eye on detroit

let's start with what is not shocking: a road rage incident in metro detroit. not because i think detroit is more prone to road rage; in fact, i think that drivers in the metro detroit area are infinitely better drivers than drivers around here. (you are crazy, dc drivers. seriously. where the hell did you people learn how to drive? you. are. terrible.)

sorry.

anyway, let's move to what is shocking:

that this person has apparently been living as a woman for some time now.

really? really. when i saw the headline that said this choir director has been suspended through september, i just assumed it was for falsifying employment records by claiming to be a woman. or, for buying a terrible wig.

on public restrooms

not that, you pervs.

i had a dream the other night that ej had asked both b and i what annoyed us about the other person while we were at a slumber party in the farmhouse in which my grandmother used to live with her second husband before he died. obviously.

anyway, his answer was that i could be vindictive and manipulative (what? moi?) and my answer was that i hate it when we go shopping and he has to use the bathroom and then we have to drive all the way home because he needs to be at his home base.

i'm not sure how common this phenomenon is with men. maybe all men hate public restrooms. maybe men's rooms are even more disgusting than i imagine they must be. but the fact is ... i was never exposed to this particular phobia - the phobia of having to sit one's bare ass on a toilet used by strangers - before marrying b. i've never seen a person abandon an entire cart of stellar buys at marshalls or tjmaxx because, well, it was just time to go. even for an accused germaphob like me, the idea of sharing some porcelain with strangers is just a fact of life. i make do, as it were.

but b, no no. he'll have no such thing if there's anyway around it. if that means aborting a shopping trip suddenly, that's what it means. if it means our morning sitting at starbucks reading the newspaper is cut short, well, c'est la vie.

i guess it doesn't matter anyway. after this week, i don't think he's ever going into a public restroom again.

metro monday: the back to school edition

i was going to spend my first post-sabbatical metro monday on the following two words and how they should be banned from the english language:

fanny pack.

and really, who can't write a little something funny about the fanny pack?

but since this is the back to school edition, i'm instead going to focus on the following two words, inspired by one of my professors:

man boobs.

and more specifically, man boobs highlighted by a thin t-shirt under which no t-shirt is worn, and through which hard nipples are displayed.

people, a lot of what i do on my little corner of the Internets is to make fun of people. a whole lot. but this is more of a public service announcement, really.

gentlemen. listen up. if you have man boobs, give your wardrobe a little thought. if a thin cotton t-shirt is the first thing you grab out of the closet, take a pause. you need to consider just placing a white t-shirt under that thin cotton t-shirt. and what's more - if you have a tendency to maintain freakishly hard nipples for a man (or mammal), perhaps two t-shirts won't be enough.

and further still, if you're a law professor, a single thin cotton t-shirt is not acceptable on the first - or any - day of class.

because of this, i'm actually going to make fun of this professor.

MY PROFESSORS BIG MAN BOOBS AND FREAKISHLY HARD NIPPLES HAVE BEEN DISTRACTING ME FROM THE BACK ROW FOR EXACTLY ONE HOUR AND FORTY THREE MINUTES! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! MAN BOOBS!

The Call

it came well after business hours, and i had basically assumed any hope of receiving it today was all but lost. but as i sat moping a little in bed, staring blankly at the television - it came. a random 202 number that i did not recognize.

the substance of The Call was, i'm not going to lie, not a surprise. i worked hard all summer (well, i mean, as hard as a summer associate can, people!) to make sure that the substance of The Call would not be a surprise. nonetheless, hearing those words, the firm would like to make you an offer for permanent, full-time employment after graduation ... it was hard to hear the rest of that sentence over the hallelujah chorus that was going off in my mind.

i. have. a. job.

the partner seemed surprised when i accepted right then and there over the phone. i don't know why he thought i needed time to think it over. i've been planning to take this offer ever since he said clusterfuck in my screening interview. no, seriously. he said clusterfuck. and i thought, now this ... this is a man i can work with. he's lucky that he even got out the firm would like to ... before i said yes. it took some serious self-control, my friends.

so now it is official. and i need a drink.

we'll never know what could have been...

i don't know how well we know each other, dear readers.

i realized this as i started crafting this post about how devastated a specific law firm should be that they did not give me an offer last summer. i started writing and then it occurred to me - you all may not know that i dance like a strange amalgamation of elaine benes, ellen, carlton banks and madonna. b likes to call it avant garde, and constantly instructs me never NEVER to dance in front of a mirror, either for fear it will break or that i will see the hideousness of my dancing and thus rob him from a lifetime of laughing hysterically at me. as an aside, i've come to think these mad skills are genetic - during nephewmania 2007, i had a dance party with the big A, who made me turn on the ringer to my cell phone (the same ringer b thinks sucks and i think is wicked funky) and we had a sweet dance party in his bedroom. and i have to say - whatever special dna has bestowed on me these mad moves, that kid totally got it.

but i digress.

when i first listened to this definitely not a theme song, i could only shake my head and laugh. trying to imagine the context in which the partners approved the necessary funds to produce this little gem, i came up empty. but then it occurred to me - these people turned me down.*

ME.

the girl with the Child of Carlton Banks And Elaine Benes At A Holiday Party Trying To Be Ellen And Madonna Simultaneously dance moves.

talk about raising employee morale! best place to work in dc? with this girl dancing to that song? damn right best place to work in dc!

your loss, suckas.


*UPDATE: last year - this isn't the firm with which i spent the summer. there's still hope on that front...

national airport cell phone waiting area, i thought i knew you

oh, national airport cell phone waiting area! just when i thought we had really gotten to know each other, this happens. we've spent some quality time together, you and i ... listening to music or npr, staring aimlessly out the window, waiting for the phone to ring. (this actually sounds a lot like how The Most Annoying Coworker Ever spends his days. curious.)

but i never expected this kind of behavior from you, national airport cell phone waiting area. and at first i didn't believe it. when the middle-aged, bleached-blond, white-washed jeans woman stepped out of the driver's seat of her small car, opened the passenger's side door and began fiddling with the seat of her companion, i figured he couldn't figure out how to adjust his seat. and when she reclined his seat back all the way, i figured it was going to be a long wait or he was feeling ill. even when she climbed in on him, i still didn't fully realize what was going on. but then the door shut. and as she flipped that dried-out, bleached-blond hair over her shoulder and went in to kiss his neck, and as his hands started running up and down her back ... i lost all respect for you, national airport cell phone waiting area. truly.

you made me look like a fool in front of the people in the car next to me, to whom my head-bobbing must have looked ridiculous, as i kept having to adjust my line of vision so i couldn't see any of this grody middle-aged making out in the car next to me. and when i beeped my horn after b finally called and i was backing out, hoping to remind the pair making out in the chevy cobalt that there happen to be other people in the national airport cell phone waiting area, i'm sure everyone else in the lot thought i was a total weirdo.

but i hope you know the truth, national airport cell phone waiting area. i was simply trying to enjoy some quiet time with you before b arrived, just some me and you time, some npr and staring out the window. and i didn't think that was too much to ask for.

an open letter to the crazy woman that verbally accosted me in giant this afternoon

dear crazy woman:

although i did not get the chance to explain this to you today after you verbally assaulted me at giant, you should know that i parked my grocery cart in front of the stale, iced donuts and left to maneuver the chip aisle for doritos for b (how else, i ask, will he comfort himself when i'm gone this week for nephew-mania 2007?), in no way whatsoever to piss you off. in fact, as i buzzed into the unbelievably crowded chip aisle - the one into which i had decided not to bring my cart for fear of inconveniencing a whole aisle of people - i did not at first realize that i was the recipient of the random bitching. you see, i chose to park my cart in front of the stale, iced donuts because i thought, gosh, i definitely won't be in anyone's way here! obviously, no one is buying these gross chocolate and sprinkled stale things that have been sitting there since yesterday morning. no problems. la la la.


and also, if i'm telling you the truth, i didn't hear 90% of what you actually said, primarily because i truly had no idea that someone could be so angry about my blocking the stale, iced donuts. i thought for sure that someone had taken your cart, or had ran over your foot with a cart, or had taken your cart and then run over your foot with it.

but as i returned to my cart, noticing it had been shoved out into traffic, and seeing you still grumbling under your breath, i realized that, indeed, i was the recipient of your wrath. and i didn't even think about how much you, of all shoppers, so did not need to be buying half a dozen stale, chocolate, sprinkled donuts (and maybe i'm not one to talk, but i wasn't the one buying that shit) until after you barked - I HAD TO MOVE YOUR CART - and then scowled at me for an uncomfortable length of time without even blinking.

after avoiding your glare by noticing that you really didn't need to be buying donuts, i also noticed, you were taken aback by my response. nothing more than so i heard as i walked away.

even still, i didn't quite realize how bad the things you were obviously saying were until, obviously rattled by the fact that i wouldn't engage in your craziness, you said i ... i ... i revised my statement. i revised my statement to concern your behavior only, not necessarily you as a person. i ... i ...

now, this would have been the perfect time to turn around, and explain to you in no uncertain terms that i am not whatever the hell you called me and that, in fact, i was trying to be courteous to the 415 people in the chip aisle by leaving my cart aside. and perhaps even acknowledging that my behavior may have been somewhat inconsiderate and apologizing for my blockage of the donuts that would so shortly be blocking your arteries. and maybe if you weren't so obviously fucking crazy, i would have indulged you.

but i'm glad i just walked away. i'm glad i kept all my smug remarks and explanations to myself. i'm also glad that giant was particularly packed on this late sunday afternoon, and that a good portion of the 415 people in the chip aisle happened to hear your little rampage. i'm glad because this incident was so clearly about whatever crazy things are going on in your life that made it necessary for you to take out your anger on an anonymous shopper who left her cart in front of the day-old glazed donuts and inconvenienced you for all of 3 seconds.

crazy lady, i hope you're a religious woman. first of all, i love the idea of you telling your priest in confession or something that you lashed out at a random young lady at the grocery store. but more importantly, i hope you can come to see that my cart being parked in front of those donuts was most likely a sign from whatever higher being you believe in that it is high time to lay off the donuts.

sincerely,

s

i think cnn is officially dead to me

i go on vacation for a week, and all of a sudden (or not?), cnn.com is using 4th graders to write headlines:

Bertinelli no stranger to f-word, (fat)

first of all, how the hell is the diet program for some soap star from 30 years ago worthy of such prominence on cnn.com?

and if cnn.com was really so concerned with what the headline would've implied without the (fat) - i guess that she's a slut that knows a thing or two about fucking? - couldn't they just rewrite the damn thing? i don't know - perhaps

bertinelli has been fat for a while
people always call bertinelli fat, or
someone you've never heard of has long struggled with people calling her obese

would have been better options.

day four

here i am, in day four of what is supposed to be the glorious month off between fake lawyerdom and the last, irrelevant year of law school and a return to my could-not-be-less-mentally-challenging part-time job working with the-most-annoying-human-being-ever. day four, with the whole of august spread about before me like a blank slate.

this is essentially what i have done in the past 72 hours:

• approximately 48 loads of laundry
• unpacked 3 suitcases
• unloaded the dishwasher twice (after pretending for the first 24 hours that those dirty dishes didn't actually exist)
• actually answered a call from and engaged in a conversation with my crazy and judgmental grandmother
• tried to find everyone i've ever met on myspace
• spent 4 hours unsuccessfully googling one of our college friends (ben desarmeaux, where are you?! jesus.)
• checked my cell phone 1,566 times to make sure the ringer is on so i can hear it when The Call comes
• simpsonized myself, bob, his boss, another summer associate who i fucking hated, my nephews, and a couple of attorneys in my (hopefully, see above) firm that i thought would make good characters
• 3 days staring at the stack of articles on women's property rights in the 19th century wondering why the hell i decided to write on that (or any) topic
• 2 trips to the drycleaners
• grocery shopping at two different stores just because
  
• 2 wholly uneventful trips to target - i knew i shouldn't have glanced at the vacation-bloated credit card statement before i went
• pedicure that resulted in toes painted a shade of hot pink that the bottle totally did not accurately display
• 20 minutes staring at said toes thinking that i need to just repaint them but being too damn lazy to actually do it
• watched ej dance like the white girl she is
  
• reviewed my apartment building on aptratings.com
• reviewed our vacation spot on tripadvisor.com
• just checked my cell again to make sure the ringer is on (you know, The Call)
• 2 episodes of doctor phil (thank you, b, for not being one of those men who requires an extended stay at the dr. phil house)
• 3 trips to the post office
• 1 tour of a condo that i love and is perfect, but to which we are hesitant to commit (more on the hopefully-impending move into the representation-free district when the dust settles and we know we can/should do it)
• returned 4 library books i've been renewing since march and never cracked open.

if this is my life even until the end of august, i think i may actually lose my mind. i was really thinking that a few weeks of just running errands and putzing around online would be sweet, but actually it turns out it fucking sucks. i'm dying here, people. i've got no one to pester, no gossip in which to involve myself, no one to avoid getting work from, no fancy lunches with interesting people in 3 hours (although thank god i met rk for lunch tuesday, and actually engaged in meaningful conversation with someone), nada.

over a glass (or three) of the delicious l. mawby that arrived yesterday from michigan (truly the highlight of my week), i made b promise me that if i EVER told him i thought it'd be a good idea for me to not work and just stay home, he would pull out the emails i've sent him this week that he's been too busy to read (the gist of which are: SWEET BABY JESUS I'M SO BORED I MIGHT LOSE MY EFFING MIND) so i could remember that after 3 days of nothing, i couldn't take it.

dear god, i think i might actually be *looking forward* to returning to my part-time job. which makes it official: i have lost my mind.

on the bright side, as a simpsons character, i am a total babe.