It all depends on your perception...

“All of this is to say that I have consumed an entire package of bacon since arriving at my parents’ house,” I told them.

I was sitting in the original Lladro coffee shop atop Queen Anne Hill with fairy-god-brother and his boyfriend. FGB and I were bundled up to the hilt, my orange knit cap giving me the appearance of a conehead, despite the fact that it was nearly covering my eyes. Whoever thought that one size fit all had clearly never encountered my head during the design process. I was meeting boyfriend for the first time.

“Bacon is a special type of food,” said FGB’s boyfriend.

Of course it was. Though I don’t technically keep kosher, I rarely brought non-Kosher foods in my house, but bacon was bacon. And when bacon magically appeared in parents’ refrigerator, I could not ignore it. Bacon wasn’t really a meat. Meat was tender and juicy. Bacon was dry and crispy. The closest meat it resembled was beef jerky which was rough and chewy. Though people said bacon came from pigs, I was not sure I believed them. There was nothing quite like bacon.

“I know a few vegetarians that eat bacon,” FGB’s boyfriend added.

“You cannot be a vegetarian and eat bacon,” FGB frowned.

“And yet there are people that do,” FGB’s boyfriend replied grinning at me from across the table.

Yep, I think boyfriend's a winner.

Martha's Stand-in...

This is the little bundle of precious-ness that BabySis has been bringing to the house in order to soothe the Martha withdrawals.



Beans is a cutie and so tiny and delicate!


Teeny-beanie-weenie!


BabySis keeps smacking me when I wake Beans up to play.

I'm glad to have her around.



That being said, she'll never be my scruffy little baby.


"I can't believe you keep putting me in this damn sweater, Owner."

I'll be home soon, Martha!

Home!

“You don’t seem to be smoking very much,” my dad said.

Why would I be smoking? Coming home for the holidays may be the one time of year when I am not worrying ridiculously about my life. I’m in a different environment. Finals are done and classes for next semester have not yet started. I’m concentrating on enjoying my family, not my grades, or my career, or any other aspect of the future. I don’t have to be anywhere at a certain time, can sleep as late as I want, spend the entire day reading novels. Where’s the need for a cigarette?

Except of course, after I told my father all of these things, I suddenly started stressing again. Oh well, three days of light smoking is still an achievement.

Despite a screaming baby on the plane, my flight went well. My perspective on life must be changing. Normally, I’d be super annoyed by the kid, but instead on this journey I felt sorry for the parents who must have been worried about the crying baby disturbing all of the other passengers who were trying to sleep on the a.m. flight.

Shortly after arriving in Seattle, BabySis appeared with what might have been the best Christmas present ever. I opened the front door to find her holding a pet carrier. She brought over her boyfriend’s Cavalier Spaniel named Beans. Beans is still a puppy and weighs about six pounds. Beans and I played with her toys for hours until completely tuckered out, she fell asleep in my lap. For some reason, I felt much more at ease after spending some time with a little furry creature. Of course now, every time she comes over I ask, “Where is Beans? Why didn’t you bring Beans?”

Everything else is pleasant and semi-sublime. After buying my parents a Wii console for Christmas last year, BigBrother got them Guitar Hero III this year. I suck at video games, but will play them with the fam. As my sister and brother jammed through the songs with ease, I tried Slow Ride about ten times, never able to finish the song. We realized later that I excel at some of the songs, particularly the Rage Against the Machine one and the Sex Pistols one, which I completed on the first try. Perhaps I missed my calling when I took in interest in classical music as opposed to the alternative.

BabySis and I have been running around the house singing over the past few days.

BabySis: The worst pies in London!
Ana: Try the priest!

“What are the odds that both of you would see a movie on opening night,” my Dad asked.

BabySis and I looked at each other, then answered simultaneously, “Tim Burton. Made a MUSICAL.”

Mom, BigBrother, and BigBrother’s significant other made turkey and stuff yesterday. Tres yummy. Today we are scheduled to have ham. I do not like ham, so I will have to fend for myself. Last night my mother was wondering aloud when we started the tradition of having ham on Christmas day and BabySis quickly and smartly replied, “I’m pretty sure you started doing it the year Ana converted to Judaism.”

Mom frowned and I giggled because BabySis was right. I have a special Christmas plate with a Star of David on it and I swear someone gets a sick enjoyment out of slapping a piece of ham on it every year…which is I why I have stopped eating ham because the vision is so emblazoned in my memory. This does not mean that I won’t eat bacon. Though I do not buy bacon or bring it into my own house, I figure it’s up for grabs when I visit someone else’s house. This might be the reason why I made the best grilled cheese sandwich in the world yesterday: two slices of wheat bread with provolone, tomatoes, blue cheese crumbles, and THREE slices of bacon. My family stared at me as the bleu cheese oozed out of the sides with each bite.

“We thought you were Jewish,” they said.

“Mi mam,” I replied with a full mouth and a smile.

Today I called Wine-Time-Girl to check in and say hi, and we ended up having a conversation about the different books we’ve read since gaining our exam period freedom. I knew there was a reason I liked her. If I have time, I’ll write some reviews later. So far I’ve downed American Pastoral and Starting Out in the Evening. Now I’m on to the Harry Potter books that BigBrother brought AND he’s told me I can take them home with me if I like!

Amazingly, it has not rained every day since arriving in Seattle and yesterday was actually semi-sunny. It’s almost like god likes me right now or something. Hopefully before the week is out, I’ll be able to get together with Fairy-God-Brother whose family also lives in Seattle.

If I can think of anything moderately interesting to write, I’ll try to get it down, but in the interim:

Happy Holidays, dear readers, and I hope you have a wonderful day with you and yours!

I like sun...

People always ask me why I live far away from my family, especially when Seattle is such a neat city.

Here are seven reasons courtesy of weather.com

Sunday:
Rain

Monday:
AM Showers

Tuesday:
Cloudy

Wednesday:
Showers

Thursday:
Showers

Friday:
Few showers

Saturday:
Rain/snow showers

Thanks, but my personality is already depressive enough without the extra love from mother nature.

I guess I like her...

She’s not really what most people would consider a ‘good dog.’ Sometimes I ask friends and they respond:

She sniffs my crotch.

She’s kind of a spaz.

She jumps.

She licks.

She…

Martha is not a dream dog. She’s extremely demanding, always pushing you to your limits. You must be a disciplinarian at all times. You can’t ever back away. If you do, she runs over you like a steamroller.

Take her to the dog park often?

Suddenly, she decides that she enjoys going to the bathroom off of a leash. In fact, she enjoys it so much that she refuses to go on walks and will instead wait for the park. If you don’t go to the park, well then, she’ll just go on the floor! Yeah, we don’t go to the park anymore. Which is probably a good thing because…

Who’s in charge?

Martha is in charge. When we go to the dog park, Martha is all up in everyone’s business, barking her little head off. She wanders up to random dogs and barks, “PLAY WITH ME!” Then she proceeds to jump all over them. Her tail and her rear are up in the air, meaning she’s just having fun, but others don’t take it that way. At the dog park, people think Martha is yippy and aggressive and sit and talk about it while her owner is sitting within hearing distance. Another reason why we stopped going to the park.

Why are you so excited?

Martha is a freakishly happy and energetic dog. I am neither happy nor energetic. A lot of days she gets on my nerves. “Owner! Get out of bed; it’s a beautiful day! Let’s go for a walk! Let’s go play ball! Let’s”…constantly, nonstop. Sometimes she is exhausting to even watch, her tail wagging madly.

But it gets worse?

When people come over, Martha gets so excited that she almost pees on herself. The doorbell rings and she bounds down the stairs so fast that she inevitably slips and careens half the way down. Once the person is inside, she jumps all over them while I scream, “NO! OFF! STOP! UH-UH! GO TO YOUR HOUSE!” Once the visitor makes it upstairs, Martha is intent on licking their feet, goodness knows why, but she does. “LOVE ME!” she exclaims, sticking to each visitor like Velcro.

And when it’s dinner time?

Martha has some kind of internal clock that knows exactly when it’s 5 pm. About fifteen minutes prior, she’ll walk up to me and begin nosing me in the leg, over and over and over again, like a woodpecker.

So you would think that when it’s time for Ana to travel, the opportunity to board Martha would seem like a vacation in and of itself.

IT IS NOT.

My flight is in the early morning, meaning that Martha needed to be boarded the day before, and the vet closes early since it’s Saturday, meaning that I would be spending the bulk of the day without her.

Last night she was allowed to sleep on the bed, and like a good little dog, rolled up in a ball by my feet at the foot of the bed.

This morning she was up and at ‘em, bright and cheery.

“LET’S GO OUTSIDE!” she coaxed, but I did not want to take Martha outside because that meant walking the mile to my vet to drop her off.

With forty-five minutes to spare, I got dressed and put a collection of toys in a plastic bag, her name scrawled in Sharpie on piece of masking tape and we made our way over to the vet. I was fine during the walk, a little sad, but mostly ok.

Then we walked through the door and announced that we were dropping her off. Martha’s never been boarded before and I worried that she might think I was leaving her for good. I pulled out my bag of toys hoping that they would be a nice reminder of home for her.

“Oh,” said the receptionist, “We don’t take toys because they might get lost. It’s for your benefit.”

For my benefit? There’s six toys in here. Surely you can’t lose all of them? Surely Martha can be allowed a memory of me while she sits in a kennel? I don’t want her to think this is the SPCA!

“Nope, sorry,” said the girl, “We’ve got plenty of toys for her to play with though.”

I handed Martha off to a technician and he put a new leash on her, handing me back Martha’s purple rope. Only he didn’t just hand me back her leash. He also gave me her collar.

“WHAT?” I yelled. “That’s her collar! It’s the only thing that shows that we belong to each other!”

“Don’t worry; we put a little nametag on them,” said the receptionist.

But her collar. Her collar had been on her since the day she came to live with me. It’s how she knew she had an owner, a pack.. If they took off the collar, then she’d think she’d been abandoned. She’d think I was leaving her just the way her last owner had. I couldn’t bear the thought of thinking such, my good little dog, the dog that curled up in a ball next to me while I read on the couch, the dog that wandered into my room every so often just to make sure I was still there, the dog that sat patiently waiting for her food every day. The dog who loved me unconditionally despite my oddity, despite my moods. My dog! She was MY DOG!

And then, I’m embarrassed to say it, but I started to cry, not tear up, not sniffle, but bawl, loudly and uncontrollably. The removal of the collar was just too much.

The tech quickly swished Martha away to the back room in attempt to remove the very item that created my ungluing. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. The two receptionists tried to calm me while looking around nervously, as if they wished there were a big red panic button behind their desk, but I ran out of the door, ashamed of my behavior and desperately wanting to leave the scene myself.

I cried most of the way home, holding her collar in my hand, and I haven’t been able to pack yet.

Because of a dog, a damn dog.



Apparently, I am not the only person suffering from this problem.

Movie Review: Sweeney Todd..

I should warn you, I'm a huge fan of Tim Burton. At the same time, I'm objective enough to tell you that his last really good film was Edward Scissorhands. All of the movies since then have been enjoyable on some level (mainly set design) but that's where it stops. The films are typically gothic, eerie, dark and somewhat perverse in a really pretty way, but for some reason Burton flicks always come up a little short in plot and character development for me.

Sweeney Todd is not Edward Scissorhands or Beetlejuice (my other favorite), but it is the best film he's made (that I've seen) since either of those two. (I have not seen Ed Wood. I know that's weird, but I missed it.)

Johnny Depp, who we all think of a quirky, artistic, and intellectual until we realize that he only does blockbuster films (and who doesn't seem quirky and eccentric when compared to other blockbuster-type actors like Mel Gibson and Kevin Costner) manages not to disappoint. (Seriously, can you even imagine what Depp would be like in a movie like Six Degrees of Separation or a Woody Allen-type film?) Though his range is limited, he does a good job with the roles he plays. He is convincing as a man with a troubled soul who spirals into madness.

The scenery, as usual, is gorgeous. Burton casts a dulled overcast overlay on the coloring of the film that gives London a dark and foreboding feeling. At first you will hate how fake the bright red blood is, but by the end of the movie, you'll love the contrast of it's near fluorescent opaqueness, the blood that Todd releases from his victims is the only evidence of life in the gruesome world. It flies across the screen as if screaming in freedom.

Alan Rickman (who we also know as Professor Snape!) is fabulous at portraying a lecherous Judge Turpin even though his lines are few. The facial expressions and body movements alone will make you wiggle in your chair with unease. His sidekick, Beadle Bamford played by Timothy Spall (also known as Peter Pettigrew!) does an equally good job of being repulsive.

Sacha Baron Cohen (Borat) has a cameo that most people will enjoy, but left me wondering, "What the heck is he doing in this film playing this schtick?" His character adds a light-hearted touch, but seemed out of place given the overall tone of the film.

The stealer of the show though, has got to be Helena Bonham Carter. Though she's been overlooked in most of the reviews I've read thus far (a google news search only came up with results stating she'd recently given birth), she is the main reason to see this movie. In the early scenes I was filled with sadness when she opened her mouth to reveal someone other than Patti Lupone. By the time it was over, I couldn't imagine anyone else in the role. Bonham captures the main components of Mrs. Lovett's nastiness, but it's her subtle actions that almost have you rooting for her character in the end. Bonham Carter gives Mrs. Lovett a depth that's lacking from every other role in the film.

The music is better than you'd think it would be. Unless you've got a background in voice (I do), I don't think you'll particularly notice. It's not Broadway, but it's pretty good.

I read one review somewhere that said the film was lacking in social commentary. I have to disagree. The social commentary was the main thing I walked away with - it just wasn't in your face saying, "Hey moron, here's the social commentary!" Any limitations on the plot are due mainly to the fact that the film lasts only two hours and contains musical numbers. With that, it's hard to dig too deeply.

Overall, I give it a thumbs up. I left feeling not grossed-out or amazed or dazzled, but sad, sad at what we do to each other, sad at the choices people make in response, and sad at how some of our lives are. I think that was the point.

Why yes, I am procrastinating from doing things that need to be done.

Still lost in Potterdom...

After four viewings of Chamber of Secrets, I went back to Target in order to return home with as many $9.99 Harry Potter DVDs that I could carry out of the store. Unfortunately, nothing was left except for Order of the Phoenix which, as it turns out, was not on sale. Luckily for I remembered spying a copy of Sorcerer's Stone in a bizarre location, and when I returned, it was still there.

I've never read a single Harry Potter book.

Don't gasp. There's a reason.

I like the movies. I liked the movies so much that I didn't want to read any of the books until after ALL of the movies were out. I'm rarely a fan of film adaptations. I figured the books must be ten times better. If I were to read the books, the films would never live up to my imagination. Therefore, in order to maintain film enjoyment, I have steered clear of every print copy with a vengeance. When I finally read the books, I will already have a picture in my head of Hogwarts and the characters. I'll be pleasantly surprised by additional plot portions rather than irritated by their absence.

There's just one thing. I'm beginning to break down.

After watching the first two movies non-stop for the last few days I am desperate to read the books. I am bizarrely fascinated by the parallels to Star Wars: the battle between 'good' and 'evil', the young man whose parents are killed by the big bad guy, who must go on to learn the secrets of a mystical world, guided by sages and assisted by his renegade friends ultimately meeting his destiny in combat with the man who murdered his parents. (I had this discussion with Cheesecake-Boy yesterday and he looked at me like I was nuts. Whatever. I see Star Wars.)

I want to read the books. I want to read the books NOW. So I decided that I can read through #5. I mean, the first five movies are out so it shouldn't totally ruin it, right? My brother is bringing the first three volumes to Seattle.

This doesn't bode well though. I am hard-pressed to believe that I will read the first five and then casually wait three years to read the final two.

There's just no way.

All I want for Christmas...

Coche was quite naughty during finals season, requiring thirty minutes of coaxing before finally starting on four separate occasions. Once finals were over, I went to the auto shop to get her an oil change as this seems to help the problem. (Of course, it took me forty minutes to get her there.)

Besides just wanting the car to start regularly, I needed her to start as I agreed to work full-time before I leave town for Seattle. Coche lasted three and a half days before she sputtered and flummoxed for forty minutes in the work parking lot. When she finally got going, I drove her straight to the auto shop and left her there.

Today I didn’t go to work because I didn’t have a car. I lay in bed until nearly 1 pm being grossly unproductive. (This was partly due to the fact that I’d stayed up until 3:30 am reading a novel.) No money made. No work completed.

The auto shop has called twice today to tell me that coche is starting just fine.

I SO HATE HER.

Every time I bring her in, she starts with no problems. I’ve done this FOUR times! I am pretty sure my car place thinks I am crazy.

So what did I tell the guy?

Screw it. I’m leaving her there. I’m leaving her there until she doesn’t start. The car’s been doing this on and off for four years, but lately it’s happening more often and taking longer to start. That darn car can stay there all Winter Break if she needs as far as I’m concerned. I’m not going to wait until I need to be somewhere, she refuses to start, and I decide to get her towed – which will be a nightmare as she will most likely be in my one car garage, that the car barely fits in, and would require serious maneuvering. ARgh.

In the meantime I've found a ride to work, gotten some things done around the house, and Cheesecake-Boy is bringing over the essentials – a bottle of wine.

Finito...

You would think that by the time you get to your 3L finals would be so much easier. You know the routine, you know the preferred essay style, you know how to synthesize and apply.

Ana is here to tell you that knowing all of the above makes finals ten times worse – because you’re not scared, there’s no great brass ring left to grab, and your grades don’t matter much at this point.

For some reason I sat through the bulk of my exams thinking, “I know this stuff, and I'm over it."

This sentiment has long been echoed in my family. In the second grade my brother was caught “cheating” on his homework assignments. Each day the class would pass their papers up to the front of the room, and during the paper exchange my brother would grab someone else’s homework, erase their name, and replace it with his. After a lengthy parent-teacher conference my mother approached my brother incredulously, “Why would you do that?!?!?”

His answer: I know how to do it. Why bother putting out the effort to explain to the teacher that I understand it?

Tonight Ana raises a glass of wine in toast to her brother. He realized at age seven what she is just now beginning to comprehend. In law school, one must write their exams as if they were four years old. The more you state the obvious, the higher your grade.

Sample Exam Question:
What happens when a cat sits on a mat?

Model Answer:
The cat sat on the mat. Cats have fur. Fur from cats is known to shed. Therefore, it is likely that there will be some cat fur on the mat once the cat moves to another location. The impact of the cat fur will depend on the allergies of the owner of the mat. If the owner is allergic to cats, they will probably sneeze. If their allergies are extreme, they might become violently ill (e.g. nausea, vomiting, congestion resulting in sinus infection, hives). If the owner does not have allergies, they will still have the annoying task of cleaning the fur off of the mat. (Note: Cleaning the fur off the mat may cause additional complications for the highly allergic person that extend beyond illness. Most likely the mat will need to be professionally cleaned since the allergic person cannot do so without becoming sick…or possibly the owner will attempt to clean the mat themselves and end up in the emergency room.) Under the above circumstances, the cat may be liable for cleaning costs, medical visits, ongoing treatment, and potential cat re-homing expenses. Bad kitty!

(If you're really a chump, you'll throw a furball joke in there somewhere.)

Ana’s typical exam answer this semester (or at least how she perceived she wrote them):
Cat on a mat? Looks like you’ll have some fur. Duh. Hope you aren’t allergic! (Note: If you didn’t want cat fur, you should have gotten a parakeet, dumbass.) Though kitty will probably be euthanized, he shouldn't be held accountable for jack squat. It’s bad public policy to hold your cat liable for your own stupidity.

Sigh.

Darn it...

I was just at Target collecting some much needed grocery items that unsurprisingly were neglected during the finals period. Wandering through the aisles, I noticed that all Harry Potter titles were on sale for $9.99.

"Hot dog!" I thought, "I'll get the Prisoner of Azkaban!"

That's my favorite Potter movie. However, they were out. In fact, almost all they had was Order of the Phoenix. Tons and tons of it. For whatever reason, I really didn't like the last one. I dug through the racks until I finally found the Chamber of Secrets.

"This one's pretty good," I told myself and happily walked away with it.

Then I got home and realized, I HAVE NOT SEEN ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. I missed it this summer and it's the only Harry Potter I haven't yet seen. The one I didn't like was the Goblet of Fire.

Phooey.

Oh well, Chamber of Secrets is still pretty awesome.

oops...

Martha and I were goofing off earlier today, and she positioned her ears in such a way that they looked like little bat wings.

"Ha-Ha!" I said. "Martha's a bat-dog! Are you part bat? Who's my little bat-dog!"

Martha's ears went back, her tail went between her legs, and she scurried off to her crate.

It took me a second, and then I went running after her.

"Sorry! I was saying bat-dog, not BAD dog. You're a good dog, Martha! GOOD DOG!"

One of the reasons I love my law school…

The people here are really nice.

Before coming to law school I heard awful stories about students competing with each other to the point where they either wouldn’t help each other OR they’d offer help and it was only later you’d realize that someone had purposefully given you incorrect notes or a bad outline.

That hasn’t happened at my school. When I miss a class, someone often sends me notes regardless of whether I’ve asked for them. During 1L year, people kept their supplements in open spaces so that others in the section could use them.

The other night, I was studying with a gal in one of my classes, and we were using her Law in a Flash cards. I’d forgotten how good the Law in a Flash cards were, despite Magic Cookie’s reminder. At the end of the evening, the woman offered to give me the cards after she finished her final. (Due to a schedule conflict, I’m taking the final later.)

She found me in the library yesterday and handed me the box. She'd also printed out some practice exams and model answers from another law school. It may seem silly, but I was touched by the event. I didn’t pay for the cards, and I’m technically competing with her for a good grade based on the curve system. We've never spent time together outside of school, and we mostly know each other as classmates. She didn’t have to do it, but she did and without my asking to borrow them.

Then today, I opened the box and found this:


There are some things that just can’t be accounted for in the rankings system.

And it's nice to have a good experience as a result of exams!

What more do you want?

WineTimeGirl: Is that what you’re wearing on your date?
Ana: It’s not a date! It’s a ‘hey, we’ve had a few nice random conversations, let’s plan the next one’ meeting.
WineTimeGirl: Trying to keep from psyching yourself out, huh?
Ana: Seriously, I’m not sure it’s actually a date. What’s wrong with my outfit?
WineTimeGirl: You’re going to wear Converse, jeans, and t-shirt on a date?
Ana: It’s not a date! And I’m not just wearing jeans, t-shirt, and Converse. I’m also wearing a corduroy blazer instead of ‘hoodie’. It totally classes up the outfit. Besides, I always wear jeans, t-shirt, and Converse.
WineTimeGirl: For a first date?
Ana: It’s not a date! And actually, the only reason I’m wearing the corduroy blazer instead of ‘hoodie’ is because I might drink too much and accidentally leave ‘hoodie’ somewhere. But I ironed my hair. That’s major.
WineTimeGirl: Your obsession with that sweatshirt is a little strange.
Ana: I LOVE HOODIE! HOODIE IS MY FRIEND! [Ana gives baby kisses to hoodie.]
WineTimeGirl: Are you going to wear make-up?
Ana: What do you mean? I am wearing make-up. I’ve got blush and lip gloss on, see?
WineTimeGirl: Hrmm…
Ana: Dude, I IRONED MY HAIR. I think that’s as good as it’s going to get.

It all depends...

FairyGodBrother: Do you think $60 is too much for a ticket to the Nutcracker?
Ana: It is for me, but then again, I don't have a thing for men in tights, so you might have an added value.

Where did my brain go?

Even in normal periods I tend to run around like a nutty professor, hair flying everywhere, socks unmatched, sitting in class wondering if I remembered to turn off the oven. But finals, finals time is so much worse.

Here's what I've done thus far:

1. Went to dinner with a friend, got the check, and realized I'd left my wallet at home! Thanks to WTG for covering my butt, and thank you to the cops for not pulling me over on the drive home since I was without license, registration, proof of insurance, AND had just polished off two margaritas.

2. Walked outside the house today to smoke a quick cigarette before I left for school. Inadvertently locked myself out...in the middle of pouring rain...with no phone...just a few hours before a final. Special thanks to my landlord's paralegal for saving my butt BIG time.

I so hate this time of year. Tonight I left the law school around 10 pm and sat in the parking lot for thirty minutes because my car wouldn't start. The coche is moody like that. Sometimes it starts; sometimes it doesn't. I've taken it into the car repair place four different times and they can never find anything wrong with it. Since the reading period began, little coche has refused to start on three separate occasions. (Guess who's leaving EXTRA early for each exam?) Obviously, she is not a team player. Bad coche.

Martha is trying really hard not to freak out even as her owner is clearly losing her marbles. She's hanging tough, but every so often her anxiety gets the best of her and she's currently experiencing digestive problems. Yep, my stress is making my dog ill. What a wonderful person I am.

The funny thing is, in a few years, I'll look back and remember this time as 'the good ol' days.'

That points you here?

I can't believe some of the stuff people type into Google, but worse than that, I can't believe that they somehow end up on this page because of it.

Here are the ones from today:

"How to handle a man dating multiple women"
Ana's answer: Get some self-esteem.

"Why you should not pursue a man"
Ana's answer: Some men have fragile egos and need to feel in charge. I know, it sucks. Blame the patriarchy.

"I can't get laid and I want to die"
Ana's answer: Let's start a support group! In the interim, drink more.

"I like to wear girls' panties; I'm a freak."
Ana's answer: You are so NOT a freak. A little different than most of us perhaps, but don't beat yourself up over it.

"What would happen if I were a pastry?"
Ana's answer: You'd be eaten or go stale.

Hell froze over...

WineTimeGirl: Hey Ana, you want to go to dinner Friday night?

Ana: Oh, I can’t. What about Thursday?

WineTimeGirl: What’s going on Friday? Do you have a date?

Ana: Yeah right, like I can even remember the last time I had a date.

WineTimeGirl: So?

Ana: Oh, I’m hanging out with Cheesecake-Boy.

WineTimeGirl: And it’s not a date?

Ana: No, we were chatting at PG the other night with happy-hour-bartender, and he asked her if she wanted grab Vietnamese hoagies on Friday. She couldn’t go, and then a little while later he asked me if I wanted to go grab sandwiches and maybe a few glasses of wine. I told him I couldn’t because I was studying for finals and two glasses of wine could easily turn into six, so then he said he’d be sure to keep me to two by driving. And with that I said, “ok.”

WineTimeGirl: Okay, let me get this straight, you’re going for DINNER AND DRINKS on a FRIDAY with a STRAIGHT GUY, and he’s PICKING YOU UP?

Ana: OMG, he hoodwinked me.

WineTimeGirl: Ana, I think you’ve got a date.

Ana: [Silence.]

WineTimeGirl: Don’t freak out, Ana.

Ana: Too late.

Aack!

My theories & concepts-oriented brain just took a facts & details-oriented final.

Ouch.

No, I do not remember the exact wordings of statutes, but I know what they provide.

-Aack!

No, I do not remember the names of all the tests, but I do know the factors and when to apply them.

-Aack!

No, I do not remember the case names, but I do remember the fact patterns and the legal propositions they represent.

-Aack!

No, I do not like multiple choice finals because words that have plain meaning in the prof's eyes have six zillion different meanings to me.

-Aack!

No, I do not think that having a closed book exam covering 900 pages of reading material and which only tests my ability to memorize a ton of crap and regurgitate it has anything to do with the ability to analyze and interpret law. What is this? Undergrad? Have you seen my undergrad GPA? No? Well, let's just say that I did much worse than any standardized test ever predicted I would.

-Aack!

Maybe I've lived in the gayborhood for too long...

Fairy-God-Brother and I are walking down a neighborhood sidewalk in Rosemont one day. As a boy passes us, both of us lift our hands to wave hello and continue walking.

Ana: How do you know that guy?
FGB: Messed around with him once.
Ana: Awkward.
FGB: Why?
Ana: So did I.
FGB: Really? I thought he was gay, not bi.
Ana: Oh. That would explain his hesitation.

FGB and I stop and look at each other awkwardly. I mean, sloppy seconds are sometimes common in the realm of friends, but one of your guy friends? We sit there for a moment staring at each other and then I grin.

FGB: What?
Ana: I’m so glad I met you. I mean, how often do you have a friend with whom you have so much in common?

FGB shakes his head and we begin to walk again…

Ana: Is it just me, or did he have the best abs?
FGB: Amazing.
Ana: And his arms...
FGB: Don't get me started.
Ana: Oh yeah, this is going to be a fun friendship.