KY is not short for Kentucky

So you know that couple in the Johnson and Johnson KY Two-in-one Warming Gel/Lubricant commercial? The one where the woman reads the label to her husband with one eyebrow expertly raised and he folds over a corner of his newspaper to raise an eyebrow at her? I am really pulling for them.

Headline news

So this was the lead story on CNN's website today:
"Barbaro eating, flirting with mares"

On what planet is this a top story? For the daily racing form, maybe, and maybe a small bit on a sporting website, and some small part of me is happy to know that they may not have to put the horse down, but seriously folks....the horse is hungry and horny. That ain't news.

Spa day

So my parents got my a spa day for finishing law school classes. Now, I am very wary about certain things, namely:
--public nudity;
--people touching me while naked;
So the spa thing may not have been the best way to relieve stress.

When I made the appointment, the receptionist asked "Do you want a man or a woman doing your massage?" Now, I could add to the list of things that make me nervous:
--talking, being touched by, or interacting with a man in general;
So I think you can guess my answer. When I showed up at the spa, there are like three or four gorgeous men walking around and I'm literally starting to turn around to forget the whole thing when one of them said "Do you have an appointment?" I nodded and he took me back into the spa sanctuary. He led me into a room with a bed and he pulled the covers back. I had to remind myself to breathe. Finally he said something about what to do next but finished with "....and Cindy will be in here shortly". Phew. But as he was leaving I realized I didn't know what I was supposed to do. Was I supposed to take my top off? Every time you see a massage on TV they are lying on their stomach with their top off. So after a few moments panic, afraid "Cindy" was going to come in with me standing half naked in the middle of the room, I took my top off and hurled myself into bed. The bed had this weird pillow that came about half way up my legs that was really uncomfortable and the covers were turned down so they were smushing things. Just when I am beginning to doubt my position "Cindy" walks in. Stifling a laugh, she says "I'm going to leave the room again. When I leave, I want you to lie, face up, under the covers." As she is shutting the door she lets the giggles escape. So that's why the cute guy turned down the covers. And apparently that weird leg pillow was supposed to go under my knees. Oh well.

After Cindy was through laughing at me she said that the bones in my face are higher on one said than the other. I've been walking around for 24 years with a crooked face. Maybe this explains everything. She also said I needed a facial to get rid of the dead skins cells on my face. I wanted to say the dead skin cells should feel right at home on my crooked face, but I kept my mouth shut because that point she was kneading my shoulder and my left arm had gone numb.

As I was leaving the spa, with a bruised body and and a battered ego, I heard a familiar voice: "Thoze eyebrowz are are bushy az ehva, like Groucho Marx". It was my waxologist. In my weakened condition, I could not even put up a fight as she walked me back to the land of molten sticky goo while she decimated my eyebrows. As she ripped the last piece of, grinning (or grimacing? it's hard to tell with giants) she said "You know vat? You have eenuf eyebrow hairz that I ripped out to donate to vimen who don't have any." Then she got up and taking the pieces of material that contained the other two-thirds of my eyebrow and said to one of the men "Look at thees, it lookz like an entire eyebrow?" I was going to say something about keeping her giant Kuchen hole shut, but I was too busy admiring my crooked face with my perfect eyebrows in the mirror.

Finals Finale

So I went to turn in my final final, my Law and Psychiatry take-home exam. There were no spaces, so I parked at a metered spot. I didn't have a quarter, I had two dimes and a nickle, so I thought, what the hell, I will run in, run out, bing, bang, boom.

As I was coming out of the law school, the metermaid man was giving me a ticket. Fucker.

What a fitting end to my law school career--another $25 owed to the Wal-mart of Law Schools, the Harvard of the Midwest.

Finals Part 2

So I was angry after my Commerical Paper exam I went out into the parking lot and ran my book over with my car. Twice.

God damn it.

Finals

OHMYFUCKINGGODINHEAVENASSHOLEGODDAMNSHITFUUUUUUCK

I hate finals.
I hate Commerical Paper.
I have developed an ulcer.
I am watching my dream of being a high powered corporate whore in gray pin stripe suits wither and die like a worm stuck on the pavement after a rainshower in the summer that eventually gets run over by a bicycle so that one half becomes crispy and the other half is eaten by a robin. Or a raisin. No one really likes them, either.

::sigh::

Overheard in the coffee shop

So this was overheard while I was studying at the coffee shop with my adorable friend Carly:

"I don't want to go to hell, I want to go to bed!"

I love finals.

Exploding noise!

So I am extremely stressed out. When I get stressed out, I break out. Not dancing. Blemishes. Usually not a lot, only one or two. But my God are they the mother of all facial imperfections. There is one, growing, stewing, multiplying, rabble-rousing, right under the surface on my nose. When I wrinkle my nose up, it hurts. But it is not yet visible. It is hiding, waiting until it is at its full strength, like You-Know-Who. It is waiting patiently, like Mount Vesuvius, then it will explode and take out thousands of innocent lives in the process.