Friday, September 19, 2008

The Answer to All of Life's Problems

I went to the doctor yesterday to inquire about a few things that have been bothering me lately. First off is the way that my heart has been racing periodically in reaction to stressors in my life. That one seemed like an obvious stress/anxiety reaction, but my mommy wanted me to make sure it wasn't something more serious. (Don't worry, when I went in for the EKG, my pulse was 43 beats per minute, so no racing heart there.)

What really concerns me is the other problem: I have been burping for since July 5. On that day, which was a fast Sunday, I burped on average about once every thirty seconds from 11 AM until 11 PM. I didn't even really notice for the first hour or so, but then it just got silly. I lied down for a nap and gas was seeping/popping out of my esophagus into my mouth. Now, these are not sick gross burps, but rather non-acidic, odorless burps, so it could definitely be worse. But imagine burping all day long.

For the next month, the burping was reduced to more manageable amounts until I had another day like that Sunday. I made all the kids at the youth camp I worked for count with me. On a forty minute drive I burped forty times. I then bought some Gas-X, which helped a little bit.

Now it is September, over two months later, and I am still burping! I burp at least once every ten minutes and at most five times in a minute. Where is all this gas coming from?!? Do I have a tube attached to my back that I can't see? Have all my friends seen it and not told me? Jerks. Google says that most of the time it results from subconsciously swallowing air, a habit that develops when people consciously swallow air to make joke burps. I don't do that. I don't find much funny about burps. Unless there is a clown involved. And even then it's more likely to be scary like that Stephen King mini-series "It" than funny like that Stephen King movie "The Mist."

Worst of all, after the meeting with the doctor, he told me to look it up on Google. Huh? You went to who knows how many years of medical school to say, "Look it up on Google"? I hope that's what lawyers do after law school. Want to sue your landlord? Look it up on Google! Want to write a will? Look it up on Google! Want to defend yourself from murder charges? Look it up on Google! Maybe that makes a compelling closing argument for the jury: Look it up on Google! (That probably would have worked in the OJ Simpson case.)

So if you have any other problems in your life, look it up on Google. No, seriously try it. I think it might work. That doctor might be on to something. Google's pretty sweet. Let me know how it goes.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Willkommen zu Hause!

"I am from ze lant of chocolate!" That's one of my favorite memories from the Simpsons.

JTS returned from a two-month tryst in Germany on Thursday. Now, despite the fact that we repeatedly asked him through Facebook messages if we should sell his contract, and despite the fact that he repeatedly told us to, when he got to the house, he was shocked to find that there were no contracts left. He doesn't have a place to live. He just kept saying, "Why didn't anyone tell me that there were no contracts left?" When we reminded him of the several messages on Facebook, he said, "Yeah, I knew you sold my contract, but why didn't you tell me that there were no other contracts left?"

So, despite the inexplicable miscommunication, JTS was very forgiving of the way we ousted him from the house. What's interesting, though, is the fact that he has yet to actually find a place to live. Luckily, Bard B is in Hawaii with his family for the week, so JTS has just stayed in his room. Unluckily, Bard B comes back tomorrow, and our house is way too small for extra inhabitants.

Whenever JTS does something annoying, I just remind him that he doesn't live here anymore. For example, when he heats up chili in the microwave without an effective cover, or when he makes demands about the air conditioning. "You don't even live here," I say. Then we laugh and laugh as I call the police and report a trespasser.

The last straw came this morning when JTS informed me that Ryan, a guy in our ward last year who became good friends with JTS in Europe, would be staying at our house for the next few days. That means that Bard B will be back in his bed (that's like a little tongue twister), Ryan will be sleeping on the couch in our small living room, and JTS will be sleeping on the floor in the computer/closet area of the bedroom Frazzle B and I share. Did JTS ask any of us if that was ok? No. Are either of them going to be helping with the utilities? Doubtful. Is there food going to take up room in our fridge? Definitely. Is Frazzle B going to have to jump over JTS several times every morning in order to get ready for the day. You'd better believe it. After all this, I only have one thing to say:

YOU DON'T EVEN LIVE HERE!!!

Friday, September 12, 2008

A Year Gone and Yet to Be Remembered

It really has been 356 days since the last post. It turns out that law school isn't as funny as you might think. It's kind of funny, but in that "we laugh at nerdy things" way. For example, one day class was being periodically interrupted by the familiar sounds of sawing and hammering. The professor finally stopped his lecture and said, "What is that noise?" One of the students said, "I think someone's doing some construction." We all laughed at him. That's funny stuff, right? Only in law school.

You see, 68 percent of law school is proving that you are smarter than the person next to you. It's the way the grades are given, it's the way friends are made, it's the way jobs interviews are claimed. When this poor student sincerely suggested that there was construction going on, everyone laughed because that was so obvious that only someone at the bottom of the class would suggest it. And yes, the professor laughed too.

Speaking of bottom of the class, that is where I have fallen into a comfortable pillow of mediocrity. It feels like being in one of those huge love sacks that has a pin in it, and every time you are getting comfortable, it sticks you right in the buttinski. Or the back of the neck. Or in the eyes. Luckily, I have been developing callouses on the butt and on the back of the neck and on my eyes, so I can still enjoy that big sack of ease.

The point is that all these eye callouses have made it harder to see how many funny things are going on every day. So I have recommitted myself to recognizing the ironic, the sarcastic, the stupid, the hypocritical, the hilarious, and the droll in order to share it with those very few who dare to start reading my blog again.

Most of my roommate Frazzle B's friends from ballroom dance have met me several times. None of them ever remembers having met me. It gets annoying. The quintessential example of this phenomenon occurred on Sunday. Frazzle B and I went to a regional conference for church and sat with his dance friends and I met one of them (for the fourth or fifth time). That night we went to a party and that same guy looked me in the eyes, shook my hand and introduced himself. I told him my name and he looked at me a little harder and said, "Limon . . . from . . . today?" He was obviously embarrassed, especially when Bard B, my other roommate, told him that they had met twice before, and I informed him that we had met six times or so. It's a wonder that people like that can manage in the world.

(PS-If I have ever forgotten your name or having met you, I apologize. I'm sure I had a good reason that this other guy didn't.)