Monica in another starring role. Or, A "Suppos' It" 'tory

As she ages, Monica continues to test her body in time trials. What does 24 beers in 12 hours do do her that it NEVER used to? We sat around the table as she spun us a tale of such horror. Do I dare repeat it herein?!

"There were drinks and drinks and drinks" and then there was puke. So much vomit expelled that she had "nothing, nothing, nothing" left to give. Until.
My God, until, she had to decide either to face the $2000 deductible or die: "It was either $2000 or stick something up my butt." This is the kind of situation that befalls the improperly insured. IT COULD HAVE BEEN ME.
Thankfully, blessedly, her father (the dentist), was able to prescribe the cheaper solution. That is to say, cheap in dollars--costly in emotional trauma.

Now, Dear Reader, we ask you to thoughtfully examine our query: would you rather pay $2000, or insert your own suppository?

"The prescription was for 6 of them, but I only needed one. So if anyone ever has that problem..." -Monica

Verbal: In which I employ all of my fancy new GRE words.

A saturnine haze surrounded the building and oppressed the obsequious trees which bent toward the fecund ground. She spoke vituperative words against you which I, restive, ignored. The rain pounded my jejune head.

That was solemn. And let me just say, I'm frickin totally poetic right now.
Give me a topic and watch me go!

In other news, it's Reunion Week for this girl.
Hooray for old friends coming back to my inbox. My heart is bursting open. People: I could injest you.

SuperLitePlus

There's a tampon in my pocket and I don't care...uh huh...
Tampon in my pocket and I don't care, uh huh.
Tampon in my pocket and I don't care
Until I accidently pass it off to a student
Oh
Tampon in my pocket and I don't care, uh huh.

In other news, I got my dot and its coincidental coinciding with rainy do-nothing weather led to a Felicity binge last night. I'm not proud of it, but this blog is no place for pride. I just wanted to come right out and say, "Yes, Dad. Mom and I watch it twice a night and no, the episodes are not 30 minutes each. They're hour-long. I'm wasting time and brain cells!!!"
Just for fun, let's review some of my addictions:
1. Felicity
2. Chapstick--that's universally addictive shit. I didn't start that fire.
3. Making excuses for my procrastination
4. Email checking. Just in case that small icon doesn't show up by some technical mis-firing. I have to know!
5. MPR and its affiliates.
6. Legwarmers
7. Post-it notes

Working for the Man. Getting screwed by the Man's Insurance Plan.

My insurance card is not laminated. It is so symbolic (emblematic?) of the coverage this plan provides, which is to say, THE BARE MINIMUM.
You people are killing me. I cannot go to the hospital. I cannot go to the eye doctor. I cannot get sick or die because nobody will pay for it.
DAMMIT.
If I passed out right now, hit my desk, and toppled over, the mice would fall out of the ceiling and eat me before this health plan could file and refuse my claim.
It sounds bleak because it is.

Hey! Technology!

I watched myself graduate yesterday. You can, too! Click here. I was able to confirm that I did NOT trip when I crossed the stage. Dazzling an entire audience yet again with my incredible ability to walk under pressure.
It's been almost exactly a year since the fake diploma walk. I was feeling the devilish pull self-pity and went lurking back to my old haunt: the CSB/SJU home page.
God.
I am so pathetic.
The fact that I'm able to admit this to you, Dear Reader, is unprecedented (but not considering what you already know about my sensitive knuckles and peely lips).
Anyway, hooray for the class of '04. And '05, I'll recognize you publicly next year. Right about the time you start feeling sad for yourself, you sorry bastards.

Eating olives doesn't have to be the pits.

Big ups to my new favorite concept restaurant:
112 eatery
Even after a disastrous turn with some ahi tuna and Roquefort dressing, I went back for more! And that was just my first time there!
Zing!
They took back my dish and gave me grouper--sounds a little like a disease--but I'll tell you, I'd catch it again!
Double zing! (That was one zing for the disease humor, one zing for the pun of catching a fish.)
I didn't have any wine this time, but I did have water APLENTY. They also give you little seasoned almonds, olives soaked appropriately in olive oil, and bread. Just for sitting down.
The place is great. The staff is knowledgeable, the location is perfect, and it has restored my faith in gnocchi.
Not that you're not great, Friday's. I mean, I love your $ .99 salsa and chip Monday night special.
(pause)
Oh, now you're mad.
(pause)
TGIF, That's not what I meant. Don't be upset. Nothing can take Monday nights away from us.
(pause)
I know. I love you, too.

Love to hate them. Hate to love them. Errrr...

I alternately love and loathe teenagers. They are impressively immature and then at times, clever beyond compare.
Exhibit A: Concert Behavior
I was starting to get a little peevish when the house lights went down last night and neighboring viewers began to call out for their moms in the dark. Curse you, high school boys! Why must you laugh at your friends asininity and spill your contraband Skittles down the concrete stairs? You suck.
But then during a particularly heartfelt rock jam, several students whipped out cell phones rather than lighters in appreciation. The safest way to show approval. And my laugh-o-meter said "yes" with a silent fist pump.

I have standards(ized)!

Let's say that I wanted to become a mountain climber.
If I were going to take a 10 hour hike (in total) and I walked a solid 2 km per hour (I use km because I love those wacky units, not because this problem is from an SAT study book). Anyway, let's say the way down took me about 3 km per hour. How far is it to the summit of the mountain?
I'll give you some choices, just for fun.
a. 8
b. 10
c. 12
d. 20
e. 24
And then I'll make you sit at the bar with your friends and family and you can talk about my expedition without ever really finding the answer until someone much younger explains it to you. And then you don't want to be a mountain climber or do anything that might involve math for the rest of your life because you start to remember how much trouble you had with subtraction flash cards in second grade.
The answer is c. Like you could ever figure that out.

Captain's Log. Stardate...stop it, you freak!

He's been hiding it from me. I mean, I knew he liked computers and reading photography manuals.
But I just wasn't ready for what I saw: when I stopped by yesterday, he was watching Star Trek.
(sob)
And it's just (sob)
That he didn't even (gasp)
Tell me.
I don't even know you anymore.

In other news, before bed last night, I put Neosporin on my knuckles, bound them in Saran Wrap, and kept everything in place by wearing winter gloves. Surprisingly, they were no less dry and cracked when I awoke.

Tounge, Tongue.
Potato, Some Kind of Vegetable Which Can Be Shot Out of a Gun Into a Lake for My Entertainment.
Let's call the whole thing off, Mudzilla.

But I digress, because my new office-mate has put on what I imagine can only be a Yanni tribute CD. Does Yanni do piano for candle lit dinners?
Please.
Help.
Drowning in musical sludge. Like quicksand, but slower.
Slowsand.
The funny and most painful part is that about two weeks ago we suffered from a bout of country music. I spoke up (I heart conflict) and told him anything was ok as long as it wasn't country. I realize now what I meant was, "Anything I select is ok. And it won't be country. Or Yanni. Or anything else you enjoy."