Well, I'm back, and have the tips of my ears and all my digits. I can't find any hats, though. I know I have at least 4, but yet they continue to elude me.
Tally for the evening:
16 gallons of gas = $48.00
1 bottle of Heet = $2.07
Hearing "Stay warm" instead of "have a nice evening" = priceless
It's officially winter here in Lower Manitoba, as that fun phrase has replaced, "Don't get blown away [by the wind]" as a standard good-bye.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
It's a Clipper! It's a Clipper! It's a Clipper.....
I am snuggled in my semi-warm home, in my pajamas at 11:15 p.m. However, after laying on the couch for a couple hours, I realized that I might have a problem. My Jeep only has 1/8 tank of gas in it. And it's at least 10 below right now. And it's parked on the street.
So, I've roused myself from my prostrate position, and am gearing up to fill my gas guzzler with overpriced gasoline so my gas lines don't freeze in the arctic temperatures overnight.
If I could click my heals three times and have my car gassed up, I'd be so happy. Actually, if I could do that, I could probably make it not cold. That's the thing about wishing for super powers. No one ever uses them to the fullest extent possible. It's always, "if I could go back in time, I'd kill Hitler." Well, if you could do that, you could prevent his parents from ever meeting, thereby preventing his birth. Or, you could go back even further, and stop his whole family lineage from ever developing. And so on and so forth.
OK, I'll quit stalling. I'm off. If I'm not back in 20 minutes, wait longer.
Alberta Clipper + SUV = Awesome.
So, I've roused myself from my prostrate position, and am gearing up to fill my gas guzzler with overpriced gasoline so my gas lines don't freeze in the arctic temperatures overnight.
If I could click my heals three times and have my car gassed up, I'd be so happy. Actually, if I could do that, I could probably make it not cold. That's the thing about wishing for super powers. No one ever uses them to the fullest extent possible. It's always, "if I could go back in time, I'd kill Hitler." Well, if you could do that, you could prevent his parents from ever meeting, thereby preventing his birth. Or, you could go back even further, and stop his whole family lineage from ever developing. And so on and so forth.
OK, I'll quit stalling. I'm off. If I'm not back in 20 minutes, wait longer.
Alberta Clipper + SUV = Awesome.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Loaded For Bear
I have cramps. It's 11 degrees outside. I have to drive to the Windy City tomorrow (Fargo, not Chicago). And back. After spending god knows how long in a meeting that doesn't start until 4:30 p.m. My Jeep is overflowing with 8 boxes of crap containing my "memories" from my childhood that I have to unload before I go to the Windy City so I get at least 13 m.p.g. I ruined Christmas for someone today. I haven't billed as much as I should this week and tomorrow's a lost cause (because I'm spending at least 6 hours in the car). I have brain zaps because I forgot to take my medicine this morning. My sinuses ache. And my lips are chapped.
AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
It's too bad I don't have court tomorrow. I could really use it to take out some of my pent-up frustration.
AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
It's too bad I don't have court tomorrow. I could really use it to take out some of my pent-up frustration.
Monday, November 26, 2007
I hate my neighbor
Not like I hate the cold. Not like I hate shrill teenage girls. Not like I hate the Replay Lounge. Not like I hate clowns. Those things, I can tolerate. I hate her like I hate doing dishes that have been dirty for months. Like I hate over-billing. Like I hate Lindsay Frykman. Like I hate my old boss, David. Like, I truly loathe her. And I don't even know what she looks like.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Sugar High
So, my new firm, the M, had its annual health screening day. Flu shots and cholestrol checks for everyone. I got my flu shot, after I signed a thermisol waiver (don't want to develop autism). And, I got the cholesterol test, blood sugar test, and my blood pressure checked.
The results were mostly good, with one alarming thing, which I'll get to in a minute.
1. Blood pressure results: 104/78. Suck it, Jesus! I smoke a pack a day and my bp is superb.
2. Cholesterol: 202. Not quite a "suck it, jesus" moment, but it's only 2 points higher than "desirable." Again, surprising given the fact that I eat crap.
3. Glucose level: 122. I'm sorry, Jesus. I am pre-diabetic, and only 4 points away from being diabetic. Granted, it's one test, and it takes at least two taken on two separate days to diagnose actual diabetes, but what if it was just especially low, and I'm already diabetic? Looks like my sugar cravings have caught up to me. I can't explain the sugar cravings, only that they started after I graduated from law school, and it's like nothing I've ever had before. Except smoking. And crack. Anyway, yikes. I got to slack up on the juice. And work out, of course. It totally sucks. However, as HLC pointed out today, I now have 2 co-morbidity factors that would qualify me for gastric lap band surgery. As we discussed last night, I have a BMI below 40 (I know, right?!) and, last I read, you had to have 2 co-morbidity factors to qualify for surgery if your BMI was below 40 (40 is morbidly obese). Well, I already have arthritis. And now pre-diabetes.
I'd like to revisit the arthritis issue. It's obviously aggravated by the fact that I'm, well, not thin. But, it's only in my right ankle (and maybe my knee, which is not relevant to this story). Anyway, I was skiing down a hill in Montana thirteen years ago this week, minding my own business (with my ski boots unbuckled because they were so tight they made my feet numb), when boom, I hit a mogul (that I didn't see because I was too cool to wear my glasses and ski goggles when I skiied) and had a yard sale. When I'd managed to compose my self, I realized that I didn't feel so good in the ankle area. So, I skiied, mostly on one leg, down the rest of the hill to the lodge and, with the assistance of my mother, yanked my boot off to discover swelling around the size of a large egg on the outer side of my right ankle. And, with that, my ski trip was over and I was on the couch watching infomercials for the topsy-tail for the next three days and write a "controversial" school paper on STDs.
It just wasn't feeling better, so I went to a podiatrist, Dr. Aaron Olson. Ah, Dr. Olson. I'd like to express my sincere gratitude to him for all of those cortisone shots he gave me in my 'sprained' ankle. Yes, for at least three months, I received almost weekly cortisone shots to help my 'sprain.' No crutches, no vicodin, no physical therapy, no air cast. Just cortisone shots to numb the pain and allow me to walk on my ankle, creating even more damage.
Now, this doesn't seem so bad until you consider the fact that it was actually BROKEN. I first learned that my ankle was BROKEN about a month ago (twelve years and eleven months after injuring myself). I fell down some stairs moving out of my apartment in the Magic City (no need to worry, the box I was carrying broke my fall) and sprained my ankle. Anyway, I went in to get it checked out and the LPN (not even a real doctor), after reviewing my X-ray, asked me how old I was when I broke my ankle. Um, what? Yeah, right there, plain as day (to a person familiar with reading x-rays), was a healed fracture in my ankle, right where I "sprained" it.
And, as a result of that ankle "sprain" I basically destroyed my ligaments and tendons in my ankle (compensating back and forth, depending on where it hurt, to the point where I developed some nasty tendonitis on the opposite side of the ankle "sprain"). This I already knew - that I had no working tendons or ligaments. What I didn't realize is that my ankle joint was really, really, really loose. Which is why I fall down a lot. So, it wasn't just the booze all those times. OK, it was the booze for most of them. But it also explains why I did a face plant in a cemetary a few months ago (unsteady ground, high heels) and grass-stained my suit.
So, I'm an arthritic pre-diabetic.
I'm out.
The results were mostly good, with one alarming thing, which I'll get to in a minute.
1. Blood pressure results: 104/78. Suck it, Jesus! I smoke a pack a day and my bp is superb.
2. Cholesterol: 202. Not quite a "suck it, jesus" moment, but it's only 2 points higher than "desirable." Again, surprising given the fact that I eat crap.
3. Glucose level: 122. I'm sorry, Jesus. I am pre-diabetic, and only 4 points away from being diabetic. Granted, it's one test, and it takes at least two taken on two separate days to diagnose actual diabetes, but what if it was just especially low, and I'm already diabetic? Looks like my sugar cravings have caught up to me. I can't explain the sugar cravings, only that they started after I graduated from law school, and it's like nothing I've ever had before. Except smoking. And crack. Anyway, yikes. I got to slack up on the juice. And work out, of course. It totally sucks. However, as HLC pointed out today, I now have 2 co-morbidity factors that would qualify me for gastric lap band surgery. As we discussed last night, I have a BMI below 40 (I know, right?!) and, last I read, you had to have 2 co-morbidity factors to qualify for surgery if your BMI was below 40 (40 is morbidly obese). Well, I already have arthritis. And now pre-diabetes.
I'd like to revisit the arthritis issue. It's obviously aggravated by the fact that I'm, well, not thin. But, it's only in my right ankle (and maybe my knee, which is not relevant to this story). Anyway, I was skiing down a hill in Montana thirteen years ago this week, minding my own business (with my ski boots unbuckled because they were so tight they made my feet numb), when boom, I hit a mogul (that I didn't see because I was too cool to wear my glasses and ski goggles when I skiied) and had a yard sale. When I'd managed to compose my self, I realized that I didn't feel so good in the ankle area. So, I skiied, mostly on one leg, down the rest of the hill to the lodge and, with the assistance of my mother, yanked my boot off to discover swelling around the size of a large egg on the outer side of my right ankle. And, with that, my ski trip was over and I was on the couch watching infomercials for the topsy-tail for the next three days and write a "controversial" school paper on STDs.
It just wasn't feeling better, so I went to a podiatrist, Dr. Aaron Olson. Ah, Dr. Olson. I'd like to express my sincere gratitude to him for all of those cortisone shots he gave me in my 'sprained' ankle. Yes, for at least three months, I received almost weekly cortisone shots to help my 'sprain.' No crutches, no vicodin, no physical therapy, no air cast. Just cortisone shots to numb the pain and allow me to walk on my ankle, creating even more damage.
Now, this doesn't seem so bad until you consider the fact that it was actually BROKEN. I first learned that my ankle was BROKEN about a month ago (twelve years and eleven months after injuring myself). I fell down some stairs moving out of my apartment in the Magic City (no need to worry, the box I was carrying broke my fall) and sprained my ankle. Anyway, I went in to get it checked out and the LPN (not even a real doctor), after reviewing my X-ray, asked me how old I was when I broke my ankle. Um, what? Yeah, right there, plain as day (to a person familiar with reading x-rays), was a healed fracture in my ankle, right where I "sprained" it.
And, as a result of that ankle "sprain" I basically destroyed my ligaments and tendons in my ankle (compensating back and forth, depending on where it hurt, to the point where I developed some nasty tendonitis on the opposite side of the ankle "sprain"). This I already knew - that I had no working tendons or ligaments. What I didn't realize is that my ankle joint was really, really, really loose. Which is why I fall down a lot. So, it wasn't just the booze all those times. OK, it was the booze for most of them. But it also explains why I did a face plant in a cemetary a few months ago (unsteady ground, high heels) and grass-stained my suit.
So, I'm an arthritic pre-diabetic.
I'm out.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Motion to Strike Earlier Post
Sour Girl, by and through herself, attorney at law, hereby moves the Court to strike her November 8, 2007, blog post entitled "Double Dog Dare."
Last night was a bad night, as indicated by Attorney Sour Girl's now-redacted post. Sour Girl submits she ingested legally-prescribed ambien, known generically as zolpidem, as per usual, and settled in to watch some People's Court and pass out on her couch. A review of the evidence shows Attorney Sour Girl, in her impaired state, decided it was a good idea to update her blog. Attorney Sour Girl recalls only the first version of said post, which wasn't nearly as bad as the final result. Girl posted it and believes she then fell asleep, or was in a near-sleep state.
As indicated by phone records, Attorney Girl's parents telephoned just after midnight to announce their return from a business trip. Attorney Girl has little recollection of this phone call, due to the debilitating effects of the ambien. In fact, Sour Girl's recollection was only refreshed after a strange telephone call with her mother. Sour Girl declare to her mother this afternoon that she needed to have her hair cut and colored, at which point Sour Girl's mother stated she would only be able to color Sour Girl's hair late Saturday afternoon. Based on the evidence, Sour Girl deduced she had requested her mother color her hair the previous evening while in an ambien-induced state. However, Sour Girl never presented her conclusion to her mother, as she was afraid of embarassing herself and having her mother believe she was addicted to prescription drugs and/or heroin. Sour Girl's mother, most probably out of politeness and/or fear and denial that her daughter was addicted to prescription drugs and/or heroin, did not otherwise mention the early morning phone call.
Alternatively, Sour Girl believes she may have either announced to her mother, during the early morning phone conversation, that she was on ambien, and that is why her mother did not bring it up. Or, that her mother was drunk.
In any event, Sour Girl notes that, while ambien may be debilitating, it is reasonable to assume it may be helpful as a negotiation aid. Case in point: Sour Girl has approached her mother to color her hair on a regular basis for the last eleven (11) years; each time, Sour Girl's mother refused. Sour Girl does not intend to utilize ambien as means of achieving settlement in the future, although she cannot rule it out. The heart wants what it wants.
Drawing all reasonable inferences from the evidence at hand, Sour Girl believes that phone call is the proximate cause of the resulting offensive post. The situation deteriorated rapidly after said phone call. In a more alert yet considerably altered state, Sour Girl became a walking nightmare. She became convinced her post was in need of revision. Based upon a review of the post, Sour Girl substantially altered the original post.
Within one hour of receiving the phone call from her parents, Sour Girl recalls receiving a frantic phone call from her friend, [Redacted]. Sour Girl recalls only the following from the conversation with [Redacted]: [Redacted] expressed concern over the post, inquiring about it's nature and whether there was need to be alarmed. Sour Girl then asked [Redacted] whether she should apply for a disciplinary committee position that had recently been opened. To her benefit, Sour Girl followed [Redacted]'s advice an did not apply. This was beneficial in several ways: (1) the opening was not for Sour Girls' district, thus making her ineligible for the appointment, (2) Sour Girl should not make impaired contact with anyone regarding anything with the word "disciplinary" in it, and (3) Sour Girl's former boss [Redacted 2], a former Supreme Court justice, would have been the person receiving the application. [Redacted 2] has been a dutiful job reference on Sour Girl's behalf on at least four separate occasions, as evidenced by Sour Girl's four different positions since she was employed by [Redacted 2].
Attorney Sour Girl expresses her deepest gratitude and apologies to [Redacted]. Sour Girl also submits that the Court grant her motion to strike her earlier post due to it's unduly prejudicial nature and unintentional publishing. Sour Girl did not have the requisite intent and/or judgment to knowingly publish such a post.
Attorney Sour Girl hereby certifies that she is not currently on ambien or any other controlled substance at this time. She is merely high on life. And excedrin.
In the future, Sour Girl requests the Court to review her posts for obvious signs of DUI (drafting while intoxicated) before publishing the same. Sour Girl offers the Court the following guidelines for determination of whether said post was written by ambien: Ambien doesn't know how to spell.
Respectfully submitted on this 8th day of November, 2007.
Sour Girl, Bar No 12345
Attorney at Law
Last night was a bad night, as indicated by Attorney Sour Girl's now-redacted post. Sour Girl submits she ingested legally-prescribed ambien, known generically as zolpidem, as per usual, and settled in to watch some People's Court and pass out on her couch. A review of the evidence shows Attorney Sour Girl, in her impaired state, decided it was a good idea to update her blog. Attorney Sour Girl recalls only the first version of said post, which wasn't nearly as bad as the final result. Girl posted it and believes she then fell asleep, or was in a near-sleep state.
As indicated by phone records, Attorney Girl's parents telephoned just after midnight to announce their return from a business trip. Attorney Girl has little recollection of this phone call, due to the debilitating effects of the ambien. In fact, Sour Girl's recollection was only refreshed after a strange telephone call with her mother. Sour Girl declare to her mother this afternoon that she needed to have her hair cut and colored, at which point Sour Girl's mother stated she would only be able to color Sour Girl's hair late Saturday afternoon. Based on the evidence, Sour Girl deduced she had requested her mother color her hair the previous evening while in an ambien-induced state. However, Sour Girl never presented her conclusion to her mother, as she was afraid of embarassing herself and having her mother believe she was addicted to prescription drugs and/or heroin. Sour Girl's mother, most probably out of politeness and/or fear and denial that her daughter was addicted to prescription drugs and/or heroin, did not otherwise mention the early morning phone call.
Alternatively, Sour Girl believes she may have either announced to her mother, during the early morning phone conversation, that she was on ambien, and that is why her mother did not bring it up. Or, that her mother was drunk.
In any event, Sour Girl notes that, while ambien may be debilitating, it is reasonable to assume it may be helpful as a negotiation aid. Case in point: Sour Girl has approached her mother to color her hair on a regular basis for the last eleven (11) years; each time, Sour Girl's mother refused. Sour Girl does not intend to utilize ambien as means of achieving settlement in the future, although she cannot rule it out. The heart wants what it wants.
Drawing all reasonable inferences from the evidence at hand, Sour Girl believes that phone call is the proximate cause of the resulting offensive post. The situation deteriorated rapidly after said phone call. In a more alert yet considerably altered state, Sour Girl became a walking nightmare. She became convinced her post was in need of revision. Based upon a review of the post, Sour Girl substantially altered the original post.
Within one hour of receiving the phone call from her parents, Sour Girl recalls receiving a frantic phone call from her friend, [Redacted]. Sour Girl recalls only the following from the conversation with [Redacted]: [Redacted] expressed concern over the post, inquiring about it's nature and whether there was need to be alarmed. Sour Girl then asked [Redacted] whether she should apply for a disciplinary committee position that had recently been opened. To her benefit, Sour Girl followed [Redacted]'s advice an did not apply. This was beneficial in several ways: (1) the opening was not for Sour Girls' district, thus making her ineligible for the appointment, (2) Sour Girl should not make impaired contact with anyone regarding anything with the word "disciplinary" in it, and (3) Sour Girl's former boss [Redacted 2], a former Supreme Court justice, would have been the person receiving the application. [Redacted 2] has been a dutiful job reference on Sour Girl's behalf on at least four separate occasions, as evidenced by Sour Girl's four different positions since she was employed by [Redacted 2].
Attorney Sour Girl expresses her deepest gratitude and apologies to [Redacted]. Sour Girl also submits that the Court grant her motion to strike her earlier post due to it's unduly prejudicial nature and unintentional publishing. Sour Girl did not have the requisite intent and/or judgment to knowingly publish such a post.
Attorney Sour Girl hereby certifies that she is not currently on ambien or any other controlled substance at this time. She is merely high on life. And excedrin.
In the future, Sour Girl requests the Court to review her posts for obvious signs of DUI (drafting while intoxicated) before publishing the same. Sour Girl offers the Court the following guidelines for determination of whether said post was written by ambien: Ambien doesn't know how to spell.
Respectfully submitted on this 8th day of November, 2007.
Sour Girl, Bar No 12345
Attorney at Law
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Friday, November 2, 2007
I'm Baaa'aaack.
That's right, hockey fans, I'm back. I haven't blogged since the summer, but, frankly, I had more important shit to deal with. And I started a myspace page.
I'm now in the Capital City. Or is it Capitol City? Irregardless, I'm in a new city [sic], with a new job (that would be Job #5 in precisely 4 years and 2 months), new business cards, and a new pad. I traded up, without a doubt.
However, it wasn't without some hesitation. Yes, I did the noble thing and eased on down the high road. But, I miss my old firm. I miss wearing my socks around the office. I miss taking my dog to work. I miss coming in at 10:30 a.m. I miss using the f-word with my boss. I miss yelling from my office to the secretary to tell her a funny joke. I miss the intimacy, I guess. I mean, it was my most successful relationship to date. 16 months, with only three of those months being bad? That's history-making stuff.
Oh, well, no regrets, I guess. It needed to be done. And, now I can say I've quit a job, in addition to being laid off and fired. I'm not saying the worst has happened, but unless my new firm is involved with the mafia, I'm probably going to be ok.
So, with that behind me, I'm looking back at settling into life. Which includes getting back down to my fighting weight. I'm hoping to actually have a relationship by my 30th birthday. OK, that's not true. I'm hoping to be thinner and have longer hair by my birthday. And be ready to quit smoking. If there's a relationship between now and then, it's a bonus. It's rare that I'm lonely, but it does happen. It's been at least 4 years since I was gut-wrenchingly attached to someone, it's probably time to get back on that horse, put another dog in that fight, toss my hat into the ring, or whatever cliche fits.
So, my goal is to drop 50 pounds by my birthday. I won't be thin. I'll be high school fat. Or, summer of sin fat (I think, I was opposed to scales then). But that's better than Magic City fat.
I also have a work-out buddy, Deva. Deva and I are on a mission together, which is better than flying solo. We'll see what happens.
My mom is still trying to encourage me to go back to LA Weightloss. I'm not sure I can bring myself to do it.
Anyway, I hope all of you have been well in my absence (OK, I've talked to most of you in the meantime).
Later, Skater.
I'm now in the Capital City. Or is it Capitol City? Irregardless, I'm in a new city [sic], with a new job (that would be Job #5 in precisely 4 years and 2 months), new business cards, and a new pad. I traded up, without a doubt.
However, it wasn't without some hesitation. Yes, I did the noble thing and eased on down the high road. But, I miss my old firm. I miss wearing my socks around the office. I miss taking my dog to work. I miss coming in at 10:30 a.m. I miss using the f-word with my boss. I miss yelling from my office to the secretary to tell her a funny joke. I miss the intimacy, I guess. I mean, it was my most successful relationship to date. 16 months, with only three of those months being bad? That's history-making stuff.
Oh, well, no regrets, I guess. It needed to be done. And, now I can say I've quit a job, in addition to being laid off and fired. I'm not saying the worst has happened, but unless my new firm is involved with the mafia, I'm probably going to be ok.
So, with that behind me, I'm looking back at settling into life. Which includes getting back down to my fighting weight. I'm hoping to actually have a relationship by my 30th birthday. OK, that's not true. I'm hoping to be thinner and have longer hair by my birthday. And be ready to quit smoking. If there's a relationship between now and then, it's a bonus. It's rare that I'm lonely, but it does happen. It's been at least 4 years since I was gut-wrenchingly attached to someone, it's probably time to get back on that horse, put another dog in that fight, toss my hat into the ring, or whatever cliche fits.
So, my goal is to drop 50 pounds by my birthday. I won't be thin. I'll be high school fat. Or, summer of sin fat (I think, I was opposed to scales then). But that's better than Magic City fat.
I also have a work-out buddy, Deva. Deva and I are on a mission together, which is better than flying solo. We'll see what happens.
My mom is still trying to encourage me to go back to LA Weightloss. I'm not sure I can bring myself to do it.
Anyway, I hope all of you have been well in my absence (OK, I've talked to most of you in the meantime).
Later, Skater.
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