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.