Ow. Ow. Damnit, OW!

The very first time I got a pedicure, I was visiting my sister in California. I was probably in my twenties, and had never had anything particularly girlie done, unless you count the unending number of bottles of fire-engine-red hair dye that had graced my head since the minute I discovered that the upside to being a Sun-In blonde is that that blonde will absorb red like a sponge.

And we won't discuss the absolute unruly glory of my eyebrows in those days. I do have some vanity left.

So my sister dragged me along to let a stranger who spoke minimal English rub my feet and legs, trim my toes, and erase those calluses from my feet. (Fellas?) It felt good, warm, restful, despite the growing horror of the callus removal. Once done, I had brightly-colored toes and feet as soft as a baby's bottom. What a luxury! What joy! Until I walked, each step more painful, excruciating, weird...why would it hurt to walk?

Turns out there's a reason for those hard-earned calluses. Being able to walk upright, it turns out, is a small price to pay for a little bit of not-so-lovely bits of me.

I didn't get a pedicure for about a decade after that, and when I finally went to the nail salon, it took a goodly bit of bribery to lure me in. My memory is bad, but my physical memory of hurting is strong, and I couldn't stop thinking of how long it took to walk full upright again, and be able to wear cute shoes again. This pedicure, however, was different and better. Some scrubbing, smoothing, painting...no skin removal. Perfect. I've been addicted for years now.

Until this last one, where the helped pedicurist asked me if I'd like a "procedure". Sure, why not? You guys, it was the same as the first. So of course walking hurt, and of course I had to stand in a hallway for an hour in heels with no protective barrier between my skin and shoes and floor.

That was last Thursday. Today is Tuesday, and I can finally walk upright again. No more procedures for me.

Another Way To Do It

GPOM has been restless lately, wandering the place when not killing whatever requires his attention in Fallout. I remember this waiting feeling when looking for work and trying to find ways to fill time when there's nothing but an endless ocean of time, the soft, calming voice in your head screaming, "FAILURE!" and a bank account that mocks you with its very existence. I try to be understanding, am incredibly imperfect at it, but I do try. I also make a point to get out of the house so he doesn't feel the evil eye of my home-based business glaring down on him. I also try to encourage him to get out of the house as well, and I give him tasks and chores so that he's contributing to the household.

I sound like bloody Mother Teresa, don't I? Well, I'm not. I glare in judgment sometimes and don't listen and occasionally lord what I'm doing over him. Really helps his self-confidence, I've found.

Anyway - there was a random $1.99 data charge on our cell phone bill this month, so I asked GPOM to call the company and get them to reverse the charge. We don't use data plans on our phones, and even if there was a one-second mistake, there's no way I'm paying $1.99 (plus tax!) for it. So GPOM called and got what seemed to be a very inexperienced customer service rep, who kept repeating to him that she would figure out what the charge was about (it was on his phone) and that it might be a mandatory upgrade. The phone connection apparently wasn't that good (why I still have a landline) and I'm guessing her English was a second language, so the barriers were pretty insurmountable.

After about fifteen minutes, GPOM let loose with an expletive or two and hung up, telling me that he'd pay the blankedly-blank two dollars.

If you know me at all, you know that's not going to fly. Not that I don't appreciate the gesture and efforts from GPOM, but that my need to screw over the phone company because of $1.99 (plus tax!) is simply too strong. There is very little I can control in this world, but I'll be damned before I pay a charge for a service I did not use (or at least get a credit on next month's bill). After fifty-two minutes of hold and gentle conversations with a charming young woman named Olivia, I got the charge reversed.

I also got laundry done and the entire kitchen cleaned, including offloading the dishwasher. That's what you can do in forty-five minutes of hold music.

Mississippi Dots

I was minding my own business this morning in the bathroom. (Yes, I know, the place where one generally would mind her own business. Tee-hee.) Something made me think of the Bar/Bri class I took in DC all those many years ago. And by many, I mean five.

That does seem like many years ago.

I wasn't enrolled in the same bar review class as some of my classmates, although some people from my alma mater were taking the class in the same location as me. Mine was popular enough to have a morning, afternoon, and evening class. I am an afternoon person, and at that point, I was unemployed, so everything came up Milhaus and I took that class.

I met a young lady named Caitlin, and we bonded over being from the south and not being entirely sure what we were doing in DC. Her husband, if memory serves, had a job up there, and I had a wild hair that would not allow me to return to Alabama. So we shared accents and anecdotes and the occasional lust for sweet tea, and we would play games during the more tedious videos.

I taught her about the dot game. She had never heard of the dot game, which to me was just about the horrifying news I'd ever heard. No dot game? How did you manage sitting through church? Hangman's tough to hide after a while, you know. But I laid out the game and taught her the basics and it only took two games before she was routinely kicking my behind.

I was proud of my little protege, and I wonder where she is now, and I hope she's happy.

Caitlin, just in case you forgot, this one's for you:

And This Is Why I Love You

This morning was a slow morning, a lazy, syrupy, holy-crap-did-I-really-need-that-last-vodka-we're-meeting-the-inlaws-for-lunch-morning, and I took full advantage of the gurgly, mildly hungover slow-moving feeling to switch channels quickly on my TV until something interesting/ignorable came on just for me.

First I watched some of Flip This House. Oh, mid-aughts. You were a silly, dreamy, delicious time. You made us believe that there was money to be had, if we worked really, really hard at it and somehow yanked a leg off a bunny and made a wish on it.

Then I flipped over to the History Channel, and came in about fifteen minutes into Modern Marvels. It was discussing 90s technology, and I thought to myself, "Now this is something I remember!"

See the first paragraph. That should explain my deep thoughts.

There were pictures of old cell phones, and the world's first portable computer (from 1981 - hey, History Channel, you cheated!) and there were video games and GPS (thank you, President Clinton, for letting all us civilians play along as well) and then there were Furbies. Boy, do I remember Furbies. I had two of them - one Momma bought me, and the other a gift from my ex-fiance.

I watched and learned that Furbies did not, in fact, actually learn English from hearing me speak to it. It was programmed to use more English words the more it interacted. (Or maybe not even interacted? I'm not clear on this.) It reminded me how annoying I found my Furbies because I couldn't understand one good goddamned word they said or what they wanted, and I eventually put them into my closet where they would occasionally mutter, usually in the middle of the night, and scare the shit out of me.

Furby revenge.

My revenge? Their batteries finally died.

If I had known that they would speak more English as time went by, and if I didn't have the patience of an overtired toddler in a grocery store candy aisle, I would have given them time to speak more English. Had the internet existed in the way it does today, I would have Googled Furby secrets and found this out, and actually used my fuzzy weird-eyed toys. For I know now that no matter what I want to learn, someone has already been interested enough to explore it more deeply than I care to and would have created a dedicated Wikipedia page, along with pictures.

And this is why I love you, Internet. (And you guys, too.)

After-School Special

Thursday night, Momma and I celebrated an achievement of hers, and then went out to dinner for her accomplishment and my birthday. I was thinking of a sandwich with garlic aioli, and she was thinking of a pasta dish and cocktails. When the waiter came to our table, Momma asked me what I wanted to drink. I said, "Diet Coke," for I am a fan of anything with caffeine, and this restaurant doesn't serve diet Mt. Dew.

Which is a shame. Everywhere should serve diet Mt. Dew. It is delicious and refreshing and burns my throat and can keep me pleasant for days.

Momma looked at me with sad eyes. Then she looked at me with a bit of stink eye. The waiter, noticing this, mentioned that margaritas were on sale for $2.95. Momma looked away, still looking at me somehow, in a way only mothers can.

"Apparently we're having margaritas," I told the waiter, and he left to fill our order.

My mother totally peer-pressured me into having a drink when I didn't really want one. My Momma is a protagonist in a very special episode.

I love that woman.

Good Week

I'm sorry, you guys, I've been neglecting you! After a relatively crappy start to the month, things have been improving. Again, I thought you'd like some good news for a change, after reading my complaints, which, while, let's face it, are fascinating, get old not only for me to write and for you to read.

So.

I started the week by driving an hour and a half to visit my friend and to go to a required training class for bankruptcy filings. The class was scheduled for two hours and the training lasted thirty minutes, so I was in a good mood. Plus, it's fun to meet new people and get out for a while. And, although it was a rainy day, I didn't get rained on. This is always a plus as I do not own an umbrella. Normally I dress pretty casually, but I felt it important to dress all formal 'cos I was going to a secured floor (when you punch the button for that floor on the elevator, it doesn't even light up. That's how secure it is.). So I was dressed up and dry. Later, I met Wade's brother for lunch, and we went to a real Mexican restaurant and it was delicious and I have a whole new appreciate for guacamole.

Then my friend and I sat around her place and talked and talked and talked. Then we played Uno and talked some more. I almost never run out of things to say, but you guys, this time I came close.

Thursday I did a whole lotta legal work and have decided to make some positive changes to my practice. I'll tell you more about that as the details are worked out. These details include more talking. Today I got a good outcome for one of my clients and I filed a bunch of papers and I got to see Cita and the Mayor and it was fun.

I am happy and almost calm. Calm. Weird. I've not been calm in a while. It's been so long that calm on me kinda looks like tired. So it's time to kick in some caffeine and maybe watch some bad TV.

I hope your week's been good.

Hank

GPOM and I went to see Henry Rollins last night, and boy, did he not disappoint. I laughed, I shouted out loud a couple of times, I clapped, and at the end, I drove most of the way home giggling about Satan's Own Burrito.

You'll have to ask Henry. It's an inside joke between us and him, and it seems unfair to take away his thunder.

I got some pictures, and you'll have to forgive me because they are terrible:

I don't know how to use the camera on my cell phone, and I couldn't convince my digital camera to not flash Henry in the eyes every time I tried to take a shot. Plus, that camera's from like 2007, and it doesn't have image stabilization (my shaky hands), and I didn't want to be the jerk in the audience taking pictures the whole time. So these are what I've got.