Week of Weakness
To be sick is to be weak. Or something like that. All week I have been basically feeling like crap. It's beautiful outside, the kind of weather that makes you want to wear a skirt and tank top, that calls you outdoors -- and I have been ill. I spent Monday in bed but the rest of the week, I worked long hours, kept social engagements, got very little sleep and felt like I was in battle the entire time. It is so completely frustrating to be physically weak, to be unable to keep up with the pace of life. I am really glad my week of weakness is finally over.

In other news, go see Over The Hedge.

Public Apology to the Nice-Seeming Girl On The Metro Who I Cut Off When The Door Chime Chimed
I only did it because I was afraid of being stuck on the train. I really appreciated you moving your hand to another pole in order to make room for my hand. I am sorry I did not afford you a similar courtesy and instead yelled out "are you kidding me?" to noone in particular when the driver chimed the door closing chime 20 seconds after the doors opened. I am also sorry that I then pushed ahead of you and out the metro door, not looking back until I was safely on my way up the escalator. It did look like you got off, though. So that's good. But I'm still sorry.

Singing in the Rain

Today, due to a series of unforeseen circumstances, Neil and I ended up walking at least 30 blocks in the pouring rain. It was awesome. So what if I am now chilled to the bone, so what if our clothes were soaked, it was great. It made me want to sing (in fact I did sing). There's something about getting soaked that is cleansing and not just because I got all wet. No, I wasn't in the mountains in New Mexico (my preferred location for getting completely soaked by a downpour) but the streets of DC were just fine. Neil thought I was slightly crazy for being so excited when the rain started pelting us, but I think he eventually came to see my position on the issue. Thank you rain.

In other news, only a little more than an hour before Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy come on. I am an addict. I confess. But Sunday night TV rocks. What does not rock is the fact that the season ends in another week and I will be stuck with a cliffhanger ending and nothing to watch. But maybe I will do something more useful with my Sunday evenings?

Something I have been meaning to blog about since mid-April:
Growing up in New Mexico, one becomes very familiar with a certain lawyer who not only advertises on television, but also has had a billboard on the I-25 corridor with his face on it for at least the past 20 years. In addition to knowing the words to Sesame Street and the 321 Contact theme song as a child, I could also recite -- with all the right inflection -- "I'm Ron Bell and I sue drunk drivers." I could also tell you that to reach Ron Bell, one only needed to dial 898-BELL. Finally, If I ran into him on the street -- not that I ever did -- I would have been able to recognize the short, curly-haired man in a heartbeat.

Flash forward 20 years. When we moved to Albuquerque, Neil also became familiar with Mr. Bell. Only, the tagline had changed to "Ron Bell: Truck Accident Attorney". The phone number was the same, the face also the same. I suspected plastic surgery, but then again, men do age more gracefully than woman.

In mid-April, while walking through the Chicago Midway airport on our way back to D.C. a woman Neil worked with in New Mexico came screaming across the wide aisle of the terminal, "NEEEEEIIIILLLLLLL!!!" Some hugging and catching up ensued. I was introduced and then, a small curly-haired man popped out from behind the woman, extended his hand and said, "Hi! I'm Ron Bell!" At this moment I desperately wanted to say, "I know. You sue drunk drivers. Nice to meet you." Similarly, Neil had a yen to say "Truck accident attorney?" We both managed to control ourselves and simply say, "Nice meeting you." Which was really a gift because Ron went on to tell us about having just come from a relative's briss in Schaumberg and how nice his new girlfriend (Neil's friend) was to come along to such an occasion. Now, how often to you get to hear a local celebrity ramble about a relative's briss?

Of course, after the encounter, Neil and I came up with many other great responses to poor Ron's initial introduction. What I wonder is, why not just say, "Hi I'm Ron."? If I ever meet him again, I think I will make that recommendation. If he only used the first name, people would still know who he was, but may not be so compelled to follow his introduction with one of his ubiquitous tag lines. Of course any man who plasters his face on a billboard for nearly two decades, would probably be thrilled to see that his marketing dollars have not gone to waste. I have his freaking phone number memorized. Maybe I should not have pretended not to know who he was. Perhaps I should have just come out with it. "And you sue drunk drivers. 898-BELL right?"