Adventures of The Yellow Peril

MAILING IT IN

So, you've probably figured it out.  I'm done with this blog, although the Yellow Peril and the adventuring will probably continue on somehow, sometime, somewhere.

I've had a great time writing for the past three years.  Looking back, I'm glad I wrote about the ridiculous, hilarious things that my friends said and did.  I'm sure that whenever one of you turns out to be a very powerful politician, you'll probably come knocking on my door, offering me huge sums of money under the table to kill this blog.  If you do, I'll pour you a beer and we can sit on my back porch with my Labrador while negotiating the terms and conditions of my surrender.  My Lab's name will be Manchego, by the way, as predetermined by my five-year plan.

Just in case you're wondering how I'll fill the empty hole in my day that I used to spend brain-farting on this blog, here are some other aspects of the five-year plan: 1) find a lobster, name him Pinchy, make him my friend; 2) try not to change jobs more than twice; 3) come to terms with being a lawyer; 4) learn how to make fresh mozzarella; 5) turn 30; 5a) stop the crying; and 6) visit Africa.  I'll let you know how all that goes.

Anyway, it's been fun.  See y'all soon.

THIS IS HOW I FEEL

My right elbow has the tingles because, I've discovered, I have a tendency to place more weight on my right elbow than my left when I type.  Since I've been continuously typing (and when not typing, weeping softly or surfing the internet looking at pretty pictures of food or apartments) for almost 3 weeks now, the tingles are always there.  Always. 

Starting next Thursday, when the bar exam ends, I'm going to put some serious time into looking into alternate professions, as I'm pretty sure I have not improved at all and will, in fact, fail the bar.  Some ideas I've had so far include doing infomercials for ProActiv or the Magic Bullet, replacing Star Jones on "The View" (I'm hungry, like she is, or at least looks), or taking a job with the National Weather Service naming hurricanes (thanks, Bun, for that suggestion).  Of course, this serious undertaking does not begin until I awake from a steak-induced coma and put my thinking pants on (which I am, perhaps stupidly, not wearing right now.  Or any pants, for that matter.  Believe me?  You don't have to believe anything when it's the facts, sir.)

Lastly, let me just remind you of three details that, for my fellow law school grads suffering right now, should take comfort in.  First of all, while you're schlubbing into the airplane hangar/gymnasium/auditorium to take this cursed exam next Tuesday wearing oatmeal-crusted sweatpants and your lucky Texas bandana, I will be dressed in a suit.  And sneakers.  Because apparently, I have to look like Ferris Bueller in order to be even allowed into the Virginia exam.  Secondly, while my friends in Texas know exactly which subjects they'll be tested on, the VA bar examiners let us try to guess which of the panoply of topics we might have to know.  And that panoply constitutes, by my count, 29 subjects.  Yes, 29.  Thirdly, I have to take the exam in the only city where the bar is offered: Roanoke.  Roanoke, which is 4 hours away by car.  Roanoke, which is where I ate passable ribs and mediocre smoked salmon on my way to this city.  Roanoke, which will forever be ingrained in my head for the rest of my life as the place where I failed the bar exam.

I miss freedom.

HONEST TO GOD

My youngest sister went camping in Tennessee this weekend, and she called tonight to relay this story.  Two relevant pieces of information: 1) she didn't really know the people she was camping with except for one guy; and 2) while my family camps on occasion, we're not extraordinarily outdoorsy people.  Because I was laughing too hard, the below excerpt isn't verbatim, but it's pretty close:

"Now, I'm all nervous during this trip about how I'm going to get along with all these people, because I'd heard they really love God, and not that there's anything wrong with that, but you know, I don't really know the guy.  Or Guy.  Whatever.  Except ... halfway through the night, I find out that most of the people on the trip are virgins, and then that pretty much freaks me out.  I mean, I've seen the movies, and I know what happens to virgins in the woods.  You might as well have strapped a T-bone steak on my back and let the bears have at me."

I'm not saying she needs to quit her day job, but I'd pay for more funnies like this one.

Sorry if I offended anyone.

AND THEN BEEF, SAUTEED WITH PEAS AND ONIONS

The next time you're struggling to figure out what to make for dessert, try this recipe, which I ate yesterday at a Malaysian restaurant on M Street:

3 cups shaved ice (requires snow cone machine or ice storm);

3 tbsp. brown sugar;

1/2 cup evaporated milk

Sound good?  Oh wait, I'm just getting started:

3 tbsp. peanuts, unsalted

3 tbsp. red kidney beans, partially cooked

3 tbsp. creamed corn (canned, if you don't have creamed)

Unidentified black gelatinous substance, to taste.

Add top three ingredients to a bowl; then add remaining ingredients.  Serve immediately.  Watch as everyone around you vomits in their mouth, then asks you, "What the EFF is this?"

To which you reply, "Just a little something I learned from the Malaysians, courtesy of The Peril."

I wish I knew how to transfer photos from my cell phone to my blog. 

PS - Yeah, it totally tastes like feet.