Sprinting might be easier

I'm 5/6 of the way through law school, and the time in this last winter break is speeding along much too quickly. I've been finished for almost 4 days now, and I can't seem to get my mind to come down, to really sink into the relaxation. I think it's because I know that in two weeks, I've got to be back in it.

I ran a marathon once. It was grueling. My knee started hurting at mile 6. I was running it with my dad (who had actually done this before), and his calf had been hurting during training and then really started hurting during the race. We hobbled along for over six hours. Once when I wanted to start walking, my dad reminded me that the more we walked the longer it would take and the harder it would be to start running again. I was so incredibly torn - the running was awful, but I knew he was right. If we started to walk, it would just be that more painful to start running again.

I think my brain is quietly going through those machinations right now - if I really settle into this relaxation thing, it is just going to be THAT MUCH HARDER to pick up that reading again in less than two weeks and try to get ready for that first class on Jan. 4. And then of course, if I don't let myself melt into that relaxation, I may just fall over before I get to the finish line.

For Goodness Sake

Remember the other day when I said some things about presidents and atheists. I take it all back. And who do we have to thank for this enlightenment?


Well, the babe and some atheist friends but also our dear friends at fox "news". I would hate hate hate for anyone ever to confuse me with Bill O'Reilly and these "news"casters.


Remember the other day when I said some things about presidents and atheists. I take it all back. And who do we have to thank for this enlightenment?


Well, the babe and some atheist friends but also our dear friends at fox "news". I would hate hate hate for anyone ever to confuse me with Bill O'Reilly and these "news"casters.








The babe and I sat through this ridiculous segment completely mesmerized. That's a lie. The babe was laughing sort of incredulously, and I was screaming - just AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! because there seemed no other appropriate thing to do under the cirumstances.



Let's get a closer look at the infamous ad.

Scandalous, I know.



But seriously. When the Christian Right (read Wrong) is creating websites to berate retailers who don't sell nativities or wish you "Merry Christmas", then can they really blame the Humanists for trying to advertise for their cause. Who's attacking who here?



And what exactly is so awful about the idea that a person could be good with a belief in God? Do these people want to do away with anyone who's a good person but doesn't believe in God? Yep, I bet so.



And also - did they not notice that these people are wearing CHRISTMAS HATS?! Hello, they do not hate Christmas. They want to celebrate it as the secular holiday that it has become. They are not attacking you. They are not trying to take away your right to celebrate your own sacred version of that holiday (does this sound familiar?). They're just trying to say that people who don't believe in God can be good people too - even at Christmas.



I, for one, love the ads.

Weekend Yummies

It's finals time again. Sigh.

In my book, there's no better way to waste time than cooking.*

And this time of year, what's better than roasted root vegetables? Nothing.

If you too are in the finals way, you can take a study break and cut vegetables for about 30 minutes, pop them in the oven and enjoy the amazing smells. Then about an hour later, you've got glorious, melt-in-your mouth vegies. Yum.

This one's so simple, it doesn't really need a recipe.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Cut up your favorite root vegetables, and put them in a baking pan. Douse them in olive oil and spices (we like simple - salt, pepper, rosemary) and toss them around to make sure they're all covered. Then bake for 1 - 1 1/2 hours - until everything is nice and soft.

You can use whatever roots you'd like. In this one, we used the things that were in season at the farmers market - sweet potatoes, turnips, radishes, beets, onions, and threw in some brussels sprouts about 20 minutes in for good measure.

It was delicious, and the leftovers made me and the babe the envy of all of our friends at the lunch table.

*Except, of course, surfing the interwebs in a restless and dissatisfied fashion.

The Past is the Past is the Future

I was trying to finish a paper recently, and I was lamenting to a friend about the stupid decisions that I had made along the way that were making it really difficult for me to finish, i.e. inserting a footnote with no information in it.

And he said, "Yeah, Past M is always doing stupid things like that for Future M to deal with."

I thought it was the most brilliant thing I'd ever heard, and after chatting with folks about it, it is clearly the cross to bear of the law school type.

Past (In)Sanity Gal hates Future (In)Sanity Gal. Clearly. Or else she thinks Future (In)Sanity Gal is some sort of superhero who has the ability to fly over large buildings and write 15-page papers in a single bound. Whichever it is, Future (In)Sanity Gal is constantly being left with Past (In)Sanity Gal's giant mess to clean up, and it's annoying. And it makes Present (In)Sanity Gal feel as though she is LOSING HER MIND. Which is obviously what is happening here because, although this is clearly a brilliant idea, this paragraph is also the rambling madness of a crazy person.

Thanksgiving Threats

I just got this in my email box.

Here's a hint:

Anyone who gets me anything related to the bar exam for Christmas should thereafter sleep with one eye open. Understood?

There's always clapping on the other side of the fence

I saw Jersey Boys last night. It was great fun - I knew even more of the songs than I realized, and it made me want to come home and download everything The Four Seasons onto my ipod and go for a run.*



But I was also on the verge of tears for a ridiculous portion of the show. Will the feeling of wanting to perform never go away? I thought when I started law school that becoming a trial lawyer would be a good outlet for those performance desires, but it's not. I don't like it. And so I just miss it. Most of the time the longing sort of hangs out in the back of my mind, and I don't pay much attention to it. But then I'll go see a show - especially musicals - and I'll think That person on stage is The Luckiest Person Alive. That person has The Best Job Ever. And it hurts - the longing makes my chest hurt.



Maybe I'm just being dramatic - but I guess that's the point. I AM dramatic, and I miss celebrating it.



Several years ago when I was still working as a personal trainer and trying to figure out what to do with my life, I had a conversation with my dear friend C. We were next to each other on the stairmasters at the gym where we worked, and I told her that I didn't want to end up at some point in my life and think I just gave up on my dreams. I wasn't willing to do what it would take to be great. I wanted stability instead. She told me to look around the room - Every one of these people can look back on their lives and say that.



I chose stability. And ease. I gave up. I threw in the towel. I wasn't willing to do what it takes. I blame myself.



But maybe it wouldn't have mattered.



My dad told me a story about the time that his dad told him he would never be good enough to play major league baseball. He said it hurt, but it was the best thing his dad could've done for him. That way he didn't spend a lot of time chasing after something that could never be.



So was it true that it probably never would've happened for me? Or did I just tell myself that so it was easier to give up on it?**



I don't want to spend my life living in the past - wishing that things were some way they aren't. In trut, I know so much of it is just the other side of the fence. When I was in graduate school, I was annoyed that I was always in rehearsal. When I got out of school, I was tired of working all day and rehearsing at night. I didn't want to keep auditioning for commercials and children's plays. It wasn't wildly fulfilling.

But when I see someone up on stage doing what I dreamed of doing, I can't help but think What if I had stuck with it? What if I had kept on through the hard parts? What if I had really given my all?





*Of course, I didn't come home and go for a run. I came home and went to bed. And I probably won't go for a run anytime soon because I don't exercise.

**But let's not pretend that anyone was beating down my door asking me to be a superstar.

Blessings

The babe and I celebrated two years this weekend in beautiful Charlottesville, Virginia and marveled both at the glorious fall landscapes and at how very much we enjoy each other's company.

As the we were falling asleep last night, the babe said, "I never imagined that I'd want to spend this much time with another person."

Thank goodness for the surprises that love brings.

The Bright Side

It's important to have a positive attitude and be grateful for things. I've said it here myself. So, I've compiled a list of the ways in which being in law school has improved my life. Here goes:

1. I'm not as fun anymore.

Fun is overrated and often involves things that aren't good for you - like alcohol, sleepless nights, and laughter. We know what alcohol and lack of sleep can do. Too much laughing could cause you to pull something or shoot soda out of your nose, which could lead to sinus problems. Fun is dangerous.

2. I don't work out anymore.

Working out subjects your body to all sorts of stress. People who work out always have bad knees. And then if you end up looking fit, people hate you. Or expect you to help them carry things - like their new tv or their 2 ton sofabed. Not worth it.

3. I have no creativity.

It would be really depressing to have endless creativity and no where and no time to be able to use it. Better that it just gets zapped right away.

4. I am much more judgmental than I used to be.

This is important. How else can you be sure that you're right and everyone else is wrong if you're not constantly judging them?

5. I'm not very nice anymore.

It's important to get in touch with that part of yourself that hates other people who seem happy or put together. Otherwise, you might just be happy - and then other people would hate you. And who wants that?

6. I'm going to make a lot of money when I graduate.

Thank goodness, because I'll have shit tons of debt.

7. I don't hang out with my pre-law school friends much at all.

This is good because they wouldn't like me much anyway. See numbers 4 and 5.

8. I met a lot of good friends and the babe.

For serious. Thank god (or nature or science or whatever you might thank in this circumstance - see number 4 (which apparently translates into being a giant religion bigot)).

More bloggers!

A friend of mine just started a new blog. It should prove to be funny and depressing (through no fault of her own, of course - you can't help your subject matter).

Go check it out!

Veterans

When I first started dating the babe, I didn't understand the appropriate phrases to use for Jewish holidays - like what do you wish something on Yom Kippur? I've since learned that it doesn't really make sense to wish someone a Happy one; lots of people wish each other a Meaningful Yom Kippur. I'm thinking of that today on Veterans Day, when I've heard for years "Happy Veterans Day," and today it just seems a bit off.

So, to all, I wish you a Meaningful Veterans Day. And I offer an excerpt from President Obama's speech yesterday at Fort Hood.

As we face these challenges, the stories of those at Fort Hood reaffirm the core values that we are fighting for, and the strength that we must draw upon. Theirs are the tales of American men and women answering an extraordinary call -- the call to serve their comrades, their communities, and their country. In an age of selfishness, they embody responsibility. In an era of division, they call upon us to come together. In a time of cynicism, they remind us of who we are as Americans.

Zoe

I can't believe that I have to wait until Christmas to see my mom's precious new kitty!

To Believe or Not to Believe

Do you think we'll ever elect an atheist as president in this country?

The babe posed the question this evening. Before I had a chance to answer, she posed a second one.

Would you vote for an atheist for president?

It was honestly something I'd never thought about before, and I had trouble figuring out how I felt about it.

My first instinct was that I'd prefer someone who's not an atheist - I characterized this as someone who holds some belief in a power greater than themselves.

After that, the conversation went in all sorts of unruly directions, involving discussions about the merits of a number of our 3L friends' possible performance as President of the United States. The babe was surprised by my response, her vote being clearly for an atheist president. And I guess in some ways, I was too.

I'm still not sure where I stand on this - it's hard to separate out a single trait like this and make any reasonable statement. Any person running for president is so much a package that I'm not sure I would ever make a decision on it (when she asked whether I'd still have voted for Obama if he had been atheist, there was no question - yes). But that doesn't really make sense, because I feel so strongly that I never want to vote for anyone who characterizes themselves as part of the religious right - so I'm obviously able to separate that part out. Except that I guess that's the point - I'm not separating it out. Fair or not fair, I view it as a sign of the kind of person they are - conservative, intolerant.

So I guess the issue here is that I associate religious belief or non-belief with traits that I want or don't want in a president. In trying to explain this to the babe (who, just for reference, basically grew up in a home-grown moot court competition), I identified humility. I think believing in something greater than yourself (and humanity in general) evidences a sense of humility that I appreciate. But then we talked about nature or science as being that thing, and I would say that any person could be equally humbled by the power of nature or science.

So is it just that I want someone who believes like I believe? Am I just operating under my own scheme of intolerance? I'm not sure. I can't for the life of me seem to figure out what my spiritual beliefs are, but I think I value some sort of mysticism associated with the belief in a god. I'm not sure whether that matters in a president - at the end of the day, will the country be affected by whether the president believes or doesn't believe? Especially when we're talking about these religious/spiritual beliefs that fall so far on one end of the spectrum - i.e. somewhere between believing in some sort of amorphous all-encompassing god and no god at all.

There's so much more to say on this, but it's almost so much that it's overwhelming. Also, there's a decidedly non-philosophical vibe in the living room now as the babe turns to me and says, "Andy Reed drafts linemen like it's his job." Although I guess football is a religious event - judging from the number of times people cry out god's name or pray for assistance. And of course, there are the receivers who point him out after every good play.

At any rate, mostly this is just on my mind, and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Maine

I ventured on to the Yes on 1 in Maine website this morning - it's actually Stand for Marriage Maine - to see what they were saying about yesterday's vote. It was risky for my sanity, but I'm continuously trying to understand what is behind the fear and hatred of gay marriage. I braced myself for a victory speech. I had already read the defeat speech at Protect Maine Equality, and imagining the victory cheering over at Yes on 1 made me feel sick to my stomach.

I clicked on the site. Nothing. No speech. No victory press release. Just all of the information about getting ready for the vote. It was like the website just stopped once the vote got started. And then I realized - it did. Because that's all they came here to do. They incited the requisite amount of fear, and their job was done. There was no need for a victory speech - nothing had really changed for them. They just retained the right to keep on being hateful. They could go home to dinner with their families and nothing had changed. Because what happens with this law DOES NOT AFFECT what happens in their home AT ALL. It just doesn't.

But the people over at No on 1 - they were having an election night party. They were liveblogging the election results. They were so hopeful. There were couples dreaming of the wedding they were going to plan this year. There were children excited that their parents were finally going to get married. There was a roomful of people who represented that hope that all of us around the country were feeling - that we could count on another state where people recognize that our love and our relationships deserve the same respect and the same name as heterosexual relationships. Not just the same rights - the same respect.

And all of them - and with them, all of us - went home so disappointed and so hurt and so angry. And what happens in their homes IS AFFECTED. They did have something taken away - something real. It's not theoretical for them - or for us - it's reality. The values are important, of course. Wanting to live in a world that recognizes certain things is important. But it's about real rights, too. It's about whether gay couples in Maine can sign a marriage certificate or not. And today, they cannot.

I hope that I am around when those who have supported anti-gay speech and legislation and actions learn to feel shame.

Taking it to the next level

Last night I dreamed about the Phillies for the second time. My unconscious mind is totally confused - having never before experienced this thing called sports. So, of course my dreams are not really about the sport. There's no baseball in them. It's just about meeting the players - fame (something my unconscious is very familiar with).

The first dream revolved around Shane Victorino - excitement about meeting him, his age (it was 22 - I was fascinated by how young he was), the babe's revelation to me that she wanted to have sex with him...badly. She denied this adamantly when I confronted her with it the next morning.

Not really her type, I guess.

And then in last night's dream, I had the opportunity to meet the whole team - I had caught them leaving their hotel and about to board the bus to head to NY. But it was very important that I go tell the others - I can only assume that meant the babe and some other Phillies fans or something? In my head, it was just all "Quick Lassie, we've got to run and tell the others!"

And so I started to, but then I got sidetracked because I saw Drew Barrymore.

So I obviously went over to get her autograph, but she was all annoyed because she was there to enjoy the World Series, not to give out autographs. But then she said okay fine - and then I got all shy and felt bad about bothering her and said that was okay, I didn't want to take up her time. And then she said really it's no big deal. And it seemed like she really wanted to hang out, which I was super happy about because - well, doesn't she seem like she'd be really fun?

So I totally let the Phillies down and didn't go get their fans - BUT Drew Barrymore was wearing a Phillies uniform, so I think that sort of makes up for it.

Yep. Plum crazy.

Seriously one-upped

My sister, who lives in NY and works at an international human rights organization, is coming to visit this weekend (hurrah!) and we're going to a cooking and entertaining show in DC.

Yesterday we had this text exchange:

me: just bought our tickets for the cooking show!!

sis: Hip hip hooray! I just sent 2.5 million dollars worth of lifesaving hemophiliac meds to Romania! It's been a big Monday morning!

Smack

Enjoy the following email exchange between the babe and one of our friends from school:



To me and the babe:


So, what brand of tissues do you both like? Do you prefer scented or unscented? With Aloe or without?

I just want to be a supportive friend and buy you a box of tissues for when the greatest team in sports history wins the next three games to claim their 27th championship title. I know you'll be upset when that happens, so I want to be prepared and help out as best I can.



- [Yankee Fan]





And the babe's response:




Dear [Yankee Fan],

Thank you for your concern. Given that last night's game was basically a must win for your team, I am relieved you won it. I was worried about your mental health and the safety of all new yorkers. I was also worried that this would be another boring series where the Phillies crushed the opposition, despite predictions that the opposition should be better. I'm thankful the Yankees, the highest scoring team in baseball could eek out three runs over nine innings against a 38 year old pitcher. Thanks for providing us Phillies fans with some entertainment.

As for your concern about tissues, no need to worry. I don't know if you've heard about what Phillies fans are like, but you should check it out here and here. I think you can understand that we don't do tissues, we get mad. Anyway, I hope you enjoy watching the Phillies beat the tar out of the most winning playoff pitcher ever on Saturday night, while last year's World Series MVP shows how he got that title.

[The babe]


PS Do you think Derek Jeter or Alex Rodriguez will end up making any difference at all this series? Or do you think they'll continue to be their useless overpaid selves the rest of the time?





Because I am less practiced in the art of trash talk, I kept my response to a simple "pptptpbhpppth." Also, I prefer to maintain a more gentle approach lest I jinx my team. Never fear Phillies, I've knocked on wood on your behalf.

Weekday Yummies

Stop what you're doing. Now.

Go get an acorn squash and some apple cider.

I'll wait.



Welcome back.

Follow this recipe. You can thank me later.

Braised Squash

Adapted from Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Ingredients:

1 acorn squash

1 tablespoon butter (or margarine for those who can't handle lactose)

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 1/4 cup apple cider (I used unsweetened from the farmers market)

some rosemary to taste

1. Cut the squash in half and remove the seeds and gunk. Make sure you really scrape it clean on the inside.

2. Cut the squash into chunks and peel. I peeled after cutting because it's hard to get into all those little crannies.

3. Melt butter or margarine in a saucepan over medium heat and throw in some rosemary. I used dried because it's what we had at home, but I'm sure it would be best with fresh.

4. Breathe in deeply. Mmmm....

5. Throw in the squash, and let it cook for about 3 minutes.

6. Pour in the apple cider and salt and increase heat as necessary until it boils.

7. Cover and reduce heat. Allow to lightly simmer for about 30 minutes or until liquid has been reduced to a glaze.

8. Now might be a good time to start composing that thank you letter.

9. Come back and witness the buttery sweet goodness.

You're welcome.

One down

The World Series started last night (apologies to those of you who were aching to watch Glee), and though I started out feeling sort of tired and cranky, the game brought up my spirits. I'll refrain from singing baseball's praises again, lest I start to get as annoying as a new religious convert.

But I just love this video of Cliff Lee, who was freaking amazing last night with no earned runs. And of course this delightful behind-the-back catch.

Gay boys

Overheard in the lobby of my apartment building:

Guy 1: So did you make it to the race last night?

Guy 2: What race?

Guy 1: The high heel race in Dupont.

Guy 2: (Laughs) No, that's not really my thing. You?

Guy 1: Yeah. I mean, to watch. I didn't participate.

Guy 2: Anything exciting? Did anybody fall?

Guy 1: No. And I even got a spot next to the crosswalk where the paint makes it slippery when it rains. Nothing.

Missing the babe

The babe is away for a funeral.


This morning I got up and ate breakfast, did some schoolwork, got dressed and put on makeup, got my books and lunch together, and headed out to school.


I was at the elevator before I realized I was still wearing my slippers.

Towards becoming an overwork atheist

The other day during class, I took out a container of the vegetable fried rice that the babe and I made the night before for dinner and started to eat it. The girl I sit next to turned to me and asked "how do you have time to cook?"

It was more an accusation than a question.

My initial thought was "how would I not have time to cook?" I mean, I have to eat.

What I said: "I just don't do other things."

I don't pretend that I never have those feelings of anger or jealousy when I see that someone else seems to have time for the things that I miss - for crafting or reading or being a member of a choir - all those things that I feel like I've left behind since law school.

It's made me think about a passage from Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle:

"Overwork actually has major cachet in a society whose holy trinity is efficiency, productivity, and material acquisition. Complaining about it is the modern equivalent of public prayer."

As miserable as I can get about law school, the truth is that what I do or don't do is the result of my own choices. I choose to cook, and the result is that sometimes I don't do other things. Those other things may be homework; they may be hanging out with friends; they may be sleeping an extra hour; sometimes, it's bathing. (Yes, I'm putting that out there.) The reality is that there are only 24 hours in a day, and I make choices about how to spend them.

I am tired of participating in the ritual complaining. And I'm tired of feeling guilty in the moments where I make the choice to do something nurturing instead of reveling in self-pity at my own "overwork."

There are so many people in the world who are truly overworked, who truly cannot find time to sleep or nurture themselves because they barely have enough time to make enough to house themselves and their families. There are those who work multiple jobs just to eat. And yet, I don't think those are the people complaining. They don't have time.

I complain - a law student with a beautiful apartment, classes four days a week, a job ready for me after graduation, a wonderful girlfriend, and weekly meals that include fresh meat from the local farmers market. Though it may come across as such, I’m not interested here in self-flagellation. I'm not alone in my behavior, and I don't feel the need to condemn myself for it.

What I do want is to recognize reality and give myself permission to walk away from the overwork dogma and the requisite complaining that goes along with it.

I'm sure in the weeks and months to come, you'll find complaints on this blog - I'm human, after all. But I hope that sometimes in the midst of my complaining, I'll remember back to this post and relax a bit.

Skip to Friday

Lolcats, you speak to me.

You make me smile

And cheer.

And feel totally enthralled by something outside myself and law school.

And I love you for it.

Six weeks...

until finals.

Elation.

Terror.

Getting it wrong

Perfectionism is killing my blog.

I can't seem to write anything because I'm too busy planning what I'm going to write and what pictures I'm going to post along with it and how it's going to be the most brilliant/funniest/most profound/most awe-inspiring thing I've ever written.

Lame.

Or I can't write because I'm berating myself for not having kept up with other people's blogs.

Or I can't write because I'm trying to finish the reading for my next class. That doesn't involve cold-calling. And I'm a 3L. And I already have a job.

What the hell is going on here?!


In other news:

I was at a wedding in Vermont this weekend. Vermont calls to me so loudly my heart breaks a little bit every time I leave. Of course, it's frickin' cold there.

I'm trying to stop online shopping - and by "shopping," I mean online window shopping. It doesn't make me happy; it just makes me want things.

There was an older lesbian couple at this wedding we went to, and they were totally into each other and danced almost the whole night. The babe thinks they've recently gotten together, and that's why they're all hot for each other. I think they've been together for a long time, but they love weddings because it makes them feel young and in love again. Evidence for my position = they were wearing matching outfits. Not like matching-matching but the same colors. We're going to check with the bride later and find out who was right.

If that's not a not-perfect blog, I don't know what is.

Tis the season

This is pretty much what the babe looks like.





Maybe a little less furry.

She's got something.

The flu?

A really bad cold?

A sinus infection?

The plague?


It's ugly whatever it is, and it is not appreciated here.

Weekend Yummies

The Babe and I have been talking about picking raspberries all summer, and we finally made it out yesterday to two local farms to pick some apples and raspberries. It was a gorgeous day, and we had a wonderful time.

And behold some of the fruits of our labor





Yum.

We froze a bunch of raspberries, and we'll freeze some apples.

But first I made a DELICIOUS apple raspberry cobbler.



Just look at that yummy goodness.

Here's the recipe - adapted from my mama's peach cobber recipe.

Quick note - the babe has some dietary restrictions, so there may be some ingredients in here that you're not familiar with. If you're feeling bold, you can try them out. But if not, you can stick with the old standards.

Ingredients:

3 large apples or 5 small apples
1 pint raspberries
1 cup xylitol (or 1 cup sugar)
3/4 cup spelt flour (or 3/4 cup all-purpose flour)
3/4 cup soymilk (or 1 cup regular milk)
1 stick butter or margarine
2 tsp baking powder

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Peel and core the apple and cut into chunks. I used an apple corer for mine and then just cut each piece into 3 pieces. Put the chunks into a microwave-safe bowl and microwave for about 6-7 minutes or until the apples are somewhat soft and some juice has developed in the bottom of the bowl. Set aside.

Melt the butter/margarine in a 9 x 9 baking dish in the microwave. In a separate bowl, mix the flour, xylitol, soymilk, and baking powder. Pour into the melted butter. DO NOT STIR. Next pour in the apples and then the raspberries. Again, do not stir.

Bake uncovered for approximately one hour. Yummy when served with ice cream or soy ice cream!

3L-itis and bad

I so don't want to do this anymore.

Bad Boys Bad Boys

I have always been a good girl. I still am. A rule follower, if you will - all about pleasing the teacher.

So I was something of an anomaly at the Red Lobster chain where I waitressed my first two summers of college. The servers running around the kitchen were about as different from me as you could get. The girls were loud, bitchy, and promiscuous. They had long acrylic nails, wore thick eyeliner, and took lengthy smoke breaks. They didn't like me. I think they thought I was snooty. Mostly I was just scared of them. The boys were potheads or thugs. They wore their pants low and thought very highly of themselves. They got into fights. I was shy around all of them, always more prone to recognize my own failure to fit in than anything else.

J was a line cook. He was loud and difficult and always in trouble with the managers. He had piercing blue eyes and ridiculously long eyelashes. He flirted with me through the metal rack where the cooks placed the food for the servers to pick up. I was surprised. And delighted. And confused. He was older - 23, and could've had any of the girls in there. Why was he flirting with the quiet 18-year old?

I'm sure that we can all imagine why right now, but let's remember that I was young and naïve.

I started looking forward to work, knowing that I would see him there. My heart fluttered every time I walked into the kitchen. I would catch his eyes and then look down, suddenly shy. I'd had a lot of boyfriends by then, and one for several years, but I was still a virgin. I knew the look in his eyes - it was pure lust. I'd never felt it directed at me. It excited me and terrified me at the same time. My boyfriends had been young and inexperienced like me. They had been sweet, shy boys that I met in band or on academic bowl (stop laughing - I'm serious). This guy - this was different. He'd been around. And when he looked at me, I felt suddenly naked and tingly and not quite sure what to do with myself. Being wanted that badly was like nothing I'd ever experienced.

It was intoxicating, and it scared the shit out of me. As much as I wanted to believe differently, I knew that J didn't care about me. And honestly, I think I knew that we had basically nothing in common. He had dropped out of college, had been in jail for drug possession, didn't really know his parents. I was…well, me. It was like my own little bad boy fantasy. I did relish in it for a bit. But after about a month and a half of my refusing to do the ultimate deed, he told me he was too old for that sort of thing. Virgins were not his style. Every so often I say a little thank you for my naïve good sense - it would've been an awful first time.

So we broke up. I went back to school. He called sometimes - he liked to talk to me on the phone. I assumed he was sleeping with other girls. And then I didn't hear from him for a while. About 2 months. I figured that was that - he'd met some other young girl and was seducing her. And then one night I got a call - he'd been in jail. Arrested for purchasing heroin for an undercover cop. Something finally clicked, and I realized that this was not the guy for me.

And I moved on with life. I dated other guys. I went back to my high school boyfriend. And then I dated girls. And eventually I met the babe. And I didn't think much about J (except of course to every now and then thank the heavens that I didn't have sex with him).

And then three days ago, I got a friend request.

Oh dear Facebook.

Yep, it was him.

First, I have to say, for those of you who don't know me in person, I have a REALLY common name. There are thousands of people out there with my name. In fact, on facebook, there are approximately 3600 people with my name. He must've really looked. I didn't even remember his last name - I mean, it's been 10 years!

So, I was shocked. Obviously. And then I thought - I bet he's the kind of person who wouldn't have any protections on his page. And, sure enough, I clicked on his picture and his whole profile came up. And then….

I was in NO WAY prepared for what I saw next.

The man is a radio evangelist.

Yes, you read that correctly. He's a DJ on a Baptist radio station. His page is filled with Bible quotes and admonishments to be Holy.

I'm still in awe. I keep remembering him saying, "Look, it's not that big of a deal. It won't hurt that bad. Just come on." THIS man is a radio evangelist.

Seriously?

I didn't accept the request. I think that's one person better kept a memory.

And thank goodness I've discovered what it's like to be lusted after by someone who actually loves me.

Maybe I'll just link my blog to Obama Foodorama

I'm not intending for this blog to become all about food. But, seriously, would that be a bad thing?

Delighted to read this on the G20 summit:

The Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens is the site of the opening G20 reception on Thursday, as well as the working dinner for summit leaders on Thursday evening (photo at top of post). As is standard practice for all events at Phipps, food and beverages will be local, organic, sustainably raised and humanely raised where applicable. Fair Trade organic coffee will be served, food waste will be composted, and paper, glass, plastic, cardboard and cans will be recycled. The Victorian-era botanical garden, known as "The Green Heart of Pittsburgh," has been restored, expanded, and updated, and is recognized as one of the greenest public sites in the world; go here to read the comprehensive series of initiatives Phipps has in place to ensure energy conservation and sustainability, including Silver LEED certification.

From, where else, Obama Foodorama.

In other news, I'm finally getting to do a research paper involving the Farm Bill. Hurrah.

Give me a hoe

Here's to hoping that one day I'll have my own garden and that I'll look as cute as Michelle Obama while I tend it.

You can go to my new favorite blog to read all about the White House garden.

Photo from Obama Foodorama

New addition

This is my mom's new kitten.

Be still my heart.

Oh Dear

So early in the semester, and the Babe and I have already devolved to this:

8:05

the babe: Remind me when it's time to leave that I don't have pants on.

me: ok

8:15

me: babe, you don't have pants on.

the babe: I DON'T WANNA WEAR PANTS!!!

me: you never want to wear pants.

the babe: true.

Gay people in Maine

Equality Maine has a great new tv spot in support of same-sex marriage.

Go here to watch the video.

Go here to see what they're doing in Maine (and to donate money if that's what you're into).

Inquiring Minds

The big question of the day.



You're at someone else's house. You're peeing. In their toilet.



You notice that the toilet paper has not been put on the holder. It's just resting on top.



Do you pull some off and go about your business?



Or do you put it on the holder?

If Loving You is Wrong, I Don't Want to Be Right

I've always thought guys were a little weird with their electronics obsession, loving their televisions and their gadgets. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good tv, and I've liked some of my cellphones. I appreciate what technology can do for me.

But I've never loved something electronic.

Until this.

Oh, beautiful computer. You make me swoon.

My laptop is fine, but I never felt this way about it. It always felt heavy and clunky. This one feels svelt and sleek. I can carry it around in one hand. The keys hardly make any noise. Everything is shiny.

I love it. Love it. Love it. Love it.

Remember me?

In college I had a pretty close friendship with another girl - R. We hung out a lot, talked about feelings - we were close. After graduation, we kept up with each other for a while. But then a couple of weeks went by, and I didn't have a chance to call. I thought about calling once while I was walking home, but it didn't seem like enough time to cover all of the things that had happened since we'd last talked. And then I got busy and another couple weeks went by. And then a month went by. And I had it on my to-do list for months - Call R. And then it had been a year, and I had missed her birthday and she had missed mine and I'd met someone and hadn't told her yet about it. And it seemed overwhelming to call - how would we cover everything? Would we have anything to talk about anymore? And I just didn't ever call. And it's been 5 years now. I don't really know anything about her anymore. This good friend I had. Now it feels weird to try to get in touch with her.

You might have a similar story. Or you might be better at keeping up with people.

But here's the thing - that's happening right now with you guys. I've had Blog on my to-do list for weeks now. I think of blog posts while I'm walking, running, taking a shower. But so much has happened, there's so much I want to tell you, and I get overwhelmed. I don't know where to start. I've got a thousand posts about traveling, tons about school starting, and then just general random stuff.

And...I haven't been reading about you guys either. I've just been absent. I've been letting this relationship drift away.

Since things are easier sometimes when you write them down, I'm going to practice building it back up. I'm apologizing here for drifting away. And I'm telling you that I'm going to come back. And maybe I won't be able to tell you everything, but I'll start off from here.

And maybe I'll get better about this. Maybe I'll finally call R.

Max Capacity

We arrived in San Marcos, Guatemala, a small town* on the gorgeous Lago de Atitlan (Lake Atitlan) after being in transit for almost 24 hours from Tikal, Guatemala. We had been in three shuttles, an overnight bus, and a boat by the time we put down our bags at a tiny budget hotel. We immediately went in search of food and, after dinner, headed back to the room to collapse from complete exhaustion. It was around 7:30 pm and dark. We were using our headlamp to light the path in front of us and saw several fairly sizeable spiders on walls along the way. I began to acquiant myself with the realization that there would probably be spiders in our room when we returned.

I should pause for a moment to address spiders in general. I don´t like them. I´m scared of them - maybe irrationally. I know they do good things like eat mosquitos and bugs, but I really don´t want them close to me. And I don´t think they belong indoors. They totally gross me out.

But - here´s the rub - I don´t like to kill them. I´d like to say it´s because I feel some gratitude for their spiderly services or apprecation for their worth as God´s creatures. But that´s not it. Killing them requires me to get close to them. So coming upon a spider always presents me with an immediate uncomfortable dilemma. I want the spider gone. Now. But I don´t want to kill it.

Even my family´s penchant for camping didn´t make a difference. I remember once when I was about 13 standing in a campground bathhouse and realizing that a spider was sitting on my shoulder. Flicking it off, while maybe the easiest and quickest response, would have involved touching it. What I clearly deemed the more appropriate response was to scream and hop around wildly while trying to take my sweatshirt off without touching any part of myself with the spider-infested shoulder. Of course, when I got the shirt off, the spider was no long on it, meaning that it could be anywhere. Thus more hopping around and screaming, shaking out my hair, writhing around in the hopes that anything on me would fall off. Ridiculous behavior. But the truth.

Over the years I learned - out of necessity - to kill spiders. Like when I´d find a spider in my room at night while my parents were asleep and would have the good sense not to go wake them up. And then living in my own dorm room and then apartment and having to fend for myself.

But I hate it. I always hate it. I scream and gasp and jump around. My heart beats like crazy. I get hot and flustered and when it´s over, I have to sit and recover myself.

So back to our room in San Marcos.

I entered with resolve. I knew what I had to do - look around, locate the offenders, kill them. Quick and dirty, stiff upper lip and all that.

First one spotted - bigger and closer to the bed than I would´ve liked, but forge ahead I must. Shoe in hand I went towards it. Fast little bugger. And...got it. Maybe. Where did it go?!

Ack! Did it come back to life?! No - that´s another one! Got it!

Breathing.....oh holy lord.

I spotted a big one in the corner by the ceiling. Big. This one would require a chair. And no room for errors. A missed whack could result in a giant spider crawling directly above my head or worse - falling into my hair. Dear God in Heaven, give me strength.

My resolve started to weaken.

I spotted another one close by and killed it. The babe looked concerned. She would just as soon close her eyes and leave the spiders be, but even she had never seen this many in one place. They just kept coming.

Melt. Down.

I stood in the middle of the room holding the killing shoe and a wad of paper and cried. The babe held me and said we could find another place to stay in the morning. I cried harder. How did everyone else staying here deal with this? What was wrong with me? Why did they bother me so much? The babe soothed me as best she could.

I ended up killing 4. The babe killed one. Four others got away, left to roam around the room unchecked. But there was nothing to do. We had to stay the night at least. So, after checking all of the sheets and pillows and blankets, we climbed into the bed. I had a headlamp wrapped around my wrist in case I needed to get up or check anything out. (Turning on the table lamp would have involved groping in the dark for the switch - unacceptable.) We tucked the covers around ourselves and pulled them over our heads as I cried into the babe´s neck. She rubbed my back and told me everything would be okay, and in the midst of my semi-panic, I was grateful to be with someone so understanding.

We slept horribly - both of us. It´s difficult to sleep pressed up against another person with covers tucked all around you. And that doesn´t even take into account the barking dogs or the rooster or the evangelical sermon over loud speaker at 7 am.

But we made it through the night. With some of the previous day´s exhaustion quelled, things looked a bit better in the morning. We decided to stay - mainly because we were in the jungle and were pretty sure that every other place would be the same. But we changed tactics. For the next two nights, we stayed out late - til after 9 - to allow the spiders time to find their evening resting spots. Then we came back and made a bee-line for the bed. No looking around. Just brush the teeth, shake out the pajamas, put them on, and get into bed. Tuck the covers. Fall asleep.

It worked, for the most part. I only had to kill one other spider. But we were glad to leave, glad to get a good night of sleep without fear of spiders. But I also felt sort of proud of myself for pushing through, for going out of my comfort zone. So proud, in fact, that a few nights later in the cloud forest, I happily walked up to one of the guys running our hostel and said, "There´s a really big spider in our room. Would you be willing to come take care of it?"

*I use the term "town" loosely. It´s basically a few hotels and restaurants at a dock.

I lied

I told you I'd be back tomorrow and here it is 11 days later and I'm just saying hello again. Woops.

I blame life. I've been so busy living, I haven't had a chance to write about it! But I've got a bit of time and an internet connection to at least do some minimal catching up.

In spite of all my complaining about the heat and the wind and the sand, I had a wonderful time in the Outerbanks. The benefit to all that sandy madness was that a two minute walk over the dunes brought us face to face with our own slice of ocean heaven. Maybe not our own exactly, but shared with many fewer people than some of the more popular beaches.*

The Babe taught me to boogie board (or whatever you call it), which opened up a whole new world of oceany goodness. The babe delighted in my squeals of glee every time I caught a big wave and rode it all the way to shore. What had I been missing all these years?? Rather than pining for the lost time, I'm committing myself to a future heavily speckled with boogie boarding!

We left the campground a night early, slightly embarrassed by outr lack of beach ruggedness but desparate for a good night of sleep. The next day we finished the trek to Atlanta and turned over the pimp-mobile to our dear friend K, who was driving back to DC after a summer working in ATL.

We were staying with my mom and her husband and anxiously awaiting the arrival of my sister, home from a year in France. After a horrible delay in Chicago, she made it home to us and much graduation celebration ensued. The sis graduated with highest honors from Ga. Tech, and we marked the event with a cookout.**

After a couple more days of catching up with the sis and some other folks in ATL, we woke up at the crack of dawn, donned our heavy-ass backpacks***, and the sis drove us to the airport to catch our flight to... Guatemala!

* The oddity of this beach was that people could just pull up in their cars, so they formed long rows and then sat down in their beach chairs behind their SUVs. I thought it would be annoying, but it turned out not to bother me at all.

** Where my dad and his wife joined us. I thought it would be incredibly awkward. I haven't experienced a social event with my parents and their respective spouses, but it turned out okay.

*** Well, the babe's isn't that heavy. She's done this whole backpacking thing before and is kindly refraining from shouting "I told you so!" as I realize little by little how many things I brought that I don't actually need and may never wear.

O-oh! Herro!

So, in case you haven't guessed, the summer jobs (both the public defender and the big firm) took up a little bit of my time. And by little bit of my time, I mean basically ALL of my time. When I wasn't working, I was doing journal stuff - substantiating and working on my note. Of course I had a little bit of time to spend with the Babe and a friend here and there, but it really wasn't that much.

But that's not what we're here to talk about. That's boring. Jobs are hard work, but mine were good as far as summer legal internships go. Hopefully I'll get an offer at the firm, but that's not really worth talking about right now either. What is, you ask?

VACATION!

That's right - I only worked 9 weeks, so I'm partway through FIVE weeks of vacation.
I finished work on Friday, turned in my note for publication on Sunday night, picked up the rental car on Monday morning, and by noon the Babe and I were headed for the Outer Banks in North Carolina. We are apparently the only people on the East coast who have never been, so we were thoroughly looking forward to it.

Side note - we were driving this swanky ride.



Hot. I know.

Our plan - 4 nights at the Oregon Inlet campground, run by the National Park Service. We got in at around 7 and set up our tent right next to some dunes in some ridiculous wind. Thank god we listened to the campground website and stopped to buy extra-long tent stakes. Holy lord. And thank goodness the Babe has a good tent. I've never seen anything like it. Wind wind and more wind.

Note the way the wind is pressing the rain fly up against the tent.



The wind was constant.* Sleeping was a bit of a struggle with the fabric of the tent constantly flapping against itself. No matter how tightly we pulled the tent - and we re-did it several times - flap flap flap. In the end, we left a night early and stayed in a hotel, which was the right decision for a number of reasons.

So it was windy. Everywhere.

Let's re-visit the tent site.



Notice anything missing? Ah, yes.

Trees. No trees. Not a tree in sight. Hardly even any shrubs. Just sand. And grass. And more sand. Blowing at you.

So no trees = no shade. None. The tent was sweltering, and the only relief from the beating sun was to sit in the car with the windows open. And then we thanked god for the white behemoth.

Our first day on the beach, we bought a little tent shelter and spent several hours frantically re-staking it every 20 minutes or so as the stakes were suddenly ripped out of the sand and everything flew around wildly. Eventually we gave up and just sat in the sun. I got burnt.

Tomorrow I'll fill you on the wonderful parts of the trip. That's right. It wasn't all sandy and windy and hot. Well, actually it was. But the ocean itself - Glorious!

*A yearly regular at the campground told us that the wind level was very unusual.

I promise I will never

Talk loudly on the speaker phone with my door open.

Promise.

Who is it??

Prime example of the exhaustion and mild insanity that has been the last few weeks of my life:

The other day I got off the elevator and wearily walked towards my apartment. I put my key in the door, turned, and....nothing. It wouldn't go. I tried it again. Jiggled it. Jiggled it again. Still nothing. What the hell?! Why won't my key work?

I took the key out and stood there for a second frustrated. Is this some sort of joke?

Then...

Wait.

Am I on the 5th floor?

Oh dear god. I'm on the 5th floor.

Oh dear god. I hope this person doesn't come to the door.

Must. Get. Away.

I ran down the hall. Yes I did.

Ran down the hall to the elevator and frantically pressed the door close button so that it would whisk me up to the 9th floor (where I actually live) before the 5th floor person could come running after me to see why I was trying to break into their apartment.

At work I take the elevator to the 5th floor. At home I take it to the 9th floor. That is, when I haven't lost my mind.

Good Times in Public Defense

Favorite quotes from today's research:

The government's evidence showed that on September 9, 1980, Brooks and three companions, Gilliam, Edmunson, and Mackenheimer engaged in an early morning indulgence in drugs and sex. - Brooks v. U.S., 536 A.2d 1091, 1092 (D.C.
1988)*

Sure beats early morning research.

Not really if you read the rest of the case, though.

Fourth, Butler argues that the trial court's exclusion of his explanation of why he struck Queen (namely, because Queen opened his eyes after being ordered to keep them shut) distorted his admission that he struck Queen because it left the jury with the impression that he was the sort of person who would attack someone else without reason. - Butler v. U.S., 614 A.2d 875, 883
(D.C. 1992)

Phew. Glad we cleared that one up.

And finally,

A party may not attempt to manufacture evidence by creating an impression in the minds of the jurors through questions that imply the existence of facts.
- Ali v. U.S., 520 A.2d 306, 313 (D.C. 1987).

Hmm...Clearly forgotten by the judge during yesterday's closing statements.

*Anyone who comments on my citations will get hit.

Hot Mess

Evacuation of the DC court house at 9:45 this morning.

I never saw anyone in custody. I sure as hell hope they don't just leave them in there.

And then you have to finally decide

Read a lot, finish the quilt that I started 5 years ago, do lots of yoga, start running again regularly, work out in the gym, cook scrumptious meals, blog more, keep in touch with friends better, practice the piano, maybe even do some writing.

These are all things that I thought were going to happen this summer - this time of respite from law school. So far, I was really off.

The relaxed 9-5:30 that I was working last summer looks more like 9-7:00 this summer, which is not bad. And I've even gotten off early a few times. It's not the work. It's the socializing.

I am socializing like crazy. I'm working at a firm this summer, but I've got a fellowship through them, which basically means that I'm working one half of the summer for a public defender office and one half of the summer at the firm. It also means that I have to work a little harder to get face time at the firm. So, I'm trying to balance the public defender work time with firm socializing time. I'm trying to make it back for lunches. I'm going to happy hours, joined the softball team, going to random networking things. I'm exhausted every night.

There's been no yoga, no running, no crafting, no writing. Blogging has been incredibly limited, as have reading, cooking, practicing the piano, and keeping up with friends.

To some extent it's about choices. I choose to sit on the couch for an hour or so in the evenings when I can with the babe, share work stories, and watch an episode of something good. I guess that's time that I could spend doing other things. I've never been good at picking and choosing. I remember a high school conversation with my dad where I told him that I wanted to be first chair of the flutes in band. He said I certainly could be if I made that my priority. But I also wanted to be on the academic bowl and in the beta club. And I wanted to make all As. And I wanted to hang out with my boyfriend and be in the youth choir at church.* And I wanted to keep taking piano lessons.

I wonder if I'll ever figure this part of life out. If I'll ever learn to be content with the things that are in my everyday life and not focused on the things that aren't.

*Yes, I was a nerdy goody twoshoes.

Brilliant

Go to this link. Enjoy.* You can thank me later.

If you've already seen it, watch it again.

*Peeing in your pants is a possibility, so be warned.

Tagged: Best and Worst

Laughing tagged me, and to thank her, I proceeded to fall of the face of the planet - as least as my blog was concerned.



I'm back, at least for the moment, and I won't make a bunch of excuses for my absence. I'll just say that I've been insanely busy. And a lot of it has been good. And some of it hasn't. And that leads us right into Laughing's tag - the best and worst of the first. Except for me it was the second.



I thought about it for a while - since she tagged me about 2 weeks ago, and I'm just posting now. What were the best and worst moments of Law School Year Two?



There were a zillion best and worst moments in my personal life, but I'll still with law school life here.



Best: I gave a presentation in my feminist legal theory class with my dear friend T. The topic was prostitution, and as we began our research, I became really interested in what was happening with young girls and the market for virgins. I was borderline obsessed, and I spent way more time researching than was necessarily merited. I watched documentaries and read blogs, and I think the babe got sort of tired of hearing about it. T and I talked about it all the time. And then we put together this totally kick-ass powerpoint presentation with documentary clips and quotes and numbers and pictures and all sorts of stuff. And we created an interactive portion of the presentation so that we could promote discussion about what it means to be a prostitute and whether people would or would not choose the job as compared to other jobs, like being a medical guinea pig or a porn actress or a secretary or a hired killer or a nude model. The presentation went amazingly and the other students were really interested in it. When we finished, one of them said that it was amazing, and I realized that, like me, they hadn't really known about a lot of this or thought about it before. It felt so wonderful to have shared all of that information - to have opened other people's eyes about what goes on with young girls in this country every day, to have really good discussion about the tension points between victimization and autonomy. It was one of the most proud moments I've had.



Worst: It's hard to pick out a worst moment - I think because the whole year sort of blends together in lots of really awful moments. It's easier to pick out a great moment from there. I'm aware that not everyone feels that way about law school. I envy those other people.* At any rate, I think what I'm going to single out as my worst moment was actually two days during reading week of second semester. I got a journal substantiation assignment, and it was the longest one I had ever had. I had been out of town the weekend before, so the only time to do it was the first couple days of reading week (which isn't actually a whole week). I really don't enjoy substantiation in the first place, but this took hours and hours and hours. Somewhere between 12 and 15 total, which maybe doesn't seem like that much. But when every moment I spent on it felt like a moment that I wasn't spending studying for the three exams that I had coming up, it felt very, very long. I finished it; the jury's still out on one of the exams. And the one that I didn't do so well on - well, I can't really say it was the journal's fault. I don't know. But it sure felt that way at the time.

Because I waited so freakin' long, I'm not going to tag anyone, but if anybody decides to do it, let me know.


*By envy, sometimes I mean hate.

First Things First

Orientation today at The Big Firm.

I won't be back for five weeks. I've got a public interest fellowship, so I start a new job for the second time in two days tomorrow as I head to the public interest organization. I'm sure working there will great, but I have to admit that the first day of a new job isn't my favorite experience.

Highlight of today's first day:

I'm at lunch with three other summers and our four mentors. We're talking bar trips. One of the mentors describes her six week trip around the world. She took it last year before she started working at The Big Firm. The progression of countries sounds oddly familiar to me.

"Did you do that trip with a friend from Our Law School?"

"Yes."

..."Does she have a blog?"

"Yes."

I was right. It was a blogger that I'd read before starting law school and then some after starting. Small world.

Naked, Part I

I started figure modeling in graduate school. One of the other actors in the program had been doing it for a while, and she recommended it to some of us as a good way to make some money. When I left the administrator's office at the art school, I felt giddy. It seemed so bold and daring, maybe even rebellious. Not that I had anything in particular to rebel against. Maybe just the constrained version of myself.

I was nervous as I drove to my first class. A newly purchased robe lay on the seat next to me, and in a moment of panic, my mind raced over the idea that I would fail. That I would get there and freeze up, unable to remove my clothes.

I spoke with the instructor and she pointed me towards the bathroom, where I undressed and put on my robe. She didn't ask if I had ever done a class before, and I didn't offer up the information, hoping that portraying the image of an old pro would calm my nerves.

Thirteen artists busied themselves in front of their canvases, pulling out paints and erasers and rolls of paper towels, repositioning their paper while chatting with each other about their weekends. The instructor asked me about my temperature preferences and set up a small heater at the base of a small platform.

A reclining pose please.

Because I've Been Watching A Lot of Television

Check out my new poll. It's right there on the side of your screen. :)

Ode to ISBN

While it seems that summer began a while ago, perhaps when my second year of law school ended, the true beginning of summer happened yesterday.

I went to the public library to check out some reading for pleasure books.

I love public libraries. I love the way the books smell. I love the people there. I love the date due stamp.

Mostly I love the whole idea of a library. Free books. Just pick the ones you want, read them, and bring them back. It's genius. And now there are CDs and DVDs and books on CD. It's like a delightful shopping spree with no buyer's remorse. In other words - Heaven.

But that's not all.

There are books in a public library that you would never find in a bookstore. Bookstores stock what people buy. Libraries stock...well, I don't really know what libraries stock. Just lots and lots of books. Yesterday I found myself standing in front of a shelf looking at White Women, Black Men: Illicit Sex in the Nineteenth-Century South by Martha Hodes - a book I imagine promises to be either highly informative or highly offensive; Love, Marriage, & Sex in Contemporary Japan by Pink Samurai; To Love Honor & Betray: The Secret Lives of Suburban Wives by Stephanie Gertler - whom I assume is in litigation with the creators of Desparate Housewives; and Family Outing by Chastity Bono.

While the titles themselves delight me, what makes it even better is that I came upon this shelf of books while looking on the adjacent shelf for Michael Pollan's Botany of Desire. When in a bookstore would you come up a book about illicit sex while you're standing next to a shelf of books about the life of a plant? Never.

There's one more thing about the MLK Library in DC that I really like. It acts sort of like a shelter during the day. It's chock full of homeless people. They're sleeping in study carrolls, surfing the web, wandering around through the books. But there are also lots of them sitting at tables reading. All sorts of things - mysteries, books on religion, novels. One man, who I think was schizophrenic, seemed to be trying to learn Chinese.

My only problem with the public library is that I really never want to leave.

we iz gooberz

Too much lolcats and a penchant for silly has destroyed mine and the babe's ability to speak - so much so that on the way home from the park yesterday* the babe turned to me and said, with a note of pride, "We've spoken correct English all day."

Maybe it was finals insanity, maybe the stress of law school in general - who knows. But for whatever reason, a person with their ear against the door of our apartment might hear any number of the following phrases:

I'z tired. I'z redy for bed.

Uz my favorite. Uz da best evah.

I no wants ta do dis no more!

I ruvs u.

Das no gud. Das bad.

Dis poopy.

I think you get the point. We realized it was out of hand when we noticed ourselves and each other saying these things in public. Around other people. Very bad.

So we're trying to cut ourselves off from lolcat/baby talk. It's harder than it seems. But sometimes you just have to suck it up and work hard if you want to keep your friends from throwing up in their mouths every time they see you.

* The park was our longest jaunt out of the apartment since mother's day weekend (when the moms were here). Though it required intense willpower, we peeled ourselves off of the couch and away from the television so that we could enjoy the sunshine.

I'm Thinking Hank Azaria (as in The Birdcage)

Two lesbian females in search of Manservant to perform following activities:

1. Make breakfast/brunch of veggie-filled egg scrambles, french toast, pancakes, coffee, etc and serve two said females in bed, particularly on weekend mornings.
2. Turn off lights when said females got into bed without remembering to turn them off.
3. Check whether front door is locked when said females are in bed and can't remember.
4. Carry said females on back when they are tired after a long walk/hike/day at the beach.
5. Act as jumping hug receiver from said females when something exciting happens.
6. Additional duties assigned during finals on an as-needed basis.
7. Light housework, including unpacking groceries, washing dishes, killing bugs.

Possibility of sperm donation to be discussed at a later date.

Salary negotiable.

I must've done something good

I've been gone. I know. My few faithful followers are sad. But I hope you'll forgive me when you hear that it was for a really good cause - my getting rejuvenated post-awful, awful finals.

I spent 2 1/2 of the greatest days of my life in North Carolina with about 17 of my law school friends.

Imagine, if you will, the following formula:

Best Summer Camp Day - Gross food + Alcohol (for some) + Great All-The-Time Friends - Having To Do Activities You Don't Want

What you get is mine and the babe's recent vacation time. We played more games than I think I've played in the last 10 years - kickball, soccer (I abstained), wiffle ball, croquet, jenga, celebrity (charades on crack), scattergories, taboo, apples to apples. We grilled out. In the rain. We hung out and chatted into the wee hours of the morning. We sat on the front porch and read our books, enjoying the silent companionship.

It was amazing and everything I needed at the end of this 2nd year of law school.

Ooooommmmmmmmmmmlalalala

It is almost over.

We are so close, and I think that I should be able to say to myself - Focus. You're almost there. Hang in for just these last few days.

But the end is beaming so brightly at me that all I can think about are the books I'm going to read, the projects I'm going to do, the projects I'm going to start and not finish, the late mornings in bed, the brunches, the cooking, the laughing, the all the other things that aren't right here right now.

My inner buddhist is screaming in agony.

Less than six days until...

Small things

Today as I was packing up from my new study spot (the glorious outdoor terrace in our apartment building), I noticed that there was something on the power cord for my computer. I bent down and saw... a slug.

He was just hanging out there on the cord, but as I gently moved it, he shrank up a bit as slugs do. And then he made his way onto the patio. And I wrapped up the cord and put it into my bag and headed back upstairs. And left the slug to do his sluggish things.

I'm not sure why, but it made my day a little bit.

Now hear this, Brain

Here's a list of some things that should be taking up the extremely limited, valuable space in my extremely overstressed brain:

1. What type of speech falls into the protections of the 1st amendment?
2. What qualifies as a valid search incident to arrest?
3. If someone says, "Maybe I should talk to a lawyer?" does the officer have to stop questioning them?
4. What are the drawbacks to roadblock statutes?
5. If a region meets its ambient air quality standards for lead, can a permitting body still be sued for contributing to lead pollution?
6. How in sweet jesus's name (yes, i just did) am I going to take a closed book crim pro exam?


The following is a list of concerns that are actually taking up space in my overstressed brain:

1. These pants seem tighter than they did last time I wore them.
2. Will the babe and I have a bris for our son? The one who isn't born or conceived yet? And no, the babe and I have not recently gotten engaged or decided to start a family.
3. Exes. Should they be friends? My exes? The babe's exes? How do I feel about this?
4. I've been eating a lot of junk food. A lot a lot. [See #1]
5. Should women get labiaplasty? Special thanks to Jessica Gottlieb for that one.
6. I don't really have any friends from high school. The only real contenders are my best friend from that time, and we haven't really gotten over the whole my being gay thing, and my ex-boyfriend. [See #3]
7. Do I like this haircut?
8. Some of the pretty and popular girls from high school that I've been facebook stalking are now really beautiful women with handsome husbands and cute babies. That annoys me.
9. My school just fell in the rankings. I care. Blast.
10. I should do more yoga.
11. I'm not really up enough on current events. I know nothing. I should read more news.
13. How in sweet jesus's name am I going to take a closed book crim pro exam?


I'm thinking lobotomy?

Overheard in the hallway

The law school ethos

"I guess I'll do it. It'll look good on my resume for leadership and all that crap."

This post, like law school, is stupid

Things I would really like to be doing right now instead of outlining criminal procedure:

In no particular order.

1. Eating a cheeseburger.
2. Sleeping.
3. Having sex.
4. Watching really bad television.


In less than two weeks I'm going to slather myself with beef and cheese (and maybe mustard) and lay on the couch and try to seduce the babe (which will be difficult since she's lactose intolerant and, even if she weren't, doesn't combine meat and dairy, and also, probably won't be attracted to me while I'm covered in meat because she'll be focused on the fact that I am dripping grease all over the carpet and the couch) while an episode of Pimp my Ride plays in the background (because why be judicious with your tv watching when you have enough time to watch whatever the hell happens to be on). And then sleep.

I promise that I haven't completely lost my mind.

Or, in the alternative, I have.

(In)Sanity Gal is Fast...er than some people

Ran the race, biotches!

No offense. I'm in a profane mood. I'm in the journal house; the printer is taking forever; I'm substantiating during reading days.

Anyway, that's not the point.

T and I ran the 8K race yesterday, coming in 63rd and 64th (we actually were right next to each other, but I guess it takes them a second to punch in the numbers) out of 81 people, which I think is Not Bad At All. We ran it in 53 minutes and 46 seconds, which (in case you're fuzzy on your math), is less than 11 minute miles. And there were Hills. Big, long ones.

Some of you out there might think that's not all that special, but we think it's Kind Of Great.

I'm also in a Capitalizing mood.

This isn't a funny post

My dear friend T asked for an update on the crazy jar.

So, full disclosure:

The jar sat on the counter for about a week with 2 quarters in it.

But the other day I took the quarters out and put the jar back in the closet.

This semester has been a tough one, emotionally. And the last few weeks have been particularly difficult. There's been a lot of crying, a lot of feeling crazy, and a lot of projecting. For those of you who don't do the therapy lingo, I'm talking about having a feeling about myself and then pretending like that feeling is actually coming from someone else. It's a super fun thing to do when you're in a relationship.

The thought process goes something like this:

Ugh. I feel like shit. I'm so tired of feeling like shit. I don't even know why I feel like this. Everybody's stressed out - why can't I just accept it like they do? What is wrong with me? I'm so annoyed with myself. I must be annoying to be around. The babe must be so tired of dealing with me.

See what happened there?

The last sentence. I put feelings into the babe's head. And then I wrote a blog post with the premise that the babe must be so tired of dealing with me.

And it was funny, because sometimes sad things are funny.

But then sometimes they're not anymore. They're just sad.

So no more crazy jar.

I'm not saying I'll stop projecting because that's a work in progress. But I'm not going to support the behavior with a change jar.

My therapist would be so proud.

Tween Wisdom

I was eleven and convinced that I had been adopted - in the way that you're convinced of things when you're eleven. Meaning that I was convinced of it every time my mom made me pick up the dishes or set the table or leave my sister alone.

That was the kicker.

I was always being getting in trouble for bothering my sister. Apparently my being older required that I be filled with self-discipline and good judgment. When my 6 year old sister hit me or threw things at me or poked me or licked me or bit me, I should calmly say to her, "I don't like it when you do that." And then walk away.

Looking at it now, it seems like a sort of good skill.* But at 11? Think again.

Any woman who would expect me to hold my tongue in the face of a tyrannical six year old clearly was not my real mother.**

Hence, I found myself locked in the bathroom one afternoon screaming through the door at my mother, "If YOU WERE MY REAL MOTHER, YOU WOULDN'T TREAT ME THIS WAY!"

And my mother, being the quick thinker that she is, responded, "Well, maybe if you were my real daughter, you wouldn't treat me this way."

Gasp.

What? What did she just say?

Maybe a risky move, but it worked.

She's not my mother?! HA! We look exactly alike! Everyone knows she's my mother! My sister and I look exactly like! We all look exactly the same! She's so ridiculous. Good grief. (Because I didn't use profanity when I was 11. I was Holy.)

So after that I only complained that things were Unfair, which was not nearly as satisfying as complaining that I was adopted.

Which leads me to wonder - what will I blame for the bad days when law school is over?


*Although I'm still not entirely sold on it.
**I love you, little sister. :)