I feel all giggly...

When I see these:

Destinations

I have four days left of classes (tomorrow, then Monday through Wednesday next week), then five finals spread over two weeks. Then....three whole weeks of vacation time. To say I'm looking forward to that time off is a gross understatement.

D typically goes on a trip over Christmas/New Year's and this year we want to go together! The problem: where to go? So between studying like a mad-woman I'm checking out different destinations and deals. We shall see...!

Get Out and Vote

As Jon Stewart pointed out, it's only every 4 years and it's really one of the most precious rights we have as Americans. So take some time out of your day and go do your civic duty. It really can make a difference. Please, especially my generation, the 18-34 year olds: I'm tired of hearing how influential our votes could be and then we don't show up! Don't be a hypothetical; make sure you're firmly on the side stating your vote is influential.

Important Contributions

A few weeks back some fellow classmates of mine described me as independent, observant, intelligent and articulate. I felt great pride that people who know very little about me would describe me in such a way. Then I went to my criminal procedure class today.

Prof posed the question, "If [an officer] did not have a warrant and the person did not give consent to search by remaining silent when questioned, what would he have needed in order to search without violating the person's Fourth Amendment rights?"

This is a fairly simple question and the first thing that popped into my head was probable cause then exigent circumstances. Prof called on me by saying, "The woman in the, is that red? I can't tell the color...[woman who sits next me], what color is that?" After she struggled with it for a bit I said, "It's tweed."

Prof thanked me and then asked the woman behind me for the answer. I suppose I made a face because if he asked if I was with him. I was and said so. But let me tell you, I am always exceedingly thrilled when my important contribution to class is establishing that I wear an autumnal toned tweed (please read that as dripping with sarcasm).

Good Morning!

Typically, running at 5:30am is not a particularly inspiring event. True, I enjoy it immensely and feel a tad lost when I miss a day, but I'm not normal. This morning, however, while I was jogging along, my mind just waking up, I noticed something streaking across the sky. At first I wondered what jack*ss was shooting off rockets. Then I realized I'd just seen my first shooting star! So I quickly made a wish and finished my run feeling warm and fuzzy.

Wednesdays are usually awful, but with such an auspicious start I couldn't help but feel optimistic. Let's hope the good feeling lasts!

Two things that do not go together: a terrible allergy season and law school.

Since Saturday my nose has been running, my sinuses painful, my stomach churning (thanks post-nasal drip!), and my throat all kinds of scratchy. My body desperately wants me to just relax a bit, but there's not time for that nonsense. D came home on Monday and I was (and still am) uber excited. I picked him up at the airport and got to see some beautiful pictures as well as receive some great gifts (I bought him groceries to kick off his week right and made him dinner...whoa accomplishment). All weekend and throughout this week I've been steadily working as much as I can. I slacked on writing a couple of briefs (ok, so more than "a couple": 2 for torts, 1 for civ pro, 1 for property---but I did right that. I've just finished writing my civ pro brief and will do my torts and property during my 4 hour break tomorrow), but have kept up with all the reading/concepts. I even managed to be not too bitter when peer editing a classmate's memo.

If this experience has taught me anything, though, it's to suck down echinacia (sp?) like it's my job, wash my hands often and eat plenty of fruits and vegetables!

How to Win a Debate Palin-Style

Very accurately describes how I felt about the whole "debate." I think I'll use this strategy for my Moot Court competition....!

Solace

6:00am- Out of bed and out for a run
6:30am- Back from run, shower, dress
7:00am- Breakfast
(Between 7:15 and 8am)- Start working (class, reading, notes, writing=work)
10:30pm- Close books, pack bag for next day, try to go to bed.

This is a typical day for me, 7 days a week. Yes, 7 days a week. I wake up at 6 on Saturdays and Sundays too, but on those days, upon return from my run (which is usually longer than during the week) I'll simply change and start into work, taking a break some hours later to shower.

As I've said to my friend, J, I can see how law school drives people to drink. You work pretty much a 16 hour day and even when in bed your mind is racing about different fact sets, rules, memos, briefs, etc. It seems like the only way to get it to shut up is to inhibit it with some sort of substance (most, it seems, choose alcohol).

D left for a little European getaway with his family last Friday and it was this event that sparked my recognition of what I've been doing to get away from if all: him. I was curling up in bed one night late last week or early this week, when I realized that all I wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms. As I sat reading late into the night the next night I kept wanting to just be in his arms. Years past I may have wanted a drink.

I think it remarkable that all it takes is a hug from the right person to make all your cares and concerns drop away. I think it remarkable that I've found that. I'm a lucky woman.

TGIF

There was a time when Friday meant 2.5 days of nothing to do. It meant going out on Friday night to hang out with friends, maybe party a little, sleeping in on Saturday and then just doing whatever felt right; sleeping in again on Sunday, lazing about on the couch with some pancakes, maybe watching some football or movie marathons....

That was then. It is 8:24pm on Friday and my head is pounding. I spent innumerable hours in the bowels of the law library looking at Pa statutes and reading teeny tiny print in the pocket parts to try to decide whether there were any cases that are even remotely relevant to mine (good news: I found 5 fairly promising potentials!). Then it was off to the computer store and the grocery store. I had high hopes for cooking my parents dinner tonight, but I ended up curled up on the couch, relishing the chilly autumn air blowing in through the window, a steaming mug of tea warming my hands, watching a movie the name of which I never did find out. And what do I have to look forward to tomorrow? Reading and synthesizing my "fairly promising" cases; briefing for crim pro; creating flash cards for the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure; reading and briefing for property. Oh, and I should probably mow the lawn.

On top of all that, D is off for 2.5 weeks to Germany, Hungary and Austria (Slovakia may be in there somewhere too). He often travels and at least once a year he goes on a long, overseas vacation, but this time I started missing him before he'd even gone. I know I'll have plenty to do to keep me busy while he's gone, but I've grown a bit accustomed to having my weekends with him and at least one week night. On the nights I'm at my house I miss him every time I climb into bed. I used to hate having anyone intrude on my sleeping space; now all I want is to have him there. Now I'm getting sappy. I think it's time to curl up with Bon Appetit...

Money, money, money

All I've been thinking about lately is money. Why, you might ask? I mean, I have all these other things to worry about: closed memos, complaints, consideration, enforcement, probable cause, what is property? I could go on and on and on. But I won't have the luxury of worrying about these things without financial aid. I have been going back and forth with financial aid for months now and they're as sick of me as I am of them. Today, finally, progress has been made. Finally there'll be money in bank!

Of course this money comes at an exorbitantly high cost. What I'm hoping is that, upon graduation, I can get a job that will pay me enough to be able to sock half of it away purely for paying back these loans (and, say I make $120,000--high, but what a lot of junior associates are purported to be paid in Philadelphia firms--I'll be able to put away $60,000 for my loans leaving me with $60,000 to live on. I'm used to $30,000 so woooooooo!). For now, I feel a bit like this guy:

A Quick Aside

From "Presidio Group, LLC v. GMAC Mortgage, LLC" and the Honorable Ronald B. Leighton:

"Plaintiff has a great deal to say,
But it seems he skipped Rule 8(a),
His Complaint is too long,
Which renders it wrong,
Please re-write and re-file today."

Who says law isn't fun?

Reminder

They say it's good to keep your goal in mind. Now, really my goal has much more to do with class rank (short term) and great career (long term), but one of the perks I'm looking forward to:

Grumpy Gus

It is unfortunate that 4 hours of classes and 5 hours of reading a day tend to make me a grumpy gus. If you've only been reading my accounts of school thus far you may be under the impression that I'm not a fan. Thankfully it's actually the opposite.

I'm supremely happy with my decision and though there is a lot of work involved it feels wonderful (most of the time). I even managed to go out with two of my good friends, their boyfriends and D last night and not bore everyone to death! When it comes down to it, I know that I made the right decision. I have begun on the path towards a challenging and ultimately rewarding career.

I am also fortunate to have had experiences that have helped me to see that one always needs life outside of work/school. While I am undoubtedly thrilled with my "new career," I have so many other things to look forward to in my personal life. The balance that I've achieved in the past year is mind blowing and I feel more in control and more happy than I had in a long time.

Ahhhhhhh, life is good...!

I can't wait 'til...

1. October. Seems arbitrary, but I feel like this "back to school" horror will be over by then.

2. I actually understand what I'm reading.

3. Briefing a case takes less than an hour

4. Reading a case takes less than 2 hours

5. My head stops hurting

6. I can actually sleep through the night

7. I finish reading for Contracts.

8. I have something interesting to write about that does not involve school (sadly, I've actually only been at this a week)

*BIG siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh*

Last night I ventured away from my desk and myriad case books, computer, notes, outlines, briefs, etc. and went to D's. We had dinner in front of the television and watched "To Catch a Thief" with Carey Grant and Grace Kelly. I highly recommend this film. It was funny. It was cute. Sure it was old, but it's classic. (And D said I have Grace Kelly's lips...awwww.) It is probably one of the more exciting aspects of my week. Oh right, except the yachting on Saturday, but there's not much to report to the blog-o-sphere with regards to that except that I did it and it was a wonderful day (thanks D!).

And now I really must stop procrastinating and get on with it.

You Know You're in Law School When...

I woke up around 6:30 this morning, right out of some bizarre dream and the first thoughts that went through my mind went a little something like this:

"We could easily ask for a motion to dismiss and Judge F (there was a whole name attached, but I can't remember it now) would certainly grant; but it may be to our advantage to ask for a mistrial to allow counsel the opportunity for greater discovery."

Contracts

UCC section 2-313 (2):

"It is not necessary to the creation of an express warranty that the seller use formal words such as "warrant" or "guarantee" or that he have a specific intention to make a warranty, but an affirmation merely of the value of the goods or a statement purporting to be merely the seller's opinion or commendation of the goods does not create a warrant."

Oy.

Summer Reading

I had ordered a bunch of books (or rather "reserved" them from my local library) before heading to the beach a month ago. Unfortunately not a single one came in time and have now been drifting in slowly over the remainder of the summer (which, for me, ends tomorrow). There was really only one book on the list that I really wanted to read: Bringing Home the Birkin by Michael Tonello. I finally got it and could not put it down.

For starters, Tonello is a wonderfully colloquial writer; you feel as though you're having dinner and cocktails with him while he relates this odd tale of "importing/exporting." It makes you jealous that you didn't think of it first. You feel like he's a friend, or at least someone you really want to befriend! I had trouble putting it down when it came to cook/eat dinner and then again later in the evening when I really needed to get some sleep! All in all it is one of the best "chick-lit" books I've ever read (and, ironically, it was written by a man). At points he had me laughing aloud and sharing certain passages with any who was in the the room with me.

The unofficial end of summer is quickly approaching and the lazy days of light reading will go along with them. So, while you still have the chance, run out and pick up Tonello's book. I promise it will not disappoint.

Wet 'n Wild

I am not kidding when I say I've been waiting for this my entire life: Tropical Storm Fay has hit! Sure, it's not spelled the same (it's missing the "e"), but close enough. When I was little we used to go to "Wings" when at the beach. They sell all kinds of cheap crap with names on them. Never ever ever did they have key chains or mugs or other cheap do-hickeys with my name on it. And this was in the South. Womp womp! Finally, finally, I have my tropical storm.

I was so excited when I turned on the TV to see if the Olympics were on and was greeted with my tropical storm, that I ran out to the porch where my parents were having a leisurely breakfast and jumped up and down. It felt like my birthday.

An hour or so later, D texted me, "Tropical storm Fay. Your secret's out!!!" The next day B called me to let me know that I was pounding her (and the rest of Florida).

Isn't it fun to be strong, menacing, wet 'n wild?

The Way It Should Be

I spent the weekend on the Choptank River in MD attending a wedding reception/barbecue weekend for one of D's college friends. The whole affair was decidedly low-key: guests were invited to arrive at 2pm and when we showed up at 2:20 both bride and groom were in bathing suits; dinner was a buffet-style burgers, pulled pork, hot dogs, corn, potato salad, mac and cheese, seat-yourself do; no toasts were given, no stuffy formalities; guests were invited to stay overnight on the grounds in tents. The couple was married about 6 weeks ago in a family ceremony and have already been on their honeymoon. Almost everyone we talked to agreed: this is how a wedding should be.

In my opinion the big 150-300 guest events lack a certain level of intimacy that something like, oh say, a wedding seems to demand (will these same people invite everyone they or their parents know to the delivery room when the first child is born? "Oh look everyone, if you peer at my wife's vagina you can see the head crowning! Grab your cameras!"). I've never had visions of a big lavish do for myself. Sure I'd like the pretty dress and some nice flowers, but spending what could be my down-payment on a house for a one day party seems a bit ludicrous. One needs to remember what's important about a wedding: the marriage.

I had recently read an article about post-nuptial blues that overtake some brides after the wedding is over. Some of these women spend a year or more planning their weddings to the smallest details. They hand pick everything and are involved with every aspect. Some of them even quit their jobs to take on planning their party full time. Then, when it's over, what are they left with? A champagne hang-over, a new ring and a new husband. Sounds alright to me (minus the hang over), but without all this planning and anticipation these women don't know what to do. Suddenly they are not the center of attention. Suddenly, for the ones who quit their jobs, they have tons of time to fill and nothing to fill it with. How did we get to this point? And with this kind of mind-set is it really so surprising that so many marriages end up in divorce? Instead of focusing on learning how to live their day to day life with another person, too many brides are focused on a party that will be over in the blink of an eye. Marriage, however, lasts a lifetime (or is supposed to, hence those vows you take...).

This past weekend's wedding makes me feel better about the whole thing. I have a coworker who is planning her wedding and listening to her drone on about place cards and flatware puts me into a coma. Maybe I'm missing some female gene that makes women obsessed with all things wedding, but it simply doesn't interest me (well, admittedly I like to watch "Whose Wedding is it Anyway," but when it comes to thinking about my own I'd rather just pop down to the courthouse with my parents, brother and a few close friends, go out for a great dinner and some dancing and then maybe throw a party later, once we've figured out the logistics of taking two and making one).

To realize that there are other people out there who would rather share the intimate act of exchanging vows with only those who really care (close family and friends...usually less than 50 people) and then celebrating in a way everyone can enjoy (no suits and ties, completely kid-friendly), makes me smile. Forget obsessing over napkin colors, table arrangements, aisle runners, taper candles vs. votives, and instead shift focus to what you are actually doing: opening up your life, every bit of minutia, to someone else. The wedding is not the end all be all, it is only the beginning...

Does anyone know...?

There's this car insurance commercial (Allstate, maybe?) that has a woman, probably close to my age, asking everyone and anyone questions about deductibles, rates, comprehensive vs. collision, etc. I mean, she's asking everyone. I feel like her. I have a slight problem and am going out of my mind, so I keep asking everyone what I should do. I'm completely torn because I see the reasoning behind both choices, but I can't come up with a decision to save my life. I will make that decision by default if I don't come to a conclusion soon.

Augh! Rock and a hard place...I'm there.

**UPDATE

My brother, the philospher, helped me with the answer. This flies in the face of my theory that philosophers never answer questions, they only generate them. *sigh* In any case, I'm grateful.

Bubbly Bubbles

Bizarre dreams are nothing new and the fact that they are theatrical and intricate is rather delightful. Last night's was no exception. It started with a winter scene of me standing at the train station awaiting the train that would presumably whisk me off to work. But instead of being the typical SEPTA train it was one of those "olde time"-y numbers with curtains in the windows and velvet seats (not a bad way to commute...). Anyway, at some point I end up with some of my extended family at some restaurant/bar/club and we are offered a glass of their speciality drink. Of course we all accept.

This drink was odd. If you are familiar with bubble tea you'll have a better idea of what I'm about to describe: in the bottom of a champagne flute, rested about 6 spheres of different colors. We were told that they added an "extra kick" to the rose champagne that was then poured on top of the spheres. At first the bubbles were small, as is expected with champagne or sparkling wine. Then the spheres started adding their own bubbles. These bubbles were crazy colors and foamed to the top of the glass over and over again. The effects of this drink were a bit like throwing back shots of whiskey for an hour straight.

After having my extra bubbly bubbly I returned back to the house my family was apparently sharing and fell asleep. I woke up to find I was sharing the room with a couple of my cousins and this guy, Brian, with whom I work (note: I'm not particularly fond of Brian). I stand up and look in the mirror. I have on electric, sparkly blue eyeliner topped off with deep blue mascara. I'm stark naked and looking good. I go into the bathroom and climb into my shower that has a curtain of white lace.

And that's that. One thing that stuck with me was this drink. I think it sounds wonderful. I wonder if I could find someone to make it for me...The other thing that stuck with me was the opulence that surrounded me throughout the dream. All the curtains and rich fabrics. The bright colors and lush rooms. It's times like this that I wish I could draw....

I Heart PBS

To further my image as a huge nerd, I readily admit to anyone and everyone my love for PBS. I absolutely adore Nova, my guilty pleasures include This Old House and Arthur (yes, I still like that somewhat annoying aardvark), I am a big fan of Nature (and all other shows in this genre) and I like to catch random little documentaries whenever I can (oh, and I forgot, every so often Antiques Roadshow is fun, too).

Last night I did catch [part of] one of those random little documentaries. A geneticist was traveling around, following the bones of our ancestors, trying to figure out why, and how, they left Africa. He uses DNA in our blood as the basis for his conclusions about human ancestry. After he left Africa he went to Australia, where the next oldest human remains (40,000-45,000 years old) are located. However, when he asked Aborigines about why and how their African ancestors may have come to the continent, he was met with stark opposition. The Australians whom he met did not believe they came from Africa. They did not believe they came from primates, either. At this point I was pretty tired and flipped off the TV and headed for bed. But watching just that half of the documentary got my mind turning on a subject that I struggle with over and over again.

I was raised Episcopalian but no longer attend church. I believe in science and I do not believe that science and religion need be diametrically opposed. In fact, if you look at them in tandem they go rather well together. Here's my struggle: evolution is a theory. I cannot, however, believe or wrap my mind around Creationism. I simply do not believe that some divine being created the world as we know it in 6 days. Sorry, no. I do believe that something got the ball rolling; that we were designed to be the way we were and to evolve into what we are and it may be that we will continue to evolve.

I say "divine being" because the entity known as "God" that I grew up learning about does not make a lick of sense to me. Supposedly it is gendered. I can't buy that. Supposedly "he" is benevolent and loves us all and yet at the same time is incredibly petty and jealous (does this not sound like a woman to you? If we really need to gender this being then it should be a she). I have a hard time believing that it would be overly concerned with the fact that I say "shit, fuck, damn, hell, bitch, motherfucker, ass, asshole, shithead" and any others you can think of. I cannot see myself relegated to eternal damnation for "cursing" (nor am I entirely convinced that there is a heaven and hell. I lean more towards reincarnation...but that's for another day).

What I do believe is, again, that something got this whole thing started. That there is some greater power than myself. I also believe that the power resides within each and every one of us. We have massive brains and are inherently inquisitive. We are able to ask and ponder abstract philosophical questions. Our bodies are unbelievably complex and efficient machines. I believe that my body is a temple. I want it to be the absolute best it can be. I want to be fit, I want to be strong, I want to be healthy. I believe that "looking inside ourselves" will provide us with answers. Now, whether you do this through meditation (which I think is excellent and wish I could really do), prayer (you're acknowledging your fears, hopes, wishes, desires, sorrows and happiness), fasting, or any other way doesn't seem to matter. It's a matter of awareness.

I do not believe that I must reflect in a designated spot. I believe "meditating" while I run is the most spiritual time of my day. I am out in nature, I see things as they are and my mind is open, my body doing what it's built to do. This is when I feel connected to something higher than myself, but that connection is within me. I've never really liked churches. I watch so many people simply going through the motions, being led without much thought. Spiritual guidance is not something I frown upon in any way. It's when you feel like it's the only way you can connect with that higher state that makes me worry.

I have not been a student of world religions, but when I've talked to people they say I have a more Eastern view of religion. The body is a temple; the power is within us; only we can connect ourselves with our spirituality; nature is near perfect place to contemplate the world and the universe (which is what I refer to this higher being as: the universe). It may sound odd to say, but I like my view. It feels right. When I think about it I feel easy, peaceful, happy. I feel like doing all things to better myself. To me, this is an indication that what I believe is right for me, even if it's not right for anyone else.

Man, is there any other TV channel that can cause this much thought? I heart PBS.

This Explains A Lot

http://www.structuredprocrastination.com/

A website that does, indeed, explain a lot about the way I work. Wonderful little essay.

**Work Rant for the Day**

I am the receptionist. I have been told that I am not to accept deliveries since our mail room is the floor above and it creates extra work for them. So whenever someone holding a box or a bunch of envelopes comes through the door I have to inform them that "all deliveries are to go to xxth floor." Normally I just get a smile and nod; this is a routine these people are used to. Law firms take up more than one floor and the mail room is never on the floor to which the package is addressed. Never.

About 15 minutes ago a man walks in holding a box. I say, "I'm sorry, all deliveries are on the xxth floor."

"What?!" he indignantly replies.

"All deliveries need to go upstairs. I am not supposed to accept packages here." Perfectly reasonable.

"Wha-, what?!" Now the man is turning red and is clearly just not listening to me.

"Our mail room is on xx. I cannot accept packages here."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Is that package a delivery?" I inquire, full well knowing the answer.

"Yeah."

"Then it needs to go to the xxth floor. Where the mail room is. I don't accept deliveries. All deliveries go to the xxth floor." I'm not sure how else to put it to him.

"F*cking [something mumbled]. This is bullshit. You have any idea how many places I've had to f*cking take this thing?!"

I simply shrugged and pointed at the elevator.

I think it's time for me to make a sign to hang on the desk: "ALL DELIVERIES MUST GO TO THE XXTH FLOOR. YES, THAT INCLUDES YOURS"

Financial "Aid"

**Rant Warning**

It must be a misnomer because my law school's financial "aid" office is the most unhelpful place in the world. I have been trying to get them all my documents so that I can receive some aid and actually pay my tuition, allowing me to attend classes. However, for every requested document I send, they want 2 more. When I don't understand one part of a document I call, leave messages, email and try to visit. I often get very vague and unhelpful answers. So it is July 30th, 2008 and I have no financial aid as of yet. Tuition is due August 8th, 2008. Do you think this is going to be good? I don't.

As a result I'm insanely stressed out. I woke up crying on Friday, calmed myself down a bit by having a lovely weekend (I'll put up some pics/videos from NC and from the triathlon I attended Sunday). Today, however, it's all back. Though not on the verge of tears, I'm beyond stressed. I want to go to law school. I want to be able to pay them for this pleasure. However, being 22 I don't really have the income, thus the need for financial aid. SO HELP ME!

I've also made it so that I'm not the only one freaking out about the current state of my financial affairs; seems that I've scared D with the amount of debt that I will have accrued by May 2011. It will require that I work for a big firm upon graduation for 2-5 years. This likely means 60-80 hour weeks and very little time for things like, oh, a family.

However, I am the optimist about this and will simply live like a pauper while I work summers at a firm, saving as much as I possibly can in order to repay my loans ASAP. I will also find some way (because I always find a way) to have a life (which just may include little ones). So while I'm freaked out about my current status, I'm much more zen about my future. Hopefully I'm right about all this...

My Eyes are Burning

I've been ridiculously obsessed with this for the past few days. Apparently I'm late in the game finding it, which is amazing since I do absolutely nothing all day long, 5 days a week.

Vacation Countdown:

1 hour, 15 minutes

Sweet, Sweet Vacation

I can almost smell the ocean at this point. Sure, I'm actually in my 27th floor, air-conditioned office, but if I close my eyes long enough....Unfortunately if I close my eyes long enough I will likely find myself sans-travail pretty quickly.

This is the first year since I was 12 that I'm vacationing with my mother's side of the family. We used to have a house down in Sunset Beach, NC that belonged to my grandmother's best friend, and which my mother helped build. Mrs. Legget has since passed and the house was given to her alma mater as per her will. In recent years (at least the past 5), my mother's older brother, one of her younger brothers, and her youngest sister (my mom is one of 7) have been renting houses in the Outer Banks. Mom and Dad went down a few years ago and said they had a blast (I went to Maine to visit my godmother. Another trip that I must do again soon). The ocean is not nearly as gentle as it was at Sunset Beach and, since it is the Atlantic, can be quite chilly, but a day at the beach is still better than a day anywhere else.

Since I'm an incredibly pale, Irish lass I try to stay out of the sun as much as possible (my mother likens us to cows, always searching for the shady spot). Thus, I started to compile a list of activities other than lounging on the sand that I could do during the 4 short days I'll be there. Of course I want to run, preferably on the beach, but as I'll be staying with little kids I'll be up quite early and the days are long.

So far on my list I have:

• A national wildlife refuge where you can hike and/or kayak
• Hang-gliding
• Parasailing
• Rock climbing
• Shipwreck diving
• Dolphin watch boating

Now, you may be thinking, "Wow! That Faye sure is a get-up-and-go daredevil type!" My friend, you couldn't be further from the truth. I'm a wuss. I'm one of those nerdy kids who liked to hole up with a good book during summer vacation. Yes, I'm that person. But, as of late, I'm tired of being that person. So I've been trying to make an effort to become a bit more interesting. I figure if I'm going to go on vacation I may as well come back with a good story or two. I have absolutely no intention of doing all the things on my list, but if I can come back and say I went parasailing or snorkeling for the first time, why, my chest swells up with pride just thinking about it!

Stay tuned to find out if I actually go through with it...(and cross your fingers that I do!)

Wait...It's Tuesday?

As usual I woke up just a little before my alarm. Without opening my eyes I knew that the blasted beeping would begin any minute because I could hear the birds; the natural indicator that I should be rolling out of bed for my run.

In between the sprints that I've started to incorporate into my daily run I thought to myself, "Alright! It's Wednesday, I'm halfway to vacation!" Then I remembered, no, it's Tuesday. To say I felt a little deflated is an understatement. My whole outlook on the day instantly soured. It felt like I was taking a giant step backwards and getting further from my vacation (I leave on Sunday), even though, in reality, I am a day closer to it.

When my coworker, Tia, got to work she came up to me and said, "When Glenn asked me which I book I needed I told him, 'I don't need any books...it's Wednesday, I don't have class.' He looked at me and said, 'Tia, it's Tuesday.' He just about broke my heart!" I laughed and told her I'd thought the exact same thing since waking up this morning and have been continually reminding myself that it is, in fact, Tuesday.

It turns out at least two more of my coworkers have been feeling the same. I can't quite figure it out. Why is it that we can get so thrown off about days of the week? I was ready to chalk it up to the fact that I have next week off, but these other people don't and they, too, keep getting a day ahead of themselves. To make matters worse, today feels like it's dragging. On top of that I currently have the attention span (and patience) of a gnat.

I am consoling myself with the fact that Nova is on tonight...and I think it'll be a good one (it's the Great Inca Rebellion. I'm really excited and, yes, again, I know I'm a nerd!). I have 2 hours and 10 minutes left until I can bolt out the glass door of the 27th floor, book it 1/4 of a block, down through the Comcast building (with a quick glance at the awesome screen in the lobby) and on to SEPTA for a painfully long commute home (funny how it always feels too short in the mornings). Hopefully this afternoon will move faster than this morning (maybe in inches instead of millimeters? Maybe?).

Rant

Ok, so now that I've survived my evil dream I need to rant.

I recently purchased 13 new items for my summer wardrobe, including 4 adorable dresses that I thought would work wonderfully for any situation (work, weekend, evening, etc.). I am super excited about them because I love dresses, but seem to have issues finding ones that I can wear to work and then out afterwards. One of the dresses is a navy empire waist number with white polka dots. It hits right below the knee and while it has a v-neck, it's not too low (I tried everything on for my mother and she thought this one was adorable). It is sleeveless, but the straps are quite thick.

Having observed what my coworkers (and boss) wear to work each day I decided that my little polka dot dress was appropriate. I felt really pretty and cute this morning and received lots and lots of compliments. Around 10:30am my boss walks by my desk, slowing a little and finally coming over to one side. Very quietly she says, "Do you have a sweater with you?" I was honestly shocked. One of my coworkers, Tina, is also wearing a navy blue and white polka dot, sleeveless dress and she is still, as of 2:30pm, wandering around without a sweater, etc. I did happen to have a black and white short sleeved button down in my bag which I promptly donned, but as you can imagine it looks ridiculous.

I should also mention that my boss favors sleeveless shirts. She wears them all the time. There are 2 other secretaries who are, today, wearing sleeveless shirts. One of the attorneys (female) is wearing spaghetti straps. But do you think they've been reprimanded? Nooooo. I really do feel it's extremely unfair and I'm very upset about the whole thing.

*******

Because it's a very accurate picture of my job

Dreams

There are many times where I wish I knew a little something about dream interpretation. I tend to have vivid dreams that I remember quite well, even if I have a hard time verbalizing them to others. Last night I had a particularly disturbing dream that went something like this:

I was an investigative journalist who had little control over her assignments. On the side of all this I was also trying to deal with an ex of mine who I still think would make a good friend, but he refuses. Anyway, this ex is trying to convince me that we ought to get back together and seems genuinely surprised and angry when I remind him I'm already in a relationship and plan to stay there.

I'm rushing out of the house (it's an unfamiliar house) to go on my next assignment, one that terrifies me. I am supposed to go and test out a theory about how to safely land a plane that is crashing. Mind you, at this time it is only a theory and this is the first test run. My publication has insisted I be in that damn cockpit while they test it out, which means if it doesn't work, I'm dead.

Interestingly I watch this whole flight take place from outside the plane and not inside where "I" am sitting. Anyway, the theory works and while shaken, I'm still alive.

My next assignment is to check out this place that is a center for devil worship. It purports to have someone who actually brings the devil to you. D decides, for whatever reason, to come with me. The "hostess" lets us in and explains that there are many rooms for all different levels of devil worship. Some are just your typical occult practices, with figurines, chants, etc. Some are more intense and lastly there is the room where the devil will physically appear and interact with you. I have to check out all the rooms and D gamely follows along. We come to the devil in physical form room and our hostess tells us this little disclaimer: Believers who go in will come out one of two ways. The first way is satisfied and justified. Their devil worshipping has a point. The second is that you will kill yourself.

For some reason D decides to go first. The only question they ask before letting you in is whether you believe. Not whether you worship the devil, etc., just whether you believe he exists. D comes out and I refuse to go in. We leave and sure enough he kills himself in a rather gruesome manner on which I will not expound here. I am witness to his death which leaves me as a bit of a mental case.

End of Dream.

Absolutely horrific. Needless to say, I didn't have a very restful sleep and today I just want to go home and do normal things like the laundry to bring me back from it all. I feel a bit shaky and can't stop thinking about it, no matter how much I want to. Wretched dreams.

Too Good to Not Share

Business case for RWD buying Matt an iPhone 2.0, and paying for its continued use after he leaves

Colleagues, friends,

I would like to put forth a business case that it is in RWD's interest to secure for me an iPhone, and continue to financially support the requisite voice and data plans even after my departure. I admit that, on the face of it, the idea seems absurd. What benefits could possibly be worth such a (nominal) expenditure? I submit that the benefits are myriad. Let me make my five point case.

1. It is well known that I, Matt, am a wellspring of creative and profitable business ideas. ("Like what?" you ask. How about saving money on electricity by replacing the third floor roof with a killer skylight? Bam. There's one for free.) Creative and profitable business ideas are evanescent in nature, and , much like a leprechaun, must be captured the moment they appear, else they will surely slip away forever. An iPhone would allow me to capture these ideas the moment they come to me, and send them, unedited, to RWD. Not convinced? Here's another one: Users should be assigned a laptop-buddy, with whom they will share a computer. Together they will be responsible for its care and upbringing. Such shared responsibility will inevitably result in more attention being paid to the needs of the laptop, resulting in longer, happier lifespan for the machines. With RWD purchasing costs decreasing 50%, and the life of laptops increasing ten-fold (presumably), the benefits here should be obvious.

I am willing to sign a binding contract stating that all creative and profitable business ideas I develop while near my iPhone will be the intellectual property of RWD.

2. I will share with RWD all research information obtained from the iPhone. One of the biggest assets I currently bring to RWD is my ability to generate meaningful search queries that generate exactly the desired information. This will include valuable strategic information such as Google searches for "Chinese restaurants in Massachusetts," "reviews of Chinese restaurants in MA," and "Batman," as well as the Wikipedia entry for Batman.

3. The pictures I send from the iPhone of myself enjoying such activities as a) sitting at a computer, b) coming up with creative and profitable business ideas, and c) hanging out with babes, will help fill the void created by my departure, and prevent the rapid and devastating company-wide drop in morale which would otherwise be inevitable.

4. The (negligible) cost of the iPhone and its continued support will be far outweighed by the leads I'll develop for RWD. Though no longer an employee, I won't be able to help gushing about the benefits of whatever RWD does to all the wealthy industrialists one meets in a philosophy PhD program.

5. I'd totally let you borrow it if we were, say, on a long boat ride together. For a while, anyway.

I think by now you must have come to the same conclusion I have: hooking me up with an iPhone is like giving Ben Franklin a kite. The results will shock you. Let me head off some questions:

1. Q: Matt - this is, frankly, one of the best ideas we've ever heard. When can we start?
A: Now works fine for me.

2. Q: Matt - it's been a few months, and we have yet to receive a single creative and profitable business idea from you. What's going on?
A: Dudes, they're on their way. Don't worry about it.

3. Q: Matt - These ideas are bad, and you should feel bad.
A: That's not really a question, is it?

4. Q: Matt - Why couldn't you just use your computer for this stuff?
A: Obviously, I am very pressed for time, and cannot waste any waiting for a computer to boot up.

5. Q: Matt - it seems you have used the iPhone for about a month, then completely forgotten about it. What happened?
A: The what? Oh, yeah. I'm over it, you can have it back.

When you approve this, please feel free to send the iPhone to my home address.

Regards,

Matt

Ew

Ew ew ew ew ew!

I'm sitting at my desk, reading a blog that I've quite come to like, waiting out the next 1/2 hour until someone comes to relieve me and I can "relieve" myself. Out of the corner of my eye I see a black spot on my desk...moving. I look a little more closely and it's a hideous, hard shelled, scary looking thing with lots of legs and a direct line toward my arm.

There were two clients waiting for their attorney so I wasn't trying to bring any attention to myself or my (non-important) crisis. Keeping one eye on the nasty bug I opened my top drawer, looking for one the napkins I usually keep in there. All gone. See, other people sit at my desk after I leave and lord knows that nothing is ever the same when I come back in the next morning. It seems someone needed a lot of napkins last night. With some quick thinking I grabbed one of the myriad business cards that vendors like to give me (as if I'm going to pass them on to someone or actually use them myself) and squashed the unwelcome intruder. It made a horrifically disgusting crunching sound. Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew.

Beethoven & I

My Chinese horoscope (what's creepy is that it repeats a lot of my traditional horoscope traits...I'm an Aries, ruled by Mars...it's a fire sign, etc.):

Tiger people are sympathetic, kind, emotional, and sensitive. At movies, they can cry their eyes out (yes, yes I can)! Despite their kindness, they can be extremely short-tempered. The rage of Tigers is terrible to behold but it also gives them the adrenaline needed for the sublimest of bravery (I do feel much better after a good blow up). The Tiger is also a deep thinker and can make the most astonishing intellectual connections, with great mental agility. On the negative side, they tend to be suspicious and a bit self-centered, OK selfish, and indecisive (I'd dispute it, but...). Above everything, however, the Tiger stands as a supreme emblem of protection over human life, admirable always.

Soup and Oolong Tea are among the keys to good health.

You see the Fire Tiger across the room, making a very dramatic entrance. Suddenly you are mesmerized by the eloquent eyebrows, yes, eyebrows, of that very vital face (my eyebrows are blond and barely noticable). So expressive, this face is positively on fire (I have a very expressive face...you always know what I'm thinking)! Wait a bit longer and you will be caught up in hearing laughter that goes right through the bones and catches you up in it. The Fire Tiger is a thrilling person to know, full of enthusiasm for every aspect of life, optimistic to the core (even if that's tempered with an Eyeore attitude and penchant for negative comments). Even cloudy days are seen for what they are, simply vibrant grays on the verge of exploding into sunshine. Fire Tigers are leaders in the best sense of the word, honest and fair with everyone. They love being boss (why yes, yes I do). Fire Tigers get over any financial difficulties they might encounter very quickly. Although they might not possess great fortunes, they certainly enjoy comforting financial security throughout their lives (oh, thank god). The Charismatic Fire Tiger is full of charisma and has no trouble attracting love and finding lasting relationships. This Tiger loves to play and is enlivened by sensuality and passion. To know Fire Tigers is to love Fire Tigers.

Famous TIGER people: Sun Yat-Sen, Jiang Zemin, Ho Chih Minh,Princess Anne, General Charles de Gaulle, Charles Lindbergh, Beethoven, Queen Beatrix, King Juan Carlos I, Jonas Salk, Queen Elizabeth

An Ode to My Man

My girlfriends and I love this Tom Pappa skit where he talks about how fun it is to get drunk with your girlfriend, unless your girlfriend is more drunk than you. After that point it is no longer fun.

Case in point: Friday 4th, July 2008. We are at one of D's friend's houses. We have a lovely time. I drink way too much (classy, I know, but unfortunately true). Apparently I hold it together really well at D's friend's, but as I got on the phone with my long-lost wife* I started to lose it a bit. D didn't realize just how bad off I was until we started down the stairs to the cab. I slid down numerous steps in my 4" heels, all the while still babbling with wifey. We got home and I totally lost it. Literally. Bathroom floor, flailing, crying, general mayhem.

D got me off the floor and into bed where I passed out until 10:30 Saturday morning. I felt wretched. My stomach was churning, my head would not stop throbbing, my whole body was punishing me for the excess of alcohol the night before. D gamely drove me home after helping me to shower, dress, generally function at 25% capacity. He then called me later in the day to find out how I was.

My boyfriend, my hero.


*B is my "wife" (read: best friend and then some) and recently moved to FL from Philly

**Update**
I just had lunch with D and he informed me that I was quite funny while flailing about on the bathroom floor. This gem he had to share with me: "I'm Irish! I should have a different nose!"

Forget Law, I'm Going into Magic!

Faye: The schedule they seem to have produced for me has my legal analysis class ending at 11:30 and my torts starting at 11:15 on wednesdays

Faye: Somehow I don't think that's going to work

Matt: That would be a rough schedule. You'd need one of those little devices that Hermione had in the Prisoner of Azkaban

Matt: A "Time-Turner"

Faye: hahahahahaha

Faye: Oh, if only 'nova was Hogwarts

Matt: If ONLY

Matt: I'd apply there

Faye: but they could switch me into the Friday 3:40-5:30 torts class. Not as cool a solution to be sure.

Matt: Not by any means. You should dress and act as if 'nova is Hogwarts though

Matt: And "law" is magic

I'm a Big Kid Now!

Yesterday I read an article that said people with children are less happy than those who never have children. It didn't matter whether you were married, single, divorced, living with a partner, etc. Having children decreased happiness. It also creates a dramatic decrease in marital happiness.

Usually, an article like the one I read would send me into a mini panic. This one, however did not. I simply thought it was interesting and was a good little tidbit of knowledge to have as I get older and move closer to a life of marriage, kids and responsibility. For now, I'm contentedly looking forward to my impending "unhappy" marriage ;-)

Things that Crack Me Up

Have you ever thought to yourself that Ziggy is the most depressing character in the comics pages? Well, no more! It turns out that Jon Arbuckle is one sad, lonely, horribly depressing character; and without Garfield and Odie that sad, pathetic character is also one of the most amusing.

Check it out for yourself:
http://garfieldminusgarfield.net

Or just google "garfield without garfield"

You'll be in for quite a treat!

You know it's summer when...

1. Your office implements it's "Summer Casual" dress code

2. The badminton net is set up in the yard

3. Your ankles are covered in bug bites

4. You leave the office for lunch and decide not to go back

5. Around noon all you can think is, "Man, I really want a cocktail."

Happy Summer!

Sinking In

When I first got the letter of acceptance from law school, I felt a wave of a relief and then smiled like a fool for a full 24 hours. But it didn't really sink in that I was, in fact, going to law school and would come away from this next educational venture with a degree I can really do something with. Today, however, it's all sinking in because I announced my acceptance to the firm I work for. The "congrats" emails have poured in and many of the attorneys have taken some time to come chat with me and give me little tidbits of advice (things like, "Don't sweat that $150,000 debt you'll come away with. You'll pay it off soon enough." I sure hope so, that's a big, scary number. And, "Get in some vacation while you can!" My favorite was, "Lucky you, going to law school in the golden age of inflation...you'll be making some ridiculous money as an associate...summer associate even!" Others told me, "Don't forget to come to us. Don't take the first offer you get, we at least want the chance to interview you."). One piece of advice that I'm definitely taking is to find out which texts I need and then check with the attorneys here, because many of them still have the books and don't know what to do with them! I'm all about saving money.

Having declared my last day of work as August 15, I realized that gives me only 5 days before orientation and the start of classes. Now I have to figure out how much vacation time to ask for (so far it's slightly less than two weeks). I have to really cram in all the laid-back time I can to prepare for my 3 years of cramming cases into my brain. I have to admit, true nerd style, that I'm looking forward to being back in school. Whenever I'm in school I feel like I enjoy my down-time much more. I feel like with all the studying, paper writing, discussing, reading, etc. that I put in a good amount of work. Working hard always makes me feel good and makes me appreciate when I can just grab some friends and hang out for a night. This mind-numbing job just makes me feel lazy.

So huzzah for back-to-school, hard work, and brutal exams! My summer is just getting better and better (now if I can just take a vacation...).

News!

Today I was accepted to a law school that is out in the suburbs. In my elation, I emailed all those that would truly care. Rachel said it best with her response:

"Well, given that you're a target for transients and fly-by-night miscreants, it's probably best that you don't go to law school in the big bad city. Congratulations!"

(To figure out what she's talking about, refer to the post before this)

Logan Square: Playground of the Homeless

Homeless people hate me. They spit on me, corner and then "hug" me, yell at me, follow me, throw things at me, etc. I'm OK with this, I suppose, but it can still be super annoying and, at times, a bit frightening.

I had lunch over at Whole Foods today and stayed just a tad too long, so I had to really book it back to the office (one of our more unpleasant secretaries was covering my lunch). I crossed the street at the Free Library and started walking along Logan Square where a homeless [and possibly crazy] lady was spread out on a bench.

She greeted me saying, "Give up that f**king c*nt thing!" I ignored her, but thought to myself that it would be pretty difficult to give up my f**king c*nt thing as I'm rather attached to it (figuratively, literally, all around).

My non-acknowledgment only seemed to egg her on. Now she screamed, "Whose hair is that? Mine?!" Now another homeless person, this one male, was started to find all of this funny. "Yeeahhh, she talkin' to you Miss Short Black Skirt," he told me (my skirt comes to just above me knee and I don't think that's too short, thank you very much).

As I continued walking, thinking about how beautiful the weather is today, homeless lady needed to get in one last shriek. "YOU'RE GOING TO DIE SKINNY WHITE B*TCH!" She wasn't telling me anything I don't already know.

My Morning Show

Every morning after my run I get in the shower and think about what I'm going to wear. I scroll through my mental catalogue of my closet and pick out what I think will go well together. Today I decided my kicky white skirt and a floral print shirt were the way to go.

While this all sounds good, in theory, I had a nagging feeling that I would be uncomfortable for a good part of the day. This skirt has a bit of a history. It is tight up at the top where it should hug my hips and then it flares out into a messy, pleated, full skirt that stops just above my knees. Whenever the wind blows, or a soft breeze for that matter, I find myself clinging to the bottom of the skirt. I wore it when I went to meet up with my first college roommate and while I was standing on the platform waiting for my train the breeze lifted my skirt, exposing my thong-clad bottom to all.

With some hesitation I pulled on the skirt, decided on some flats and went about my morning. Everything was going swimmingly until I got off the train in the city. I could feel that my skirt was not as it should be, but I didn't want to keep pulling at it as I walked the one block from the train station to my office. As I stood waiting for the elevator, a woman came up and whispered, "Your skirt is sort of tucked up behind your bag."

Now, being Irish, just about anything can make me blush a deep shade of crimson, but surprisingly this did nothing to me at all. "I thought that had happened," I said and reached back to yank down my skirt. As she was exited the elevator I thanked her again to which she replied, "No problem, we've all had those moments. Luckily your bag covered you." Lucky indeed as a couple of the attorneys I work with were walking in behind me.

With a half hour left until I'll sling my bag back over my shoulder and walk the block back to the train station I feel anxious. I keep trying to devise a way to keep my skirt from both blowing up with the wind and not getting stuck riding up where my bag decides to pull it. I'm afraid it will be impossible and that in all probability my ass will be hanging out for all of Philadelphia (at least those located in Logan Square) to see. Thank god I went running this morning.

In _my_ mind...

Those who know me know that I love food. My friend Maddie will tell you that I can't really love food because I'm also slim. I, however, beg to differ. My slimness is thanks to my obsessive-compulsive desire to stay the size I am and aided by my love of everything exercise related. When it comes to food, I love the smells, the colors, the sounds, of course the tastes and the associations and memories it conjures. I like to try things I've never had or have had once but didn't care for because of it's method of preparation. What I don't like is cooking (which I realize is utterly unfortunate).

I do make a wonderful sous chef, though. I like to chop, slice, clean and prep. I like watching all of the ingredients combine to make a beautiful dish. I like coming up with the presentation; making the food look as utterly irresistible as it smells. Maddie has been able to get me to help a few times and D is, appropriately, known for asking me to prep things, make salads, etc. When faced the prospect of actually sitting down (or more accurately, standing and running around) and making the entire meal myself, I lose motivation.

It starts with gathering the ingredients. I have a bizarre aversion to grocery stores that is likely rooted in my distaste for people. I do like going to markets and interacting with the vendors (the guy who sells you the chicken is also the guy who raised and slaughtered said chicken. I trust him) and taking in the colors and aromas all around me. At grocery stores, though, you have mothers with obnoxious children flying around without looking, their carts loaded with foods, the second ingredient of which is "partially hydrogenated" something. Sugar usually isn't far behind. I do try to stick to the perimeter of grocery stores, wandering around poorly arranged produce sections, delis and gourmet cheese departments. But I somehow always end up in a place where everything is in some sort of container, screaming at you about how it's "fortified!" or "packed with protein!" or "100% whole grains!"

My grocery store across the street, the one that makes most sense for me to frequent, poses other issues for me. Let's say I want to make "garlic-miso pork chops with orange bell pepper and arugula" (featured in June's Bon Appetit magazine). Most of the components are straight-forward and easy to locate. Then again, there's miso. Trying to find "ethnic" ingredients in my local supermarket is a huge headache. You'll go down the aisle that seems most likely to contain, say, Asian sesame oil and it's nowhere to be found. Ask one of the employees who assaults you as soon as you walk in the door, seemingly eager to be at your beck and call, and still get nowhere (ask them where something like Cheetos are and you'll be led there straight away). Try to find that perfect cut of meat in the meat section and you're greeted with some sketchy looking cuts that seem to be sitting in an excessive amount of liquid or are so fatty that by the time you finished trimming you'd have barely enough for one portion (I should mention that this is a "high-end" grocer).

Yet, in my mind, I could easily be a wonderful, gracious hostess. A young, slim, sexy Martha Stewart (without the dewy lighting and definitely with more foul language. I guess it'd be a Martha Stewart meets Anthony Bourdain). I imagine myself making fabulous meals, with starters, salad, main course and dessert, everything paired with a delightful wine. I see myself creating visually appealing place settings and presentation of dishes. I see candles and lively conversation among a few selected guests. I see cooking a hearty meal for my man at the end of the day, already on the table when he gets home, the rest of the house spotless, allowing him to forget all his work stress and just enjoy the respite that is home. Pretty much I see myself as a Stepford Wife.

In reality I have to push myself to do these things. I love working on intellectually stimulating projects that tend to take up quite a bit of my time. Unfortunately that leaves me with little desire to then scrub the floor with an orange scented cleanser and cook up anything appetizing. B jokes that I could subsist entirely on chik patties (a vegetarian chicken patty substitute) and salad. She's totally right. I have to be really inspired to get home from work (which is not intellectually stimulating, simply time-consuming) and whip up anything good.

Maybe it's time for me to make my "summer resolution." I will stop abhorring the grocery store and will start cooking at least twice a week (baking is optional but should be attempted once a month). I know my parents would be thrilled if I started making all the delicious food I talk about and it would be great to really look forward to dinner (not to mention the leftovers I'd be able to take for lunch). D would probably like it, too, if I took some initiative and cooked once in awhile.

So let's create a 3 step plan:

1. Create a menu for the meals I want to cook that week (I only need 2).

2. Offer to do the grocery shopping for the week (mom would be thrilled if I do this...which I will).

3. Begin prep as soon as I get home from work so it can all just be thrown together.


Now, that seems easy enough. Here's my vow to stick to it!

Why?

I've had the thought many times over the past few years, but working in an office has really brought it to the forefront: Why do people respond to emails or text messages for which no response is necessary?

An example:

I handle all of our conference rooms. I book them, order the food, set it up in the system, etc. When food is ordered I usually need to request a check from Marie in accounting. This is a simple process: I simply go into Word, then to "firm forms," click "check request" and fill in the highlighted fields. When I've filled in the necessary information I go to "File," "Send to," "Send as attachment." A few hours later I have my check and all is good.

So I go through this process this morning and am happily sitting reading the NY Times when, surprise, I get an email back that says, "ok." Why? Why on Earth would you send that email? I don't need acknowledgement that you got the email. I'll know if you got the email when my check doesn't show up in an hour or so.

Obviously this is not a big deal, but think of it like this: Imagine getting the aforementioned check request email and calling the requester each time to say, "ok." Do you not think this would get old? Would someone not mention to you that this is completely unnecessary?

Another example of a time I find myself scratching my head and asking, why? is when I send certain text messages. I may be running out of the building and send a quick text to say, "I'm on my way." Now, when someone responds, "Ok see you soon," I can only think what a waste of money (especially if you don't have a text plan). If you needed to say something like, "Don't bother, we've already missed our reservations," or "Why don't we meet half-way instead?" I understand the response. If I send a flirty text to D just to say "thinking of you" or something equally lame, I never expect him to text back, unless he so pleases. Thank god, he lives up to my expectations.

It's just the completely unnecessary emails and texts that get me! I don't need you to acknowledge every email I send, especially if it's just a little link to something I found interesting, or a tip on a great website on which to buy shoes. Just absorb the knowledge, or not, and move on with it. When you can't think of a better response than, "OK," skip the damn response all together.

Another texting pet peeve of mine is the ongoing conversation. Sending someone a text to let them know you are running 15 minutes late or that you'll meet them at the fountain is fine. It's something that takes 30 seconds and doesn't require a response. It's the people who start conducting entire conversations with me by text that start to piss me off. I may text a friend on a Saturday morning because I'm not sure they are awake yet and don't want to be that first phone call. But if they respond (say I've asked what they're up to for the day and they say no plans) I typically call. Any conversation that requires more than 2 back and forth exchanges should be conducted by talking, not texting. The exception being if you are in a place where talking will disturb others (i.e. at your desk at work, on a crowded morning train, at a theater/concert, etc).

So, please, if I send a little message that you can't think of any good response to, don't respond, or call. If I wanted to hear from you and don't I'll pick up the phone and call. But for heaven's sake, please stop filling my inboxes with "Ok" "gotcha" "word" "fine" and all the like.

Thank you.

Things that make noises they shouldn't:

1. Our sighing coffee pot

I am not kidding. You fill it up and flip the switch and it begins: "Hmmm. Ho hum. Siiigh." Poor little coffee pot, you have such a hard life.

2. The squealing humidifier

Turn this baby on for a little white noise at night and you'll be treated to, "SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" for however long it feels necessary. Decibel levels do vary, just to keep you on your toes.

3. Starbuck's take-away coffee cups

Get down to those last few drops of coffee and try to suck out the extra frothy milk and your cup will surely protest. As if to say, "Oh god, please tell me you're finished! It's just foam, for heaven's sake!" the little cup let's out this reserved little cry.

4. My favorite "Camelbak" water bottle

I love my water bottle. It has a nifty little feature that keeps water from coming out unless you twist it to "open" and then squeeze or suck it. So if you put it in your bag without "closing" it, it still won't get all over everything. Or, if you're running, it won't slosh everywhere but still allows you to get a quick drink. This lovely bottle, however, has a habit of clicking once you've taken your sip. This is my preferred bedside companion since I'm known to knock over water glasses whilst groping for them sleepily in the middle of the night; but the damn thing freaks me out all the time because it delays it's clicking until you're just falling asleep. Stupid bottle.

5. My coworker's shoe

I never have to guess it's her coming down the hall. Her shoe (I'm not sure whether it's the left or the right one) poofs out air rather noisily with each step. It's a shame because this is a woman who is always very posh and stylish. Unfortunately the stately effect is ruined a bit with her poofing shoe.

What can I say, it's been an incredibly slow Friday :-)

How Satisfied Are You?

"You've got to stop telling people how much you hate your job," Rachel told me as we were preparing to go our separate ways after lunching by the fountain.

"I don't ever say it to anyone at the office, Rachel. For them, even when they prompt me with a, 'I don't know how you do it,' or a 'You must be so bored out there,' I simply smile and say that while, yes, I get a tad bored, I'm paying my dues and I get to read lots of books. I'll be busy soon enough."

"Ah. I guess that's why I hear about it so much, then."

I smiled. "I think D wants to shake me at this point."

"At least you have people to remind you that you need to find something you like about it," Rachel smiled back.

"I get to read lots of books," I replied, which is true and can be quite enjoyable...when the books is good.

We made our lunch plans for the next day and set off in opposite directions; her back to the museum basement, me back up to my desk with a view from the 27th floor.

She's right, of course. I do need to keep looking for the positive with this job. Otherwise I'll be consumed by my own bad attitude and absolutely no one will want to be around me. I'd prefer to be a positive person, but my upbringing has conditioned me to always look for the negative.

I took an optimism test recently where if your score was between 12 and 25 you were considered optimistic; though at a 25 you were damn near hysterical. D took it too. I asked his score but he wanted to know mine before he'd tell me. I can't say as I was surprised. Before we got together he asked me one question that has always stuck with me, "Do you consider yourself an optimist?"

The truth is, I am. I'm just very good at coming off as Eeyore. Most of the time the negative things I point out, or my tendency to phrase things in a more negative manner, is for the irony of it all. It's my way of joking; "biting sarcasm" I suppose. But the reality is that I've never doubted that good things will happen for me. I expect to get into law school, do quite well, land a job and make a better than decent living. I expect to get married to a man I love. I expect to have friends. I expect to enjoy myself. I'm also a bit anal retentive and thus will over plan for possible tragedies or negative outcomes and I think that sometimes takes over and I start to worry (ok, I don't think that happens, I know it happens).

I told D I scored a 20. He scoffed and told me he expected it to be a 13 or something. He scored a 22. No surprise there. He's the happiest person I know. He tells jokes and giggles in his sleep, for crying out loud!

All of this leads me to my attempt to be happy with my here and now. Or maybe not happy, but satisfied. Striving for happiness seems counterproductive. I want satisfaction. Satisfaction is something you actually can work towards. I think that you know what will be satisfying at particular moments. Sometimes it's as simple as that ice cream cone you've been craving all week; or watching your favorite TV show on Wednesday nights; coming home and getting your long awaited hug; snuggling up under your covers and sleeping in; going for a walk on a beautiful day; getting the bathroom clean and the dishes put away. Yes, satisfaction is worth striving for because often with satisfaction comes happiness. But striving for happiness is futile, in my opinion. The more you try to be happy the more frustrated you'll be when you think that maybe you aren't (because happiness is completely subjective and often even the individual will not know whether s/he is truly "happy").

I feel satisfied at work when I've helped someone out. It could be by setting up the conference room they need ASAP, opening client/matters, picking up a dropped pen, anything really. I feel satisfied when I have a good book with me (this is more difficult to come by than you may think. There's a lot of books that do not captivate and can become a chore to read for 8 hours a day). Yes, my job is not ideal but I know this is not my career and it is certainly not my life. I think it's important to take the time to remember that everyday, especially when you have people yelling at you from all directions... :-)

Moody

It started with a "late" night (11:30pm arrival home on a Tuesday constitutes late in my world) at Cirque du Soleil with my girlfriends. The show was fun and all of us were glad we'd been able to work it into our schedules. We'd had dinner beforehand and I was happy to just have gotten a little bit of time in with the two of them (B is moving in a matter of weeks and I'm afraid I'll cease to function properly).

The show ended and Maria (a martyr when it comes to the "who's driving this time" game) set us on our way. "Philadelphia is a pretty city," B said as we cruised down 16th toward Center City. I had to agree. I like Philly quite a bit. It's the perfect size; easily walkable but with lots of neighborhoods, hidden gems, great restaurants (where you don't need to call a month in advance for a reservation...except maybe Le Bec Fin), lots of parks, and beautiful old buildings (and some pretty neat new ones). Even though I grew up here, went to school here, hope to attend law school here, and work here, I have no desire to leave. I can picture myself using Philly as my home base for a long time.

I felt happy about the evening I'd just had as I drove home from B and Mo's house, thankfully not hitting all my usual traffic lights. It was a little after 11:30pm when I wandered up to my room, took off my make-up, brushed my teeth and turned out my light as I got into bed. Too bad I was wide awake. I closed my eyes and thought happy thoughts; I got into my most comfortable position and started "clearing my mind and paying close attention to my breath" (the method recommended by yogis everywhere). Nothing was working. I peaked at the clock: 12:04am. Damn. I'd already made up my mind not to get to up to jog the next day, but that still only left me with a little over 6 hours to sleep.

Eventually I did fall asleep and I cursed my alarm as it softly lulled me awake (after I'd naturally woken up at 5:30 and cursed my incredibly accurate internal rhythms). I rolled out of bed, showered, dressed and headed downstairs. The tea kettle was already on and softly whistling. "I figured you'd be tired so I put the kettle on for your tea," my mom said as I looked at the kettle. Instead of expressing how grateful I was in an appropriate manner I grunted at her and brooded through breakfast.

By the time I got to work I knew that everything and everyone was going to piss me off. And lo and behold, they did! My bank/credit card company pissed me off; my coworkers pissed me off; anyone who called pissed me off; simply being pissed me off. After a little reviving lunch-time walk during which Rachel and I both expressed our sadness over no longer being in school, I had an idea. I started to wonder if anyone had ever studied the effects of acute sleep deprivation on mood. Calling back my psychological research skills I logged onto Temple's library's site and started looking.

There was only one article that matched exactly what I was looking for and I couldn't find the full text. Fortunately the abstract let me know what I was wondering: even just a few hours of lost sleep with depress one's affect the following day. It is exacerbated if the individual is stressed/anxious (which I am). Bingo. Not getting enough sleep had made me a complete sour-puss and I was glad I wasn't seeing anyone I liked that day. Interestingly, I found three other articles that piqued my interest: one on the effect of face-to-pillow contact on mood (this is the one I'm most excited about reading. The abstract says that if you sleep in a position where you have maximum facial exposure to the pillow--i.e. on your stomach or side--you tend to be in a worse mood than the person who has minimal facial exposure to the pillow--i.e. the back sleeper), the second article was about mothers who share a bed with their baby and mood (mother's who share beds with their babies tend to have worse moods than those who sleep separately), and the third was about the effect of bringing home work (or working late) on one's relationship.

If I didn't fully know it before this exercise confirmed it: I am definitely a nerd. Researching psychology articles lifted my mood the way nothing else seemed able to. Now I'm even more impatient to get back to school (and try to sleep more on my back and make sure I get enough sleep at night and not bring home work. The sleep on the back thing is going to be hard...)!

A Happy Moment

"What are you doing?"

"Petting the rabbits," I said, stroking the three rabbit furs on the footstool at the end of the bed.

"That's a great look. I think you should stay like that for a minute."

I complied, happily, lazily petting the furs, looking at each one. My favorite was the white one with the black spots. It was softer than the others and the white was brilliant. I watched him walk over and slide onto the bed next to me, brushing light kisses against my skin. I don't think I've ever felt so happy.

Going to Extremes

The NY Times posed this question: Should restaurants be forced to post calorie counts alongside their prices?

At first glance I thought, yeah, why not. It would probably help the public to make more informed and, hopefully, healthier choices when going out to eat. But, after I'd meditated on it for a minute, I decided that, no, I would not like that. If I were going out for "date night" to a restaurant, I don't really want to know exactly how much crap I'm eating. I want to order something that I couldn't make at home, eat it until satiated and then bring the rest home to eat for lunch the next day. I do not want to feel guilty for ordering my lamb shank with oven-roasted garlic potatoes and sauteed spinach. I do not want to be left the option of only the grilled salmon with a side salad, no dressing. I could eat that at home. I do eat that at home.

What people really need is a good education in nutrition. Once you understand what, exactly, calories mean and which types of food contain what types vitamins, minerals, proteins, fats and sugars, you can go just about anywhere and make a wise choice (and should you overindulge one night a month, as long as you have a dedicated and changing workout routine you should be fine. Yes, everyone should have a workout routine and avoid lame excuses for not doing it. Recent research shows that the main cause of physical decline with age is a lack of dedicated training [Men's Health, May 2008, pg. 77; pulled from Journal of Physiology]. But that's another issue). Knowing what constitutes a lean meat is a good place to start. But better yet, we should really focus on portion sizes. It would be prudent for those who are watching what they're eating (I am swiftly becoming a member of this category) to request an extra plate and immediately take half of their serving and put it aside to be wrapped up ASAP.

Having nutrition information listed on menus would likely burden people more than it would help them. Dining out should be a treat; it should be fun. It should not be an experience that leaves the patrons feeling guilty, no matter what they choose to indulge in. Posting such information would also, possibly, force chefs to alter many of their offerings and techniques. For example, French food uses lots of butter. Get over it. That's French cooking for you. And we like French cooking for the fact that it is extremely rich and indulgent. But, then, how is it, again, that the French are not overweight? Portion size. Thus, once again, supporting my argument that it would be more beneficial to just halve your portion of whatever you order before consuming.

Therefore, I whole-heartedly disagree with the NY courts that are attempting to force restaurants to put nutrition information on menus. There are intermediate steps (such as simply having said information available upon request) that are being skipped completely. As far as I can tell, there is also no evidence that putting nutrition information on the menu alongside the dish changes the customer's ordering habits in a beneficial manner. It could also create problems for certain chefs/restaurants. It would be wise to investigate the myriad other options available to the food industry before passing a ruling that require such an extreme measure.

A Kindred Spirit

"He could measure his own progress only in relationship to others, and his idea of excellence was to do something at least as well as all the men his own age who were doing the same thing even better. The fact that there were thousands of men his own age and older who had not even attained the rank of major enlivened him with foppish delight in his own remarkable worth; on the other hand, the fact that there were men of this own age and younger who were already generals contaminated him with an agonizing sense of failure and made him gnaw at his fingernails with an unappeasable anxiety that was even more intense than Hungry Joe's."

Heller, Joseph (1955). Catch-22: Colonel Cathcart. New York: Simon and Schuster.

As soon as I read the above quote something clicked and my brain shouted, "That's me!" Regardless of what I've achieved thus far in my life, I'm always comparing myself to others. Whenever I read an article or hear a story about how some 22 year-old has received his/her B.A., M.A., and PhD and spent the past year and a half volunteering overseas doing work on foreign affairs, etc, I can't help but feel like a failure (they could be 25, you get the drift). Then I look at other people and see that I'm in pretty good shape comparatively. So it goes that my self-esteem reads a bit like an alpha-wave, with many various peaks and valleys of relatively uniform shape.

Having been told my whole life that I will excel at anything I do, I feel a certain need be an over-achiever. I need to live up to my "high earning potential." I need to prove myself better than average. I need to be smarter, leaner, fitter, more aware, etc., than the average person. And so, today, I feel a bit like Colonel Cathcart.

The Best Medicine

I drove up and backed into my parking spot right behind D's. Decked out in my UMass Amherst shirt, tight shorts, a hat and sneakers, I was ready. I'd even brought a water bottle with me, unusual since I dislike carrying anything while I run. D put on his "hydration pack" (a backpack that you fill with water), threw our keys into it and we were off.

The entire week had been gorgeous; temperatures were steady in mid- to upper-70's, the sun was shining (my freckles made their first appearance of the season) and it seemed everyone needed to get outside. We walked for a bit until we got to the trail and then we started our usual jog/walk. Trails don't lend themselves to running, at least for me, because I'm not a sure-footed individual. Nevertheless, I love getting out and listening to the frogs, the water, the wind in the blooming trees; smiling at fellow joggers, hikers, bikers, and strollers as I pick my way along the path. I walked far more than usual and we deviated from our usual route, but still it felt good to be moving, great to revel in the long awaited springtime.

For our return trip I chose to take the path instead of staying on the trails; D didn't seem to mind and I felt that I would get a better workout running on more even ground. Off we went; me jogging at my moderate pace (I sometimes feel as though I'm simply plodding along and am astonished when I actually get anywhere), D sprinting past me then walking, then sprinting and walking. Then he made a comment about someone ahead of us; the fat man, I believe he was called. The fat man was beating us. So I picked up my pace, going at a near full sprint (not full or I wouldn't have been able to sustain it). D caught up with me. "Wow, you're fast!" I smiled and probably giggled a little; I certainly don't think of myself as "fast." But he assured me it was true. Now I felt really good.

We continued along, the sun peeking out from the clouds every so often, bikers whizzing by, families moving slowly along as the children ran off to look at this or that. My arms tend to get tired first, probably because they're so tense. But I ignored the pain easily enough and my feet carried me on. On and on, past various off-shoots for trails up into the hills, past the suggestions that horses had recently been here, past little houses and fountains, benches and wildlife. I developed a mantra that I repeated to myself when I felt like slowing to a walk: I will earn my dinner and sex tonight, I will earn my dinner and sex tonight. And by god, I did.

When I ran track in high school I'd set a simple goal for myself: Do not come in last. At the one race my mother will forever bring up, I was nearing the finish and I looked back. There was one girl right on my heels and another a few paces behind. Satisfied that even if I should slow down I'd not be last, I did just that. I let the girl on my heels pass me and simply finished next to last. My competitive spirit seems to show itself in board and card games, but not so much in sports. Running on that path, however, I actually felt like I could compete. Maybe my running is actually improving! Maybe if I start doing some speed work and going longer distances I can become even better. I actually can survive longer runs!

I walked back to my car feeling very proud of myself. I hadn't stopped when I wanted to (except for on the trails...but we'll ignore that for now) and I finished with energy to spare. I'd made it over my usual hurdle and definitely had a second wind. It feels like it's been a long time since I accomplished something and I've forgotten how good it truly feels.

We went to Fig for dinner and I made sure to enjoy every bite (not difficult to do, the food was quite good) and every sip of wine. At home I made sure to enjoy dessert as well. I fell asleep quickly and even when I woke up (realizing we were sleeping with the lights on) I was able to quickly fall back to sleep. I noticed nothing at all and remember only odd snippets of my dreams (I remember for some reason talking about a girl I'd gone to middle school with in one dream, I remember having strange dating experiences--entirely fictional--in another, and I remember going to a casino in what I thought was Atlantic City, but turned out to be Vegas with a hotel dressed up like AC, and winning something because I'd written "Shabbot Shalom" on my card). Today I feel amazing. I'm happy, I feel no soreness at all even though I neglected to stretch, my beau is off to NY for a few days but I got some little kisses on my shoulder this morning so I feel good, and even doing nothing at work isn't bothering me.

It's amazing what a little challenging exercise can do for the mind, body, and soul.

My Vista Life

Paolino: our lives are like a Windows program
Matt: So your life isn't like any particular Windows program?
Faye: I mean, maybe Vista. It sucks and really isn't different than it was before.
Matt: It's prettier and slower?
Faye: Yeah, actually