Misery LOVES company

A couple of days ago, I left a message for my friend C - who has a 2 year old and another on the way -, apologizing for not having called sooner and relating some of the basics of our first week of challenges with the dog, whining a little bit about how hard it was and about having to clean poop out of his crate.

The message she left back:

(Gleefully) HI! It's C - I was feeling so cranky until I got your message, but now I'm feeling so much better. You're a MOM now! You have to clean up poop, and you can't ever go out with your friends! And of course it's all worth it, but it kind of sucks at the same time! HA HA!

Nice to know I'm part of that club.

Even really dark clouds can still have silver linings

I graduate in 55 days, and I'm finished with finals two weeks before that. This law school adventure is almost over.*

This past Friday night was Barrister's Ball - law school prom, if you will. The babe and I have gone every year and always have a wonderful time. It's like going to a club all dressed up with all our friends. This year, a big group of us squished together to pose for a photo during pre-party festivities. As the little self-timer flash on the camera began to blink and we gleefully yelled at one friend to hurry into position, I thought about how incredibly grateful I am for the wonderful group of friends that I've made in law school. And all of my friends weren't even there.

I have done a lot of complaining while I've been on this journey. A. Lot. And I'm not saying now that all that complaining wasn't valid or that the feelings weren't real - they most definitely were. But as we get closer to graduation and to the start of a new journey which will carry many of my friends far away from me - to California and beyond, I find myself focusing more and more on this particular blessing of law school.

I've done a lot of work, and there have been some really crappy test-taking, paper-writing, forgot-how-much-reading-this-was days. But I've also gone to great dances, had wonderful potlucks, gone camping, played games, enjoyed dinner parties, laughed at lunch time, and spent weekends on vacation together with some of the most fun people I've ever known.

So, thank you, law school. (And enjoy it, because this might be the only time you'll ever hear it from me.)

* Don't speak to me of the bar.

On a World Without Book Shelves

Are you on the digital book bandwagon?

A group of us were talking about it at lunch today, and several of my friends are convinced that the advent of the Kindle and all of the other digital reading devices is the beginning of the end of real live books. And they weren't upset about it. They thought it was fine; in fact, one friend was convinced that he would read more if he had one. I'm going to be honest with you - the thought fills me with pain. No more books? No more pages to turn? No more dust jackets? No more bookcases filled with books? Could that really be the direction that we're headed?

I just really can't believe it, and yet these aren't crazy people that I was talking with. They're smart folks, and they pointed to the demise of floppy disks, records, giant personal computers, CDs. Maybe books are just following the same path. But isn't there something different about books? Something about the way they feel in your hands? The way they smell? The way you can leaf through one absentmindedly? The way the edges look on a book that you've read over and over again?

Am I crazy here?*

One person mentioned the environmental impacts of books. Listen, I'm an environmentalist, a tree hugger. I love the environment. But can we lay off the book concerns until nobody's driving hummers anymore, please? Pretty please? I carry fabric bags to the grocery store, I buy as much of my food at the local farmers market as possible, I don't own a car, I use the swirly light bulbs, we keep the heat low in the winter and the air down in the summer, I use reusable sandwich bags. Please please please do not make me worry about the environmental impact of the books that I so love. Don't get me wrong - I adore the library. Borrowing books is great, and we might all try to do more of that. But I love the books on my shelves.

One final note - I don't deny the appeal of these digital books. I like fancy electronics. I love my netbook. I pine for an iphone. I'd love to have a swanky kindle to carry with me on long plane rides, if only because it's neat.** But I just can't stomach the thought that these things will take the place of Real Live Books.

I'm thinking of starting a book sanctuary, where all the orphan books will be loved and nurtured.

*The babe would be too cause she's totally with me on this one.

**I want to also point out that I think these things might cause premature blindness.

Run Schmun

I'm registered to run the Cherry Blossom 10 Mile Run in April. It was one of those situations where a bunch of my friends started signing up to create a team and everyone was talking about how much fun it would be, and I was sitting on my couch, and running a race with a bunch of your friends always sounds fun when you're sitting on the couch. It sounded fun while I was searching the web for a training plan. It sounded fun while I was typing up and printing out my training plan. It sounded fun while I was making my training plan all pretty and hanging it up in the apartment. It sounded fun until the moment that I stepped outside for my first run and then I remembered why it is that I don't do this.

That's sort of a lie - that I don't do this. I mean, I do. I have. There was a time period in college when I really considered myself a runner. I ran regularly 3 or 4 times a week. I was training for a half-marathon, and I would wake up early in the morning to go run. If I overslept, I thought about it during the day - I couldn't wait to get out there for my run. Running felt good, and I got to where I could run pretty fast. But then I was also anorexic. And seriously Type A, like Type A Plus. I never ran the half-marathon because I went into treatment, and I had to stop running. And then I just never could get back into it.

I ran a marathon a few years later, but I didn't train well enough and I hurt my knee. Last year I ran an 8K, which was good. But I promptly stopped running the moment I finished the race. I've been trying for 9 years to become a runner again. The babe thinks I'm insane - why keep doing this thing that I don't like to do? I've provided a number of reasons:

1. Exercise is important; I have to do something.

2. It's easy. Put on your shoes and go.

3. Yoga and dance classes cost money.

4. I liked it once. I'll like it again.

5. Everyone else seems to do it, and invite me to join.* That makes me feel special.

When I'm out there hobbling along, I'm often thinking of number 5, which sometimes includes cursing my friends. Why doesn't anyone send out emails asking everybody to join in a square dancing competition? Or to meet up and practice so that we can do 108 sun salutations together? Or to start a belly dancing troupe? Why running?

So last week in the midst of all the snow, I made a decision (thanks to a prior conversation with a fellow 10 mile teammate and some conversations with the babe) to let go of any pressure on this race and just start training run/walk style. It's how I got into running back in college - the Jeff Galloway way. So I've started doing my training runs where I run 3 minutes and walk 1 minute for however long I'm out there. It's been pretty nice. While I'm a disappointment to hardcore runners everywhere, I feel more relaxed about all of it. So Cherry Blossom 10 Mile Run, here I come. It might take me a day to finish, but who the hell cares?

* I know - I did invite my dad to do the marathon with me, and I invited my friend T to do the 8K with me, but that's beside the point.

Cocktails, Vermont style

For those who need a recap, when the babe and I go to Vermont, we stay with the babe's old roommate who now lives in a group house with 3 other girls. To call it a "group house" doesn't entirely cover it - it's more like a family than anything else. It reminds me of a house filled with sisters who truly enjoy each other. Among them, they have a friend group that seems to cover the majority of the people in Burlington. They're known for their weekly or bi-weekly potlucks, with a potluck email list with over 100 people. For Thanksgiving this year, they hosted a potluck with about forty people. They've even been featured in the local paper for their amazing potlucks.

So when we come visit, there's often a potluck or gathering. I've written about at least one of these gatherings before. This time, they did something a little different - a little outside the Burlington hippy norm - and hosted a cocktail party. Complete with pina coladas, Vermont maple moo-moos, and party dresses.

Some of the best things about last night's party (and hence, Burlington):

1. There were two guys wearing dresses. And owning it.

2. The Burlington-ers were delighted with themselves to be hippies having a cocktail party.

3. Almost everyone brought along desserts because even though it wasn't billed as a potluck, Burlington-ers are born potluckers.

4. Underneath most of the party dresses, there were leggings or wool tights.

5. My lack of a party dress was not a problem. One of the gals delightfully outfitted me in an 80s style blue party dress and knee-high red boots.

6. We all stood in lines - girls and guys - and learned a Bollywood dance, which was amazing.

7. The Bollywood dance party turned into an 80s dance party thanks to Pandora's 80s Dance Party station.

8. Which turned into a Pandora TLC station party. And nobody there wanted no scrubs.

9. After-party breakfast this morning included amazing breakfast quesadillas - the perfect hangover breakfast.

As always, Vermont delivers.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

(In)Sanity Gal Takes the Plunge

In a moment which may prove to aptly reflect my name, I registered today to run an 8K race on April 18th. My dear friend T and I decided to do it together, and last week we started running together twice a week.*

So, 8K is not so bad - that's 5 miles. Of course, I actually cannot remember the last time that I ran. I think that it was once during finals last year, as in last school year, as in almost an entire year ago.

We started with three miles. Which, in truth, seems sort of excessive for beginning, but there's really not that much time to up the mileage. And I only thought I was going to throw up for like an hour and a half afterwords.

The key exciting detail, which T pointed out to me today is this language from the race** website.

The Springburst 8K is a challenging race hosted by PGRC. The hills of Greenbelt National Park provide over 100 runners a chance to test their fitness levels before the summer racing season begins.

Hmm...it seems that in my effort to find a race with a date before finals, I forgot to read the description. The word "fun" is not in there at all, as in "Fun run for kids and adults!" Um, challenging? Test their fitness levels? Summer racing season? As in see if running in fact makes them feel as though they're going to die before the summer racing season begins? T thinks no. She thinks they're training for speed. Oh. dear. god.

I checked the results from last year, and it does appear to be the case. These people are actually runners. But...but....there were a few stragglers. So, it appears that if we can run these five miles in less than 1 hour and 4 minutes (assuming said stragglers race again and have been sitting on the couch eating cheetos since last year), then we will not come in last and I will not have to relive any unfortunate middle school track experiences.

* My dear friend E is also running with us but unable to do the race.
**Speaking of race, I think that's a misnomer. When I say "race," I actually mean "jaunt out with friends where I for some unknown reason wear a white piece of paper safety-pinned to my chest and hope not to get run over."

Pregnant lesbians are more fun than law school

I was going to write a post about my spring break trip to St. John in the Virgin Islands. Or maybe about how much I hate it that I'm not still in St. John. Yes, the latter is probably more likely as I seem to have gone the way of many law students in that I seem to find nothing more interesting than my own incessant whining.

But you've been saved.

Thanks to my dear friend T who clued me into the goings on of one Iron Chef America star (whom I've never heard of) Cat Cora. From this article, I've learned that she's a lovely blond lady who's gay and having a son with her partner. So what, you say? Not only is she pregnant with a son - so is her partner. Big deal, you say? Not only are they both pregnant - they're carrying each others embryos. Of course they live in California. (Hi Virgin :))

T thinks this is the way I should do it.

Calm down. I won't be having children for a while.

But I'm thinking first about two women married to each other being pregnant at the same time. Hmm... That seems to me not the greatest idea. I mean, the babe and I struggle going through 1 month of exam prep and exam taking together. 9 months of pregnancy? Labor? Recovery? They're doing theirs 3 months apart, so they have a little window, I guess. But who's there to go out for pickles and ice cream if you're both pregnant? Maybe their sperm donor is a really nice guy and he'll make the craving runs and do the back and foot rubs and run the warm bath. But what if he's asleep?

Isn't that the whole great thing about having a spouse while you're going through that? So that there's someone there to take care of you when you're feeling all fat and tired and cranky? I mean, obviously you wouldn't exploit it. And the benefit of a lesbian relationship where both women carry is that both women get to be the giver and the recipient of those kindnesses. But at the same time? I don't think so.

But I do have to admit that I'm drawn to the trading embryos business. That way each woman gets to feel like she's part of the pregnancy and birth. Although unfortunately for me, I'm imagining all sorts of legal issues if the relationship ends. Ugh. Oh, there I go with the law school whining again.

There's another part of me that thinks it's best to go as natural as possible - no taking embryos out and putting them anywhere else. Just shoot the stuff and let things happen.

Meet me back here in 3-4 years, and I'll let you know what I decide.

Vermont, Part IV

I've grown a bit tired of this story, but I promised. So here it is.

Last time in Vermont: (In)Sanity Gal finished her first day of "skiing" and did not die.

So two days later we went to another mountain. I had developed a full-blown cold by now, and I really wasn't feeling up to it. Maybe I should've just passed on the ski day, but I didn't want to leave Vermont without trying it one more time.

And so I got out of the car and tromped over to the rental area to get some skis while the babe and our friend J got themselves set up. I was cranky and tired and just wanted to mope about it on the bunny slope. Of course, the babe was all nice and supportive and trying to help me enjoy the day. The nerve.

The plan was to learn to get back up again after falling since that had clearly caused me quite a bit of trouble previously. So, I laid myself down on the snow and flopped up and down pretending that the things the babe was telling me to do were helping me figure out how to get up. It wasn't working. I would watch her do it, seemingly effortlessly. And then I would try. Heeve....heeeve...heeeeve...heeeeeeeeve....Flop. I either slid or fell. It wasn't helping my mood.

Our friend J had been checking out one of the slopes to see if it was going to work for me. Nobody wanted a repeat of my prior venture onto the big slopes. I was thinking I might not want any venture at all. But success can do amazing things. And J was the key to my success at that particular moment. I don't think I could tell you right now how she taught me how to get up. But somehow she did; something about the way she described it made sense. And howdy doody whaddayaknow, I getting up off the ground. Fall. Get up. Fall. Get up. Fall. Get up. Over and over again. It was amazing!

I kind of wanted to just stay on the bunny slope and fall and get up over and over again.

That's a lie. Duh. I was pumped about my newfound skill and itching to get on a slope again.

And that's what I did. Right after I fell flat on my back while getting off the chair lift. Something about not having my skis on the ground when the chair moved from under my butt. Lesson learned.

I'm delighted to tell you that the rest of the story was fairly uneventful. The babe and J skiied one in front and one behind while I pizza slice turned my way down that giant, beautiful slope. It was gorgeous and amazing. Sliding over the snow was such a delightful feeling. And I was so so so very proud of myself. One of my favorite ways to be. ;)

I was so happy, in fact, that I went up and did it a second time. By. My. Self.

I left Vermont a skiier. Or at least a pizza slice turner.

Hopefully I'll do it again soon, lest I forget how to do it and have to do this whole story all over again.

Vermont, Part I

I grew up going to church every Sunday. The church was small - not the building itself - but the membership. During its peak (the one while I was alive at least), an average Sunday saw something around 75 members.

My whole family was very involved. My dad was the assistant pastor, which basically meant that he led some prayers and preached a few sermons every year. He helped with the youth and vacation bible school and led the adult sunday school class. Both of my parents were in the choir, and my mom and aunt often did special music on holidays. I went to sunday school and then to youth group (I think there were 3 of us), and when I was 12 or so I joined the choir (since there weren't enough young people for a youth choir). My sister ran around with the other young kids. A lot of women had apparently decided to have children at the same time because there were a bunch of kids her age.

We had potlucks about once a month. There were annual church retreats which involved camping, hiking, and singing songs around a fire. There were friendships and families. I knew everyone. I loved church and all of the people there. It was like seeing all of your best friends, including multiple sets of grandparents, every Sunday.

I felt very spiritual, very close to God.

We moved away - out of the city. We started off driving back in on Thursday nights for choir practice and then on Sundays for church, but it got to be too much. Slowly we quit going, and we started going to the big Methodist church with lots and lots of members and a youth program and a youth choir and several childrens choirs and more than one service every Sunday. There was lots to do for all of us. We made friends and found our niche in the giant membership. It wasn't the same.

Our old church began losing members. Some of it had begun before we left - people moving out of the city and into the suburbs or small towns, like us. Some people died. It wasn't the same when we went back to visit. It felt somehow like we didn't fit anymore. We were simply visitors.

I went to college and quit going to church. I was angry with the conservative sermons at the big church in our small town and couldn't seem to care enough to get up to go while I was at school. I missed it, but nothing else felt right. And then I came out and didn't know whether church had anything to offer me anymore.

Once I moved up to DC for graduate school, I started going to a Unitarian church and thought I'd found a home. I made friends and got to know some folks. But still, it didn't fit.

I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out what it was about that beautiful church I grew up in that felt so amazing - what was I actually looking for? Was it something that only existed for me because I was a child? Because I hadn't really seen the world?

This year on New Years Day I sat in a rocking chair in front of a fire in a beautiful house in Burlington. There were about 15 of us singing - Indigo Girls, Simon & Garfunkel, Dar Williams, children's songs, campfire songs, some religious, some not. The guitar was being passed around, and one girl was playing the fiddle. One guy sang a gorgeous song that he wrote as all of us melted from the beauty of it. I remembered sitting on those hard pews during a sing-a-long at my home church next to all of the people who meant so much to me - watching my mom and dad lead us in song - dad playing the guitar, mom singing. My favorite was Fill My Cup - "Oh fill my cup. Fill my cup, let it overflow. Oh fill my cup. Fill my cup, let it overflow. Oh fill my cup. Fill my cup, let it overflow. Let it overflow with love."

Sitting in the rocking chair in Burlington, tears streaming down my face, I was overflowing in this space that seemed to pulse with warm energy, with the presence of a loving community.

A loving community.
Which, to me, feels like basking in the presence of God.

Deep Breath - It's a Long One

My dear friend T is very interested in reproductive justice and is involved in the reproductive justice group at school. A few weeks ago, she helped in hosting a panel about sex education. I watched videos of people who specialize in abstinence-only education doing their thing, and I participated in a sample lesson-plan for abstinence-only education. It involves a piece of tape that represents a girl being applied to the arm of a boy (which represents a sexual relationship connection). When he pulls the tape off, it’s not quite as sticky anymore now that his skin/hair debris is on it. The lesson, of course, is that every time you have sex with a different person, your ability to create an intimate bond is lessened. I have so many issues with this lesson that I don’t even know where to start. So I’m not going to. I’m just putting it out there as a jumping off point.

So this was all on my mind when I had brunch with my dear friend C the other day. I told her about the lesson. Turns out she’s got a client right now who teaches the sex ed classes at his Unitarian church. He’s about 65 years old, and she says they’ve been having these wonderful conversations about what he’s teaching and how he’s teaching it. Of course it’s comprehensive – he is a Unitarian, after all. And C has a new interest in it now. Because she has a daughter. Her daughter is only one, but it’s got C thinking about the future and about what she’ll teach her and how she’ll teach it.

We started talking about our own sex education – not at school, necessarily, but in our homes, from our parents. C’s education was the opposite of abstinence-only. Her mom’s basic message was “F*cking feels good. Enjoy it.” You might think that it’s refreshing in its honesty, but C felt like something was missing. She didn’t grow up with a lot of the hang-ups about sex that many people do, but she also didn’t get any messages about the intimacy that you can experience, about making good choices, about how sex is emotional and that sometimes there are emotional consequences. She wants her daughter to get those messages.

And we talked about my sex education. I don’t remember much from school. And I don’t remember very many specific conversations, but I do remember that my parents were pretty open and that I felt like I could talk to them about anything.

I wasn’t without my hang-ups. I grew up in a very religious community in the South – I went to Wednesday evening teen groups at the local Baptist church. I’m not sure who could survive that without hang-ups. One day I’m going to give my long-time high-school / college boyfriend a giant trophy for being such a trooper for the 5 years that we dated. Pretty much every time we took a new step forward in our physical relationship – the first time he went up my shirt, the first time he saw my boob, the first time….well, you get what I’m saying – I would end up crying and telling him that we could never do that again. Of course, a few days or weeks down the road, there we would be again, and I would feel a bit more comfortable with whatever it was we were doing. And there wouldn’t be anymore crying until the next thing.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think a high-school boy is owed anything or should get a medal for sticking with his girl when she doesn’t want to take the next step. It’s more that he was great through all of it, and it wasn’t like he was pressuring me or anything. I was going willingly – I would just have second thoughts afterwards. And then, I think, make him feel really bad about it. And it really wasn’t his fault. At all.

When we were 19, I decided that I was ready. To take the big step. And here’s the really important part. Here’s what I think is a testament to how great my parents were in this respect. I asked my mom to come into my bedroom, and I told her that I was ready to have sex and that I wanted to go on the pill. She didn’t jump up and down or anything. In fact, she had to take a really deep breath. But then she talked to me about it. About making sure that I was safe. And when I asked her questions about what it would feel like or whether it would hurt, she talked to me about that too. She talked to me about her first time and things that I could do to make sure that it was a good experience for me.

And it was. It was with someone who I cared about and who cared about me. Who was careful with me. I was ecstatic, and there was no crying afterwards.

Obviously that relationship ended. And I’ve had other relationships. And other sex. (And I definitely haven’t lost my ability to bond.) I’m a relationship sex person. It’s just who I am and how it works and feels right for me.

But the point is that I had the space and the permission to figure that out about myself. My parents never demonized sex, but they also never pretended like it didn’t have the power to be something really special. And I love that I got both of those messages. Because I think that’s where you get the ability to make the choice that feels right for you.

My children might be ready to sit me down for that conversation when they’re fifteen or sixteen or maybe even earlier. I don’t know. But I hope that I will have created an atmosphere where they feel like they can. And I will take a really deep breath…

Oh Happy Day

I GOT AN OFFER!

It's a firm that I like, and they have a lot of gay people, and they do a lot of pro bono. It's just good all around.

Although thank goodness the attorney extended the offer before this part of the conversation occurred:

The Attorney: Everyone was very impressed with you.
Me: (Gushing) Oh, I loved everyone I met with.......Well, I didn't LOVE them. I mean, that would be weird. Ha ha.....Um, I really enjoyed meeting everyone.
The Attorney: (silently pondering whether this was a good choice)

Aha! They're stuck with me! :)

In other news:

The Phillies are in the World Series! The Babe is soooooo happy!

B and P had their interview in Ecuador, and they were approved. There was a minor paperwork glitch, so some things are going to have to be sent back and forth, but within about a week, they should be heading to the US!

Callbacks and Ecuador

Sometimes my posts on here make me feel like I'm bipolar.

Happy post. Sad post. Funny post. Depressed post.

Maybe that's just the nature of law school.

I feel worn out today - tired and like maybe I could cry at any moment for no reason. (Note to self - writing "I could cry at any moment for no reason" makes it worse. Don't do that again.)

I had my 4th callback with BigLaw today. So that's all the callbacks. 2 rejections already. The 3rd one is still out there, but my chances are pretty small considering the number of slots they still have open and the number of offers still in the balance. The interviews today seemed to go fine, but now I'm jaded and disgruntled, so who knows? Everyone's at the end of their callback schedules, so they've already made lots of offers.

I feel like I need to shake myself and say, "hey, snap out of it!" I'll let you know how that goes.

In other news:

My dear friend B and her husband P (an Ecuadorian citizen) are meeting with the US consulate tomorrow in Ecuador, and hopefully that will go well and they'll be able to enter the US soon together! And never have to be apart again. Send good thoughts that way!