It's that time of year again

Yes, it is.

Runny nose season.

The season of balled up used tissues in the pockets of all of your coats and jackets and pants. The season of snot residue on the ends of your sleeves because the balled up tissue in your pocket was so snotty as to have basically disintegrated, making it no longer useful for nose-blowing or snot-wiping. The season of knowing that every time you shake someone's hand, there's a little snot-swapping festival occurring. The season of constant fear that at any moment, there may be a tiny droplet of runny snot gleaming on the inside of your nose making the person that you're speaking to incredibly uncomfortable.

Ah, what a special time.

This year, runny nose season has taken on a new and delightful meaning for me. Why? Because I am now a bike rider. Yes, I now experience the pleasure of making frantic calculations as I ride next to as*hole car drivers - if I take my left hand off of the handle right now to wipe the snot from my nose, will I veer and hit the curb or hit the car that is driving ever closer to me? If I take my left hand off of the handle right now, is this car close enough to me that I could shoot a snot rocket onto their window? God, I wish I knew how to blow a snot rocket.

Because I actually do not like to have snot incessantly running down my face, and because I am fearful of wrecking my bike as I try to wipe snot and/or blow my nose (which I have attempted), I have come up with a couple of ideas. 1. Crochet a tiny nose stocking with an elastic cord that goes around my head. It will cover my nose, keep it from getting too cold, and catch any wayward snot. 2. Roll up tissue paper and stick it into my nostrils to soak up any snot while I ride. Of course, I'll have to buy throat lozenges to address the sore throat that I'll have from breathing with my mouth open in the cold. 3. Wear a stick-on mustache while I ride so that all of the snot will get caught in it. This has the added benefit of entertaining passer-by who will try to figure out whether I am a boy or a girl. Of course, I hate all passer-by when I am on my bike, so I'm not sure that I want to entertain them.

Snot. Good times.

Wishing

It's cold out. It happened all of a sudden. Sort of snuck up on me, but it looks like it's hear to stay.

That smell in the air and the crunching of the leaves has got me thinking about where I'd like to be this evening.

In a cabin like this:

Sipping a warm cup of apple cider, curled up with the babe on a couch in front of a fire like this:

With a dog by my side like this:

Or maybe like this:

with no plans for tomorrow except to wake up and sit on a porch that overlooks a lake like this:

Mmmm....maybe another Saturday night....

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!

My List

For a while now, I've had a sort of running list in my head of things I'd like to do in my life before I...well, you know...move on to...whatever comes after this life. I believe we're calling this a Bucket List nowadays.

I've been thinking lately about how lucky I am to even feel like thinking about those things is an option for me. There are so many people who just have to put one foot in front of the other, day in and day out, who don't have time to ponder on what the future may hold, and certainly not to keep a wish list. Although I guess I would love to think that even those whose lives seem without hope may hold at least some tiny little pebble of hope or wish for something.

So, I'm posting my list here in honor of anyone who doesn't have a list - for whatever reason. Feel free to share your list in the comments. I'd love to see.

In no particular order:

Make a quilt. (A real one, not this rag quilt I've been working on for a thousand years)
Become a parent.
Learn to play the guitar.
Write a book and get it published.
Learn Spanish.
Sing on stage with a band.
Develop a better relationship with my dad.
Finish a triathlon.
Travel, travel, travel. All over.
Roadtrip across the country in an RV.
See the northern lights.
Live somewhere truly beautiful.
Renovate a house. Or at least a room.
Learn to really relax and enjoy life.
Learn to play the harmonica.
Perform on stage before a packed house.
Go scuba diving.
Stay in a disgustingly luxurious resort.
Get married - legally.
Do something truly great (I'm hoping I'll know this when I see it).
Find a faith community that feels right for me.
Learn to ski (snow - although I guess water could be fun too).

So much to look forward to! I know there are more, but I can't think of them right now. And that looks like enough to keep me busy for quite a while. :)

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!

It's Electrifying!

Note to reader: In order to entice my sister (who is living in Paris) to read my blog a bit more, I have translated the following post into French with freetranslation.com. And then, just for fun, I translated it back into English. The two follow the original post. Enjoy! Hat tip, Skepchick.

I have a lamp over my desk that has one of those switches that is on the cord. The little switch looks like this:

Lately when I turn the lamp on, the switch has been making some noise. It sounds a bit like this – zzsht. Zzzssht. Zssht. And the light flickers, but if I tap it a bit, the light turns on and stays on. Sweet.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking maybe I shouldn’t turn the light on anymore. Or I should get a new power cord. Or something equally smart and proactive.

Interesting.

You must have forgotten that I am in law school.

By that statement, I obviously mean that law school is so bad that getting electrocuted by my lamp doesn’t seem like that big of a deal.

I know – that’s a bit much. Anyway….

I turned on the lamp this morning and it did it’s standard zzsht zzsht business, and I leaned down to tap it, and… woh! Fire! Fire! Smoke and fire and sparks coming from the light switch! Holy crap. What to do?! What to do?!

Thank god it occurred to me to unplug it even though I had only been out of bed for about 45 seconds. Unplug and beat with a towel! I saved the day! Hmm…Okay, lesson learned.

The French:

J'ai une lampe sur mon bureau qui a un de ces commutateurs qui est sur la corde. Le petit commutateur a l'air de ceci :

Dernièrement quand j'allume la lampe, le commutateur a fait quelque bruit. Il semble un morceau comme ceci – zzsht. Zzzssht. Zssht. Et la lumière scintille, mais si je le tape un morceau, la lumière allume et reste sur. Doux.

Approuver, je sais que vous pensez. Vous pensez peut-être que je ne dois pas allumer la lumière plus. Ou je dois obtenir un nouveau cordon d'alimentation. Ou quelque chose également intelligent et dynamique.

Intéresser.

Vous devez avoir oublié que je suis dans l'école de loi.

Par cette déclaration, je signifie évidemment que cette école de loi est si mauvaise qu'obtenant électrocuté par ma lampe ne semble pas comme ça grand d'une affaire.

Je sais – cela est un morceau beaucoup de. De toute façon….

J'ai allumé la lampe ce matin et il a fait c'est les affaires de zzsht de zzsht standard, et je me suis penché en bas le taper, et… woh ! Feu ! Feu ! La fumée et le feu et les étincelles venant du commutateur léger ! Foutaise sainte. Quel faire-t-il ? ! Quel faire-t-il ? !

Remercier dieu il m'est arrivé le débrancher bien que j'avais été sans lit seulement pour environ de 45 seconde. Débrancher et battre avec une serviette ! J'ai épargné le jour ! Hmm…approuve, la leçon a appris.





And the English from the French:

I have a lamp on my office that has an of these switches that is on the rope. The small switch seems of this:

Recently when I light the lamp, the switch did some noise. It seems a piece as this – zzsht. Zzzssht. Zssht. And the light sparkles, but if I type it a piece, the light lights and remains on. Soft.

Approve, I know that you think. You think maybe that I must not light the light more. Or I must obtain a new cord of nutrition. Or equally intelligent and dynamic something.

Interest.

You must have forgotten that I am in the law school.

By this declaration, I mean evidently that this law school is so bad that obtaining electrocuted by my lamp does not seem as that big of a matter.

I know – that is a piece a lot of. In any case….

I lit the lamp this morning and it did this is the matters of zzsht of standard zzsht, and I leaned myself down below to type it, and… woh! Fire! Fire! The smoke and the fire and the sparks coming from the light switch! Holy bullshit. Which do it? ! Which do it? !

Thank god it arrived me it to disconnect although I had been without reads only for about of 45 seconds. Disconnect and beat with a briefcase! I saved the day! Hmm…approuve, the lesson learned.

On Days that are Crappy

There are days I feel like my path has gone terribly awry. And there are days I think that paths don't go awry, that they just...go. In whatever direction that is. And that we are just wherever we are and we go on from there.

But today is not one of the latter days. It's the former.

I try to remember that the other days exist - in the hopes that they'll temper my fear and panic and unrest.

But it's a pretty serious effort. And I'm not sure it's working that well.

Who are these people who sort of bop through law school?
I know I'm not one of them.

Surprise Surprise!

I walked into the bathroom, walked to my usual stall (there are three – mine’s the one furthest left), and sat down for a standard pee. There was one other person in the bathroom – in the stall furthest right. One stall between us.

So I start to pee and Surpoot!

That’s right – a surprise poot. Completely unexpected. Poot! Just like that. Not a fart – just a poot – kind of like the sound of a bee bee gun, maybe?

Of course, I clench up reflexively in the Holy-God-I’ve-Made-a-Sound-In-A-Public-Restroom-Other-Than-My-Urine-Hitting-the-Toilet-Bowl-Water kind of way. The stream of pee stops.

And then from the other stall: “Hey, I heard that! You – in the far stall – I heard that poot!...... Why are you trying to be so quiet?....... I can hear you breathing!”




Okay, so obviously that didn’t happen.

There was no noise from the other stall. But I knew she was thinking it.

My eyes began to water from holding back the pee. My legs quivered from the hovering.

The bathroom was silent.

What to do now? Pee and risk another poot? Hold it in and hope that she’ll leave? Wipe and zip up and leave and come back later?


Okay, the second two really aren’t options. I’m going to break. Do you know how hard it is to be in a bathroom and NOT pee?




Dear Reader, believe me when I say that I had no choice.

So I peed. And pooted. Poot. Poot. Poot….poot….poot.

And then I wiped so fast, flushed, and tore out of the stall. I wanted to run straight for the door, but I couldn’t have her thinking that I was a DIRTY public bathroom pooter.

So I forced myself to wash my hands. And just as I was grabbing a paper towel, she flushed the toilet. Aaagh!

I ran – yes, a sad The-Person-Who-Heard-Me-Poot-In-A-Public-Restroom-Is-Going-To-Come-Out-Of-The-Stall-And-See-My-Face kind of run-shuffle out of the bathroom.

But she doesn’t know who I am, and I don’t know who she is. And, because of this, I will hopefully be able to use that restroom again and not have to resort to keeping a pee can under my desk.



Hat tip to Petunia Face. Ah, the irony. I had just read her post.

The Big Questions, Part II

I said I would do some research, and research I did.

Last night, I told the Babe that I had tried it out and that, to my dismay, it worked. The pants stayed up, and I could walk. She wasn't surprised and immediately hopped up to try it with her own pants. The following conversation ensued as we both walked around with our pants under our butts:


Me: But there's still the question of where stuff is. See, if I dated a guy, I would just come home and tell him to wear his pants down low and I'd check things out to see where it is.

the Babe: I think different guys have their junk positioned differently, you know?

Me: Yeah, I guess. I guess if the pants are here (pointing to where my pants are), the junk could be in between your legs.

the Babe: Or, I think the pants could be up here (she pulls them up just a teensy bit higher). I think they might be resting them on their junk.

Me: No. No! Seriously? They're resting them on their junk? That can't be comfortable.

the Babe: (knods seriously) I think they are.

Me: Or else they've got it between their legs.

the Babe: Yeah, I mean they're either pulled up higher and they're resting it on the junk or they're down lower, and the junk's just hangin' out there.

Me: Wow. Yeah....I guess you're right...yeah....




Ah, lesbians discussing the junk.



And as a special treat, per saisai's request

I think I'm going to leave this style for the boys.

The Big Questions

I’m sitting on the metro today reading for class, and this guy gets up and walks towards the doors of the train. I’m guessing he’s somewhere between 18 and 25 years old. He reaches up with both hands, grabs the bar running across the top of the train and starts doing pull-ups, sort of vigorous pull-ups too. He does about 5. Then he drops down and beats his chest a la Tarzan.

Okay, kind of creepy.

Then he makes his fingers into guns and starts kind of shooting all around him. He’s not making any noise really, just silently mouthing pow pow pow. (It could be that he’s just dealing with some pent-up aggression over the girl who is listening to heavy metal on her ipod so loudly that I’m getting a headache from it, which would be warranted.) At any rate, this is all happening over the course of about a minute and a half.

The doors open, and he walks off the train.

Um, weird.

But he’s off the train now, and while I’m still concerned that I may snap and attack the ipod girl, I no longer fear for my own life from the pull-up boy, which leaves me to ponder on important things.

Like pull-up boy’s pants.

This is not a picture of his actual butt, of course – but this is what was happening.

Frankly, I have to say that I’m kind of shocked that this is still in fashion. I thought it would be over in 1992 or something, but clearly I was wrong.

My concern today is not with the aesthetics, though. I’m talking about physics. And biology.

Hips and butts hold up pants. That’s what they do. It’s what they’re good for. Okay, they’re good for some other things, but that’s not what we’re talking about here. We’re talking pants.

So, when this guy’s pants are below his hips and his butt, what is holding them up? I truly do not know. He had on a belt, so you could say that the belt is holding them up, but it’s tightened around his thighs. So, if it’s tight enough to hold up his pants, how does he walk? I saw him walking, so I know that he can.

And then here’s the big question – what about his, um…stuff? From what I could tell, it’s probably being smashed by his belt. That can’t be comfortable.
In the interest of full disclosure, I’m not all that experienced with the male anatomy, but I do know generally where everything is, and it was under this dude’s belt.

So, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go home tonight and put on a pair of baggy pants and sinch them with a belt right underneath my butt. And try to walk and see what happens. I know – this doesn’t solve the question of what’s getting smashed, but come on, there’s only so much I can do. I’ll report back with my findings.