Another Tricky Day

One of the weirdest things about this place is that there are no taverns. All of the buildings are bereft of illuminated beer signs and neon beer logos in big, friendly letters are totally absent. At home, they're everywhere and seem to outnumber churches by at least 2-1. But I've only been able to find one bar here and it's in a restaurant. For a town of 30,000 in Wisconsin, this would be sacrilege. I know you all are thinking, "What kind of primitive, barbaric conditions do people live in down there?"

Today I need to go to the realtor to sign some paperwork so as to hasten this house being placed on the market. I told Chris I'd be there around 10. Tom, the mawyer called last night. He's such a playa. I bet he gets all the beeotches. He wants me to stop by this afternoon as he's concocted a plan to avoid inheritance taxes. Smooooove. I picture him as a mad scientist chomping away on that cigar in a laboratory with Jacob's Ladders running the background while he sits hunched over law books perusing them in search of loopholes'n'such. I wonder if he has a taste for gin like my on-and-off trivia teammate, Johnson the Drunken Swedish Attorney.

So I suppose I can blow some time at the coffeehouse between each appointment. I think I'll try to pass myself off as this sauve, erudite character to all the coeds. You know, sit there like William F. Buckley, Jr., all patrician like. In addition, there's a rumor of some freshly picked strawberries floating around. I may spend some time here later in my new house eating strawberries dipped in cream under an air conditioning vent pretending that they're being fed to me by scantily-clad young maiden while another fans me.

Am I the only person who's heard that you can get Coca-Cola made with cane sugar in Louisiana? I've been looking but everything is made with corn syrup. There's probably no difference in taste because of this but I still wanna give it the ol' college try.

I had a bit of a hard time falling asleep last night because, while I saw my time here coming to a close, I knew that I'd be going home to deal with various problems. Stevie neglected to email me my resumes and I forgot to call last night. I shall, however, call a recruiter to see what's going on with the potential jobs he told me about...whenever it was I spoke with him last. 3 weeks ago, maybe? I'd like to hit the ground running when I get home. Well, as much as I can.

I was reading someone else's blog and she wrote something about being secure in one's body - I think she wrote about never being able to be a size 5 or some such thing. And I had this flashback to the time I went shopping with a friend of mine, Princess. She was about 5'8" and maybe 100lbs. soaking wet. So we're wandering through this mall stopping in at every clothing store. She was a size 1 or 2. So, I'm looking for stuff that I'd think she'd look good in and I came across my first size 0 section. Size 0? I seriously looked around to see if there were negative sizes. Now, to me, a size 2, much less a 0, looks like it should be worn by a prepubescent girl, not a 34 year-old woman. While I'm not grossly overweight or anything, I have a 36" waist and I'm used to seeing pants with sizes like 36-32. Double-digit numbers. Wandering through the aisles, it seemed like size 0 pants were a fair amount more expensive than my pants. How could this be? I mean, there's more fabric involved in my pants and thusly more time spent by little Phillipino kinds sewing them together. I don't know. Women's fashion and apparel flummox me. Especially the need for all those shoes. Ah well, just another eternal mystery.