A couple of years ago, the combination of quitting smoking and sitting on the couch with my new daughter began to take its toll. All of my size 36 pants started fitting tightly, my shirts were bulging out in the middle and...well, let's just say that, in the words of Dennis Miller, my belly button wasn't as close to my spine as I would have liked. I realized that it was time to start going to the gym.

I had never been a regular gym rat, so I was a little confused by the list of rules in my new domain. Some of them, like the requirement that I always bring a towel, made perfect sense. I also completely understood the rule against hurling barbells at mirrors and the request that we not hock loogies in the water fountain.

I was a little confused, however, by the requirement that we "minimize grunting." Wasn't grunting a natural response to lifting ridiculously large amounts of weight? Were there excessive grunters out there who were threatening the fate of the world? I became a little paranoid about my own grunting. After all, I was used to letting out a little groan from time to time. I didn't think that my grunting was excessive, but then again, most people don't mind their own sounds and smells. Afraid that I might be an offensive grunter, I resolved to lift weight with a minimum of sound.

It used to be pretty simple. Wake up, brush your teeth, talk to your spouse and kids, go work, come back, watch TV, straighten up the house or play with the kids, and go to bed. The next day: repeat.

Now, of course, the lines are blurred. We're often emailing our kindergarten's teacher with an apology for not bringing this week's snack and then rushing off to a meeting with the boss. Or we'll be at home in bed, watching late night TV and answering email -- from a client at work.

All of this means that things get complicated when employers and their employees don't get along, since when lawsuits arrive, email leaves one of those paper trails that can help bolster or destroy someone's case.

Have you heard this joke:

Waiter, there's a fly in my soup!
Don't worry sir, the spider on the breadroll will get him!

How about this one:

Waiter, there's a fly in my soup!
Force of habit, sir. Our chef used to be a tailor.

Or maybe this one:

Waiter, why is there a bee in my soup?
Sorry, sir. It's the fly's day off.

When I was a kid, I used to be a huge fan of cheesy jokes (I grew out of the tendency sometime last week, although I acknowledge that a relapse is possible). I collected all sorts of bad puns, double-entendres, and borsht-belt groaners. I knew dozens of knock-knocks, Tom Swifties, and, yes, fly jokes. Yet, for all the jokes I remember, here's one that I never heard:

Judge, judge, there are two flies in my bottled water!
Yes sir, now here's your $343,000.

I have a feeling we'll be hearing more about this.

Reuters is reporting that a man from New York, Gokhan Mutlu, is suing JetBlue for $2 million. The reason he'll probably be booking a seat on another airline for his next flight? JetBlue made him sit in the plane's restroom.

Apparently what went down is that Mutlu arrived to the airport in February, planning on taking JetBlue from San Diego to New York, he was told that the flight was full.

But on the plus side, a JetBlue flight attendant said she would give up her seat and travel in an airline employee "jump seat." (Reuters points out that it's not clear in the lawsuit whether the flight attendant was on the job or a passenger.)

So Mutlu boards, and 90 minutes into the flight, the attendant decides that she's quite uncomfortable in the employee "jump seat." Mutlu was told he would have to give up his seat and "hang out" in one of the restrooms for the rest of the flight.

I've been going on and on about my situation. The debt, the mortgage, and trying to save it all. I never really spoke about how we got here in the first place. We didn't just wake up and *poof* had a house. No, no. That would be no fun. The story I'm about to tell you is worthy of a book, and it's just one chapter of my interesting life.

It all started about six years ago. We were driving back from Phoenix from a funeral. We were dropping my sister off when her husband came out and gave us the horrible news that my mother and step-father passed away in an accident. The vehicle they were in had a blowout and rolled over. This led to a lot of in-fighting in the family. Mainly the six siblings vs. me, the one who didn't want to take the route of the lawsuit. It took a lot of convincing from MANY sources to convince me to go ahead with everything, and four years later we settled the lawsuit.

I can't say how much money I got as my share of the lawsuit, but it was a lot. Not "go off and retire," amounts, but enough to where I should have been able to solidify my credit and save for the future. Needless to say I did neither.