damn you sallie mae, and a pre-vacation jig

i had planned on the last blog prior to a sun and liquor drenched week in the caribbean being funny, sassy, smart and in general fantastic. that was totally my plan today. but the best laid plans, no? (what a great intro, s. this blog isn't going to be good. so thanks for reading.)

i'm applying for a fellowship for my last year of academia. ever. for real, yo. lucky year eleven. anyway, part of the application requires listing all of your student loans. all. of. your. student. loans. like, ever. [shudder] before adding those bad boys up, i wrote "n/a" next to "non-education loans" ... with the hope that it'd make me feel better. yeah, not so much.

so after i hunted them down, and added them up (thrice, just to be sure) and then trying not to swallow my tongue, seeing as how i was having a seizure and all, i emailed B. turns out the estimated amount i've been claiming lo these five years since we met was, hm, a touch shy of reality. sonofa ... but for a couple with three graduate degrees, one being a JD, i guess we're in pretty alright shape (read: not quite to the point of jumping out a window). if someone socked me with a thirty thousand dollar surprise, i'd have handled it with less grace than he.

turns out this last blog for a while is a big thank you to B. you're the best. thanks for not freaking out. or rather, not communicating your freaking out to me via email, which would have seriously compounded my freaking out. what a guy.

so this brings me to a bientot. not sassy and funny and smart, but it is what it is. hope the ford funeral rocks the pants off of dc - i'll be on the beach, suckas.

home for the holidays

to the aliens who took my crazy parents and replaced them with normal parents: keep them. i don't care what you're doing to those nuts ... probing, whatever ... just don't bring them back. those fake normal parents you left at their house didn't fool me, but i much prefer them.

i can't remember the last time i was sad to leave my parents' house. but christmas morning, after 2 days of actual normal human interaction, as we pulled away at 7am and my dad* waved through the picture window, i couldn't help but cry a little. there were a couple years, after my brother moved out and before my dad lost his job, when my parents were great. but the last five years have been a little rough, to put it nicely. maybe their township has started putting paxil in the water supply along with flouride.

the only downer (ok, not only - my brother's car did break down on the way over, which became something of a fiasco, but how cute was it when we pulled up the gas station and the oldest nephew was signing** "the car broke! the car broke!") was that i may have broken my hand on a digital camera display at meijer. the damn thing was attached with some super elastic rope to keep people from stealing it ... i dropped it and it sprung back on my hand at the speed of light. or sound. there may have been a sonic boom. anyway, that was saturday. it still hurts like a mother. it may have been my fault ... because i may have been drunk. but what's a trip to michigan without a drunken midnight trip to meijer? no trip i want to be a part of, nosirree.

the fam in detroit was pretty normal too - lots of drama and gossiping. standard fare. there was a little tiff between B and the terd that's married to his mom, but i wasn't there to witness it and B was sparse on the details.*** also, the youngest nephew decided to announce to all of barnes & noble yesterday: "i'm going ca-ca uncle B"!**** stellar.

as an aside, i saw this product in the in-flight catalog. i loves my ipod, but - really?



*who barely said three words to us the last time we were there.
**my brother's children sign, because their mother doesn't hear, and it's the fricking cutest thing you'll ever see in your whole life.
***which is killing me because i am really fucking nosy and i want to know every single syllable that was exchanged.
****he doesn't actually call B uncle B - but he does actually call me auntie s. he knows my name, but that's my nickname. killer cute.

what's in a name?

we had a little pre-christmas last night, and it was swell. there were ipods and peacoats and earrings, oh my! the earrings i thought the postman stole magically appeared after three weeks and they are *magnificent* ... the pearls are big and perfect, the diamonds sparkly enough. it was a christmas miracle, i'm not gonna lie. the best gift, though, wasn't the biggest. and i'm pretty sure it wasn't supposed to make me cry. or relive childhood torment ...

when i was a kid, i never got anything with my name on it. not because my parents hated me or anything ... but i'm not mary or amy or melissa. they don't make little license plates or key chains with my name on it. it never seemed quite fair. and my friends' parents would try, they really would, but the party favors, little wooden shoes (this is what happens when you grow up in holland, michigan) and other pointless knick-knacks would have my name, but spelled wrong. i've seen more variations on my name ...

so i've relied on s. i sign emails and letters that way, have a pottery barn s on my side of the bed, and have piles of s notecards. i blog as s. i was thrilled the first time i got business cards with my name professionally printed ...

last night, rk gave me a bag from LL Bean with my full name sewn on. not just s, not sm or sb, the whole thing.

what's funny is that rk had no idea about all these strange childhood issues, this love/hate relationship with my name. but b does, and when he saw it, all he could do was clasp his hand to his mouth and try to will me not to cry.

isn't that what a best friend should be able to do? give you a perfect gift without even knowing?

virginia's fightin' fifth

you all thought it was laziness that has kept me a michigander (in license plate at least) low these nearly four years i've lived in virginia. nope, that's not it.

it's because i'd rather be associated with this than this.

i've only ever been to virginia's fightin' fifth once in my life, but when i was there, the beloved western michigan university broncos smooshed whatever the weird mascot is at UVA. i hope somewhere in the stands, virgil* was sulking.


*the intolerant sonofabitch that represents virginia's fightin' fifth.

guest blogger: david letterman!!!

ok, not really. did it work? are you reading? i only said that because i have a top ten list. a top ten list of things that have been going on since i haven't been blogging obsessively. i like to think i've been funny in real life. though it seems unlikely. i know.

1. seriously, what the fuck is going on with the orange line? seriously. orange line, do you hate me? have i offended you? what's the deal? because today i waited 20 minutes for a train during rush hour. orange line, that's not the way it's supposed to work. not. during. rush. hour. please.

2. i'm pretty sure my fly was down during the train ride after i waited a full 20 minutes for a damned train. yes, pretty sure. how do i know? let me tell you. i got to work, and was chatting with nice boss and craptastic boss for about ten minutes (mainly about what the fuck is up with the orange line) and craptastic (or creeptastic) boss was starting at my pants the whole time. i thought i'd spilled coffee on my pants. but then i walked past a coworker and she kindly (like a normal homosapien would do) said, hon, your fly is down. now i know creeptastic boss was staring at my vijajay. creep.

3. a friend and coworker had her last day today, followed by the obligatory visit to a fav bar in the neighborhood, with $5 martinis. they're like those chips that you can't just eat one of - pringles? doritos? who knows. after $25 worth of $5 martinis, it's hard to remember commercials and the like. anyway. love those martinis, the bartender that is probably sharon osborne's long lost sister, and that this friend never has to deal with aforementioned creeptastic boss again. (did i mention he draws nekkid ladies? shudder.) also, the pommes frites with the herb garlic aeoli? get out of here.

4. thanks to myspace, we finally reconnected with some old pals and roommates from college that we hadn't talked to in for-fricking-ever. so awesome. sometimes myspace is creepy (or maybe just when i'm using it to stalk people from high school) but this time it really paid off. which is sweet.

5. also, we leave for st. martin in 10 days. which is also sweet.

6. i went tanning yesterday, which yes i know is awful and terrible and i'm definitely getting cancer from, but godDAMN did it feel good. B thinks i'm going to turn orange, but it will be covered by layers and layers of caribbean sun, so no matter.

7. some newman-esque figure at the usps is totally giving the pearl and diamond earrings B bought me for christmas to his mistress. sonofabitch. at least B got a refund.

8. when i wrap presents after $25 worth of $5 martinis, turns out the gifts don't look so hot. sorry, rk.

9. is it wrong that i bought one of my nephews every single dinosaur in target? is that too much? and what do you think the baggage handlers at national are going to say when they see that in the x-ray?

10. also, borders is way better than barnes & nobles.

i didn't mean to come up with 10 things, but i got to 8 and then felt i had to keep going. so if 9 and 10 are lame, sorry. you should get a medal for reading all those anyway. let me know. i'll mail you a medal. seriously. but i can't guarantee it won't be made of tin foil and left over holiday ribbon. a medal is a medal. don't complain.

UPDATE: my sister-in-law just said the funniest thing ever to me:

sure, christmas is about giving. ok. but it's also about fucking over those family members that have fucked you over all year.

the sweet baby jesus would be so, so proud.

metro monday vii: B is taking over

it's going to be a few weeks before i'm able to do a proper monday morning ... no complaining here. B has kindly stepped up again to offer today's gem.


There was this lady sitting next to me who was sneezing all over the place. I'm for sure going to get sick. It was pretty gross. Then she proceeded to blow her nose for about five straight minutes.

I chose this seat for a reason, because it looked as though sitting next to this woman would present the least amount of annoyance. Turns out I was wrong.

I was debating whether or not to move but ultimately I stayed put because I didn't want to draw attention to myself. ugh...


and this, my friends is why i have purell on my keychain. i definitely would have gotten up. i would have gotten up, looked at her with pursed lips, sighed, and put purell on my hands right then and there.

now if you'll all excuse me, i'm cleaning my closets. god i love days off. (or, god i'm weird.)

sunday

a plane lands at princess juliana international airport - st. martin.

we'll be making this landing in two short weeks!

the blogging will be far and few between for the next few weeks - but come january i'll be rested, relaxed and ready to attack dc with a fresh snarkiness!

wha?

"I think Mary is going to be a loving soul to her child. And I'm happy for her," Bush said in an interview with People magazine.

1. i thought ya hated the gays?
2. what the fuck does a loving soul mean?
3. when did the POTUS start giving People interviews?

it's time for the weekend.

caffeine update

cups of coffee: 3
diet cokes: 2
red bulls: 1

hours until last exam is over: 29

29 hours from being officially half way through law school: priceless.

how not to study for an exam

my brain and i have this deal. in exchange for being allowed to wander aimless through class most days, the brain does me a little favor. in the couple days before an exam, she allows me to open it up, pour in every little bit of information, and then magically organizes it for me, like that coin counter at chevy chase bank. instead of a receipt, she spits out a well-organized exam that gives the unsuspecting professor the impression that i'd been dutifully paying attention throughout the entire class, and we're both happy. it's a win-win, really. and this was working quite well. until today.

today the brain has decided to act like a toddler faced with a spoon full of strained peas and not open up. not even a crack. but i supposed i did facilitate this, by making two errors that made brain believe study time is over:

1. i scheduled a reunion lunch with some old coworkers that would certainly run close to two hours. in reston.

2. before said long lunch, i allowed brain to convince me that we didn't need to do any work before, that a break was ok. so i didn't start studying at my usual study time, 9am. (this usually gives me about a half hour after B leaves to putz around online and get it out of my system.) brain needs a routine, or she gets unruly.

before i knew it, it was 2:30, and i was sleepy from a big long lunch. then brain convinced me a little nap wouldn't be so bad, and an hour and a half later we're having a big fight because she still doesn't want to get out of bed. damn you brain!

now i'm trying to show her i'm serious about this studying thing, dragging her across the street in my pjs and hoodie (oh, yes, we are going out in public like this. well you should have thought about that before the hour and a half nap, missy!) to buy not one but two sugar free red bulls. did you see that, brain? i bought two! one for tonight, and one for tomorrow. TWO!*

the problem as i see it is that i negotiated with the brain. i gave her an inch, and she took a mile. and now i have 48 hours to learn a frightful amount of con law after having let her run wild in that class all semester. of course, the problem could be that i've finally snapped and gone completely insane - and have begun considering my brain a separate independent personality.

it's a toss-up.



*brain never lets me buy two redbulls at a time, because at that point i should just buy a little carton of four, and that just seems excessive. only truckers need that much red bull.

metro monday vii: playing from home

there's no monday commute this week either, and although b was kind enough to step in last monday, he seemed less than eager to participate today. so instead i'm going to do two things today:

1. i'm inviting people to please comment with their metro monday stories from this morning; and

2. i'm going to offer some thrilling observations i made between 8:30 and 9:00 am when i am usually on the train. which should be funny and/or mildly pathetic. here goes:

- tom cruise really does have man-boobs these days.

- how many colors of highlighter do i have on this hoodie? (i'm still counting)

- i've been listening to christmas music for 21 days straight. overly religious songs are much less annoying when sung by frank sinatra.

- having only an orange for breakfast is a bad idea. i need some cereal.

- i am sick and tired of studying for exams. (varieties of this observation: i hate this shit; i still don't understand the difference between mens rea and actus reus - why can't we use english words?; i wonder what the curve will be like in this class; and ooh, i can't forget to get a red bull and snickers bar before this exam - otherwise i will fail.)

- when i get a piano (obviously requiring a home larger than 600 square feet) the first thing i'm learning to play is that linus and lucy song.

- does the president really talk to his dog like this? because, shit. i love dogs, but i don't think for a second that pumpkin is going to give me reliable advice on national security.

sunday

i have been delinquent in this habit lately, and for that i apologize.

the lighthouse in my hometown, all decked out in her december best.

i came across this picture and the pangs of homesickness* were especially strong ... i've been longing for some meteorological confirmation that it is, in fact, about two weeks from christmas. today, as we helped rk with christmas lights and garland, i was watching robins flit around in the green grass and needed no jacket. and i miss the snow. i've been trying to fill the emptiness in my gut left by the lack of snow with charlie brown's christmas soundtrack, but i'm not having much success. i need the snow, damn it.

in a couple weeks, we'll make the pilgrimage to michigan to be with the families, and you are all welcome to roll your eyes when i blog afterwards with complaints about the cold and the snow. but for now, after putting up christmas lights on a warm sunny day, i want the snow.


*homesickness may have been compounded by the truly normal and heartwarming hour-long conversation i had with my mom this evening.

the SOG saga continues

it's exam time, people. i'm relying these days on the humor of guest bloggers too keep my huge (snicker, snicker) readership satisfied. ;)

some of you may remember SOG (sleepy old guy) from a few weeks ago. well, the laughs just keep on coming.

courtesy of rk:

so SOG has a friend who he worked with at some agency or another at the dawn of time who is now working here. my esteemed team leader refers to him as lurch. perfect name for him. he especially sounds like lurch.

lurch is in a temporary office on my floor over where my old office used to be. the big color printer is over there and yesterday i had to walk over to get something from the printer.

i happened to glance in lurch's office to see him......

SLEEPING.

yep you got it. sleepy old guy's friend also seems to be a napper.

i forgot my print job and RAN back to team leader's office and told him. he immediately had to go check on a print job and shortly after reported that lurch was still asleep.

are you my gynecologist or my mom?!

in the midst of the usual awkward small talk:

so no kids yet?

no, none planned. i'm in law school.

well these things don't necessarily need to follow strict schedules ...

um, i suppose ... that's ... true.

i'm sure your career is important, but just don't wait too long to have children. you're 27? i suppose you have a good 5 years. i'm sure as a lawyer you'd be able to work from home some, so that'd make things easier for you as a mom.

for a moment, i was really sure i might be in one of those weird dreams where i'm at the gynecologist and i'm getting a lecture about how i plan to balance a career and motherhood and it turns out the gyno is actually my mom, and she ends the appointment by snapping off her gloves and saying, now remember missy, i want a granddaughter! and you're not getting any younger!

and also let me say that this is a conversation i'd expect to have with a doctor in michigan, sure, where all my high school friends have elementary school aged children. but in dc? jesus. most people here at 27 go into seizures at the thought of getting married. starting a family? good grief, charlie brown. let a girl be, hm?

(note: this did serve to give some perspective. i'd actually much rather listen to chopin and re-read the federal rules of evidence for the 95th time than be chasing a toddler around. so, thank you, freakishly old-fashioned gynecologist. thank you for reminding me that i am happy with my life choices.)

metro monday vi: a guest blogger!

today, the oft-mentioned B has stepped up to the plate and taken on the weighty duty of coming up with material for metro monday. this is exam week one, and i've taken this and next monday off to prepare (read: make up for all the work i didn't get done during the semester).

B: Ok. I hate when I am standing in the middle of the train car and people want to get by or they stand too close to me and invade my personal space - even though there is more than enough room on the train. (s: B is adamant about moving to the middle of the train. nothing gets on his nerves more than when people stop in the doorway. he turns into a mean, glaring man when people do that ... kinda like how he gets when he's hungry.)

B: That happened to me today. It was girl, slightly taller than you and she was wearing boots. (you know how I hate that) (s: B really does not like it when women wear skirts and tall boots. he thinks boots should be worn underneath pants. i'm not really sure why he feels this way, but he does.)

B: So I was automatically annoyed. To punish her, I read her newspaper over her shoulder. (s: how polite is B, that his retribution for an invasion of personal space was to read the newspaper over her shoulder! i thought about changing that part to say that to punish her he pretended to tell me over the phone that he forgot to take his antibiotics but he was pretty sure the strep throat wasn't contagious anymore - but no, he read the paper over her shoulder. what a class act.)

B: I hope she learned her lesson. That's all I have.

s: my guess is that she was standing so close because, as we all know, my husband is a total babe. i don't know about all of you, but i think this was a great blog by B. thanks for pinch-hitting!

i blame matt lauer

there was a rash and hurtful accusation thrown out over our bowls of cereal this morning, one that i would like to publicly address (anonymously). b has accused me of being a closet germaphob. which i am not. truly. awareness of germ-related facts does not make one a germaphob. i refuse to be classed with those i so gleefully mock

this is how it all went down.

the today show* was doing one of it's twice-weekly segments on how dirty and germy the world is. usual schtick. but b was actually listening and laughed when they said that you should close the toilet seat when you flush because it cuts down on bathroom bacteria. DUH. i mean, that's about as well known as the fact that the average office desk is dirtier than a toilet. so when i looked at him with shock (and concern - dear god, my toothbrush must be so dirty!) he couldn't believe that i actually knew that. and i always close the toilet seat for this very reason. religiously. (but not in an OCD way.)

and then he said it: you're a closet germaphob. like a knife through my heart, i tell you.

his evidence is as follows:
1. i know about the toilet thing. (he doesn't know that i know the average office desk is dirtier than a toilet. but he doesn't read my blog, so nanner-nanner!)
2. i carry purell on my key chain.
3. i like to make fun of germabhobs. (he says it takes one to know one)

my rebuttal:
1. i happen to remember a few of the germ facts matt lauer is always grossed out about. so what? i have a good memory and i'm smart. this means nothing.
2. i don't like the way my hands smell after pumping gas and i also ride the train everyday. it's crowded in there, and sometimes people breath on my hands, which YES does gross me out and requires some purell. also, a secondary defense is that they sell that purell keychain at target in the checkout lane. it was purell or chocolate. i had to buy something.
3. i also make fun of stupid people, balding men who refuse to shave their heads and poor dressers, so this logic is flawed. oh, and republicans. i love to make fun of republicans, and i'm definitely not one of those.

so you see, i am not a closet germaphob. and i'd like an apology. but b doesn't read my blog, so if someone sees him, please tell him to apologize to his wife. thank you.


*ok, i realize i probably shouldn't watch the pseudo-news that is the today show. i realize i should be above that, as a self-proclaimed enlightened media snob. (have i not proclaimed that i'm a self-enlightened media snob? well, consider it proclaimed.) (oh, and this clearly doesn't apply to celebrity trash, which i love to roll around in and absorb - but only real news.) where was i? the today show. yes. i have to watch it because it gives much needed precision and punctuality to my morning. first of all, i like to putz around in the morning. second, our apartment is markedly without clocks, and the clocks that we do have are all different. for psychological reasons. anyway, i know that i have to start breakfast by the time al says "let's see what's happening in your neck of the woods" after the 8:00 round of news. and i also know that if i'm not out of the apartment by the next time the local weather comes on, then i'm late. the today show basically functions as my mother in the morning. and thus i watch.

little miss impatient

i totally support gym-etiquette. when at 7am in a full exercise room, someone plants themself on the elliptical machine for 40 minutes, it really irks me. it's just not cool. so when i'm hoping for an especially long workout* on one machine i try to go at off-hours.

so yesterday, i went at 5pm, before people started showing up after work. i had just hopped on the machine when a girl storms in and asks me when are you going to be done on that? shit. there's no one else in the room, and she wants my machine. i said 15 minutes, both so i can get in 20 solid minutes and because i firmly believe 20 minutes is the standard and polite amount of time to use a machine when someone is waiting.

she then proceeds not to hop on a treadmill or stationery bike in the meantime (the logical thing to do while waiting, no?), but sit on the mat behind me, loudly flipping the pages on her magazine, sighing and checking the time on her cell phone approximately every 90 seconds.
after 15 minutes, i oblige and stop ... wipe down the machine, and hop on the treadmill.

little miss impatient spent the next 10 minutes on the machine, switching between going forward and backward every 60 seconds, and left.

after 10 minutes. 10 minutes.

she was breathing down my neck, just sitting there on the floor in order to get 10 minutes on the machine? she can't have been pressed for time, or one would logically assume that she'd have used those 15 minutes that she was waiting to ... i don't know ... exercise?

maybe switching directions every 60 seconds turns the elliptical machine into a magic ass-shrinking miracle machine, which requires only 10 minutes. if anyone is familiar with this or any other miracle ass-shrinking miracles, please feel free to pass that info along.**

maybe i shouldn't complain too much - i did get the machine back to finish my workout.

*we leave for st. martin in 1 month and 4 days. thus the need for the long workout.

**we leave for st. martin in 1 month and 4 days. thus the need for the magic ass-shrinking miracle machine.

metro monday v: the post-thanksgiving grumpy edition

let me guess. long-distance relationship? you spent thanksgiving weekend avoiding your parents' guilt-laced phone calls for not being home while you shagged in a roommate-free apartment? hey, i'm cool with that. but listen, while you are taking the train to the airport, hugging, kissing, giggling, trying not to cry, clocking the woman sitting next to the aisle with a bag everytime you go in for a new hug (and hogging most of the aisle with your huge unnecessary luggage) the rest of us are being jolted back to reality after a lovely long weekend. we're grumpy. and your cooing is not only annoying, but provides a perfect target for our general discontent with this very painful monday morning.

so don't take personal offense to all the nasty sideways glances and rolled eyes directed at you this morning. but do take the hint and say your official kissy-poo good-byes before leaving the apartment, hm?

and ps. if anyone sees me today, please know that when i pulled these socks out of the drawer this morning, they were not purple. they were dark brown. i'm an adult, and i know that purple socks do not even remotely match what i'm wearing today. but know this, that they magically transformed colors at some point between my closet and the courthouse station, which is when i looked down and realized that ... i'm wearing purple socks. (i've tried to work out how this might be the fault of the kissy-poo couple, but it's not really working out.)

move over, mashed potatoes!

b informed me over dinner tonight (a repeat of thanksgiving feast-ivities) that he's revised his top 3 list. b likes to rank his favorite things. prior to tonight's dinner, the list went like this:

1. me;
2. his dearly departed childhood dog, sam (rest in peace) to whom there may or may not be a shrine in our bedroom; and
3. mashed potatoes.

but at dinner tonight, b informed me that his version of heaven would include a giant pool of carmelized onions and garlic - and the only way to get out would be to EAT your way out. seriously. this shit is that good." and carmelized onions and garlic has replaced mashed potatoes.

the top 3 now looks like this:

1. me;
2. his dearly departed childhood dog, sam (rest in peace) to whom there may or may not be a shrine in our bedroom; and
3. carmelized onions and garlic.

mashed potatoes could not be reached for comment. although i did console them by having an extra large helping this evening. i hope it helped. (i still love you, mashed potatoes.)

you will *not* be disappointed!

i'm not usually a baker, but today i caught the bug. i combined a couple trusted recipes to come up with the best damn oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. try my recipe. you'll be glad you did!

2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
2 sticks softened butter
3/4 cup regular sugar
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 eggs
2 cups (12 oz) chocolate chips
2 cups oatmeal

wisk together flour, baking soda, nutmeg, cinnamon and salt in a bowl.

separately, beat butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar and vanilla. add eggs one at a time, beating well after each; next add the flour mixture. stir in chocolate and oatmeal slowly.

bake at 375F. 7-9 minutes. i like to turn the baking sheets half-way through so they brown evenly. and i also don't recommend putting two baking sheets in at once. take your time, people. enjoy standing around in your PJs and apron. is that just me?

my apartment smells like what i imagine heaven must smell like. chocolate and nutmeg. aw yeah.

happy thanksgiving!!!!!!!

h is for hypocrite

i've got christmas on the brain.

yesterday, beelog wrote, and i agreed, that all this super-early holiday marketing is nonsense. after thanksgiving, people. AFTER.

but then.

it's all i could think about. baking cookies, the warm glow of the tree, the instant decrease in blood pressure whenever there's holiday music in the background. i just couldn't stop thinking about it.

when i opened itunes this morning, i saw it there: holiday music.

gulp.

i thought i could just look, just see what's there. *wrong* first of all, who in their right mind can possibly resist buying a charlie brown christmas album?! also, the bulk of the classic holiday CDs are eight bucks. seriously. OOH! and they had the chipmunks christmas, which i used to listen to in record form on my little kid record player. i mean, can you blame me? i'm only human.

all i can say is that it's a good thing the tree is in off-site storage (read: the back of my car) and the car is still at the dealership being fixed. otherwise, i can't promise that B wouldn't come home to a decked-out apartment.

with the linus & lucy song in the background, culling through a hundred pages of evidence notes isn't that bad. i guess next time i choose to grumble about the mass market and society and blah blah blah, i'd better pick something i'm less susceptible to...

metro monday iv: thanksgiving edition (who wants seconds??)

i'd forgotten how empty the trains are once late november rolls around. but don't worry, i still found not one, but two gems to pass along.

sitting in front of me (have i mentioned the train was empty?! a seat during rush hour? glorious) ... there's no way this man was married. i couldn't see to check for a ring ... i didn't notice mismatched socks, or a wrinkled shirt. no, no. i know this man was single because of his ear hair. my god was this amazing ear hair. it was coming out of every place ... short, long, curly ... seriously, there was one hair that was at least an inch and a half long. i promise you that's the truth. and it looked like he'd gotten a hair cut recently - couldn't they have taken a little off the ears? i usually associate incredible ear hair with much older men - this guy couldn't have been much older than 50. he was only barely graying around the temples (including the ears...) - if he had a wife, she'd never let him out of the house like that. i'm sorry, but it's true. the best part was that, a few minutes after i sat down, he reached up and touched his ear hair!!! for a minute i thought, dear god was i thinking about his ear hair outloud? was my inner dialogue, my first mental draft of this blog, actually coming out of my mouth? i don't think so, but i guess i can't be too sure.

specimen number two was a holiday classic. he was dressed like a six-year-old boy. he had the quintessential fugly wool holiday-ish sweater (looked handmade in the early 80s, but it didn't have a tree or a reindeer on it) with a turtleneck underneath and a wool cap. the sweater even looked like it was too big, the arms a little long, the collar a little wide ... like his big brother had thankfully grown out of that shit and passed it on to this sucker.

so all in all, a good metro monday. a seat, some good material for everyone, and i don't have to ride the train again until next monday! yay thanksgiving!!!

i've realized riding the metro may be the most exciting part of my day

or, at least the most blogworthy. i have not yet decided how i feel about this realization. but i like to watch people, and there is no better place than a metro car for that pastime, ladies and gentlemen. so i think i'm ok with it.

let me tell you about last night's ride. first of all, you all know how i feel about balding. it's like aging, gentlemen. best if done gracefully. this man on the train last night ... he had a pretty substantial comb-over, which is a definite no-no. (unless you're carl levin or someone else who looks like ben franklin. then you can do whatever the hell you want. i love you carl!) but it was so much more than that. the wind had displaced (er ... mangled) his combover. it was sticking out, up, around, every which way. oh god it was hiLARious. (i have seriously got to get a camera phone, people. seriously.)

how am i not supposed to stare? i know it's rude, but you know what? so is a comb-over. hmph.

then ... just as i was recovering from the shock of this comb-over-gone-wild, this middle-aged, in-town-for-business, reeking-of-cheap-beer midwesterner siddles on up and plops into the seat perpendicular to mine. he looks at me and the cranky tired secretary sitting next to me, smiles, and says -

ladies.

if he'd had a cowboy hat, i'm sure he'd have tipped it.

what the ...

i'd love suggestions on how i should have responded (and don't bother commenting, with a confused look that says, "sir, we don't talk on the train. not to strangers. and not to strangers with ipods." followed by some pretend text-messaging to further avoid eye-contact. because i'm already all over that.)

i'm pretty sure i might have mono (updated)

i've been part of B's family for a while now, and it's high-time i join the club and start diagnosing my own medical conditions. this is, it turns out, the family's second favorite pastime ... second only to cooking insanely large meals for a minimum of four times the number of guests that will actually appear. their third favorite pastime is bossing me around in the kitchen.

here, S, can i get you to chop/cut/dice/slice [fill in any vegetable, most hard cheeses, fruits (dried and fresh), bacon or bread]?

so i'm trying to fit in. and i've decided i must have mono. this is the only logical explanation for my total lack of motivation to engage in anything law school related. these are the symptoms i found on webmd (who knew there was more than just being a lazy ass!):

fever, which may range from 101 °F to 104 °F, and chills.
hm. negative on those. i'm cold, but that's because we're still running the AC in november.

sore throat, often with white patches on the tonsils.
um, not this either. unless you count scratchiness from the occassional cigarette that i definitely don't smoke.

swollen lymph nodes all over the body, especially in the neck.
well, no. i don't think so.

swollen tonsils.
maybe. ok, not really. but i'm really bummed that i haven't answered yes yet.

headache or body aches.
yes! i had the worst headache as i was listening to my evidence prof read slides for two hours!

LACK OF ENERGY AND FATIGUE.
this is it! this is the one. definitely. add lack of motivation and disinterest in all things law school.

loss of appetite.
ok, definitely not.

pain in the upper left part of the abdomen, which may indicate that the spleen has become enlarged.
my spleen is actually feeling a-o-k these days. (does anyone know what the spleen even does? or where it is and what it feels like? anyone? RK??)

UPDATE: On 11/15/06, rk wrote:
i think cleans out the old red cells in your blood. helps fight infection.

didn't i tell you guys she knows everything??

well shit. i really don't know what to say. i'm still pretty sure b gave me mono. he's seems to be pretty uninterested in school these days too... i'm sure this is the answer. i'll do some independent medical research and get back to everyone.

the green-eyed monster wears little pink sneakers

what is it about little girls that makes my estrogen sky-rocket? is it all the pink? the giggling? the eyelashes? thank god i only have nephews.

this morning i met a friend and her little daughter for breakfast. everytime i see this little girl, i leave in a daze, light-headed, dreaming of striped tights and pink nurseries. GAH! somehow the intimacy of this mother-daughter bond manages to replace my visions of being a dark-suited, high-heeled, well-respected attorney with visions of doll houses and hide and seek at 2 in the afternoon.

it's like i'm in a cartoon, with the lawyer S on one shoulder and the mom-and-daughter S on the other. i'd like to see them duke it out - maybe the lawyer S would use her blackberry as a laser gun and the mom S would sling-shot barbies and freshly baked cookies.

the two versions of s are not mutually exclusive, i realize. there is a time for everything. blah blah blah. but something about seeing that little girl calls up a choir of doubt that i really could have both.

to sum up, it's a good thing:
1. i only have nephews;
2. this friend and her bundle of pink live in a different state now and only visit every few months; and
3. i have plenty of time to figure all this crap out.

metro monday iii

at first, i thought metro monday was going to be about b & i today ... about how we were both so caught up in scanning the crowd on the train for funnies that we each were, at separate stops, taken off-guard by the train's jerkiness and flailed into the people next to us. or about all the colorful language b used when he saw that there were five minutes between trains during rush hour on the orange line. (the horror! who are these incompetents?!?!?)

but as i was approaching the escalators at foggy bottom, i saw something very, very special. there was a group of touristy-looking 20-somethings trying to yank an umbrella that had gotten stuck in the door out. i assumed, as is i think logical, that the group had been leaving the train and the umbrella got stuck on the way out. but ... after they dislodged the umbrella, they stood there - waiting for the next train! one of these brainiacs, it seems, had stuck her umbrella into the train door thinking it would stay open for the whole group to enter.

listen. i don't mean to pick on the tourists or anything. it's everyone's city, yadda yadda yadda. but people. it's not an elevator. it's a train. it will smash whatever you stick between those closing doors: umbrellas, arms, small children. "please stand clear of the doors" isn't a polite reminder. it's a warning.

a little friday "it sucks that we have to work while everyone else in this city has the day off" story

we all have those co-workers in our lives that are technologically-challenged. (read: god only knows how they turn on their computers in the morning.) and those always result in some hilarious, time-wasting incidents.

this morning, rk shared with me her recent experience with her office-sharing nemesis, the smirking self-important elderly gentleman who occassionally leaves the office in the middle of the day or a project for such important tasks as, oh, picking up a ham. and he also falls asleep in meetings. a real fav of hers. let's call him SOG (sleepy old guy).

rk: SOG has been grumbling about how he always has a hard time logging onto the website where we are taking those online certification courses. you have to put in your work email and password, blah, blah. you can of course click the little "remember me" box so you don't have to enter the info again.

he was grumbling and i said i would help him. so i stand over his shoulder and watch while he enters his email and password (making sure the remember me box is checked). he clicks "ok" and sure enough he get the error message "this account doesn't exist". so i say go back and try again. this time i pay a little bit more attention as he types.

umm...as it turns out, SOG has been misspelling the company name in his email. that's why he can't log in.

SOG also sent a nasty-gram to the administrators for the website complaining about his inability to log in. i'll update if i hear anything resulting from the nasty-gram.

the congressional revolution of 2006 - bringing families together

i know we're all still working through the implications of this election - nancy pelosi becoming the most powerful woman in american history, the demise of our beloved rumsfeld, finally some oversight of the debacle in iraq - add one more to the list, shall we?

it's not news that my relationship with my dad has, of late, been somewhat ... ahem ... strained. but this election, folks, has brought us back together. we spent a good chunk of time this afternoon gushing over how giddy we are, and how fun and glorious and wrought with come-uppins this election has proven to be. he went off for a little bit on a few moderately insane conspiracy theories and plans for border control (long story short: they involve annexing the 51st state, mexico) - but i was just so thrilled he was actually talking to me that all i could do was smile.

helping estranged family members see past their differences because they have been blinded by the overwhelming joy of seeing republicans get a swift kick in the head.

thank you, democrats. those are some family values i can get behind.

"who's the decider now?" OR "to quote the eloquent nelson muntz ..."

1. yes i did get a couple hours of sleep last night and

2. i never said i wouldn't gloat.

i'm gloating, damnit. and i'm being immature about it. and i'm loving every moment.

in fact, if you had asked me if, when the dems retook the house (and how!) and the senate will probably fall our way (not to mention that governor's map. ah, the blue!!!), i would gloat, i'd have said hells yes i will gloat!

i'm a sore loser, and 2004 had me in a funk for months. but i'm also a poor winner. and so i gloat.

i won't blog on this at length. i'll let the kids at the wonkette, who are so much better than i am, take care of it. but i just have to tell you that i heard the gentle voice of karma when ken mehlman was talking about the importance of every vote counting (er, um, ken?) ...

i also just heard tom delay on cnn call karl rove a genius. this is going to be a fun, fun day.

i guess you take the good with the bad....

last night in the hour between work and class that i typically spend pretending that i'm going to study but really putzing around online, i thought it'd be a nice idea to take a walk. the reasons for this were two-fold.

1. it was a nice evening, and i didn't even have my textbook for class, so i couldn't tell myself i'd study and

2. i've recently decided that i really, seriously, honestly, swear to god, have got to start exercising. between the ever-closer trip to the french west indies (sigh), the two visits to the doctor's office that involved stepping on a scale (me: what the?! um, ma'am, i'm sorry but this scale is like 15 pounds off. seriously. i know you told me last time it was right, but really.) (ok, not outloud. but i was thinking it.), and a glance at wedding pictures that are only 14 months old (me: dude. who is this skinny girl in the white ... wait a second!) ... it's time. the 1L 15 i've started calling it.

thus: a walk.

dc is, i think, one of those cities that's much more charming after the sun's gone down. the buildings somehow seem larger, the smells better. i don't know. maybe it's just me. during the day, i never notice the small buildings tucked between the taller ones, the kosher delis, how much wider the sidewalks are here than in the midwest. (yes, we have sidewalks in the midwest.) i walked up from foggy bottom to dupont, and felt a ping of nostalgia as i passed the office building where i worked as a receptionist for an architecture firm when i was first in dc. that was only three or four years ago, but my god how things have changed since then. dvorak's new world symphony came up on shuffle on my ipod. i was zipping along, happy with the world and the city and my life and all that.

and then. then, on 20th just south of p, there. on a loading dock. there was a man. and he was taking a shit.

yeah.

metro monday ii

it's monday again, folks. sad as it is. but it's time for the second metro monday, which is kind of exciting.

first of all, i wanted to make clear what i'm going to do with metro monday. i am only going to write about things, people, smells, etc. that i encounter on the train monday morning. that's it. i'm not going to draw from my vast experience of metro-riding experience and showcase the gems on mondays. i'm not going to write about that time a couple years back when i got in a shouting match with a tourist on the escalator who was standing on the left and refused to move when i ever-so-politely said, excuse me, this is my train. i don't think that's very genuine. instead, i'm restricting myself to write only about that 4-stop commute into foggy bottom.

i'm telling you this in part to cover my ass in case some mondays are really lame. consider this your warning.

today, i would like to take a moment just as a public service announcement to discuss the aisle-sitters.* aisle-sitting is wrong, and it needs to stop. ok, sometimes at like 2 in the afternoon aisle-sitting is fine. but on the orange line during rush hour? unacceptable. there were two - count 'em, two - aisle-sitters this morning on the train. the orange line. 8:40 am. and one of them was sleeping.

aisle-sitters: you are rude. you are not paying twice as much to ride the train, so you don't get to take up two seats because you don't feel like scootching your ass over 14 inches or you don't feel like sitting next to someone. and when i see you on the train, i can assure you that the seat next to you is *always* the one i want. please show just a touch of courtesy and move it.

(also, there was this guy in the seat in front of me in an all-corduroy suit. all corduroy. can you believe that? i think my little brother had one of those when he was four or something. that dude's gonna be hot this afternoon.)


*aisle-sitting is when there are two empty seats, and you take the outside seat, leaving the inside seat empty and unaccessible.

sunday pic

fall colors in the fog

shenandoah national park, virginia

a time and a place, folks

1. i do not support the wearing of fishnet stockings, except between 11pm and 4am. *especially* not with an otherwise conservative black suit. maybe if you'd caught me last friday, i would have told you to your face. during the evening commute? this does not fall within the rules, my friend.

2. tall brown boots and short, catholic school girl-esque plaid skirt is a bit much for crim law on a thursday evening, hm? and let's watch it when we shift in our twirly law school seats, dear. all of us in the row directly behind you very nearly got a lindsay lohan-type show. (the men in class were already thinking, you had me at the clingy sweater!)

3. in my office: (a) no to the black puma sneakers with the hot pink, mister. i mean it! i know you think because they are black sneakers, they are ok in our business casual atmosphere, but you're wrong. and you're a terd, but that's another story; (b) no to the black sweatpants and huge 80s satin bow. i mean, obviously. these two things are real wrong separately. together? definetly not. unless it's a saturday morning, your house is burning down and the only thing you can find to pull your hair back is part of your "awful 80s" halloween costume.

ps. dude. what is with the body wash that has made an appearance in the ladies' room here?! i mean, as if this place weren't weird enough.....

breaking news

i think i may have just seen david hasselhoff picking his nose in a hyundai outside of the virginia square metro stop. move over perez hilton - my celeb sightings are way more reliable.

an ode to rk

well, i just realized it's thursday, and this weekend rk is going up to new york to see madame butterfly with her father as an early birthday gift. this means we will only see rk on friday evening for some holiday party planning over thai. (that's right party people! watch your mailboxes for some pretty handmade invites!) we basically hang out with rk all the time, so a saturday and sunday without her seem a bit odd.

i thought i would take this opportunity to highlight one of rk's most amusing and educational traits. she's a friggin genius people. serious. she basically knows everything.

when she joined us in detroit for the first two games of the world series (and no, i'm still not ready to talk about it), it didn't take long before b's family started asking her random questions because, well, she'd obviously know the answer.

and just this past weekend, b & i foolishly played trivial pursuit with her. she had this question:

how many points is a "C" worth, in Swedish Scrabble?

the answer is ten. and she got it right. no. i'm not kidding.

so, here's to rk. have a lovely weekend in new york, and please prance those ferragamos into the oak room at the algonquin hotel and have a martini for me, hm?

ps. b keeps saying that he's going to start blogging some on my corner of the internet. but so far he's all talk. everyone who wants b to start blogging, leave a comment urging him to start!!!

NOTE: like an idiot, i had not realized that i had to approve everyone's comments before they were published. my bad. now i see people HAVE been commenting. and i love you for that. promise to take care of that ....

instead of handing out goodies to ghouls ...

i'm sitting at the starbucks at penn and 20th, watching the sun sink into the sky over virginia and trying to determine whether i should go to class, or keep working on my evidence outline (the latter being the much more productive option). raggedy ann has just appeared, waiting for her andy as she smokes a cigarette and exposes the tattoo on her left arm. she pulled up on a well-worn bike, equiped with a tarot card snug between the spokes. she must be a courier on all days except october 31st, i deduct as she pulls the packages out of her bag. a man appears (not andy!) and gives her a lollipop. she takes it, juggling it and the thin envelopes that threaten to blow away, all the while with the cigarette dangling from her smiling lips. if only i had a fraction of this girl's coordination. and some stripey red and white tights.

this starbucks, four blocks from 1600 penn, is motorcade central. it seems that every time i'm here, a caravan of dark, speeding, unmarked, loud cars hurl past in precise formation. between the slutty raggedy ann courier and the motorcade, the retired tourist couple enjoying the balmy night on the sidewalk can hardly contain themselves. she clutches his hand as the sirens blare, both of their necks craning for a clear view into the darkly tinted windows.

the law students have started pouring into the starbucks, on cue 20 minutes before night classes begin. evidence, it turns out, waits for no trick or treaters.

metro monday

this is a new segment i'm starting to highlight the oddities of public transportation. B and i have started riding the metro into the city together in the mornings, and invariably we find ourselves silently laughing hysterically at one or more choice personalities.

i was concerned that the inaugural monday wouldn't provide any characters. but oh was i wrong. because danny devito was on the metro this morning. or maybe it just looked like him since i hadn't had any coffee yet.

first of all, he was balding. no big deal. but the choices he had made about his balding head were ... interesting. i could see from across the aisle that he had shaved those parts of the top of his head that were outside the perfect semi-circle of hair still left. my policy on balding is simple. if you are balding, shave your head. period. not shaving is squarely against my platform on balding. but shaving PARTS of it ... i hadn't even contemplated that as part of my policy on balding. now that i have seen it in real life, i'd like to announce shaving part of your head to sculpt the remaining hair line is also totally against my policies on balding.

also, he had on these straight-from-1982 black ray bans. he was wearing them in the metro, which i'm usually cool with, but was also reading his blackberry at the same time. don't people wear their shades on the trade to either sleep or people watch without detection? that was strange.

the suit - not much to say there ... it was wrinkled and too long. oh, the pants were cuffed. cuffed pants on men: also against my policies.

but the most mysterious thing about this strange man was what i saw on his attache case as i left. a VIP pass for the who.

friday night, in two parts

friday night, part one.

on the train home from work, all i could think of was how quickly the new thai place would be able to deliver our dinner - pad c'ew or thai barbecue? maybe sweet and sour chicken. after placing the order i saved the number on my cell phone. let's be honest with ourselves ... two jobs and two advanced degrees at hand? ordering in can't be avoided. and this place is the bomb. when you have a thai restaurant on speed-dial ... what exactly does that say?

exhausted from last weekend's short trip to detroit and trying to catch up on all that missed homework, i knew the birthday party we were going to attend on the hill would require tapping into a reserve of energy that i was unsure i had. but it's not every day a girl gets to celebrate a birthday with someone who has actually danced with ellen! (hot diggity dog!) after a totally satisfying dinner of quickly-delivered thai and a trip to the stationery store for a gift set of kate spade notecards (snail mail! oh god so clever!) we were ready to go.



we walked down pennsylvania avenue to the bar, with the rain coming down in sheets and the two of us folded together under our umbrella. my heels were clicking along, trying to keep up with b, as the lights from the dome of the library of congress reflected off the soaked pavement. a small family crossed the street in front of us, and the 3ish boy stomped into a puddle, much to the mixed amusement and annoyance of his young parents. but he wasn't our kid, and we thought it was hilarious.

when we got to the bar, the bouncer somehow deciphered that we were with the private party, shunned our IDs, and sent us upstairs. this place is a university of michigan football bar on saturdays, and we've spent a few choice fall days as part of a group jumping and screaming and daring the century-old wood floors. but tonight, it was 80s music that filled the place up to the tall, beamed ceilings. the bartender is a graduate student with b. this, at first, seemed fortuitous. turns out, not so much. turns out her version of amaretto on the rocks is a bit more amaretto and a bit less rocks than my liver is accustomed to. but she was super nice, turned off the game when the tigers lost and snapped at a cardinals fan who protested.

maybe it was ej's musings that got me thinking ... but i couldn't help but wish that the 15-year-old me could have seen into the future, to see me on that night. that young me would have been able to rest so much easier in our future ... something about dancing to madonna along with all these other women with high heels and master's degrees ... i sighed in relief, so firm in that i'm going to be ok, that the chances are slim of waking up at 40 unhappy and convinced i had wasted my intellect and potential. i was all smiles, carefree and happy even though the tigers lost. in hindsight, i wonder if it was actually all that liquor making me so misty and sentimental ...

part two.

it's hard to pinpoint when exactly i knew that the evening had slipped out of control. it may have been when i dropped my freshly lit cigarette onto the old hardwood floors in the bar and ... well ... i picked it up and took a drag. maybe it was when i first crawled into the cab and shoved all the cash from my pocket into b's hand - a silent gesture that i would not be interacting with our fine driver. or when i looked at the dome of the library of congress again but this time the lights and the rain and the dome kind of melted into one big mass of bright. but i think those were just foreshadowing moments.

as we drove back into virginia, over the potomac, my window down all the way and the rain pouring in and pelting my red-from-liquor cheeks, the pentagon and that god awful new air force memorial piercing the sky - that's when it hit me. that's when i knew it was bad. (wasn't just me. i read this paragraph to b ... the windows were down in the cab?) that's when i knew that the night the tigers lost the world series had risen to the same historical status as the tequila incident of 2003. and the time i thought i'd be fun to mix my own long island ice teas. not quite as bad as those two landmarks, but up there.

when we finally stumbled into the building, i prayed the doorman wasn't there to see me in such a state. but the thing is ... i forgot to check. or if i did, i just don't remember.

UPDATE:

i didn't forget a sunday picture - blogger won't let me post one. i don't know why.

so click here. it's prince street in old town alexandria. sorry to make you click. stupid blogger.

s does current affairs

and in so doing, exposes her previously closely guarded political beliefs to the whole world. or at least, the whole world who knows the five letters after s.*

today's headlines

rush limbaugh should go fuck himself.

(alternatively, i was thinking of making some clever remark about how someone should tell him that when you're taking a prescription for a disease as opposed to recreationally, measuring efficacy is different ... but then i thought of him taking viagra and then i remembered exactly what he was accusing alex p. keaton of ... and, well, all i could think is this guy can go fuck himself.)

america. new jersey is ushering us into an enlightened, modern, accepting era of civil rights. new jersey, people. doesn't this tell us something?!

(ps sorry new jersey. but it's true. ps i loved garden state.)

*and of course if you do know those five little letters, you probably already know where i stand on these and all issues.

on récolte ce qu'on seme!

pedestrians, fear not! sometimes, karma does reward that bastard in the mercedes. promise!

since i've admittedly had few interesting, non-bathroom-related observations of late, i've decided to stretch out all the fun from the past few days just a little bit. so i'll start by telling the weekend story with recounting some unadulterated pedestrian joy lo friday night.

following another satisfying meal at our new favorite thai place , b and i were enjoying a cool walk home along wilson boulevard when we nearly witnessed a 20-something (crossing the street in a totally legal fashion) get hit by a prick in a big mercedes, accompanied by plenty of uncalledfor honking.

little did the aforementioned prick know ... those two motorcyclists behind him were actually cops. and they totally pulled his prick ass over.

the 20-something finished crossing the street just as we arrived at the corner - just as the cops turned on their lights. and our jaws dropped. the 20-something turned to us ... did you SEE that?! that was fucking awesome!!! [insert profuse air punching]

and as we crossed the street alongside the prick in the mercedes, as he sat there like a fool waiting for his ticket - we laughed. we laughed and pointed, and the cops smiled at us.

those were the days

remember when a note from home could excuse you from just about every painful school-related experience as a kid? man i miss that.

best bud rk - probably sick and tired of hearing me bitch about this thing via gmail all morning - finally took things into her own hands ... and decided to write me a note. she emailed it to me so i could just forward it along to the appropriate law school staff. super thoughtful.

______________________________

Dear Law School:

Please excuse SB from her law thing tomorrow.

While I'm sure many students find this a useful and productive exercise, S finds the whole thing very painful.

In addition, she has other commitments that take precedence (note the use of a law word) over this law thing. These are commitments that require her to be in Detroit, MI for the duration of this law thing.

With this in mind, I am sure you won't object (another law word) to S missing this law thing. Thank you for your understanding.

________________________________________

awe. some.

THEN - b, issued a concurring opinion upon being forwarded rk's opinion. it follows:

There is clear precedence for S' participation in cheering for the Detroit Tigers. S is considered the forewoman of the fan club jury and her participation in playoff efforts is essential to victory in this case. Much like an amicus brief might sway the ruling of the justices, her cheering is required for Tiger victories. S must be excused. This is not a request, but a ruling from the 2006 Detroit circuit.

perhaps there's some truth to the maxim: "write what you know"

which for me means ... obviously ... my office bathroom.

this is not a good week. i'm all about hard work, sure, but this moot court competition has consumed me, and i'm ready to shelf it in favor of actually preparing for class. so i've been keeping my head down, in a book or in front of my laptop, trying to just will the hours by. i'm torn, dreading saturday (arguments from 10-3) and simultaneously thrilled for it (flight for detroit and the world series leaves at 5).

so, since my head has been down, i've been less observant than usual. but i do have some bathroom-related humor to share. lately this has been a hot topic for me. and i've been torn about whether to share the new developments ... the problem is this. b wonders if i should take my blog down the road of bathroom humor? is that what i want this to be? but b's boss (hey HEY hey!) thinks there's a market out there for bathroom humor.

the decision was made by the fact that i haven't had anything remotely interesting to blog about in days. except the tigers. and i'm not one to blog a dead horse.

so i blog what i know. the weirdos that use my office bathroom.

here goes.

turns out the crazy germaphobs in my office *literally* refuse to allow any surface of the bathroom to come into contact with any part of their body ... you're thinking, ok, s, we know this. the doorknobs, the sink handles, the twice-daily cleaned porcelain. what else? i'll tell you what else! the locks on the doors! how, oh how, do i know this you wonder? whilst i was washing my hands in the WC earlier this week, i witnessed my kind and polite boss accidentally opened the stall door in use by a known germaphob. boss apologized, and germaphob responded - that's ok - i didn't lock it.

she didn't lock it.

she didn't lock the stall door.

here's the thing. i'd rather have 4 square centimeters on two of my fingers touch the lock on the bathroom stall than risk exposing my vijayjay to an office-mate. but hey, those are my priorities.

who thinks i should start accidentally opening bathroom stall doors to see if it's an office-wide trend? or would that make me weird? or should i not worry about that because i've already blogged thrice about the bathroom habits of my office-mates?

what a sunday morning!

this deserves more than just one picture.

no sunday morning picture(s) next week. i'll be in detroit, fools.

welcome to detroit city

it's cold, it's snowy, it's windy. this type of weather is what people expect for the super bowl, not game three of the alcs. but it's michigan, and you never can be too sure.

i'm rushing home today after work, meeting b and rk at home, and we'll all pile onto our bed (because the tv is in the bedroom - it's a small apartment, what can i say?) with a big bowl of popcorn and watch kenny rogers ... i can't say it. mitch albom can say it. but i can't. i can't tell you that i've been looking at the prices of flights to detroit, next weekend ... to watch a game (even if from a bar downtown) that may or may not happen ... i can't say it not only because i'm not sure if i'd laugh or cry while saying it, but also because i can't jinx it for b. he seemed almost depressed after game four against the yankees, because i think he was afraid they'd break his heart, this team. the pain of losing, the further we get into november, will i think increase as well.

that's why i can't say it. i won't tell you what i'm thinking. (i can't.)

prank calls and giggles

it is frightful how quickly i can regress back to seventh grade.

my morning round of internet putzing led me to some of the most fun i've had in a while.

for free, you can put your number (please.) on dwight schrute's call list. obviously, i've been going through every number in my cell phone and placing my fellow office watchers on the list. prank calling, and waiting for a reaction. will they know it's me?* that i'm the culprit? good, clean fun.

so next time your phone rights from an unknown number, be ready. it might be dwight berating you for not being adult enough to show up at work on time.

*(probably they will. who else has this kind of time on their hands? and in the epic battle between prank calls and reading about complex litigation, who do you think wins?)

sunday morning

and a fine october sunday morning it is.

the detroit skyline, from comerica park, the home of the tigers.

Jim: Ever since I was a little kid, like eight or nine, I could sort of control things with my mind. Dwight: I don't believe you, continue.

it's friday, dreary. a slow, cold, rainy day that demands mid-day naps on the couch under heaps of blankets, not updating databases and running reports.

something had to be done to save this day.

as i watched a fellow office mate spend four minutes scrubbing up to her elbows in the ladies' room, i had an idea. maybe it's my inner jim. who's to say. whatever triggered the impulse, it seemed like the perfect way to liven up a friday afternoon.

13:15 EST - coast is clear. entered the ladies room. placed open lipstick on the shelf by the mirror, in case some came in and i had to look busy. jimmied open the toilet seat cover dispenser and took out the full pack. quickly stuffed into the garbage. closed the dispenser. washed hands a few times - part homage to irony, part hoping to fill the garbage up with paper towels to cover the confiscated paper seat covers.

13:17 EST - inform office co-conspirator of my plan. waited until after the deed was done - didn't want to be talked out of it.

13:18 EST - loud guffaws from the co-conspirator's office. plan well-received.

13:19 EST - back in my cube. am close enough to the restroom to hear the door open and close (and the toilet flush. that discussion is for another day). the clock on the wall ticks loudly, like a little unsanitary bomb just waiting to go off. i wait.

13:54 EST - the janitor makes an unscheduled mid-day appearance to the sixth floor. am giddy that my plan has already worked.

13:58 EST - janitor leaves.

13:59 EST - check the ladies room. no new paper seat covers, but the dispenser has been opened. the cover hangs down, announcing to the world that it's empty. who opened it?

14:02 EST - an unidentified woman enters the ladies room (use astute deduction skills to assume it's a woman because she entered the ladies room). some rustling, no toilet flush. exits the ladies room.

14:04 EST - fake sniffle like i have to blow my nose so cube-mate won't get suspicious. re-enter ladies' room for inspection.

14:04 EST - confirm to co-conspirator that paper toilet seat covers have been replaced.

14:07-10 EST - notice three famously germ-a-phobic women enter ladies room. decided i must come up with a plan to uncover the head germ-a-phob narc.

14:13 EST - realize i still have three hours before i can go home. crap.

on feeling out of place here in october

tigers, meet october. october, tigers. been a while.

thanks to some sudden storms in new york last night, i found myself in the law school lounge today with my lunch, headphones plugged into the laptop and listening to detroit sport radio and trying to contain my anxiety. when verlander wiggled his way out of the bases loaded early in the game, i was giddy and ready to yell, but quickly noticed all the popped-collared 23-year-olds around me yelling at their laptops.

being a midwesterner in dc, i know i'm out of place. even more so where i go to school. but i felt a more profound difference click into place. after game one, i did a little research and had discovered that the yankees' payroll (as of april) was $194.6 million. the tigers: $82.6 million. the tigers' payroll is 42% the size of the yankees'. every starter in the yanks' lineup has been to the all-star game at least once (in fact, the only guy who's only been once is batting ninth). when you buy an all-star team, how are the rest of us supposed to compete? it's elitist. and it's not right.

elitist. now i've been accused (perhaps rightly so) of being elitist ... but it's somehow different. i realized that if i had engaged any of the popped collars about the difference in payroll and how that was just fundamentally unfair ... i don't think i would have been well-received. maybe i'm a work-ethic elitist. i think that money shouldn't get you places, hard work should. i just don't think it's authentic, and what i love about baseball is that it's - authentic. largely unchanged by technology (steroids notwithstanding, another scolding blog to come another day). genuine. unpredictable. at the whim of the baseball gods or karma or (sometimes i believe) how determinedly i can cross my fingers and hope.

the tigers, of course, took the day. back to detroit for two games, needing only those two to send the dynasty money built back to the bronx. who can say what will happen. but as i sit in class with the students whose parents have bought them beemers and are footing the six-figure law school bill, private school from age 5, never having known what it's like to know their parents can't pay the mortgage (i'm looking at you, catgirl - you too, R)... the fact that sometimes midwesterners with strong work ethics and no pedigree can hang with the popped collars - it wasn't lost on me.

p.s. not sure why it's saying i posted this yesterday. i'm not psychic. the date is just wrong.

An open letter to the germ-a-phobs who work in my office building

I’ve been meaning to write this letter for a while now, but today’s ridiculous events have convinced me that it’s high-time we’ve had a talk, ladies. This event, of course, is when apparently a code-blue alert was issued upon our ladies room running out of paper toilet seat covers.

I mean, you called the janitor?

You. Called. The. Janitor.

Um, yes, is this the emergency janitorial central headquarters? Yes, I need to report that a restroom on the sixth floor of the coldest office building in the metro DC area has run out of paper toilet seat covers. Yes. Just now. Please hurry!

Nevermind that we’re getting frostbite on our typing fingers and I think one of the penguins that has taken up in the back cubicle has it out for me. No, no. Paper toilet seat covers. Priorities.

It might be important to note that there are probably 12-15 women on my floor, and we share a three-stall restroom. I’ve been in some skanky bathrooms, and I assure you that this one is fine. Seriously. Yet, the majority of the middle-aged women on this floor insist on the paper toilet seat cover and wash their hands like their prepping for brain surgery. And god forbid they’d have to touch the sink handle with their … actual … skin. Ladies. What in the name of all things holy do you expect to catch in this bathroom?!

Let me assure you that I’m a clean person. In fact, I even have a little Purell bottle on my keychain. Just in case. Ok, I get cleanliness! But my god this isn’t the kind of bathroom where a doctor is having sex with a dying patient in a bar! This is an office building. It’s an office building that’s cleaned regularly. And you push paper, not clots through someone’s arteries.

Heretofore, I’ve just laughed at the strange, collective, germ-a-phobia that engulfs my office. But please, ladies, let’s just not make the nice janitor lady cut her lunch short so you can place that thin piece of paper between your deriere and the porcelain, hm?

shame on them.

this is frightening. how is it ok to think that we need to indoctrinate youth in america like they are in pakistan? really? this is really what our nation is coming to? seriously.

these people are exploiting their children for their political beliefs and it's disguisting.

shame on them.

how many years of college does it take to change a lightbulb? is 15 enough? UPDATED

i'm afraid of my car. on a few levels. sometimes on bridges, i have images of being thrown off the side like that yugo that sailed off the mackinac bridge when i was a kid. but more than that, i'm scared of taking care of my car. i can get the oil changed, but whenever something comes up that requires a [gulp] mechanic, it tends to turn me from a confident, educated modern woman to a bumbling, frightened, shaking sucker. and i'm pretty sure they have some kind of sensor at garages that sense fear. i must send it off the chart.

my check engine light has been for years. years. after about six traumatizing visits to the mechanic, i stopped going. now, i get scared when the check engine light turns off. lately, the driver's side headlight has been on the fritz. for a while, just pounding the light a few times would jolt it back to life, like those shock paddles they have in the emergency room. but it stopped working. this morning, out of nowhere after breakfast, B and i had a gust of bravery and stopped at the auto supply store to buy our own headlight. we're smart, educated, clever people. surely we can change a simple headlight, right?

make sure not to touch that glass with your finger, the cashier said. otherwise, it will probably explode. m'kay. B had read the owner's manual, and it looked pretty straightforward. this cashier was probably just trying to freak us out.

so we came home and lugged all our tools down to the parking garage. B was excited to prove his testosterone levels. the excitement quickly turned to cursing those crazy south koreans that built my car. not his car, of course. my car. (note: any of you that have ever enjoyed even one beer with B knows all too well his disdain for foreign cars. he, of course, will only own an american car. he refuses to put his name on the title of the kia. no joke. so, obviously, if this were an american car, the headlight wouldn't have even burned out, according to B. and if it did, changing it would be nothing short of a delight.)

ninety minutes, a brief moment where B thought he should remove the side panel of the car, and a google consultation later, we decided to discard the stupid owner's manual's directions and just took out the battery. from there, it was a quick job to get that old bulb out and shove the new one in. (B touched it quickly, but it didn't explode. nice.) and there was only one little spark when B was rehooking the battery. mission accomplished.

but imagine my surprise when i hopped in the car to run to the grocery store. (B needed celery - he's making homemade chicken soup for dinner. DAMN i love this man.) it wasn't until i was pulling out of the parage garage that i noticed it.

the check engine light.

it isn't on anymore. gulp.

UPDATE: the check engine light is back. phew.

a new, remarkable low

six law student volunteers pretending they are lawyers, one socially awkward professor, lights too low, illegible fake jury directions. a crowd of blank, dull eyes stare back as crazy t states her case.

two in front of me: myspace.
one in front and to the right: paying verizon bill.
even H checked her email.
one in front and to the left: solitaire.
a few over: shopping.
it's an accurate representation.

and me? reading an entire script from an episode of the office. from season 2.

today, ladies and gentleman, we have reached a truly remarkable low.

sigh.

UPDATE: in the front, to the left: reading the maryland poison center website. wtf. maybe brain poisoning. from boredom.

wrest from the cold hands of a right-wing conspiracy

it's a beautiful thing to see lady justice twart the vast right-wing conspiracy that brought down the most popular politician in macomb county, michigan for 20 years ... thank god it took only his political career, not his freedom.

B and i couldn't be happier.

seriously.

i know i've been a little obsessed with my two favorite television shows lately. sorry. the thing is, i only get to watch those two shows these days (plus a little daily show if i can stay up that late, and also football on the weekends, because i can usually do homework at the same time) and so i must embrace them.

right now, i'm listening to the grey's anatomy podcast, which i have missed sorely. (obsessed, see?) i so appreciate the writing that shonda rhimes does, i just love her. but now i love her even more. she was talking about how much of a fool she made of herself when she met the cast of the office, which is her favorite show. seriously. i could be this woman's best friend. we would get along so well. and then she could tell me secrets about mcdreamy and meredith and finn, and it'd be great. for example, she could tell me if that rumor i read that there is going to be a threesome on grey's this season is true. because i really need to know.

at some point i'll maybe try to stop writing only about television. but while i'm on the topic, let me just say that i bought this for A for her birthday. and it got to her before her birthday. this has NEVER happened. usually i'm a couple months late. and so is she. it's our thang. but not this year, oh no.

sunday morning

orient beach, st. martin, the french west indies

my head didn't explode

though i was really scared about it for a while.

i totally skipped class to watch tv last night. i admit it. and you know what? i'm not sorry.

i won't list all the reasons why, because i'm not sure how people will react to my total obsession with grey's anatomy and the office. but there are so many reasons. i think i'll re-watch them both this weekend. a couple times.

but briefly, thank you pam so much for not marrying roy. and also i cried twice during grey's anatomy. again, i admit it.



this actually makes me feel bad for roy. but then i remember that he is a jerk and left pam at a hockey game on their first date. oh, and that jim is awesome. then i don't feel so sorry anymore. (plus there's the fact that this is all fiction, which i realize. seriously.

my head might explode

i can't believe the premiers for the office and grey's anatomy are on the same night.

seriously.

i'm so excited i think my head might explode.

spicy jesus roll

i think it's no secret that i enjoy a little celeb trash from time to time. ah, escapism.

from msn's gossip page:

Stephen Baldwin has a message for Tom Cruise: Let's do lunch, with a little scripture on the side.
"On the Hollywood list of people I pray for often, Tom Cruise is probably No. 1," the born-again "Bio-Dome" D-lister tells Radar. "All I have to say to Tom is, God bless ya, I hope you're having fun. But I'd love through Radar magazine to throw a gauntlet down to Mr. Cruise. I'd love to break bread with him and pray with him, and I'd love for the Holy Spirit of God to reveal the truth to him. That would be an awesome thing."

Baldwin, who describes himself as one of the "new breed of Christians" who "are gettin' ready to kick ass in the name of the Kingdom," then beseeches, "Seriously though, can you put us together? Can we get a little sushi together? I'd like to give him a spicy Jesus roll."

ok, ok. i'll try not to be too snarky here. it's killing me, it really is. with every insulting comment i think of, i can see B shaking his head at me.

but seriously - spicy jesus roll has got to be my new favorite phrase. kick ass in the name of the kingdom - also a gem. (note: i've enjoyed many a spicy roll in my day, but usually ... uh ... tuna. what the hell is this guy talking about?!)

yes, mr. baldwin. your religious fanaticism is superior to mr. cruise's.

it's a sad day when the leaders of the free world engage in such deception and trickery. ~ Major R. Owens

today is one of those days that i just can't think of anything clever to blog about. so i'm going to entrust that to the onion, the home of all things clever and not-too-far-from-being-true.

New Bill Would Defend Marriage From Sharks

WASHINGTON, DC—Congressional Republicans cited the saw-edged teeth of the shark community as a direct threat to married couples everywhere.

all the clever has been sucked out of my brain lately - i've been trying to morph myself into a fake lawyer for this fake case i'm working on that believes it's actually a brilliant idea for the government to spy on people's internet activity with no just cause and no warrant. i've even been quoting W and cheney. people, that's not a good day. when you're using W logic to make a legal argument, it's like standing on the edge of a intellectual cliff.

i love ya, H, but this project sucks. please don't ask me to do it again next year.

my very strong feelings about radishes

prior to our august vacation to michigan, i had never eaten a radish. Not One. Ever. i’d thought i had expunged myself of all those things i learned from my parents that i probably wouldn’t like … including, but not limited to, grapefruits, cauliflower, artichokes, spinach, pretty much all raw vegetables - and radishes. once i realized during high school that my parents abhorred trying new foods, i set out to try (and like) them all, which i pretty much do - except lima beans and peas, both of which my dad loves and – strangely – B is allergic to so i don’t ever have to eat.

i don’t mean to insult my parents because they didn’t expose me to the joy of spicy freshness that is embodied in a radish – i understand that most americans are content with pre-packaged or fast food. that’s fine. my point with all this is to highlight how completely parents can decide that their children’s world view will be limited – politically, socially, economically, culinary-ily … to think my parents had the ability to keep me away from radishes. it's shocking.