From: MOM
Date: Tue, Dec 22, 2009 at 10:42 AM
Subject: Christmas
To: Unfortunate Lawyer
If you want to spend Christmas at the farm, you better get out of there asap on Wednesday. If you wait till afternoon, you and your sister will either be stuck there for Christmas, in a ditch between here and there, or in a motel somewhere. Wednesday afternoon it is supposed to be very windy - freezing rain, and snow starting - and we are going to get 10-20" from Wed until Fri night. Could another lawyer do your afternoon court thing for you? Can you move it to next week because of the weather? Let me know what is up....OK?? I bought some pillow fabric for your sister; if she doesn't like it, that's OK. We'll at least practice making pillows with it. Hope to hear back from you. LUV MOM
From: Unfortunate Lawyer
Date: Tue, Dec 22, 2009 at 10:46 AM
Subject: Christmas
To: MOM
We can leave right after court tomorrow. I should be done by 2:30 or so. No one else can cover it, and they won't continue it because my client has to go to jail tomorrow. They assume that asking for a continuance is just a ploy to keep him out of jail for Christmas. We'll leave as soon as possible.
Love, Unfortunate
From: MOM
Date: Tue, Dec 22, 2009 at 10:53 AM
Subject: Christmas
To: Unfortunate Lawyer
Tell the judge to make it short & sweet.....Dad will talk to you later, when you leave about which route to take to avoid the most snow and ice. Call when you leave.... IT WILL BE BAD, SO GET YOUR BUTTS OUT OF THERE ASAP!! Otherwise, I'll just have to give your gifts to the needy in town. Later--LUV MOM. PS: just talked to your sister and she is good with the pillow project.
Showing posts with label my mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my mother. Show all posts
12.22.2009
11.10.2008
Fever Till You Sizzle, What A Lovely Way To Burn
A brief but powerful flu virus cheated me out of my weekend.
It started Friday at noon, and by 9pm, I had a temperature of 102 and was simultaneously shivering and sweating under a down blanket. My mom called to check on me. I was a little out of it, but I remember her talking a lot. In my feverish delerium, I recall two pieces of the conversation very distinctly:
1 - "You need to take some Tylenol. For the fever. You don't have Tylenol in the house? How can you not have Tylenol? No, Ibuprofen and Alleve are not Tylenol. You know, Tylenol is a pretty basic thing and you should really have it around. Well...Tylenol PM will be okay for tonight, but tomorrow, you really need to go buy some extra strength Tylenol. I can't believe you don't have Tylenol in your house. [speaking across the room to my dad] No, she doesn't have any Tylenol. No Tylenol in the house - can you believe that? Huh. Well, how about aspirin? Do you have any aspirin? No, Ibuprofen and Alleve are not aspirin. Really, Tylenol is a very basic thing. Nowhere in your house do you have Tylenol? You know, Tylenol is something you should really just have on hand."
2 - "...and it's not like you have a husband to take care of you..."
It started Friday at noon, and by 9pm, I had a temperature of 102 and was simultaneously shivering and sweating under a down blanket. My mom called to check on me. I was a little out of it, but I remember her talking a lot. In my feverish delerium, I recall two pieces of the conversation very distinctly:
1 - "You need to take some Tylenol. For the fever. You don't have Tylenol in the house? How can you not have Tylenol? No, Ibuprofen and Alleve are not Tylenol. You know, Tylenol is a pretty basic thing and you should really have it around. Well...Tylenol PM will be okay for tonight, but tomorrow, you really need to go buy some extra strength Tylenol. I can't believe you don't have Tylenol in your house. [speaking across the room to my dad] No, she doesn't have any Tylenol. No Tylenol in the house - can you believe that? Huh. Well, how about aspirin? Do you have any aspirin? No, Ibuprofen and Alleve are not aspirin. Really, Tylenol is a very basic thing. Nowhere in your house do you have Tylenol? You know, Tylenol is something you should really just have on hand."
2 - "...and it's not like you have a husband to take care of you..."
10.14.2008
Exclamation Point
I'm not supposed to type my own letters at work. I have been trained to dictate them into a tape recorder for my secretary to type, and I have been taught that this is faster and more efficient than typing them myself.
When we dictate letters, we say the punctuation. For example, my dictation of a letter might sound like this: "Dear Penelope colon What are you trying to prove question mark My friend Joby likes your blog posts more than he likes mine period new paragraph..."
But that's not how you're supposed to talk in real life.
At a recent hearing, I was cross-examining a witness...and it had been a long day. I looked down at my paperwork and casually asked, "Ms. Jones, did you participate in mediation on February nineteen comma two thousand eight?"
"Excuse me?" she asked, as the judge's head and that of the opposing lawyer snapped towards me in perfect unison.
"Uh...sorry, Ms. Jones. I'll ask that question again."
When I relayed the story to my mother (who is funny but who does not make fun) responded, "O boy. That's a blunder. I'm surprised you didn't say 'question mark' at the end."
When we dictate letters, we say the punctuation. For example, my dictation of a letter might sound like this: "Dear Penelope colon What are you trying to prove question mark My friend Joby likes your blog posts more than he likes mine period new paragraph..."
But that's not how you're supposed to talk in real life.
At a recent hearing, I was cross-examining a witness...and it had been a long day. I looked down at my paperwork and casually asked, "Ms. Jones, did you participate in mediation on February nineteen comma two thousand eight?"
"Excuse me?" she asked, as the judge's head and that of the opposing lawyer snapped towards me in perfect unison.
"Uh...sorry, Ms. Jones. I'll ask that question again."
When I relayed the story to my mother (who is funny but who does not make fun) responded, "O boy. That's a blunder. I'm surprised you didn't say 'question mark' at the end."
6.15.2008
Happy Father's Day
"Your dad always talks to the cats," my mom announced.
I turned my attention to the kitchen at my parents' house and, sure enough, Dad was having what could only be described as a conversation with the cat. It was the cat my sister and I dropped off at their farmhouse 5 years ago and never came back to get...the cat originally named 'Weed', and regrettably re-named 'Furball' by my mother.
During my 2-day visit, my mom described my hair as "unkempt", my career as "stagnant", my lack of a boyfriend as "disappointing", and my current weight as "something to really work on."
I know exactly why my dad talks to the cats. Exactly why.
Happy Father's Day, and hang in there, Dad.
I turned my attention to the kitchen at my parents' house and, sure enough, Dad was having what could only be described as a conversation with the cat. It was the cat my sister and I dropped off at their farmhouse 5 years ago and never came back to get...the cat originally named 'Weed', and regrettably re-named 'Furball' by my mother.
During my 2-day visit, my mom described my hair as "unkempt", my career as "stagnant", my lack of a boyfriend as "disappointing", and my current weight as "something to really work on."
I know exactly why my dad talks to the cats. Exactly why.
Happy Father's Day, and hang in there, Dad.
6.02.2008
People are weird around me.
Chapter One: My new doctor.
Today, I saw an odd little doctor about a foot injury. I was going to ignore the foot problem, but made the mistake of mentioning it to my mother. She became convinced...convinced...that my foot was broken, that it had been broken for months, that I probably had a blood clot, that any sudden movement would knock loose the blood clot, that the newly-freed clot would swiftly travel to my heart, and that I would die. Instantly. Her panic turned to my panic. Enter Doctor Peculiar.
Doctor: What's going on here?
Me: Well, I hurt my foot. I don't know what's wrong with it. But it hurts right...here.
Doctor: Ooookay. Well. You have rather large feet.
Me: Yes.
Doctor: They are very long.
Me: Yep. Do you think that has something to do with my injury?
Doctor: No.
Me: Okay.
Doctor: Looking at your x-ray, there are no bones that are obviously broken.
Me: Well, that's good.
Doctor: I'd certainly say so, yes. Very good.
Doctor Peculiar then honed in on my foot, staring. With very little precision and even less indication of experience with this sort of thing, he curled his fingers into a fist, lest the index finger. In this pre-formed "pointing" position, his hand closed in on my foot.
Poke.
"Does it hurt there?"
"No."
Rather than simply retracting his hand, Doctor Peculiar's entire body rocked backwards after this first point of contact, as if he was frozen in his Pointing Position. I stared, fascinated, as he appeared to be coming in for another one.
Poke.
He did this with exactly the same level of bewitched curiosity as a cat nudging a square of Jell-O with its paw.
"Does it hurt there?"
"A little."
"Okay then."
He referred me to a podiatrist and prescribed me something called Daypro, which I suspect will be laced with a small amount of Rohypnol to render me unconscious for just long enough for him to sneak into my house, snap some photos of my "long" feet and post them on a website which will almost certainly have the word 'amazon' or 'giantess' somewhere in the web address.
Oh, I'm onto you, Doctor. I'm onto you.
Today, I saw an odd little doctor about a foot injury. I was going to ignore the foot problem, but made the mistake of mentioning it to my mother. She became convinced...convinced...that my foot was broken, that it had been broken for months, that I probably had a blood clot, that any sudden movement would knock loose the blood clot, that the newly-freed clot would swiftly travel to my heart, and that I would die. Instantly. Her panic turned to my panic. Enter Doctor Peculiar.
Doctor: What's going on here?
Me: Well, I hurt my foot. I don't know what's wrong with it. But it hurts right...here.
Doctor: Ooookay. Well. You have rather large feet.
Me: Yes.
Doctor: They are very long.
Me: Yep. Do you think that has something to do with my injury?
Doctor: No.
Me: Okay.
Doctor: Looking at your x-ray, there are no bones that are obviously broken.
Me: Well, that's good.
Doctor: I'd certainly say so, yes. Very good.
Doctor Peculiar then honed in on my foot, staring. With very little precision and even less indication of experience with this sort of thing, he curled his fingers into a fist, lest the index finger. In this pre-formed "pointing" position, his hand closed in on my foot.
Poke.
"Does it hurt there?"
"No."
Rather than simply retracting his hand, Doctor Peculiar's entire body rocked backwards after this first point of contact, as if he was frozen in his Pointing Position. I stared, fascinated, as he appeared to be coming in for another one.
Poke.
He did this with exactly the same level of bewitched curiosity as a cat nudging a square of Jell-O with its paw.
"Does it hurt there?"
"A little."
"Okay then."
He referred me to a podiatrist and prescribed me something called Daypro, which I suspect will be laced with a small amount of Rohypnol to render me unconscious for just long enough for him to sneak into my house, snap some photos of my "long" feet and post them on a website which will almost certainly have the word 'amazon' or 'giantess' somewhere in the web address.
Oh, I'm onto you, Doctor. I'm onto you.
5.14.2008
Category?
Don't squint. You're seeing this right.
1) leopard-print push-up bra
2) $30 cash
2) $30 cash
3) asparagus
If you said Things My Mother Sent Me in the Mail Today...you would be correct.
Best Day Ever.
4.29.2008
Confession
My mother still buys me underwear. I don't know why she thinks I can't buy my own underwear. I can definitely buy my own underwear.
The latest pair has caused me some concern.
Deal with what...exactly?
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