Yes, my friends and comrades, I have returned. Triumphantly. So triumphantly in fact, that I chose to give this blog entry four separate, but related titles as I prepare to unleash a post with more random bits of information than Jeopardy. (A thought. Why do contestants on Jeopardy choose the most pointless fact about themselves to share with a national television audience? When trying to unwind after a long day at the firm, I simply do not care how you came to love painting with animal droppings or how your mother-in-law was suppossed to only live in your basement for a year, but has managed to stretch that year into ten. Please find something exciting to say before you return as champion the following evening. Ken Jennings' anecdotes were always insightful, which is the true reason why he was so successful. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. His intelligence had nothing to do with his record-setting run.)
(Note: With regards to the last title, "I'm Gonna Choke You, Grandma", I feel no need to explain its inclusion. Only one other person in my life will even appreciate this chosen title. Imagine it being spoken by a seven-year-old boy with an incredibly high-pitched, raspy voice and you will have no trouble relating.)
You may have found yourself wondering why I have not blogged in almost a week. Well, life threw me a giant curveball, a major bump in the road (all metaphors are apropos in this particular situation) Wednesday evening. On with my cautionary tale...
First, I back up to Tuesday morning. (Who hates when I do this?) The lawyer I find most appealing in my firm walks by my desk and hands me something wrapped in wax paper. I open it to find a homemade chocolate chip cookie he had baked himself. Had he not just explained these premier baking skills of his, I would have presumed it came directly from Mrs. Field's or some other glorious bakery-type establishment. It was perfection. The requisite ratio of cookie dough to chocolate chip. What fine craftsmanship! (It is a true shame this lawyer is in a serious relationship and will be leaving the firm to follow his girlfriend out-of-state in a few short months. He could have been a contender.) It took me a second longer than it should have to realize that he had baked these cookies for the entire office and not just for my own personal enjoyment.
Nonetheless, I instantly found myself in a predicament. While aesthetically pleasing, I knew that enjoying this cookie would cost me three critical Weight Watchers points from my day of dining. But to offend my potential lawyer husband? I could not sacrifice his feelings for my own health and well-being. I wouldn't dream of it. The pain would be too great to endure. Alas, I ate hottie lawyer's homemade treat as slowly as possible, attempting to invoke maximum enjoyment from an ordinary dessert. I made the correct choice, and in turn, formed a bond with this lawyer I only hope he remembers as being one he wishes never to break by moving thousands of miles across the country.
On to Wednesday... I get in my car a touch after 11:30 in the evening to drive home after a long day of life - a morning gym session, an eight-hour work day, dinner with my aunt, a quick errand or two, an eye doctor appointment, a visit to the children of a good friend (perhaps to the child who uttered the infamous grandma-choking quote above and his sister?), and a few games of bowling with a different friend whom I had not seen in many years.
I am only the slightest bit tired when I begin my drive, but am hungry and in need of a snack. I stop for an Apple Cinnamon Nutri-Grain cereal bar at a gas station, having only had a few Weight Watchers points left in my day. (FYI - The bar is two points.) I didn't intend to use these points at all because I no longer eat late at night, even if I do occassionally feel hungry in the evening after dinner. I am getting close to home and am looking forward to blogging my new "Take It or Leave It" column and heading to bed.
I am awoken to the sound of my car, Michael Jackson Goldstein (or MJ, as he is affectionately known), going up onto a curb and mere moments later, flopping back down on the road with a significant thud. I narrowly missed smashing into a telephone pole. I am not sure whether I feel asleep behind the wheel or passed out behind the wheel. This topic is open to debate. (People are already forming strong opinions one way or the other, so be sure to choose a side and hop on the bandwagon.) Thankfully, I walk away without injuring myself or anyone else in any capacity whatsoever. It was a truly scary situation, as I am forever grateful to be alive and typing these words to you.
MJ was not so lucky. Two flat tires, two bent rims, and one serious alignment later, MJ underwent plastic surgery for a meager $605. (And I do mean meager. I had been expecting a price tag in the thousands. Thank you, Jerry, at Paul Miller Honda in Caldwell, New Jersey for your gracious and economically-friendly service.)
I, of only minor car troubles past, began to wonder if naming my car in tribute to the deceased King of Pop could somehow have been a bad omen. Since I got the car this past July 11th, my aunt has backed into its front bumper in her driveway, I have smashed my head into the door frame (while parked), causing a bloody abrasion above my eye that required a hospital visit, I have "skimmed" another car while driving the narrow streets of Clifton, New Jersey (and would have had to pay to repair the few scratches incurred had Jerry at Paul Miller Honda not fixed them free of charge because he felt incredibly sympathetic towards me), and now, this latest incident.
I have decided to change MJ's name to The Artist (formerly known as MJ), now known as Jermaine Tito Goldstein. (JT, to those who love him best.) I feel like this is far less ominous, because both Jermaine and Tito Jackson are presently alive and well. I gladly accept any other names you may think of, but will most likely ignore every single one of them and remain with JT. Initials are fun.
I now conclude The Death of Michael Jackson, Take Two. I hope you will forgive me for not updating as promised and will take into consideration the extenuating circumstances of this past week before calling me a liar and a fraud. I may turn out to be both of those things later in life, but for the present time, I believe that cutting me some slack is just what the doctor ordered.
It feels good to be back in the blog routine, and not riding shotgun in a tow truck to the Honda dealership in the middle of the night. Let me know if you agree.
- Elyssa
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