Thanks A Lot

Didn't I tell you guys to think good, non-jury-duty-serving thoughts tonight? One of you decided to think bad, jury-duty-serving thoughts and now not only do I have to report in tomorrow, but I have been transferred to the court in NORWALK. I don't even know where that is. A mapquest search shows that it's over 20.10 miles away from me. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! Do you know how long it's going to take me to drive 20 miles during rush hour? FOREVER, that's how long.


Jury Duty: Day 4 of 5

I did jury duty once in Connecticut. It was a pretty good experience; I went in for one day, sat around watching movies, and then got to leave early. And my job paid me as if I had worked an entire day!

Of course, it's different in California. Here, they send you a summons for an entire WEEK, of which you may or may not have to serve any of its days. Each night after five o'clock, I have to call a phone number and they tell me whether or not I have to report in the next day. Which means I can't make any plans because I don't know if I'll be available or not. While the fleeting moment of suspense when I call the jury service number and wait to hear my fate is kind of fun, it still pretty much sucks. But you can't get out of it, so you just have to hope you don't get called. So far, I have not had to go in, which means that, if you were to stand outside my apartment door, you'd hear me exclaiming "YES! Ha ha! Eat it, justice system!" around five o'clock for the last four days. Friday is the last day of this inconvenience. Everyone think good, non-jury-duty-having thoughts tomorrow night at five o'clock PST, please.

In a delightful change from all the "maruchan instant lunch" searches that usually get people here, someone got to this blog by typing "sara morrison resume search." Whoever you are, I thank you for your interest in my job history and assure you it's awesome and I'm qualified for whatever you're thinking of hiring me for. Unless it's prostitution, and even then I'm sure we can work something out that's agreeable to both parties (just kidding, Mom!). You'll have to wait until next week to schedule me for an interview, however, as I'm not sure about my availability on Friday because California sucks.


Grown In

Much like the personality that inhabits it, my body is very stubborn. From my hair that refuses to do what I want it to EVER regardless of the amount or type of hair products I put in it or what style I'm going for, to my ear lobes that decided long ago they weren't going to be pierced and will immediately close up as soon as I take an earring out even after they've been pierced for years, it does whatever it wants. It's inconvenient sometimes, but I can live with it. I sort of have to.

Years ago, the nails on both of my big toes decided that they were going to grow the way they wanted to and not the way they were supposed to. So instead of my big toes looking like this:

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This picture is slightly inaccurate; my toes are NOT fat.

They looked like this:

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Except that the problem was on both sides of the nail, not just one. Both sides of both toenails. Thanks a lot, guys. Thanks also to whoever passed the half-circle shaped toenail gene down to me. I can't complain too much about that, though, since I also received the genes that gave me my fabulous good looks and incredible brainpower.

Anyway, I went along for a while, getting infections from time to time and hating the way my big toes looked until one day I realized that: a. I have health insurance, and b. I could get surgery to correct my toenails once and for all.

So I went to a podiatrist in town and had my toes operated on. What they do is cut off those curved edges of my toenail and then put some chemical in the nail bed there so that they don't grow back. So you end up with a thinner toenail, although it doesn't really look any thinner since I had a lot of extra skin growing over the sides of my nails, as the ingrown nails would push my skin up and over them. Does that make sense? It will have to; I'm not going to put any pictures of ingrown toenails up here. You've all had enough nastiness after the cockroach and house centipede entries, haven't you?

My podiatrist was a very nice woman who told me that the operation would be very simple and relatively painless. The only pain I could expect, she said, was a shot in either toe to numb the area. She said it would be like the shots you get in your mouth when you get a cavity. I've never had a cavity (PRESIDENT of my childhood dentist's no-cavity club for fifteen years running, baby!), so I didn't really have that experience to draw back on, but it didn't seem too bad. The toes would heal up in a few days and she'd even give me a few Vicodins for the pain. This sounded like a good deal to me, especially since any pain I experienced from the surgery would surely be less than the pain of having ingrown toenail infections on and off for the rest of my life.

The toe-numbing process actually turned out to be FOUR shots in each toe. Unlike your upper arm, the site of all shots I've ever had before this, your toe is a fairly sensitive area. The podiatrist explained that this was because the bone was so close to the skin. She explained this as she was MOVING THE NEEDLE AROUND INSIDE MY TOE in order to get the numbing stuff all over the place. Oh holy hell, was that not fun. But I must have beared the pain bravely, as she commented that most people are pretty vocal when she does this. Maybe I'll be the PRESIDENT of her super-brave club.

Numbing my toes and waiting for the numbing stuff to take effect actually took longer than the surgery itself. The doctor was impressed with how deep my ingrown toenails went. Of course they were deep; they're assholes.

Less than an hour after it began, it was over. I hobbled out to meet Pamie, my designated ride home, and we stopped at the pharmacy for my Vicodins and the epsom salts I'd need to soak my toes in for the next two weeks. The doctor told me to stay off my feet for the day, so I spent the day on Pam's couch in various states of Vicodin dopiness with my feet elevated while Pam attended to my every need. It was pretty awesome. I told Pam that I hoped she would get in a car accident so I could repay the favor by taking care of her. Oddly, she didn't seem to appreciate this.

It definitely took longer than a few days for my toes to heal (probably because the nails were so deep), but one month later, they're looking and feeling pretty good. I should have done this years ago.




I'm finally buckling down and trying to make this site look a little nicer. Nice to me apparently means a lot of bright red.

The background and the borders around the posts still need work, but that's going to take a while ...

I like it so far.


Special 100th Post Celebration!

Well, not really. But I have finally started a Myspace account. The picture I'm using for my profile certainly does kick ass, but it's only a placeholder until I find the picture of me going through a red light I got from the Culver City Red Light Project. That picture cost me $400, so it's going to get used as much as possible.

I don't have any friends yet (I deleted Tom because he's not my friend), so feel free to invite me so I'll feel cool. And so will you.


What does that middle "M" stand for? Just guess.

In other news, my apartment has been House Centipede-free since my last entry, and will be staying that way forevermore, so my friends should feel comfortable visiting my apartment again.