The Doctor is Out

Today is Mama Turista's last day as a working girl, and although Peach and Olive are a bit upset about the whole thing, I'm sure some Mexican food and a boat ride will lessen the sting. It will be weird when she closes the door for the last time, but again, it's a good thing. Besides missing her incredible design magic, I know some of her customers will also be missing her daily drop-in therapy sessions. No, she's not a licensed therapist, but you would not BELIEVE the shit people feel compelled to tell her on any given day. In the middle of the French soaps display! Bizarre. She says she feels like she's solved the world's problems from behind that little counter and that she should have had a setup like this:

Speaking of doctors, I get lawyerly stuff in the mail all the time, and it cracks me up when it's addressed to "Dr. (Turista)." Yes, I have a Juris Doctor, so, yes, technically I'm a "doctor." But seriously, only an asshole lawyer calls himself a doctor. Like this one asshole that I worked with at LawNerds who always signed his emails, "Dr. (Asshole), Esquire, Attorney at Law." Really, genius? So is everybody you're sending these emails to, asshole. Impressive. And that whole Attorney "at Law" thing has always bugged me, too. What else could you be? An Attorney "at Will?" "at Risk?" "at Random?" Just take off the powdered wig, dude, and CHILLAX already.

Maxin' and chillaxin' is what I'd like to be doing right now, but this is the second of five weekends in a row that I'll be out of town - including four trips to San Antonio. Thankfully, it's not that far, but damn! We were supposed to be "taking it easy" this summer. What the hell?

No rest for the weary, I guess, especially since I've finally found the perfect exercise routine for my ever-expanding gut and assular area, so I'm off to "oxnegate" my blood.