Happy Friday!

The sun is shining, it is supposed to be a beautiful day, scratch that, a beautiful weekend, in Chicago. Did I mention that we are on the verge of a three-day weekend? 'Tis a lovely Friday indeed.

Oh, did I forget to mention that I got assigned another case with a co-counsel who on this lovely Friday is leaving for Hawaii? Yes, so I must watch his mail for anything that comes in relation to this case. If there is a request for discovery, I must get on it immediately. Additionally, if the results of that other case we handled together comes in, I need to be prepared to respond immediately while he is gone. Terrific.

Oh! Another coworker that shares several cases with me will be leaving for Spain for two weeks. This means I get to make sure our responses are on file for all of our shared cases, handle all of our court appearances on our shared cases, and handle all court appearances on her cases. Did I mention I have to check her mail for the next two weeks as well?

Sigh.

I fully admit that I am jealous beyond belief at those individuals who may get to take a vacation, especially exotic vacations right now. I have not been on a real, longer than a weekend, vacation in over five years. I'm tired. I want to sip on drinks out of pineapples and practice MY espanol too! (Womp, womp, womp. That's for you, Ms. Sass.)

And now is the part where I talk to myself: "Suck it up, FA. You go to New York in THREE WEEKS for three days of fun with some more of the best people you know. Furthermore, you and P.I.C. are planning a fabulous Central American vacation for the later half of the year. You know, when your vacation time has accrued more than three days. Quit being a baby."

Pep talks to myself in the third person are very helpful, don't you think?

At least it is a three-day weekend, and I get to share it with some of my favorite people in the world. And the weather will be gorgeous.

A random thought.

Last night in the midst of a very tortuous run (seriously, running in 80-plus humid weather is really asking for it), I noticed a piece of a hair extension on the sidewalk. I began to wonder how that extension came to lie on the ground.

My thoughts:
(1) There was a wicked girl fight and it was ripped out as a result. Actually, this is usually what I think when I see a random hair extension on the ground. I find them more often than you would think.
(2) A woman in a passing by car noticed it was loose, pulled it out, and let it fly out the window. This disturbs me. One, I hate littering. And two, I thought hair extensions were very expensive. If you're paying that kind of money for your "hair," why would you throw it away.
(3) It blew out of someone's garbage. This is probably the most likely answer, don't you think?

This morning, I wonder, is there a woman walking around with a bald spot in an awkward place, or did she go immediately to have it repaired?

And, to accompany this odd assortment of thoughts, here is a photo of me trying on some of Jessica Simpson's finest extensions.

Happy Thursday, everyone!

I cured a cold in a week.

My friends know that I rarely get sick. I am capable of massive amounts of whining about inconsequential things in my life or stressing about those same things, but sickness and me? Not really a match. Perhaps it is my good genes (thanks, Mom) or just the fact that I regularly eat quite a bit of fruits and vegetables, but my immune system treats me well.

Let's rewind to two weeks ago, the final night of our cook club. My coworker, Ms. Sass, spends the night at my house afterwards, a veritable slumber party with stupid girl movies and giggling long after we were supposed to be asleep. Ms. Sass seems to have the opposite luck with the illness. She catches something if she hears someone sneeze. Of course, two days later, she sends me a text message and tells me, "Just so you know, I have strep throat so bad that I had to go to the ER."

Great. Even though I am pretty tough, I start to feel a tickle in my throat the next day. To me, it feels like I am getting a cold, but I don't know, I've never had strep throat. My throat progresses into a rather annoying cold, not strep throat. So I go through the motions of buying orange juice and cold medicine and extra tissues for my constantly running nose. In the meanwhile, Ms. Sass has to go the hospital for her ailments (poor gal.) She is in the hospital for five days. Me? I am essentially cured in a week. The orange juice seemed to help.

The sad bit? Ms. Sass was supposed to be en route to greener pastures, AKA California. Literally, greener pastures, or so the cows in the commercial say (you know, "Happy cows come from California"?). Lucky for her, she was able to just work an extra week, be covered under insurance and then proceed westward.

And I get one more week with Ms. Sass in our lovely office kicks. I am glad she's on the mend. I'm glad my cold is gone. But I am sad I am losing my best office bud.

I may be able to cure a simple cold in a week, but she gets to move her life to sunny California.

The office will be a lot lonelier for me without her. And short a lot of sass.

Coach, I gotta USE it.

When they are not making us want to pull our hair out, the girls on our softball team are quite hysterical. They are antsy, silly and funny. (Hey, kinda like me!)

One of my favorite things they say is in reference to the rest room. Well, I don't think that you can technically call a portapotty a "rest room" but you get my gist. Because some of our games take so long, and apparently we are a team of tiny bladders, at least twice during the game, the girls will come up to either myself or C and say, "Coach, do I have time? I really gotta USE it." I had never heard this way of expressing the desire to relieve oneself. Of course, the universal antsy dance was my key to completely understanding what they were after. Once I figured out they meant make a trip to the portapotty, we always answer the same: "Yes, but you have to RUN."

"Using it" always makes me laugh. It makes me think of them dancing around, full of the sugary pop they consume all throughout the game and the seriousness with which they take our directive of "RUN." (Well, that's only sometimes. There are times we have to holler at them again if we see dawdling.)

Of course, the last time we let more than one girl go to "use it" at a time, there was an altercation with another team on their way back resulting in a parent and her children running across the field in the middle of the play to go find out what was happening.

New rule? Only one girl can go "use it" at a time.

A summer meltdown already.

"At least you'll get a blog entry out of this, right?" P.I.C was stretching, as I continued to sniffle back my tears, mopping away at my sticky floor.

He was right. And here is how I ended the first summer day of the year mopping the sticky strawberry juice off my floor and sending P.I.C. down to the alley with a bag full of spoiled groceries at 11:00 P.M.

Let me back up to how the day panned out. We opened our eyes to summer in Chicago yesterday morning. Sunshine streaming through the mini-blinds, birds chirping, and the quiet hum of the fan it just felt like summer. Furthermore, it  was hot. As in ninety degrees hot. Humid. Sunny. Summer. Yay, right? Well, we rang in the weather with a patio-ed brunch, bloody marys, good friends and sun dresses. Well, I wore a sun dress. P.I.C. didn't embrace that summer tradition, obviously.

After our leisurely brunch, we all went to our respective homes to get ready for the day. P.I.C. and I had barbecue plans (fully summer, right?) to watch the Chicago Blackhawks playoff game (watching hockey is decidedly not summer, but hey, playoffs are playoffs!) I proceeded to get a large glass of ice water, feeling thirsty and hot after my walk home. After a few minutes of relaxing, I had to get going, so I filled my cup back up with ice and water and took off.

More lovely times were had in the form of friends, homemade guacamole, Brooklyn Summer Ale, and a big "W" for the Hawks. We made it home in time for the Lost series finale. (Still processing that one. No spoilers here, but I feel inherently unsatisfied as their form of resolution of the series.)

Entering my now stifling apartment at nearly 11:00 p.m. with my arms full of groceries purchased that afternoon, I grappled with the decision to turn on the air conditioning. No sooner had I set the bags on my chair in the kitchen when I see P.I.C. push closed my freezer door. I looked at him, perplexed. I didn't buy any freezer goods at the store. Then I realized why he had done that.

I had left the freezer door ajar. Not just a little. A lot.

I walked over the freezer, feeling my feet get slightly sticky from whatever was on the floor and slowly opened the door, dreading the sight to unfold. a melty pitcher of water sat there next to my two ice cube trays containing...water. My half-gone bag of frozen strawberries had created a gooey mess down the front of my fridge and then my floor creating the stickiness underfoot. A brand new bag of frozen chicken breasts was a soggy mess. Frozen broccoli florets were no longer frozen, instead sloshing around in their plastic bag. Frozen salmon filets, carefully chosen because they were wild caught, not farm-raised, were only partially thawed, perfect if I had been pulling them out of my fridge for dinner that evening.

My reaction? A bit delayed. But sure enough, the waterworks came out. "All....of...that food....wasted...I...don't....have...money....to restock my freezer....I feel....sooo.....stupid" I sobbed to P.I.C., feeling completely distressed. His reaction? He started laughing, as he reached out to hug me. Of course, at this time, I was perplexed at his reaction to my distress, and sobbed to him, "Whyyy....are....you...laughing at...meee?" which only made him laugh harder, apologizing through his ridiculous laughter.

"I'm sorry, honey, I'm not laughing at you. The situation is just kind of ridiculous and funny."

I knew that. But still, I was upset. Who could blame me?

We then began to sort through the carnage of what used to be my well-stocked freezer. The chicken could be salvaged if we cooked it up all early this week. The fish wasn't completely thawed, so it could be salvaged as well. The unopened veggies? Some of them weren't entirely thawed, so they could go back in there. I now have one package of tilapia, a bag of mixed bell peppers and a bag of frozen berries in my freezer. Oh, and I refilled the ice cube trays too.

And how could I forget my bottle of vodka. It was salvaged as well. Cuz, come on, the next time something like this happens, I might need a drink.

Turns out, P.I.C. was right. I can blog about this. I'm not, however, laughing about it, the pain of losing most of my contents of my freezer is too fresh. But perhaps you can laugh.

A funny encounter down-state.

Today I made my first of what is sure to many treks down to Ottawa, Illinois to the LaSalle County Courthouse. (Well, first I made a stop at the LaSalle County Government Center which funnily enough, is NOT the courthouse. Oops. Thank goodness for GPS and smart phones, yes?) My new job has me traveling all over the state. Well, north of Springfield, that is. Makes for interesting experiences in my court appearances.

Downtown Ottawa appears to be very charming by my cursory trip through town. Free parking nearly everywhere in close proximity to the courthouse made me swoon, even when it was apparent I couldn't park in the lot directly adjacent to the courthouse because I didn't realize that I had to enter by turning left on the following street. The courthouse was typical of the less-populated counties in which I have attended court: large, made of brick, and very old. They always look like a courthouse which is wonderful for people like me who just might be directionally challenged. (It is a true story that I usually get lost the first time I go anywhere. Once I get lost, I very rarely make that same mistake twice. It is almost the shame of getting lost that prevents me from making the same mistake twice.)

Another factor that makes traveling out of county more pleasant to more rural areas is the friendliness of the courthouse employees. For the most part, the security officers at the metal detectors tend to greet you with a smile. The clerks are rather helpful and will answer your questions or at least direct you to the appropriate person. And the bailiffs in the courtroom tend to be a lot of fun. Helpful and friendly, I almost always walk away with a story to share.

And so goes this particular incident. I was in the courtroom, waiting for my case to be called, when the judge decided he was going to hear a particular matter in which all other persons had to exit the courtroom. That included me. I parked myself on a chair right outside the courtroom to review my motion and the bailiff starts up a conversation. Now the bailiff is an older gentleman, but very friendly, as per usual.

B: "That kid in there must be a mechanic. He's got a muffler burn on his neck."
F.A. (clearly not getting his point) "Huh. Must be."

I threw in an appropriate chuckle since the bailiff was getting a kick out of his comment.

B. "I don't even know if people call them that anymore. I know they did when I was in high school. I mean, that was a year or two ago."

At this point, I begin to catch his drift. He meant a hickey. Ooooooh. Got it. My chuckles turned real as I realized he was making fun of the kid's hickey. Of course, as the kid exited the courtroom, I had to take a look at his neck to see the "muffler burn." Sure enough, there was a bright purple hickey clear as day.

Good eye, bailiff. Good eye. Once again, you have shown me that the smaller county bailiffs never disappoint in the entertainment department.

Is it a smoothie or a shake? You decide.

Lately, both P.I.C. and I have been trying to get in shape. This involves efforts at the gym and eating better. We share recipes and both come up with creative and healthy dinner ideas to further this endeavor. Furthermore, the constant dining out was breaking the bank in addition to expanding both of our waistlines. Honestly, this is the best way to change your lifestyle, buddy-style. We are moving in the right direction, I firmly believe.

However, the other day, I go into P.I.C.'s freezer and notice that he has ice cream in there. Here goes the conversation.

F.A.: "Um, how come I didn't know you had ice cream in your freezer? I'd have tapped into that awhile ago."
P.I.C. "Oh, I don't eat the ice cream, I use in in my smoothies. You know, with the berries and oatmeal."

Silence.

F.A. "You mean the smoothies you make for breakfast?"
P.I.C. "Yeah."

Silence.

F.A. "That is called  milkshake."
P.I.C. "But it has fruit. And I eat it for breakfast. It's a smoothie."

Silence.

F.A. "Nope. If it has milk, it's a shake."

The subject is dropped for awhile, we go about our business. But perhaps twenty minutes later, I remind him of his odd morning meal choice.

F.A. "I can't believe you've been eating milkshakes for breakfast."

He had no response, obviously. The other night, I was assembling leftover dessert from my cooking night. Alright, I know I said we were taking efforts to eat better, but I'll be damned if I'm about to let homemade dessert go to waste. I was heating up the homemade hot fudge sauce. (See here my dessert attempt and for  a picture. Yum, right?!) Here's the ensuing conversation.

F.A. "Man, I should've gotten some vanilla ice cream at Dominick's. This hot fudge would be kick ass on that."
P.I.C. "I have ice cream in my freezer, silly."
F.A. "Oh, right. For your smoothies." (Yes, smoothies was said with accompanying air quotes.)

There was silence as I diligently spooned the steaming hot fudge sauce onto the panna cotta.

F.A. "Oh, well, do you want the leftover hot fudge to take home? You know, for your smoothies?"

And now you know, I always get the last word. Always.

(P.S. Let's do a reader poll: Do we think P.I.C. is having milk shakes for breakfast? Or are you buying his smoothie explanation?)