Meth Mouth

I'm referring to the guy who sat across the aisle next to me on the plane ride from Dallas to New Orleans yesterday. I had just made it to the last leg of my trip back to NOLA after 4 long hours of delay at SFO, followed by a long hungry flight to Dallas and another two-hour layover. My dog and I had both visited the powder room, we had refueled, and were reinvigorated for our 1-hour flight back to New Orleans. I had reached the tail-end of a great PD James mystery novel and was very much looking forward to utilizing that hour to finish my book. Much to my chagrin, I never had a chance. We hadn't even taken off when the anorexic-looking, fidgety guy with hugely dialated pupils and facial scabs who reeked of wine sat down in the seat next to me across the aisle sat down and turned his body so that his legs were in the aisle and he was squarely facing me (it wasn't until later that I noticed his really bad teeth). As an attorney, I pride myself on the art of conversation -- and the artful tactics of avoiding it or ending it if absolutely necessary. I was totally out of my league with this guy. He had decided he was going to talk to me and there was no way out. The lady in the window seat on the other side of him periodically looked over his shoulder at me as if to communicate a silent pity for me (as well as a silent relief that she wasn't the one being held hostage by Meth Mouth). He clearly was high on crystal meth. I know this for several reasons, including drug ed from 4th-6th grade and having watched multiple episodes of Intervention. While I do have empathy for individuals who are fighting such demons (we all have them in our own ways), I have a particular disdain for adult men with children who are drug addicts because of the effect that it had on my own family. But I digress...

I have been known to dominate conversations and have an unfortunate habit of interrupting people -- I wasn't able to get a word in edgewise with Meth Mouth. He started off by telling me about the past several days he spent in Las Vegas (including details of the nudity in Cirque du Soleil's "Zoomanity", the play-by-play on his poker experiences at Caesar's, MGM Grand, and Mandalay Bay, and the literal blow-by-blow of his attendance at a UFC event). At some point Meth Mouth asked me what I did for a living -- I told him I was an attorney -- BIG MISTAKE. His follow up was, "Oh, well, you're going to love this story..." He then proceeded to tell me a story involving a construction job, his wife's sudden death, the full-faith and credit clause of the constitution, organ donation, a house in Katy, Texas, life insurance, discrimination, his 5 kids, an employment lawsuit, a medical condition that makes it difficult for him to sit for long periods of time, and the three-pronged test for common law marriage. I spoke not a word -- it was like he was talking at warp speed -- with hands flailing in between itches and fidgets -- I was trapped. My dog had taken the easy way out and had curled up in his carrier for a nap -- apparently even dogs have limits to their loyalty. I did feel bad that his wife had suddenly died -- he clearly was distraught and I had empathy for his loss. However, when he went on to describe his sudden 40-pound weight loss and his inability to sleep, his chronic broken bones, and lamented going to Vegas as a single guy with those nasty meth face sores that he claimed were caused by an eye infection (?! HELP!), I wanted to say, "Well, if you lay off of the meth, you might find that it will help all of those issues." When we finally arrived in New Orleans after what seemed like an interminably long time, I knew this guy's entire story, gratuitous medical details and all. And he wasn't finished yet. He followed me out of the plane and continued his ramblings until I finally was able to excuse myself to duck into the nearest ladies room. I would not have been surprised if he had followed me in, or had waited for me outside. Thankfully my tactic had worked -- I had found freedom. Never has an airport lavatory been so appealing. After boiling my hands and chafing them with soapy water to remove any residual Meth Mouth funk (his animated story-telling had included occasional dry-heave inducing physical contact), my dog and I went out to greet my husband (who had flown back the previous day) at baggage claim. As tired as I was when I got home that night, the physical contact with Meth Mouth left me feeling semi-violated so I took an extra long shower which included a full-body exfoliation. I even flossed my teeth twice.

God Bless America

I just few home for Christmas. My flight from New Orleans went through Dallas, where I changed planes onto a massive jumbo jet in which people from everywhere converged to fly to San Francisco.  The flight was teeming with people, I was with Shih Tzu, and as luck would have it, I was crammed into the second to last row (row 43 to be exact).  Call me crazy, but American Airlines seems to have made the seats even closer together which I soon found out after the man in front of me reclined his seat and, although inducing clostrophobia, then served as a convenient  head rest for me. The flight attendants were perhaps the bitchiest and snippiest I have ever had the misfortune of encountering. I had the chills and felt as if I was coming down with a cold. And my seat was right next to the lavatory. The flight was miserable. Having decent foresight, I had downloaded an Agatha Christie book onto my i-pod and attempted to escape into my 1915 London crime drama. When I finally arrived in San Francisco, I deplaned and met my mom at the baggage claim and was immediately rewarded for my hell-flight with a sighting of perhaps the cutest man in uniform EVER.  When I finally liberated my Shih Tzu from the confines of his sherpa carrier, I turned around and was greeted by a friendly voice: "Oh my gosh, that is the cutest dog! What kind of dog is he?!" The voice came with an adorable smile and a very hot man dressed in his Navy dress blues. I don't know if I was overcome by the fact that I had encountered the first nice person since leaving New Orleans several hours earlier, or if I was overcome by the dimpled-smile and general hotness of the tall, dark, and handsome uniformed man in front of me, but I was a little bit rattled and I wasn't the only one so entranced.  My mom was transfixed as well because she started asking the sailor where he was going, where he was stationed, how long he had been there, wished him a merry Christmas and a safe return.  Then I found myself in the middle of a detailed conversation about the sailor's hopes to be re-stationed to San Diego, which is where I went to college and where my half-brother was stationed as a Navy SEAL for over ten years, so naturally I had a lot of input on the subject.  If I was single, I would have wrapped him up in a bow and gotten him for myself for Christmas.  However, I would have had to go to the mattresses against my mother because she also had the same idea.  After the sailor wished my mother, my Shih Tzu and me a very merry Christmas and politely absented himself to collect his C-bag from the turnstile, I heard my mom  say, "Whoa. If only I were your age." And in the blink of an eye, I had snapped out of my trance, and happily recalled that I was indeed married to a wonderful (albeit un-uniformed) guy.  And so I am left with the recollection of a friendly smile after the world's worst flight and a renewed appreciation for the fact that our military service men (and women) not only risk their lives in an underpaying job for the sake of our freedom, they look damn good while doing it. God bless America, and especially our troops who can't come back to the states to spend time with their families this Christmas.  

Trolling for Cash

Some of you know that I am hoping to attend a graduate program at George Washington University next year (actually, class starts in a month). Because my husband and I just moved and haven't sold our house yet, I haven't started working, I already have nearly six figures in student loan debt, and the economy is generally just terrible, I am searching far and wide for any potential scholarship money I can find. I've heard reports that millions of dollars in scholarship money go unused every year, so I'm on a mission to find it. In my searches, I haven't found any scholarship money for political-science based part-time post-graduate work with an emphasis on animal welfare. However, I have found the following scholarships:



1) Scholarships for distant relatives of Annetje or Lambert Van Valkenberg -- I don't know who these people were, but apparently they have money to give away and variations in the spelling of Van Valkenberg are permissible;


2) The Arabian Horse Trust Scholarship -- you have to demonstrate an "interest" in Arabian horses (hmmm...define interest);



3) The Patrick Kerr Skateboard Scholarship -- not a chance!



4) The American Fire Sprinkler Association Scholarship (this one is one of my personal favorites) -- you can win a $3K grant for writing an essay about "successful sprinker operation" in your town or state;

5) The Duck Brand Duct Tape "Stuck at the Prom" Scholarship (also a favorite, but I'm sadly over 10 years too late on this one) -- a $3K grant available to the couple who makes the best prom outfit from Duct tape -- ouch!!;






6) National Marbles Tournament Scholarship -- marbles shooters (or "mibsters" as I have learned they are called) can apply for a scholarship as long as they have participated in a qualifying national tournament -- does anyone really play marbles anymore?;






7) The Tall Club Scholarship -- females over 5'10" are eligible for this one (clearly I'm not although I do have some Louboutin espadrilles that might hike me up that high) -- I must add that one of my roommates in college was "Miss Tall San Diego" -- she was 6'4";





8) The Columbia 300 Jon Jowdy Scholarship for active participants in bowling -- again, not a chance; and





9) Scholarship for people who are trained to use Morse Code -- no comment.




I did find a scholarship through a non-profit organization in Santa Monica called "Gaia" -- it's kind of a yoga-based spiritual group operating on the Ghandi-ism of being the change you wish to see in the world. I think I have a good shot at that. However, I also seem to recall a recent story about firefighters saving an old historic church here in New Orleans -- that Sprinkler Association one might be promising after all ...

Coming out of the Closet

I developed a somewhat unhealthy addiction this fall television season. I typically pride myself on being above the really bad television trash, but I totally caved this fall. I've been keeping this problem to myself, but when I found out that I had company with Anderson Cooper, I figured "what the heck?" Yes, you know what I'm talking about: the genius trainwreck that is the Real Housewives of Atlanta. I sometimes will let 3 or 4 episodes of Gray's Anatomy go by and then it will occur to me that I have to watch it on abc.com, but I didn't miss one solitary second of Real Housewives (and neither did my fantasy football-addicted, political junkie husband, I might add). How could this happen to me? Where have I gone wrong? Can I delude myself that the show is an intreaguing anthropological experiment, thus having some semblance of educational value? Not a chance. The real reasons I tune in on Tuesdays at 8pm are these:

1) Kim, the token white chick who wears the wig (see inset photo), has an unbelievable talent for making Dior look like Forever 21 or possibly an adult entertainment outfit (see inset photo), is dating a married guy she calls "Big Papa" (who is really Atlanta real estate developer Lee Najjar, whose son is friends with Brody Jenner and Spencer Pratt of The Hills fame, if you believe blogs like "The Frisky"), and refers to the screeching tone-deaf sound she makes when she opens her mouth as "this God-given singing talent";

2) the over-the-top NeNe, who has arguably demonstrated the best parenting skills in my humble opinion, recently found out that the man she calls Daddy is not really her father, has an irrepressible desire to allow her breasts to run free at all times, is married to a real estate investor who lost missed his true calling as a minister, and "BAM!" is a "free bird" -- I do like this one for sure;

3) Sheree, the soon-to-be ex-wife of pro football player Ed Whitfield, loves to talk about how classy she thinks she is, decided spontaneously to start a fashion line, perennial frenemy of NeNe, and allegedly has a "secret daughter";

4) DeShawn, everybody's friend and the token NBA wife, started the DeShawn Snow Foundation (something to do with girls' self-esteem) and decided spontaneously to throw the "Night of a Thousand Stars" gala to raise $1 million -- bless her heart, she ended up losing tens of thousands of dollars that night, but she gets points for trying;

5) Lisa, the newlywed and allegedly the ex-wife of singer Keith Sweat (seriously, what woman could take a lifetime of listening to "Twisted", "Nobody", and "Grind on You" ?), I used to think of her as the boring one until she threatened to flip Kim over the couch on the reunion show, and after seeing the outfit she wore (hello, shoulder pads!!) to NeNe's "Big Hats Brunch" I had a strong desire to nominate Lisa for Bravo network's fashion makover show What Not to Wear.

Like I said, a genius trainwreck. I can hardly wait for the second season and there is a possibility that I will consider purchasing the series on DVD so that I can enjoy the trainwreck over and over and over for years to come (which I will naturally hide behind a stack of Masterpiece Theatre DVDs -- I'm still not proud of this). As for the above-mentioned Gray's Anatomy, it is teetering precariously on the edge of jumping the shark and becoming less believable than General Hospital -- seriously, when Izzy started having sex with the phantom of her dead fiance, I had to draw the line.

A Happy Ending to a DMV Debacle...

Victory!!! And it only took 9 weeks and 6 cumulative hours at the Department of Motor Vehicles.

Aves-vous Saks?

Ahhh, the holiday season has arrived.
I've made my cranberry-pear relish

and have also watched Love Actually, White Christmas, and The Thin Man.

And the other day, my Saks Holiday Catalogue arrived! [insert holiday choir singing "Hallelujah!"] I don't know if I mentioned this previously, but I have an addiction to word games: Scrabble, Boggle, Catch-phrase, cross-word puzzles, mensa quizzes -- if it's a word game, I have an internal mandate to master it. Those of you who know me also know that my mom and I lovingly refer to Saks Fifth Avenue as "the mother ship", so I think that sort of explains the extent of my shopping addiction. Thus, you can imagine my elation when I received my Saks Holiday Catalogue and found ONE HUNDRED SIX word game brain teasers sprinkled throughout. The sheer genius of this marketing concept is still awe-inspiring to me. The genius lies in the fact that, presented not only with pages of bedazzled holiday goods but with a challenge to your intelligence, you feel compelled to number a piece of paper from 1-106, start on the first page, and not stop until you're finished. When you get to the end, you inevitably have left 20 or 30 answers blank and must go back through over and over until you've completed each and every brain teaser. I actually had to put the quiz away for a day and come back and finish it, combing through the pages of Juicy Couture tchochkies (pink underwear in a pink candy cane, pink heart shaped USB port key chain, pink mini digital camera, pink gumball machine, pink...); swarovski-encrusted perfume bottles from Bond No. 9, a swath of neon (?!) from Ralph Lauren, Toy Watch, Marc Jacobs, and Prada; and jewel encrusted blouses, bangles, jeans, i-pod ear buds, -- even bedazzled zip drives. After combing the magazine 4 or 5 times to finish the quiz, I checked my answers against the key and happily found that I scored 89/106. The funny part is that I was so intent upon the quiz that I really don't remember much about the clothes, which means I'll have to go through the catalogue again...

PS. You know what else is genius? You can make your own church sign! http://churchsigngenerator.com/

Francie's Christmas Movie List

The leaves are falling and the air is crisp and cool, ushering in my favorite time of year: the holidays. While I remain part of the unemployment statistic, I am bound and determined to focus on the silver lining of the situation and all of the great moments that would not be possible if I was employed -- my favorite being the "Weekday Holiday Baking and Classic Movie in Pajamas" day. The perfect WHBCMP Day needs the perfect classic holiday movie, and so I find myself in the midst of a great internal debate about which of my favorite holiday movies to pop in the DVD player. Here are my options:

1) White Christmas, 1954 (Danny Kaye, Bing Crosby, Rosemary Clooney): This movie typically marks the beginning of the full swing of the Christmas season for me. I love it. It has been somewhat of a ritual for me and for my mom to watch White Christmas together and drink mulled wine, so it holds lots of nostalgia. Post-WWII entertainers chase two sisters from NYC to Vermont and revive a floundering ski lodge owned by their war-time general. Lots of fun and music and, in my opinion, vastly superior to its predecessor, Holiday Inn.

2) The Thin Man, 1930s (William Powell, Myrna Loy, and "Asta"): Not a typical holiday movie, the Thin Man series is probably my all-time favorite movie series and the first two of these comedic murder mysteries take place during the holidays. William Powell and Myrna Loy are perfection as Nick and Nora Charles. This first installment in the series takes place at Christmas-time in 1930s New York City. The Thin Man solves the disappearance and murder of an old friend during the holidays while drinking no fewer than 7 martinis in one sitting.

3) After the Thin Man, 1930s (William Powell, Myrna Loy, Jimmy Stewart, and "Asta"): After solving a murder at Christmas, Nick and Nora return to San Francisco hoping for a quiet New Year's Eve only to find that Nora's cousin, Selma, has been accused of murdering her carousing husband. Nick and Nora spend New Year's Eve sleuthing in old San Francisco dinner clubs in search of the murderer.

4) The Bishop's Wife, 1947 (Cary Grant, Loretta Young, David Niven): Cary Grant stars as angel Dudley, who comes down to answer the prayers of a bishop, played by David Niven, who is trying to raise funds for a new cathedral at Christmas-time. Rather than helping with the cathedral, Dudley inspires the bishop to remember the true meaning of Christmas and to gain new appreciation for his wife, played by Loretta Young. A truly charming film.

It's a tough choice, but I can ponder the decision while I go to the grocery store, which means I have to change out of my pajamas -- damn.

Exercising the Right

I just sent in my absentee ballot. I have to say, voting from my dining room table was a much better experience than the usual elementary school cafeteria voting experience. And I would not have had the opportunity to vote by absentee ballot for Texas if the Louisiana DMV wasn't making it so difficult for me to get a new driver's license, so I guess there's a silver lining to everything.



I didn't get to vote in the 2004 presidential election. I went to court for a docket call first thing in the morning with little more than a legal pad and a pen, and because plaintiff's counsel reneged on an informal but long-standing settlement agreement, I ended up having to pick a jury and help the partner start a trial. So, I never made it to the polls that day because I didn't go home from office until it was "tomorrow." Not that my vote would have made a difference in Texas, but I was miffed that I didn't get to participate in the process. This time, I would not be deterred. And once I sat down to vote in my robe and slippers, I realized how uninformed I was about many of the choices. It's so easy to get caught up in the presidential horse race and ignore the other elections, but they say that all politics is local so I'm kind of disappointed in myself for not becoming more informed and for wasting too much time on the candidates who will directly impact me the least.



I won't say who I chose for president, but I will say that my ballot choices included democrats and republicans and at least one libertarian (simply because he was the only individual running against my incumbent US Congressman who I dislike immensely). I also voted for a candidate for sheriff named Lupe simply because I have a friend named Lupe who I adore and I liked the idea of having a sheriff who is a woman. I also voted for a couple of people because I had heard of them before -- that was their only qualification. Then there are those political positions on the ballot that I've never heard of and I have no idea what they do -- like Public Safety Comptroller Commissioner (I made that up), so those choices were basically a coin toss. I wasn't sure what would be worse: to not vote for a position or to make a totally arbitrary decision. So, I chose the latter. Scary, right? I'm sort of embarrassed to admit that my undergraduate degree is in political science.



I didn't feel bad at first. But having had several days to think about it, I kind of feel like I've let down my early 20th century sisters (and contemporary women who live in oppressive patriarchal societies) by taking my voting rights for granted and failing to be a more active participant in educating myself about the candidates before taking pen to ballot. So I've decided that next time, I'm going to be fully prepared for voting. I'm going to appreciate this right that many people in contemporary cultures around the world still don't have. I'm going to start by finding out what a Public Safety Comptroller Commissioner is. So my apologies to Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Sojourner Truth -- next time I won't let you down!

So Mad I Could Cry

I just got back from the DMV, and the necessary retail therapy that was necessary to lower my blood pressure after the experience that put me into such a fit of rage that I came dangerously close to the text book definition of assault on the DMV dude and his supervisor, whom I had demanded to see. I promised that the experience would be blog-worthy, and in that regard the DMV delivered.

Well, you will recall from my last post that I had a little matter of a lapsed insurance policy to resolve. The truth is, I had TWO insurance lapses: One thanks to mon pere, and one due to the fact that I moved to Boston after I graduated from law school and had to get new car registration and new insurance (my old insurance company did not underwrite in Massachusetts). I didn't even think that the Boston issue was an issue because I have proof that my car was insured in Boston so there technically was no lapse, just a change in registration and coverage. So, I took my cash to cover dear dad's mistake, all of my necessary paperwork from Boston, and happily drove to the shadiest DMV ever. I again waited (this time I brought PD James to read as well as Scrabble uploaded onto my i-pod -- I was ready for the long haul) for an interminably long time. Once my number was called, I gleefully trotted to the desk, papers in hand, ready to ask for my animal friendly license plate.

When DMV dude re-informed me of my two insurance lapses, I told him:

"Thanks, I already am aware of those. I will have to eat the cost on the first lapse, but I have proof of insurance in Boston for the other one." I promptly handed him the proper proof of insurance from Commerce Insurance Company in Boston.

He looked at it and said: "We don't accept this company. Were you registered in Massachusetts at the time?"

Me: "Yes. I already had this discussion with another DMV person the last time I was here and waited two hours."

DMV dude: "Well, you're going to have to show proof of registration in Massachusetts in order to avoid being charged this lapse in insurance."

Me, blood boiling: "It's not a lapse in insurance! I moved to Boston to practice LAW, after graduating from TULANE LAW SCHOOL. Geico doesn't underwrite in Massachusetts, so I had to get new insurance."

DMV dude: "Well, we don't accept this insurance. We need to see that the vehicle was registered in Massachusetts."

Me: "Can you explain to me why the woman with whom I spoke last time did not give me this information? Because I would like to have a discussion with your supervisor about properly training you people to advise drivers to bring ALL of the necessary documentation, so they don't have to come back 45 times and live through this nonsense. Don't you agree that would be more effecient?"

DMV dude: "Ma'am, I can't give you that information but --"

Me: "WHAT? You can't make an intelligent judgment as to why it would be more efficient for the woman to have told me to bring my Massachusetts registration rather than me waiting for the second time, having this discussion with you, and having to come back a third time? You can't see why this is inefficient? I want to see your supervisor immediately!!!"

The supervisor comes over. I tell her my story. I tell her that the woman with whom I had previously spoken had told me that all I needed was "proof of insurance from Massachusetts." She knew I changed registration. She knew I had moved. She told me only to bring proof of insurance.

Supervisor: "I understand your frustration, ma'am. Unfortunately there's no way for us to have known that you were going to bring proof of insurance from a company we don't accept."

Me: "WHAT?! But I was in no position to know that you had designated insurance companies that you do and don't accept -- you're the only ones who know that!! Why can't you tell people, 'if you were insured by a company we don't recognize, you'll have to show us proof of registration in addition to proof of insurancee' ? Can you see why that would make more sense? Or better yet, have your policies on your website."

Supervisor: "Well, there are just so many different possible scenarios, there's just no way for us to --"

Me: "YOU PEOPLE ARE UNBELIEVABLE. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE DOING. YOU HAVE TAKEN WHAT SHOULD BE A VERY EASY SITUATION AND MADE IT AS DIFFICULT AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE."

DMV dude then proceeded to hand me a piece of paper showing what I will have to pay the next time I spend the day at the DMV if I actually, some day, want to get a Louisiana license: $450.

I left immediately. Having $250 in cash in my pocket, and having not used it to pay my fine and get my animal friendly license plate, there was only one place that $$ was destined to end up and you know exactly where that was.

I need a martini!

Small Things

I'm on my way to the DMV. Ugh. What a drag. The last time I went, I had to wait in line for 30 minutes to take a number, then sat for over an hour waiting for my turn only to find out that my father let my insurance lapse when I was in law school. The fact that he spaced to pay for car insurance is sadly not the surprising part. What is truly shocking is that somehow, after 8 years and 3 serious hurricanes, the New Orleans DMV still has a record of my father's failure to keep up my car insurance. The fine was going to be $225. In cash only (which sounded kind of shady, to be honest -- what kind of government agency runs a cash-only business?). Because I'm no idiot, I don't make a habit of walking the streets of New Orleans (especially the charming DMV neighborhood) with even one C-note, or with anything larger than a 20; and because there was no ATM, I had to leave the DMV empty-handed. Now, after several weeks of mentally preparing myself for the chaotic cluster-f*$! that is the DMV, I have something small to which I can look forward: the animal friendly license plate!! As you know, I had been glum for several weeks about the "Sportsman's Paradise" license plate being my only option. Now, having undertaken some fundraising volunteer work for the Humane Society of Louisiana, I have found out that the animal friendly license plate indeed exists. It's a small victory, but a significant one. And it gives me something to look forward to at the DMV aside from two hours of unparalleled people-watching. If you don't get another post soon (no doubt the experience will be blog-worthy), send a search party to the DMV on Airline Highway in Metairie, Louisiana.

Off I go to stuff my bra with Benjamins .......

A Good Mail Day

Life has changed a lot in the past two months. I've moved to a new city/state, am looking for a job, my house in Dallas still is on the market, and I might have to shoot myself if I take another look at the state of my investments. This predicament creates an unfortunate perfect storm. Typically, when I am feeling frustrated and sorry for myself, the best cure is to take myself to Saks (a.k.a. "The Mother Ship"). This is a problem because, having no job, going to Saks would make me feel better temporarily, followed by the anxiety of paying the bill while re-inforcing the fact that I am still unemployed and have no business shopping. Which would make me feel more frustrated and sorry for myself....

So, I am trying to find joy in the smaller things, like a good mail day. A good mail day means receiving no bills and all of my magazine subscriptions. Yesterday I happily came home to find October and November issues of Bon Appetit in addition to my October Vogue, no doubt delayed by my change in address. What is a vegan non-leather-wearing person doing with subscriptions to Bon Appetit and Vogue?, you might ask. Having subscribed to those magazines for the better part of a decade, they are two of the constants in my life to which I am clinging in this time of such massive upheaval. I normally peruse the Vogue articles and pay closer attention to the fashion spreads, but I found myself reading the fascinating story of a waspy Boston PhD who works at Harvard and married an aboriginal New Zealander who makes tools and has worked a variety of other blue-collar jobs during their 20 years of marriage. The woman's story related how she was studying abroad in Australia as a doctoral candidate, took a side trip to New Zealand, met this lumbering polynesian guy in a bar, went home with him that night, took him back to the US, married him and had several children with him, and continues to live in a Boston suburb. Really interesting stuff. Then I found my ABA Journal (that's the American Bar Association Journal for you non-lawyers), which usually goes straight into the trash. B-O-R-I-N-G! Feeling that those trees shouldn't have to continue to die completely in vain, I opened it up and saw that there is a great juicy story about the Eldorado polygamist compound which is must-read material under any circumstances, but especially now since I no longer can afford HBO and am in Big Love withdrawal. I haven't even gotten to the Bon Appetit yet because today there is a Project Runway marathon on t.v., which I would not be able to enjoy if I were employed.* Yes, I am learning to enjoy the smaller things in life. However, the best part of the good mail day was the refund check I received from Time Warner Cable. Not sure what it's for, not sure why I received it, but it's going straight to my emergency Saks fund....

*Is anyone else just the slightest bit sad that Stella wasn't around for the wedding dress challenge on Project Runway last week? Can you imagine -- it would have been so fabulously terrible.

P.S.