I haven't been blogging much because I kind of fell in lurv and a good part of my internet time has been spent researching sex positions. Actually, a lot of my work time, bath time, bed time and even dog walking time has been spent doing that as well. Such is lurv.
I also haven't been bloggin' lately because my only real exposure to people (with the exception of my lurver) has been those people who don't get my jokes, and I don't like being around those people because then I have to turn into serious girl, and apparently I have this very prominent worry muscle that only goes away when I drink. Or have sex.
I dread being serious. I am not even serious in court. Sometimes opposing counsel does something so ridiculous that I snort laughter, and then I have to start making it sound like an asthma attack so I look like the kind of person who respects the decorum of the court even though I spend most of time imagining what the judge looks like in a string bikini. Or wondering if I have something in my teeth.
On that note, NOTHING irritates me more than a so-called friend who neglects to inform you that you have something stuck in your teeth. My teeth seem to cage every scrap of food imaginable, most of it green. A favorite trap is the area between my front teeth and my teeth next to the front teeth (whatever they're called). I can't tell you how many fucking times I've had to go to this fancy business lunch or something and no one had the kindness to maybe hint that I had something stuck. Hey! Spinach is good for me and I need to eat it. If you don't tell me that there's something in my teeth, it's giving me a reason not to eat it. Then I'll get malnutrition and die and it will all be your fault.
Anyway, since no one's very helpful on this score and retreating to the bathroom is not always an option, my new method is talking with my upper lip curled around my upper teeth. This makes articulation somewhat difficult, but I usually don't have much to say at these things anyway since a novice lawyer is sort of like those kids in puritan times that were supposed to be seen and not heard, except that I don't even want to be seen since my teeth might have some anemones parked in them or something.
Ok, so there are a few friends who have proven their worth by letting me know - probably because I'm always the first friend to point out that their fly is down. Not that I'm a crotch starer or anything. But telling someone their fly is down is much harder than the teeth thing because you have to admit that some part of you is attracted to the vision of an open zipper and you have to tell yourself it's just that and not the fact that you may/may not be attracted to your best girl friend and will always remember the delicious afternoon you made your Barbie dolls do things that wooden puppets were not nearly nimble enough to do.
For crying out loud, teeth clearing hopefully does not give people the feeling that they are repressing homosexual tendencies (although maybe it should). But for those helpful folk, please make sure when you tell me which crevice the offending object is stuck in, you do it as my mirror image. Meaning if the spinach is stuck left, show me right. Don't do the opposite and get all exasperated when I keep digging in the other side and then baring my teeth at your questioningly. Remember, helping a friend clear her dentals sometimes involves being an aerobics instructor. It may feel weird having to do it the other way, but it's for everyone's benefit.
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