Leaderboard

Except for Susan of course. Much easier to use your middle name rather than your first that it is to redact your last name. I'm going to guess that you are right, Pompoms is Susan's mother's maiden name, based on other evidence of her strong reaction to her divorce. I don't see Susan choosing to use her dad's surname. Yeah ... first, change your last name is harder, second, she doesn't have any better. Lets say for a moment that Susan's mom's maiden name is Pompoms though, it could be the reason her dad married her in the first place if she was "his type" as in having been a cheerleader in highschool/post secondary school. This would mean we wouldn't know what Susan's dad's last name is though, but I doubt it'd be Raven cus Susan was probably old enough when she caught him cheating to remember what her last name used to be.

Good to hear. Feel better soon!

Yeah, pretty much. Getting over it, weekend should be OK.

So you've spent the entire year so far being sick? Oh man.

Can legs have a hangover? Mrs. Prof. and I went to the NHL Winter Classic at the Cotton Bowl here in Dallas and saw our Stars pull out a 4-2 comeback win over the Nashville Predators hockey club. I should say that we and around 85,358 other people went to the game. I wasn't ready for how cold it would be, nor was I ready for how narrow the seats would be (both front-to-back as well as side-to-side). However, what I really wasn't prepared for was the walk. Ohmydearlord, the walk. We decided to save $30 on parking and take the DART light rail from Garland (our suburb) to Fair Park (home of the Cotton Bowl). Bad move on many levels. One, the distance from the rail station to the stadium is ridiculous, especially when you consider my disabilities, the fact that I don't walk much, and that little thingy I had last Monday, what was it ... arthroscopic surgery! Oh, yeah, that. Mrs. Prof. had to help me navigate item number two, the official attendance of 85,360 (including ourselves). Everywhere you went, there was a line, especially to get past the metal detectors. Once we found our seats, or what there was of them - tiny little things - we actually had good sight lines. I had to keep pumping down the oxycodone to survive the experience, though. Game over, and repeat the excruciating incursion in reverse, right? Wrong. All but two gates to the gigantic complex were closed. DART police were letting people through in small groups to get onto outbound trains going to random destinations. My quads and calf muscles were in flames, and my knee joint was screaming at me with every passing minute. DART police didn't care. We had to wait with everyone else. We did finally make it through the mass of people and onto a train, but I had to ride standing up for the first half of the trip. We transferred onto a train with free seats, where I was finally able to sit and let some of the burn dissipate. It's now Friday, and my legs still hurt. I'm going to physical therapy this afternoon, where I'm going to ask them to concentrate not so much on my knee by itself and work more on getting my knee and my legs to recover from Wednesday's walk. Sort of a one-off therapy session. That's how you have a New Year's hangover without alcohol.