So I was selected

But not for the Brian Nichols case.

Day 3 of court begins tomorrow. Obviously I can't say any more than that. Be back in a few days with some good stories!

Because God thinks I write crap. Literally.

My project that I so thoroughly enjoyed last year, the one on waterless urinals and dual flush toilets, has awarded me a magazine article! About urinals and toilets!

Um, yeah. Not exactly what I meant when I said I wanted to be a writer when I grow up, but whatevs.

I find that writing about urinals is very akin to writing a factual essay about unicorns: they're both something I have no experience with, nor have ever really seen.

During my research whenever I came up with a question about the mechanics of urinals, I wrote it down and presented the survey to actual urinal users and learned one very important thing:

Men pay absolutely no attention to where they pee.

Back to writing about Charlie and the Candy Mountain.

Short skirt, long boots

I'm almost done returning my Christmas presents. Don't get me wrong, my family did a great job with picking clothing out for me (of course they do have a list of preapproved stores), but I wanted to see if I could do any better with the after Christmas sales and, so far, I have.

For instance, I got this great skirt at Pre-approved Store #1: White House Black Market. My step-mother got me a shirt that was almost identical to one I already have from there, so I wandered through the sales racks and found a very short, very form-fitting gray skirt that would look amazing with my black leather boots.

I pranced around the office in my black boots and tiny skirt and it was very well received. Everyone in the sales department personally complimented me. My office husband asked me out to lunch for the first time ever -- I'd like to thank the skirt for such progress as I didn't have to do the asking this time.

12:30 comes and we walk out to his truck and I open the door and panic. He has a full-sized truck with super-sized tires. And no running boards. And the truck was parked on a upward incline for me. My very short, very form-fitting skirt would not allow me to climb in his truck. I tried grabbing the Oh Shit bar along the roof of the door, but I couldn't pull myself up into the seat. Office husband laughed; I nervously giggled.

Next I tried "backing" into the seat. I stuck my back to the seat and put my hands behind me and tried to jump up and sit, but alas, I'm not much of a jumper -- I'm rather white in that area. Two or three very poor attempts and I'm laughing too hard to even jump anymore.

Office Husband started coming around the truck, "Do you need help? Should I pick you up?"

"No!" My pride kept me from needing help to get in a freaking car, even if I did look completely ridiculous in the process.

"Turn around!" I half-laughed, half-ordered. He did. I hiked my skirt up to my hips, flashing the (I hope) empty parking lot and climbed in. I yanked my skirt back down. "Okay, I'm good."

Office Husband turned around and got in the truck. Hmm, the shirt my step-mother bought for me wouldn't have given me this many problems.

But remember, I looked very sexy, even if I didn't act like it.

Meeting

It was a holiday for the underpaid
Everybody got a haircut and lemonade
-- Angie Aparo, "Spaceship"

"Will you come into my office, please?"

Oh fuck.

"Shut the door behind you."

Double fuck. Fuckity fuck.

"Fuck."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

She picks up an envelope off her desk and tries to hand it to me. "Open this, please."

I just eye it suspiciously, refusing to touch it. "Is it pink?"

She laughs, "No. We're offering you a raise." She extends her reach again.

This time I grab the envelope.

Photo Envy

I've posted new photos from a couple of parties I went to during my blog hiatus on MySpace. They are there if you want to take a look. I've put them on my front page in a slide show format so non-MySpacers can take a peek. Just click on the big MySpace link on the blue sidebar.

Of all the people I wish would fall off the face of the earth and die

I swing the door open to an apartment I've never been to before and scream, "Love of my life!" Craig proved third time's a charm for living with men. Of course it helped that we split the rent and had separate bedrooms. And never had sex. Craig is my former roommate and platonic life partner.

Craig was back in Athens and throwing a party right before Christmas. I love these holiday parties in Athens because it's a great reunion for anybody I met during the 6 years I lived there. We all make the Mecca back to school and drink for posterity's sake.

Craig heard my doorway bellowing and turned towards me while I jump in his arms. I miss Craig. I truly, honestly don't know how I made it through the past year without seeing him once. Craig picks me up and swings me around and I survey the party for the first time.

And I lock eyes with someone.

And I have no idea who he is, but I know he has nipple rings.

I wouldn't know he that has nipple rings unless I know him. Unless I know him in a shirts-off kind of way. Craig sets me down on the wood flooring and Nipple Rings and I stare at each other. He smiles, obviously remembering me.

"Hello there. Long time," nods Nipple Rings as he tips his beer towards me.

I swallowed and choked on my own spit. Of course he would remember me. I too would remember the girl I met at a party five years ago where I split a fifth of vodka with her and took her back to my place downtown. There I would get her in my bed... where she would promptly projectile vomit on me and my bedding.

Yup, I would remember her too.

Happy New Year!

Love, the Girl Incapable of Taking a Proper Photo (GITPP)