Holy Electronic Voting Machines, Batman!

The time has finally arrived. Springtime equals primary elections. Maybe that's why I received my glossy "How to Vote on an Electronic Voting Machine for Dummies" brochure in the mail just last week. I obviously did not have enough time to properly study its contents.

Upon entering my usual polling place, I was overcome with a sad nostalgia (but first, I checked to see if my favorite same 6 senior citizens were running the show); for where those faded mint green metal monsters with the sweet automatic curtains once stood, there were 2 black plastic oversized pop-up screens.

As a MegaTouch Photo Hunt fan, I was sure that these silly things would be no match for my kickass touch-screen skillz. And they weren't. But, something strange caught my eye while voting...

The first screen listed the ballots for the top positions, e.g. Governor, Lt. Gov., Senator. Then, the second page listed the candidates for State Representatives, Committe Members, etc. But, um, the second page not only listed the names of the candidates, but their genders, too! What's up with that? Why don't you have Gov. Rendell listed as a "male"? But, in order to elect committe members, we have to know what version of genitals they possess?

Am I totally nuts, or is this the first time genders have been listed on the ballot? Or is that some type of freaky Committe requirement - half dudes, half broads? AYFKM?, quoting Throck.

Oh, whatever, I'm too busy studying for the PAB MS with PMBR that I don't have the strength to rant abaht the entire electronic voting pro-cess. Change is good, right? Um, right.

As long as we get Tricky Ricky in the fall...

I CAN SEE!

Yes, indeed. I can see. Without glasses. For the first time in almost 18 years. It is really trippy, to be honest. I feel kinda naked without my glasses, but fortunately, I get to wear these pimp sunglasses (or "solarshields" as the LASIK folks call them) for the next few days. I have an appointment later today to make sure all is kosher with my corneas.

The LASIK procedure was painless, except for the sinking feeling that I was experiencing an alien brain removal on a padded table, while being forced to stare at this blinky orange light. The famous Dr. Whitten kept saying things like "You're doing great. Focus on the light. (Sounds of an electronic blade whirring in the background) Now, the light will disappear for a second. Now, the light will be blurry. Good. Good. Doing great. (Sounds of a laser melting my corneas, complete with the smell of burning tissue) Now, the light will be clearer. OK, almost done. (I can see a tiny spatula smoothing out my corneal flap). OK, next eye." Repeat.

Granted, the whole thing took like, 4 minutes, but holy, holy, holy. Thank gawd for the Valium. And the squishy stress ball that I was kneading in my right hand.

The only part that sucked was that the numbing eye drops wore off after thirty minutes, as my mom & I were approaching the Soufside. And, I became instantly miserable. So, I swallowed the Tylenol PM, smoked a square, taped the hard plastic eye patches to my face & pounced into bed. Apparently, the most painful part of LASIK is the 6 hours following the procedure. They highly recommend sleeping during this phase. So, I did. Then, you're fine. Perfectly fine. But, I did wake up about 3 hours into my nap. And I made the huge mistake of briefly opening my eyes. For a nanosecond. AND IT KILLED. Imagine a burning, aching, gravel-in-your-eyes sensation. So, I shut them, but the burning continued. So I slept some more. And I can see.

So, to all you nay-sayers out there...I can see. Time will only tell if this is just a passing sensation.

New wardrobe of sunglasses, here I come!

LASIK = Waiving My Right to Trial?

In preparation for my LASIK surgery (while simultaneously procrastinating in re: the Copyright memo), I sat down with the 8-page "Informed Consent" form. I was told to read it carefully before coming in for the procedure tomorrow. Since I have already endured 2 appointments to prepare me for this disturbing, yet desirable event, I thought that this document would just reiterate all the things I've been told by my doctors & technicians. But, no. Pages 5 & 6 of the form contain an Arbitration Agreement (read like a Pirate, "arrrrgh-bit-tration"), which states:

Arbitration is the resolution of a dispute by an impartial third person whose decision is binding on the parties. (duh) We have found that resolving disputes by arbitration is a quick & efficient alternative to the court system. (I'm still with ya) As a result, we request that all patients receiving services at TLC sign this agreement. (you are requesting? really? or is it more like forcing?) By signing this Arbitration Agreement & consenting to treatment, you agree that:
1. Any dispute you have arising out of the diagnosis, treatment & services you received by TLC or your surgeon or personal eye care doctor, including treatment & services you received before the date of this Arbitration Agreement, or the applicability & scope of this Arbitration Agreement will be resolved exclusively & finally by binding arbitration except for (a) judicial review of the arbitration proceedings or (b) claims within the jurisdictional limit of small claims court. (Judge Judy, here I come)
Etc. etc. etc.
The undersigned agrees that he/she waives his/her right to trial in court for any future malpractice claim he/she may have against TLC, your surgeon &/or personal eye care provider.

Um, whoa pardner. TLC, I thought that we had a trusting relationship. I mean, I pay you $4,600 & you hook me up with good vision for life. Oh, & some valium & Tylenol PM. But, no. You want to take away my Constitutionally-protected right to sue your ass & replace it with some bullshit Arrrrrgh-bit-tration Clause. I'm gonna have to sleep on this one.

The Love Test? Fer real?

Folks, I need some help here. I have Googled & Asked, & my question remains unanswered by this great invention called the Internet(s).

The question is: Which movie contains the scene where a dude walks up to his car, unlocks the passenger side door & lets his girl get in...as he walks around the car to his door, she has already leaned over to unlock his door? Somewhere along in the movie, her act is discussed & considered to be extrinsic proof that she truly loves him. (Of course, the car did not have automatic locks, so he would've had to use his key again to unlock his own door.)

Does this little humane act equal true love? Not in my modern world, but it may mean that the passenger lady cares. Actually, I always do this in cars without automatic locks...does that mean that I should marry each person I ride with, whose car is sans auto unlocking systems?

C'mon, please help me settle this bet...

Arigato gozimasu.

51A Freak of the Week

So, this morning I had to grab a bus to take me into tahn for my job interview. Of course, I was running a bit behind my preplanned schedule. See, Pittsburgh buses (& traffic & detours & people) are rather unpredictible. Thus, I wanted to build in a 30 minute buffer for traveling to a place I could walk to in 35 minutes. And the cardinal rule of job interviews is to be on time, if not early. Anyhoo, I (miraculously) caught the 51A at 11:30am, with 30 minutes until the interview. Things were looking up. The bus was pretty empty, so instead of heading to the back of the bus & sitting in the U-shaped section (as I usually do), I sat in one of the doubles along the left side of the bus. I placed my briefcase on the aisle seat next to me & began rehearsing interview answers in my head.

Approximately 3 blocks later, a man who I always see riding the buses, dressed in his life uniform of jeans, denim jacket & Pirates ball cap, boarded the bus. He took forever to pay his $1.75, digging around in his pockets & wallet, and we missed the light at 20th. This makes me a tad annoyed on days like this where time is of the essence. And then he jammed the change-thingy by pushing his quarters in the slot until the driver told him to "Stop it." Then, denim man walked back & stood over me until I got the message that he wanted to sit where my briefcase was. So, I gave him a look & politely (but, internally begrudgingly) moved my bag onto my lap. He sat down, making sure to rub up against me at least three times. (Remember, the bus had, like 25 empty seats, many of them without anyone to share; further, I was the only professionally-dressed woman on the bus, i.e. pantyhose (no undies, T!), suit, high heels, etc.) So, this sleazeball sits down next to me, real close like, and keeps giving me this look. And he was sitting soooooo very close. Ugh. But, I was trapped by the window & couldn't really escape & change seats without looking like a total bitch. So, I closed my eyes & waited to get the hell across the Mon River so that I could jump off this bus. I can easily say that this was one of the most uncomfortable bus rides in recent memory. Especially since I was kinda nervous about the interview and really did not need a freak to be all up in my personal space. I had this wierd feeling that he was getting off from sitting so close to me, but I could not bring myself to check to see if he had an erection.

I survived, por supuesto, but, seriously I am putting the PAT bus freaks on notice: there is no need to sit virtually on top of the one normal-looking person on the bus. None. My relative normalcy/sanity will not rub off on you during the 15 minute ride dahntahn. It is physically impossible. Try therapy. I need some, myself.

Enough ranting. The interview went well, but I was informed that he was interviewing another 8 candidates. Hooray. Now onto conquer the world of secondary copyright liability. Joy.

48 Hours, Backwards & Forwards

Well, howdy there. Bet you weren't expecting to see a new post on the Butter. And here I am.

Here I am, fresh from a wedding roadtrip to northeast Philly. Suburban Philly. Meaning a place where the road is split into, like 4 sets of 3 lanes, the ones in the middle being for folks who do not want to make any turns & the outer ones for people like us who are staying at the Radisson & brunching at IHOP. With Walgreens & Wawas on every corner.

In brief, it was a quick trip across Pee-Ay & back, with kudos to the Turnpike Commission & PennDOT. Psych! Total cost of tolls: $34.50. What a (monopolistic) bargain. The ceremony was held at this little old covered bridge in Bucks County under sunny skies. I had the refreshing opportunity to reunite with some old high school & college pals & dance my pants off with all the older ladies & little kids in the bride's family's beautiful yard.

So, I am back in the Burgh, facing down the last 1/2 of a copyright memo. This memo is the last fucking thing I have to do for law school. THE LAST. Pretty sweet, huh? I researched & wrote the first half almost 2 weeks ago. Then, of course, Nona passed & I had to study for Es&Ts & finish my seminar paper. This puppy is due Tuesday at noon. Um, that's like 15 minutes before I am scheduled to have Lasik surgery on my eyeballs. Of which I am psychologically terrified. Oh, and I have my first job interview in a year tomorrow at noon. Big gulp.

I, like BFF TMcC, simply yearn to have the freedom to clean my apartment & chill out before I begin studying for the bar exam on May 15. Yep, PMBR starts in ONE WEEK. Then, BarBri starts on the 22nd. And, well, it's all downhill from there.

Wish me luck.