Four jobs I’ve had:

1. Sales Clerk at all-oak furniture store. Not as bad as it sounds -- everyone that worked there was crazy, but in a good way, except for this crotchety old man who grumbled about our crazy antics and snaked all our commissions. Or he would have, if we'd worked on commission.  I still think fondly of Andrew, one of my crazy co-workers.  Late at night, like at 10 pm (seriously, no one shops for an oak dining room set at 10 pm on a Tuesday), we'd turn the radio from "crappy" to Top 40 and shake our asses on the sales counter.  Good times.
2. Student Worker in Financial Aid Office.  Worse than it sounds -- no one calls Financial Aid because they're happy.  Trust me, they're either crying or they want to make you cry.
3. Temp Front-Desk Receptionist at German Auto-Parts Factory.  My shining moment at this job was interrupting a closed-door meeting because I was convinced that Gunter or Jan or whoever the urgent call was for was IN the meeting, when in fact whoever I THOUGHT was Gunter or Jan or whoever was a nearly identical blond, vaguely stocky German guy named Hans or Karl or something.  That's right. I just said all Germans look alike.
4. Lawyer.  Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Four movies I can watch over and over:

1. Animal House.  ("Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? NO!")
2. Mystery, Alaska.  ("Really, Scott?  My own jimmy?")
3. Pirates of the Caribbean. (I just love this one to bits.) 
4. O Brother, Where Art Thou?  ("We thought... you was... a TOAD.")

Four places I’ve lived:

1. Chicago, Illinois, technically.
2. Greenville, South Carolina.
3. Columbia, South Carolina.
4. Travelers Rest, South Carolina (which some might consider to be cheating, since it's pretty much Greenville, but they can suck it).

Four TV shows I love:

1. That 70's Show (the earlier years)
2. Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the earlier years)
3. House
4. What Not to Wear

Four places I’ve vacationed:

1. St Lucia, West Indies
2. Vancouver, Canada
3. Kokadjo, Maine
4. Charleston, SC

Four of my favorite dishes:

1. Crunch Roll (easy on the spicy mayo)
2. Macaroni and Cheese (Kraft Dinner Style)
3. Chicken and Broccoli Casserole
4. Cake

Four sites I visit daily, without fail:

1. CNN
2. Television Without Pity
   
3. Salon
4. www.fbofw.com/strip-fix  (Shut UP.)

1. Over there ------>.
2. <------ Maybe there.
3. In my bed.
4. Whatever, just not here.

Jebus, that was a downer....

It's not all about the doom and gloom, I just found myself in a particularly low place that evening and need to vent or I'd have ended up curled in a ball in the corner of the room sobbing quietly and nursing a bottle of Beam. Getting out of town for a few days with CJ helped tremendously with the general malaise (and with the more pointed frustrations of, like, leaving the office at 7:30 pm is not EARLY, nor is it barely even NORMAL on a day-to-day basis, so yes that was a note of hysterical desperation you heard in my voice as I laughed shrilly when you wanted to start a new project at 6:40 pm and I was trying not to envision the dog RELIEVING HIMSELF in the HOUSE because I was not there to LET HIM OUT). Er, cough.

Anyway, we did go away for a few days, to ski. (Skymiles, ho!) It wasn't exactly a restful trip, what with the fact that the mattress was more of the "inner-brick" type than the "inner-spring" type and the fact that I am not, apparently, 18 anymore. By the end of the third day of skiing, my knees felt like pumpkins and my feet had tried desperately, albeit unsuccessfully, to go numb.

As for Jenny's Shining Moments in Coordination, there were a few: the time I fell over just standing there comes to mind -- one minute I was standing with CJ discussing our route down and the next I was face first in the snow, head downhill, arms and legs pretzeled improbably with a ski pole crushing my diaphragm. How a human body can end up in that kind of position from a basically inert state, I have no idea.

Then there was the time I fell off the platter lift. Again the cause of much hilarity on CJ's part -- and before you think he's a raging asshole for laughing at me falling off a ski lift, we're not talking about a typical chair lift. A platter lift is a glorified rope tow -- a small disk on a stick that you (ahem) put between your legs and it pulls you a long s-l-o-w-l-y in a vague kind of leaning/sitting position, and you never actually leave the ground. Again, the actual physics of my ending up on the ground escape me, but end up on the ground I did, wallowing around on the (extremely) gentle rise of the lift track in front of about half of Colorado.

But at any rate, getting away from the office was more fabulous than I can express.

I can't figure out why flying is so exhausting, though, since all you're doing is a lot of sitting punctuated by a few frantic periods of Brisk! Walking! -- maybe it's more an exhaustion of the soul. Airports really seem to be a collection of depressing, slightly dingy, sad-eyed places these days.

Most gratifying moment of the return trip was the Beast's excitement that we were back -- I don't know how much of it was excitement that WE, per se, were back or just that The People were back and The People = treats. He's going to have a rude awakening when we wash him tonight. But then it will be all better because, after all, treats.

(Which reminds me -- we need to restock the food and the treats. I know, everyone asked, so gleefully, did we UNDERSTAND how much a 100-lb dog EATS, ha ha? We understood that the answer was generally "a lot" but apparently is more accurately "like a team of malnourished draft horses.")

Ugh. Well, I don't talk much about work, because I really don't want to get into trouble with that. Mostly, I don't have a lot to talk about with respect to work. I like (most of) my co-workers, I generally like what I do, and typically things are, if not exactly "hunky," they are at least "dory." A couple of years ago, though, things weren't so hot. It wasn't the co-workers, it was the work. Our firm was assisting in the sale of a large corporation, and we ended up doing a great deal more than we probably should have, for a firm as relatively small as ours. Don't get me wrong -- we do good work and for the most part are more than competent -- we were simply outmanned by the material. There were simply not enough hours in the day to get done everything that we needed to get done, and there was a particular team of us that was at the office all, literally, the time. We didn't sleep there, but we might as well have.

For some firms, in big cities, that is nothing more than the status quo. I have classmates that have worked for firms that paid quite well, but that expected young associates to essentially move into the office for a few years. That's not what one usually expects around here, though. We're all dedicated, smart, ambitious young people, but we made a decision to work in a smaller-tier market -- a decision to put family and friends firmly on our "lists" along with work, if not above it, then right there with it. Sure, it'll take us longer to pay off our student loans, but we won't be seeing the sun go down and come up during the course of the same work "day" and we won't be showering downstairs and ordering in every meal.

For about our year, though, we had all of the work hours but none of the dubious perks. It was a difficult time; it put a palpable strain on family relationships, on friendships and on working partnerships. But, as these things usually go, the project eventually wrapped up and the workload slowly ebbed back to "normal." We reintroduced ourselves to our husbands, wives, children and friends. We shook hands with our colleagues and said, "It's not that I don't like you, but..." "Yeah, I understand." and went our separate ways.

Late tonight, we had a meeting and learned that a very similar project is gearing up. I took my notes, went back to my office, closed my door, and had a private meltdown. I called my husband at home, and bawled. "I just don't want to do it again," I said. "I can't do it again."

"I'm just ready to quit."

That's not true, of course. Not entirely. But still...

Blah, blar, blee, bloo. I don't have a whole lot to say, apparently. I've been busy this, I'm too tired that, what blog the other thing... I guess I just haven't been motivated to post anything about anything. I've been much more entertained just reading other peoples' stuff for a while. A good long while, as it turns out. (And I originally typed that I've been much more "netertained" -- which..."netertained"? Get it? No?)

Well, at any rate, the four people who read this have long since given up the ghost and moved on to greener pastures. My pasture is dead and bare and the tumbleweeds are tumbling weedily and you can hear that "ooweeooweeooooooo" sound. There should be a shootout at the saloon any minute.

So, let's see, the big news to report is that CJ and I have adopted a Dog. The Dog is big, and red, and is (wait for it) named Clifford. I shall be hereinafter referred to as "Emily Elizabeth." In all seriousness, though, he is a big, red dog -- a Bloodhound/Great Dane (we think) mix. Did I mention that he is Big. We are making an honest go of being dog owners, and it's going pretty well so far. There have only been a couple of instances of standing outside stating emphatically: "Oh, for the love of all that is HOLY will you not just TAKE A SHIT because it is COLD out here." (I do realize that is not the proper way to train a dog. According to FedEx, our cattle prod should arrive in a few days.) And he seems to have a tendency to hop up on the couch when we're not looking and then try to rely upon his insane cuteness to stay up there. We have been tyrannical about this, though, because see above, re: Big. And also: Big.

We gave him a bath on Sunday, and that was quite the experience. He is clearly an old pro at avoiding all things aquatic, which was fairly obvious because "malodorous" would be an excellent description of his state when we received him. We were forced to mouth-breathe our way through two whole days after we took him to the vet and the vet applied his flea medicine, and by Sunday afternoon we simply couldn't stand the stench any more and had to hose him down or die. Anyway, we ended up with me sitting IN the tub, fully clothed and fully soaked, holding a Dog who alternated between "quivering with rage" and "morosely resigned," murmuring embarrassing things like "oh, it's such a good BOY, letting us wash it, doesn't it feel BETTER" while CJ lathered him up. He forgave us pretty quickly when he realized there was a box of t-r-e-a-t-s on the counter and that, coincidentally, we were the people who kept the jar of peanut butter downstairs, and he is nothing if not Crafty, this Dog.

I'll get a picture up soon, as soon as I... take one. Because I had lost my camera, and found it yesterday on... the shelf where it belongs. I'm an ass.

So, what else?

CJ (I have decided to drop the "M" for now and see how that goes) turns 31 in a few weeks and is mildly depressed about it. I'd be depressed too, if I were that old. Ha, ha! But he won't tell me what he wants for his birthday (except for the new Harry Potter movie, isn't that cuddly?) so I hope he's not surprised when he ends up with a Chick-Fil-A napkin, a half-empty box of Altoids, the storage sleeve for my umbrella and whatever else I can find in the back of the car.

I'm sure something else exciting has happened to me lately, but I'm damned if I can remember what it is. I'm sure I'll remember it. Then I may or may not post about it, because what blog?

34. I am The Procrastinator, killing all relaxation and reasonable work hours with my trusty Timesuckitron.

35. Messiness offends me, but most of the time I’m too lazy to really pick up after myself, resulting in a practice I like to call binge-cleaning. Binge-Cleaning Day is a trying time in our household. It is frequently followed by binge-drinking and binge-couching.

36. I really like cute umbrellas. (But I don’t buy them, because I would just lose them. See, e.g., #17.)

37. I read trashy romance novels. A lot of them. What? I like the happy endings (heh). AND, I’ll have you know, a good number of them are excellently written and contain more plot than you can shake a stick at. So what if there’s a metallic flower on the cover and there’s parts about boobies and stuff?

38. I read other stuff, too.

39. I like throwing parties, but hardly ever do it.

40. Have I mentioned I’m ready for ski season?

41. I gave a lot of money to random charitable endeavors this year. I feel good about it, too. I know I’m probably just assuaging my middle-class guilt, but if my assuaging helps someone else out, that’s okay, I figure.

42. Of course, I also bought a lot of clothes that I don’t need this year. And shoes. Now I feel guiltier.

43. Speaking of shoes, I once spent $495 on a pair of shoes. They are green snake-skin Sergio Rossi strappy things and there’s really not a whole lot to them. But? They made my legs look like S-E-X. Maybe someday I’ll do that again. But don’t tell CJM.

44. I like scarves. Warm, winter-type scarves, I mean.

45. I should be drafting a lease right now, but I’m having writer’s block as far as that’s concerned. Hmm… maybe I should look back to #34.

46. I like flying and airports, but don’t like the gross, simultaneously greasy and dried-up feeling after it’s all over. And it’s really the concept of flying that I like because I still can’t stand that moment at takeoff when the wheels leave the ground and your stomach does a little “aaannnnddd, wooooop” and you realize you’re pulling up on the armrests like that’s going to give the plane a tiny bit of extra lift and that’s stupid, but what if you didn’t do it and the “wooooop” was followed by “wham”?

47. We would be perfectly happy if we never had children – our goal is to be the eccentric but cool aunt and uncle who are always traveling to exotic locations and bringing back strange but cool and thoughtful presents.

48. I am insanely ticklish. Even my kneecaps are ticklish. Actually, especially my kneecaps. STEP AWAY FROM THE KNEECAPS YOU FIEND.

49. I wanted to be a purist and keep our natural-wood fireplace, but damn, those gas logs sure are nice.

50. I like monogrammed things. Sad, but true.

51. I always forget what a nifty thing the crock pot is.

52. I can parallel-park like a mofo.

53. I usually wear my sunglasses on top of my head when I’m inside, for which I have caught much of The Grief from co-workers and friends. I don’t understand why it’s so distressing.

54. I can’t stand riding the elevator with The Chuckler.

55. I would like a dog.

56. Possibly two.

57. I need to clean several closets and I’m not entirely sure what it’s going to take to make me actually do it.

58. I seem to be leaving a Pinto Grigio phase and entering more of a Shiraz phase.

59. I worry that we’re going to run out of oil. And then I get in my car by myself and drive the ten miles home.

60. I love pretty dresses, especially those with flowy skirts, but mostly I wear pants and jeans.

61. I think “pants” is a funny word.

62. I was a year younger than everyone in my class, except my friend who was two weeks younger than me. She is one of the only friends from pre-college days that I keep up with now, and she got married a couple of weeks ago. We are getting to be so… grown up or something. Big 3-0, here we come.

63. I have blue eyes, and I’ve always found the genetic permutations that result in expression of a recessive gene fascinating.

64. I (briefly) studied to be a neurosurgeon before I realized I was out of my mind and went back to less scientific pursuits.

65. Mostly because I have a nearly certifiable phobia of all things mathematical. I took “The History of Math” instead of an actual math class in college, to satisfy the graduation math requirement, for chrissakes. I still can’t believe they let me get away with that.

66. But I did win the science fair once, to the collective amazement of all. I did a project about ESP and whether or not one could prove it existed. My results were inconclusive. I bet those kids that worked out theoretical nuclear equations were pissed.

Okay, that’s it for Part II. I really have to finish that lease.

Ah, Thanksgiving.... and the weather has finally (as of November 28) turned November-y. (Read: Cold-ish and foggy/rainy-ish, rather exemplifying the concept of "dreary.")

We got up at the veritable crack of dawn on Thanksgiving Day to drive to the race venue. What's that? Didn't I mention the race? Well, CJM and I signed up to run a 5K on Thanksgiving morning. The less said about it, the better. Okay, it wasn't that bad. I finished (go, with my bad exercising self!), and that's about all we can say about that. I finished 174th out of... wait for it... 185. I am more of a lazy fatass than I realized, apparently. But I finished, gasping and wheezing and nearly-vomiting to the bitter end.

Thanksgiving itself was Thanksgiving-y. Wednesday night I had clicked into domestic mode and cranked out a cake, a batch of chocolate oatmeal cookies, and a batch of chess squares (a.k.a. Chest Hair Cake), all of which were consumed with gratifying rapidity over the next couple of days. We did the Holiday Shuffle and rotated between my parents' house and CJM's parents' house and had much family fun and hilarity and strife and whatnot.

Saturday and Sunday was Home Improvement Extravaganza 2005 -- after putting off painting a good bit of trimwork for over a year, we decided it would be a good idea to do that sometime before eventually moving out of the house. It had all been primed, but we'd never put the final coat of semi-gloss on. I mean, it was finally white, you know? So we lived with it for a while, until we began to realize that what we saw as dramatic improvement over the Brady-esque state of the house when we found it wasn't really so hot-looking in the eyes of someone who hadn't made the torturous mylar-wallpaper-stripping journey with us (no, I'm not kidding), and we thought we should make some progress. So naturally, being out of top painting form, by the end of the weekend I had The Claw and was feebly trying to finish up with my left hand. That was a little sloppy, to say the least, and so I'm going to "finish" tonight. I knew that being a homeowner (especially of a home that has needed constant work since Day 1) would not be a walk in the park, but.... Okay, I'll be honest. I did think it would be a walk in the park. I naively assumed that we had the requisite finances, know-how and gumption to figure out whatever we'd need to do and also that we'd have plenty of time. That's what nights and weekends are for, right? Ha. Poor, silly little me. Anyway, I'm all fired up and and hope to tackle the guest bathroom in the very near future, so that I won't feel compelled to explain to all our guests that the neon-lime sponge-paint job was NOT our doing.

Off to whip out my claw and finish up that trim.

We went to see the new HP movie this weekend. I haven’t really had time to digest it yet, but my first impressions are good. The movie is dark – not simply darker in subject matter, but visually darker as well. (At one point, CJM leaned over and whispered, “By the end, is it just going to be a black screen with voices?”) I spent the first ten or fifteen minutes of the movie wondering if there was something wrong with the theater’s projection and distressed that it might affect the entire (approximately) 2 ½ hours of the film. Things did lighten up (visually, if not action-wise) and I forgot about that particular worry.

This was a FAST movie – I may be wrong, but I believe this is, if not the longest, one of the longest of the books, and of necessity several subplots were dismissed as superfluous, and there were so many new characters I felt like I missed some of the old (even Ron and Hermione did not seem as omnipresent in this installment) even though their performances were stellar as always (and Snape is simply delicious). Even with so much of the story carved away, the action was (to use a movie cliché) non-stop. It certainly did not feel as though we had been sitting for 2 ½ hours (longer, with previews). Definitely spell-bound (har) throughout. Despite that, it still felt a bit rushed. I think I need to see it again to let it really sink in.

So far, I believe I still prefer film #3 (Prisoner of Azkaban) to this one, by a very thin margin – it was just so beautifully crafted. I can believe that it would have been monumentally difficult to adapt this particularly ponderous tome of a novel into anything short of a 6-hour epic and hope to achieve the lyricism and dark whimsy of the Prisoner of Azkaban film. Most critiques I’ve read of this latest film have raved about the realism of this version of Harry’s world and how Mike Newell, as the first British director of the series, is the first to really “get” British boarding school life. The school pieces are certainly authentic-seeming, without doubt entertaining, and are often humorous (especially as the young actors we’ve watched over the years are growing into their abilities as actors and seem more at-ease in their skins than ever before) – but this public-school-educated American longs for a little more fantasy to seep back into the overall portrayal. The musical score for this one is excellent, but again I felt it lacked a little of the creepily haunting beauty of the Azkaban score – this movie is an action thriller, with an action thriller’s musical accompaniment, whereas the previous movie’s score crept stealthily under your skin.

I don’t mean to complain, however, because this movie was immensely satisfying and the climax was so gripping I was literally frozen slack-jawed in my seat, clenching the armrests, tears welling. And it's easy to forget the the tone of the underlying books changed markedly with this installment --from the "calm before the storm" of The Prizoner of Azkaban to the frenetic all-hell-is-breaking-loose action of The Goblet of Fire-- and the movie reflects this shift. I simply want more of a good thing. The more I think about it, this movie was truly an incredible storytelling achievement, considering the reams of material to pare down to manageable size. I only wish we had a Peter-Jackson-style extended directors cut to look forward to in the DVD! I get the feeling that there was more to appreciate in this film than I am recalling and that my fondness for Azkaban is coloring my perception. I am definitely headed back to see this one in the theater once more and really sink into it this time.

One big peeve, though, and it’s not with the movie itself: Dear Roger Ebert: I don’t know if it’s because you feel like if you are too serious about an ostensibly “children’s” movie you won’t be taken seriously the rest of the time or what, but for God’s sake, get your details right. You wrote a fairly favorable review, but do a modicum of research next time and get the facts and figures right. Your credibility tends to suffer when you muff simple plot points that are repeated several times during the actual film (i.e., that students must be at least 17 to compete in the tournament, not 16, and that the “French” school is called “Beauxbatons” and not “Beauxbaton”). Maybe you got the number 16 from your press kit that states that Daniel Radcliffe is 16, maybe you just weren’t paying attention, or maybe you didn’t really actually watch the movie – I don’t know. But don’t you at least have assistants that help you proof-read your reviews?

Well I've just been sweetness and light around here lately, haven't I?

Let's liven things up a bit, shall we? It's no fun to open a journal and see nothing but "blah, blah, life is terrible and everything sucks and I'm boring and fat and sad." At least, I don't think that's particularly fun. I was starting to sound incredibly angsty there, and you would think I'd grown out of that by now.

Today is an excellent day because (a) it is my birthday (yay) and (b) it is finally cold, and yet it is not also raining and (c) CJM might be taking a new job, which, if it turns out to be as great as it sounds, would be MUCH more like what he really wants to do with his life AND with the added benefit of increasing our annual income by a significant margin.

So, I joined the gym and that's been horrifyingly fun. I don't plan on turning into one of those perky lycra-loving fanatical types, and it's still utterly tragic when the alarm goes off at 5:30 am, BUT, get this: I do actually feel much better. Apparently, exercise makes you feel better or something. Who knew? (Besides, apparently, everyone else in the world.) I can't say that I've actually lost any girth, but I don't feel as doughy and floppy and blah anymore. Yay, endorphins! Also, I really enjoy flipping between VH1 and the (The?) Food Network while I'm running. This is big, folks. My trainer (God, I'm such a ponce) has convinced me to enter the world of multivitamins and eating breakfast.

And the yoga? Kicks my ass. (Literally, last class, I did kick my own ass. With my actual foot. Kicking my actual ass.) Anyway, that shit is HARD. I'm not nearly as bendy as I used to be. And, you know, without the muscles.

Okay, back to my surveys and plats and horizontal property regimes. ("Regimes" doesn't look right. Regimery?)

I feel good right now! I rolled (literally) out of bed this morning shortly after 5:30 AM. I KNOW! In a moment of great revelation, I realized that once I was actually up, it wasn't so bad. So I grabbed my bags and headed out to the gym -- swiped my spanking new membership card and got to it.

I know I'm a giant wuss -- I did a 15-minute stint on the treadmill (all of which have flat-screen cable TVs above the display, with a headphone jack and little remote, FUN) and then headed over to do some upper-body free-weight stuff, and then did another 10 minutes on the elliptical machine (which didn't have a flat screen attached to it, but which was facing seven or so ceiling-mounted TVs, each of which with its own FM channel). BUT, even though that's a nancy kind of workout, it was still a workout. In the morning! Before work!

Then I headed in to the lovely locker rooms and got ready for work. I was at work before 8. I have GOT to make this a habit. The group class schedule for November is not as extensive -- apparently attendance drops off over the holidays -- but I'm going to start with some yoga classes next week.

I also started my food journal today. I am not sure how to do that really, and I expect the personal trainer will explain it all to me, but I thought I'd go ahead and get started, since I'm feeling all gung ho about this. So far there's nothing on it but two glasses of water and a mug of apple cider (instant). That's sort of pitiful. Should I have had breakfast? I never have breakfast...

Oh, well. Back to work...

1. To begin at the beginning, I was born. Ha. Anyway, I was born in Chicago, but moved to South Carolina very shortly thereafter. I’ve lived in South Carolina for all but a few months of my life. People from up North think I sound like a redneck hick, but people from down here think I’m from somewhere up there.

2. I know I have a Southern accent, but it’s not very pronounced (unless you’re from, like, Boston, or something). Every now and then, though, my inner Earlene will surface, and some word or other will come out horribly. Yesterday, on the phone with a client, I said “license,” but it came out “laaaahhsins.” I was mortified, ah shorely was.

3. I broke my jaw during my first year of law school. We had had an ice storm (which is what we have down here instead of snow) the week before and most of the ice was melted. There were still patches in the shadier spots, though. I stepped off the sidewalk onto one of those patches and hit the ground with my face. My boyfriend wouldn’t let me look in the mirror before we went to the hospital. I had to get 6 stitches in my chin and my jaw was wired shut for two months. I carried a pair of sexy little surgical wire cutters with me at all times in case of emergency.

4. I used to be in a ballet company and once toyed with the idea of dancing professionally. I was good enough to have been in the corps, but not a principal. However, I realized that I liked good food, spare time and pocket change too much to do that, so I went to college instead. My feet look a lot better now.

5. My middle name is Caroline. Even though I’ve taken my maiden name as my “official” middle name, my middle name is still Caroline.

6. For some reason, my middle name has often been misspelled “Carolina.” Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but whenever that happens, I have a feeling people think my parents named me after the state. Again, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but….

7. I used to live on a street called “Country Squire.” When you’re from the South, and you say “Country Squire,” people assume you’re saying “Country Square” and just can’t talk properly. This can be frustrating.

8. Politically, I’m much more conservative than I’ve ever been, but still nowhere near as conservative as most of this state. I would describe myself as a moderate that leans more to the left.

9. I have to admit that I think George Bush is kind of a goob. I don’t know the man personally, so who am I to judge, but I’m just not impressed. To make a violent understatement, that is.

10. I wouldn’t let my husband’s cousin and his underage girlfriend and her equally-underage friend drink at our house after a night on the town. We live on a blind curve on a busy road, and I immediately had images of someone wandering outside (on foot or en voiture, as it were) and getting run over by a cement truck from the construction site down the road. How on earth would I explain THAT to the state bar ethics committee?

11. I’m never going to get to 100 at this rate.

12. I would probably rather be reading a book more than anything else in the world.

13. I fantasize about winning the lottery, even though apparently, as a Notary Public, I cannot win the lottery here.

14. But I can marry people.

15. Besides my jaw, the only other thing I’ve ever broken (in my body, that is) is the pinky finger of my left hand. It healed straighter than the pinky on my right hand.

16. I take that back – I’ve had a stress fracture or two in my feet. But I don’t think that really counts as “broken.”

17. I can’t seem to keep umbrellas.

18. I’ve gained about 25 pounds since college.

19. I joined a fitness club today.

20. I have an insatiable sweet tooth. I will eat candy if it is within arms reach, even though I am turning green and getting the shakes from all the overprocessed sugars. I love pretty much all candy, although I go through periods of obsession with, alternately: chocolate-based confections, fruity gummy things, Wint-o-Green Lifesavers (the individually-wrapped variety), and cinnamon Altoids. If there is a pack of that breath-freshening gum stuff anywhere near me, I will finish it in about 20 minutes.

21. On the other hand, I adore sushi. I just can’t afford to eat it all the time.

22. Except for the tiny octopi. I can’t get past the fact that it’s an intact little animal presented for mastication. I prefer my food not to look too much like the animal it came from.

23. I loathe Wal-Mart with the fiery, burning passion of a thousand million suns.

24. Paradoxically, Target rocks the casbah.

25. As my friends will tell you, I can’t leave my hair alone. I change directions with it every few months. It’s longer now that it has been in a looooong time, and I’m really enjoying it. Hopefully, I will restrict myself to questionable color decisions for the near future and not get the itch to cut it short again. I always regret that.

26. My hair was black for a time during law school. It was supposed to be dark brown, but … there was an accident.

27. I look a lot better with a tan, but I feel too guilty to go to the tanning salon or be outside without sunscreen. I’m at an age where a few hours of sun exposure equals kind of wrinkly. When you’re young and stupid and your skin is resilient, you don’t notice this.

28. I have four moles: One on my right butt, one on my right shoulder blade, a small, pale one right beside my nose, and a teeny, tiny one on my left index finger. So far as we can tell, none of them are of the scary variety.

29. I have a freckle on my lower lip. You can see it when I’m not wearing lipstick. It’s been there for quite some time, but I still always lick my lip when I look in the mirror.

30. I drove a green Jeep Cherokee for almost ten years.

31. I’ve driven a different car -- a sedan -- for nearly a year, and I’m still not used to not being able to see ahead in traffic.

32. I can’t wait for ski season; but see #19. That had to happen before ski season.

33. I secretly don’t want to be a lawyer, but would rather live in the mountains and have a pottery studio.

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR "ME, PART II: NAVEL-GAZEALOO!"