monday monkey lives for the weekend sir

Today I saw a Maserati being towed on Champlain Street. It was so great.

correspondence

Hello, my dear internets. Please excuse my absence as I have been recovering from the utterly pyrrhic experience that is the first year of law school.

Perhaps I'll be around more now.

memento mori

Here's another good shot from Eire:

inventory

My hard drive died on Monday. Fortunately I formed a binding matrimonial contract with a nerd a while back (score), so eventually he fixed it. But in the mean time, I have finals next week and aaaaaaaaaall of my notes were on that hard drive. My beloved WCL friends kept asking me why I wasn't freaking out about it. Answers:
1. Freaking out does not recover data.
2. Life is too fucking short.

By the way, I'm sad that winter is supposed to return tonight. The way the wind has been blowing it's clear that God is angry, so chances are it's going to be really cold tomorrow. Boo. As if the darkness isn't bad enough.

Anyway, as I was saying, once DH had recovered the majority of my data I decided to inventory my pictures. So I offer the following ocular buffet (mmm, ocular, glllllgh):

This is the cat my parents had since before I was born. I was around three when this picture was taken, but my parents tell me that the cat was in no way coerced into the box. I believe it because, after all, cats do some weird shit.


Here are a few of my favorite pictures from our trip to Ireland in June:


At first I was afraid of the L bus, but then I realized, we don't have those here... that means they just send new bus drivers out into the street without so much as a heads-up to pedestrians and other cars. As for the emo gas, well, that speaks for itself.

When we got back from Ireland, I went to a wedding in Maine, where this shot was snapped. I like to look at it and think of myself as a non vagina-flashing young socialite, posing for the paparazzi.


And somewhere in there my husband stuck a wine cork in his nose. (To be fair, I think
I might have done it first in one of the smartassy little moves that I use to get him to stop taking pictures of me.)

But still.

stop graham smithin'

Brilliant musician, gracious wedding guest, and yamabushi of wit. There are many reasons to love Graham Smith.

Here's another.

the most effective form birth control

My niece and nephew and their parents came to visit this weekend. They were our first proper houseguests since becoming homo-ners; and they came just in time.

Hubbs and I have always felt less than afraid of the omnipresent (if remote) threat of unplanned pregnancy. We both love kids and secretly can't wait to have one of our own. Obviously, with me in law school and us having negative zero money, right now is not an ideal time to start a family. Still, once in a while we joke about me "forgetting" to take a pill or two. Recently we've been joking about it more than usual. (Don't worry mom, that's when the babies came.)

Enter my niece and nephew. One thinks that screaming is a cure for tiredness and the other thinks that denying having to poop will make it not come out in your pants.

a true story about a drunken mexican

Before law school I worked at community legal office filing wage claims for Mexican and Central American immigrant day laborers. I was convinced that one of our clients was a raging alcoholic. Every time I called this guy he sounded eyeball deep in a bottle of Jack. After struggling through a few phone calls with him, I started to really get concerned about the poor guy. He couldn't possibly lead a functional life if he was always this drunk. So one day I mentioned it to a coworker.

"Do you have trouble understanding X?"
"Yeah."
"Ok, I thought maybe it was just me."
"No, I don't think anyone in the office speaks Portuguese."

...Portuguese? Yeah, Portuguese.

It turned out that I couldn't understand this guy because HE WAS BRAZILIAN. I thought he was just a really drunk Mexican.

on being a misanthrope

Sometimes I must go out into the world. I might always stay in if I could, but there are times when I have no choice. I must buy food, go to shows, and make other such essential outings from time to time.

I do not always want to see other people when I make these outings, but sometimes I have no choice about that either. Sometimes those people find me and stare at me with their beady eyes. Sometimes they think I'm not there; they weasel up and awkwardly attempt to talk to my husband even though he has said that he would rather they stick a fork in his eye than talk to him.

The world is a strange and frightening place.