Have I mentioned here yet how I not so secretly want to go to culinary school for pastry arts and then own a bakery/coffee shop/book store and make yummy treats, drink coffee and read books all day? Well I do. I'd like to own a bakery and have babies and cook meals and spend lots of time at home. Don't get me wrong, I also want to be a lawyer but I'm not looking at that as a lifetime career.
I've been inspired by one of my classmates, an older gentleman who has had a very successful career and in his retirement decided he wanted to go to law school and do public interest law. I never thought of this before: there's no reason why you have to have just one career in a lifetime. You can pick more than one thing, you just have to figure out the timing. I can have my cake and bake it too! I can't tell you how freeing this is. I was feeling really depressed over the fact that my baking dreams might never happen, but I can do the lawyer thing for a while, put some money away, and then do the baking thing. Or if I really like the lawyer thing, I can always do the baking once I retire. Or do the lawyer thing part-time or just do consulting or work from home with a pen in one hand and a whisk in the other!
Somewhere in there I'd also like to be married and be a stay-at-home mom at least while my kids are young. This is the real problem. I'm pretty sure that job doesn't pay. I'm also pretty sure I'm going to want to have kids before I'm ready to retire with lots of money. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to fit those little guys in to my plan even though they're a huge part of it.
This is another reason why your 20s suck. You just have no idea how to fit it all in or what it's all going to look like. I wish I could just see a 5 minute preview of what 20 years from now is going to look like. That would really put me at ease. Or scare the hell out of me. Could go either way.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
What Is Love? Baby, Don't Hurt Me. Whoa, Whoa, Whoa. Oooh, Oooh.
Whatever happened to that song? Anyway...
A friend of mine recently broke up with her boyfriend. When she was explaining to me why and what had gone wrong, she admitted that she was afraid she didn’t know what she was looking for, that she wasn’t sure what love was supposed to feel like, and she was afraid she was dumping this guy over some expectation of what love was supposed to be without knowing if she was right or not. I knew immediately what she was talking about because I’ve had those exact thoughts countless times. I have this idea in my head of what love is supposed to be and what I want it to be, what my boyfriend and future husband is supposed to be and what I want him to be, what our relationship is supposed to be and what I want it to be. In my head, I deserve this and I should refuse to settle for anything less. If I’m patient and keep my standards high, then one day I’ll be rewarded when my soulmate appears and I’ll just know this is him and I’ll finally know true, passionate love. The problem is I’m not sure if what I’m holding out for exists.
The problem is I’ve seen a lot of movies. I’ve read a lot of books, many of them written by the Austen or a Bronte. Instead of making me more cultured and intelligent, I’m afraid what this has really done is royally fucked me up. I think these movies and books have made me set the bar so high that I can’t appreciate or recognize the real thing because no guy has ever said to me, “The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds and that’s what you’ve given me.” Thank you, The Notebook. You have ruined my life. No one has ever filled a room with flowers for me or sung me a song he wrote himself or stood outside my house with a boombox over his head playing Peter Gabriel. Not once. I know. I can’t believe it either. Joe hated it when I saw these movies or read these books because inevitably I hated him afterwards and said irrational things, like, “how come we’ve never slow danced under the Eiffel Tower?” or “just out of curiosity, would you say I complete you?” Somehow or another, no matter how he answered (which by the way, was usually with an eye roll and a “here we go again”) the message I received was clear: he just didn’t love me the way I deserved. You know, the way Jack loved Rose.
I used to constantly question whether I was in love or not. I mean, I knew I loved him but shouldn’t I know if this is it? Shouldn’t I feel like my heart is being ripped from my body whenever we are apart and not be able to get out of bed for days due to the sheer and unbearable pain of separation? I just plain missed him when we weren’t together. So boring. Where was the drama, where was the excitement, where was the clothes ripping, heart pounding, soul shaking, earth moving love I deserved? Because I will not settle for less. Bridget Jones and Carrie Bradshaw taught me that. But on the other hand, what if I had the real thing the whole time and I couldn’t appreciate it? Why can’t I just be satisfied with a guy who is there for me every single time I need him, who is always on my side but still calls me on my bullshit, who makes me laugh, who has seen me at my worst and still wants to be with me, who after so many years still likes to cuddle, who supports my ambition, who cooks with me and cleans up after, who is unfalteringly loyal, who is always honest even when I won’t like the answer, who reaches for my hand when we’re out together, and who always proudly introduced me to people as “my girl”? What is wrong with me? But what if the earth-shaker is out there somewhere? Shouldn’t I hold out for that? Aren’t I supposed to know the real thing when I have it? What if you just have a hunch and a hope? Is that enough to build a life on?
It’s so confusing. I guess if I had to choose I’d rather have the steady, consistent, loyal every day love that eventually becomes as comfortable and familiar as your favorite pair of sweatpants. But occasionally, I’d still like the grand gesture, maybe a pretty speech, even if it’s only whispered in my ear before I fall asleep. I just want to know the possibility of the passion is there, even if it’s not bubbling every day. I want to be surprised every once in a while. I still want to be swept off my feet. Just once. Along with everything else previously mentioned. And if you can give me that, I promise you can pick the movies from now on. I think that’s more than fair.
A friend of mine recently broke up with her boyfriend. When she was explaining to me why and what had gone wrong, she admitted that she was afraid she didn’t know what she was looking for, that she wasn’t sure what love was supposed to feel like, and she was afraid she was dumping this guy over some expectation of what love was supposed to be without knowing if she was right or not. I knew immediately what she was talking about because I’ve had those exact thoughts countless times. I have this idea in my head of what love is supposed to be and what I want it to be, what my boyfriend and future husband is supposed to be and what I want him to be, what our relationship is supposed to be and what I want it to be. In my head, I deserve this and I should refuse to settle for anything less. If I’m patient and keep my standards high, then one day I’ll be rewarded when my soulmate appears and I’ll just know this is him and I’ll finally know true, passionate love. The problem is I’m not sure if what I’m holding out for exists.
The problem is I’ve seen a lot of movies. I’ve read a lot of books, many of them written by the Austen or a Bronte. Instead of making me more cultured and intelligent, I’m afraid what this has really done is royally fucked me up. I think these movies and books have made me set the bar so high that I can’t appreciate or recognize the real thing because no guy has ever said to me, “The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds and that’s what you’ve given me.” Thank you, The Notebook. You have ruined my life. No one has ever filled a room with flowers for me or sung me a song he wrote himself or stood outside my house with a boombox over his head playing Peter Gabriel. Not once. I know. I can’t believe it either. Joe hated it when I saw these movies or read these books because inevitably I hated him afterwards and said irrational things, like, “how come we’ve never slow danced under the Eiffel Tower?” or “just out of curiosity, would you say I complete you?” Somehow or another, no matter how he answered (which by the way, was usually with an eye roll and a “here we go again”) the message I received was clear: he just didn’t love me the way I deserved. You know, the way Jack loved Rose.
I used to constantly question whether I was in love or not. I mean, I knew I loved him but shouldn’t I know if this is it? Shouldn’t I feel like my heart is being ripped from my body whenever we are apart and not be able to get out of bed for days due to the sheer and unbearable pain of separation? I just plain missed him when we weren’t together. So boring. Where was the drama, where was the excitement, where was the clothes ripping, heart pounding, soul shaking, earth moving love I deserved? Because I will not settle for less. Bridget Jones and Carrie Bradshaw taught me that. But on the other hand, what if I had the real thing the whole time and I couldn’t appreciate it? Why can’t I just be satisfied with a guy who is there for me every single time I need him, who is always on my side but still calls me on my bullshit, who makes me laugh, who has seen me at my worst and still wants to be with me, who after so many years still likes to cuddle, who supports my ambition, who cooks with me and cleans up after, who is unfalteringly loyal, who is always honest even when I won’t like the answer, who reaches for my hand when we’re out together, and who always proudly introduced me to people as “my girl”? What is wrong with me? But what if the earth-shaker is out there somewhere? Shouldn’t I hold out for that? Aren’t I supposed to know the real thing when I have it? What if you just have a hunch and a hope? Is that enough to build a life on?
It’s so confusing. I guess if I had to choose I’d rather have the steady, consistent, loyal every day love that eventually becomes as comfortable and familiar as your favorite pair of sweatpants. But occasionally, I’d still like the grand gesture, maybe a pretty speech, even if it’s only whispered in my ear before I fall asleep. I just want to know the possibility of the passion is there, even if it’s not bubbling every day. I want to be surprised every once in a while. I still want to be swept off my feet. Just once. Along with everything else previously mentioned. And if you can give me that, I promise you can pick the movies from now on. I think that’s more than fair.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Apology and Explanation Leading to Dear Dad...
I totally meant to write my dad a letter for Father's Day like I did for my mama and I completely forgot. I did call my papa, but just blanked on the whole letter writing intention. This makes me a not so great daughter but I think he will forgive me since he has no idea this blog exists. My mom has never seen it either. This is because I want to be able to write about things such as pregnancy scares and birth control methods without my parents being aware I even know such words and phrases.
Even though they won't read it here, I like the idea of putting my sentiments about them out into the universe. And I probably will send them the link to this page one day after I've decided I'm comfortable being an adult. That day comes, right?
So just in case he sees it one day and just so the universe knows:
Dear Daddy,
It's a crazy thing being your only little girl. I was your princess from the very beginning. I remember you taking me shopping when I was itty bitty and learning quickly that if I couldn't decide on a dress then you would buy them all. I really, really loved that about you. I also remember how quick and comfortable you were to play dolls with me or read me girly books or make me laugh. I always knew you loved having a daughter and you have always made it so clear just how intensely proud you are of me. From the pictures of me all over your office to the absolutely insane way I get calls from you at random times and you pass the phone to complete strangers and they tell me you were just talking about me to them and you decided to call me so they could say hi. Seriously, Dad, this is just nutty, and it happens a lot. I have had more conversations with strangers calling from your cell phone than I can count, you nutso. But it always makes me kinda smile because who is so proud of their kid that they feel a stranger just has to meet them, even if it's only over the phone?
Now that I'm all grown up, I love the way we tease each other. I love that you can take a joke and you get my humor. I love that we're comfortable talking to each other and that you give me my space while still letting me know you're there. I love that you're still so ridiculously proud of me. I love that when I was applying to law schools you thought I could get into Georgetown. That was never going to happen, but I love that you thought it could, so much so that you insisted on me applying and paid for the application fee. I love that you think I can do anything and when I do something even slightly worthy of recognition, you proceed to tell everyone you know, everyone you only slightly know, and everyone you just met. It's pretty embarassing but it's also pretty awesome.
Thank you for never putting a limit on how high I could fly. Thank you for believing in me to the point of ridiculousness. I am happy to be one of your four kids and really love being your only daughter. I love you. Let's go dress shopping next time I'm home, okay?
Love,
C
Even though they won't read it here, I like the idea of putting my sentiments about them out into the universe. And I probably will send them the link to this page one day after I've decided I'm comfortable being an adult. That day comes, right?
So just in case he sees it one day and just so the universe knows:
Dear Daddy,
It's a crazy thing being your only little girl. I was your princess from the very beginning. I remember you taking me shopping when I was itty bitty and learning quickly that if I couldn't decide on a dress then you would buy them all. I really, really loved that about you. I also remember how quick and comfortable you were to play dolls with me or read me girly books or make me laugh. I always knew you loved having a daughter and you have always made it so clear just how intensely proud you are of me. From the pictures of me all over your office to the absolutely insane way I get calls from you at random times and you pass the phone to complete strangers and they tell me you were just talking about me to them and you decided to call me so they could say hi. Seriously, Dad, this is just nutty, and it happens a lot. I have had more conversations with strangers calling from your cell phone than I can count, you nutso. But it always makes me kinda smile because who is so proud of their kid that they feel a stranger just has to meet them, even if it's only over the phone?
Now that I'm all grown up, I love the way we tease each other. I love that you can take a joke and you get my humor. I love that we're comfortable talking to each other and that you give me my space while still letting me know you're there. I love that you're still so ridiculously proud of me. I love that when I was applying to law schools you thought I could get into Georgetown. That was never going to happen, but I love that you thought it could, so much so that you insisted on me applying and paid for the application fee. I love that you think I can do anything and when I do something even slightly worthy of recognition, you proceed to tell everyone you know, everyone you only slightly know, and everyone you just met. It's pretty embarassing but it's also pretty awesome.
Thank you for never putting a limit on how high I could fly. Thank you for believing in me to the point of ridiculousness. I am happy to be one of your four kids and really love being your only daughter. I love you. Let's go dress shopping next time I'm home, okay?
Love,
C
Monday, June 22, 2009
Happy Birthday, Kathryn!
Kathryn is one of my favorite people in the whole world and she was born on this day several years ago, which makes this a wonderful day in my book. Kathryn and I have been friends since she was 16 and Sher and I dragged her into our world and corrupted her as thoroughly as possible. Quite frankly, it wasn't very much since Sher and I really are good girls at heart who just wish they could be bad. I'm proud to say Kathryn's turned out wonderfully despite our best efforts. Or because of them, I'm not really sure.
Kathryn, you are one of my dearest friends. I'm so glad I have you, I'm so glad you're part of our little best-friends-since-high-school trio and I'm so glad your birthday means telling you how great I think you are. Happy Birthday, love. I hope this year is the best one yet.
Kathryn, you are one of my dearest friends. I'm so glad I have you, I'm so glad you're part of our little best-friends-since-high-school trio and I'm so glad your birthday means telling you how great I think you are. Happy Birthday, love. I hope this year is the best one yet.
Blog = Soapbox
Let me start this post by saying I love babies. I love their cute little hands and feet and those chubby baby thighs and I love little toddlers and their cute questions and their little wobbly steps. I love to see them, I love to have them around me, I love that they exist in the world. I can't wait to have a truckload of babies of my own. Can you feel the "but" coming? Oh it's coming. Here it is: BUT, one of my biggest pet peeves in life is babies and/or toddlers brought to movies with a start time after 8:00 pm. The later the movie, the more it annoys me. Perhaps I will change my tune about this after I am a parent myself, but for now I can only apply my single childless person's rationale. Your child should not be attending rated R movies that start at 10:20 pm. If you cannot find a baby-sitter, THEN YOU CANNOT GO TO THE MOVIES. I know. It's awful. Your life is not your own anymore. Sorry, but you have a kid now. A kid who needs to be in bed by 8 pm, not dragged out because mommy and daddy want to reclaim their lost independence.
I went to see The Hangover with Joe last night, a movie that is most decidedly not child appropriate, and made even less so because it started past 10 pm. There was an adorable toddler attending. A wide-awake toddler sucking a bottle of apple juice. At 10:30 pm. There was also a young couple who walked into the theater with a very small baby in a baby carrier. The movie started and then mom whipped baby out and started breast feeding. No, people, no. Go home. Put baby to bed properly. Try RENTING a movie. Look into Netflix, I hear it's convenient.
Please forgive this rant, but Joe is tired of hearing about this pet peeve of mine and luckily I now have a public forum so I can unleash all my wise and reasonable opinions on the world.
And while I'm discussing it, another pet peeve of mine: people who put their chewing gum on their dinner plates. Um, ew. No, no, that is not okay. I do not want to see the wadded up piece of grossness you've been chewing on for the last hour. Dispose of it properly and then put another piece in your mouth after eating if you must but don't make me stare at it while I'm trying to enjoy my dining experience. It grosses me out so completely, I cannot even begin to explain the depth of my disgust.
So in conclusion: no babies out past 8 pm and no gum on display during dining. Thank you for your time, America.
I went to see The Hangover with Joe last night, a movie that is most decidedly not child appropriate, and made even less so because it started past 10 pm. There was an adorable toddler attending. A wide-awake toddler sucking a bottle of apple juice. At 10:30 pm. There was also a young couple who walked into the theater with a very small baby in a baby carrier. The movie started and then mom whipped baby out and started breast feeding. No, people, no. Go home. Put baby to bed properly. Try RENTING a movie. Look into Netflix, I hear it's convenient.
Please forgive this rant, but Joe is tired of hearing about this pet peeve of mine and luckily I now have a public forum so I can unleash all my wise and reasonable opinions on the world.
And while I'm discussing it, another pet peeve of mine: people who put their chewing gum on their dinner plates. Um, ew. No, no, that is not okay. I do not want to see the wadded up piece of grossness you've been chewing on for the last hour. Dispose of it properly and then put another piece in your mouth after eating if you must but don't make me stare at it while I'm trying to enjoy my dining experience. It grosses me out so completely, I cannot even begin to explain the depth of my disgust.
So in conclusion: no babies out past 8 pm and no gum on display during dining. Thank you for your time, America.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Holy Shit, I'm Going to Be A Lawyer
I have not been a very good bloggist this week. I'm finding it a bit frustrating to find things to write about because all I have on my brain is work stuff which I can't discuss due to confidentiality, which is probably a good thing because good gracious, the stuff I could tell you after just 2 1/2 weeks. This is the first time I have helped low-income people get through the court system and the stories they have to tell are unbelievable. Sometimes heartbreaking. Sometimes empowering. Sometimes so incredibly frustrating. We're helping people with child custody and support cases and many of them also involve domestic violence of some degree.
We've gotten to sit in several judges' courtrooms and observe how they conduct court and what goes on behind the scenes between cases. After hearing one particularly horrifying case of child abuse being brought before a judge, I was struggling not to cry in the middle of the courtroom listening to the judge give the order she was entering to try to keep these kids away from their abuser. "Keep your shit together, keep it together," I kept repeating to myself. "There's no crying in law school." That's a myth. There's A LOT of crying in law school.
Anyway, the other law student I was with that day and I left the courtroom about an hour after that case and the dad and grandma who were fighting to protect those kids were still around waiting for their paperwork. The grandma stopped us on the way to the elevators. "Are you studying to be lawyers?" she asked. We told her we were. "I've been fighting for my grandkids for months," she said, "when you become lawyers, do good." I don't know why those words struck me so particularly. I've always intended to try to do good with my law degree. But I had just witnessed this woman burst into hysteric tears, give everyone in the courtroom hugs and raise her hands and praise Jesus because a judge had just given her hope that her grandkids would be okay.
I'm just so glad that I've chosen to take this path. I'm so glad that hopefully I'll have the tools to help people have justice and help people have hope. I hope I don't ever forget how I felt when that grandma told me to "do good." I hope I don't forget the feeling of hope and justice that swelled in the courtroom that day. And I really hope that I don't read this in 20 years and think that I used to be a such naive idealist and now I know better. I hope that I always appreciate moments like that, that I will always have to remind myself to keep my shit together because lawyers shouldn't cry in courtrooms, even though sometimes they really want to.
We've gotten to sit in several judges' courtrooms and observe how they conduct court and what goes on behind the scenes between cases. After hearing one particularly horrifying case of child abuse being brought before a judge, I was struggling not to cry in the middle of the courtroom listening to the judge give the order she was entering to try to keep these kids away from their abuser. "Keep your shit together, keep it together," I kept repeating to myself. "There's no crying in law school." That's a myth. There's A LOT of crying in law school.
Anyway, the other law student I was with that day and I left the courtroom about an hour after that case and the dad and grandma who were fighting to protect those kids were still around waiting for their paperwork. The grandma stopped us on the way to the elevators. "Are you studying to be lawyers?" she asked. We told her we were. "I've been fighting for my grandkids for months," she said, "when you become lawyers, do good." I don't know why those words struck me so particularly. I've always intended to try to do good with my law degree. But I had just witnessed this woman burst into hysteric tears, give everyone in the courtroom hugs and raise her hands and praise Jesus because a judge had just given her hope that her grandkids would be okay.
I'm just so glad that I've chosen to take this path. I'm so glad that hopefully I'll have the tools to help people have justice and help people have hope. I hope I don't ever forget how I felt when that grandma told me to "do good." I hope I don't forget the feeling of hope and justice that swelled in the courtroom that day. And I really hope that I don't read this in 20 years and think that I used to be a such naive idealist and now I know better. I hope that I always appreciate moments like that, that I will always have to remind myself to keep my shit together because lawyers shouldn't cry in courtrooms, even though sometimes they really want to.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
L & C BFF
Tonight was a typical evening with Sparkles. She awoke from a nap and made a CVS run returning with rainbow twizzlers and other assorted treats. When I asked for one she threw it at me and I had to retrieve it from between the couch and the wall. I ate it anyway. Then she threw another one at me and I had to get it out from under the end table in the corner where we never sweep. I did not eat that one. Then I took the shaving cream she had just bought from CVS and accidentally sprayed her. Then she screamed, got up and accidentally smeared shaving cream in my hair. And across my face. And then sat her shaving cream covered self on my favorite giant pillow. Rude! Then she tried to sign me up for Facebook, which I refuse to join, only she mistyped the password she gave me and we spent the next 45 minutes trying to figure it out because Sparkles apparently cannot spell "Sparkles."
There is a lot of yelling in our home and it is an abusive relationship, quite frankly. It's a wonder the neighbors don't complain because Sparkles is LOUD and I have to be LOUD just to be heard. Sparkles also really enjoys calling me dykeface. I think this is a term of endearment. Although she's usually yelling it. She also sings a lot. Loudly and off key. And sometimes when she thinks no one's looking, or maybe she's sure they are, she does a little dance on the way to the kitchen. Weirdo. She's doing it right now actually. I just looked up and caught her. Anyway, that is Sparkles and a typical evening in a nutshll. She just told me she doesn't care what I write here because she has an alias, no one will know who she is, no one will know her name is Lauren. Sorry, Lauren, the jig is up.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Today = Good
I got my check today from the fellowship funding me for the work I'm doing this summer. I have money again! Oh, it feels good. I got a manicure as soon as I got home from work and then got a spray tan and a Wendy's coffee toffee frosty. Because having money means spending it irresponsibly. Oprah says you should live your best life and I live my best life when I am manicured and fakely tanned and enjoying icy coffee treats. I was about to go to Target and buy myself some new necklaces and maybe a new DVD but then I realized So You Think You Can Dance was about to start so I rushed home. Oprah would have done the same thing.
Also a certain colleague who has previously annoyed the ever-living bejeezus out of me was a lot less annoying today but I think it was an anomoly. Or perhaps I have grown considerably since yesterday. It's possible. Anyway, the point is, I didn't throw anything. So, I grew as a person, got a manicure, am freshly bronzed and enjoyed a deliciously refreshing beverage with delightful toffee candy interludes. A very good day.
Also a certain colleague who has previously annoyed the ever-living bejeezus out of me was a lot less annoying today but I think it was an anomoly. Or perhaps I have grown considerably since yesterday. It's possible. Anyway, the point is, I didn't throw anything. So, I grew as a person, got a manicure, am freshly bronzed and enjoyed a deliciously refreshing beverage with delightful toffee candy interludes. A very good day.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Lists. Yay.
I love lists. So much so that I will make lists of lists I need to make. Here's a sample:
LISTS TO MAKE:
1. To Do
2. Grocery
3. Weekly Goals
4. Life Goals
5. Places to See Before I Die
6. Colors of the Rainbow in Order of Preference
You get my point.
I remembered a while back that I once made one of those "Before I Die" lists where you put down all the things you want to check off before your checking hand is stilled, if you know what I'm saying. I don't know where this list is currently. Probably in one of the many diaries I started, wrote in for a week, and never cracked again. But I've been thinking lately about all the things I wish I knew how to do. So I decided to make a list, because such is my way. If only it were on delightfully whimsical lined stationary headed by my initials!
Here's a few of the things I would like to learn how to do before my doing is done, if you know what I'm saying. I'll try not to hyperventilate and pass out from the excitement of list-making but no promises.
THINGS TO LEARN HOW TO DO:
1. Sew
2. Knit
3. Play Golf
4. Play Poker
5. Play Chess
6. Change oil in a car
7. Expertly create a smoky eye with eyeshadow
8. Make more money than I spend
9. Gardening
10. Bake without a recipe
11. Make my skin glow effortlessly
12. Be a morning person
13. Make small talk with strangers
14. Memorize all colors of rainbow in order to arrange in order of preference
15. Stop drinking at "fun buzz" and prior to "unable to walk without assistance"
16. French braid
17. Live my live without a complete television dependency
18. Be humble (convincingly)
I think that's good for now. I'm a little overwhelmed by my sheer lack of knowledge. Oooh, maybe later I'll make a list of things I already know how to do to make myself feel better. Ooooh, that list is going on the list of lists to make! Life is good.
LISTS TO MAKE:
1. To Do
2. Grocery
3. Weekly Goals
4. Life Goals
5. Places to See Before I Die
6. Colors of the Rainbow in Order of Preference
You get my point.
I remembered a while back that I once made one of those "Before I Die" lists where you put down all the things you want to check off before your checking hand is stilled, if you know what I'm saying. I don't know where this list is currently. Probably in one of the many diaries I started, wrote in for a week, and never cracked again. But I've been thinking lately about all the things I wish I knew how to do. So I decided to make a list, because such is my way. If only it were on delightfully whimsical lined stationary headed by my initials!
Here's a few of the things I would like to learn how to do before my doing is done, if you know what I'm saying. I'll try not to hyperventilate and pass out from the excitement of list-making but no promises.
THINGS TO LEARN HOW TO DO:
1. Sew
2. Knit
3. Play Golf
4. Play Poker
5. Play Chess
6. Change oil in a car
7. Expertly create a smoky eye with eyeshadow
8. Make more money than I spend
9. Gardening
10. Bake without a recipe
11. Make my skin glow effortlessly
12. Be a morning person
13. Make small talk with strangers
14. Memorize all colors of rainbow in order to arrange in order of preference
15. Stop drinking at "fun buzz" and prior to "unable to walk without assistance"
16. French braid
17. Live my live without a complete television dependency
18. Be humble (convincingly)
I think that's good for now. I'm a little overwhelmed by my sheer lack of knowledge. Oooh, maybe later I'll make a list of things I already know how to do to make myself feel better. Ooooh, that list is going on the list of lists to make! Life is good.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Mmmm, Cheesy
Today will henceforth and forever be known as the day I discovered baked Cheetos. And there was much rejoicing throughout the land.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Pros and Cons
Okay, I promised full disclosure. Grades came out this week. B+, B, B, B, A-. Not stellar but not crappy either. I can live with it. I actually can't wait to get back to school. Yes, homework and studying sucks but I did enjoy having my day be over by 11:30 and having so much free time. Now I'm getting up at 6:30, on the train to Philly by 8, working from 9 to 5, on the 5:35 train back home, ripping off my work clothes and trying not to fall asleep on the couch until I can crawl into bed. My goal for this upcoming second week of work is to incorporate going to the gym somewhere in there. Poopy.
So far, the internship is going well. I don't want to give too many details because I have been warned by several sources to never discuss work on the internet. I like the other interns and the people around the office though. We got to observe court on Friday and, oy, does that system need some tweaking. Don't worry, I'll try to get that done this summer. We're going to get a ton of client interaction and get to draft pleadings and help people work their way through the court system.
The down side is that I currently only have $38 in my bank account and this internship doesn't pay. I got a fellowship and should be getting work study money but don't know how long I'll have to wait for it. Things are bad when you have to charge $1.50. So basically I love the hours of being in school but hate the pay. And when I was working I hated the hours but loved the pay. So basically what I'm looking for is a job that will pay me a ton and only require me to put in 3 hours a day. I know what you're thinking: have you tried hooking? But my mom said she wouldn't be proud of me if I tried that. Unconditional love, my ass.
So far, the internship is going well. I don't want to give too many details because I have been warned by several sources to never discuss work on the internet. I like the other interns and the people around the office though. We got to observe court on Friday and, oy, does that system need some tweaking. Don't worry, I'll try to get that done this summer. We're going to get a ton of client interaction and get to draft pleadings and help people work their way through the court system.
The down side is that I currently only have $38 in my bank account and this internship doesn't pay. I got a fellowship and should be getting work study money but don't know how long I'll have to wait for it. Things are bad when you have to charge $1.50. So basically I love the hours of being in school but hate the pay. And when I was working I hated the hours but loved the pay. So basically what I'm looking for is a job that will pay me a ton and only require me to put in 3 hours a day. I know what you're thinking: have you tried hooking? But my mom said she wouldn't be proud of me if I tried that. Unconditional love, my ass.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Truly Madly Bluntly
I realize what I’m about to say is controversial. I have one friend in particular who I know will strongly disagree, but I’m going to say it anyway. James Blunt is a genius. Particularly at writing and singing heartbreaking songs that make you want to rip out your own heart and throw it at the wall because the pain of it beating yet another agonizing beat will just be too much to bear. Because I wasn’t in enough pain right after my break-up, I listened to “Good-bye My Lover” on repeat on my IPod and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Then I paid more attention to the lyrics, realized they were talking directly to me, and sobbed anew. Oh James, you and I are so in synch. How did you know everything I was feeling and capture it so melodically? I mean, just get a load of these lyrics:
You touched my heart; you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
And love is blind and that I knew when,
My heart was blinded by you.
I've kissed your lips and held your hand.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you.
Holy crap. Did your heart just break a little? C’mon, you know it did. Don’t rip it out yet, there’s more. Brace yourself.
I am a dreamer and when i wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.
I've watched you sleeping for a while.
I'd be the father of your child.
I'd spend a lifetime with you.
I know, right? That watching you sleep part gets a little creepy, but you can forgive him that since geniuses are often a tad crazy. Now the chorus. Bring us home, James.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.
Now if you were me and you’d just gone through a tough break-up and you liked to indulge in self-pity, then you’d be burying your face in your pillow, singing the chorus over and over while weeping. But maybe that’s just me.
Thanks for getting me through a tough time, James. I will no longer need your services on a daily or weekly basis. Why don’t we meet up once a month or as needed only from here out? Great, thanks.
You touched my heart; you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
And love is blind and that I knew when,
My heart was blinded by you.
I've kissed your lips and held your hand.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you.
Holy crap. Did your heart just break a little? C’mon, you know it did. Don’t rip it out yet, there’s more. Brace yourself.
I am a dreamer and when i wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.
I've watched you sleeping for a while.
I'd be the father of your child.
I'd spend a lifetime with you.
I know, right? That watching you sleep part gets a little creepy, but you can forgive him that since geniuses are often a tad crazy. Now the chorus. Bring us home, James.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.
Now if you were me and you’d just gone through a tough break-up and you liked to indulge in self-pity, then you’d be burying your face in your pillow, singing the chorus over and over while weeping. But maybe that’s just me.
Thanks for getting me through a tough time, James. I will no longer need your services on a daily or weekly basis. Why don’t we meet up once a month or as needed only from here out? Great, thanks.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Summertime Blues
I want so bad to be witty right now. I'd like to write humorous paragraphs to entertain and delight you. But today was my first day at my summer internship and unfortunately I have nothing left to give. I am so tired. And get this...I have to go back tomorrow. And the next day and the next day and the next day and the next day. And then I have to go back every work day for the next 10 weeks. Ain't that some bullshit? I had to get up so early this morning. Right now, I'm too sleepy to even thoroughly enjoy The Bachelorette. I don't think I'm overreacting or being dramatic when I say that, so far, this job is ruining every enjoyable aspect of my life.
Pretty Kitty
This weekend I went to visit Joe. I arrived Friday evening while he was still at work and let myself into the apartment. I still have a key because Joe neglected one of the fundamental rules of breaking up: always get your key back. This rule is very important. It comes right after Rule 3 "avoid telling her about all those times she really did look fat in those jeans" but before Rule 5 "wait at least three days before dating anyone else to avoid appearing tacky." He's golden on 3 and 5 two but apparently the rule between slipped his mind.
So I let myself in and went to use the facilities which I was very much looking forward to since this would be my first pee in a while that would not necessitate holding on for dear life. I took my seat and took a gander around as I am oft to do in these situations to pass the time, when hanging on the wall at eye level to my immediate right I spied something new.
I'm sorry, what? Am I peeing in the wrong apartment? Are those two kitty cats I see? In front of rosy wallpaper and lace curtains? In a lovely pastoral setting? Why, yes, I do believe it is.
What's that? You'd like a close up? You only had to ask.
So I let myself in and went to use the facilities which I was very much looking forward to since this would be my first pee in a while that would not necessitate holding on for dear life. I took my seat and took a gander around as I am oft to do in these situations to pass the time, when hanging on the wall at eye level to my immediate right I spied something new.
I'm sorry, what? Am I peeing in the wrong apartment? Are those two kitty cats I see? In front of rosy wallpaper and lace curtains? In a lovely pastoral setting? Why, yes, I do believe it is.
What's that? You'd like a close up? You only had to ask.
Joey, something you want to tell me? "My mom hung it. They look like the cats we had when I was little." Adorable. And you didn't tell her no or to put it somewhere else? "No, you can't stop that woman!" "Oh my goodness, I am SO blogging about this." "I don't think it's that funny." Oh, Joey, I will add this to the list of things you are so wrong about. I will also add it to the list of things I do so enjoy and love about you. Such a good son.
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