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Wednesday, June 28, 2006

I'll tell you what...

There are a lot of nutsos in the world, do you know that? It seems like basically every charge of discrimination that is filed against one of our clients is done so by someone who thinks that the whole world is against them. And they are all-consumed by the idea that they have something to prove. We've got a guy who leaves crazy 10 minute voicemails about the family curse that dates back to the early 20th century which caused his employer to discriminate against him by letting flying bugs into the building, among MANY other equally crazy things. We've got the client who claims she was discriminated against based on her disability, but doesn't want to release any records documenting her disability. We had a college student who was kicked out of school for various reasons (according to her, out of an act of discrimination), and sent correspondence offering her professor sexual favors in order to be let back into class. Just a bunch of crazies.

Anyway, one of our brilliant hot-shot attorneys (who may or may not have paid me call him that and who also may or may not comment anonymously on this blog), just had a multi-count charge of discrimination thrown out entirely (because, like most of our charges of discrimination, I'm sure it was mostly unfounded). And I happen to have a funny story about this lady to add credibility to my blanket statement that these discrimination-charge-filers are indeed crazy.

When I used to work here in the evening, part of my job was to answer the phone after 5. This particular person, who had filed a claim against our client, called one evening and didn't identify herself. Because I've dealt with her before though, I knew who it was. Here was the conversation we had:

Crazy Lady: Hi. I'm tyring to send an 8-page letter to your firm. How much postage do I need?
Me: Well, unfortunately, I'm not sure. If you're worried that it'll be more than a standard letter, you could either take it to the post office or just put several stamps on it to be sure you're covered.
CL: You don't know? I thought you guys were supposed to know how much it costs to mail stuff to your own office.
Me: (unsure how to proceed)
CL: Well, then, I'll just have to take it to the post office myself.
Me: OK, sorry about that.

Then...5 or so minutes pass and she calls back.

CL: Hi, this is Crazy Lady, may I please speak to Attorney X?
Me: I'm sorry, Attorney X isn't in the office right now, whould you like to leave a message?
CL: Can you tell him that I called and that I won't be mailing his response out until tomorrow. I put it down in the mail room first thing this morning and got it stamped and ready to go, but nobody took it to the post office for me. I imagine I won't be able to get to a mailbox myself until tomorrow sometime. So, you just let him know that I'll be sending at 8 page letter to him, but not until tomorrow. Thanks. Bye bye.

It was like we never had the conversation 5 minutes earlier in which she needed postage advice. They're crazy. They're all crazy, I tell ya.

Snot Funny.

Last Friday, Eric came down with his first daycare related sickness. He made it two whole weeks! Woohoo! I've been calling this illness the "daycare drip." Basically, copious amounts of green, slimey snot have been sliding out of his nose for the past several days. Fun. Chris and I have caught it as well. Double fun. Everyone in the house is an irritable, miserable prick.

Yesterday, Eric woke up an hour early for no good reason. He woke up before my alarm clock went off. I quickly got him dressed for school and made him breakfast. He requested to watch TV, so I thought he would sit nicely (i.e., slightly comatose), eat and watch TV and I could get ready for work and we'd be ready to go nice and early. Instead, he whined and complained and cried the whole time about the indignities of life including, but not limited to, the fact that snot was coming out of his nose and touching his skin.

Everytime I left his sight for a moment, he would scream out in the most irritating, high pitch whine he could muster, "Oooooh nooooooooo! Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" And then I would come running back to find out that something of very little consequence had pissed him off. Again. Like, his truck was just out of arm's reach and he didn't feel like leaning to get it. And while he was focused on his truck, he got thirsty, but his milk didn't anticipate his thirst and jump up out of his cup into his mouth. Therefore the cup of milk must be thrown. And now it was out of reach. And oh dear sweet lord, what was this vile liquid coming from his nose. SOYLENT GREEN SNOT WAS TRYING TO EAT HIS FACE! AND! OH GOD! IT GOT ON HIS FINGERS! MOOMMMMMMMMMMMMYY!

I can't wait for him to get better. Now that the snot is getting slightly better, he has developed a cough. In fact, I might have skipped the snot part and went straight to the cough myself. Anyway, it's the middle of the night and I just served Eric a cocktail of a half dose of benedryl and a half dose of cough medicine and he's finally peacefully resting. And I'm wide awake. Because it's too hot. And the air is touching me. And Chris' alarm clock has been going off for 20 minutes straight and if I don't go into the room and kick him in the ribs, it will go off for another 100 minutes while he sleeps peacefully and classic rock is broadcast through the house. OK. I'm going to put my rib-kicking shoes on. Oh! Wonder of wonders! The music stopped! And now I can hear that the birds are chirping too loudly. Oh man. I've got to try to get some sleep. Send some wellness vibes this way or something.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Oh Dear.

First I'd like to take a moment and thank those loyal readers who commented on the white pants/polka dots incident--both in person and via the intranets. I'm glad to know that you care and you have my back, so to speak. I would also like to dispell any rumors that I was referring to myself either a) not having friends at work or b) wearing white pants with polka-dotted granny panties. Not only do I just so happen to have a legion of Kristentatious fans fierce enough to shut down an army of critics, but I also work with my mom. I think it's required by law that your mother inform you of such fashion atrocities (not that you have to listen to her). Also, in regards to wearing white pants, I once saw or read some self-proclaimed fasion policeman say that women who wear a double-digit size should NEVER wear white pants--advice I heed. Although, I still have a pair of size 8 white linen pants from pre-Eric days, and if I ever get back down to that size, I'm going to wear the heck out of them. Oh yeah I am. As for the offender, it was one of my bosses here at the law firm of Chaysat & Buelance-Downe.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Why it's important to have at least one friend at work:

You need someone who can tell you that your polka-dotted granny panties are totally visible through your white pants.

Yeah. That's why.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

I just want to bang on the drums all day.

OK, I just got back from lunch and I'm noticing that all the people who left before me are not back yet. OK, that's fine. It's not like I really care, but. BUT. I know that the one day I do decide to take some liberties with my lunch "hour," everybody else will be back on time and they will collectively raise their eyebrows at my tardiness. That's just the way it goes. It's just my luck (which is bad, in case you were wondering. Case in point: no matter what check-out aisle I choose, it's always the slowest. The equipment malfunctions, the person in front of me decides to do an "instant credit" to save 10%, or they have they have an item with no tag, and no matching item can be found...).

OK, so today's quick rant: (OK, I've been saving it since Saturday, but whatever)

Father's Day Cards

The way I see it, you have two options: sappy or funny. OK, my dad's not really a sappy kind of guy, so I go for funny. But the problem with the funny cards is that none of them are geared toward my dad. He's not completely inept when it comes to fixing things (in fact, quite the opposite is true). He's not into fishing very much. He's golfs a little bit, but is not obsessed. He's not an extreme disciplinarian. He's not a major tightwad. He's not obsessed with TV or the remote and he doesn't even have a recliner. So, right there, I just ruled out every possible funny card choice. But, this year I actually did find a suitable card-a card for the man who is obsessed with maintaining his home and fleet. Yay! My dad will probably get the same card for the next 17 years.

Monday, June 19, 2006

He may seem sweet and innocent...

...but my baby is turning into a conniver. It's true, he's mastering different ways to both postpone the inevitable and speed up the unbearable.

For example, at one point this weekend, Eric and I went to Target just to go. Pretty much what happened is I said, "Eric, what do you want to do?" He said, "Wanna go bye-bye." So I asked, "Where do you want to go?" And he told me, "Wanna go Target." OK. So, we went to Target. Since I didn't really need anything, we started out by looking at all the things he wanted to look at. So, after 97 million hours of looking at bikes and helmets and TVs and baseballs and basketballs and footballs AND soccer balls, not to mention trucks and cars and choo-choos, I finally managed to trick him into going to look at something that I wanted to look at. And do you know what the little stinker told me?

E: Wanna go home.
Me: Just a minute, Eric, I'm almost done.
E: Hungry! Want something to eat!
Me: Eric, you just ate a little while ago. We'll leave in a minute.
E: Thirsty! Want milk!
Me: Soon.
E: DC! (DC is a ratty old bib that Eric hauls around everywhere.) Want DC! DC WHERE AAAAAAARE YOUUUUUU?
Me: Eric, DC is in the car. We'll go out to the car in just a minute.
Eric: Want to go get DC! Let's go get DC! Yay!
Me: Eric! Knock it off!
Eric: (insert pouty lip and fluttering eyelashes) Tired. Wanna go home go night-night! [at 4 p.m.]

OK, so there's one example. This next example is similar but different--a stall tactic. Yesterday afternoon we were at my parents' house and Eric needed a nap. My parents and grandma were sitting on the patio outside the basement door--two levels below the bedrooms. I think Eric and I were inside playing on the main level when I finally managed to wrangle him for a nap and take him upstairs. I got him up to the room where he would be napping and I changed his diaper. He then told me, "Want to go say night-night to Daddy." OK, like a sucker, I totally fell for it, not foreseeing the chain of events to follow. We went back downstairs to say night-night to Daddy and which point he told me, "Wanna go say night-night to Gigi," (my grandma). Then I thought, "Well, that's kind of sweet--Gigi will appreciate that, especially considering the not so warm reception he originally gave her." So, I took him outside and down the rock-stairs, where he proceeded to completely ignore Gigi and tell me, "Wanna run down the hill." I wouldn't let him, so after that tantrum subsided, he told me, "Wanna go see the fishies in the pond." At that point, I insisted that he take a nap and carried him kicking and screaming up two flights of stairs back into the bedroom. I sat down on the bed with him and he immediately said, "Wanna go say night-night to Poppy and Nonny," who were all the way back down stairs. Not only that, but he also wanted to watch TV, play basketball and go outside. Oh, and he was hungry too. Probably starving.

Seriously, it's no wonder I'm exhausted.

So sorry, blog.

I meant to write something sooner. Really, I did. But I've been too busy discussing with Heidi which Smithe brother is the hottest. It passes the time, you know. And now, back to my regularly scheduled job. (But if you're still speaking to me, a little later I plan to share my thoughts on the crappy selection of Father's Day cards available.)

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Working hard or...

So, the tech guy was here this morning. I had to ask him 1,000,072 questions because I had a new computer this morning when I came in. Well, new to me, at least. I think they just ordered enough new computers to be able to retire the oldest computers in the fleet. Instead of getting a brand-spanking-new machine, I just got somebody's old machine, which was better than the old machine that I was using. Anyway, along with the computer, I inherited some of the old owner's settings and documents, which could potentially be bad because the former owner was the office administrator, who had access to all personnel records, ect. At one point, I was joking with the tech guy that someone was going to track my movements and find out that not only was I looking at coworkers' private information, but also, due to an assignement that I'm working on for one of the attorneys, I've been on all sorts of terrorist websites. Uh-huh. That looks good. So, tech guys says, "Oh, look through your internet history? Yeah, I mean, it stays on your computer for however many days, but nobody here is ever going to bother to look at that." Really??? Wit Spot, here I come!

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Rat race.

Well, I have survived my first couple days at work, but I'm just...so...tired. Plus, I don't think I should blog at work. I mean, I don't have much else to do right now, but something tells me that blogging would be a bad idea. Maybe next week. Heh heh. Anyway, I'm going to bed now, but in case anybody was wondering, yes, Eric and I have survived our new schedules.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Have you seen this site?

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/


It's so interesting to me. The guy who runs it has recently published a book. It seems like there were more "secrets" to view before the book was published...but whatever. Hmmmm....perhaps I'll think of something to share one day.

Friday, June 09, 2006

Dear Nike, What is with the cloven hoof shoes?



In case you're wondering, yes, they do come with the cloven hoof socks. I actually tried a pair on today since, as you all may have suspected for quite some time, I do indeed have cloven hooves. They were odd, yet I might be interested in owning a pair purely for a conversation piece. (Dear shoes, please call me when you are on clearance.) I was going to use my camera phone to take a picture of myself wearing these shoes, but I had a couple of problems. One is that I know how to make pictures go in my phone, but I do not know how to make them come out. The other problem was that some woman was standing right next to me FOREVER and she wouldn't move. And, for some reason, I would've felt funny taking a picture under those circumstances. Anyway, to conclude, we should all be happy that Nike has finally stepped up to the plate and created footwear that will allow us to look more like cattle.

My grandma wears gold lamé.

I'd like to take a moment and commend my Nana for being so fashionable. At nearly 80-years-old, she is still on the cutting edge--what with the shiny, strappy sandals and the gigantic gold, silver and bronze lamé purse with all the flower appliques. But the truth is that Nana has been wearing those shoes and carrying that purse since the 70's. She also wore "pedal pushers," or "clam diggers," if you will (none of this "capris" business), back into style. Maybe I'm lame, or destined to be unfashionable, but I can't help but look at gold lamé and think "old lady." I've only seen a couple of these lamé items that I could possibly be convinced to own. But what's with the gladiator sandals that I'm starting to see everywhere?!? Please tell me this will be a short-lived fad!

Thursday, June 08, 2006

The Gap doesn't appreciate my curviness

This morning I took Eric for a test run at daycare. He was there for half a day, and he did wonderfully. According to his teacher, he didn't even notice I was gone. Part of me is happy that he did so well, and another part of me is like, excuse me? Didn't notice that I, HIS MOTHER WHO HAS CARED FOR HIM EVERYDAY OF HIS ENTIRE LIFE (minus two or three days), was gone?!?! But anyway, he did fine. Hopefully tomorrow goes as well.

While he was at school, I went and got my hair cut. It looks pretty much like it did before I got it cut, only slightly shorter and, well, freshly cut. Then I decided to pop into the Gap for a quick look around. I grabbed a couple things to try on, but they just did not work out for me. The Gap is now marketing some of their women's jeans as "Curvy." I've been meaning to try a pair of Curvy jeans on for months and months now because, hey, I'm curvy! How ideal! Except. The Gap and I have different ideas of curvy. The difference is that my idea of being curvy involves having hips, while the Gap's does not. Apparently, to the Gap, curvy woman=woman shaped like 13 year old boy with very large ass. I also grabbed a pair of khaki pants to try on without realizing that they were "boy cut." I know I'm not boy-shaped, so I tend to steer clear of "boy cut" things. Anyway, my point is this: the boy cut khakis and the curvy jeans fit me the exact same way. How can that be? Anyway, I did not have time to fully explore the Gap merchandise and perhaps find something more fitting (no pun intended). Maybe I'll try again tomorrow, when I have more time. I've almost always had awesome luck finding cute stuff on deep discount (a winning combination).

I noticed something else at the Gap that made me smile. I guess they recently changed the names of their jeans across the board because they now have men's jeans called "Straight Fit." You know--as opposed to "Gay Fit" which are tighter, far more fashionable and, incidentally, only available in a 28-inch waist.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

You know what's weird?

The fact that the phrases, "Are you serious?" and, "Are you kidding me?" have morphed into, "Are you seriously kidding me?" And frankly, I'm not sure what the correct answer to that question is.

Sleepyhead

OK. This alarm clock thing? It's just not working out for me. I think it might be the fact that I haven't regularly used an alarm clock since 2003 combined with the fact that I've trained myself to completely sleep through Chris' very loud, very early alarm. And also that I can't figure out how to set my alarm clock correctly. Well, actually, I should say that I can't figure out how to unset it. It has a dual alarm--one which I set to go off at 6:45am with the radio, and one which Eric set to go off at 7am with the "nature sounds" setting. I can't figure out how to turn that setting off, now that it's set.

Yesterday, I somehow set my alarm wrong and it didn't go off. The setting that Eric achieved by merely mashing his wee little hands all over the clock, however, did go off. But, like I said, it's tuned to some kind of nature sounds. Who's going to wake up to the sounds of birds chirping? If I were able to wake up to birds chirping, I wouldn't have bought an alarm clock in the first damn place!

So, let's review: yesterday, my alarm was set for 6:45, but didn't go off. Birds chirping started at 7, but didn't wake me up. I woke up at 8:22 in a panic. Eric was actually still asleep, which is unusual these days. Today, my alarm actually did go off--I very vaguely remember that. Then, at 7, it switched from blaring music to the dulcet tones of birds chirping and the waking up process ceased. Eric woke up at 7:15, which caused me to roll over and snooze the birds. I dragged my ass out of bed at 7:20.

Also, I'm trying so hard to go to bed at 11pm, and it's just not working! I mean, I'm exhausted by 11pm, but for some reason, I can't get myself into bed until at least midnight. I'm tired.

Oh, and another thing? The expressway entrance that I've been using in order to bypass the majority of the tollway construction is closing next Monday so that they can reconstruct it. So, not only do I have to start driving at rush hour (currently I drive at slightly off-peak travel times), but I can't even avoid extra delays by using my shortcut. Before the construction project started, it took me 20 minutes to get to work, getting on the expressway at the entrance closest to my house. After construction, if I got on at the entrance closest to my house, it took 20 minutes just to get to the toll booth (5 minutes under normal conditions) plus another 15 minutes after that, for a grand total of 35 minutes. Then I started using an alternate entrance and was able to avoid the construction bottleneck and get to work in about 25 minutes. I didn't anticipate my alternate entrance being closed. I have no idea how it's going to take to get to work now. No idea at all. Good thing I'm doing a couple of test runs. God, I can't wait until the construction is over!

Monday, June 05, 2006

Wanna be in a movie?

I just discovered this over the weekend. It's pretty cool--I wish I had something good to trade!

http://oneredpaperclip.blogspot.com/

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Meet my new arch nemesis

I bought a new alarm clock yesterday. I still haven't completely figured out how to work all of its features, but I have come up with a name for it (him): Newman. Say it with me: "Hello...Newman."