Going Back to Cali

I've been feeling lazy this week (which is typical for me), so I've been putting off writing about the highlights of my California trip. But, since I'll be going to Atlanta tomorrow to watch my Vols play against LSU in the SEC Championship (and hopefully having more stories to share), I figure that I should go ahead and blog about California now, before I forget what I wanted to write.

So, you might remember that my grandmother (my dad's mom) passed away earlier this year (well, actually both of my grandmothers passed away this year); however, I didn't go to California for her funeral because 1) I had just started a new job (that week), and 2) there wasn't one. A funeral, I mean. (We're not heartless people, this was what Grandma wanted.) Since we weren't under a time constraint, The Family decided that we'd have a memorial service for her on the day after Thanksgiving, when a lot of people would be off work and able to attend. And that's why I went to California for Thanksgiving weekend.

My family lives near Fresno, or "The Central Valley" as I like to call it, because Fresno seems to have a bad rap. (Maybe it's because the crime rate there rivals that of Detroit and D.C. ) Anyhoo, The Fam doesn't actually live in Fresno, but in Clovis, a little honky-tonk town where the popular events include an annual rodeo and a weekly farmers' market. The people there love country music, yet they also think I sound like a total hick when I talk. I swear, every time I say "y'all" (which is a lot, apparently), they totally freak out..."What does it mean? How do you spell it?"

As I alluded to before, during my trip I stayed with my cousin "Sonny" and his wife "Cherrie," who, for the time being (while they build a house), are living in the house that my dad grew up in. Along with having no insulation or heat (just a wood-burning stove), and terrible plumbing, it also has a spiral staircase and green shag carpeting, which I just love. Too bad it went out of style thirty years ago.

Sonny and Cherrie are GREAT. They just got married in September, but they've been dating for years, and they're one of those couples that are so perfect that, if you didn't love them so much, you'd hate them. I mean, clearly Cherrie is in love with Sonny, or she wouldn't be putting up with living in that shithole of a house. (No offense to my grandparents; I'm sure the house was fine in 1950 when they bought it...it's just never been updated.) Sonny and Cherrie were wonderful hosts and made sure that I got to do all of the things that I love, which include 1) eating good food, 2) drinking, and 3) gambling.

Speaking of drinking, one of my first stops when I got to Clovis was the grocery store, so I could buy my favorite Mexican beer, which I can't find in Tennessee. I was so excited, I even took a picture of the box:

Yum! I like it with a lemon wedge.

Thursday and Friday were typical Family Time, which was fun, albeit not very interesting to write about. After Grandma's memorial service on Friday, Cherrie had the great idea of getting The Cousins together for a Night Out, so we all met at a bar called Jimbo's. (I mean, really. Who the hell goes to California and ends up at a place named "Jimbo's"? Needless to say, I fit right in there.)

Here are a few pics from our Drunken Night:


Sonny and Cherrie


Some cousins and their significant others (except for the guy on the right...I don't know him)


Candy and Cherrie (I really wish we didn't live on different sides of the country!)


I'm so not related to this dude.

That last guy is "Jebediah," who is a friend of Sonny's from Way Back When. When I was twelve, The Fam got together for a reunion in Lake Tahoe, and Sonny (who was fifteen) brought Jebediah along. We randomly ran into him at Jimbo's (from the looks of him, I'm sure it's a big shock to everyone that he hangs out there), and the odd thing was, I had just asked Sonny if he ever talked to Jebediah anymore, and he said that he hadn't seen him in ages. What a coinkidink.

Naturally, we were hung over on Saturday, although I did roll out of bed early enough to catch most of the Tennessee/Kentucky game. (Which we managed to win...barely.) I had told Sonny and Cherrie that I wanted to eat at the In-N-Out Burger (a California classic) while I was there, so we went after the game. If you've never been to one of those before, I'll go ahead and tell you: There are exactly four things on the menu. Hamburger, Cheeseburger, "Double-Double," and Fries. That's it. But you can order your fries "Animal Style," which entails lots of onions, Thousand Island dressing, and who knows what else. (Gross.)

Here we are eating at the In-N-Out burger, with my little brother and Sonny's little brother (Cherrie was there too, but she took the picture):

Sonny appears to have a mouthful of Animal-Style fries.

As if all of this weren't enough, Sonny and Cherrie rounded out my trip with a trip to a casino on Sunday! I spent a few hours playing Limit Texas Hold 'Em (for the first time), and I'm happy to report that I profited six whole dollars. I was a little worried that someone might try to "tail me" since I'd won so much, so I went ahead and had the security guard escort me to the car just in case.

So, that's my trip! Stay tuned for highlights of the SEC Championship!

And Go Vols!

Reading Material

Over on the right (scroll down), I added a list of the blogs I read fairly regularly. It's kind of a motley crew...ranging from my parents' blogs (we're just a bloggin' family), to a few of the more "famous" ones, to a couple that I've just found randomly and liked.

If anyone has suggestions for blogs I should be reading, let me know! FYI: I like the ones that are funny or that talk about topics that interest me (poker, food, relationships, The Law, bargain shopping, etc.).

On another note, I just finished reading a pretty good book called Love Walked In. It wasn't earth-shattering or anything, but I did enjoy the author's writing style and the way she described the subtle intricacies of human interaction. If you read books like The Devil Wears Prada and The Nanny Diaries, I think you'd like Love Walked In, although it's a bit more literary than your typical "Chick Lit" book. I recommend it.

Woo-Wee, What a Mess

My Lunch Buddy "Pete" alerted me to the Bar Exam Sitchiation going on over in South Carolina (where I briefly contemplated going to law school...well, only briefly enough for me to attend USC's Law School Visitation Day...which gave me an excuse to spend time with "Al Coholic," my then-crush, who lived in Columbia...sneaky, huh).

Anyhoo, after reading about all of the D-R-A-M-A that the South Carolina Bar is dealing with, I'm awfully glad that I ended up taking the Bar Exam in good ole Tennessee, where the scores appear to be valid.

Warning: While I highly enjoy reading about this stuff, I do realize that some of you might be bored out of your mind. Sorry 'bout that.

From My New Favorite Blog (These people are hilarious.)

Also from My New Favorite Blog

Their Update on the Story

This Guy Also Has a Lot to Say About It, Part 1

This Guy...Part 2

This Guy...Part 3

This Guy...Part 4

If I were a Bar Exam-passer in South Carolina, I'd be P-O'd. And if I were Chatty Cathy Harrison (who made the mistake of Writing About This Shit on Facebook), I'd want to crawl under a rock and die. At least until this thing blows over.

Y U Should Think B4 U Text

Being discussed at The Firm today...

The Issue:
Whether we can subpoena an opposing party's text message records.

The Conversation:
Clerk: Under the Rules, I think it's allowed, as long as we specify that we only want the text messages relating to this case. Unless, of course, we're trying to get text messages that he sent to his attorney, 'cause those would be privileged.
Candy: Who the hell text messages their attorney?
Clerk: Yeah really. "Hey man, how's the case goin'?"
Candy: I wonder if they'll stipulate what the text message abbreviations mean.
Clerk: That, or we'll have to prove it.
Candy: We'll bring in some thirteen-year-old girls to testify that "OMG" does, in fact, mean "Oh my God."
Clerk: Why do we want these text messages, anyway?
Candy: I think we're hoping that he's admitted liability to someone.
Clerk: "WTF" is TOTALLY an admission of negligence.

Still, I Refuse to Resort to Match.com

I don't mean to sound shallow or bitchy...but seriously...I'm a 25-year-old attorney who weighs 115 pounds and has good credit. I haven't been on a date in almost three months.

This woman (bless her heart) weighs 650 pounds and has a basketball-sized tumor that swings between her legs "like a pendulum." And she is engaged.

This does not help my self-esteem.

Wilderness Training

Well, I'm back from California. Or, as I like to call it, Back to Civilization. See, as much as I would love to be able to say that I spent Thanksgiving weekend lying on the beach in San Diego or sightseeing in San Francisco (or doing other seemingly California-y things), I actually spent the last several days in a small town near Fresno, staying in a house with no heat, no insulation, no INTERNET (God forbid), and a shower that is about as effective as if someone were to stand over you and slowly drool water onto your head.

Naturally, the freezing temperatures and shitty shower didn't bother me nearly as much as the lack of Internet. Sometimes I would get out my laptop (which I stupidly took with me, thinking I might get a little work done) and play Solitaire or something, just so I could feel the touch pad under my finger. This is what we call an Addiction.

All joking aside, though, I had a great time on my trip. I plan on sharing some of the highlights (including the reason I was staying in a house right out of Little House on the Prairie) very soon, but for now I'm gonna have to call it a night. Unfortunately, I didn't get back to K-town until midnight tonight, and I have to be at work in the morning. Phooey.

A Cat Tale (Hehe, Get It?)

If you've been reading Legally Brunette regularly, then you might remember that I went through a lot of Cat Drama several weeks ago with my "geriatric" cat Missy. (That's the vet's term for her, which cracks me up every time I think about it. I picture little Retired Cat Villages in Florida, where the cats all have wheelchairs or canes. Hehe.)

If you haven't been reading regularly, then I hate you, and you can find out about The Missy Saga here, here, and here. (I don't really hate you. That much.) I haven't written about Missy lately, but her saga certainly didn't end after that last post, so I'd like to bring everyone up to speed. Grab some popcorn and a Coke, because this one's gonna be a doozie.

First, I'd like to begin by reminding you of that fateful day that I arrived at my parents' house and found Missy literally dragging her right rear leg around and screaming at the top of her little lungs. That night, I took her to the After Hours Vet Clinic, where the vet took about five x-rays of her leg and determined that she had some kind of cyst or tumor, which was allegedly causing her to drag the leg around like it was broken.

So, the next day, Ron took Missy to the "regular" vet, where one of the doctors examined, oh, about ONE of the five x-rays that Ron brought (from the night before), saw the thingie on her leg, determined that it was a blood clot, and admitted her to the "hospital" to work on getting rid of the clot. All of this BS cost Ron about $600 (and me another $150). Let me point out here that, at that point, I assumed (mistakenly) that, after reviewing Missy's chart, the vet would have given her any immunizations that needed to be updated.

After Missy was "discharged" from the vet, I moved her from Ron's and Philly's garage to my apartment (roughly the same square footage), where she proceeded to live the next two weeks as a happy and well-fed, but nevertheless crippled, cat. After watching her continue to drag her leg around for those two weeks, I came to the conclusion (which was basically the same conclusion I had come to on the first night she was injured) that Missy had a dislocated hip.

Now, I've never been to vet school, or even taken any kind of Anatomy or Physiology class, but I do have these things called EYES, and though they are untrained, the fact that Missy's leg was turned the wrong way seemed pretty OBVIOUS to me. From what I understand, that is not a good sign.

So, one morning I took Missy back to the vet (the regular one, not the After Hours one), and explained to the girl at the desk that although Missy had already been "fixed" once (and I'm not referring to her being spayed), she apparently needed to be fixed again...and that this time, perhaps, they should try addressing her DISLOCATED HIP (which was, at that point, still just conjecture).

I dropped Missy off and went to work, and at about noon that day, I got a call from the vet. She started off by telling me all about Missy's kidneys, and how they're not working very well (which, DUH, she's "geriatric" and pees 47 times a day...I'm aware of this issue), and I'm like, "Well, thanks, but I'm really more concerned about the leg." And she responds, "Well, the good news is, the blood clot has completely dissolved...and...you were right about her hip being dislocated." (Note: This was an outstanding attempt by the vet to Bury the Issue.)

I immediately started bawling. I'm not really sure why I was crying, because at that point, I didn't know whether the hip could be fixed or not, but I think I was just angry to discover that Missy had been misdiagnosed. Twice. And, unfortunately, girls don't just cry when we're sad; sometimes we cry because we are PISSED OFF.

Of course, I asked whether we could "pop it back in," and the response was a bunch of mumbo jumbo, which I understood to mean "no, it's too late to do that." It was at that point that I reached what I like to call "Hysterics," feeling that not only had they (the vets) failed Missy, but also that I had failed her, by listening to the doctors instead of going with my gut feeling (which was telling me from the get-go that Missy had a Bone Issue, not a damn tumor).

I asked about our possible courses of action, and the vet explained a fairly complicated operation, which would run us about $700. Unfortunately, as Ron and Philly had already spent way more than they wanted, on a cat that they don't even like, and I'm a single girl with student loans to pay, this surgery was Out of the Question. The other option was to leave the hip in its dislocated state, which didn't really appeal to me either. Still sobbing, I asked whether we needed to put Missy to sleep, and the vet assured me that we weren't "at that point" yet.

So, I told the vet that I'd call her back, and then I immediately called Philly. Have you ever noticed that when you're upset about something but trying to maintain control, once you hear your mom's voice, your "control" goes all to hell? Yeah, that was me that day. Philly (not a Cat Lover) thought I'd lost my mind. Nevertheless, she immediately called Ron, informed him that "Candy's hysterical," and explained that Missy had been completely misdiagnosed. Well, as you can probably imagine, Ron (who had spent, like $600 on this "misdiagnosis") was pissed. So he went to have a Little Chat with the vet. (Let me emphasize that, for Ron, a Little Chat is actually a little chat. For Philly and me, it involves a lot of yelling and hell-raising. We also like to cuss. So it's probably good that Ron went instead of one of us.)

Well, whatever Ron said must have been effective, because a couple hours after he left the vet's office, he got a call from the vet, who informed him that she had spoken with the doctor from the After Hours clinic, and they had determined that they both had screwed up in failing to realize that Missy's hip was dislocated. So, another doctor from the After Hours clinic (not the original one, who apparently couldn't tell a dislocated hip from a hole in the ground) offered to perform the Complicated Operation on Missy FOR FREE!!!

I don't know if it was a) fear of ending up on the news (because of Ron's position); b) fear of being sued (because of my position); c) fear of being publicly humiliated (because of Philly's propensity for Causing Scenes) or d) good ole kindness, which motivated these veterinarians to admit their mistake and make things right, but I sure am glad they did.

You might think (hope...even pray) that this is the end of the Missy Saga, but sadly it's not. (I kinda wish it was the end too, because I think I'm getting carpal tunnel syndrome from typing so damn much.)

See, we couldn't schedule Missy's surgery immediately because, as I mentioned earlier, she has bad kidneys, and her "stat's" were too high for her to be anesthetized safely. So we started her on some pills and put her on a low protein diet (it's the opposite of Atkins...it's Catkins!), hoping that we could get her healthy enough to have the surgery. Also, at the direction of the vet, I began giving Missy "fluid treatments," which is just like giving her an IV, except that I didn't have to stick the needle in a vein. However, I still had to stick my cat with a needle, and that is not fun.

FINALLY, we were ready for the operation. So, yesterday morning, I took Missy back to the After Hours clinic (which apparently doubles as an animal surgery center "before hours"), where I then had the following (not-at-all reassuring) exchange with a vet tech:

Vet Tech: "Are we operating on both of Missy's legs today?"
Candy: "No, just ONE."
Vet Tech: "Okay, which one?"
Candy: "Um, the DISLOCATED ONE."
Vet Tech: "Right. Do you want us to do blood work before the surgery?"
Candy: "Well, I'm not paying for anything today, so you guys can do whatever you want."
Vet Tech: "Why aren't you paying?"
Candy: "Because I brought her here, to the After Hours Clinic, several weeks ago, and there was a problem. A misdiagnosis. I hate to say 'malpractice,' it's such an ugly word."
Vet Tech: "I see. I'll check 'No'."

I went to work and waited to hear how the operation went, and at about 4:30 I got a call from the cat surgeon, who informed me that he was finished and Missy was waking up. "You can pick her up at 8:00 tonight," he said. "Great, thank you so much," I replied.

About twenty minutes later, the cat surgeon called again, asking whether Missy's immunizations (namely her Rabies vaccine) were current. "Well, would her regular vet have updated them the last time she was there?" I asked. "No, we called them, and they didn't," he said. "Well, if they didn't do it, then it's been a few years since she was vaccinated," I said. He then informed me that, in the midst of some poking and prodding, Missy had "nipped" the cat neurologist (I didn't even know there was such a thing), and because Missy hadn't been vaccinated for Rabies in a few years, I would have to keep an eye on her for a couple of weeks "to see if she died." "If she happens to die within two weeks, you would have to bring her back so we could test her body for Rabies," said the surgeon. "I completely understand," I responded. "If the cat dies, I'll bring her back in." And we hung up.

Ten minutes later, I got another call from the surgeon, who said the following: "The neurologist is insisting that we quarantine Missy for two weeks. (Note: Apparently, there is law that mandates this, so the neurologist's request isn't unreasonable.) So, we're going to have to keep Missy in a cage here at the clinic, but you're welcome to come visit her anytime."

Poor cat. As if she hadn't been through enough. Now she's in Kitty Prison.

I know, I know. Her shots should have been current. But, in my own defense, I honestly thought that would have been taken care of when she was in the hospital for four days.

Anyhoo, that's where we are now in the Missy Saga, and hopefully I won't have anything else to write, at least not for the next two weeks. I know I probably sound like a bad pet owner when I say this, but I seriously doubt that I'll visit her at the clinic at all, because, let's face it: Visiting a CAT is kind of weird. It's not like Missy and I can have a nice chat during our visit. Hopefully she won't think I've abandoned her and, like, hang herself with a piece of yarn or something, and hopefully there won't be any major disasters at the clinic while she's there (although, with her luck lately, that's entirely possible).

I'll let y'all know how she's doing when I pick her up in a couple weeks.

In the meantime, I'll be spending Thanksgiving in California (visiting family), so I may or may not have time to write during the next few days. Then again, you may or may not have finished reading this post by the time I get back, so my absence might not be noticeable.

Let's Party

A long long time ago, I was in a sorority. I don't bring it up much, because a) I was only in it for two years; and b) I didn't like it very much. Actually, I should be more specific. I liked the idea of Greek Life, I just didn't like the particular sorority that I was in. But that's a whole 'nother story.

Anyhoo, what I loved most about being Greek (not surprisingly) was the parties. Whether it was date parties, mixers, formals, or band parties at the fraternity houses, you could always count on Candy to be in attendance. In costume, of course. Because, Lord knows, you can't have a Greek party without a theme.

Unfortunately, all of this "partying" presents a big problem for sororities and fraternities (I'm talking about the national organizations, not the actual members): Underage Drinking. (And also, Binge Drinking.) As someone who drank a shitload of alcohol before the age of 21, I am well aware that no one goes to Greek parties sober. (Okay, maybe some people do, but not the Cool Kids.) But I mean, can we really blame the 18-20 year olds for wanting to drink when they go to social events? Whoever's idea it was to move the drinking age to Right Smack Dab in the Middle of the College Years wasn't thinking very clearly. What did they expect to happen, when they gathered a bunch of young people (18-24 year olds) in a small space (college campuses) and then told them "Okay, half of you can do this one thing (DRINK), and the rest of you can't."

Riiiiight. That's like telling elementary school kids that you have to be 10 to play on the monkey bars. Guess where you'll find the 8 and 9 year olds.

On the other hand, as someone who knows a little about The Law, I am also well aware of the liability issues that sororities and fraternities have to consider when they allow their chapters to have social events that involve alcohol. Having alcohol at sanctioned events in general can present liability issues for organizations, but when half of the party attendees are underage, it's even more difficult to manage risks.

When I was in a sorority, we dealt with the liability problems of sanctioned events by having "under the table" social events, which meant that we all knew about certain parties, but they weren't on the Social Calendar. It was like, "Oh, we all just happened to show up at this fraternity house on a Tuesday night...what a coincidence! Let's party!" Clearly, these parties were better than the "real" parties, because we never had to worry about those pesky X's on our hands, which let the entire world know that we were UNDER 21.

My all-time favorite Under the Table Party was a Marriage Mixer. (By the way, if you're reading this and wondering what the hell a "mixer" is, it's a party in which a sorority and fraternity get together, so the members can "mingle.") The party went something like this:

There were four rooms, and each one represented a different stage of a relationship. In the first room, you "dated," meaning that everyone stood around and drank keg beer and chatted. When you met someone whom you wanted to "marry," you went to the second room, where you signed some papers, received wedding rings, and had a champagne toast. Next, you went on your "honeymoon," which involved getting "lei'ed" and having Sex on the Beach. This was also where the dance floor was, and if you really liked your spouse, you could stay here all night. However, the majority of marriages went South (just like in real life), which meant it was time for a divorce. In the Divorce Room, you had to state your grounds for divorce, and whoever "won" got to drink a screwdriver, meaning that the other person "got screwed." Hehe. Then, you could start the process all over again in the Dating Room.

How much fun is that! I got married, like, eight times.

My point is, why is all this fun being wasted on college students, when the After College Crowd could have just as much fun "mixing," and it would be LEGAL? I think this is a market that needs to be tapped.

So, with the hope of jump-starting some Adult Mixers around Knoxville, I'd like to offer a few suggestions:

1. Sec's and Exec's Mixer between City Government and County Government employees. (Secretaries and executives...very scandalous.)

2. Golf Pro's and Tennis Ho's Mixer between the Prosecutors and the Public Defenders. (Alcohol leads to compromise...or at least, compromising activities.)

3. Hell's Angels Mixer between Fort Sanders Hospital and UT Hospital. (Swap out the white coats for black leather jackets.)

4. Casino Mixer between Knoxville Police Department and Knox County Sheriff's Office. (Probably a little dude-heavy, but might lead to some illegal gambling...and wouldn't that be fun...and ironic.)

5. Freaks and Geeks Mixer between the News Sentinel and the Metro Pulse writers. (Because, let's face it, this is really just a blast from the past for these people...and I'm not judging, 'cause I was one too.)

6. 80's Mixer among WATE, WBIR, and WVLT. (Ron, for one, would love to relive those Glory Days...also, this mixer must be held at The Palace, former known as Michael's. It's only fitting.)

And as for some more "creative" mixers:

Mai Tai/My Tie Mixer:
The men buy two of the same tie, and wear one of them. They bring the other one and leave it outside the door to wherever the mixer is held (and personally, I think they should all be held at The Palace). The women choose a tie on their way into the party, and whoever's tie they choose is their date for the night. Oh, and Mai Tai's are served, obviously.

Tour de Franzia:
This one requires some "training" beforehand. Mixer attendees are split into groups of four (two men, two women), and whichever team can finish a box of wine first, wins. And by "wins," I mean "probably passes out."

Seriously, you guys don't have to thank me for these ideas. Just go have fun.

A Wise Man Once Said...

My friend Eddie and I have had some pretty good conversations lately, re: Our Failed Romances (with other people, not each other). He always has such cogent remarks.

On my ex-boyfriend, who claimed that he was harboring some "secret":
It is an immense change from 20-25 years for a guy, almost twice the assimilation that occurs between say 17-20 years of age. It is a time of heightened awareness of knowledge
and responsibility, fears, and dreams that aren't coming to fruition. Sometimes a man might think the need to justify his behavior and to blow things out of proportion. Sometimes that manifests itself in this desire to be mysterious and deep.

On the difficulty of dating:
I have no idea how anyone gets married. So much confusion and misery involved in getting there.

On the trouble with having an "us" talk:
One of the problems with speaking so plainly about these things is that words can never be un-said. Guys want to get everything off their chest when we reach a certain point with a girl. Contrary to what you girls think, men really do want to talk about these things-I hesitate to call them feelings-but more along the lines of a status report.

On the existence of "social diseases":
I thought those were all scare tactics hoisted upon us by Health Class teachers.

On my satisfaction with seeing a former flame "make his bed" (which he will, at some point, have to lie in):
Not at all wrong to be a little satisfied that they'll get their comeuppance. If you don't, then you are nothing more than the doormat they believe you to be.

On the importance of men having to "work" to get what they want (re: women):
I think that something that just falls into my lap has no value. To paraphrase Thomas Paine, what we obtain too cheaply isn't properly esteemed.

On not "settling" for someone you don't love, just because that person loves you:
Certainly no one should feel they should be with folks just because the latter is enamored. If it were easy for the unrequited to move on, I think most would be happy to cut loose of such strong one-sided affection.

On the importance of not generalizing:
I will caution you against a mistake I often make: That how one person behaves is not really an indication of how other people behave.

On my tendency to dwell on points that are moot:
Let me just say though that you are examining something that is sort of irrelevant. It's like worrying about your seatbelt when the car has went off the cliff. Whether your seatbelt's on or off doesn't really matter now does it?

On whether he minded if I posted portions of his emails on my blog:
Edification of the masses is a noble goal. Maybe someone can learn from our recent troubles and all this won't be for nothing.

I think everyone should have an Eddie.

Today's Email "Conversation" Between Philly and Me

Candy: The Firm is having a Tailgate Party this Friday afternoon. Would it be weird if I bring my mom?

Philly: I'm there, baby. I think it would be fine to bring your mother.

Candy: Cool. I think you should do all of the things that Slim [my ex] says that you do, like get really drunk and make a big production out of dancing in front of a large group of people...very dramatic-like, so that they all know that YOU know they're watching.

[Note: Philly has never done anything remotely similar ("sim-u-lar") to the scenario I just described. However, this is apparently how my ex-boyfriend envisions her.]

Philly: I won't dance unless someone has a boom box [who doesn't these days?], and they play "Dancing Queen." And I won't sing unless they play that David Allan Coe song, "Well I was drunk the day my mom got outta prison..." or my other favorite, "Family Tradition."

Candy: Okay, just be sure to wear something warm, 'cause we'll be outside.

Philly: I'll wear something warm, but low-cut.

Candy: Perfect! You can just come straight from work, no need to stop for beer, 'cause they're buying it.

Philly: I think I'll just go ahead and pre-drink so that there is no doubt that I am a total lush. You just keep saying things like, "Mama! You promised."

Candy: Sounds good. But I'm gonna be pissed if you end up going home with someone.

Philly: Why? Who's off limits?

The Girls (So to Speak)

This is what happens when you hand your camera to a guy and ask him to take a picture:





Guess I should have been more specific about what I wanted.

I'm Right on Top of That, Rose!

One of the Padnahs just came to my office and gave me an assignment which involved a fairly lenghty explanation, at the end of which, he said "Q.E.D." and walked away.

I racked my brain, trying to figure out what in the hell that could possibly mean, and the only thing that came to mind was the "Q.E.D. Report" that Sue Ellen was supposed to complete in Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead. Surely that wasn't what he wanted.

Naturally I Googled it, and according to Wikipedia, "Q.E.D." may also refer to the following:

1) Quantum electrodynamics;
2) A rock band;
3) A novel by Gertrude Stein; or
4) A latin phrase, "quod erat demonstrandum," literally meaning "which was to be demonstrated," and figuratively, "I rest my case."

I'm guessing the fourth one is most on-point. Unless he was inviting me to a rock concert or maybe a physics lecture.

Where would we be without Google? (Q.E.D.)

Twenty Questions Tuesday

1. What book(s) have you read more than three times? Are You There God, It's Me Margaret, The Phantom Tollbooth, The Outsiders. (No "grown-up" books, apparently.)

2. What movies do you watch again and again? The Big Chill, Almost Famous, Shag, 13 Going on 30.

3. What was your favorite concert? The Eagles. (Sheryl Crow was really good too.)

4. What band/singer would you like to see in concert? No doubt about it, The Rolling Stones.

5. If you could be part of any TV family, which one would you choose? The Bluth family from Arrested Development.

6. If there was a movie about you, which actor/actress would play you? Natalie Portman.

7. What makes you laugh? Dane Cook, emails from Philly, my sister.

8. What makes you cry? Injured animals, injustice, anger (sometimes).

9. What city would you like to visit? Chicago.

10. What's in your freezer right now? Vodka, chicken, empty ice cube trays. (That's a comprehensive list.)

11. What do you wear to bed? Usually a tank top or soft t-shirt and shorts.

12. What was your best vacation? Spring Break 2002 (Clearwater, FL).

13. What was your worst vacation? When I went to Myrtle Beach with Bud in August 2006. We fought the whole time, and I got bitten by fire ants.

14. Have you ever lost something that you wish you could get back? Yes, for three years in a row, I lost any roll of film that had Halloween pictures on it. I was convinced I was jinxed.

15. Who was your favorite teacher and why? Mrs. Lavin (5th grade). Because she liked ME best, of course.

16. When was the first time you got drunk? Hmmm...I guess it was on Spring Break during my senior year of high school. (On vodka and Gatorade.)

17. What was your best Halloween costume? In 2004 I dressed up as Paris Hilton...before it was "cool" to dress up as Paris Hilton.

18. What did you do on your most memorable New Year's Eve? On New Year's Eve 1998, I was in London for a school trip and my friend Mandy and I went to see Rent for the first time, not even knowing that New Year's Eve is, like, the best possible night of the entire year to see that show. It was totally accidental!

19. If your house was on fire, what three things would you save? My cat, my photo albums, and my laptop.

20. If you could travel back in time, what year would you go to? 1955. I don't know why, but I've always wanted to see what life was like in the '50's.

Awww.

Email from Philly:

I hope that in my next life, if I have to come back as a cat (which I probably will - as punishment), that someone will love me as much as you love Missy.

Important Issue for Election Day

Okay, normally I refuse to watch reality shows in which people compete against each other for someone's affection (e.g., The Bachelor, The Bachelorette), because the premise of these shows goes against everything I believe about dating. I especially dislike the cat-fighting that goes on when it's women competing against each other. However, last night I found myself watching The Bachelor (for the first time in several years), and now I am dying to find out who wins. It's down to the final two women, Jenni and DeAnna, and I can't for the life of me figure out which one he likes more. Does anyone have any predictions? I think I'm on Team DeAnna.

Cool Blog

The Bargain Shopper Lady

Following today's directions, I went to the Victoria's Sectret website and got a sweater, a hat-scarf-and-gloves combo, a lip gloss, and a "Rush Beauty" set (whatever that is), all for only seventeen dollars! Hot damn!

No Picketing Here

With the Writers Guild declaring a strike today, many of our favorite television programs, like The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, and Late Night with Conan O'Brien will be airing reruns immediately. Other shows will soon follow, and if things get really bad, movie production could come to a halt.

Rest assured, readers, that Legally Brunette will not be affected by the strike. I know you were worried.

Question

Does anyone know where in Knoxville I can take some pants to have them hemmed and it won't cost me, like, as much as I actually paid for the pants? (These aren't real expensive pants.) I have about five pairs that need to be hemmed (the trouble with being five-foot-four is that I'm a tad too tall for petites, yet also too short for regular pants), and if I go to the same place I take my clothes to have them dry cleaned, I might not be able to eat that week. Any suggestions?