Second update on the Wookiee
I am developing a strong aversion to IP attorneys and interns.
So every time I use krazy glue, I glue my fingers together.
So I had my second race car experience in less than a week. (Yay!)
So it all started when I swallowed a bug.
So my father has worked for a tire company since before I was born. I have been around tires my entire (hehe, that word has the word "tire" inside it) life. Today was the first day I had to deal with a tire on my own.
So I have created a Mad Lib!! Have some fun concocting Jessica's future with this letter.
So my friend René said to me recently, in her infinite wisdom, that it was time to rid myself of Daniel Cleaver and find Mark Darcy. (If the preceding allusion escapes you, you need to hop in the car and visit your local library or Blockbuster.) I also recently watched the last episode of Sex in the City, where Big followed Carrie all the way to Paris to win her back. Two examples of charmingly neurotic women who, after much comedic drama, end up living happily ever after. As lovely as these scenarios are to watch on TV or read about on the couch, I do have one teeny, tiny, little gripe about their stories....
So just a small story: I am investigating an accident in Illinois, so I decided to look on the web for any local news video of the accident. I found a site, downloaded some clips and then realized: I have no speakers on my computer. So I have spent the last hour watching news clips and trying to read lips to see if they are talking about my accident. The eerie part is because it is Friday afternoon, the office itself is strangely quiet. Every once in awhile I made a small noise just to make sure I hadn't lost my hearing.
So I hate going to the dentist. I know for most people it is not an enjoyable experience, like going to the movies or being under a tornado watch, but I rank the semi-annual visit to the dentist right up there with law school finals and waxing.
So the new intern in IP? Yeah, definitely a Wookie. He had such potential, too. But now that he's comfortable, he's hollerin' like the rest of them.
So my priest has died. The guy that I took Confession with. For those of you who may not know, my priest and I have--had, I guess I have to use the past tense now--a very interesting relationship. As a good Catholic, I experience feelings of guilt all the time: some of them legitimate, some of them just me being paranoid. My priest had a great time helping me distinguish between the two. In honor of my dearly departed friend (and really, the last person who really knew the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about me), I thought I would recreate my most memorable afternoon in the Confessional (hopefully this is not the memory he took of me when he meets St. Peter in heaven).