around the idea of going to law school. I would be a good lawyer. I'm just not sure. How do people ever decide to do things? I'm like, the worst. I hate it. Someone tell me what to do.
Oh, I got the Christmas letter from my parents the other day! Here, I will reprint it for you in its entirety:
"Dear Friends,
We have had a very busy year! Beth got married! Here she is in her pretty pretty dress. Her wedding was AWESOME [Not that any of you would know about that yet, hahaha] and in Mnahattan and everyone had a good time and we wish everyone could have been there! Also we love our new son-in-law! He's smart and successful! Have we mentioned that Beth had another book published? And also that she was recently bestowed an honorary doctorate from the University of Awesome for being the Best Daughter Ever? We're so happy and proud she's our daughter!!!1
Also, Nick and Peter didn't die, so that was kinda cool.
Merry Christmas!
Love,
Karen & Dayton"
sigh
Man, now I've depressed myself. I think I need to go eat, or something. Woo.
My brain in on call. I think it's vacationing in the Alps, the lucky bastard. This would be a real problem if I were on Jeopardy; as is, I give you all unfortunate mental images. The proof of my brain's vacation is that I have fogotten three very important things, but they are none of them so important I can't live without them, but it does mean I have to go back to the club tomorrow, which I wasn't planning on doing, but whatever. In sum, I am retarded. (NO, YOUR RETARDED.) I did get a $150 check from Arlington County, though, because they are retarded, an affadavit to which effect I may require from all of you in the near future. It will totally mean I win, though, and that will be awesome. Man I wish I were rich. I did work overtime this weekend (although not enough to make me rich) and also I made some cookies! But what I really need is someone to cook for me. See again about me being rich. Not right, though, because then I'll be forced (and therefore so will you) to contemplate Ann Coulter. Really, a fate worse than death. PEN FIGHT!!! Law school? And a Christmas lette from my parents! Which is actually, really, rather depressing. Sorry, that was kind of a bum way to end this entry.
#$#%(*#$(*&^@#($*&@#_)($&*)($*%^@)
I made a joke the other day that I had put my brain on hiatus until after Christmas. This isn't really true--it's more like it's on call, because I can still think when necessary (for example, while plotting curling strategy; thank goodness I don't have anything that's actually mentally taxing to be doing, because the delay between the call for the processing power and the response is pretty long. When I'm curling I can just stand around and scratch my head ["It's the first rock, Nick, don't you want a guard?" "Look, I'm just trying to decide, uh, what to do with, uh, my, uh. Shut up."]) but if I were, like, on Jeopardy I would be SCREWED. I would be all ringing in because I know I know something (it's like I've got an index to my brain--I know what's in there, but don't actually know what it is without taking the effort to look it up; furthermore the index is incomplete becuase the secreatry in my brain is also on hiatus, not to mention a lazy sumbitch, and so it hasn't been updated since I can't even remember when [it's not on the index] and so it's barely worth the time for the gofer in my head to run and get it; after all, even if I end up with -$28,000, I still get a year's supply of [most people say garlic when they really mean] Garlique and some other kind of parting gifts. All in all, actually, it's rather like how we deal with the files here at work) but then I would be all hmm, er, uh and then I would drool a bit and Alex Trebek would make fun of me. I would be like the anti-Ken Jennings, and it only annoys me a little bit that I still remember his name, whom Alex liked to verbally fellate once an episode or so. It was really kind of gross, since I don't like to think of either Alex or Ken as being sexually active creatures, although I have this feeling that Alex is totally into kink. Can you all see it? Well, now you can! You are so welcome.
I offer as evidence of the above the fact that I have become a total Forgetful Franny of late (by which I mean, within the last day). Like, scarily so, to the point of forgetting things that are obvious and habitual. I even wrote a list so that I remember what all it is that I've forgotten. This is very deeply meta.
ITEM THE FIRST: Last night, leaving work, I unplugged the iPod, wound the cord and stuck it in my bag, which I then put on my chair. I grabbed my coat, put on my scarf and gloves, thought about putting on my hat but didn't because I'm only just crossing the street and then I have to deal with hat hair and that's fine if I'm not on the Metro for half an hour, but I have to see people at curling later so I won't just yet, grabbed my bag and left the office after turning out the light. I was into the Metro station with my train pulling in when I realized that I wan't hearing any music. OOPS. Remembered the cord, but not the iPod itself. Dur. Oh well, no trouble, I'll just pick it up after curling.
ITEM THE SECOND: After curling (we won, after a game that was a series of one point ends. It was a very fun and exciting game, with no one able to break it open, although we had a shot for six in the last end, after it didn't matter anymore) there was the usual sitting about and chatting and drinking. It was a good time. Later I was walking out to the car and thinking how chilly my hands were. I got into the car and started it, and noticed the ice patch on the top of the (passenger's side of the) windshield--which I remembered brushing off earlier in the evening, when I was wearing gloves. Clearly, still somewhere in the club. Oops. It's okay, because I'm going to have to go back to the club to get
ITEM THE THIRD: which I didn't even realize until today that I had forgotten. I hadn't planned on going back to the club this week before Friday, when I hope a plane to Albany, for a curling tournament in Schenectady this weekend. But in remembering the story about how I left the club gloveless, I also realized that I had left my broom and my shoes and my pants and my everything that I need to actually curl at the club, including the bag that I take it on airplanes with. So now on the way to pick up one of my teammates to take him to the airport, I'm going to have to get my crap from the club, too. What's funny is that about 30 minutes before I left, I made a point of clarifying whether or not we (as a team) were meeting at the club, so I would know if I had to pack up that night or not. Oh, well.
IN SUM:
I am betarded.
In good news, though, I got a check from Arlington County the other day. It's a refund check in the amount of about $154, for overpayment of my personal property (read, car) taxes. Remember, these are the car taxes that they were about to put a lien on my car about because they had never billed me for them? I like living in Arlington County, really I do, but they genuinely have no idea how to oragnize this whole car tax thing. In any event, someone must think that I suddenly don't need to pay it anymore, or something, because, hey, money back in my hand. I was a little concerned about how I was going to pay for this weekend and Christmas presents, and now I know! At least, this covers the flight and entry fee, so that's cool. Hotel and rental car and (most importantly) beer, well, that's out of pocket. But whatever! Yay free money! I want you all to be my witnesses that in six months when Arlington County gets a bug up its ass about how I didn't pay my taxes again that they were the retards that sent me the check and that they can suck it. I want you all to make that very observation in your depositions. "Well, I didn't actually see the check, but Arlington County can suck it." "Well," Judge Yee will say, "if all of these people, including several Canadians and a Briton," (Judge Yee, bless his soul, learned English relatively late in his life, having only moved from Taiwain in his 20s, and thus has a rather stilted way of speaking) "agree that Arlington County can suck it, then clearly they must. Judgment for the plaintiff, plus costs." And then I will give you all big smooches on your foreheads! As long as you all come here to get them, because as much as I love you all I can't actually afford to fly to you all for the purpose of forehead kiss distribution. Although I would if I were wealthy. (My firm, aside from the insurance stuff we usually do, does some while collar and bankruptcy work. We're apparently representing the liquidators of some estate in Florida, as a part of which we got this HUGE stack of invoices for work done on a condo. Purchase price of the unit aside, the cost for just the redecorating was a mere $3.34 short of Three hundred and forty thousand dollars. These people were buying fabric that cost more than $70 per yard! I hope it was made from the skin of virginal lambs born on nights with a full moon! Well, actually, I really don't because that's a) gross and b) macabre and c) gross, but it had better be something that is really rare and exotic. It's made from pressed Lamborghinis! It's made from Vermeer paintings! It's made from the moral fiber of the Bush Administration! It's made from unicorn mane! Great for over-protective fathers of teenage daughters.)
On top of which, I was at work both days this past weekend. Only for an hour on Sunday, but for a good six and change on Saturday. I went in thinking, hey, okay, I'll be able to get in and do what I need to in an hour or two, and I'll have time to go to the gym and then head on up to the curling club for the holiday party! Alas, no. Instead I went drinking with synchrony. Truth be told, I probably had more fun the way it ended up, but I do feel guilty about bailing on the party. Which I was in theory supposed to be helping with. OH WELL. Plus it was a potluck and I don't know how to make anything so that would have been lame. Although I did make cookies! Twice! Chocolate chip on Sunday and Sugar on Tuesday (okay, both times I had "help," by which I mean "direction," from indydc, and on Sunday he actually did most of the actual stuff but the sugar cookies were mostly me AND AND AND no one has yet died from them! Which is awesome. Not that I'm going to be all Mr. Baker Man now because when I make cookies then I want to eat them, and also it's not the actual cooking/baking I object to, it's the drudgery of prepping and the cleaning and also the not actually having what I need to prepare things. What I really need is a sous chef. Also, a whole hell of a lot of give-a-shit. Alternatively, someone to make food for me! That would be super duper. See again the part above where I talk about how I want to be rich. I originally typed "right," which is also true, excepting in the sense of Ann Coulter who epitomizes why the right isn't. ("I love to engage in repartee with people who are more stupid than I am," she said recently; "What, with retarded people?" I ask, feeling guilty for being so mean to retarded people who are often not at all stupid, merely developmentally challenged, but I can't use my other paradigms for stupid people, because one is her and the other is the Bush Administarion, and she wouldn't at all get how it's insulting. ["WHO'S A RETARDED ASSWIPE OF A NEMATODE? WHO IS? WHO IS? YES YOU ARE ANN, YOU ARE!!"] I suppose I could suggest that she is like one of those birds that likes to talk to themselves in the mirror--because you just know she spends an hour or so every morning tossing her hair and looking at herself tell herself how pretty she is, how smart she is, and how everyone important loves her and the cold, dessicated empty husk of humanity she aspires to be--but birds are pretty.)
So, anyway, yeah, I'll have some OT in my next paycheck, too.
I have two pens on my desk, one from WestLaw and one from LexisNexis. I like to make them fight.
I've kind of sort of a little bit kicked around the idea of going to law school. I would be a good lawyer. I'm just not sure. How do people ever decide to do things? I'm like, the worst. I hate it. Someone tell me what to do.
Oh, I got the Christmas letter from my parents the other day! Here, I will reprint it for you in its entirety:
"Dear Friends,
We have had a very busy year! Beth got married! Here she is in her pretty pretty dress. Her wedding was AWESOME [Not that any of you would know about that yet, hahaha] and in Mnahattan and everyone had a good time and we wish everyone could have been there! Also we love our new son-in-law! He's smart and successful! Have we mentioned that Beth had another book published? And also that she was recently bestowed an honorary doctorate from the University of Awesome for being the Best Daughter Ever? We're so happy and proud she's our daughter!!!1
Also, Nick and Peter didn't die, so that was kinda cool.
Merry Christmas!
Love,
Karen & Dayton"
sigh
Man, now I've depressed myself. I think I need to go eat, or something. Woo.