Yes, I may or may not be seven years old.

In my heart of hearts, I still want to be a princess when I grow up.

So this website pretty much made my day.

So if I'm supposed to dress for the job I want, this is what I'll be wearing from here on out:

Admit it. Your inner seven-year-old is thrilled.

Don't you evah . . .

Yeah.

This is an important message, kids. Pay attention.



Please note the appearance of one of my favorites around the 1:10 mark.

Adventures in File-Digging: A Legal Sonnet

So I was going through my old files on my laptop the other evening and came across a file of things I'd done for a Creative Writing class I took in fall semester 2008. This was the first semester of my 2L year in law school and I was taking the creative writing class as a lark. During the poetry unit we had to write a sonnet. Now, I don't know about you (assuming you ever even thought about such a thing), but I can NEVER come up with good ideas for sonnet topics. So I turned to the old adage and wrote what I knew, or at least what was foremost in my mind at the time: my Wills & Estates reading.


Sonnet: Mnemonic, In re Estate of Wright
Exactly one year and four months before
his death, Lorenzo Wright set out to make
his will. Since Lo’s attorney was a bore,
in order to dispose of his Salt Lake
estate and property in Venice, he
decided that Grace Thomas from the post
office would do: she was a notary
public. Lo died. His heirs read the will. Most
got just a buck. The will was challenged (duh),
since even the will’s witnesses said Lo
was nuts. (Like how he gave his neighbor a
fish soaked in kerosene…) The court said “No.”
So: if you know your heirs, stuff and the drill,
Slight madness won’t invalidate your will.


Apologies to those who saw this on facebook already. I'm just trying to get into the habit of updating the blog more often.

The Long Over-due Story of the Under-due Birth, Part Three and final.

When last we saw our heroine, she was still hooked up to several machines, on pitocin with an epidural, and still waiting for a baby to come. Kind of like the last time we saw her before that, except several hours later and much more tired.

At 7:56 a.m. Shallow Man posted on Facebook: "No news yet."

I had woken up a little bit before he had and spent some time just kind of staring out the window in the early-September-morning light, feeling grateful for our awesome view but wishing I wouldn't have to see it for too much longer. I was worn out, my lips were still chapped and dry from the oxygen mask during the night, I was hungry and my body was cramped and sore from not being able to change positions much. At some point (I can't remember now if it was during the night or that morning) they had determined that the Little Guy's heart rate did a lot better when I was lying on my left side, so I couldn't really even switch sides very much, and not for more than a couple of minutes.

The contractions were hurting, too, and I was having trouble with my epidural button. The anesthesiologist had told me that I could push the button for more relief when I needed it, but explained that it would take about 10-15 minutes to spread fully once I'd pushed the button, so it wouldn't be an instantaneous relief kind of thing. So I'd push the button and wait for the agonizing 10 minutes to pass. Only instead of getting better, the pain would worsen significantly in the interim, going from maybe a 2 to a 4 or 5. So I would push the button again when the time was up (it could only be pushed once every 15 minutes or so to make sure I didn't accidentally OD or anything) and start waiting again. By the time that waiting period was up, the pain would be at an 8 and I would be gasping and trying to hold back tears when the stronger contractions hit. So we'd hit the call button and get the anesthesiologist to come and do a quick hit directly into the IV line at my shoulder. Relief would instantly wash through me, I could relax, the world looked sunnier for a while. Until the hit wore off and I tried to push the button again. Rinse and repeat. (In retrospect it seems kind of obvious that the button was probably broken, but at the time I think I was too out of it to really put two and two together, and the anesthesiologist probably thought I was afraid to push it too much, as at one point he was telling me it was okay to just "ride that button" and push it as often as I needed to. For the record, I don't blame him at all. I know my coherency level dropped sharply as I crept higher up the pain scale.)

Around 11:00 a.m., in one of the lulls of direct-hit comfort, the doctor had come in and broken my water in an attempt to get things moving a little faster, as I still was hovering right around 4. I tell you, that is a weird sensation. But I was feeling giddy with relief from the epidural shot and was glad of ANY action tending towards forward progress. In fact, once they'd broken my water, I was feeling excited and positive again, and turned to Shallow Man and asked him to turn on the TV. He asked what I wanted to watch and I, without hesitation, asked for college football. "Because, you know, if we're watching something interesting and fun, it might encourage him to come out and see what's going on."

The BYU game wasn't starting until later that afternoon (if memory serves, it started around 4), so we just picked the first random game that came on. I think it was Iowa, but I'm not sure. At any rate, neither of the teams were ones I had any sort of stake in, which may explain why the Little Guy didn't fall for it. We ended up turning the game off once we started getting to the end of that Button of Doom cycle, anyway.

The repeated up-and-down of the pain level (especially the moments of 8s and even 9s) were really starting to get to me by mid-afternoon. I was able to take a nap at some point after a Direct Hit, but that only meant that I'd sleep through the 4/5 stage and wake up for a particularly nasty contraction in the 7/8 zone. Around this time I started getting vague thoughts about c-sections, but didn't say anything because I didn't know if it was some kind of prompting or just my pain aversion—"chickening out," in essence.

At some point during the day, they told me I couldn't have any more water; just ice. Something to do with not having too much water in the system in case of an emergency c-section or whatnot. (I honestly couldn't tell you what they told me because I was having a hard time concentrating on anything besides the stupid pain-and-button dance.) Which is all well and good, but at this point I had been in the hospital and in labor for well over 24 hours, hadn't eaten since dinner the day before, and I was THIRSTY. Ice, even flavored ice, was not cutting it.

After a particularly grueling hour, the nurse came in and checked me around 5:15. I knew she was going to say I was at least a 7, and the baby would be right around the corner.

"Well, looks like you're just above a 4 now," she said encouragingly. (All of my nurses during, as they put it, my marathon labor were amazing in this department. They walked the fine line between helpfully encouraging and disgustingly, unbearably and callously cheerful and they walked it well.)

I tried to say, "Are you sure?" but it probably came out as more of a whimper.

She thought for a moment and then asked if I'd like to have the doctor check, just to make sure. I nodded.

Once she left I stared at the ceiling, trying not to cry. Shallow Man was holding my hand, as he had been for most of the day, helping me through the worst of the contractions and being generally awesome and supportive.

Brief aside: I remember the chart describing the phases of labor in the pre-natal class we went to, and it said something to the effect of "Feelings towards partner during this time may either be of great love (leaning on them for support) or great anger, but either way are generally very strong." I had worried beforehand about the "YOU DID THIS TO ME!" route, and I had told Shallow Man in advance that if I did go that way to please forgive me in advance for any epithets I might yell at him, but it never got there for me. I was definitely a turn-to-him-for-support-er, and I have to take this moment to say that I never could have done it without him. I know he was probably freaking out, but he never let me see it. And honey, I'm sure those bones in your hand will heal eventually.

The doctor on duty was the third doctor we'd been through by now, and incidentally was the same doc I'd been scheduled to meet with the previous morning but who had been called away (I joked with him later that maybe the reason the labor took so long was because I was waiting for him to keep his appointment). He came in, checked me, and verified I was a 4, "and it shouldn't take more than another 7 or 8 hours." He was also being encouraging, but in my sheer exhaustion and pain he may have said years, not hours. I had been in labor for nearly 29 and a half hours. My rope was only so long, and I reached the end of it right then and there.

I dissolved into tears, sobbing as hard as my tired body would let me.

There was a pause as four heads snapped around to look at me—Shallow Man, the doctor, the nurse and the intern—and then the doctor slowly said, "Or, at this point, given how long you've been here and your blood pressure, a c-section would be an entirely reasonable option."

It was like that one word—reasonable—was a ray of light flung into the darkness. Yes, I am waxing cliche here, but it was as if he'd thrown me a life preserver as I was drowning in despair and exhaustion. All of a sudden, the little c-section thoughts I'd been having made sense; it wasn't chickening out, it was reasonable. Shallow Man didn't know for sure what I wanted, but was talking with the doctor about the options. I caught my breath between sobs and asked, "How long would it take for a c-section?"

The doctor replied, "Well, it'll take a little longer right now than it normally would, because the shift change is coming up—"

I panicked for a moment, visions of another hour or two swimming before my eyes.

"—but we should be able to get you in there by 6:00."

I glanced at the clock. 5:30. The waiting could all be over in half an hour. I felt confident for the first time in hours as I told him, "Let's do it."

The sense of relief was amazing for my body. I was able to calm down and relax; the pain didn't even seem as bad once the decision was made and I knew it wasn't going to take much longer. The nurses went to get things ready before they ended their shift, and Shallow Man gave me a quick blessing. Then he changed into the coveralls (let me tell you, watching him try to figure those things out was entertaining) and called our families to let them know the plan. (My mom was heading to the General Relief Society meeting, which started at 6:00. My sister told me later, "Yeah, she was there, but I don't think she heard a single word during the meeting.")

Once they wheeled me into the operating room, we were greeted by one of our nurses from the day before, as well as my favorite doctor from the clinic, who'd been called in as the secondary doctor. The room was freezing, but they put some kind of inflatable plastic thing filled with hot air on top of my chest and arms, which kept me warm and blocked my view of the proceedings. Shallow Man is a bit squeamish when it comes to that kind of thing as well, so he stayed up by my head and the anesthesiologist gave us a running commentary on what was going on.

He told me that I would feel pressure where they were operating, but that I shouldn't feel any pain, so he told me to let him know if anything started hurting. I remember feeling one small prick like being poked with a needle but that was the only pain. There was some tugging and then all of a sudden—

a baby was crying.

I looked at Shallow Man and I could tell he was thinking the same thing. Our baby was in the room. The doctor held him up to peek over the inflatable wall, but I couldn't see very well because I wasn't wearing contacts or glasses. At my urging, Shallow Man went over to the station where they were measuring the Little Guy, and I heard them noting down his statistics. 7 pounds, 6 ounces. 20 inches long. Born at 6:30 p.m. Then they wrapped him up and handed him to his daddy, and Shallow Man brought him over to me.

My arms were still secured at this point so all I could do was nuzzle his cheek with my nose. He was the most perfect baby I had ever seen, and he nuzzled me back. Someone took several pictures of the two of us and then the three of us, and then they took the Little Guy out of the room with Shallow Man in tow while I got stitched up.

The Little Guy ended up going to the NICU for about an hour because his lungs were borderline. Shallow Man told me later that he was so close to the border that the nurses spent just about as long trying to decide whether he actually needed to go to the NICU or not as he spent in the NICU itself.

In the meantime, the doctors finished on me, bundled me up in about 700 blankets and took me back to the room, where I proceeded to shiver violently for what felt like forever, and rejoiced when they told me I could have liquids again. That first drink of water was one of the most amazing things I've ever tasted.

What with the NICU and then the nursery and such, it was about three hours before I really got to meet the Little Guy, which remains my only real regret about the whole experience. Which, if you consider 30 hours in labor, is no mean feat.

Once I had my son in my arms, though, those 30 hours didn't seem so bad. Within minutes, I could no longer remember what life was like without him.

Even when everything was crazy in the following hours (when the morphine wore off and I couldn't keep any food down and STILL couldn't sleep) and days (c-section recovery is not that much fun, nursing was not much better at first, and my blood pressure took WEEKS to get back to normal but not before it sent me to the emergency room), I'd look at the Little Guy and smile. Holding him was the one thing that would always make me feel better, and I'm still completely in love with him.

I know I've probably forgotten some details, and I know it's been a ridiculously long story that was a ridiculously long time in coming, but I'm going to go ahead and end it with mush: I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat for our Little Guy.



Thanks for being so patient in waiting for this ridiculously long story to get posted. I promise to return to regularly scheduled non-birth blogging soon.

The Long Over-due Story of the Under-due Birth, Part Two.

When last we saw our heroine, she was hooked up to several machines, on cytotec, and waiting for a baby to come.


In the weeks leading up to the birth, I had frequently mentioned to Shallow Man that the thing I was most looking forward to about being in Labor and Delivery was a chance to sit in the jetted tub. And now I found myself hooked up to so many machines and monitors with tubes and tape everywhere and was told that the tub was not an option. Nor was walking around. Nor was anything, really, except staying in bed.

This wouldn't have bothered me much (aside from the sadness of missing out on the tub) except my back was starting to hurt from staying in the same position for so long. But my body was reacting well to the cytotec, which was promising, and the contractions weren't too bad, so I was able to go the first several hours without needing any kind of pain medication. We set up the laptop and started working our way through "Arrested Development." I think we were on episode 4 when dinner came, which included chocolate cake for me. Once again, L&D trumped GD. Unfortunately, sometime in mid-evening they told me I couldn't eat anything more until after the baby came. I could have ice and water. The ice came in several flavors, though, which helped, considering the massive snow cone cravings I'd had all summer, so it wasn't that bad.

Except that the contractions were starting to get noticeable now. I was having a hard time paying attention to the show. The new nurses had come in at the shift change shortly after dinner and had checked to see where I was. The cytotec was working, they told me, and I was up to a little above a 2. You're doing great, they said. Just a few more hours, probably, and it'll be over. In the meantime, if I needed any pain medication, just let them know.

Around 8 I asked for some meeds but not the full epidural. I wanted to hold off on that for awhile so it would stay effective longer. (Foreshadowing here: Oy vay.) So they added another ornament to my IV tree (I couldn't keep track of what all they had hanging on my IV tree at what times, but the saline drip and the magnesium were constants, with a bunch of others coming and going. I think at the peak, I had two trees and something like 7 or 8 bags going, but I couldn't tell you what all they were). That helped the pain quite a bit and let me relax again.

While I'm thinking about IVs, a quick word about the anesthesiologist(s). The first one was Indian, I believe, and was the one who actually put the needle in my arm. I had a harder time understanding him explaining what he was doing because he had a thickish accent, but what I did understand was his excitement about my crazy veins. Apparently he had never seen veins like mine before (they moved or something while he was looking at them?) and he was going to tell all his anesthesiologist buddies down in the lab about my crazy veins. He left at the shift change with the first batch of nurses, and the second anesthesiologist took care of me for pretty much of the rest of the time I was in labor, although I did see crazy vein fan guy again the morning after the Little Guy was born.

Around 10:30 or so on Friday night, the cytotec is still working and I'm getting close to a 3 but the pain is starting to really bother me and the contractions are getting more intense. We all view this as a promising sign and after some consideration I decide to go ahead and get the epidural. The anesthesiologist came in and took care of that around 11:00 and within minutes I could tell a huge difference. Shallow Man also pointed it out. I was finally able to get a bit of sleep, even in spite of the blood pressure cuff, which was set to take my BP automatically every 15 minutes. I couldn't see the monitor from where I was, but I knew that my blood pressure was still crazy high because EVERY TIME it took my BP, the monitor would beep out an annoying alert to tell the nurse that my BP was high. (Shallow Man admitted to me, later, that he when I asked him what the monitor said, he would tell me the numbers were lower than they were because he didn't want to freak me out.) Plus my arm was starting to feel a bit sore and numb from the constant checking, but the epidural trumped it at least for a little while and I probably was able to get a couple hours' worth of sleep there. Even if it wasn't GOOD sleep, at least it was something. (Shallow Man was able to sleep a bit on the couch, although he kept dreaming about tornado sirens because one of my IV towers also kept going on the fritz and beeping and that beeping sounded just like a tornado siren. Or so he tells me. I grew up where earthquakes are the natural disaster of choice.)

I woke up briefly around 1:00, when they told me they were starting up the Pitocin, but fell back asleep until sometime in the obscenely early hours of the morning when the nurse on duty informed me that baby's heartrate was low so they needed to put me on some oxygen to see if that would help. (I'm pretty sure this revelation didn't help the blood pressure monitor feel any better about the sad state of my blood, but, as I said, I couldn't see the numbers from where I was.)

I don't know how long they kept me on that oxygen mask but it felt like years. I was tired, I'd been at the hospital for something like 16 hours, I was uncomfortable and couldn't move, the mask was parching my lips and throat something awful, and one of the nurses out in the hall had chosen this time to start making loud impressions of one of the other patients. (Yes. I eventually pressed the call button to ask my nurses, all of whom were awesome, to tell the other one to be quiet because it is way too early in the morning and I just want to sleep! and she apologized to me. I spoke to one of the supervisors the next morning and let her know, and she apologized too and said they'd talk to that nurse and let her know that wasn't appropriate. But it was still awfully aggravating at the time.)

And thus, by fits and starts and fitfulness and lack of sleep, we made our weary way towards morning. The nurses checked me and after all that night's work, I wasn't even quite a 4.

At 7:56 a.m. Shallow Man posted on Facebook: "No news yet."


Part Three coming soon. I promise it won't be such a long wait this time.

The Long Over-due Story of the Under-due Birth, Part One.

This post may contain some TMI moments. Be ye therefore warned. (I won't feel offended if you skip it.)

It all began late in September. . . .

After my Monday appointment I had been told that I had mild preeclampsia and was told that I needed to be on modified bedrest. I didn't have to stay in bed all the time, but I needed to take it as easy as possible, so I arranged to borrow a computer from my place of employment so I could work at home for the foreseeable future, just as a precaution.

Thursday night we went to our prenatal class at the hospital, where we saw pictures of newborns and how they tend to look weird at first. My feet were swollen again. Still. Swollen feet was pretty much the norm in those last few weeks of pregnancy, but sitting in the hard plastic chairs in the classroom at the hospital tended to aggravate things.

Fortunately, the class got out about an hour early. The nurse who was teaching the class excused us and then said, "Next week we'll definitely take the whole time, though, because we'll be talking about breastfeeding, so be prepared." Thinking back on it now, I find this funny. Maybe if we'd been able to make it to that last class, it would have saved a lot of tears and frustration later on. Oh, well.

It was good that we got home early, though, because it meant that we had more time to set up the crib. We had originally purchased a crib from IKEA only to discover while trying to assemble it that the construction and design were sorely lacking in anything resembling common sense. The holes drilled for the pegs which attached the slats of the bottom of the bed to the frame were too small for the pegs actually to go in all the way, no matter how hard or how long we hammered away at them, so back to the store it went. We ordered a different crib off Amazon, but unfortunately cribs don't arrive in two days like all our other Prime orders do, so we had been waiting a bit for it to get there. It had finally arrived that afternoon and we were eager to get it set up so we could start getting the rest of the room ready.

I wasn't aware of it at the time, but Shallow Man told me later that he should've realized something was going on because I was acting really weird and out of it while we were putting the crib up. All I know is that it was taking longer than we thought it would (what furniture assembly doesn't?), that Shallow Man was getting grouchy (he tends to do that with furniture assembly that includes a lot of nuts and bolts in difficult-to-reach spots), and that I was tired and my feet felt like they were about to acquire their own zip code. So once we got the bed itself put together we decided that we would wait until the next evening to figure out exactly where in the room we wanted to (or could; it was a bit bigger than we'd thought) put it. This meant we also would wait until the next day to put the mattress and sheets in it. We also left all the packaging lying on the living room floor because we didn't want to haul it out to the dumpster in the dark.

The next morning, Friday, I stumbled over the boxes on my way out the door for my doctor's appointment. Shallow Man had already left for work (his co-worker drove him, as we only have the one car), and my appointment was at 8:50 so neither of us had had a chance to clean up at all.

I was scheduled for my 36-week appointment that morning and was told to arrive 10 minutes early so I could have my non-stress test before the appointment (by this point, because of the gestational diabetes I was having two NSTs a week). After waiting for about 40 minutes and seeing patient after patient arrive and get called back without my name being called, I checked with the receptionist. She explained that the doctor I was there to see had been called to the hospital to help with a c-section for a woman delivering twins, so they were a bit backed up, and would I be okay with seeing the nurse practitioner instead? I said that was fine, and sat back down to try and slog through some more of "North and South" (the miniseries is SO much better than the book). Finally my favorite nurse called me in for the NST, which went great. Everything was looking normal and the little guy was still healthy and active.

Then they took me over to the nurses' station to get my blood pressure. Based on the last few appointments and the new bedrest-ish issue, I was expecting it to be a little high, but nothing major. I was staring at the wall across from me when the monitor beeped.

"Oh, my." The nurse's eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling. I looked over at the display and then stared at the top number, which was 150. I couldn't even look at the bottom number.

"Well," the nurse said after a moment. "We'll try it again in a minute to make sure. But if it's that high, we need to send you to labor and delivery."

Of course this announcement helped my blood pressure calm down. Riiiiight. The next measurement was 161 over something like 96. Definitely panicking now, the first thought that came to me was "But I can't go to labor and delivery! I haven't packed my hospital bag yet!" (I had made a schedule to accomplish the last few tasks needed to welcome a baby with the goal of being ready by the time I hit 37 weeks. Packing the hospital bags was scheduled for Saturday. Of course.) I had to work hard to pay attention as the nurse explained that the hospital would check me and depending on their results I would either be put on full bedrest or go home with a baby. She gave me a hug and wished me luck, and I went out to the waiting room to call Shallow Man.

The next hour or so are a bit of a blur. Shallow Man's angel co-worker brought him to the doctor's office to meet me, and then we drove the four blocks to the hospital together, but it meant that I didn't have to go into Labor and Delivery alone. While I waited for him to get to the doc's office, though, I stepped into the bathroom to calm down and keep myself from crying. Then I called my mother, and then I worried. In particular, I worried about my hospital bag and the face that the new camera Shallow Man had ordered was supposed to arrive that afternoon and nobody would be there to sign for it.

A very delayed flash of inspiration hit me. I called my sister, who lived in Springville at the time. Let me just say here that of all the angels there ever were, she is the most angelic and awesome. She packed up her two children and went over to our house, where, over the course of the next few hours, she did the dishes, picked up and threw away all of the packing materials from the crib, put the mattress in the crib, washed all of the baby clothes and sheets we had, put sheets in the crib, arranged for our camera to be delivered at our neighbor's house (she was headed to the Brad Paisley concert with her husband in Salt Lake later that day and couldn't wait for the camera herself), arranged for said neighbor to bring the camera to us at the hospital, and packed up a bag each for Shallow Man and I, and brought those and the car seat to the hospital.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch . . .

Shallow Man arrived at the doc's office, we drove to the hospital, and we got me signed in. They put us in the biggest labor and delivery room they had, with a wonderful view of Mount Timpanogos (and an average view of the Macey's parking lot) out of the huge windows. I was told to put on the oh-so-attractive hospital gown and then they hooked me up with the fetal monitors and the blood pressure machine, just like a non-stress test only oddly stressful.

The doctor eventually came in and explained that if I were earlier on in my pregnancy, this is where they would do another 24-hour urine test to see if it was serious preeclampsia, but at this point, waiting that long would be a bad idea, so induction it was. He also explained that eclampsia (which comes after pre-eclampsia, go figure) involves seizures, "so we have to put you on anti-seizure medication. If I didn't you could sue me for malpractice."

So I was introduced to the lovely world of magnesium sulfate.

"And with magnesium sulfate, the way we measure how it's working is by urine output, so . . ."

And that, my friends, is how I got a catheter hours before my epidural.

I was barely at a 1 when I came in because I was so early, so they had to put me on cytotec before they could even start pitocin. It was about noon when they got me hooked up to everything and started the induction. Shortly after that, they let me have lunch, which, miraculously, included french fries and a milkshake. I felt like I was in heaven for those short minutes, and decided that if labor could pre-empt GD like that, maybe it was even worth the catheter. (It wasn't. It might have been worth it if the nursing student hadn't had trouble on the first try. . . .)

My sister brought our hospital bags over, and I had fun talking with my 3-year-old nephew for a few minutes before they left. Our neighbor brought over the camera when it arrived, and Shallow Man had fun playing with his new gadget for a bit after I made him promise not to take too many pictures of me. I had called my mom to let her know what the story was and she had passed the word around to the rest of my family. A quick post on Facebook had alerted most of our friends, and all that was left was a quick text to my good friend Megan. "Looks like I can't make it to your baby shower tomorrow after all. . . ."

And then all that was left for the moment, really, was waiting. The doctor had cheerfully predicted that while it probably wouldn't be over before his shift ended at six, it probably wouldn't take too much longer after that. "You'll have a baby before tomorrow!"

So we settled in for what we thought would be not too very long of a wait. Oh, boy, were we wrong on that one.



Stay tuned for part two, coming soon!

Do you think they have a customer loyalty program?

I recently received the following email in my spam folder. My spam folder is a source of frequent amusement, and this did not disappoint:

I find several things interesting about this:

- The fact that Nigerian con artists apparently have found a way to get repeat customers. They are nothing if not resourceful!
- They are gutsy enough to put a warning at the end not to trust anyone else (but we're TOTALLY legit!).
- Judging by the total amount of money that has been set aside and the fact that "every affected victim" gets $3.4 million, only about 59 people have been affected. This is actually a lot better than my faith in the human race would have led me to believe.
- If you read the first sentence literally, it looks like the president of Nigeria is the one who rated his country the most corrupt in the world.

I think my favorite thing about this message, though, is the fact that, according to my research, the current president of Nigeria actually really and truly is named Goodluck Jonathan. Well, actually, it's Goodluck Ebele Azikiwe Jonathan, but I think that only makes it better. (Unfortunately, Dr. Silver Okoli appears to be an illegal fiction.)


This is right up there with the one where the sender claimed God had revealed my name to him as someone who was righteous enough to help him out.