Cinderella, she seems so easy. "It takes one to know one," she smiles... and puts her hands in her back pockets -- Bette Davis style.

I suppose I should post something. Just to keep posting. Keep going. Keep breathing. Keep reading. So sleepy. So tired of this place.

What is this weather we're having here in mid-Missouri, eh? I've been dashing back & forth between school and home today. Trying to decide whether to wear sunglasses or carry my umbrella. So I'm doing both. Right now, actually. Sitting in an empty carrel high on the top floor of the lawberry.

Sidenote: Do you think "lawberries" would taste like bacon and lies? Comments. Comments.

So here I sit. Umbrella open. Sunglasses on. People are starting to stare. Perhaps because I "forgot" to wear pants today. It's the only way to make new friends, you know. I've been to Harpo's. I see how these kids operate. Savages.

I still haven't set up my cable & internet service yet. I called Mediacom on Saturday and sat on hold for 73 minutes [Yes. Over an hour. SEVENTY THREE MINUTES] before hanging up in a huff and calling Jodie. Luckily, Jodie didn't make me listen to dreadfully bland elevator music. I appreciate that about her.



So I'm going to a Cardinals game tomorrow night in the nnnneewwww stadium. NEW STADIUM! I'm going to consume so many $20 beers that I bum-rush the playing field and have to be carted off by security. Look for me on SportsCenter. I'll be the one with the full-color Jeff Weaver tattoo covering my entire back.


So photorealistic! You can see the mad twinkle of meth-induced brilliance in his eyes.

Sweet nothings scrolled on a Pringle... swoon.

Under direct orders from one Mr. Scott Parker, I triumphantly return to my blog-o-sphere. Where have I been for these past few days? Lost! Lost in an internetless whirlwind of magic and unicorns and rainbows. Okay. Maybe not unicorns. Since unicorns are extinct now. Holla Errrn.

Some things:

I moved in to my new place. The walls are brown! and orange! and Oscar the Grouch green! I'm not complaining. Expect a rockin' party when I get my shizz hung up on the walls and finally unpack my 20 boxes of scrapbooks and back issues of Martha Stewart Living (Thought I was a reader? sucker!)

My die-hard aversion to the bastards at Mediacom has prevented me from biting the bullet and setting up my internet & cable service... sadly, network TV has finally worn me down to the point of insanity and I'm on the verge of calling the evil overlords. I needs me interwebs! Blogging in the law school isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Richard fuckin' Posner is somehow worming his way into all of my thoughts and feelings at the moment.

I'm out of Adderall and have been for weeks. Not because I swallowed a whole bottle in one fell swoop and went on a mind-bending brainiac binge, but because I LOST my fucking prescription form. Lost it! I was too embarrassed to confess my idiocy to the wenches at ye olde Blue Team, so I procrastinated calling them until yesterday. School has begun. I've been attempting to read for Bus Orgs, Remedies, Professional Responsibility, blah blah blah... but to no avail...

What were we talking about?

I'm going to eat an orange.

ADD jokes never get old.

Jason Kempf -- will you marry me?... Oh snap! Too late.

Wedding Time! Jason & Ashley got hitched yesterday. She looked beautiful! I took pictures, but left my camera in Mike's car. In Jefferson fuckin' City. Hopefully I'll get it back soon and post those bitches up on the interwebs, but Mike's car got stolen a few weeks ago and I taunted him about it -- so I'm pretty sure that my camera won't be there when we come back for it. Karma and whatnot. I'll discuss the service and the reception itself in a later post because I'm sans-camera. You gotsta see that girl's wedding dress! Breathtaking.

Since the service was at 11:00 am, but the reception wasn't until 4:30 pm, Erin, Ben, Mike & I had a significant chunk of time to kill. What we did:

-- Have you seen the bigger piggies in their starched white shirts?
Lunch with Dave at that restaurant in Jeff City where all the politicians eat steaks and casually discuss stepping on the necks of the poor to increase their profits from ethanol investments. Regardless, I still had one of the best plates of calamari I've ever had. Top 5. Most definitely.

-- Crabcakes' Jeff City: A Driving Tour.
Mike showed us the seedy underbelly of the town he's come to know and love. We drove by the Cracked Crab twelve times before I stopped counting. That boy is insatiable! We also had three separate conversations about Dungeness crab during the night. Shocker.

-- Rantin' n' Ravin' at Matt Blunt.
We took pictures around the Governor's Mansion. Erin gave him a piece of her mind on video. Oh did she ever! Ben's political career is underway. Especially when he spoke with those... common people... taking down chairs in the courtyard. The rest of us scoffed at them and put our noses up in the air as we walked by. As you should when trapsing around Jeff City in suits and satin and silk dresses.

-- Tolbert, Beadle & Mo' Money.
Mike & Ben flocked to International Wines while I took a few pictures of Erin standing in front of the law offices of Tolbert, Beadle & Musgrave. SETTLE IT! Robert Vaughn was hanging out in the strip mall parking lot. Oh yeah. I forgot to mention. The TB&M office was located in a strip mall. What a surprise! I thought they were more powerful than Bryan Cave and Hezbollah combined, but I guess not.

-- Bonesmokin.
Of course, the Crabcakes' Jeff City tour wouldn't be complete without a stop at a bar. We went to Bones Lounge & Restaurant. We even got to see Bones himself sitting at the bar. In the flesh. They call him Bonesy!

The reception came next. I'll wait until my camera is returned so's I can make a full pictorial entry detailing every slithery booty shake on the dance floor and every tear Jason shed in the process. Erin & I communed with cows for a bit. Real cows, not fat chicks.

I'm still tired! I slept on my mattress in the unairconditioned upstairs last night because Crabcakes & Minotaur passed out on the two couches. Bastards.

Oh my holy fuck! 227 is on TV Land right now!!! 227!! I absolutely loved this show when it was on. Just now, I even managed to catch the opening theme song that I loved so very much.

...there's no place like hoo-ooome... and I mean NO PLACE child!

More to come.

"Meeeerrryy. I got a date with a doooccctor."
- Jackée

Abraham Maslow spins in his grave...

Hierarchy of Needs time...

Read this tripe. Diamonds? Shit girl, we don't even have running water. Running water! Apparently a water main broke early this morning and the area is without water until it gets repaired.

Granted, I can't go upstairs and do what I need so desperately to do right now, but alls I'm hearing is: "Congratulations, Julia! The City of Columbia trusts your hygienic habits well enough to let you out into the general populace without showering -- again!" Woo Hoo! It's like a get out of jail free card from bathing today.

Life is good.

Except for the lack of running water.

and everythng else.

Since I'm all dehydrated and still asleep and all that jazz -- shoot me an email if you would like to pretend to be my friend and listen to my problems. Yes, I know. They're mostly arbitrary and inconsequential, but they're tough nonetheless. Holla Katy, for the universality of the maddening situations we brave.

juliabonham@mizzou.edu

[It's listed in the school's online directory, Mr. Minotaur, so don't feel the need to publicly chastize me for handing out my personal information all nimbly pimbly.]

We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it

You know what I did last night while the rest of the world slept? Tossed and turned. Tossed and turned. For hours. Then I woke up at sunrise. And I'm still awake. And I'm no longer tired. And its so lame and bizarre that I'm blogging about it.

Are there people still alive today who look like George Peppard did in Breakfast at Tiffany's? Where do they live? New York? Mars? Can I move next door to them? Will they age as gracefully as ol' George? Swoon. It must have been his raging alcoholism that made him sexy.






"I hope you don't mind, darling. I Irished up your coffee for you. So did I ever tell you about the time in 1972, when a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit...?"


Breakfast with Peppard.

Double swoon.

B.A. Baracus is about due to make a comeback. Why can't they reunite the A-Team for one memorable 2-hour special? Who can make this happen? TVLand? The 700 Club? The ghost of George Peppard? I'm sure that Face is still alive, too. He probably needs the work.