Trial Run: Tales from a Twentysomething

Life of Riley

2008-03-13T12:54:00.002-04:00

I'm enjoying the relaxed pace of this last semester of law school gig and trying to make the most of my four day weekends (that means just 3 days of class - a great ratio of work to leisure) and trying my best to be as grateful for this time as possible. However, I'm also learning that the old "give an inch take a yard" adage applies when I'm granted this sort of gracious schedule. Instead of living every day to its fullest potential and exercising the freedom I have right now by going to museums midday, taking in matinees and seeking out new hobbies (or even posting regularly on this blog), I waste inordinate amounts of time completing the little amount of work that I have to do.

I try not to worry about it too much -- part of the luxury of all this free time is (should be?) not having to worry about time because there is plenty of it. But I can't help but fret that I'm not utilizing this time to the fullest -- there are days when I feel that my lack of efficiency during this time is a testament to my true, lazy, unmotivated self. Why is it that when given the choice, I idle instead of seizing the opportunity to "do," only to not really enjoy the idling because I feel I should be doing something more productive with my time? I don't want to squander this rare time of indulgence, but sometimes it seems I just don't know how to enjoy it!

However, this month S. and I are maximizing our rarely coordinated free time by traveling as much as possible. Last week there was an extended spring break during which we went skiing in Utah (man, was it beautiful out there!) and then to visit my parents in Florida. Today we're heading back down south on the annual trip S.'s family takes there with friends. Wee!

Is it odd that...?

2008-02-27T18:40:00.003-05:00

I've had a day. Not a terrible one, but there was a staccato tune of annoying things running from the time I woke up late (and therefore lost my opportunity to go to the gym to strengthen my quads to soothe my knee aggravation), to the email I received from the apartment management company regarding a spat we're having about payments, to my cell phone dying when trying to call S. to talk to him about the email, to trying to get onto our computer at home so that I could use Skype instead, only to find that the Internet was down (just fixed it...a result of rigorous dusting of the modem last night, inadvertently turning the Internet "off" -- heavens!). Is it strange that in an effort to cool my boiling blood I checked my bloglines (that's not the strange part) and was delighted when I saw a new post by authors I most enjoy (still not the strange part) and the thought that went through my head went something like (this is the part that might certify me): "Oh good, I hope it's a birth-story...nothing like a good birth-story to relax and get my mind off of this annoying crap!"? Is it just me who finds the drama of birth-stories completely enthralling? And here I suppose I might as well admit that these stories often reduce me to tears (and perhaps more embarrassing still -- instead of gasping in horror at the graphic portrayal of a baby being born in Knocked Up I sat next to S. with big droplets welling in my eyes). Biological clock, or just plain weird?

We're having Wendy's for Dinner, Conditions are Perfect

2008-02-14T13:20:00.006-05:00

The first time I watched this video I laughed out loud (especially about the "business socks"). But I didn't send it to anyone, lest they think that we, still in our twenties and married less than 2 years, have already lost the passion, capitulated, waived the white flag and resigned ourselves to the mundane.

We've never been an especially "romantic" couple. Sure there are the occasional flowers (which I love) and sweet cards for special occassions, surprise visits when one or the other of us thought we were going to have to be alone for the weekend, but we don't do the grand scale, strawberries dipped in chocolate, lingere, whispered sweet nothings type of romance. Sometimes I wonder if this is partly a function of having met at 19 and 20 when our first big date included burgers and a pint, and an evening without roommates was a rarity.

In those few moments when I've wished there were some feather boas, massage oil, or silk in our relationship, I recognize that I would feel terribly uncomfortable with all of that -- it's just not me. Indeed, the only time I've tried real lingere ended in a feminist crisis where I felt like an objectified hooker (granted fire-engine red lace may have been a little ambitious for a beginner). If I were committed to bringing some more of this flavor of romance into our relationship, Valentine's might as well serve as the jump start.

But today, this day of Hallmark greeting cards, heart shaped boxes and dozens of red roses, I realized how lucky I am to have found someone who shares my view of romance...

Me: Hi S., I was just thinking about what we should do to make tonight's dinner a special Valentine's dinner...I might not have time to get to the grocery store...
S: How about Wendy's?

Frosties, fries and pajamas it is. I can't think of a better way to celebrate our love.

Mrs. Who?

2008-02-12T18:22:00.000-05:00

Voting in the primary today went more easily than expected. Having changed my name since the last time I cast a ballot, I was concerned that I'd have to jump through a few hoops and that I'd be barred from the booth today. I took precautions -- bringing both sets of ID and the marriage license, but luckily none of it was necessary. Lo! I had filed the paperwork like a good citizen back in August and there was my current legal name on the registered voter list, right polling station and all!

This name change process has been one pain in the ass, but most days I'm happy to have done it. Oddly, when my husband proposed, one of the things I said after saying "yes" was "and I'll take your name!" Huh??? Oh yes, and the goats, and the sheep, my dad will be giving those to you later!

There were a lot of thoughts running through my head, and I felt awkward about having nothing to give him in exchange for the bling he'd just placed on my finger. After this initial outburst, it took me nearly two years to actually decide what to do about the name situation.

Feminist, patriarchical social structure...yada yada. I know plenty of women who have kept their names, and plenty of feminists who have taken their husbands' names. When addressing wedding invitations, I was adamant that we not address married coulpes as "Mr. and Mrs. Husband's First and Last Name." I was worried that by taking his name, I'd get swallowed up by a new identity and loose myself. Those concerns remain, and I'm continually adjusting and re-evaluating where I stand and where I've come from and where my sense of identity is going in the context of our marriage.

However, in the year between when we got married and when I stepped through the doors of the Social Security Administration offices (conveniently located just a block from our building), I decided that my identity wasn't just about this name. Furthermore, part of my identity now is being married, and changing my name was a way to signal that.

It doesn't bother me now when we receive cards addressed to us that way (nor does it bother me that our dry cleaner calls my husband Mr. My Birth Name). Have I just bought into the system? Maybe. But I've also gained a terrific set of in-laws who share this name, and I've come to love this name's country of origin.

And I'll admit, I'm lazy too. I want to be recognized immediately as a unit with my husband and any children we might have. I don't want to constantly be correcting people about my last name (though I may be making up for that because this new name requires letter-by-letter spelling at each introduction). With a viable female presidential candidate in the running, with girls' strong academic achievements, and with my own sense of self and feminism, the name battle is one I'm choosing not to wage.

Wipes

2008-02-09T15:25:00.001-05:00

I popped into the neighborhood bodega to get some oatmeal. Passing the household products I saw that they carry Clorox wipes, Swiffer wipes, Method (biodegradeable) wipes, and there among the bleach heavy cleaning agents were these. I guess if you're going to wipe everything down, you might as well wipe it ALL down.

Oh the Places You'll Go - Home

2008-02-08T11:13:00.001-05:00

I never know what I'm doing with this here blog (readership of 0-1 depending on the month), but I like that it's a place I can go when I want to write. This semester is pretty light in terms of workload, and it's fun to dip into other diversions. So, to get myself writing a bit more, I'm instituting "Oh the Places You'll Go Fridays". Inspired by something my uncle recently wrote about the places he's lived, loved, or hated that I really enjoyed, each Friday I am going to write about a geographic place that has particular significance for me.

Like my uncle, I respond to places. My memories and feelings about particular people and stages in my life are inextricably intertwined with particular places and vice versa. Because this is the first post in what I hope will become a weekly series, it only makes sense to start at the beginning.

When I was just a few months shy of one year old, my parents moved from Massachusetts to Maine. There are pictures of me in the house in Maine on my first birthday, wearing a green velvet dress, suspended by someone's steady hands, my legs dangling just above the brown wall-to-wall carpeting the family room. The house is unremarkable. A grey-shingled colonial built in the 50's with dark green shutters, white trim, and an attached two car garage, it matches the dozens of others like it in the neighborhood.

Built on a hill, a large white retaining wall keeps the front lawn from spilling into the driveway. Ugly though it may be, this served as a backdrop for pictures of me with friends lined up with our bikes, a great tennis or soccer backstop, the half-court mark for pick-up basketball games, and an impromtu balance beam with the convenient safety feature of an entire lawn on one side.

When I was younger, the stairway up from the garage had a trap door-like feature that opened from the stairway into the pantry in the kitchen. By going up just a few steps, a grown-up could shove bags of groceries through the door into the pantry, thereby limiting the number of trips up and down the stairs to unload the car. Of course, instead of groceries, I like to transport myself through the door. I would hoist myself up on the dark wood banister, push up on the bottom of the door's opening and voila -- I was in a den of granola bars, spaghetti sauce, and dried beans. It was particularly fun when a friend was over, and one of us could be in the pantry while the other squeezed herself through the secret door.

The house provided entertainment in other wasys as well. The green Jotul woodstove had animals in bas-relief on either side about whom I would sometimes craft stories in my head. Other times (when the woodstove wasn't being used) I enjoyed tracing a finger around their smooth, glazed contours. The wallpaper of the upstairs bathroom provided similar diversion and was perhaps my first history lesson. Going to the bathroom meant staring at brown, gold and white images of Paul Revere, and other colonial figures and objects set in a toile-like pattern.

For a while, I was in the habit of waiving goodbye to the house every time we left. I had an irrational fear that it might burn down while we were at story time at the library, getting groceries, or visiting a friend. Luckily, the most violence that has ever been done to the house was a break-in (though I'm not sure that you could even call it that seeing that the doors were unlocked). Nevertheless, I still sigh with relief each time I turn into the driveway for a visit home and see it standing, stalwart as ever.

My parents have made a lot of improvements -- gone is the brown wall-to-wall and the trap door -- but I still know that house better than any other place in the world. And odd though it may be, I don't think it's an overstatement to say that having this constant familiarity has provided me with a great degree of psychological comfort.

Thrifty

2008-02-04T17:13:00.000-05:00

Right now we're living on law student loans and a medical intern's salary, which is to say we're not exactly rolling in it. However, thanks to the generosity of our families we live a very comfortable lifestyle.

That said, we're in a bit of a catch-22 right now. There are some trips we'd like to take in the next few months because we have the time now. Once I start working next year we'll have a bit more money, but it's highly unlikely that we'll have the time to take a 10-day vacation (in addition to the vacation we'll want to take during the holidays). So, we're doing the obvious and budgeting ourselves into vacation (it's like dieting to fit into that great pair of pants).

We did the usual - charting of expenses, anticipating big purchases (special shout out to BarBri for your exorbitant class fee), and then determining where to trim. We're running two experiments right now. The first is the $100 cash save-off. Last night we each put a $100 in our wallets to be used for anything that either of us wants to do (a round of golf, drinks with a friend) or purchase that isn't a household necessity. The person who is able to keep the cash longer wins the smug satisfaction of being the thriftier person.

The second experiment is the kitchen-cabinent clean out, inspired by this post We do a pretty good job around here of not throwing food out, and I pride myself on planning ahead and grocery shopping so that I provide us with balanced meals most days of the week. However, this month I'm trying to slash our grocery bill by using what is already in our cuboards and by stretching out left-overs. I'm finding it a fun challenge that is actually adding variety. For example, tonight I was going to serve up a dish that requires marinated sun-dried tomatoes from Whole Paycheck. Instead, I scanned the cupboards and was inspired by a can of split pea soup, some ham we have in the fridge, and bread that needs to be eaten soon. It's a game to see what pairings I can create that utilize the non-perishables and also the perishable items in order of what is going to expire first.

If you've got any tips for squeezing out some extra savings, I would love to hear them!

Walking the Line with a Webbed Foot

2008-02-03T11:13:00.000-05:00

In my dream I was busting at the seams pregnant. My stetched skin hurt everytime I stood up because my belly would sag, tugged by gravity. I cradled my arms around my massive stomach to relieve the discomfort. Then I was in the hospital where nothing was happening. The baby hadn't moved in a while and I was terrified that it had died. They found its heart beat on some sort of monitor and relief washed over me. I was desparate to avoid a c-section so I was doing my best to coax it out, massaging my abdomen with downward strokes.

In another clip of the same early-dawn feature, some close friend was telling me that she and her husband had to face the difficult decision of whether or not to abort their web-footed baby. To me a webbed foot didn't seem like a crippling abnormality, and certainly not one that would warrant an abortion. But she explained that in her community everyone had to wear opened toed sandals and that a webbed foot would be detrimental to the child's ability to live a happy life in her community.

Law school has changed the way that even my sub-conscious thinks. At dinner with friends last night (one who is Mormon and the other who tends toward the libertarian) we had been discussing the presidential candidates and the pro-choice/ anti-abortion debate. There was cautious agreement that permitting an abortion when the mother's life was endangered was okay. But where to draw the line. The law is all about line drawing, and the more I learn, the more arbitrary many of the lines that have been drawn seem. We draw lines in our own lives all the time about what we are comfortable with, what we believe is right or wrong, how much we value one outcome over some other.

But after a dream like this, I wake up grateful that my life right now is so simple, so uncomplicated, so free from having to make difficult line drawing decisions myself - let alone for someone else.

What's up with that?

2008-01-29T19:31:00.000-05:00

So I'm turning 28 on Friday, and I want to celebrate with friends. Do you know how hard restaurants in DC make that? Admittedly, I'm being sort of picky -- I want a place that makes me feel sparkly -- you know, the kind with lighting that makes everyone glow and lots of wine glass clinking for background music. However, at this point I think I'll just ask for a kegger on my 29th. Each restaurant that S. has called requires a pre-set menu with a per person price that exceeds what each person might pay if ordering off of the normal menu, and it's certainly not something that I'm comfortable asking my friends to shell out when they aren't even able to choose what food they'll be eating. I understand the desire to gouge where possible, but this is turning us away. I guess there are plenty of party-goers out there who can just fork it over, but why make it so difficult for the rest of us midlings to eat, drink, be merry and drop a bunch of money at your restaurant?

Restless

2008-01-28T23:13:00.000-05:00

There are some big changes on the horizon. Most specifically, graduating from law school (provided I pass everything this semester), moving to a new city, taking the bar and starting a new job. Life, therefore, has been very future-centric. I'm constantly thinking about "when x happens, then..." I'm living in a state of almost there...but not yet, and it's making me restless.

Take right now for example. There are things that I can do to prepare for tomorrow (as in Tuesday January 29) but instead I'm sitting here with paint chip colors dreaming about what hue we might paint some of our walls when we move to the new city. And instead of going to bed, and I know that I good night's sleep would dramatically improve my ability to concentrate on tasks at hand, I'm here at the computer trying to purge some of this excess energy.

I notice that S. and I do a lot of future gazing. I'm trying to figure out if this is a function of who we are, our stage in life as a young childless couple, our age (yikes - 28 on Friday!) or if it's a function of disatisfaction with the present. Much of the time we talk about the future because we are so excited and hopeful about what it holds. But so often that is accompanied by wanting it to hury up and get here. I often give thanks for how simple and easy our life is at the moment, but I could use a little Zen boost to help me mellow out, slow down, and wallow in the now.

On Hiatus

2007-05-26T12:31:00.001-04:00

The title says it all!

Interview: Part III

2007-05-01T11:31:00.000-04:00

Anastacia: You’re a newlywed! Describe your husband using only adverbs.

Ms.(Mrs.) Runner: Husband – ha! Still get a kick out being “husband and wife.” So, some adverbs to describe S.: laughingly, lovingly, absent-mindedly, energetically, jokingly, messily, openly, handsomely, playfully, athletically, smartly, dexterously, going-easily, parsimoniously, smilingly, thoughtfully, helpfully.

Oh but I am Young

2007-04-29T12:34:00.000-04:00

S: Get out of the driver's seat, I'm driving to the airport.
Me: (responding to a tone that I don't like) No way, the seat and mirrors are already adjusted for me from last night. Besides, I'm already sitting here. Just give me the keys and let's go.
S: Are you serious?
Me: This is just taking more time. Plus, you're the one being dropped off. This way I don't have to re-position everything to turn around and drive home (by myself, which is the state I will live in for the next month while you cavort on your last rotation in Canada surrounded by friends and family...did I mention that I will be ALONE. Here. Without you (cue violins).
S: Fine.
Me: Fine.

Later on the phone....

S: Are you going to apologize?
Me: What? We are equally at fault there. We were both being stubborn for no reason (except that anger is easier than sadness sometimes). It was a stupid ego battle.
S: You're right.
Me: (unable to stop myself) And I won that one.

"About Me" Collage

2007-04-28T21:13:00.000-04:00

Still working on the interview, but in the meantime, here are my answers to a visual "interview." My my the things procrastination will uncover on the Internet...

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Interview: Part II

2007-04-27T12:58:00.000-04:00

Anastacia: So, you’re in law school! What made you decide to pursue law as a career, and where do you think you want to go with it?

Ms. Runner: Law school – Well, this is a question I’m asking myself now that I’m in my fourth round of finals (hitting head against wall)! There are a number of factors that lead me here, some I am more proud of than others. In college, I double majored in French and English and people would always look at me askance, “So, law school then?” as if that is all one does with a liberal arts degree that didn’t involve a minor in economics. But the idea had never interested me and I fended off these questions with eye rolls.

For a while I dallied with the idea of a PhD in English literature, but I dodn’t have the focused interest in one subject that is required to sustain that kind of career. I became smitten with the lure of the publishing world and spent two summers pursuing that interest and subsequently landed a job working at a big publishing house in New York City. I loved working with authors and I loved my colleagues, who were witty and sarcastic and well-read. I didn’t love the fact that 85% of the time was spent working on marketing and advertising and pitching, and only about 10% spent on actual editing (and most of the 10% was done at home after an 8 hr work day), and of course, the work was underpaid. After two years, the pie in the sky job of executive editor no longer had allure. Coincidentally, two years was also a good time to put an end to a fraying long distance relationship. I picked up and moved to DC, where there are a whole lot less publishing jobs, but where my now-husband was in school.

Right around this time I signed up for the LSAT. The decision to take the LSAT was rolled up in so many things – deciding to shift my career to…something else, wanting to be able to support myself and actually save money, wanting to feel powerful (both in terms of being able to effect change and in terms of being my own boss, and in terms of having a specialized skill), recognizing that I didn’t have a burning passion to do something else, and admitting that my aptitudes might be a good fit for the profession after all (you know, endless patience with minutiae, willingness to kowtow to tradition, blindly prostrate myself for THE MAN, strong “writing and analytic skills”).

I got myself a non-law job in DC working as a grant writer for a non-profit (those “writing and analytic skills” do come in handy). In part the non-law job was safe, I didn’t want to have a bad law experience and scare myself out of going back to school, and in part it was another attempt to see if there was something out there that would be fulfilling, and challenging, and economically productive that might draw me in another direction. The grant writing job confirmed some things – that I need challenge even if it means working long hours (9-5 kills me if I’m bored), and that I enjoy working with smart people.

I’m sheepish about admitting why I am in law school because I’m not here for noble reasons, like my passion for the law, or a dream of setting those falsely imprisoned free. I’m here for the stereotypical reasons, and for all the reasons that people tell me I will ultimately be unhappy with the law. But the people that I’ve met so far ARE smart, and ARE interesting (especially when we can get ourselves to talk about things other than our stressful schedules, stressful exams, and woe is me stressful life), and the learning itself has been really enjoyable (and I think it says a lot that I’m saying this right after taking a 3 hr exam). There are many who have told me that liking law school is not an indicator of career satisfaction, and since I’ve only had a judicial internship so far, the fact remains to be seen.

In the meantime, I'm resentful about feeling that I need to defend my choice to go to law school against attack that I sold out, that I won't like it, and that I will be soon regretting the debt I've incurred.*

This summer I’ve signed up for the BIG LAW experience, which is supposed to be cushy and not tell me much about what working at a BIG LAW firm would really be like. But there is no doubt that the money is alluring, and there is a high likelihood that I'll get in the game after graduation. Beyond that, I’m discovering a passion for family law and child welfare issues and think about ultimately steering my profession in that direction (though again, many nay-sayers who caution burn out). At the moment, I think it would be interesting to work on constitutional questions that arise in the context of new reproductive technologies, or to work on child welfare/foster care reform. But we’ll see.

*But feel free to say "I told you so" when I tell you in two years that I sold out, I don't like it, and that I am regretting all the debt I've incurred.

Interview: Part I

2007-04-24T10:41:00.000-04:00

The lovely Anastacia from Jurgen
Nation, whose photographs are
stunning and whose dog Jurgen
has stolen my heart, volunteered to do some interviews and I snapped up
the opportunity. Since her questions have provoked lengthy answers (and
because I really should be spending my time studying) I'm going to
respond in parts.

Anastacia: What were your favorite cartoons as a kid and why? Part B: Which ones did you hate and why?

Ms. Runner: Mmmmmm,
cartoons. Such an indulgence. I was allowed 2 hrs on Saturdays and I
remember coming away from the TV with headaches from watching so
intently. One of my favorites was Inspector Gadget. Loved the gadgets,
loved Penny -- especially her cool watch, and of course loved Brain.
There was enough suspense to keep me glued, but nothing too scary ever
happened. At the end, I could always laugh off Dr. Claw's menacing
"I'll get you next time Gadget!" followed by that poor cat'sscreech as he slammed his fist down. I still wonder, what does Claw look like from the front?

Another
personal favorite was the Smurfs (I guess I'm a sucker for catchy intro
tunes, and also mushroom houses). I even visited the cartoon museum in
Brussels a few years ago and learned a bit about their creator. However, the dreadedGargamel featured largely in my only recurring
childhood nightmare. He would emerge from the woods behind our house
and barf all over my favorite dress, my response was to yell to my
father (who was raking leaves while the drama unfurled), "Run Dad! Save
yourself!" Anyway...

Cartoons I hated included Ghostbusters, Scooby's Mystery Funhouse, and Beetlejuice.
The unifying theme there? Fear. Yes, I know that they are cartoons, and
I know that they amused countless 7 yr old children, but me? I was
afraid.

I almost forgot...if you want to play the interview game, here are the easy-peasy rules:

1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Inconsistent - the very very short list

2007-04-19T22:53:00.000-04:00

I get completely grossed out when people put their food directly on any surface at school. Ew, the germs! And yet, I have no trouble putting a handful of skittles directly into my coat pocket (no doubt also full of germs).

I like things clean. If I don't get to the full on sponge-with-cleaning-agent scrub down, I will at least once-over the sink and toilet down with a Mr. Scrubber-Bubbles wipe once a week. And yet, the shower? Probably taken a sponge to it three times in the past two years. I mean, we just shower in there, it's got to be clean, right?

I shy away from things with lots of food-dye in them. When I was little I eschewed the "chemical cherries" (maraschino) with a vengence. But green mint chocolate chip ice cream really IS better.

More to come...

Open Letter to the Bookstore Employee

2007-04-18T12:12:00.000-04:00

Dear Mr. Bookstore Employee,
I appreciate that you want to help your customers, and I am sorry if you have had a difficult life. However, please note that when helping me find a book on Criminal Procedure, it is not necessary to put your arm around me. I am confident that you can help me find the book just fine without touching me at all.

Also, I do not want to hear about how a neighbor called child protection services because you were doing fun things with your kids -- those fun things being putting your kids in a mesh laundry bag and swinging them from a rafter. I don't want to hear this story because (a) I don't like hearing you talk about how your kids were all having "nekkid time" when CPS arrived, because I get the feeling that you just enjoy saying "nekkid" to me. Whether your children were clothed or unclothed has no bearing on your story (b) I don't think that it sounds like fun to be swung around in a laundry bag. In fact, I get motion sick just thinking about it (though your "nekkid" kids may well have enjoyed it).

Finally, if I am holding the book I am about to purchase to my chest, please do not grab it from me and in doing so accidentally brush my boob. That counter, that one in front of the register, it's there so that people like me can put their purchases on it when they are ready to pay. (See also note on touching customers above).
Thanks for your kind attention,
Ms. Runner

Death

2007-04-17T17:05:00.000-04:00

It's been occupying my thoughts recently. Pop, my paternal grandfather, died this winter, and in greiving for him I found myself crying for the finality of his death, for never being able to hear his voice again, making one of his signature wry comments. At other moments the tears were all about my own fears, about being overwhelmed by just how temporary this life is, and trebbling at the thought that someday I might be burying not a grandparent, but a parent. But yesterday and today as the Virginia Tech tradgedy unfurls, and every time I read news of another young American soldier being killed, I recall my maternal grandfather, a German-Jew who escaped Nazi Germany and whose brother died when he was just a child, mentioning to me that the worst imaginable thing in the world would be to bury one of your own children. I feel compelled, but don't know how, to honor these young victims and acknowledge the grief their families must be suffering.

Stroke of Genius

2007-04-15T21:48:00.000-04:00

Ok, well, not genius, but something close. I am a baker, or at least I love baking. When I was younger and we had snow days, one of my favorite things to do was to pull out one of my mom's many cook books and find something sweet to make the house smell good. I find the mixing therapeutic and appreciate how little washing or chopping of ingredients is involved (minus nuts, but whose not willing to put in a little extra elbow grease for the nuts?). In any case, the therapy, it's good for me during exam times, gets me out of my head, etc. But what do you do with a batch of two dozen cookies when there is only you at home (aside from doing a performance art piece "what is gluttony")? There are only so many times I can bring cookies to my friends before they start to feel like I'm force feeding them. So tonight it dawned on me -- the freezer! I have one cookie ready to be baked at a moment's notice (meaning right after I post this) and a log of dough in the freezer for whenever the craving to eat another strikes (like tomorrow night). Now, whether that frozen dough will betray it's cryogenic-like incubation with freezer-burn aftertaste once it's baked...I'll let you know.

Travel Collage

2007-04-15T17:49:00.000-04:00

I've been at my desk all day, while it's been pouring outside. So I decided to take myself on a tour of all the other much more fun places S. and/or I have been in the last 12 months or so...

Married Life

2006-10-22T23:24:00.000-04:00

So, a lot has happened since I last wrote. I finished my first year of law school, completed a summer internship, celebrated the addition of a new family member, and oh yeah, got married. The wedding was fantastic, and being on the other side there is an even stronger sense that we're sharing in this adventure. When we talk about the unknown, the edge is softened just a little bit. The ultimate ultimatum - I'm leaving/moving out - just isn't an option, and that feels good.

I'm taking Family Law this semester, and damn if the statistics aren't sobering. The divorce rate in this country still hovers around 50% - but we are also a nation where more people get married (though that seems to be changing). According to some studies, women are most often the initiators of divorce, and most often they cite emotional disatisfaction as the primary reason for wanting out. Ironically, women also continue to fare worse, financially, then men post-divorce. So what does this picutre say? Do we over-romanticize marriage, raise our emotional expectations to heights that are unattainable? Is the answer to lower our expectations? Or should we keep those high expectations, but recognize that the pay off only comes with lots of hard work? But then again, work doesn't sound very romantic...Interestingly, another study found that of couples interviewed when they considered their marriages unsatisfactory, the majority of those interviewed 5 yrs later who had chosen/managed to stay together reported being happier than ever in their marriages. What happened in those five years?

In talking to my newly-wed cohorts, it's already becoming clear that there is a mythic aura to marriage and to being a newly-wed that doesn't match up with reality very well. And as the billion-dollar wedding-industry continues to blossom, I can't imagine that's going to change anytime soon.

Neither here nor there

2006-04-27T20:54:00.000-04:00

Recently, I've been recognizing certain food associations I have. For example, every time I run cold water over steamed broccoli or asparagus, I think of my friend's somewhat neurotic father, and how one New Year's eve he was hosting a party, and he asked me breathlessly if he should run cold water over the green beans so that they would keep their color. The answer seemed very important, yes, it was very important that the beans stay green. And the other day, I cut an orange into slices and thought of my Dad, who offered me a slice of orange or grapefruit nearly every morning when we'd have breakfast together, he would be just back from swimming laps, I would be just on my way to school. When I have a bad tomato, one that is mushy even though it appears ripe, I think of L., who came to Maine from Indiana, (though in second grade we all thought she was coming from India) and always made a point of telling me how amazingly superior the tomatoes were in Indiana, so good that you could eat them like an apple. Salami and butter recall afternoons spent at the overly-warm house of T., playing dolls and drawing with large beeswax crayons. There is something incredibly compelling and comforting about the associations, and it feels good to write them down.

Florida

2006-03-30T12:16:00.000-05:00

Over spring break (or what was left of the break after journal competition) I headed south to Florida to visit my parents for some r&r (and to write my appellate brief - can you tell I'm feeling a little burnt out on law school right now?). Any how, it was a great visit to a place that encourages laziness - what with the cars that never rust and are required to go anywhere, and the lack of bike paths, and the heat and the sun and the oh-so-wonderful pools and beach. My days consisted primarily of a mini-tennis, a mini-run, and maximum pool lounging. Here are two highlights from the visit.

Moola

2006-03-18T20:44:00.000-05:00

There is an elephant in the living room, and its name is money. No surprise, (considering this is the number one topice of disagreement in couples) S. and I have our differences about how we manage and spend money. The good thing is, we're not afraid to talk about it, and sometimes we come to good comprimises. In anticipation of the upcoming nuptuals, and the possibile merging of finances, I'm curious how other people have navigated shared expenses. Do you make a budget together, do you have separate accounts? Do you keep a tally of where your money goes?

Twins!

2006-03-10T22:31:00.000-05:00

I was at the house of a high school friend (who in real life I haven't seen since graduation in '98) and several other of my high school crowd were pregnant. They were all showing off their beautiful baby bumps, and discussing how far along they were. I joined right in.

A.B. (another high school buddy I have entirely lost touch with): "I'm 17 weeks."

Me: "Oh, S. (my fiance) is 18 weeks along (Boys, in my dreams, they can have babies, weeeee!!!!). In fact, oh no! it's noon already! I am supposed to meet him for the sonogram. We're finally going to get to see what sex the twins are (TWINS, oh my!).

A.B.: "Wow, twins! That's incredible"

Me: "Yeah, it's going to be a hard labor, but I'm going to attend all the lamaze classes so that I can be as helpful as possible every step of the way. (Me, grinning madly thinking about all the pain that I won't have to endure).

A.B.: "But how are you going to feed them."

Me: (Clearly, my subconscious is now struggling to make sense of the dream scenario it has concocted) "Um, ah, um, well with twins it's tough to keep up with their demand anyway, so we're going with formula." (Weeeeeee, I've figured out the solution, men can have the babies and we can avoid the whole pumping issue entirely)

Sherry mentions the way that breast-feeding automatically changes the ability of parents to equally share certain infant duties. Clearly, my subconscious couldn't agree more.

Missing a Page

2006-03-04T22:36:00.000-05:00

It's day two of the journal competition, offically day one of spring break (ha). I have concluded that my Blue Book is missing a page --- you know, the page that starts with the subsection "Every Weird Document that Doesn't Fit into One of the Other Inane Categories Listed in This Book."

Baby-ful Weekend

2006-03-01T08:58:00.000-05:00

Last Saturday S. and I headed north to New York. He was fulfilling his godfather-duty at a christening and I was along for the ride and a visit to my cousin.

Highlight: During the christening, just as the priest was calling on the young children to "reject sin", beautiful baby So., dressed in a most demure christening gown, threw her legs in the air and performed a perfect spread eagle.

Lowlight: Sharing one bathroom between 9 adults and four children.

The weekend was full of babies and pregnancy talk and breastfeeding and formula mixing. We stayed in Brooklyn (Flatbush to be more precise - and every time I say it I think of the joke: "what do nylons and Brooklyn have in common?"), which is a virtual breeding ground with young families packed into fixer-uppers that look like more work than raising the kids!

Spending all this time with young, newly minted parents makes me think about what it must have been like for my parents when I joined them. With the best good humor, there were many instances this weekend where we laughed AT these babies and their tantrums (did my parents do that? it seems kind of disrespectful, and yet it's impossible not to giggle, I'm sure they did). I guess if I had a younger sibling I would have seen a baby-parent model, but as an only child, and with my memory being as it is, I only have an inkling of how my parents parented from the 3rd grade onward.

I do recall going to parties with my parents and hanging with the other kids, happily playing with legos while the grown ups drank beer and laughed loudly in the other room. It was a little strange - those parties gave me an awareness that my parents were more than just my parents. I remember sometimes being a bit weirded out by it all and not quite sure how I fit in when they were in this other role.

Now, here I am on the other side, no kids yet, but I'm part of these parents' "other life", not the kid in the other room wondering what the adults are finding so funny. And it's not strange afterall. It's perfectly normal that these parents love their children with all their hearts and still like to p-a-r-t-y.

Full Facial

2006-02-22T19:41:00.000-05:00

I was indulging myself in a birthday gift last weekend, a facial at an upity faux-spa near our apartment. It was a lovely break, cream after potion was massaged onto my skin, and after each wrap of the warm (but not hot) towel around my face I felt more tension dissolve. That was, until the aesthetician started asking me, "Do any of your family members have ruddy skin?" Well, my dad has spent almost every day of his adult life out in the elements, so yes. "Do you tend to flush when you drink?" Doesn't everyone? "Does the skin around your nose ever peel?" Yeah, but hey, it's winter, what gives. "I think you may have mild roscascea. It's a genetic skin condition that often manifests in one's late 20's. There's really nothing you can do for it."

Schreeeeeech. Relaxation mode, recoil.

Sweet. What a perfect 26th birthday present. Upon arriving home, I immediately went to this website. My only comfort is that I have managed to find a man before my nose become completely deformed (not that there's anything wrong with that). Seriously though, so much for the relaxing facial.

Parisian 'Do

2006-02-08T21:52:00.000-05:00

While we were in Paris at the end of December, we decided it wasn't worth it to wait in museum lines, and so we did a lot of walking. Moderates that we are, we split our wandering between the left and right banks. We delighted in the different neighborhoods, most of them charming in the way that only Paris can charm. On the last day of our visit we determined to hoof it to the train station. As we neared the station, we walked up 10 blocks of nothing but wig stores and hairstylists offering braiding and straightening. Here in DC, on part of New York Ave. there is a block of wig stores, but this avenue in Paris put that to shame. It was amazing, and something that the postcards don't bother to capture, so I've put a shot of one of the store fronts here for your enjoyment.

Privilege

2006-02-08T17:45:00.000-05:00

So here's the deal. I was offered a paying-job to work at a firm this summer and I was also offered an unpaid internship with a federal judge. I took the position with the federal judge. Why did I make this decision? Well, it was based on a number of factors, and tidbits of advice I received, and the thought that I want to put myself in a good position to do a clerkship upon graduation (if it turns out to be an appealing avenue) but I'm still not entirely comfortable with it.

Taking the position with the judge is the morally "right" thing to do in the circles I run in. It's very noble to turn down money in the quest for knowledge and an opportunity to see and do neat things. I have the luxury to do this because I have a very generous family who is willing to support me and who can do so without significant ramifications to their own lifestyle.

I'm incredibly grateful, but I'm also getting sick of living off of the family dime. I turned 26 a week ago today, I'm semi-smart and capable, and yet I'm not supporting myself. I feel guilty about this, and yet I continue to purchase things that I don't need. As I look to the summer and wedding plans, there is a good deal more spending ahead. I look around me and see lots of people living at or above their means, and I'm guilty too. But I'm not particularly motivated to scale back either.

It's all compounded by the sense that my financial future looks ok. I've put away substantial savings (with the help of generous family), and between my law degree and S's medical degree there is the potential for income that will make us very comfortable. Granted, there are a million factors that could change this financial future, and I'm not one to count my chickens before they hatch, and yet...

It's a perfect storm of privilege and it creates a sense of security and allows me the luxury to say, "the money can come later." But I'm uneasy with this. I'm antsy to test out my own "newfound" earning power (ridiculous as it is that one measly year of law school should produce such a jump). I'm eager to start paying back my loans and to get off the family and government dole.

This doesn't mean that I don't want to do interesting things, or that I'm only interested in earning money. I want both, and in typical 2006 fashion, I want them now! The choice for the summer is about privilege, but also about patience. And patience, so it's said, is a virtue. Hmph.

Things learned in the last 4 days

2006-02-07T15:25:00.000-05:00

1. If I stay up for more than 24 hours, I get weepy -- in the sense that I can't stop crying, even though I'm not sure what I'm crying about.

2. If you get a job offer, it means that they want you and you should use this to your advantage, even if it means asking very nicely for them to wait just a little longer until you give them an answer. If someone offers you more time to think about something TAKE IT (I didn't do this).

3. If you are waiting on a second job offer, BE PATIENT. (I wasn't patient).

4. There are a whole stream of questions that only emerge once an offer becomes a reality. (This is why one should follow the remarks in #2 and #3 above).

5. Regret is a terrible feeling.

Update

2006-01-27T13:39:00.000-05:00

I'm in a suit, having completed a mock-interview in preparation for the 4 hour firm-interview I have on Monday. My mind is racing and my ears are red because I'm revved up in general, and also because I had 1/2 caffeinated coffee this morning. I'm afraid that I'm turning into one of those law students who does nothing except talk about stress and law school. So to fend that off...

Recently, I've been waking up in the morning with someone from my life in Maine in my mind, or a particular memory vividly displayed on the internal screen. As I move into the interview process, which signals a further commitment to DC for the time being since I'm only applying to summer jobs and internship here, my memory chose to take me back to the night I left New York in August 2004. It seems like a long time ago.

I had been diligently bringing boxes home from work every night and the place was pretty well stored away, but those last-minute items always take longer than anticipated. I had a "moving/going-away party" that my New York friends so generously came to and helped us carry things down the four flights of steep stairs to the U-haul. Afterwards, I drove it the rickety thing to an open-lot in mid-town and then met up with everyone for drinks. I remember feeling supported and good about the move...and I remember how delicious the quesedia I ate tasted after all the lifting.

The next day we went to the U.S. Open and saw Roger Federer play. Then we returned to finish up the final packing of my studio on the UWS. We stuffed the last item in the truck around 9 pm and decided that we might as well push on and drive to DC that night. It was a bold move, considering we were going to sushi on the upper east with his cousins first, which put as at an ETA in DC of around 4 am.

Energized by the definitive (if a little ridiculous) decision we'd made, we jumped in the U-haul cab to head swinging and stuttering across town. But when I turned the key the ignition did NOTHING. NOTHING. Not a single little "putt" from the tired engine. I don't remember what I felt, because those feelings were so quickly eclipsed by extreme gratitude. A couple out on a date were looking for a parking space, and they not only had jumper cables, but agreed to help us --- even after we told them it was an illegal spot that we'd be freeing up.

And so, we rumbled across town, shuttering each time I had to make it down a particularly narrow street or make any merge-like-move (you cannot see out the back of a U-haul). We ate delicious sushi. And then we rumbled south on I-95, with the A/C off and the red engine light glowing all the while.

Profound BS

2006-01-16T16:53:00.000-05:00

Second semester of law school has begun. I'm doing my best to take advantage of the slightly slower pace, but I'm feeling nagged by the need to apply to (unpaid) summer internships, and then figure out how I'm going to cover my expenses. Nobody is a fan of writing cover letters, and I'm no exception. I'm usually decent, though, at coming up with some narrative that brings me to my present interest in the position I'm applying for. But for some of the jobs that I think might be interesting, I've got nothing -- just an interest in checking out something new. So I've left that paragraph in the body of many of my cover letters unfinished.

"I'll just move onto paragraph three where I talk about my qualifications," I say to myself. Wait, what qualifications? At the career counseling center they suggested I could say something about my "legal training". Legal training? What legal training. I laugh every time I write it (before vigorously hitting the delete button). Ha! one semester of law school = legal training?

So here I am, with my "strong writing and research skills", no grades to show for my first semester (and no idea what those grades might be) blowing in the wind, hoping a bolt of inspiration will hit me, or else that an inspired bolt will hit one of the potential empoyers I've sent my application to and encourage them to respond. In the meantime I'll be hitting my head against a wall.

10 Things I Love About Holland

2006-01-05T08:47:00.000-05:00

1. Eating chocolate sprinkles (hagelslag) with butter on bread qualifies as an acceptable breakfast

2. Butter is its own food group

3. The bikes. They're everywhere and you can use them to get just about anywhere - day or night. The whole country is flat as a pancake so you never get winded going up hill.

4. The New Years Eve fireworks. The whole country lets loose in a ball of firey brightness for about 12 hours. Everyone and their mother has a stash they lite off.

5. The whimsical sense of style.

6. The church tower bells that chime the hour in many towns.

7. Van Gogh, Rembrant, Vermeer

8. The friendly people. Bless them they almost all speak amazingly good English and are also willing to indulge my poor Dutch.

9. The happy yellow trains that always run on time.

10. Amsterdam.

Glutton for Punishment

2005-12-03T11:33:00.000-05:00

This morning, I woke up at 7 am, studied for an hour, took a run, then delivered myself to the dentist's to drool and wince. Fortunately, no cavities. Unfortunately, law school seems to have pushed my already-poorly-aligned mouth over the brink and into the uncomfortable state of TMJ. I have a sweet mouthguard that protects my teeth from cracking under the pressure I'm apparently exerting on them at night through clenching and grinding. But the guard doesn't protect my teeth from getting rocked ever so slightly back and forth as my jaw locks down on them for all its worth. This leaves little areas of nerve exposed. As if my nerves aren't getting enough exposure just sitting in the library obsessing over how I'm possible going to get a handle on all of this material before my first exam. Zing!

Cash

2005-11-25T22:09:00.000-05:00

Just saw "Walk the Line", which I highly recommend. If the on-stage chemistry between Reese Witherspoon and Joaquin Phoenix was even closely representative of the real thing between Johnny Cash and June Carter, well hot damn if that wasn't some passion!

Sometimes, after seeing a dramatic, glamorous portrayal like this on the big screen, I feel a twinge of the hum drums when I look at my life (but hey, what is Hollywood for if to give us great contrast). However, that all washes away before the credits are done rolling when I recognize that I have been lucky enough to have the most important thing that movie characters seem to always be questing for - love.

I'll keep this from getting too sappy, but sufifce to say I've got it in my daily life, solid, and strong from S. and family and friends, and I wouldn't trade it for all the passionate drama in the world.

Cornflower Blue

2005-11-19T17:34:00.000-05:00

It's getting to be finals anxiety time at the law school, but instead of describing that in gruesome detail, I'm going to write about going dress shopping.

7 of my closest friends have agreed to stand at the alter with me and S during out wedding. They're no maids, but they are an incredible group of women with all sorts of skills and interests and ways they enrich my life. Seeing as they're quite varied in style, I offered them the opportunity to buy their own dresses in some shade of blue. After much emailing, however, it was determined that choosing their own dresses was provoking serious anxiety among them, and so there was a vote in favor of tradition.

Over the past month I've been lucky to go dress shopping with two of my "brideswomen" (as I said, they're no maids). It's a very odd dynamic, choosing clothing for other people; and choosing one dress for seven people of varying coloration, body type and personality no less. I've given up the idea of trying to find anything that anyone will actually wear again and have settled on the goal of trying to find something that everyone can at least feel good and comfortable in for one night.

I had done some web browsing of various styles (ah yes, productive procrastination from work, is there anything better?) and sent some preliminary ideas around that were favorably received. So when A and I bravely headed to the dress shop in Georgetown, we had something in mind. I assumed that the shop would be swanky and snotty (mostly snotty) as all things Georgetown tend to be, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that this place was a hole in the wall -- at least we wouldn't be paying for the fancy decor in the price of the dresses.

From floor to ceiling this place is chock full of taffeta, satin, patent leather tuxedo shoes, starched white shirts, black jackets, and hangers everywhere. Since the proprietor was less than gregarious and could hardly tear himself away from AOL, we dove into the dresses ourselves. Putting all of our weight against the gowns allowed us to budge the line of dresses just enough to untangle a hanger and draw out the design we wanted to look at. After we'd expended most of our strength selecting a few dresses, we asked to try them on. "Uh, yes, let me just get a few things out of the dressing room." And off this man shuffled around the corner. After 5 minutes he came back, wearing the same dead-pan expression, "Well, there is just too much stuff back there, so you'll just have to squeeze in around it."

The "dressing room" was a cubby in the back of the shop. Once we huffed and puffed our way through the curtain of satin and sequins (there was no actual curtain, a row of dresses served as the privacy screen), we caught our breath and noted that we'd be sharing the dressing space this afternoon with an odd looking burnt mannequin bust. As we began undressing A kept looking at the ceiling, as did I.

Standing in our underwear, I asked her "You looking for the hidden camera too?" "Yup," she replied, prompting much muffled laughter. We managed to find something great, or at least something that two of the women expressed enthusiasm about wearing, and I'm proud of both myself, D and A for being able to look beyond the sample size's "foam green" color.

Creepy man and crazy shop aside, the dress and the $30, no-taxes discount we got works for me. I know that every bride swears they won't make their bridesmaids wear something awful, and I'm no exception. If you want to see for yourself whether I have or have not lost it (yet), you can view the dress we chose by looking at top style 110 and skirt style 206 in cornflower at:

http://www.alfredsungdresses.com/index.cfm?go=separates

Ah.

2005-11-10T23:47:00.000-05:00

Pages of torts, crim, civ pro, contracts read: 0
Bottles of wine consumed: 2
Amount of tension relieved: 99%

A night with good friends, some wine, a running mocking commentary of a cheesy TV show -- what more can you ask for? I'm noticing how important it is to do things that make me forget I'm in law school, and what fun it is to be out on a "school night" now and again.

I'm anticipating more relaxation in the near future. Looking ahead to this weekend is like spying the full-downy beds at the department store and knowing that I can actually take a nap in all of its soft sleepiness. I'm dog sitting for a classmate, looking at bridesmaid gowns with one of the women who will be wearing the dress come August 12th, and other than that, Saturday and Sunday are mine! The alone time is all the sweeter knowing that S. comes back next week and so this apartment will soon be filled again with the best company.

Update

2005-11-04T00:16:00.000-05:00

So it's been quiet here, and that's only because I've had my nose to the grindstone, trying to crank out my second memo of the semester four days before it's due so that I can take the weekend O-F-F.

S. is in Hawaii for a month-long rotation, so I've been less balanced than usual - allowing myself to become a law school hermit. But I will be rewarded for my diligence tomorrow morning when I touch down in Houston, Texas to begin celebrating the marriage of one of my dear college friends (I tell you we're dropping like flies). On the three hour plane ride there I hope to:

1. write a letter to my grandfather
2. write a wedding card
3. write a toast to the bride and groom
4. write a note to a friend
5. pay my bills
6. edit a friend's grad school personal statement
7. read some interesting articles that I've been saving up
8. veg-out with the sinful US Weekly
9. catch up on the sleep I've missed this week
10. NOT DO ANY LAW SCHOOL RELATED WORK

Happy (Sexy) Halloween

2005-10-27T23:14:00.000-04:00

There's a blow-out party tomorrow night at a big club on the waterfront. It's the time in the semester when people are getting punchy --- put them in costumes, stoke them with unlimited booze, and imagine the possibilities!

Being a Halloween party, part of the pre-game hype inevitably involves planning a costume.

A year ago, a friend mentioned that one of her acquaintences had thought about dressing up as a prostitute for Halloween. I was insenced. But this year, as I contemplate outfits, I have to laugh. Going as a prostitute might actually be a nice post-modern, ironical choice; or, I could be a sexy cowgirl, a sexy cat, a sexy take-off on SuperWoman, a French maid, a hula girl, a Bond girl...anyone of the typical costumes that we women so often choose. Indeed, some of my male friends have confirmed that their favorite part of Halloween is the eye candy the skimpy costumes provide.

Sanctioned dress up is an occasion where we feel comfortable vamping up our sexuality -- and it can be fun to trot out the alter-ego now and again. I've worn plenty of liberated, skimpy costumes myself - ranging from nothing but underwear to colored saran-wrap. Each time, it's been in the company of close friends, or in a female-dominated environment.

But this party is hosted by a law school association and will be attended by my classmates. These are people that I expect to have professional relationships with. In particular, these are men that I expect to have professional relationships with. To dress up in a way that drips with blatant sexuality, which asks to be objectified, seems also to ask to be taken slightly less seriously. On the otherhand, it can be fun to get in the game with the other girls and dress up in something fun and flirtatious. I don't want to come off as a boring, frumpy girl, ridiculous as that may seem.

Fortunately, I'll have a year to mull this over, since for other reasons I'm not going to be attending tomorrow night's wild event.

Woe is Me of Irish/Scottish Heritage

2005-10-24T20:14:00.000-04:00

It happened again today, as it usually does. I raise my hand (or get cold-called), I have an answer, I'm feeling confident and then...I start to speak, my voice is clear but about 30 seconds in I can feel the temperature gauge rising.

From the shoulders, up the neck, to the ears, and then coming around to the cheeks and face --- the full blown blush.

When it happens, I continue to speak, but the internal movie screen starts trying to picture what shade of crimson I'm presently displaying, and the internal voice starts sending the emergency calming messages, which are so frantic that they're no help at all.

I used to always be correct when I felt the heat of the automatic-discomfort-reader. When I thought I had turned into a beet, I usually got confirmation that indeed I had. I take small comfort in the fact that I seem to recently be feeling the blush but not actually turning any primary colors -- or else people are just being kind.
Maybe tomorrow I'll bring in a mirror to monitor the blush. Suggestions about what I might do to minimize this response would be appreciated!

Memories

2005-10-15T12:11:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, having succumbed to the power of the ultimate distraction, the Internet, I was looking at pictures from my friend A.'s wedding. The wedding was in Maine on one of the last days I was up there before starting law school. It was beautiful. The perfect day flowed into lavenderar evening lit by glowinChinesese lanterns and glittering smiles.

Her parents own a 200-yr old red shingled cape on a bunch of land, and so the wedding was in the front yard, cocktails in the side yard, and a sit down dinner under a tent next to the house. I spent a lot of time at this house growing up, and so coming out of the front door as a bridesmaid, seeing the place where I used to play horses with A., remembering hiding in the tall grass when my mom came to pick me up, having tea parties in the playhouse down the hill...well, it was something.

And last night, the pictures inspired warm memories and a heightened sense that those pictures captured a moment in time. A moment that I will always look back on fondly, and a moment that at once summarizes how young we still are, and how grown up we've become.

Disappointed

2005-10-11T23:07:00.000-04:00

I didn't make the ADR board, no big surprise. Instead, the big surprise were people's reactions to not getting chosen. In the week before the competition, I started to regret ever signing up to participate. I felt like I'd been duped by the damn first year self-doubt that pushes 1L's to grasp at anything and everything that comes their way.

So I wasn't set on making this board (with 270 competitors I assumed the chances were slim anyhow), and it was a no-risk scenario, so I measured my effort accordingly. I prepared the night before the competition for about 6 hrs with my partner. He's a good guy and we had a decent time working on the problem. The next morning we competed and got feedback, which took all of an hour. Lump sum, I sunk a maximum of 8 hours into this competition, which isn't all that much in the scheme of things. Sure, there are lots of ways I could have had more fun on Friday night, and I could have foregone the nerves and getting up a little earlier than usual on Saturday morning. But all in all, it was a good experience, if for nothing else than to show me what a competing for a board is like and what mock-ADR is.

I thought it was a given that the judging was incredibly subjective, and that what it comes down to is what happens when you and your partner get in the room and start engaging the other team, which is subject to an endless amount of variation. So I was really surprised and put off by people's incensed attitude that the whole competition was a complete waste just because they didn't make the board. The big complaint was that the judging is all subjective --- but aren't most things in life? When you interview for a job, it's all subjective!

So while they're annoyed that they didn't make the board, I'm annoyed that no one I spoke with seemed to value the experience (and don't get me wrong, I'm hardly zen when it comes to competing, but really), that everyone was SO put out that they'd spent any of their oh-so-precious time on something that didn't produce a big reward. So there.

Nostrils Above Water

2005-10-11T23:04:00.000-04:00

There's been a lot going on, in law school, in life, in general, and not too much that I've found suited to posting. I'm doing my best to keep just one breath ahead and a few times I've written about how much work I have, but really, no one wants to read about that. I will be away at my cousin's wedding over the weekend, and then I have midterms on Tuesday, so hopefully after that I'll finally clear some head space to form a coherent post. Thanks for your patience!

Red Leather

2005-10-03T22:12:00.000-04:00

This weekend was the first outing for me and my new jacket. It was an impulse purchase, and marked down 80%. It's fitted, and red, and leather. There is something slightly 30s about it, not the time period, but the age. It doesn't have shoulder pads, but I still associate leather jacket, shirt and jeans with something an "older" person would wear. It's distinguished from the tube tops that dominate the younger end of the decade I'm in.

But I love it.

From drinks and dinner with friends, to a house party later in the evening, compliments and comments followed the jacket. Among them: "you look like a firefly", "look at this! sexy", "feel how soft this is", and more than one "wow." Once in a while, especially when burned out from studying, it's fun to put on some spirit, and wear it for a night.

Company A, Client B

2005-10-01T12:51:00.000-04:00

Phew, I lot has been going on and oddly, I can't wait for Monday evening to roll around so that I can catch a breath. I'm just back from my first law school "extra curricular" attempt...an alternative dispute resolution competition. In many ways, it's ridiculous. There were 270 competitors, in part because it's the only board that one can compete for at my school. Frankly, I'm still a little confused about what exactly a the goals of boards are. From what I gather, once you make the board, there isn't much that you're required to do, nor is there much that the board does. There are competitions throughout the year that you can gain experience competing in, which is great, but it seemed that the skills you bring to the table are your own (ie: there aren't a whole lot of speakers they bring in, or conferences they put on).

I was conflicted about participating given that it seems to be a resume padder for the most part, but on the other hand, it seemed like a good opportunity to practice putting myself out there, especially since the risk factor was zero (the worst that can happen is that I don't make the board for fall semester). Earlier this week, as I looked at my lengthy "to do" list, I kicked myself for signing up. But after this morning's negotiation, I'm glad that I did it. Bottom line, it was really fun.

It's exhilaration to go into a fictional meeting with fictional goals, some of which are flexible and some of which aren't, to meet the other team, and to work your way through a set of conflicting desires. I loved steering the conversation through a framework that was advantageous to our client, and responding to push back, easing off, coming back around after learning more about where the other side was coming from, and threading the needle on the second attempt. Make the board or not, living in a make believe world for a half hour or so this morning was a blast.

Question for Blogger Bloggers

2005-09-24T20:45:00.000-04:00

I seem to be plagued by spam comments, is there anyway I can delete them, or make it more difficult for spammers to post comments without having to make commenters "sign in" before they post?

Ode to Big Nick's

2005-09-24T19:23:00.000-04:00

Where were you last night Big Nick's? Weaving my way home after a long day and night out all I wanted was a greasy, savory, HUGE slice of your pizza, smothered in parmesan cheese out of the glass shaker, with a few red peppers for good measure. My mind did multiple radar sweeps of the area, but woefully there is nary a 24 hour joint around down here in DC. Alas, I had to settle for a woefully under-satisfying microwaved burrito in your place. Oh I miss you Big Nick's.

Click Clomp, Click Clack

2005-09-22T08:52:00.000-04:00

I have always loved shoes, and most of all the sound that some shoes make. As a little girl there was nothing better than walking down a long corridor in patent leather mary janes, making the halls reverberate with a diminutive version of the staccato clacking of a woman in pumps.

That sound, the click of the heel and the clomp of the ball of the foot, signals fresh, energetic, feminine, productive, and down to business. The lighter the click, the more brisk and fun, the heavier the clomp, the more frumpy.

When I wear shoes that click and clomp I take on the persona of their sound. This weekend I bought a pair of flats with a miniscule kitten heel. Their comfy as can be, and they have the perfect aural quality. On the way to school this morning the business like rhythm of my own feet helped me forget how tired I've felt all week and energized me for the day ahead, which I anticipate will be full not only of clicking and clomping, but also lots of productive clicking and clacking on my computer.

Check, Check Plus, Check Minus

2005-09-19T22:08:00.000-04:00

It's ridiculous, not since first grade has a check plus excited me so. There is only one class this semester, "Legal Research and Writing", in which a single test does not determine my entire grade. I've never been one to worry much about mid-terms or exams. I participate, I do well on papers throughout the semester, and then review in a reasonable manner come test-time. But here, there is a dull throb of anxiety stemming from the knowledge that regardless of whether I ace an answer in class, the amorphous, long, intimidating and all-determining three hour exam looms in December.

In light of this, the weekly assignments in my Legal Research and Writing class have taken on disproportionate meaning. Other than two final legal memos we turn in, we are given checks, check pluses, or check minuses on these weekly assignments. These signals are the only feedback I will receive in any course during the semester.

The giddy thrill I get from seeing that plus on my assignment is only tempered by my frustration at the lack of comments on the subsequent pages. I know that I've erred in my explanation, I know that my application is full of mistakes, and yet the professor has provided nothing. Not a single word.

And so I'm left with a meaningless check plus. An infinitely weak level of feedback and as such, an infinitely weak defense for the psyche against the shadow of exams.

Study With Friends

2005-09-16T13:23:00.000-04:00

Maybe it's the only-child thing, or maybe it's the nature of the subjects I've studied but I've never been one for study groups. However, as of this morning I am officially part of a 1L study group. There are four of us, which is a great number as far as I'm concerned. We met, we've got a plan for what we want to accomplish, for how we're going to tackle information, and I've never been so excited to review the requirements of a good pleading.

That said, I think I may be the weak link in the group. We've got someone who has two years of working at the DOJ under his belt, someone else who has been through business school, and another woman who is just damn smart. That puts me...well, I'll be the one asking the questions and bringing the cookies!

Swollen Glands

2005-09-10T21:58:00.000-04:00

It's so predictable. Throw in some pre-event stress, mix with transition, add a dash of public restroom, incubate for three weeks and presto! I've got a sore throat and the beginnings of a stuffy nose. Just about every Christmas vacation from high school through college, I would fight a cold for the first two or three days. My body does a great job of navigating up the mountain to the pinnacle of stress, but when it comes to the descent, well, the stress-sherpas seem to often loose their way and fall prey to the cold gremlins. And so it is, three weeks into law school, just at the very first inkling that I might be relaxing a little bit and WHAM, last night at the movies the fever-flashes and sore throat started moving in. Right on cue.

Shhhh

2005-09-08T21:20:00.000-04:00

Law school is different. I tried to prepare myself for this, and I repeated the mantra all summer, "law school is NOT going to be like my college exprience, law school is not going to be like my..." But nonetheless, I'm taken aback. For starters, it's a lot harder. And it takes a lot more concentration.

Instead of studying in my space, as I always did in college, I've taken to reading in the "absolute quiet room", as my law school friends have nick-named it. It's a typical reading room, with soft light glowing from opaque tinted glass, long wooden tables, a few leather couches, and two full length windows that let in great afternoon sun. At 4:45 when I push open the swinging glass doors there is a student in just about every wooden slat-backed chair, all diligently hunched over books and laptops. I've never seen a library space so well-used. Or heard one so silent!

It is a sin to even whisper in the absolute quiet room, and the lord help you if you make any kind of bodily noise because there is no denying it here.

Witness this afternoon's episode: A guy who was sitting on one of the couches apparently likes to rock out while reading. His tunes were so loud (probably not that loud in any other normal circumstances) that they (along with the pin dropping and the water dripping) could be heard throughout the room. All the other students in the room started chuckling to themselves, and then to one another while this guy continued to jam to his torts reading. After all heads were turned his way and he continued to party on, oblivious, the statute of funny tolerance was up (that took all of 2 minutes among this crowd), and someone asked him to turn it down.

The Boogey Man

2005-08-31T23:23:00.000-04:00

S. and I had some friends over for dinner tonight. It was great to take a break mid-week and enjoy eachother's company. Now, it's 11:30 and I've done all my work for tomorrow, so all I need to do is brush my teeth, wash my face, and turn out the light.

It's always this time of night when strange, irrational fears creep up on me. Lately, it's been while I am washing my face. I hardly get the first splash on my soap-covered skin when I feel the urgent need to open my eyes and look behind me. I have a creepy feeling someone is sneeking up on me when the running water prevents me from hearing well, and I'm blinded by fash wash. I sting my eyes everynight opening them dispite the dripping lather.

My pulse must climb at least 20 beats everytime I perform this routine part of my day. While there's nothing like an adrenaline rush before bedtime, any tips on beating the boogey man are gladly welcomed.

Sand Storm

2005-08-27T16:00:00.000-04:00

There is a phenomenal play running in Alexandria, VA right now at Metro Stage called Sandstorm: Stories from the Front. The playwright is a marine who served in the Iraq War, and the play is a series of 10 monologues that encapsulate some of the experiences of troops on the ground there.

S and I got tickets on recommendation from an Iraq War veteran we met last week. He said that this play articulated his experiences about the war with exquisite precision.

The performance was incredibly powerful. It's still impossibly difficult for me to grasp what it would be like to be in the middle of a war zone, one in which civilians are ever-present. But these monologues illustrated some of the idioms you hear about war, that it takes away a person's humanity, that the worst parts of human nature are encouraged, that humanity does have a way of resurfacing in unexpected ways in the middle of it all, and that war leaves deep, vicious scars on the human psyche.

It's been disgustingly easy for me to tune out what is going on in Iraq and Afghanistan. I read about the insurgency and the car bombings, about Ms. Sheehan's protest and Bush's speeches in Utah, but it is remarkably simple to chalk these up to news. This play was an excellent, and for me much needed, reminder about the human reality behind the reporting.

The Gunners

2005-08-24T23:04:00.000-04:00

They're here, The Gunners. I could hardly find the classroom for Torts, let alone remember my assigned seat, but after class let out I noticed a number of people gravitating towards the adjacent classroom, where my Criminal Law class was meeting in over an hour.

I followed the pack with curiosity, maybe I had mixed up my schedule and Criminal Law was about to begin?

Nope. These people were all squatters, arriving over an hour in advance to get the best seats in the house, the seats that we were all assigned to today. My God.

I had forgotten that the seating chart was going to be passed around today, but since I was there, I figured I might as well plunk my ass down in a good spot and do some reading myself. Within a half an hour of the class starting nearly all the "good seats" were filled, leaving just those around the periphery of the room. If it hadn't been for my curiosity I would have had one of those "beyond the pale" seats, which really wouldn't have been a big deal anyway. Sheesh.

These Shoes Aren't Made for Walking

2005-08-23T18:43:00.000-04:00

I've always had a thing for shoes. My mom used to have to drag me away from the rows of jelly shoes in Rich's, and there is rarely a season when I'm free from lust over a particular piece of footwear.

Summer is a particularly nice season for shoe fetishes, primarily because they need not hold up under durress of snow, slush and other inclement weather. Therefore, knock-offs, even those of poor materials, are fair game.

This morning, I wore some very Mariska Barton ked-esque numbers. Kelly green with pin polka dots and a little line of yellow around the gummy bulletin board color sole. I opted for these in favor of flip flops both because they're cuter and because I thought they would give my foot a little more support than the thong/rubber combo. The shoes cost less than $9, no skin off my back.

But oh the skin off my feet! By the time I arrived at class I was already day dreaming about band-aids. Hobbling home this evening my eyes wistfully followed the cushioned, comfortable steps of all those sensible walkers in their sneakers. I'm nursing my bandaged tootsies and banishing the evil knock-offs to the back of the closet where they won't tempt me with their deceptive comfy-cute looks.

And They're Off!

2005-08-22T23:35:00.000-04:00

1L classes began today. It's 11:40 and I've finished assignments for two classes, so there's still one to go, which is to say that I should be reading Contracts right now. But as much as I'm feeling overwhelmed, I am making a personal commitment not to get sucked into a vortex of life in which only law school exists (though the pull is already strong!) I want to do well, but doing well in life means hanging onto some balance, and that includes taking time to reflect on my experiences and doing things with non-law people like going to see this play on Friday.

Today was full of intimidating things. In Legal Research & Writing, I was shown a video clip of a former 1L at moot court competition. The instructor showed it to us in hopes that it would provide motivation and excite us about what lies ahead. It just scared the shit out of me. My palms started to sweat as I watched the kid standing alone under the glaring spotlight, an audience of hundreds in the dark behind him as he faced three judges, talking what sounded like a different language, and getting slammed left and right as the judges punched holes in his case and srunched up their faces in disdain as he attempted to answer.

Oh, and by the way, I completely overlooked the syllabus for LRW and therefore showed up for my very first class of the day, indeed, my very first class of law school, without having done the assigned reading. Sweet.

Onto Contract Law. This one was good, the professor was speedy, but went very easy on us and since the class was mostly about the history of law, I was OK.

Then I walked into Criminal Law, it had been by far the most interesting of the readings, but the moment the professor started employing that good old socratic method, all memory of what the case was about promptly exited my brain. Note to self: at the beginning, it doesn't hurt to include more info in your brief.

Despite the jolt to the system that this is sure to be, I'm still excited to be back in school. It just may take a little while as that old brain of mine warms up to this new method of learning and teaching and generally being a student again. Looks like it may be another late night!

The First Day

2005-08-18T00:04:00.000-04:00

It was about what I expected, but with some nice surprises. There was a very likeable woman who graduated the same year I did and with whom I spent most of the afternoon. As is the way with orientations, I will now be sharing a locker with her for the rest of the year. I had to laugh at the $10 coupon to the bookstore, considering what the semester's worth of books cost. And it's funny how being a first year, no matter what your age, puts a little regressive spin on life. But I just finished reading my first legal opinion and preparing for the case review tomorrow. I'm pleased with the familiarity of dissecting a story and its language, though tomorrow in class I'm sure to see all that I glossed over.

In a Nutshell

2005-08-16T12:45:00.000-04:00

This summer has been a great one. I quit a job where I wasn't happy, got engaged to the person I love, visited many of my closest friends, witnessed one's marriage, spent time with family in the most beautiful place on earth (Maine), and enjoyed lots of outdoor time.

Now I'm back in our nations's sweaty armpit and tomorrow I start law school orientation. My palms start to sweat and my skin threatens to revolt in a strike of zits at the thought of it. Last time I participated in an orientation it was for college, seven years ago. I was shaky, but I knew enough to look out for myself, and that meant, among other things, changing roommates and taking lots of time out from the enormous heards that tend to form during orientations.

So here I go again. This time I feel less shaky, firmed up by the month and a half that I've had to spend with family and friends. However, over the summer months I've given way more thought to planning our wedding than to starting law school. And now that it's about to become reality, I'm less worried about making friends, and more worried about making a fool of myself. I looked at my fall classes - the standard civil procedure, torts, criminal law, and legal writing - and realized that I really have very little idea what I'm getting myself into. It's been three years since I was in an academic setting and part of me frets that I've gotten too lazy to do the work. The good news is, I have three days of orientation to psyche myself up for what's to come.

Still Here

2005-08-07T17:58:00.000-04:00

I'm still here - and still loving the beauty and relaxation that I'm soaking up while at home in Maine. Lots of thinking, and tears both of joy and sadness, but I'm not feeling moved to write about any of it just now. I start law school on August 17th, and will be preoccupied with friends and family until then. I hope that you're enjoying summer and will check back in September when I may be feeling more inspired to blog.

And Round and Round We Go

2005-07-27T15:02:00.000-04:00

I've made my way by trian up the northeast corridor and have finally landed in Maine, land of happiness and sea breezes. Along the way I stopped to visit some of the most incredible people, my friends. They are truly an amazing, inspired and inspiring bunch. Among them is a poet, author and song writer, a politician and activist, two PhD candidate, an Emmy-nominated assitant producer, a lobster-woman and artist, a teacher, and a rancher. And this is only what they do professionally!

Visiting each of their homes, whether a studio in Manhattan or a 100 year old cabin in Leverett, Massachusetts, gave me further insight into the lives that they are beginning to contstruct for themselves. It's a thoughtful bunch and the choices they are making now, and the choices they've already made are deliberate. Conversation ranged from discussion about God and religion, science and spirituality, post-modernism, to bridesmaid dresses, politics, world travel, desire to have babies, America's sorry health care system, and so on. Though on average I spent only about 24 hours with each person, I arrived in Maine feeling like I had covered the globe.

None of us are making the same choices, or buy into just the same set of beliefs, but a willingness to drink it all in is a very strong common thread. I'm blessed to have these women in my life; they are the ones who make it so rich.

I'm Off!

2005-07-19T09:28:00.000-04:00

Having an extra week to rest, to get my financial aid in order, to do household things I'd been putting off for months, and to spend what little time S. had together was definitely the right choice. And now I'm on my way up the northeast corridor to visit nearly all of my bestest closest girls. I'm not taking a computer, and expect most time to be filled with lots of filling in talk, so things may be a little quiet around here until next Monday. All aboard!

You Gotta Have Faith

2005-07-17T23:45:00.000-04:00

In second grade my friend A. and I would re-enact the George Michael music video "Faith." Not having cable in the house, I had never seen the video, but A. did a great job directing our production. A.’s family was Catholic, but I remember her confirmation being a great point of contention between her and her parents. She was confirmed, but when she left for college she left the church as well.

My own experiences with organized religion have been much less decisive. The daughter of a Catholic father and a Jewish (though non-practicing) mother, I attended Unitarian Universalist Sunday school for three years or so. The first year of college I set out to explore a variety of religions and attended Catholic mass with my roommate, and Shabbat and Buddhist meditations with practicing friends. Nothing particularly spoke to me, and I remain ambivalent about organized religion, but it was certainly educational.

What I find most compelling about organized religion is the practice of setting aside time in the week to pause and reflect. If I went to church regularly, I’d want to use that time to think about the humbling force that keeps things in perspective and helps me realize how valuable and how short lived my time on earth is – God? Being humbled goes hand in hand with being thankful and grateful, and I do my best to recognize and give voice to these feelings as much as possible, but it wouldn’t hurt to do it on Sunday mornings too.

What turns me off about organized religion is its exclusivity. The claim to hold the truth is so intricately linked to power – power over the believers, and more importantly the non-believers. My urge for spiritual connection lies in opposition to this impulse. That said, the extreme alternative, utter relativism where there are no truths, is equally unappealing.

As S. and I consider what kind of ceremony we’d like to have for our wedding, I’m confronted by my utter religious ignorance I don’t know the right lingo, “is it sect, practice, branch?”, “minister, priest, reverend?” The two churches in my community that I feel a connection with are the UU church I attended as a child, and the Episcopalian church where I went to nursery school. Our close family friends were members of the congregation and on one afternoon Mrs. F. took me into the quiet sanctuary. The feel of the hand stitched needlepoint kneelers under my fingers and the close quiet of the church were impressed on my mind.

But whether an Episcopalian or UU ceremony will speak to the unique brand of spiritualism S. (who grew up attending a Methodist church) and I have developed each in our own way remains to be seen. I’m looking forward to a lot more exploration and religious education as we dive into what matters to both of us.

The Future Looks...Different

2005-07-14T09:56:00.000-04:00

S. began his third year rotations last week. Medical school has been intense for the last three years, but this is a whole new level. He leaves before 7 am, someitmes before 6 am, and gets home between 5:30 and 9 pm. Then it's time to hit the books before going to bed and doing it all over again. And this isn't even residency!

I'm starting to realize that the dynamics of our household are probably going to be very different than the household I grew up in. My dad owned his own business and my mom worked part time in a school and then as a consultant. Someone was always there at my games (if not both), we would go to the beach together in the summer, sometimes my dad would come home for lunch, and it was a rare occassion not to eat dinner together (before 9 pm!).

There aren't any doctors in my family, and the one doctor that I knew growing up was the father of a friend, and he was already well-established in a successful practice. I've never seen second-hand the grueling hours it takes to become a practicioner of medicine, so witnessing it first-hand is a learning exprerience.

Fortunately, long-run I know that S. is committed to a good quality of life, and values his personal relationships and family above all else. But I also recognize that he doesn't have much of a choice in anything for the next 6-7 years. Gasp! Thankfully, I am someone who can enjoy time alone, and I've kept up a strong network of friends. But, as a paste together another peanutbutter and jelly sandwhich for his lunch because it seems like one of the few things I can do to make this a little easier for him, I'm beginning to understand why, in the households I know with doctors, the division of household labor seems unequal -- the domestic tasks fall to the non-doctor partner because the doctor simply has no time. It's a new reality.

Staying Put

2005-07-12T12:44:00.000-04:00

Today, my plans changed. As I've mentioned elsewhere on this site, I get horribly ill when traveling. I have yet to master the art of traveling on an airplane without using the airsickness bag. Nonetheless, I've traveled overseas and across the country many times. As I've gotten older I've managed to overcome the sheer hell that is air-travel by the power of positive thinking (and the use of prescription drugs that help ameliorate the situation by a few degrees) -- it's a finite amount of time that I spend in the air and I'm always rewarded with great experiences and time spent with family and friends once on the ground.

Following my last day of work in June, I had the following itinerary set up: June 24-July 4, Netherlands; July 12-July 18, California (2 days in Berkeley and 2 days at Lake Tahoe); July 20-28, Philadelphia, New York, New Haven, Boston, Amherst, Maine; July 28-31, DC; August 1-14 Maine. The plan was to visit as many loved ones as possible and avoid the thick southern heat.

But after this morning's run, my stomach revolted and my psyche crumbled. I've hardly adjusted back to EST after returning from vacation across the pond, S. is adjusting to a frantic hospital schedule, and my head was spinning at the idea of having a total of five days at home in DC this summer before starting law school in August. I like to challenge myself, but today I learned that I'd made the grave mistake of pushing too far, too much, too little recovery, and underestimating the sadness I felt leaving S. behind for nearly a whole summer. I was overwhelmed and unable to rally. I've never cancelled before, but this time it seemed like the right choice.

One of the worst parts about canceling, aside from knowing that I was missing out on time spent with people I love, was the feeling that I was disappointing my grandfather and dear friend, H. I called them both in tears and worried they would be upset. I should have known better; I should have remembered that these people care for and love me. Both H. and my grandfather were incredibly understanding, and I'm far better off this evening, on the ground instead of in the air. H. and Grandpa, my extreme gratitude for your patience and kindness.

A Few Things I've Learned

2005-07-11T15:12:00.000-04:00

Now that I've officially entered unemployment, I have time to ponder things like: what I learned in nine months as a non-profit grant writer.

1. I prefer that my job require human interaction.
This was the number one take-away from my most recent job. As a five year old, I was shy, but believe it or not, I've changed a bit in twenty years. So although I still think of myself as the shy five year old, on the whole, I like people and by extension meeting them, helping them, brainstorming with them, and generally interacting with them. Now, I still have an inner introvert, or at least a preference for doing many tasks on my own, but it's nice when there is a mix, and when the day isn't limited to me and my computer to get the job done.

2. I like to be busy.
I'll take a busy phone and thousands of pages to photocopy over sitting in a cubicle twiddling my thumbs any day. I despise being bored. It makes me cranky and depressed. I learned that I can generate my own work and pace myself to a degree, but I hated those days when I had checked off everything on my list through Friday and it was only Tuesday.

3. I manage time and multiple tasks well.
I consistently completed all of my grants well ahead of time and had ample time to write grants that had rolling deadlines. The pace didn't feel particularly fast (see #2) and I never felt overwhelmed. Yet I apparently got more work done in less amount of time than any of my predecessors and my boss. As long as I can see what's coming a week down the pike, I'm almost always able to estimate the amount of time I'm going to need and budget other things accordingly. (Note: I'm less successful with this in my personal life ie: running errands and then meeting friends on time)

4. It's helpful to believe in the greater mission of what I'm doing.
When I worked for a large publishing house owned by Rupert Murdoch, I had the books and my belief in reading and writing and the exchange of ideas to sustain me. But I got pretty disheartened realizing just how entirely commercial publishing has become (to the point of excluding lost of excellent and interesting literature because there isn't a convenient way to market it). Working at the non-profit, I had a greater sense of purpose, and I liked this. I saw the patients coming into the clinic and had a sense of satisfaction that the grants I had secured were providing the money that enabled them to get reduced-cost or free care.

5. Being around articulate and verbally-gifted people is a bonus.
Working at a publishing house meant that a lot of my colleagues were very well read and verbally astute. There were lots of puns and allusions to characters and ideas, a strong dose of sarcasm, and general playful banter. Working at the non-profit meant that there were a lot of very earnest people doing great things. Many of them were bilingual, but English was not their first language. It was a great opportunity to learn more about other cultures, and learn a tiny bit of another language, but I really missed the verbal sparing and wittiness of the publishing house.

There is more that I learned, but these are some of the immediate take-aways that came to mind.

Yes, Yes, Yes

2005-07-09T08:42:00.000-04:00

I had jitters in my stomach before we left for dinner. "Odd," I thought to myself, "But how cool is it that I still get butterflies even after dating for nearly five years?" We biked by lush green pastures with big fat dairy cows, the sun at our backs and the Ijssel river to our right. I told him I felt nearly nauseous with happiness. We crunched down the gravel driveway to the old estate and parked our bikes.

During our aperatif he looked nervous, but dismissed my concern. We ate salty herring, drank in the cool vodka and soaked up life. Our table was the best in the house. The open window let the breeze tickle my legs and the buttery sun melted into the room. We looked out over the pond and talked about how far we've come, and how important honesty is to family.

The waiter asked us to follow him to the wine cellar for a palate cleanser. There were two champagne glasses tied together with white ribbon. "Wow, sure looks very matrimonial. But I know this couldn't be related to us because the man I love just isn't quite ready for marriage -- not for a year or two yet."

Before I knew it, though, he guided me to a bench surrounded by candles, then he was down on one knee. Through tears of joy I said yes.

I've never been so happy to have been wrong!

Uitstekend

2005-06-26T16:11:00.000-04:00

I may be a little lazy with the posting over the next 10 days. I'm on vacation, visiting my boyfriend's parents in Holland, testing out my measly Dutch-skills, soaking up the time to relax in a place where the sun doesn't set until 11 o'clock. Tot ziens!

Reminder

2005-06-22T16:13:00.000-04:00

On Sunday, while I was enjoying the sun and daydreaming of the fun week to come (celebrations marking S. taking the Boards, my final day at my current job, packing for a trip to Holland where all manner of spoiling has been promised, an evening out with the best girl friends ever), I noticed a little scratch in the back of my throat. I summed it up to lack of sleep and potential allergens floating around. On Sunday night I didn't sleep very well, but chalked that up to too much time in the sun doing nothing. On Monday, the tickle had turned into a sore throat. On Monday night I figured if I got to bed early, it would go away. I popped extra vitamin C and tried to drift off. Only a noose seemed to be closing with every swallow. My tongue felt thick and I didn't get a wink of sleep. I stayed home yesterday, sleeping, eating toast with honey, and drinking lots of tea. When my boyfriend returned triumphantly after having finished the big test, his first words were, "Boy you're really not feeling well. Have you moved at all today?". I mustered a high-five, a shower, and accompanied him to a post-test celebratory dinner, but I quit the evening at 9 pm in favor of sleep. I've cancelled my date with the girls, and have nixed any ideas about celebrating liberation from my 9-5'er for the moment, all for the sake of warding off this thing before my ears are subjected to pressurized cabins for eight hours.

I take this as another good reminder that even the best laid plans can and will be upset by things beyond my control. (Though before the next string of highly anticipated fun, I may invest in and use copious amounts of some anti-bacterial hand gel).

Splash...Another Post on Southern Living

2005-06-18T20:19:00.000-04:00

Last week I experienced HOT. Not as in Paris Hilton hot, but as in I can't move an inch without sweat seeping out of every orifice on my body. However, because of the noticeably higher temperatures experienced here in the south, buildings with pools are more plentiful. Here, you don't have to be extraordinary to have an apartment with access to a roof top pool, ie: our new place is equipped with this amenity. And what an amenity it is!

Today, for the first time, I exploited the roof top in all of its sunny glory. Granted, the pool is only slightly larger than the turtle-decorated one I splashed about in when I was three, but none the less, it was splendid. I read, I people watched, I glimpsed other roof top enclaves, I sipped iced tea, and I cooled off in the pool.

I had nowhere to be. Nothing I _had_ to do. No one I should have been calling or caring for. I can't imagine that life will ever be this simple again, and I'm soaking it up with the rays while I can.

Mushy

2005-06-18T09:21:00.000-04:00

So I re-read my last post, perhaps a mistake. What was I thinking being so smug and confident that a life of domestic bliss awaits? It's all very interesting how things become intertwined, snaked together so that sometimes heads and tails are confused. What I should have said in my previous post, what I want to say, is that I feel infinitely lucky to have found someone that I want to spend my life with. I'm happy and myself when I'm around him. He compliments the worst parts of me with goodness, and makes me laugh. A lot. I love him.

Nesting

2005-06-12T20:00:00.000-04:00

It's been a weekend of nesting. Friday night it was unpacking a few of the lingering boxes in the new apartment. Saturday I was off to a garage sale in Maryland sponsored by my aunt and uncle. Present were two cousins who are getting married within the next 12 months. Then onto homewares outlets in Virginia, ending up at the townhouse my cousin and her fiance are currently furnishing. Sunday I was out in the Maryland 'burbs again, this time to make invitations to the bachelorette weekend I'm hosting for my friend getting married in August.

Spending time with all of these young couples, throwing around lots of wedding and life planning talk, my weekend was full of enthusiasm and optimism. People choosing to take on life and dry wall together. Perhaps the best part about it, or what allowed me to enjoy it so much, is knowing that this is in my future. Not this year, not next year, but at some point. And this weekend, there was no need to rush.

Wrong

2005-06-08T23:20:00.000-04:00

Coming home this evening around 10 pm, I stepped into the elevator behind a woman wearing the distinct X of a baby snuggly across her back. "Aw, I thought to myself, she's got a newborn all snuggled up in there. Must be a boy, she's got a blue blanket dangling from one side."

You probably know where this is going...

She turned to face me in the elevator. No baby. A dog. I've seen this before, the dog in the front-packs made to carry human offspring. But then I witnessed something particularly strange.

The woman was licking what appeared to be a milk chocolate Dove Bar.

You probably know where this is going...

As she blathered about the rotten smell in the elevator, she lowered the bar from her mouth, right to the level of the dog's mouth. Before I could say anything the dog's little pink tongue began licking the bar. When she noticed that her mini-poodle was lapping at her ice cream she, without taking the bar away, said, "No, no baby, just the ice cream, not the chocolate." Continuing to talk to me, she raised the ice cream to her mouth once again and took some licks herself.

It was like watching some sort of sick porn - the really awful ones where food and animals are involved. At which point I was unable to carry on any more elevator banter, so mesmirized I was by this woman's utterly twisted relationship with her pet.

2005-06-07T16:07:00.000-04:00

So here’s the thing. While I’ve been posting about test drives, and nostalgia, I’ve also been fretting about getting admitted to law school, and about making the decision to go to law school as well. I’ve been admitted to all the mid-level schools I applied to (Boston College, Boston University, George Mason, American, and George Washington) and, no surprise, I’ve been rejected from the ivies I applied to (U Penn and Harvard). But I’m still waiting to hear from Georgetown. It’s not even a top-ten, and I’m on their “preferred wait list”. (That’s really the name of the wait list, which is completely ridiculous, though admissions assures me that the “preferred” prefix actually has merit and it’s not just another admissions ploy in an effort to lessen the ego bruise of rejection). I applied to a limited selection of schools based on a number of factors, including that I want to live in the same city as my boyfriend (two years of long-distance is plenty) until he finishes medical school. The good news is, I’ve gotten into plenty of DC schools that will allow me to do that. The bad news is, I’m not in at the top school this city has to offer. And that bothers me, and it’s bothering me more and more everyday that I wait for a final answer. It’s no fun. I was supposed to have an answer in May, but in May they told me I could expect one in June. Well, it’s June and I’m still waiting, which means I’m basically bent at the waist, twiddling my thumbs, passing the time until they stick it to me: the final rejection.

All the blood rushing to my head while I continue to wait only adds to my discomfort. Scheherazade has been writing recently about shame. I'm feeling a good dose of it right now. That gap between what I think my potential is, and what I’ve not achieved. I’ve done my best to resist this since the fall when I started applying. I didn’t put 100% into the application process, I put in what I felt was commensurate with how committed I was/am to going to law school, probably about 95%. So I knew I couldn't expect 100% acceptances. But still, knowing that I could excel at anyone of these schools, but also realizing that you’ll have to take my word for it because I’m not going to have the chance to prove it is difficult.

The ridiculous part about all of this, of course, is that I’ve let myself get caught up in the wrong things. Georgetown does have the superior clinical program, which is one of the things I’m most looking forward to participating in wherever I go, but I’ve also heard that professors aren’t very accessible. My alternative school, GW, seems to be a dynamic place with a lot to offer. Most importantly, I’ve heard from current students that the professors are great teachers. But dammit, rejection stinks – even when its rejection from something you’re not entirely sure that you want to be a part of (read: a school that has a reputation for being snotty and completely absorbed with prestige --- though judging from this post, I’d probably fit right in, ugh).

Embellishment

2005-06-03T11:50:00.000-04:00

Last night I went on what I hope will be a final test-drive. My boyfriend needs a car this summer, when he'll start making rounds at area hospitals, so we've been renting Zip Cars (which are great btw) and getting a sense of what the dealerships have to offer.

Since he's now studying for the most heinous test in the world (otherwise known as the Step 1 Boards), I went to scout one final car last night.

We've come a long way from our first experience, where we jumped in the car and exchanged Bonnie and Clyde smirks, thinking about diving into the sunset…before the salesman hopped in the back.

As the salseman clambered into the passanger seat last night, he breezily asked me if I was married - since single girls must never show up and buy cars on their own. I said I had a boyfriend. Then, in his thick Cayman Island accent, he asked me if I was from Europe. I said I was from Maine, but that my boyfriend spends a lot of time in Holland.

When we got back from our test drive loop, I thanked him and pre-empted any need to sit down and discuss deals (as we've found, I seem to have a knack for being curt and getting us out of there before they pull out their slick salesman stunts), by saying that I loved the car but that my boyfriend would have to come drive it, since it would be, after all, his car.

Before releasing me, the salesman wanted to introduce me to his boss. I stood in front of the two men while the salesman filled the boss in: "So she wants the car, but her fiancé needs to see it. He's flying in from Holland tonight." Turning to me with a wink, "Since they haven't seen each other for a long time, we know that they probably have better things to do tonight than look at this car. Heh heh heh. But, in case you want to come by, we'll be here until 9 pm."

Fiance. Lives in Holland. Wants to buy car. We'll be back before 9 pm. Keep on dreaming.

Oh Baby

2005-06-02T10:14:00.000-04:00

I was pregnant, 20 weeks along and starting to show. Sometimes I remembered it (especially when I did things like try to bend over), and sometimes I forgot. But when I went to the doctor (by myself) and saw the heart beat on the sonogram, I knew it was for real. The doctor told me it was a boy – and I was really excited about that.

And then I started to Freak Out.

I had forgotten that I was going to law school: how was I going to have this kid and keep up with the reading?

For those of you who didn’t know, the dream Oscars were held this morning, and this dream won “best picture” for its ability to capture and neatly sum up my deeply imbedded anxiety. (It was generous to give me a normal baby, though, since I have been drinking all of that lead water).

Afraid of the Water

2005-05-31T15:05:00.000-04:00

I grew up swimming in the frigid Atlantic, and in lakes, and at the school pool, but recently I’ve developed a fear of water. I moved to DC in the fall of 2004. This city is notorious for its lead pipes. The public works department is slowly going about the business of replacing those pipes (did I mention that this is going very slooooowly?). Even so, they’re only responsible for the pipe that runs up to the building, after that, it’s up to the management company, or the condo association, or the private home owner to replace the remaining piping.

I drink about 5 Liters of water a day. (I also go to the bathroom a lot during the day – did I mention that I’m often bored at work?) I used to pooh pooh water snobs – what’s wrong with the tap?, but since moving south I’ve signed up for spring water delivery. I’d rather shell out the bucks now than be told later by an OB/GYN that I have ridiculously high levels of lead in my blood and that my unborn child will suffer. Because of the apartment move, there has been some lag time between deliveries.

Last night I polished off the last drops of my current supply with dinner. Then, I had some salty licorice, smart, so smart. My thirst mounted. I sipped one of the Vitamin waters my boyfriend loves – too sweet. I really just wanted water, plain old water. Down came the Brita that I’d put away (not powerful enough to prevent images of my stunted, brain-damaged babe --- or to actually reduce lead levels according to the EPA), I dusted it off and filled it. It’s a little ridiculous, I know. I haven’t been this afraid of water since I was in Africa, but if these posts start to sound even less intelligent, you’ll know why.

Sunday Morning

2005-05-30T21:42:00.000-04:00

Teeth and hair unbrushed. Stomach growling. Yesterday's pants thrown on, and into the chilly car with Dad. Sand left on the street from the winter crunching under the tires as we pull out, on our way to Town Landing.

Under the painted store front signs that advertise native ice cubes, fresh lobster, nad bagged ice, the car pulls to a stop. I skip up onto the big telephone pole logs they use as parking bumpers and onto the store's front stoop.

Inside, it smells of bacon. The golf green carpet is thin worn by boat shoes, flip flops, and Bean boots. We answer the warm greeting, then go about our business.

Dad to the papers - Barons's, Times, Press Herald. Me to the bakery case. Reach high to get a piece of wax paper, then slip behind the case. The wood doors, divided into three panels, slide open to the right. I inhale the sweetness, and maybe a little powdered sugar goes up my nose. Oh what to choose? Donuts of course. But which ones? A glazed, a cinamon-sugar with little cross-hatch marks from the cooling rack, and a chocolate covered in coconut. Maybe a jelly-filled, powdered -sugar-covered one too, just for good measure. Dad doesn't usually say no when it come to donuts.

The ching of the register, and we're back at the house. Eggs Bruce coming up (poached egg, ham, tomato, cheese on English muffin). I set the table -- I'm really hungry now. The kitchen smells so warm. We sit, the newspaper is shuffled through, comics passed to me. Mom takes the front page, Dad dives into the editorials. Munch, munch, munch.

Uh Oh

2005-05-30T21:15:00.000-04:00

Overheard in the airport:

"So that means my bags are headed where?"

"But we didn't hear the final boarding call!"

"You have nothing for tomorrow? What about other airports, nothing?"

"I've been here for 6 hours already."

And my very own words: "Uh, I read my reservation incorrectly."

Yeah, that would be me, missing my flight this afternoon. But missing my flight meant that I got to catch up briefly with my dear friend's fiance, return some calls, do some great people watching, and read. Best of all, on my later flight back to DC, I had an amazing seat mate: a woman who has survived cancer, runs marathons, is writing a book, and has traveled the world. In just an hour of conversation, she inspired me. From the two seat mates I had on the trip north and south, I heard about a love affair that began in Algeria, what East Germany was like before the fall of the wall, the difference between San Antonio and Houston, and what underwriting is.

Date?

2005-05-23T20:47:00.000-04:00

After I moved, I got an email from one of my former neighbors. I'd run into him a few times before, but we'd never had much conversation. I was much friendlier with the couple who lived down the hall who were always running over for some borrowed milk or flour, and who never seemed to have their clothes on when I came by for a return egg or stick of butter.

In any case, this neighbor mentioned in his email that he hadn't been sure of how to get a hold of me, since he didn't actually know which apartment was mine. Of course, I knew that he could look down from his apartment directly into mine, which was why I usually shut the shutter on that particular window, but maybe I needn't have worried. Or perhaps it was because of my awareness that he remained in the dark, as it were.

His email was friendly, and in it he invited me to get a cup of coffee. He emphasized that there was "no pressure" to accept.

Now, is this a romantic overture? I sometimes wonder if my sensor for these kinds of things is a little off. Having been somewhat shy in high school, and having then gone to an all women's college, I think I may have missed learning about how to be "just friends" with men. I have developed some male friendships in my post-grad life, through work and such. But I remain skeptical.

In my reply, I didn't want to presume anything. Furthermore, what's wrong with being friendly? I'm trying to do a good job about saying "yes" to things, instead of saying "no" – it usually makes life more fun. So I mentioned that I had just moved in with my boyfriend, but that I'd be happy to meet up sometime.

So now, here we are, with a plan to get a beverage tomorrow after work. The thing is, I'm not looking forward to it much. I'm afraid that it feels sort of pointless. Despite being a shy child, I think I've turned into somewhat of an extrovert, and I like hearing people's stories, but I usually like to have some additional context before I start investing time in hanging out with them. Nonetheless, trying to make conversation for at least an hour without some romantic interest or other motivation to nudge me along seems a bit daunting at the moment.

On the other hand, I met someone who I really enjoy spending time with over the internet just this fall, after only a brief email exchange, so perhaps tomorrow's meeting will pleasantly surprise. The "When Harry Met Sally" question remains: can men and women really just be friends?

L'Art

2005-05-22T20:36:00.000-04:00

I've had visitors staying with me since Wednesday night, but at the moment everyone has set off on their own paths for the evening, leaving me with time to do laundry, make lunch for tomorrow, and write a quick post.

My visitors, energetic as they are, have encouraged me to take advantage of this city. I've been to the National Gallery of Art three times in the last four days -- seen the Toulouse Lautrec exhibit, the East Wing, and the West Wing. I highly recommned the Lautrec, though I think its misnamed. The show ought to be titled simply "Montmartre: A Moment in Time" or something to that affect, since it's much more about the spirit of the place and its inhabitants than about Lautrec's work itself. If you're going to the East Wing, I suggest that you take a few minutes with the Sargent's and the Whistlers, and the little anteroom that holds a few gems by Joseph Decker.

Looking at all of this artwork, in different mediums, by various artists, and created in a range of time periods, makes me want to take out my crayons, markers, watercolors, oils, and pencils. As a little kid, I could get lost doing art projects. My joy in creating was reinforced along the way. I remember how proud I was in nursrey school when Mrs. Findly said that I was the "class artist". And when we studied Rousseau in fourth grade, Ms. Cavalier gave me the artist of the month award for my rendering of animals in a forest scene. During my elementary school summers, I attended art camp until I was too old. Later, in high school, I got to dabble in jewlery-making, and oil painting lessons after school.

There aren't many things I can get lost in. Art was one of them, horseback riding was another. I don't do either of these activities any more. But this summer, I'm going to be unemployed as of June 24. Since drawing and painting are both less expensive and more accessbile than finding ridable horses in the city, I promise myself that I'll do a few art projects before the summer's over.

Click

2005-05-17T15:42:00.000-04:00

Today is all about clicking the refresh button on my Hotmail account. It’s possible that I will enter the Guinness Book as the person who developed carpel tunnel in just one day as the result of so much clicking. I’m waiting for some news that’s supposed to come by email, but at this point my wrist and I both wish it was just coming in snail fashion. Gotta go check the inbox again!

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzz

2005-05-16T22:48:00.000-04:00

My boyfriend loves me, I'm sure of it. He asked me to cut his hair this week. For the record, I have never cut anyone's hair (though at one point I did aspire to be a hairdresser). In preparation for my new job, I faithfully watched the "Wahl Home Haircutting Video". Who knew there were separate right and left ear clippers? Or a cut called "The Bald Look"? I learned a lot from Shanti and Lori, the expert clippests.

I don't know what was funnier, listening to the elevator jazz music with space age twighlight zone interludes, or watching the subjects' faces as they tried to decide whether to smile, wince, or pretend they were manaquins with eyes set straight ahead at all times.

The big take-away of the night was the "upward rocking motion" - apparently the key to blending sections so that your subject doesn't end up with the just-mowed-lawn affect. I think I'll be using the inverted clipper technique most often - to trim sideburns and neckline.

S. may I suggest you invest in a do-rag as your preparation for this haircut?

Aesthetics

2005-05-16T14:47:00.000-04:00

Recently, my boyfriend’s mother came to town and spent an evening at our new place. She arrived just two days after the move, so things were in a state of disarray (to say the least). Being the very generous person she is, she asked us what we needed for the place. We demurred, but she prodded for more information, “What’s your style?” she said, eyeing the blank white walls, the piece-meal furniture, the futon, and the bed mattress on the floor of the bedroom. Um, my interior decorating style…well, I suppose whatever is given to us (dining table, rug, bureaus, desk, chair), snagged off the sidewalk (coffee table), or under $70 (bookshelves). I couldn’t come up with an answer for her. But maybe that’s just because I’m still a little intimidated by a woman who has an incredible sense of style, and who is, after all, the mother of the man I love. So in the days since her visit, I have been thinking about my “style.” I do have a distinct aesthetic taste – or at least it’s not only what Pottery Barn and Crate & Barrel feed me.

I had a chance to further explore my aesthetic taste, and affirm the saying “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure” at The Org’s annual art show fundraiser. I bought a watercolor, and am going to also purchase a collage-like piece in bright yellows and reds. However, the piece now sitting on my desk, waiting to be retrieved by the artist, falls into my “trash” category. It is stone sculpture of a parrot (made out of glued pieces of blue sodalite, green serpentine, and onyx), perched on a piece of quartz, and around its feet are lots of smaller parrots in various poses. I hate it. But I’m glad that the other day, when a co-worker passed by and gasped, I didn’t reveal my dislike. After pausing to take in the full affect of the statue, this woman launched into a 10-minute monologue about how beautiful the statue was. (Oh, it has these heinous gold talons, by the way). I just bit my tongue and nodded as she professed her love for the parrots. So if you’re gonna buy me a housewarming, definitely stay away from the multi-colored stone statues with gold accents.

Parrots aside, for a girl who still can’t quite identify just what her style is, I’m very picky about how I decorate my space. As I’ve mentioned before, I dislike clutter. Clean lines are good, wood is good – especially cherry, and not so much ash or oak; metal and glass are two other materials I’m a fan of, but used in moderation; antiques are good if they’re usable, but fake antiques (ie: sandpapering off some paint to make something look old) not so good; big bookshelves filled with favorite reads (and a few aspirational reads) are a must; hand-me-down oriental rugs in reds and blues are marvelous (but hard to come by, of course), and in their stead sisal rugs, or bright block rugs are good; items from various journeys (your own or your friends’) are great as accents to rooms; original art (either by yourself, friends, family members, or local “unknown” - read affordable - artists) is awesome; in general, I stay away from frills, florals, and pastels in favor of crisp primaries, warm yellows and whites; if it’s going to be cheaply made, let it be simple; and for God’s sake, keep the chatzke’s to a minimum. And that, my friends, is the short list of the driving principles of my interior decorating style.

Hairgasm

2005-05-13T10:44:00.000-04:00

I’m both cheap and loyal when it comes to lots of things, and particularly hair cuts. Well, not so cheap, my boyfriend and father would both argue that one shouldn’t have to pay more than $8 for a cut, and the place I usually go costs more like $45. Despite living in Boston and New York over the past seven years, both cities with plenty of capable stylists, the majority of my haircuts have happened in booming metropolis and mecca of style that is Portland, Maine. There is a woman at Akari who does a great job every time, and she has just the right haircutter demeanor, chatty, but allows plenty of silent moments for relaxation.

However, it’s been too long since my last cut (only because it’s been too long since I’ve been home). So I bit the bullet and found a new stylist in this fair city, where the wonky helmet head continues to populate the streets with surprising frequency. The results of yesterday’s appointment are not particularly noteworthy, but I’ll be going back…for the head massage.

At first, the stylist spent so much time brushing out my tangled mess, fluffing it, then brushing it again, that I thought he was going to start cutting it without a wash (horrors)! It was to my great relief when he led me to the head sinks in the back of the salon. And there the magic happened. The temperature was just right, the pressure of the water just strong enough, and as the hairdresser applied the shampoo, working it into a lather around the edges of my face and underneath my skull, I got tingles down my spine. Herbal Essences may not do it for me, but this hairdresser sure new how to tickle the tendrils. If only it felt that every morning. Sigh.

Double Irony

2005-05-11T11:30:00.000-04:00

The computer gods are really messing with me today. As soon as I post about the apparent deletion of all posts, they magically reappear. Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining, just a little perplexed.

Irony

2005-05-11T09:43:00.000-04:00

Oh the irony! I had just posted a brief comment about the thrill of having a very successful, glitch-free Internet installation at the new place. Moments later, not only that post, but my entire blog, was erased. I have no idea why, but if you have any thoughts on how I might recover it, I would be grateful. ARGH! This is why a pen and paper still beat technology.

Technical Success

2005-05-10T21:20:00.000-04:00

Verizon had scheduled my internet hook up for May 12. Unbelievably, I was notified that the line was DSL ready today! Even more unbelievable, because I kept my phone number through the move, all I had to do was plug in the modem, and I was good to go. Seeing that New York Times homepage pop up without having to call the support line once gave me quite a thrill.

To give you some context for my overwhelming feeling of victory, let me explain that I'm used to endless technical frustration. While home this winter my parents and I, working as a true techy squad, managed to change the new DVD player to play DVD's only in French AND in black and white.

Mythical Cities: Part I

2005-05-06T17:09:00.000-04:00

Earlier this year, if you had asked me how I was liking Washington DC, I would have put on my best fake smile and said, “Well, it’s certainly not New York or Boston.” Meaning, this city is by far my least favorite on the Delta Shuttle flight path. Meaning, I hate that every time I get in a cab I feel like I’m getting ripped off because fares are dictated by amorphous things called “zones” and the colorful map stuck to the back of the passenger seat has no street labels, so I’m completely powerless to tell how many zones I’ve passed through by the end of the trip. Meaning, I hate the car culture of the city and how unfriendly it is to pedestrians (so unfriendly that I got hit by a car in the second month of living here). Meaning, I dislike the transitory nature of the place. Meaning, I think John F. Kennedy was right when he said DC had all the charm of a northern city and all the efficiency of a southern one. Meaning, I had scribbled a whole two page hate list in my journal and a particularly dark day.

I’ve been here eight months now and I’m coming around. Of course, it helps that spring in DC is beautiful – tulips, azaleas, pansies, violets, daffodils, lilacs, bright grass, and of course, the cherry blossoms. But aside from the greenery, there’s the quietness of the place, and the monuments. Since I’ve moved closer to the Mall, my morning runs take me by this, and this. For the past two mornings I’ve passed by this, and if I’m going to keep running along these paths, I better learn how to run even when verklempt, or learn how to stop getting teary when I see these tributes to people and events that have shaped our nation. I’m enjoying being reminded of the history of the United States everyday.

It’s pretty neat, and pretty powerful to stand on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, thinking about the Civil War, the Civil Rights Movement, and look down past the reflecting pool, past the Washington Monument, to the Capitol (just as thousands and thousands of other people have done). I take comfort in these immediate, bricks and mortar reminders that this country has weathered some very tumultuous times, and survived with its democracy in tact. The US is still a great place to live, one that’s full of incredible opportunities and freedoms that don’t exist elsewhere. It’s a fortifying to remember, especially when I read material like this.

Program Interruption

2005-05-05T09:59:00.000-04:00

Hello! Life's been a little topsy turvy, there's lots going on (job quitting, apartment moving, law school choices pending, family visiting, half marathon finishing) but Verizon still hasn't installed DSL in my new apartment. Until they do, things may be a little quiet around these parts.

Smells like Corrugated Cardboard

2005-04-28T19:39:00.000-04:00

It's so appropriate, Nights in White Satin just came on the radio. This was a personal theme song during the summer of the first move I really remember. I was switching bedrooms in our house. The flowery wall paper of my younger days was coming down, and I'd chosen a bright yellow paint to dress the room in its place. Things were disheveled, but the little silver radio was set to Oldies 100.9 and life was good.

Moving is officially up there on the list of "most stressful events in a person's life". Certainly, my mind has been working overtime figuring out the logistics of u-haul trucks, scheduled apartment building moving times, boxspring deliveries and the like. My patience has been wearing a little thinner.

But there is something oddly comforting about having everything I own neatly packed into boxes. My belongings are just few enough to make moving manageable, and there is satisfaction in this. I can fold myself up and move with relative ease (provided I have some seriously amazing friends who are willing to exchange sweat for beer. THANK YOU). It's a sense of self-sufficiency. I am master of my domain. My belongings do not own me, yet. Nights in White Satin is playing on the radio and life is good.

Yipi Yi Yuppie

2005-04-23T18:28:00.000-04:00

Last night at dinner with my cousin and her boyfriend (yes, I went on a double date with my cousin, voluntarily - I like my family that much), I brought up the term "yuppie." To avoid actually packing the things I own in preparation for the move to the new apartment next weekend, I've been paging through Crate & Barrel and Pottery Barn catalogs, so the word's been on my mind. What does it really mean?

I think of the term as a derogatory one – a condemnation of selling out to "the man", becoming part of the mainstream, gentrifying neighborhoods, buying all of your clothes at the Gap, and leading a monochromatic life in general.

On the other hand, my cousin and her boyfriend had a much less negative relationship with what they understood as a benign acronym, Young Urban Professionals. A convenient term used to describe up and coming young people. Before last night, I hadn't even known the word was an acronym, which is telling in and of itself.

When I see discussions like this, where people are adamant about making sure everyone knows that they are NOT yuppies, I'm curious, and confused too. Curious because I fit the definition of a yuppie very squarely: I've worked at a publishing house owned by The Man, Rupert Murdoch, I live in an area that has been gentrified, I'm going to begin coursework for a professional degree this fall, I shop at the Gap, and so it goes. Should I feel the need to defend these things? Is it wrong that I wear khakis? Is it wrong to want to live in a safe area? Do these things make me a boring person, confined to blindly follow the other sheep? I don't think so.

And yet, to identify myself as a yuppie is to announce myself as a pariah among the majority of my friends who are so defiantly NOT yuppies. What are we all so afraid of? Aren't there some pretty good parts to being a yuppie? Yeah, yeah, we could get into the discussion of how labels are always limiting, yada yada yada. But we all use them, so please help me understand the underlying assumptions implied when you call someone a yuppie, or leap to make sure everyone knows you are NOT a yuppie. Is it that we're most afraid of being classed as boring? Sure rebels have accomplished great things, but is there something inherently heroic about going against the mainstream? Does anyone out there positively identify themselves as a yuppie?

P.S. For the record, I do not like Hummers. And in principle I do not like jet skis -but I'll be honest, I have had some serious fun riding on and water skiing behind other people's jet skis.

I Win!

2005-04-23T18:00:00.000-04:00

I went for a run and got back just before the afternoon thunderstorm rolled in, unleashing its torrents. Nothing makes me feel more smug than beating the rain.

The New Pope

2005-04-19T20:16:00.000-04:00

I've said before, I'm not a religious person. My Dad had a Catholic upbringing and my mom's family is Jewish and escaped Nazi Germany. As a family we attended a Unitarian Universalist church for a short while, where I learned about Native American spiritual traditions and the story of the Golden Lamb (I only remember that story because I crafted a particularly nice golden beeswax lamb as part of my report to the Sunday school class). In college I took an interest in exploring other religions and attended some Shabbat services to get in touch with my Jewish heritage, then some Buddhist meditations, and even some Catholic masses with my first year roommate who was pretty devout.

On Sundays I often mock myself as I jog past people dressed in their church best, on their way to services while I'm headed on my long Sunday run. Temple of God, temple of the body (or something like that).

So maybe it was fitting that I was on an elliptical machine when I learned that the cardinals have elected a new pope. There I was, arms flailing, legs ellipsing with images of people running to receive the news at St. Peter's Square on the little screen in front of me. Watching those images, I started tearing up. There's a lot about organized religion I just don't get, but I was moved as I watched all of those people, many of whom have been patiently, piously awaiting the news, converging together in excited anticipation. In addition, I think there's something very powerful about knowing that you're living through a moment in history (whether it be the fall of the Berlin Wall, the election of a new pope, or the beginning of a war). It's humbling in the way it contextualizes my relatively very insignificant time on earth.

So there I was, getting misty on the elliptical. But then the broadcaster began talking about Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, now Benedict XVI, as a staunch traditionalist, otherwise known as the "enforcer". How quickly my tears vanished as I learned of his position on key issues: anti-women in the clergy, anti-gay, anti-contraceptives, anti-choice. Ugh. And back to the elliptical for me it was.

Quitting

2005-04-17T19:49:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow I'm going to give my notice at work. I hate doing this. The last time I gave notice at a job my lungs tightened to the point that I sounded like a barking penguin telling my boss that I was through.

It's not that I'm indispensable, or that my employer is in such a crunch that my departure will screw them over, it's just that I don't like quitting, or letting people down, and since I know that they want employees to stay for two years, I feel like I'm failing them (9 mos is well short of even one year!).

I'm giving a ridiculous amount of notice, so that they'll have ample time to find someone. Nonetheless, I'm nervous about how it's going to go over. Good thoughts sent my way on Monday morning would be most appreciated.

Growing Up

2005-04-14T17:30:00.000-04:00

I have a distinct memory of driving in the car with my mother one afternoon, I must have been a high school Junior, and she said to me "I think that you'd be fine on your own." She meant it as an affirmation of how independent I'd become, something many teens probably would have rejoiced at hearing. But it scared the bejesus out of me. Me? On my own? I'm not ready, hell no!

I was that little girl who called her parents at midnight and sobbed that they come pick her up from the sleep over. I was the one whose grandparents became exasperated because I was so overcome with homesickness that I wouldn't have fun with them. I was the one who had such anxiety about the dance at the end of a junior high retreat that I barely ate anything the whole week. I was the one who still wanted an Easter egg hunt when I was twelve. I was the one who wore the tightest sports bra possible to deny the new bumps on my chest.

I've made it from there to here - living away from home for going on eight years, and out of the school nursery for three of those. I take care of my own finances (mostly), health and healthcare, maintain personal relationships, and generally "keep my shit together". But am I grown up? A few weekends ago, my boyfriend and I test drove a car, this weekend we're going to test drive a few more. Now that feels grown up; it also feels pretend. I laugh at us, showing up at the dealership --- aren't they wondering if we're old enough to have licenses? One of my best friends is getting married this summer, and friends are getting engaged left and right. When I go to these weddings I feel like I'm playing dress-up (really good happy dress-up).

For better or for worse, marriage is one of the few rites of passage celebrated in American society. It announces a couple's love for each other, but it also marks the movement of one cycle to the next; you step outside your nuclear family to begin making a family of your own (with whatever partner you choose). Maybe I've just been brainwashed by the image of the father "giving" his daughter to the groom (I'm not going to step into the crossfire of the socio-political debate that could be inserted here), but I do believe that when you marry, there's transference from parent(s) being the primary support to spouses serving as primary support to each other. You and your spouse become a new unit. Along with that goes a certain independence and autonomy and responsibility that's thrilling, but also perhaps a bit daunting.

I really wanted to go to those sleepovers. I thought I was ready to spend the whole night in my My Little Pony sleeping bag on someone's shag carpet (and so did my parents). I loved spending time with my friends, and yet, I just wasn't comfortable with it. Some people just take a little longer than others to move through certain stages of life. It's not that we don't want to grow up, it's just that we don't want to grow up too fast.

2BR

2005-04-11T21:49:00.000-04:00

I'm facing an imminent move from my lovely 1BR to move in with my boyfriend (yes, it's terribly scandalous). We're decidedly committed to one another, we've been together for sometime, and the values and moral code I was raised with and continue to follow don't condemn pre-marital co-habitation. And yet, when I tell people that I'm moving in with my boyfriend, I blush. There's a part of me that is embarassed/uncomfortable with the conclusions and assumptions people may be making. Most of the people I know are very supportive of the whole endeavor, but there are always those tales of caution from people whose relationships soured once the couple became roommates. The words of my parents, who rarely give explicit advice, echo loudly: Whatever you do, however often you and your significant other spend time at one another's homes, you should always keep a place of your own - even if it's just a room. It's worth having a place to call your own in case something goes wrong. They have their own reasons for giving this advice - very relevant situtations they found themselves in when they were my age. Yet, they're cheerleaders of this move. I guess it has to do with the level of commitment between S. and I. Things are good between us, we've made the decision to move in together very thoughfully and deliberatly, with lots of talking about what this means to both of us. I guess that the blushing part of me is the part that wants people to know this -- for whatever reason (where the hell did I get this Puritanical monkey on my back anyway?)

Well, in any case, I've now begun the apartment search in earnest. Today brings the total to 16 apartments. 1 application accepted, 1 application pending. 2 more units to see tomorrow. Thankfully, I kind of like the task (as long as it has a happy ending in the next week or so). It's a whole new way of getting to know the city. Peeling back the curtain on what lies behind all those brick and concrete facades. Unfortunately, I've seen a few too many attempts at turning a basement into a "light filled English garden apartment". People, if you've got a basement, use it for storage, or put a pool table and ping pong table down there. Hell, throw ragers there every Saturday night and let the floor turn sticky. But don't try luring people to rent the dark pit by wasting your money on subzero fridges, granite countertops and crown molding. We see through your ruse.

Meme

2005-04-06T16:30:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago I was meme'd I've been looking forward to responding, but for some reason haven't gotten around to it until now:

You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?
Ive never read Fahrenheit 451, though it's on my list, so this is an uniformed answer. Let me further qualify my response by saying that I take this question to ask what book would you want to be so that you would not get burned? My answer is the Bible. I figure there are enough copies of the Bible, and enough people who have a very fierce desire to protect the words in this book, and therefore the book itself, that I might have a chance of surviving wedged under someone's floorboards or something.

Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Ive never been much for fictional or superstar crushes. I prefer the non-fiction variety. But I suppose that along with my infatuation with all things Anne of Green Gables (and her dark-haired friend Diana, who I liked to think of as my Canadian alter-ego), I had a little crush on Gilbert Blythe too.

The last book you bought is?
My most recent book purchase was Blink, by Malcom Gladwell. For an accurate and articulate synopsis, see Sherry LINK. I continue to experience sticker shock every time I purchase a book. To purchase Blink I did what was unthinkable when I was working in publishing, I bought it off a street dealer on Broadway in NYC. (Horrors! I know!)I still don't understand how they get those books for so cheap, I assume it has to do with corruption at the warehouses, and corrupt people like me who really like to save a buck.

The last book you read:
I just finished Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. It was excellent. Other recent reads include: The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurst (incredible), Housekeeping by Marilynn Robinson, and Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem.

What are you currently reading?
Aside from reading my grandfather's manuscript, which provides an interesting peek into his life and a world of incredibly talented statisticians, I'm in between books. Your suggestions would be most appreciated.

What are the five books you would take to a deserted island?

Since Ms. Feaverish took the liberty of including complete collections in her list, I'm going to assume the same generous parameters. My choices are:

Encyclopedia Britannica, the complete collection

Baby Island by Carol Ryrie Brink because this was one of my favorite books growing up. It completely romanticizes being stranded on an island, and I like the irony of having it with me when I'm actually stranded.

The King James Bible. Though this is the second mention this book gets in this post, I've actually never read the whole thing. I have read bits and pieces for various humanities classes, and being stranded on an island should give me some time. I would love to get to know this book that so much of Western culture references in one way or another. Besides, I figure I might be looking for a little comfort when I'm all by my lonesome, and goodness knows plenty of people have taken comfort from this book.

Portrait of a Lady by Henry James. This is my friend E's favorite book. I started reading it the summer after my sophomore year in college, but the bookmark is still tucked in the middle. I enjoyed James's aesthetic sense, and if I got too fed up with the absurdity of all those social constructions I could use the thick tomb for my own little fire.

Ulysses by James Joyce. Because you can read it over and over and get something different out of it every time.

Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons)? And Why?

I'd like to pass this along to
This Kentucky Girl, because "everybody's doing it"

May Shrink or Fade, because the author is a fellow Mainer

Meme Park, because though he's probably not one for these chain-letter-type postings, he's really well read, and besides, his blog's title refers to the concept referenced in this gimmick.