A law school friend and I have decided to take up roller derby.
I am uncoordinated and unathletic. This'll be awesome!
Check up with me in a month to see if I've done it. I'm hoping it won't be like the swing dancing lessons I never took.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Love the one you're with?
For a long time, I maintained that the song Escape (more commonly known as The Pina Colada Song) is the saddest song ever written.
Think about it: A guy who's tired of his lady (we'd been together too long; like a worn out recording of a favorite song) responds to a personal ad. Despite the fact that he has a girlfriend, he agrees to meet up with the woman at a bar in Southie. He gets there. She walks in. And who is it? His own lovely lady. And she says, "Oh. It's you." Then they laugh for a moment, and he says, "I never knew that you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain, and the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne." To me, the guy sounded like a total douche. He didn't know anything about his girlfriend. They both tried to cheat on each other via the personal ads, and then found each other. Sad, sad, sad.
But then I realized that there's an even sadder song. Two sadder songs, in fact. I realized this during my third year in law school when I was canoodling with AIDS Boy (the boy who convinced himself I gave him AIDS, when he didn't have it -- I clearly didn't, either). I realized it when he told me that the reason he was marrying his fiance, despite the fact that he cheated on her at least thrice, was because she was the "least crazy" woman he'd ever dated.
He was settling down because he thought it was what he was "supposed" to do. He was marrying the girl he'd been with since he was sixteen years old for the same reasons he'd gone to law school instead of film school: (1) His parents wanted him to; and (2) it was the path of least resistance. It was expected of him. It was the right thing to do. Somehow.
The two of us were driving around town once, having eaten lunch and on our way to The Puppy Center (to look at baby Golden Doodles). A song came on:
And if you can't be with the one you love
Love the one you're with;
Love the one you're with.
Don't be angry, don't be sad,
Don't sit cryin' over good things you've had,
There's a girl right next to you
And she's just waiting for something you do...
Love the one you're with.
It fit him. I told him so. "You're marrying this girl just because you you figure you should love the one you're with." He agreed, sort of. He told me how he wanted a wilder woman, a woman who doesn't dress in twin sets all the time, who's less conventional. This soliloquy, of course, ended with the predictable: "I've never met a girl like you before." Which can be a compliment, it's a statement that can make me all melty at times. But not from someone who's engaged. But since he couldn't find a wild woman, a fun woman, an open-minded type, since he always attracted the twin-set-and-pearls type, he was marrying the girl he'd been with for nearly a decade.
Love the one you're with.
In that moment, I decided that Love The One You're With is a sadder song than Escape.
Then I got home and downloaded the song. Or rather, I downloaded a little ol' medley of two songs. And I pondered these lyrics:
You can't always get what you want.
But if you try sometimes, well you just might find
You get what you need.
Whether my friend got what he needed from Twin Set Fiance, I can't say. But that little medley struck me as a marriage of the two saddest songs ever written.
Because after all, if you can't always get what you want, you may as well love the one you're with.
Think about it: A guy who's tired of his lady (we'd been together too long; like a worn out recording of a favorite song) responds to a personal ad. Despite the fact that he has a girlfriend, he agrees to meet up with the woman at a bar in Southie. He gets there. She walks in. And who is it? His own lovely lady. And she says, "Oh. It's you." Then they laugh for a moment, and he says, "I never knew that you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain, and the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne." To me, the guy sounded like a total douche. He didn't know anything about his girlfriend. They both tried to cheat on each other via the personal ads, and then found each other. Sad, sad, sad.
But then I realized that there's an even sadder song. Two sadder songs, in fact. I realized this during my third year in law school when I was canoodling with AIDS Boy (the boy who convinced himself I gave him AIDS, when he didn't have it -- I clearly didn't, either). I realized it when he told me that the reason he was marrying his fiance, despite the fact that he cheated on her at least thrice, was because she was the "least crazy" woman he'd ever dated.
He was settling down because he thought it was what he was "supposed" to do. He was marrying the girl he'd been with since he was sixteen years old for the same reasons he'd gone to law school instead of film school: (1) His parents wanted him to; and (2) it was the path of least resistance. It was expected of him. It was the right thing to do. Somehow.
The two of us were driving around town once, having eaten lunch and on our way to The Puppy Center (to look at baby Golden Doodles). A song came on:
And if you can't be with the one you love
Love the one you're with;
Love the one you're with.
Don't be angry, don't be sad,
Don't sit cryin' over good things you've had,
There's a girl right next to you
And she's just waiting for something you do...
Love the one you're with.
It fit him. I told him so. "You're marrying this girl just because you you figure you should love the one you're with." He agreed, sort of. He told me how he wanted a wilder woman, a woman who doesn't dress in twin sets all the time, who's less conventional. This soliloquy, of course, ended with the predictable: "I've never met a girl like you before." Which can be a compliment, it's a statement that can make me all melty at times. But not from someone who's engaged. But since he couldn't find a wild woman, a fun woman, an open-minded type, since he always attracted the twin-set-and-pearls type, he was marrying the girl he'd been with for nearly a decade.
Love the one you're with.
In that moment, I decided that Love The One You're With is a sadder song than Escape.
Then I got home and downloaded the song. Or rather, I downloaded a little ol' medley of two songs. And I pondered these lyrics:
You can't always get what you want.
But if you try sometimes, well you just might find
You get what you need.
Whether my friend got what he needed from Twin Set Fiance, I can't say. But that little medley struck me as a marriage of the two saddest songs ever written.
Because after all, if you can't always get what you want, you may as well love the one you're with.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
What is your city built on?
As many of you know, Jefferson Starship believes that "this city" was built on rock and roll.
In an effort not to work on my motion to suppress scheduled for tomorrow, I have decided to do some research regarding what various cities have been built on. Because surely, they can't all be built on rock and roll.
As it turns out, the city in which I live is built both on "compliments by many people" as well as on "the Connecticut River flood plain." Not as exciting as being built on rock and roll, is it?
So I've turned to the city in which I currently work. Ah. It's built on "low and level ground."
Boring!
What about Columbus, Ohio, where I went to high school? A tad bit more interesting: "The real Columbus is built on the people whose families have been here for more then a century, the hard working men and women who work the land." This should not be confused with the Knights of Columbus, which is built on patriotism. (Clearly, Columbus, Ohio is not built on patriotism.)
I've lived in other places, as well. Like Boston. And let me tell you, Boston is a jackpot. It's built on "specific types of man-made land." Other parts of Boston are built on tidal flats. In short, Boston is built on a collection of peninsulas.
And so it goes. Having established that few, in any cities, are built on rock and roll, I ask you, gentle readers, to share: What is your city built on?
In an effort not to work on my motion to suppress scheduled for tomorrow, I have decided to do some research regarding what various cities have been built on. Because surely, they can't all be built on rock and roll.
As it turns out, the city in which I live is built both on "compliments by many people" as well as on "the Connecticut River flood plain." Not as exciting as being built on rock and roll, is it?
So I've turned to the city in which I currently work. Ah. It's built on "low and level ground."
Boring!
What about Columbus, Ohio, where I went to high school? A tad bit more interesting: "The real Columbus is built on the people whose families have been here for more then a century, the hard working men and women who work the land." This should not be confused with the Knights of Columbus, which is built on patriotism. (Clearly, Columbus, Ohio is not built on patriotism.)
I've lived in other places, as well. Like Boston. And let me tell you, Boston is a jackpot. It's built on "specific types of man-made land." Other parts of Boston are built on tidal flats. In short, Boston is built on a collection of peninsulas.
And so it goes. Having established that few, in any cities, are built on rock and roll, I ask you, gentle readers, to share: What is your city built on?
Friday, November 23, 2007
The only thing I remember from torts...
This may very well be the only case I really remember from first year torts class (not counting Palsgraf, of course)."We are called upon to determine whether United Airlines took adequate measures to deal with that elementary notion of physics - what goes up, must come down. For, while the skies are friendly enough, the ground can be a mighty dangerous place when heavy objects tumble from overhead compartments."
Andrews v. American Airlines
What not to do the morning after Thanksgiving.
Go to the gym.
Suffer through a workout burping up turkey and pie.
Not a good idea.
Suffer through a workout burping up turkey and pie.
Not a good idea.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Don't use Bank of America.
Let this be a recommendation not to use Bank of America.
I was formerly a BankBoston customer. Which then got bought by Fleet. Which was then bought by Bank of America. My primary checking account is t an online checking account that bears an interest rate of over 4%. I still maintain my Bank of America account so that I can deposit my house-mate's rent check without having to mail it in. That is the only thing I use it for. However, to avoid a maintenance fee, I need to keep a balance of $750 in the account. While I can do this, I find it annoying.
So. I decided to see if there's any way I can reduce my minimum balance without paying a maintenance fee (which is ridiculous, really; they're the ones making money by holding my cash; I get little out of it). I saw a Special Offer(!) on the web site. For a Limited Time Only, Bank of America was waiving the service fee on a different account that did not require a minimum balance.
Awesome. I called and switched.
Then I read the fine print. And called back.
As it turns out, in order to waive the fee, one needs to have at least one monthly direct deposit into the account. Unless, of course, one opens the account online. 'Cause it's an Exclusive Online Offer. Which, as I mentioned, is for a Limited Time Only. I don't do direct deposit on that account; it goes into my online interest-bearing account.
So I called back. And confirmed that they are, indeed, assholes.
Me: So you're telling me that your existing customers have to pay the fee, while new customers do not?
Phone Rep: Well, it is a promotional offer.
Me: Well, switch my account back. Which I will be closing next week.
Phone Rep: Sure. Is there anything else we can help you with today?
Don't use Bank of America.
I'll keep you posted on who has better deals.
I was formerly a BankBoston customer. Which then got bought by Fleet. Which was then bought by Bank of America. My primary checking account is t an online checking account that bears an interest rate of over 4%. I still maintain my Bank of America account so that I can deposit my house-mate's rent check without having to mail it in. That is the only thing I use it for. However, to avoid a maintenance fee, I need to keep a balance of $750 in the account. While I can do this, I find it annoying.
So. I decided to see if there's any way I can reduce my minimum balance without paying a maintenance fee (which is ridiculous, really; they're the ones making money by holding my cash; I get little out of it). I saw a Special Offer(!) on the web site. For a Limited Time Only, Bank of America was waiving the service fee on a different account that did not require a minimum balance.
Awesome. I called and switched.
Then I read the fine print. And called back.
As it turns out, in order to waive the fee, one needs to have at least one monthly direct deposit into the account. Unless, of course, one opens the account online. 'Cause it's an Exclusive Online Offer. Which, as I mentioned, is for a Limited Time Only. I don't do direct deposit on that account; it goes into my online interest-bearing account.
So I called back. And confirmed that they are, indeed, assholes.
Me: So you're telling me that your existing customers have to pay the fee, while new customers do not?
Phone Rep: Well, it is a promotional offer.
Me: Well, switch my account back. Which I will be closing next week.
Phone Rep: Sure. Is there anything else we can help you with today?
Don't use Bank of America.
I'll keep you posted on who has better deals.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Add some spice to your life.
Just don't do it with cinnamon.
Seriously.
We had poker night last night. Chris made lasagna (with his own sauce; it was awesome). We had spiced apple cider. And near the end of the night, I somehow ended up eating half a stick of cinnamon.
It made me sick.
Don't do it.
Seriously.
We had poker night last night. Chris made lasagna (with his own sauce; it was awesome). We had spiced apple cider. And near the end of the night, I somehow ended up eating half a stick of cinnamon.
It made me sick.
Don't do it.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
On similies and song lyrics.
I listen to the radio. The local pop station.
Perhaps that's my first mistake.
Because a few days ago, I was driving to work. As many of you know, I have a severe affliction that causes me to actually listen to song lyrics. For whatever reason, I wasn't really paying attention that day. It's likely I was thinking of something else, something mindless and silly, like an argument for a motion to suppress, or a series of questions for a killer cross.
And then I heard it. The dulcet tones of American Idol winner Jordin Sparks telling me:
You’re still a part of everything I do.
You’re on my heart just like a tattoo.
Just like a tattoo.
I’ll always have you.
I mean. Really-
I mean-
I-I-I-I-
I'm speechless.
Seriously?
What the fuck is that lyric? (I try not to swear here, but I'm really at a loss on this one.)
I'm going to ignore the fact that the song makes no sense. It was as if someone strung some words together that happened to rhyme. And when the songwriter couldn't come up with a rhyme? Well, nothing rhymes with "you" better than another "you." And the rhyme for "moment"? Surely, "broken" was perfect! Yeah, I'll ignore the lack of meaning and ridiculous rhyming. For now.
But, shit, come on, man. We are now comparing the permanency of love to the permanency of a tattoo? You know, that is damned near poetic. Because when I got my tattoo... well, let's just say it wasn't one of my better moments. I'm a tad regretful now that I'm no longer twenty-one. So I have no issue comparing that stupid mistake to, oh, the love I thought I felt for some ex-boyfriend.
In case you weren't paying attention earlier, let's recap:
Bad radio station.
Jordin Sparks.
You’re on my heart just like a tattoo.
Just like a tattoo.
I don't even have anything to say.
Please put me out of my misery.
Perhaps that's my first mistake.
Because a few days ago, I was driving to work. As many of you know, I have a severe affliction that causes me to actually listen to song lyrics. For whatever reason, I wasn't really paying attention that day. It's likely I was thinking of something else, something mindless and silly, like an argument for a motion to suppress, or a series of questions for a killer cross.
And then I heard it. The dulcet tones of American Idol winner Jordin Sparks telling me:
You’re still a part of everything I do.
You’re on my heart just like a tattoo.
Just like a tattoo.
I’ll always have you.
I mean. Really-
I mean-
I-I-I-I-
I'm speechless.
Seriously?
What the fuck is that lyric? (I try not to swear here, but I'm really at a loss on this one.)
I'm going to ignore the fact that the song makes no sense. It was as if someone strung some words together that happened to rhyme. And when the songwriter couldn't come up with a rhyme? Well, nothing rhymes with "you" better than another "you." And the rhyme for "moment"? Surely, "broken" was perfect! Yeah, I'll ignore the lack of meaning and ridiculous rhyming. For now.
But, shit, come on, man. We are now comparing the permanency of love to the permanency of a tattoo? You know, that is damned near poetic. Because when I got my tattoo... well, let's just say it wasn't one of my better moments. I'm a tad regretful now that I'm no longer twenty-one. So I have no issue comparing that stupid mistake to, oh, the love I thought I felt for some ex-boyfriend.
In case you weren't paying attention earlier, let's recap:
Bad radio station.
Jordin Sparks.
You’re on my heart just like a tattoo.
Just like a tattoo.
I don't even have anything to say.
Please put me out of my misery.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Odd side effects.
Chris was here for the weekend. Neither of us felt very well, so we ended up watching lots of TV. Which is how we happened across a commercial for Mirapex, used to treat Restless Legs Syndrome (RLS).
According to the National Institute of Neurological Disorders, RLS is characterized by "unpleasant sensations in the legs and an uncontrollable urge to move when at rest in an effort to relieve these feelings." These aforementioned sensations " are often described by people as burning, creeping, tugging, or like insects crawling inside the leg." Also, it is important to note that many folks with RLS have difficulty falling asleep because of the bug-like, creepy-crawly sensations.
Lucky for RLS-sufferers that Mirapex came along. It relieves symptoms of RLS. Awesome!
But wait. There's more.
Mirapex has some unsavory side effects. According to the television advert, Mirapex "may cause you to feel drowsy or fall asleep." Given the fact that those who have RLS experience difficulty falling asleep, this doesn't seem a bad thing, right? Right?
Then we saw the commercial again. And we caught the entire sentence: "Mirapex may cause you to feel drowsy or fall asleep during normal activities such as driving." Um. Falling asleep. During normal activities. Such as driving. Okay then. Still, though, that's not an awful side effect. Right?
But wait. There's more.
If you're on Mirapex, contact your doctor if you "experience increased gambling, sexual, or other intense urges."
Hmmm. So which is worse? The symptoms or RLS or the side effects of the treatment?
According to the National Institute of Neurological Disorders, RLS is characterized by "unpleasant sensations in the legs and an uncontrollable urge to move when at rest in an effort to relieve these feelings." These aforementioned sensations " are often described by people as burning, creeping, tugging, or like insects crawling inside the leg." Also, it is important to note that many folks with RLS have difficulty falling asleep because of the bug-like, creepy-crawly sensations.
Lucky for RLS-sufferers that Mirapex came along. It relieves symptoms of RLS. Awesome!
But wait. There's more.
Mirapex has some unsavory side effects. According to the television advert, Mirapex "may cause you to feel drowsy or fall asleep." Given the fact that those who have RLS experience difficulty falling asleep, this doesn't seem a bad thing, right? Right?
Then we saw the commercial again. And we caught the entire sentence: "Mirapex may cause you to feel drowsy or fall asleep during normal activities such as driving." Um. Falling asleep. During normal activities. Such as driving. Okay then. Still, though, that's not an awful side effect. Right?
But wait. There's more.
If you're on Mirapex, contact your doctor if you "experience increased gambling, sexual, or other intense urges."
Hmmm. So which is worse? The symptoms or RLS or the side effects of the treatment?
A fair and balanced look at Saluti Cahn.
From the tracking of my blog (I feel oh so very technologically advanced!), I have learned that I get quite a few hits from folks searching for information regarding Saluti Cahn.
As always, I will refrain from comment.
I have, however, compiled a list of sites I've found regarding Saluti Cahn.
In the interest of being fair and balanced (much like Fox News), I have included all pertinent information. Please note that the views contained herein do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author or her affiliates.
Saluti Cahn's official website.
Commentary from a former employee regarding SC's health insurance practices.
SC's principal's federal campaign contributions (if party affiliation matters to you).
Enjoy!
Post script, July 22, 2009.
I came back to this post because I noticed a comment had been posted to it. I discovered three broken links on this page. All three were from tripod-based blogs; I was taken to a page that stated that the pages had been deleted due to terms of service violations. Based on what I know of Dean Saluti, I deduce that he had the sites pulled. A Google search for Saluti Cahn proves that Dean has signed up for a gazillion business networking sites, in an effort to push unsavory reviews farther down in the search results.
I have this new finding:
A self-indulgent blog by Dean.
Post Script, February 24, 2010.
So I just discovered Saluti Cahn's "feedback" page. For more on it, check out this post.
As always, I will refrain from comment.
I have, however, compiled a list of sites I've found regarding Saluti Cahn.
In the interest of being fair and balanced (much like Fox News), I have included all pertinent information. Please note that the views contained herein do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author or her affiliates.
Saluti Cahn's official website.
Commentary from a former employee regarding SC's health insurance practices.
SC's principal's federal campaign contributions (if party affiliation matters to you).
Enjoy!
Post script, July 22, 2009.
I came back to this post because I noticed a comment had been posted to it. I discovered three broken links on this page. All three were from tripod-based blogs; I was taken to a page that stated that the pages had been deleted due to terms of service violations. Based on what I know of Dean Saluti, I deduce that he had the sites pulled. A Google search for Saluti Cahn proves that Dean has signed up for a gazillion business networking sites, in an effort to push unsavory reviews farther down in the search results.
I have this new finding:
A self-indulgent blog by Dean.
Post Script, February 24, 2010.
So I just discovered Saluti Cahn's "feedback" page. For more on it, check out this post.
Friday, November 9, 2007
New job.
It's official.
I just accepted a new job and gave notice.
Still public defending. Just in a different state.
(And when I say "in a different state," I mean geographically, not metaphysically.)
I just accepted a new job and gave notice.
Still public defending. Just in a different state.
(And when I say "in a different state," I mean geographically, not metaphysically.)
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Dinner.
Tonight for dinner I had ramen noodles and tuna fish.
Why on earth would I eat that?
Well, my boyfriend recently made me stew. I sometimes like stew. I didn't like this stew, and ended up taking two bites and discarding the rest of what I'd ladled out for myself.
The problem for me with stew is the fat on the beef. It's not a health thing, mind you. See, when I eat any sort of red meat that's not in some sort of stew or soup or sauce, I can cut off every single itty-bitty piece of fat. This is a habit I developed at a very young age. While most people find red meat fat rather flavorful, I hate it. Unfortunately, when you get stew beef and don't trim it, it has all sorts of fat. So I tend not to eat it.
What's my problem with beef fat?
It's slimy.
Why on earth would I eat that?
Well, my boyfriend recently made me stew. I sometimes like stew. I didn't like this stew, and ended up taking two bites and discarding the rest of what I'd ladled out for myself.
The problem for me with stew is the fat on the beef. It's not a health thing, mind you. See, when I eat any sort of red meat that's not in some sort of stew or soup or sauce, I can cut off every single itty-bitty piece of fat. This is a habit I developed at a very young age. While most people find red meat fat rather flavorful, I hate it. Unfortunately, when you get stew beef and don't trim it, it has all sorts of fat. So I tend not to eat it.
What's my problem with beef fat?
It's slimy.
Slimy stuff.
Apparently, this has been some controversy regarding my opinion that children are slimy. It was a flippant, offhanded comment. But lest y'all are concerned, I would like to take this opportunity to announce that I am of the opinion that there are many things out there that are slimy. I have compiled a list:
Oysters.
Uncooked liver (or chicken or beef, for that matter).
Boogers.
Slugs.
Worms.
The insides of frogs.
The outsides of frogs.
The insides of any living creature.
People who deal in hedge funds.
Unethical attorneys.
In fairness, I don't really like any of the above things. I am non-discriminating in my distaste for slimy things. I am sure that my opinions are not shared by the masses. Just as many folks like children, many folks also enjoy oysters.
So to my friends and readers who may have children (or who may like other slimy things): Rock on. You like kids? Good for you. You like unethical attorneys and boogers? Way to go. I respect your opinions.
Just keep that slime away from me.
Oysters.
Uncooked liver (or chicken or beef, for that matter).
Boogers.
Slugs.
Worms.
The insides of frogs.
The outsides of frogs.
The insides of any living creature.
People who deal in hedge funds.
Unethical attorneys.
In fairness, I don't really like any of the above things. I am non-discriminating in my distaste for slimy things. I am sure that my opinions are not shared by the masses. Just as many folks like children, many folks also enjoy oysters.
So to my friends and readers who may have children (or who may like other slimy things): Rock on. You like kids? Good for you. You like unethical attorneys and boogers? Way to go. I respect your opinions.
Just keep that slime away from me.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
On identity theft and bad karma.
Several years ago I was taking Advanced Constitutional Law. During the first class, we had a lengthy conversation regarding identity theft. People were waxing intellectual (as they often do in law school) until I raised my hand and announced:
"I live a pretty boring life. If someone wants my identity, he can have it."
Now, understand that I don't use my debit card. I like float. I charge everything (and I mean everything) and then pay my credit card in full at the end of every month. I hate cash and avoid using it. I don't believe in consumer debt. Creditors hate me, as they never make any money. How do I do this on my trying-do-be-a-do-gooder civil servant salary? Well, I try to live an ascetic life.
Despite the fact that I don't use my debit card (except for ATM withdrawals), a few years after my identity theft proclamation, someone charged $80 at a restaurant in California and $800 at The Children's Place at an outlet mall in a bordering state. I didn't buy children's stuff. I don't even like children. I think they're slimy.
Clearly, it was karma kicking me in the ass. Unlike with credit card companies, regular ol' banks don't like to grant provisional credit. They did not want to put the money back in my checking account. I had to yell and scream and stay on the phone for a very long time, and demand to speak to supervisors before the problem was fixed.
After that was fixed, I lived the good life for another year.
That year ended today.
I checked my credit card transactions online (because I'm just that anal). There was a charge for $9.48 for EST COMPANY; it was made on this past Saturday. I googled this "company." Nothing. I don't really care about the ten bucks all that much; but I don't dig unauthorized credit card use. So I called my credit card company. They canceled the card and are sending out another one. But in order to put the charge in dispute, I had to call the vendor's number (the vendor that's located in Boca Raton; it was a non-Internet purchase, and live nowhere near Florida, much less Boca). The number didn't connect.
So I called the company back and got the credit back. It was only ten bucks, so they didn't require an affidavit from me.
What is this mess?
It's karma. Again. Giving me a swift kick in the ass.
Moral of the story: Don't joke about identity theft. It'll come back to get'cha.
"I live a pretty boring life. If someone wants my identity, he can have it."
Now, understand that I don't use my debit card. I like float. I charge everything (and I mean everything) and then pay my credit card in full at the end of every month. I hate cash and avoid using it. I don't believe in consumer debt. Creditors hate me, as they never make any money. How do I do this on my trying-do-be-a-do-gooder civil servant salary? Well, I try to live an ascetic life.
Despite the fact that I don't use my debit card (except for ATM withdrawals), a few years after my identity theft proclamation, someone charged $80 at a restaurant in California and $800 at The Children's Place at an outlet mall in a bordering state. I didn't buy children's stuff. I don't even like children. I think they're slimy.
Clearly, it was karma kicking me in the ass. Unlike with credit card companies, regular ol' banks don't like to grant provisional credit. They did not want to put the money back in my checking account. I had to yell and scream and stay on the phone for a very long time, and demand to speak to supervisors before the problem was fixed.
After that was fixed, I lived the good life for another year.
That year ended today.
I checked my credit card transactions online (because I'm just that anal). There was a charge for $9.48 for EST COMPANY; it was made on this past Saturday. I googled this "company." Nothing. I don't really care about the ten bucks all that much; but I don't dig unauthorized credit card use. So I called my credit card company. They canceled the card and are sending out another one. But in order to put the charge in dispute, I had to call the vendor's number (the vendor that's located in Boca Raton; it was a non-Internet purchase, and live nowhere near Florida, much less Boca). The number didn't connect.
So I called the company back and got the credit back. It was only ten bucks, so they didn't require an affidavit from me.
What is this mess?
It's karma. Again. Giving me a swift kick in the ass.
Moral of the story: Don't joke about identity theft. It'll come back to get'cha.
From the journal of a neurotic woman.
I got to work today at 6:55 a.m.
This is not atypical.
What the hell is wrong with me?
This is not atypical.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Monday, November 5, 2007
Legally ridiculous.
I had a two o'clock appointment this afternoon for which I was adorably nervous. I was so nervous, in fact (adorably so), that I made my boyfriend stay at my place until I got back from the appointment.
He has a class tonight at five, and an hour long commute can turn into an hour-and-a-half commute at 3:30 in the afternoon. But he stayed and waited at my place until I returned at 3:30. Now that's love. But I digress...
I got home and went upstairs to my extra-bedroom-cum-office-never-used-cum-den. He was watching a DVD. I looked at the television. Legally Blonde.
I don't know which his worse. The fact that I own not only Legally Blonde, but also Legally Blonde 2 (they came together; really, they did). Or the fact that he was watching it.
He has a class tonight at five, and an hour long commute can turn into an hour-and-a-half commute at 3:30 in the afternoon. But he stayed and waited at my place until I returned at 3:30. Now that's love. But I digress...
I got home and went upstairs to my extra-bedroom-cum-office-never-used-cum-den. He was watching a DVD. I looked at the television. Legally Blonde.
I don't know which his worse. The fact that I own not only Legally Blonde, but also Legally Blonde 2 (they came together; really, they did). Or the fact that he was watching it.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Solution to the Arab-Israeli conflict.
Preemptive caveat: This may be offensive to some.
This is true. Happened today. Seriously. It's a lunchtime conversation at the office between me, Guy From Work and Girl From Work. The others -- Investigator, Secretary, Boss, Girl From Work, and Random Former-PD Who Was Visiting -- looked on, amused.
Me: So Chris and I were having a little debate last night.
Guy From Work: Yeah?
Me: Yeah. I showed him a letter my mom had written to The Nation about the Israeli/Palestinian thing. He was disagreeing with what my mom was saying. Which is fine. But, of course, I totally had to take Mom's side. So I start defending Israel, and Chris starts telling me that what they're doing would be like us -- the U.S. -- going somewhere, taking over, and displacing the people who already live there.
So I think to myself, hey, isn't that what we -- the U.S. already did? Which I mention to him. And then the perfect solution occurred to me.
Guy From Work: You've already told us that the solution would be to let Israel have Florida.
Me: Well, the Jews are there already. Except that we'd have to get rid of the Cubans.
Girl From Work: And the Haitians.
Me: Probably wouldn't work.
Girl From Work: Probably not.
Me: So the new perfect solution. Since it worked for the U.S. last time. Set up Palestinian reservations and grant them gaming rights.
Guy From Work: You know what game they'd play, don'tcha?
Me: Russian roulette.
This is true. Happened today. Seriously. It's a lunchtime conversation at the office between me, Guy From Work and Girl From Work. The others -- Investigator, Secretary, Boss, Girl From Work, and Random Former-PD Who Was Visiting -- looked on, amused.
Me: So Chris and I were having a little debate last night.
Guy From Work: Yeah?
Me: Yeah. I showed him a letter my mom had written to The Nation about the Israeli/Palestinian thing. He was disagreeing with what my mom was saying. Which is fine. But, of course, I totally had to take Mom's side. So I start defending Israel, and Chris starts telling me that what they're doing would be like us -- the U.S. -- going somewhere, taking over, and displacing the people who already live there.
So I think to myself, hey, isn't that what we -- the U.S. already did? Which I mention to him. And then the perfect solution occurred to me.
Guy From Work: You've already told us that the solution would be to let Israel have Florida.
Me: Well, the Jews are there already. Except that we'd have to get rid of the Cubans.
Girl From Work: And the Haitians.
Me: Probably wouldn't work.
Girl From Work: Probably not.
Me: So the new perfect solution. Since it worked for the U.S. last time. Set up Palestinian reservations and grant them gaming rights.
Guy From Work: You know what game they'd play, don'tcha?
Me: Russian roulette.
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