Discovery of the Day

Today I discovered that I really like oyster shooters. I went to happy hour with some co-workers to bid farewell to one of our favorites who is returning to her native Texas for a real job because if she did document review for one more day she was going to have to hurt someone bad.

We went to this nice bar on K Street where the bartenders know a couple of the ladies I was with (which meant a free giant prawn cocktail). The shooters came and I bravely tried one. And then had a second, with extra horseradish please. Yum!

Tomorrow I'm off for a busy weekend in Boston. Miss Mary is graciously picking me up at the airport so that we can have breakfast and some girly time since she took the day off for her birthday weekend (and her birthday is TODAY so Happy Birthday, Mary!). Then it's off to Cat's hair guy in Harvard Square for a long-needed trim and style. I'm hoping for something that makes my hair look nice when it's straight, but also allows for my new favorite wavy/curly hairstyle since it's really muggy over here on the East Coast and straight hair is pretty much a lost cause these days.

After that Sarah and I are going grocery shopping so I can make dinner for 6 for Friday night. I'm taking my Real Simple and Southern Living cookbooks for inspiration and ideas. I love perusing cookbooks, but I never get the chance to cook for anyone so I'm seizing that opportunity tomorrow night.

Saturday and Sunday consist of a lobster party, church and a choir concert. Monday I have appointments with 3 staffing agencies, lunch with a law school friend, and a networking appointment with a health care attorney who I was networked to by his wife who reads my blog and writes on another blog, but I'm not sure if she wants to be outed here so I'll just leave it at that (Hi, Elisabeth!).

I have a feeling I won't be very well rested when this weekend is through.

Divided We Fall! United We Stand!

Neil's post today reminded me of an experience I had as a little girl in the vast desert of southern Arizona. He wants to do a "Blogs Across America" reminiscent of "Hands Across America." He points out that Hands Across America was really a sham, since there were large stretches of emptiness in the line. Like in the Arizona desert.

Well, SOME of us in Arizona were doing our parts to fill those gaps. For example, me, my mom, my dad, and my aunt. We were living in Tucson at the time and were assigned to some random milepost in Buckeye, Arizona. I don't know if you know this, but the middle of the desert in Arizona at the end of May is really, really hot. Really, really.

There were gaps in the line, but my dad found some rope in our trunk and some others who I will describe as hippie cowboys with pickup trucks, had some rope in their truck beds that we used to span some of the breaks in the line. So thanks to us and some rope, those gaps in the Arizona desert weren't as large as they could have been.

We all held hands and sang "Hands Across America" and "We Are the World," as instructed by the radios blaring from the pickup trucks. As cheeseariffic as it sounds, it was a great experience. I felt like I was unified in a common cause with all of the other people who had sent in their forms, donated their money, and donned their T-shirts. Like Pat Benatar (see the photo above). Plus, there's just something bonding about hanging out in the middle of the desert on a really, really hot day. Ask anyone from Arizona or Nevada or any other God-forsaken brown pit of desert.

We capped off the experience with some fry bread at the Navajo reservation on the way home and a leap, fully clothed, into my grandparents' swimming pool. I remind you: really, really hot.

And now I wish I had a scanner so I could post some pictures from that day. I still have my T-shirt. Good times.

PS Thanks to all of you for your input on the should I or shouldn't I move to Boston right this very second quandary. I'm going to figure it out after my visit up there this weekend. I'll keep you posted.

So How Do You Like Them Apples?

In accordance with the rest of my life lately, I’m thinking about changing the plan – again. I am debating moving back to Boston sooner rather than later and just really would like some magical flashing neon sign to come down from the sky with an arrow pointing at a map to either Boston or DC.

Here are the factors:

- I have found a place to move into in DC, and will be moving all of my things out of my current apartment as of August 5th. HOWEVER, due to the torrential rains several weeks ago, the basement room I will be moving into flooded and they are putting in a sump pump and redoing the floors. The workmen are dragging their feet and even though we are number 1 on their list, it’s debatable as to what exactly “number 1 on the list” means in terms of a timeline. So what I’m actually doing on August 5th is moving all of my stuff to the apartment and dispersing it in the storage area, in the living room, in the dining room, basically any place it will fit while we’re waiting. And then I’ll be sleeping on a friend’s futon until I can actually move in. The reason I’m doing this is because we thought the room would be ready by the time I wanted to move in and there is no way I’m paying another full month of rent in the place I’m living in now. I’m pro-rating through August 5 and am still paying around $200. If you do the math, you’ll see that’s a hefty rent for me to pay all by myself.

- In the meantime, my old apartment in Cambridge is opening up. One of my old roommates is staying and another good friend is contemplating moving in. It would be a very fun, friendly, and loving place to be. Plus, I always liked the apartment, even if it was on the 3rd floor. The eaves added a lot to the charm. It was in a great neighborhood, with a great location smack dab in the middle of Harvard and Central Squares, and because we were good Mormon girls who the landlady liked, she hadn’t raised the rent in a few years and for the location and the quality it was an absolute steal.

- If I moved into my old place, the rent would be $70-$170 more than the place I’d move into in DC.

- However, I wouldn’t be paying $200 a month to see Jason. This is assuming we get the cheap tickets (around $150 now, which is asinine for an hour-long flight) and factoring in parking. The tickets have cost as much as $220 when we haven’t planned far enough ahead. So that’s really something like $250-$270 with economy airport parking, depending on how long my trip is. As an added bonus, I’d actually get to SEE Jason on a regular basis. Even though he’s probably moving to Providence, driving 45 minutes on a Wednesday night when we feel like seeing each other sounds better than these spaced out, every 2-3 week trips we’ve been doing. We’ve been dating this way for almost a year and it’s getting old. Missing him is getting old. Hearing about the fun excursions he and his friends are going on while I’m sitting at home wishing I was there and knowing I would be there if I lived in Boston is getting old. It’s just all really wearing after awhile.

- My temp job here will probably be lasting through October, possibly November.

- Although I don’t have a job in Boston, I have seen several ads for doc review projects there over the last few weeks. I’d be making anywhere from $9-$14 less an hour than I am now to do crummy doc review.

- But if I’m in Boston, I have a real-life Boston address for my resume (I’ve been using Jason’s, but if he moves to Providence then I have no local address), I can attend bar association events to network, and I can go meet former co-workers for coffee and do the face-to-face networking that generally means a lot more than phone calls and emails. I can also pop into my law school’s career services office occasionally and show the director lady who knows me and likes me that I’m really serious about this whole moving back to Boston thing and I’d really like the career services office’s help with, you know, getting a career.

- There were some other factors that were keeping me here in DC, but which don’t really seem so much like an issue anymore and I find myself wondering why exactly I am staying put, other than the safety factor of having a temp job that will probably last at least a few more months. Which is really kind of a big factor, but is it worth it? I have some money saved, I could keep myself going in Boston for a couple of months without any work. And I’m sure I could get something eventually, even if it’s just temp paralegal or secretarial work (and how happy am I to be contemplating doing the exact same work I did before law school $90,000 later? That was money well spent).

Fourth of July

Standing on the BU Bridge waiting for the fireworks to start. It was a little windy.

Fireworks

On the Cape

Way back on Memorial Day weekend, Jason, his brother Brandon, Brandon's fiance Sarah, and I went on an excursion to The Cape. THE Cape, mind you. The one and only. I feel so posh saying, "Yeah, I went to the Cape last weekend."

Anyway, I took pictures, but then my computer crises ensued and I am just now getting around to posting them. Enjoy!

On the way to the dock to go to Nantucket

On the boat to Nantucket

Approaching Nantucket*

The old mill. Or an old mill. I don't know if it was THE old mill, like it's THE Cape, but it was definitely AN old mill.
Pretty house with climbing vines and that weathered shingling that almost every house on the Cape has and which I love. I want a weathered-shingle house someday.

After our trek to the beach, relaxing on the beach because we'd walked 3 miles in the hot sun, and our trek back to the bus stop because there was no way we were going to walk 3 more miles back into town. Everyone's sunburns are setting in quite nicely.
Nantucket at sunset


Leaving Nantucket

Sarah on the shore

This picture just screams, "Hi, we're brothers."

The shore down the street from Sarah's house



*I wonder how many times can I say "Nantucket" in this post?

What's the Difference Between "Whine" and "Whinge"?

My home teacher (HT)* came over last night and I wound up feeling really, really depressed. One of my co-workers/friends had to hear about it today as I once again questioned basically everything I've done with my life over the past 4 years: school, career, romance, church. She said she's fine with being my shrink since we have to sit in this room together for hours on end. Maybe my neuroses liven things up for her a little.

See, HT is a good Mormon boy. He believes in answers to prayers and the power of Priesthood blessings. I am not feeling up to playing the part of the good Mormon girl anymore. There are several reasons for this, mostly centering around feeling disillusioned and confused, which gives way to the spiritual laziness that has taken over as of late.

Last time HT came over we talked about reading scriptures and I admitted to him that I really haven't read regularly in some time. This time we talked a little more about that and then it came out that I haven't really been praying regularly either. I'm sort of a random prayer lately. It's not so much a morning and night thing, but rather a during the day when something occurs to me I'll have a little discussion with God about it in my head kind of thing.

My faith is failing me. I just can't seem to work up the energy to really care. I go to church and generally feel all encouraged to get on the ball and become that spiritual-talking girl I once was, but the momentum usually fades by the time I reach my car in the church parking lot. I especially like to go to church in Boston because I am spiritually uplifted AND I have lots of friends there who ask me when I'm moving back already. So that's fun. But I realize that in the end I need to be able to sustain myself spiritually.

I'm having a hard time with the whole Mormon thing - again, or still, actually, since I've never really recovered from last summer's malaise. Being a Mormon has always seemed like this all or nothing thing. Either you take it all and accept it all, or you don't. Period. The end. If there is anything that rankles you about something a General Authority says or that you read in the scriptures then you're obviously not faithful enough and you need to pray/read your scriptures/talk to the bishop/psychologically self-flagellate until you fall back in line.

However, over the past year, or maybe a little more, I have discovered that there are a lot of people who don't fall back in line. Their opinions differ with the official words from the church leaders, yet they still come to church and attend the temple. They voice their opinions, holding fast to some basic tenets of the gospel, while disregarding some of the things that have been done and said in the name of the church that they aren't comfortable with.

But how does that make sense? How can you belong to this church, that says it is the only true church, that says it is led by an actual living prophet, and not toe the line absolutely? It seems like most Mormons I have known fall into the all or nothing category. That seems to be the official church party line as well.

If you believe in the Book of Mormon, then Joseph Smith was a true prophet who led the church by inspiration from God (and then there's that whole polygamy thing that we don't really talk about all that much). If you believe that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that all the prophets down to the modern-day one were really and truly prophets, then the things they say must be adhered to, lest we be drowned or destroyed like those who spurned the words of Noah or Lehi.

Right?

Frankly, I have some issues. I have some very recent issues with things that have been said with official church backing. And I can pretty much date my most recent dalliance with wondering if this really is the "true" church to those issues.

HT tried to impress upon me his belief that God really does have a plan for each of us. I have had a hard time believing anything remotely like that lately. I feel like I'm mired deep in mistakes that once felt like good choices. Choices that I felt were backed up by spiritual assurances. I find myself wondering if I've just been deluding myself, and then I feel my foundation disappear.

I know I'm happier when I do believe and when I let myself be caught up in the spirituality and don't question. It feels easier not to question. By looking the things I don't like straight in the face, I am opening up a window into this world of doubt and wondering and questioning. There's a part of me that isn't content to sit back and let the easy platitudes satiate me. Can I be a part of this all or nothing world when I don't want it all? But I don't want nothing either.



* For those of you not indoctrinated to the Mormon ways, home teachers are two men in the ward (congregation) who are assigned to be your friend and to help you move. Everyone in the ward has a home teacher and every man in the ward is assigned several people to home teach. Usually each home teaching companionship has a few families, but since I'm in a singles ward my home teacher is assigned probably 6 or 7 (or more) other single people. Supposedly he has a companion, but I've only seen and heard from him consistently.

Acrylic

Who knew a fake nail could make me so happy? A few years ago I ripped off the toenail of my left big toe. I was making my way to work in Chicago when I hit my toe on one of the stone steps in the lobby. Surrounded by fellow commuters, I sucked in my breath for a minute, but kept walking. As I got out of the elevator, I headed to the bathroom to check it out because it was kind of hurting a bit. On the way there, I realized my shoe was slippery. Yes, that's right, blood (apologies to those of you who are squeamish).

Once again Kelly doesn't realize how badly she's hurt herself because of her really high tolerance for pain. The last time I shook something off thinking I really didn't hurt myself that badly was when I fractured my arm ice skating. The doctor came in and slapped the X-ray up on the light demanding, "You fell how many days ago?"

"Three," I answered sheepishly.

He pointed at the X-ray. "See that crack in your bone. Yeah, THAT's why it's been hurting."

I just thought I pulled a muscle.

Anyway, since the big toenail injury, the nail has never grown back correctly. The nail grows excruciatingly slowly, doesn't attach past the midpoint of the nailbed leaving it open for future painful stubbings, and is just generally not attractive. During the summer I can buff it down and paint it and get it to blend in well enough with the other toes so that I can wear sandals. However, several weeks ago, I was buffing it and the tip of the nail just crumbled. So it has looked awful since then and I have been very self-conscious when wearing sandals. I caught some lady staring at my toe the other day when I was trying on shoes at Payless. Rude.

A friend at work suggested I get an acrylic nail put on. They can do that for your toes? The idea hadn't even occurred to me. So while I was roaming around the Providence Place mall on Friday, shopping and wasting time while Jason worked, I popped into a salon. The owner asked what I needed and all I got out was, "Well, a few years ago, one of my toenails got ripped off..." before she interrupted me to say, "You want an acrylic? Sure. Five dollars." OK, then.

I got the nail put on and I got a pedicure. For those of you who have not had a pedicure, go get one tomorrow. Or later today. If you're in Boston, there are a ton of little nail places downtown where you can get a manicure and a pedicure for $25-$30. And they even give you your buffer and file to bring back next time so you know they're not sharing implements between customers. A pedicure makes you feel so decadent. You sit in the vibra-chair, feet in a little foot spa, while the pedicurist works on each foot separately clipping, massaging and finally polishing. It's great.

My point is, my new toenail looks awesome! Plus I realized since having it fixed that I had totally been trying to hide the damaged nail over the last few weeks by curling my toe under inside my sandal, or by standing with my left foot crossed over my right with the left toe pointed down so that no one would really see the nail. It's amazing how a little piece of acrylic can totally make me feel all pulled together when I leave the house in the morning, sporting the necessary sandals because I don't know if you heard, but it is freaking hot on the East Coast right now.

Now I Feel Guilty

I killed the centipede. I bought some "green" Raid that supposedly smells like cloves at Target on my way home from work yesterday. I suppose they chose clove scent because they figure hippies and other environmentally conscious-folk smoke the clove cigarettes. It really doesn't smell so much like cloves as Raid with a slightly spicy undertone. According to the can, the Raid kills centipedes just as well as the ants and roaches pictured on the front.

When I got to my room I took the book and the box off the top of the cup and moved the cup a little to see if it was still alive. It didn't move. So I picked up the cup a bit and peered under it. The centipede stared back, looking ready to bolt. I quickly slammed the cup back down and grabbed the Raid. Then I lifted up the rim of the cup and shot a little spray basically in the centipede's face.

It went nuts! It raced all around the inside of the cup, trying to get away from the fumes. I was suddenly overwhelmed by guilt at killing this bug that had already spent almost a whole day imprisoned in a plastic cup and I had to leave the room. When I came back a few minutes later, it was dead, half of its body in mid-scurry up the side of the cup. He was trying to get away when he was overcome by the poison.

Despite being completely grossed out by the centipede, I now have some residual guilt over killing it so heartlessly. But, you know, I killed the first one, so it wasn't like he hadn't been warned.

In happier and less guilt-ridden news, I got my new pretty computer. This is what it looks like (the white one):

And this is what Jason and I looked like from the computer's viewpoint as we drove down to Providence this morning:

Sexy, yes?

Oh the Grodiness!

Prepare to be grossed out.



I'm serious.



Don't say I didn't warn you!

I have just discovered that this is called a house centipede. While this is a very clinical picture, I just want to note that in real life they are very icky and run AT you!

I believe I've discussed the millipede mafia on here before, but just to recap:

About 6 years ago I moved into an apartment near Wrigley Field in Chicago. Prime location, not so prime apartment. In fact, I was convinced our landlord was just going to let the place fall down around us and then sell the land to developers for a fancy Wrigleyville condo. Along with the rotting window frames came a whole gang of these many-legged bugs, which I now know are called house centipedes. We named them the millipede mafia and commenced squashing.

Now for my seasoned roommates who had spent time in Brazil and the Dominican Republic my squeamishness was laughable. This is no laughing matter, people! The many, many legs creep me out and the fact that the things run at you as a defense mechanism is a big deterrent to me actually approaching close enough to do any squashing. In fact, a first date that fall began with me standing on our couch squealing while my date chased one around the living room with a broom.

I usually really like bugs actually. I used to catch grasshoppers when I was little and feed them leaves off our grape vine. They were so cute grabbing the leaves in their front legs with their little jaws munching away. But I cannot handle the giant desert roaches I grew up with in Tucson or the house centipedes.

Several weeks ago I came home from work and there was one of these little monsters on my wall up near my ceiling. Since it was only an inch or so long, I had no qualms with picking up a shoe and squashing it. Well, ok, I had a squeamish moment or two, mostly consisting of, "They found me! I don't know how, but they found me!"*

Last night I walked into my room, tired from a 12 hour day, a day in which half my co-workers got canned, and tired from an hour on the elliptical, to find a GIANT house centipede just chillin' in the middle of my bedroom floor. I raced into the kitchen and grabbed a cup, thinking I could trap it, deprive it of oxygen, and flush it. Well, I trapped it. Then I stacked a small box and a book on top of it. And there it stays. Because here's the thing. I could slide a card under the cup and throw it in the toilet or something like that, but then I run the risk of the centipede escaping while I'm lifting the cup to slide the card underneath (they're wiley!), or of the centipede clinging to the card and not falling gracefully into the toilet, but instead running across the card to my hand, up my arm, and into my hair, or something equally horrifying that gives me the willies just thinking about.

As of this morning, the centipede is still alive. Maybe it will be sedate enough by tonight for me to get rid of it. I just read a little about house centipedes and one website said they only get up to 1 1/2 inches long, but after a night of observing this one, I would like to argue that I have captured a rare 3-inch specimen. I'm just glad I'll be moving out of this apartment at the end of the month because I don't think I can take much more.

*Run for it Marty!

I Thought About Jumping Ship...

...but it looks like I'm in it for the long haul now. They cut us down to 12 today, which means 11 got let go. Three of my very favorite people from the very first days of the project are gone. These are sad days.

However, a few of my favorite people are still here, and the one person who drove me the most nuts is gone. Not that I'm rejoicing in his being jobless, of course, but I'm relieved to not have to deal with his aura of negativity anymore - at least not on this project.

I actually got on another project starting Monday and have been wavering back and forth as to whether I should go. I guess my decision was made for me: I'm staying. Of course I could still move on, but I figure we'll be here for a couple of more months, I'm getting paid a bit more here because I'm still the titular team leader* and I know the attorneys and everyone here and having a known quantity is better than an unknown one in my mind. Plus this job with the hours we're working right now gives me the option to, say, go to Boston for a four-day weekend, or look for a permanent job, or go to Brandon and Sarah's wedding, or move in the next few weeks .

In other news, I went for the Mac. Jason will hopefully be picking it up for me tomorrow so that I can take full advantage of his educational discount. I'm hoping that by Tuesday I'll be posting pictures for you in real time instead of this two weeks after the fact nonsense.


* Is it bad that I feel simultaneously snooty intelligent and dirty for using the word "titular"?

Viva, Viva Las Vegas!

Because my computer has been on the fritz, I haven't been able to get any pictures off of my camera, and have had to rely on bi-weekly boyfriend visits to use his computer to download the pictures. I'm pretty much just using him for his computer capabilities. Since I was in Boston last weekend, I have pictures!

So I don't know if you heard, but I went to Las Vegas a couple of weeks ago. I was there for Jenn's birthday extravaganza (this would be Boston/San Francisco Jenn, roommate during 2 years of law school Jenn) . We got a sweet, sweet hook-up and the five of us stayed at a fancy-schmancy hotel for free and ate at any of the hotel's restaurants, ordered room service, and ate out of the mini bar for free.

This is what I mean when I say fancy-schmancy:

(I think it's appropriate that The Mirage is behind The Venetian sign in this shot because The Mirage was where we found the best $5 black-jack dealers since none of us could afford the hefty $10 and $15 tables that The Venetian was sporting)

Upon perusing my pictures I realized that food and eating seem to be a running theme. There are a couple of good reasons for this. First, there are no cameras allowed in the casinos. If there had been there would have been three other themes: searching for $10 Baccarat, searching for $5 Black Jack, and playing the $5 Black Jack.

Second, did I mention the food was FREE? I think 5 girls know how to take advantage of that little perk. I got there Friday night and was famished after my cross-country flight. Well, heck, let's order room service, says Jenn. The next morning we headed to the poolside restaurant for breakfast. I couldn't decide between the Lemon Blueberry Pancakes and the Salmon Pizza. Lisa, sitting next to me, wanted the breakfast with eggs and the Lemon Blueberry Pancakes. I think you've all guessed our solution to that problem: divide three breakfasts between the two of us. Audrey and Veronica thought that was a capital idea and also got three breakfasts.

Another favorite part of eating at fancy restaurants, besides the free and yummy parts, was passing all the plates around the table so everyone could have a bite. At the French restaurant on Saturday night we kept ooing and aahing over how creamy everything was. I ask you, how do you make a chicken breast creamy?

Yeah, have I mentioned how we didn't blend in with the rich people AT ALL?

The Girls (Audrey, Jenn, me, Lisa, Veronica)

Saturday we took a cab to Circus Circus (old school, baby!) and I was indoctrinated into the joys of black jack. I learned the all-important Vegas lesson: quit while you're ahead. At one point I was up $60, but then I kept playing and wound up down $30. I had learned by Monday afternoon when we parked ourselves at The Mirage for a couple of hours while waiting to leave for the airport. Audrey's sage words of advice, which I will pass onto you are, as soon as you get a little bit ahead of the amount you started with, put your starting amount worth of chips in your purse and don't touch them. Very wise. Monday I wound up winning $40. I think that is also due to my stellar black jack playing. I may go pro.

We walked back to the hotel from Circus Circus. It was 103 and, oh. my. gosh., I forgot how bright the sun is in the west. A couple of pit stops were in order: the first at 7-11 for Slurpees and the second at Ross Dress for Less for hats:

I bought a straw hat too and I was so happy I did when I sat by the pool on Sunday afternoon. Between the hat, my Jackie O sunglasses and my genuine Hawaiian lava lava wrapped around me like a skirt, I totally gave off that rich tourist vibe, I just know it.

Lisa showing some World Cup pride
Saturday night we stuffed ourselves at the fancy French restaurant and then headed out for the VIP room at Rain.

Primping

Clubbing


Sunday was the main event: Jenn's Birthday. We all chipped in and bought her a massage at the spa, which she indulged in that afternoon while Audrey and Veronica slept and Lisa and I staked out some chairs by the pool. That night we went to a very chi-chi steak restaurant. Jenn decreed that we would all be having steak and it was so and it was good.

Audrey is very excited about her Shirley Temple.

Birthday Girl

The remnants of my really expensive medium-rare steak that tasted like perfection.

After dinner, and a short pit stop back in the room to let the food settle a bit, we walked down the Strip looking for Baccarat and ambience. When I first got to Vegas I was a little overwhelmed by the tacky excessiveness of it all. However, by Sunday night I was a full-fledged fan. I think something about the blinking lights and the noises and those slot machines randomly calling out, "Wheel of Fortune!" hypnotized me a bit.

The Strip:
(Can everyone see who is in the poster on the side of that casino? That's right, Wayne Newton)

Our ultimate destination on Sunday night was The Bellagio to see the water show, a la Ocean's Eleven. While standing by the lake waiting for the show to start we devised our own heist plan. My swimming talents will be put to use as I swim through the lake and into the underbelly of the casino. Because you know there's a door somewhere down there.



I had an amazing time and realize that this was probably a once in a lifetime experience since I don't generally hang with the high rollers. If you should happen to have access to rich friends or friends with rich and generous family members, I would highly suggest you hook yourself up with some fancy time in Vegas.

Job News

No, not mine, but I am gloriously happy for them!

My Dad: for Father's Day he got a permanent job doing his computer magic at a university in the Chicagoland area. This means a consistent paycheck, no more worrying about the contract ending, excellent benefits, and 23 holidays a year (the joys of working for an educational system). I am so happy for him and my mom and the stability this will bring to their lives.

Jenn (aka my best friend since high school, Jenevieve, Tucson Jenn, LA Jenn, Santa Cruz Jenn, the bride to our bridesmaid posse): after finishing her PhD last year and post-docking it this year, just got her dream job at a California university, which means she can actually live with her husband for the next three years, versus across the country from him like this past year.

All I have to say is, Yay!

Delltastic

So Dell is off my good list for the moment. From what I hear about the Dell company as a whole, it's really kind of hit or miss. For example, I had a Dell that never gave me problems for 4 years. However, several of my friends had brand new Dells that died while we were in law school.

Also for example, both of my parents have refurbished Dells that work great. I, on the other hand, picked up my refurbished Dell at the UPS station, brought it home, and noticed something odd happening with the screen. I changed the background several times, but there were still these weird, darker than the background color, flashing squiggles in various locations. And the squiggles moved depending on what background I put on the desktop.

This morning I tried Dell online tech support. I got the feeling that some sketchiness was going on when I told Sandeep the tech guy what the problem was and he said, "I see you have contacted us about this before." To which I replied, "Actually this is the first time I've contacted Dell about this since I just picked the computer up yesterday evening." Then the synapses began firing and I said, "Maybe the previous owner called about it and the problem was never fixed when it was "refurbished" and sent out to me."

No concrete reply. He just said he would have to replace a part to fix the problem. To which I said, "Wasn't that supposed to have happened when it was refurbished?" He said he could understand why I was annoyed.

Then I tried to nail him down on this issue and asked if the prior owner had called and he said that he wasn't sure. So then I asked him if anyone had called about this problem before and he said, "No, that was a different problem." To which I replied, "But you said before that it was the same problem...?"

No answer for a few minutes. Then he just asked if I wanted to take care of it and send it back to them to fix. I said not really, since I JUST got what was supposed to be a perfectly fine machine. So he referred me to Customer Care and the returns department.

Mendha in Customer Care was great. After I explained the situation, and threw in how the tech guy basically told me that the problem was there before it was even "refurbished," she offered to exchange it post-haste. I told her at this point I'd probably just like to return it. So she arranged for UPS to come to my work tomorrow and pick it up and there's no restocking fee or anything.

I think I may be taking advantage of Jason's school discount and getting a Mac.

******

On the job front, apparently someone talked sense to the client because now we can work up to 50 hours. Not as good as 60, but much better than 40.

Easy Peasy

So I don't know if you know this, but curly-ish hair is very easy. I don't care what all of you curly-haired people say with your, "I can't get it to do anything" and "It's frizzy" whining. Because here's the thing. My hair is super frizzy and it's NOT curly. So in humid weather I have a perpetual halo of frizzies. I had a spiral perm throughout high school and it was the easiest hairstyle I've ever had in my life.

Until now.

I'm in Boston for the holiday and I didn't even bring my hair dryer with me. I just bought mousse (Garnier Curl Construct, if you're curious) and my fingers for scrunching. I hop out of the shower, squirt some mousse in my hands, scrunch scrunch scrunch, and I'm good to go. It's probably too casual for, say, a job interview, but I am loving it. Plus, I feel that it adds to my sassiness quotient, which I feel has been lacking a bit since I stopped being a redhead (or auburnhead) last summer.

Also my boyfriend thinks it's cute, and you know that's the only reason I do anything ever.