Here's my little ladybug.
And here's a costume that was anonymously sent to Martha in the mail. Secret admirer or dog hater, do you think?
Friday, October 31, 2008
Martha says "HAPPY HALLOWEEN!"
Gosh, the first time I typed the title I mis-wrote it as Happy Halloweed. That would have been funny. Sorry for being late in getting this up. I know, I'm a bad a owner.
Here's my little ladybug.
And here's a costume that was anonymously sent to Martha in the mail. Secret admirer or dog hater, do you think?
Here's my little ladybug.
And here's a costume that was anonymously sent to Martha in the mail. Secret admirer or dog hater, do you think?
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Me and Alice in Wonderland...
A week or so before I met Boy, Wine-Time-Girl and I were wandering around Sephora. It’s kind of a weekend pastime for us. After Sunday Brunch, we head over to Sephora, and WTG buys everything in sight while I dab different products on my wrist and make personal bets with myself as to which brand will be the first to create a drastic rash. However, on this day, I’d sampled a perfume called Pink Sugar.
Have you tried this stuff? It’s disgustingly sweet and smells like cotton candy. I spent five minutes gagging only to decide ultimately that it wasn’t so bad.
“You’re buying something?” WTG asked as I tossed the small bottle to the cashier.
“Dude, I bet boys dig this stuff, and I need all the help I can get,” I replied.
I was not wearing Pink Sugar the night I met Boy. The bottle stayed in the medicine cabinet for months. Every so often I’d take it out, sniff it, decide it was too sweet, and put it back. Besides, I had a dude now, no need to wear that crap. That is until I somehow got in the mode of wanting to wear perfume, and I didn’t have anything EXCEPT for the Pink Sugar. For the last few days I’ve put it on in the morning, and after the initial bout with nausea, go on with my day.
The other night Boy and I were cuddled up on the couch, and out of the blue, he started to sniff me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You smell like fruit shisha,” he said.
Note to the smoking gals: if you smoke and wear Pink Sugar, you will remind Boys not of sweet cotton candy, but rather hookah lounges.
And in a moment of total cuteness…
Yes, I’m still dating Boy.
Yes, I still like him.
Yes, I’m still shocked.
No, it’s not fantasy like, but strangely realistic.
No, he has not been canned yet, but the axe could fall at any moment.
A couple of weeks ago, WTG and I were talking about things, and she thought I was being too practical in my approach to the relationship. According to her, I never got too freaked out, I refused to sleep over except on weekends, I only called when he called me… WTG thought I needed to give it a little more and um, put myself a little more out there.
What? Why sleep over on weekdays? You just have to get up that much earlier the next day AND what was I going to do with the dog? I couldn’t leave her at home and she doesn’t like sleeping anywhere but her crate (which I call her ‘house’ and which is like, 30 pounds and not so portable). But I listened to WTG’s reasoning and how you have to tend to a relationship to make it a relationship and how even sleeping together is time spent together and yadda-yadda-yadda. So I made a phone call to Boy.
An hour or so later I was over there with Dog in hand and this:
Oh wait, I said total cuteness, and that was not it. The cute thing is, remember how Boy’s a songwriter/guitar player/musician guy? Well, we’ve been working on songs to sing together. I even bought a cheapo violin a few weeks ago so that I could fiddle while he played. (So far, I’m pretty good at the bowing – Don’t ask about the other stuff. I’m impressed I (sorta) got the bowing down this quickly.) All of this is to say that one night while I was sleeping Boy was at home writing and playing until the early hours of the morning…and sending multiple text messages.
In one of my messages he said, “I’ve found the perfect duet for us!”
When I got around to asking him about it, he pulled it up for me on YouTube.
“I’ve sang this with other girls before, but NEVER with someone I was dating,” he said excitedly.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Our Song…which probably explains a lot about me and Boy.
Yes, I think it's freakin' adorable.
Have you tried this stuff? It’s disgustingly sweet and smells like cotton candy. I spent five minutes gagging only to decide ultimately that it wasn’t so bad.
“You’re buying something?” WTG asked as I tossed the small bottle to the cashier.
“Dude, I bet boys dig this stuff, and I need all the help I can get,” I replied.
I was not wearing Pink Sugar the night I met Boy. The bottle stayed in the medicine cabinet for months. Every so often I’d take it out, sniff it, decide it was too sweet, and put it back. Besides, I had a dude now, no need to wear that crap. That is until I somehow got in the mode of wanting to wear perfume, and I didn’t have anything EXCEPT for the Pink Sugar. For the last few days I’ve put it on in the morning, and after the initial bout with nausea, go on with my day.
The other night Boy and I were cuddled up on the couch, and out of the blue, he started to sniff me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You smell like fruit shisha,” he said.
Note to the smoking gals: if you smoke and wear Pink Sugar, you will remind Boys not of sweet cotton candy, but rather hookah lounges.
And in a moment of total cuteness…
Yes, I’m still dating Boy.
Yes, I still like him.
Yes, I’m still shocked.
No, it’s not fantasy like, but strangely realistic.
No, he has not been canned yet, but the axe could fall at any moment.
A couple of weeks ago, WTG and I were talking about things, and she thought I was being too practical in my approach to the relationship. According to her, I never got too freaked out, I refused to sleep over except on weekends, I only called when he called me… WTG thought I needed to give it a little more and um, put myself a little more out there.
What? Why sleep over on weekdays? You just have to get up that much earlier the next day AND what was I going to do with the dog? I couldn’t leave her at home and she doesn’t like sleeping anywhere but her crate (which I call her ‘house’ and which is like, 30 pounds and not so portable). But I listened to WTG’s reasoning and how you have to tend to a relationship to make it a relationship and how even sleeping together is time spent together and yadda-yadda-yadda. So I made a phone call to Boy.
An hour or so later I was over there with Dog in hand and this:
Oh wait, I said total cuteness, and that was not it. The cute thing is, remember how Boy’s a songwriter/guitar player/musician guy? Well, we’ve been working on songs to sing together. I even bought a cheapo violin a few weeks ago so that I could fiddle while he played. (So far, I’m pretty good at the bowing – Don’t ask about the other stuff. I’m impressed I (sorta) got the bowing down this quickly.) All of this is to say that one night while I was sleeping Boy was at home writing and playing until the early hours of the morning…and sending multiple text messages.
In one of my messages he said, “I’ve found the perfect duet for us!”
When I got around to asking him about it, he pulled it up for me on YouTube.
“I’ve sang this with other girls before, but NEVER with someone I was dating,” he said excitedly.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Our Song…which probably explains a lot about me and Boy.
Yes, I think it's freakin' adorable.
Friday, October 24, 2008
You have to...
I voted today. I voted despite the fact that my vote is essentially worthless in the State of Texas. I've lived in Texas since '93, and I've consistently voted in every election except 2006. (Personal protest.)
What I'm trying to say is, if I'm willing to fight for a parking space and stand in line for twenty minutes for a vote that is meaningless year after year, then by golly, the rest of you should get out there and vote, too.
The opportunity to vote really is a cool thing.
...and if you don't do it, you're totally UN-AMERICAN.
Just kidding (on the un-American comment, not the voting part).
What I'm trying to say is, if I'm willing to fight for a parking space and stand in line for twenty minutes for a vote that is meaningless year after year, then by golly, the rest of you should get out there and vote, too.
The opportunity to vote really is a cool thing.
...and if you don't do it, you're totally UN-AMERICAN.
Just kidding (on the un-American comment, not the voting part).
Monday, October 20, 2008
Can You Read Me Now?
A week or so ago, someone commented that they’d been having difficulty accessing the site. I pulled it up and…no problems, so I figured it wasn’t an issue.
Today a not-so-anonymous commenter anonymously posted that the problem was that the site would not load in Internet Explorer.
Oh, why didn’t you say so? I have not used IE in years.
Upon attempting to load the page in IE I discovered, yep, it didn’t work.
After some googling it appears that something in my template was causing the problem. Certain websites said it might be the sitemeter script (which I removed because I don’t use sitemeter any longer) while others suggested removing anything recently added to the template. I went through and scratched everything added in the last sixty days or so, and now when I load the page in IE, it appears to be working.
If you continue to have issues, let me know.
(thinklikeawoman@gmail.com)
Otherwise, might I suggest a wonderful little browser called Firefox?
Today a not-so-anonymous commenter anonymously posted that the problem was that the site would not load in Internet Explorer.
Oh, why didn’t you say so? I have not used IE in years.
Upon attempting to load the page in IE I discovered, yep, it didn’t work.
After some googling it appears that something in my template was causing the problem. Certain websites said it might be the sitemeter script (which I removed because I don’t use sitemeter any longer) while others suggested removing anything recently added to the template. I went through and scratched everything added in the last sixty days or so, and now when I load the page in IE, it appears to be working.
If you continue to have issues, let me know.
(thinklikeawoman@gmail.com)
Otherwise, might I suggest a wonderful little browser called Firefox?
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Am I a Jackie or a Marilyn?
I am proud to say I'm neither (and really, if you're me, you have trouble drawing much of a distinction between Jackie and Marilyn)... Hat tip to E. McPan
You Are a Bette!
You are a Bette -- "I must be strong"
Bettes are direct, self-reliant, self-confident, and protective.
How to Get Along with Me
- Stand up for yourself... and me.
- Be confident, strong, and direct.
- Don't gossip about me or betray my trust.
- Be vulnerable and share your feelings. See and acknowledge my tender, vulnerable side.
- Give me space to be alone.
- Acknowledge the contributions I make, but don't flatter me.
- I often speak in an assertive way. Don't automatically assume it's a personal attack.
- When I scream, curse, and stomp around, try to remember that's just the way I am.
What I Like About Being a Bette
- being independent and self-reliant
- being able to take charge and meet challenges head on
- being courageous, straightforward, and honest
- getting all the enjoyment I can out of life
- supporting, empowering, and protecting those close to me
- upholding just causes
What's Hard About Being a Bette
- overwhelming people with my bluntness; scaring them away when I don't intend to
- being restless and impatient with others' incompetence
- sticking my neck out for people and receiving no appreciation for it
- never forgetting injuries or injustices
- putting too much pressure on myself
- getting high blood pressure when people don't obey the rules or when things don't go right
Bettes as Children Often
- are independent; have an inner strength and a fighting spirit
- are sometimes loners
- seize control so they won't be controlled
- figure out others' weaknesses
- attack verbally or physically when provoked
- take charge in the family because they perceive themselves as the strongest, or grow up in difficult or abusive surroundings
Bettes as Parents
- are often loyal, caring, involved, and devoted
- are sometimes overprotective
- can be demanding, controlling, and rigid
Take Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz
Saturday, October 18, 2008
And this too shall pass...
Law school teaches us to focus on the details: filing deadlines, differing facts, the interpretation of one word… I still remember receiving the review of my first legal memo. In the analysis arena, I got all of the possible points; in the grammar/punctuation portion, none. A grasp of the big picture was something I use to pride myself on, but yesterday, I realized that law school had worked its way with me, moved me over to the other side.
Lately I’ve been getting bogged down in details, and I’ve been miserable, but yesterday I took a step back, and here’s what I saw:
I am done with law school.
I’m working my way towards what may be a fabulous job.
In the meantime, I’ve got an interim job that allows for flexibility as I take on more work at the permanent job.
I’ve got a boy who seemingly likes me.
I have a best friend who I get to work with everyday in my interim job.
I’ve got two imperfect parents who are alive and love me.
I’ve got the cutest dog in the world who is the absolute muttalicious perfect size for a small house.
My siblings are cooler than your siblings.
My car runs. (Knock on wood.)
My (rent) house is adorable.
I’ve got a really good chance of passing the bar.
I’m thin.
I’m healthy (in the sense that I’ve got no immediate, life-threatening illnesses).
I’m constantly figuring out ways to meet new people.
I’ve got a good head on my shoulders.
I’m not pregnant.
I believe in myself.
My college football team is kicking ass this season.
With that in mind, I decided this weekend to just let everything go. Yes, money is tight, but that time will pass. Plus, this week I renegotiated rent with my landlord.
This morning I slept in as late as I wanted after staying up the night before to make progress in my book-club book (Eat, Pray, Love: Boy, do I have commentary on this one…barf). Around noon I took the dog for a walk because during the past week, I’d cheated her out of our nightly strolls. Not only was she getting frenetic, but my hips were beginning to expand.
Returning to the house, I decided to get my act together. After showering, I began one of my major cleaning sprees. Baseboards were washed. Dishes cleaned, dried, and put away. Counters were cleared and bleached; stovetops and sinks scrubbed to a shine. One load of laundry completed, a few items ironed, empty boxes placed in the dumpster, bills paid, linoleum and tiles mopped – multiple times.
Things with Boy are strange. I haven’t seen him in four days. On Thursday he texted to apologize for falling off the face of the earth and said he’d let me know if anything was going on Friday night. Friday we texted, but he ultimately stayed home and didn't ask me over. He told me that he’d definitely see me this afternoon before his soccer game, but I oddly knew that it wouldn't come to fruition. When he didn’t appear today, I didn’t text or call, and neither did he let me know that things weren’t happening.
Wine-Time-Girl is amazed at my level of calm, calling every few hours for a status update. I just reply that whatever will be, will be. At the same time, I’d kind of like him to stop by to pick up his things. I’ve got two guitars, one mandolin, an amp, and a cooler sitting in my extra room right now. I’d hoped today that the items would be cleared out so that I could vacuum. (Part of my calm stems from the belief that Boy is just so wrapped up in his own drama right now that I am an afterthought. I'm not thrilled about this, but at the same time, it sure beats having to pick up the pieces for him every night.)
Wine-Time and I are headed to a friend’s birthday party later this evening. In the meantime, I’m watching the Texas game, and Martha is proudly sporting her Longhorn sweater (as she naps).
In case I get antsy, I’ve made a list of things to do to keep me occupied: the bathroom still needs major scrubbing. My feet require a pumice rub. The towels need to be laundered, the teacups dusted.
It’s an odd time, an in-between period. But if I just keep my sanity, things will be fine.
Plus, girls’ brunch is tomorrow, and really, who can be worried when 50-cent mimosas are on the horizon?
Lately I’ve been getting bogged down in details, and I’ve been miserable, but yesterday I took a step back, and here’s what I saw:
I am done with law school.
I’m working my way towards what may be a fabulous job.
In the meantime, I’ve got an interim job that allows for flexibility as I take on more work at the permanent job.
I’ve got a boy who seemingly likes me.
I have a best friend who I get to work with everyday in my interim job.
I’ve got two imperfect parents who are alive and love me.
I’ve got the cutest dog in the world who is the absolute muttalicious perfect size for a small house.
My siblings are cooler than your siblings.
My car runs. (Knock on wood.)
My (rent) house is adorable.
I’ve got a really good chance of passing the bar.
I’m thin.
I’m healthy (in the sense that I’ve got no immediate, life-threatening illnesses).
I’m constantly figuring out ways to meet new people.
I’ve got a good head on my shoulders.
I’m not pregnant.
I believe in myself.
My college football team is kicking ass this season.
With that in mind, I decided this weekend to just let everything go. Yes, money is tight, but that time will pass. Plus, this week I renegotiated rent with my landlord.
This morning I slept in as late as I wanted after staying up the night before to make progress in my book-club book (Eat, Pray, Love: Boy, do I have commentary on this one…barf). Around noon I took the dog for a walk because during the past week, I’d cheated her out of our nightly strolls. Not only was she getting frenetic, but my hips were beginning to expand.
Returning to the house, I decided to get my act together. After showering, I began one of my major cleaning sprees. Baseboards were washed. Dishes cleaned, dried, and put away. Counters were cleared and bleached; stovetops and sinks scrubbed to a shine. One load of laundry completed, a few items ironed, empty boxes placed in the dumpster, bills paid, linoleum and tiles mopped – multiple times.
Things with Boy are strange. I haven’t seen him in four days. On Thursday he texted to apologize for falling off the face of the earth and said he’d let me know if anything was going on Friday night. Friday we texted, but he ultimately stayed home and didn't ask me over. He told me that he’d definitely see me this afternoon before his soccer game, but I oddly knew that it wouldn't come to fruition. When he didn’t appear today, I didn’t text or call, and neither did he let me know that things weren’t happening.
Wine-Time-Girl is amazed at my level of calm, calling every few hours for a status update. I just reply that whatever will be, will be. At the same time, I’d kind of like him to stop by to pick up his things. I’ve got two guitars, one mandolin, an amp, and a cooler sitting in my extra room right now. I’d hoped today that the items would be cleared out so that I could vacuum. (Part of my calm stems from the belief that Boy is just so wrapped up in his own drama right now that I am an afterthought. I'm not thrilled about this, but at the same time, it sure beats having to pick up the pieces for him every night.)
Wine-Time and I are headed to a friend’s birthday party later this evening. In the meantime, I’m watching the Texas game, and Martha is proudly sporting her Longhorn sweater (as she naps).
In case I get antsy, I’ve made a list of things to do to keep me occupied: the bathroom still needs major scrubbing. My feet require a pumice rub. The towels need to be laundered, the teacups dusted.
It’s an odd time, an in-between period. But if I just keep my sanity, things will be fine.
Plus, girls’ brunch is tomorrow, and really, who can be worried when 50-cent mimosas are on the horizon?
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Gasp!
Ohmigosh, I almost forgot! I got a letter in the mail today from my law school, and I opened it suspiciously because I assumed they wanted money, or I owed a fine, or I forgot to fill out a form and technically didn't graduate.
No, no, no! It was my official class rank, and I'm proud to say, that I was in the top half of my class. (It was close.) Sure, I can whine about not being higher, esp when only like fifteen people were ahead of me after the first semester, BUT dude, after the last semester, I didn't think I was going to even make this level...and for the rest of my life I can say I was in the top half of my class...not like it matters or makes a difference...but I'm happy.
No, no, no! It was my official class rank, and I'm proud to say, that I was in the top half of my class. (It was close.) Sure, I can whine about not being higher, esp when only like fifteen people were ahead of me after the first semester, BUT dude, after the last semester, I didn't think I was going to even make this level...and for the rest of my life I can say I was in the top half of my class...not like it matters or makes a difference...but I'm happy.
What a crazy day!
Hrm..this post is on hold until I can reincarnate it. Decided I wasn't sure how much I wanted to say about new and old job...
Actually, do you ever just get really angry and let it all out kicking and screaming? It’s a relief, but at the same time, you say things you didn’t mean? Yeah, well that’s how it was. This morning I woke up and decided that if I really was that upset about my job, then I needed to quit…but upon reflection, I realized that I don’t want to quit nor do I want to end my time on a sour note after working there for a year and enjoying most of it. So, sorry for the rant. I took the original post down. It’s just been a stressful few months. [Sigh.]
Actually, do you ever just get really angry and let it all out kicking and screaming? It’s a relief, but at the same time, you say things you didn’t mean? Yeah, well that’s how it was. This morning I woke up and decided that if I really was that upset about my job, then I needed to quit…but upon reflection, I realized that I don’t want to quit nor do I want to end my time on a sour note after working there for a year and enjoying most of it. So, sorry for the rant. I took the original post down. It’s just been a stressful few months. [Sigh.]
Growing Pains...
Augh! I have so much to say, but can’t seem to find the time to do it these days. For example, yesterday, I had jury duty. Ha! The one time in my life that I’m barely getting by on a measly hourly wage, and I have to forgo eight hours of earning for traffic court. You can just imagine it, right? And the best part? I was peremptorily struck (stricken?) without even mentioning that I was a lawyer. Oh, it’s a story my friends, peremptorily struck for a speeding ticket case. Does this give you any idea of just how colorful I must be in real life?
But, but, but, that story will have to wait, because tonight once again, I’m here to talk about Boy. Yes, I know, y’all hate this discussion. Believe me, I know. My hits are dropping faster than the Dow. You really should be more loyal though; you know why? I hate dating. I am super, independent, self-sufficient girl, and the fact that I like someone who likes me back is quite the sociological venture. Plus, am I just supposed to be the single angst-ridden girl all my life? The girl you read to feel better about your own life?
Would you feel better if I said there were problems?
Oh, vultures you are! I must have received fifty hits for that line.
Suffice to say, anyone who’s been in a relationship knows that it’s not all shits and giggles and pony rides. Sometimes you have to work, and sometimes it sucks.
A week or so ago, Boy and I were joking about the tenacity of our relationship. For starters, our meeting was a drunken one night stand. Really, how many relationships survive a cheap evening of physical pleasure that end with a girl dumping guy at his car, waving blithely, and saying, “See you around?” I mean how many guys stop and think, “You know, before she got completely hammered from drinking two bottles of wine all by herself in addition to the four ‘panty burner’ shots that the party hostess kept offering, that girl provided some interesting conversation. I should really track down her number and call her.” (?)
And once you’ve jumped through that hoop, what kind of idiot accepts an invitation for a three day camping expedition as a first date? What city girl suffers through a weekend without toilets or showers with a man she’s only met once and under the prior circumstances?
And then, just when you think everything’s going to be normal, low and behold, a massive hurricane hits your town, leaving you without electricity, plumbing (again), stop lights, roofing, etc, and you’re forced to play house for two weeks.
But still you survive.
And when you and your partner are joking about all the stuff you’ve been through in the very short life of your relationship, you turn to them and say, “What could possibly be next? Geez, I hope no one dies!”
No one has died…yet.
Boy however is about to lose his job. He knows it. I know it. Practically anyone who is watching his company knows it. (They’re about to tank big-time.)
And, well, this job, it gives Boy a sorta sense of direction, a purpose if you will.
He has no idea what to do, and to make matters worse, have I mentioned that Boy never graduated from college?
No? Did I miss that minor detail?
Yes, my friends Boy has no degree. Boy who attended college for six years (when you get suspended three times it takes a while), did not take that final leap. What’s the roadblock, you wonder? Well, despite the aforementioned six years of schooling, Boy is just a bit shy of the degree. As it turns out, his university has a P.E. requirement, and Boy, being Boy, thinks that is, in a word, bullshit. Yes, all that’s standing between him and a college degree is a bowling class…or a golf class…or…you get the idea.
For all of you who are sitting here reading this thinking, “What an idiot,” you clearly do not understand Boy. As much as the Type-A-lawyer portion of my personality cringes at his decision, I kind of love him for it. And might I remind you, this Boy has not only heard of Camus, but read him…in the original French. And not just that, but he’s not the biggest fan of the Stranger. No, like me, Boy thinks The Plague is one of Camus’ greatest works because it is such a beautiful testament to a belief in humanity. You furrow your brow, but you’d be amazed at how many think The Plague is a depressing story. It is NOT!
Anyhoo, sometime yesterday Boy realized that his job was going to end, and he was lost, just lost.
To maintain a sense of normalcy, we went to trivia night at Boy’s favorite bar, and just like normal, we lost by one point (because no one ever listens to me when I know the answer - aka, unless I say, I KNOW THIS IS RIGHT AND I'LL BET YOU MONEY!!!!). But something was different. He was lost in thought, distant, disturbed. I had no idea what to do. This was Boy after all, Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky-everything’s-fine, the same guy who when I one night texted, “I don’t think this will work; maybe we should break up,” responded with “We’re fine. You need to relax; it’s late. Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”
Boy, Boy, Boy! Nothing I did could pull him out of it. No laughs. No hugs. And because we’ve known each other for SO long (again, like two months) I didn’t know how I should react. Did he want me to take him into his arms and smother him with kisses? I’m guessing no, but that’s what I wanted to do.
“I think I just need to get out of town for awhile,” he said.
Um, to think about things? Like your life path? Are you going to reconsider me, too? That’s what I’m thinking, of course. Please. Don’t. Leave.
I went home and let him be.
Today was the first day since we started dating that I have not heard the sound of his voice.
I don’t know what to do. I want to be there for him, but I don’t think he wants me around right now. So I just have to wait it out and have faith.
I’ve never felt so helpless.
But, but, but, that story will have to wait, because tonight once again, I’m here to talk about Boy. Yes, I know, y’all hate this discussion. Believe me, I know. My hits are dropping faster than the Dow. You really should be more loyal though; you know why? I hate dating. I am super, independent, self-sufficient girl, and the fact that I like someone who likes me back is quite the sociological venture. Plus, am I just supposed to be the single angst-ridden girl all my life? The girl you read to feel better about your own life?
Would you feel better if I said there were problems?
Oh, vultures you are! I must have received fifty hits for that line.
Suffice to say, anyone who’s been in a relationship knows that it’s not all shits and giggles and pony rides. Sometimes you have to work, and sometimes it sucks.
A week or so ago, Boy and I were joking about the tenacity of our relationship. For starters, our meeting was a drunken one night stand. Really, how many relationships survive a cheap evening of physical pleasure that end with a girl dumping guy at his car, waving blithely, and saying, “See you around?” I mean how many guys stop and think, “You know, before she got completely hammered from drinking two bottles of wine all by herself in addition to the four ‘panty burner’ shots that the party hostess kept offering, that girl provided some interesting conversation. I should really track down her number and call her.” (?)
And once you’ve jumped through that hoop, what kind of idiot accepts an invitation for a three day camping expedition as a first date? What city girl suffers through a weekend without toilets or showers with a man she’s only met once and under the prior circumstances?
And then, just when you think everything’s going to be normal, low and behold, a massive hurricane hits your town, leaving you without electricity, plumbing (again), stop lights, roofing, etc, and you’re forced to play house for two weeks.
But still you survive.
And when you and your partner are joking about all the stuff you’ve been through in the very short life of your relationship, you turn to them and say, “What could possibly be next? Geez, I hope no one dies!”
No one has died…yet.
Boy however is about to lose his job. He knows it. I know it. Practically anyone who is watching his company knows it. (They’re about to tank big-time.)
And, well, this job, it gives Boy a sorta sense of direction, a purpose if you will.
He has no idea what to do, and to make matters worse, have I mentioned that Boy never graduated from college?
No? Did I miss that minor detail?
Yes, my friends Boy has no degree. Boy who attended college for six years (when you get suspended three times it takes a while), did not take that final leap. What’s the roadblock, you wonder? Well, despite the aforementioned six years of schooling, Boy is just a bit shy of the degree. As it turns out, his university has a P.E. requirement, and Boy, being Boy, thinks that is, in a word, bullshit. Yes, all that’s standing between him and a college degree is a bowling class…or a golf class…or…you get the idea.
For all of you who are sitting here reading this thinking, “What an idiot,” you clearly do not understand Boy. As much as the Type-A-lawyer portion of my personality cringes at his decision, I kind of love him for it. And might I remind you, this Boy has not only heard of Camus, but read him…in the original French. And not just that, but he’s not the biggest fan of the Stranger. No, like me, Boy thinks The Plague is one of Camus’ greatest works because it is such a beautiful testament to a belief in humanity. You furrow your brow, but you’d be amazed at how many think The Plague is a depressing story. It is NOT!
Anyhoo, sometime yesterday Boy realized that his job was going to end, and he was lost, just lost.
To maintain a sense of normalcy, we went to trivia night at Boy’s favorite bar, and just like normal, we lost by one point (because no one ever listens to me when I know the answer - aka, unless I say, I KNOW THIS IS RIGHT AND I'LL BET YOU MONEY!!!!). But something was different. He was lost in thought, distant, disturbed. I had no idea what to do. This was Boy after all, Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky-everything’s-fine, the same guy who when I one night texted, “I don’t think this will work; maybe we should break up,” responded with “We’re fine. You need to relax; it’s late. Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”
Boy, Boy, Boy! Nothing I did could pull him out of it. No laughs. No hugs. And because we’ve known each other for SO long (again, like two months) I didn’t know how I should react. Did he want me to take him into his arms and smother him with kisses? I’m guessing no, but that’s what I wanted to do.
“I think I just need to get out of town for awhile,” he said.
Um, to think about things? Like your life path? Are you going to reconsider me, too? That’s what I’m thinking, of course. Please. Don’t. Leave.
I went home and let him be.
Today was the first day since we started dating that I have not heard the sound of his voice.
I don’t know what to do. I want to be there for him, but I don’t think he wants me around right now. So I just have to wait it out and have faith.
I’ve never felt so helpless.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
Nothing in Particular...
I’m feeling chatty. Problem is, I don’t have any thing particular on my mind this evening.
Hrm, well, I am super crazy happy because Boy flaked on dinner plans for this evening. I know. You’re wondering why I would be happy about that, right? Well, it’s because I am finally starting to ‘get’ Boy and the way he operates. Let me explain.
Last night he worked an overnight shift and texted me at 5:30 am to ask about dinner. I agreed, and then told myself, “You know, Self, there’s a pretty good chance that Boy will be exhausted later and sleep through the dinner hour.”
So I called at 5:45 pm. No answer. (Boy can sleep through anything. If I physically beat him, he just turns over.)
At 6:15, I texted: Dinner plans? Confirm or Deny?
Nothing.
At 6:45 I added: Got hungry. Ate without you.
Then I went and did some shopping at Target (Wine Cube, yay!) and…for the first time since the hurricane, I went grocery shopping!
In the middle of all of this, Boy texted something to the effect of: Holy Cow! I totally fell asleep!
Tsk, tsk, you’re thinking, right? I mean, Boy essentially ditched me, right? Here’s the deal. After knowing Boy for eons and eons (as in 6-7 weeks) I have figured out that he is just this way. He doesn’t do it to be hurtful. He doesn’t do it because he doesn’t care or consider my schedule or whatever. In fact, bizarrely, I think it happens most of the time because he overextends himself. He wants to spend time with me, so he makes plans when it is unrealistic. I’ve learned (for the most part) not to freak out and go haywire or scream or cry. Instead, I tentatively have a back-up plan. And tonight, I was so, so very happy to finally get some grocery shopping done because I’ve been living out of a take-out box for the last two weeks.
The other side of this coin is, I can’t change Boy. I can choose to accept him the way he is, or I can walk away. And if I do choose to stay, I can’t whine (too much). However, I can wine…and I do.
I guess you’re wondering now WHY IN GOD’S/ALLAH’S/JEHOVAH’S NAME I of all people was up at 5:30 am, right?
Dude, I can’t tell you, but it’s becoming a pattern. I wake up between 5:30 and 6 am almost every morning now. Some mornings I will force myself back to sleep, but then I doze until past 9, and on the mornings I do get up, oh, can I be super lazy and luxurious about it. This morning I read a book in bed until 6 or so, then got up and did some chores, casually got dressed, did my make-up(!), took the dog out and was at work around 8:15. It was kind of awesome. No rush, no hurry. And it was so quiet in the tiny hours of the day, like it was my personal, special time or something.
Sure, I can say whatever I want, but the fact is, I’m getting old. So old, that I’m apparently adopting the sleep patterns of the average geriatric.
Okay, okay, fine. You made me tell you. In truth I’m having these vicious nightmares that typically end between 5:30-5:45 am and send me bolting upright in bed. There are always two in a row. The first one usually involves some kind of problem in a relationship. For example, in last night’s no one in my family would talk to me, and they wouldn’t tell me why. I was sobbing, begging them to tell me what was wrong, but they just looked at me sternly and told they couldn’t believe I’d done what I’d done.
The second one is always violent and involves me being chased, bound, kidnapped, trapped in a closet, involved in combat, etc. Fun, huh? I’m convinced it’s all stress related to an unknown future. I’m not sure what the first one means, but I’m pretty sure the second one has something to do with feeling a lack of control about what’s to come in relation to professional, personal, etc. That, and despite my joyful exuberance at getting my life back once the power returned to Boy’s house, I am dismayed to realize that I do not like sleeping without him. This is especially odd given that I do not like to share my bed with even the dog. Very unnerving.
Speaking of Boy, again, I was talking to Wine-Time-Girl today about how he is the first guy I can remember really liking while still being ridiculously aware of all his flaws. Usually when I like a guy this much it’s because I’m peering at him through rose-colored glasses from a vantage point far beneath his pedestal.
With Boy I walk into work each morning and say to Wine-Time-Girl, “He has this wrong and this wrong, and this wrong, but I still like him. Perhaps there is just something wrong with me?”
WTG, who is deeply ensconced in a 2+ year relationship finds this ridiculously entertaining. Still, I find it strange because I usually ditch guys who aren’t perfect, and who is? Yet every time he does something that drives me crazy, I find myself pausing and thinking, “Is this an issue worth raising? Do you want to leave over this?” Normally I would just get drunk and fly off the handle without any regard, then proudly pat myself on the back for sending the guy off on his merry way without having to be the dumper. I hate being the dumper. I would much rather be the person who gets the guy to leave on his own by acting crazy and dramatic and unstable. You’re totally in charge, they have no idea, and it’s fun to act like a crazy chick. I don’t do this with Boy, or when I do get upset and rambly, it’s pretty justified. And he listens or consoles me in the just the way that works to calm me down. It’s so strange.
And it’s not just me. Martha adores him, and dutifully follows him everywhere. They take little walks together so that they can have their private time, and when Boy and I are jetting off somewhere he often asks if we can bring the dog. When I make plans to come to his house he’s all, “Don’t forget to bring Martha!” Now, I love Martha, but that’s mostly because she is MY dog. For others, she is just a crazy, energetic mess. But Boy loves her too, and says she is my ‘best accessory.’ (Oh, PS – I so can’t wait to show you her Halloween costume. WTG is threatening to report me to the SPCA and Boy has shook his head in consternation, but Miss Martha WILL be a ladybug come Halloween.)
And did I tell you that I told Boy I had a blog on which I wrote about personal things including him, except that it was private, and he couldn't read it, but I wanted to let him know, and he was perfectly fine with what he called my mini-ego stroke (which it kind of is in addition to cheap therapy and creative outlet)?
Okay, that is enough of a gush over Boy. This is probably a good idea as tomorrow something will inevitably happen that will send me reeling, and I’ll be all like, “And I just wrote that post about him, too!”
Oh, did I mention that I met his parents last night? Me! I have only ever met one set of parents, and that was my first boyfriend. Since then, I have firmly refused. Firmly! Not with Boy. What is wrong with me?
And just in case you’re wondering how a guy who is not gay could possibly handle, deal with, enjoy a personality such as that of Ana’s, I might have a little idea. You see, both of Boy’s parents went to Other-University. Dad was a basketball/football player with a Math degree. Mom got hers in Mechanical Engineering. When Boy was still very little, Dad was making more than Mom when Mom got a job offer in Europe. Determined to continue her way through the glass ceiling after fighting in the Boy’s Club that was the engineering department, she wanted to take the job. Dad then quit his job so that she could go and he became a stay-at-home Dad. That’s the environment that Boy grew up in. Those are some bad-ass training wheels, my friends. And yes, I liked his mom.
Hrm, well, I am super crazy happy because Boy flaked on dinner plans for this evening. I know. You’re wondering why I would be happy about that, right? Well, it’s because I am finally starting to ‘get’ Boy and the way he operates. Let me explain.
Last night he worked an overnight shift and texted me at 5:30 am to ask about dinner. I agreed, and then told myself, “You know, Self, there’s a pretty good chance that Boy will be exhausted later and sleep through the dinner hour.”
So I called at 5:45 pm. No answer. (Boy can sleep through anything. If I physically beat him, he just turns over.)
At 6:15, I texted: Dinner plans? Confirm or Deny?
Nothing.
At 6:45 I added: Got hungry. Ate without you.
Then I went and did some shopping at Target (Wine Cube, yay!) and…for the first time since the hurricane, I went grocery shopping!
In the middle of all of this, Boy texted something to the effect of: Holy Cow! I totally fell asleep!
Tsk, tsk, you’re thinking, right? I mean, Boy essentially ditched me, right? Here’s the deal. After knowing Boy for eons and eons (as in 6-7 weeks) I have figured out that he is just this way. He doesn’t do it to be hurtful. He doesn’t do it because he doesn’t care or consider my schedule or whatever. In fact, bizarrely, I think it happens most of the time because he overextends himself. He wants to spend time with me, so he makes plans when it is unrealistic. I’ve learned (for the most part) not to freak out and go haywire or scream or cry. Instead, I tentatively have a back-up plan. And tonight, I was so, so very happy to finally get some grocery shopping done because I’ve been living out of a take-out box for the last two weeks.
The other side of this coin is, I can’t change Boy. I can choose to accept him the way he is, or I can walk away. And if I do choose to stay, I can’t whine (too much). However, I can wine…and I do.
I guess you’re wondering now WHY IN GOD’S/ALLAH’S/JEHOVAH’S NAME I of all people was up at 5:30 am, right?
Dude, I can’t tell you, but it’s becoming a pattern. I wake up between 5:30 and 6 am almost every morning now. Some mornings I will force myself back to sleep, but then I doze until past 9, and on the mornings I do get up, oh, can I be super lazy and luxurious about it. This morning I read a book in bed until 6 or so, then got up and did some chores, casually got dressed, did my make-up(!), took the dog out and was at work around 8:15. It was kind of awesome. No rush, no hurry. And it was so quiet in the tiny hours of the day, like it was my personal, special time or something.
Sure, I can say whatever I want, but the fact is, I’m getting old. So old, that I’m apparently adopting the sleep patterns of the average geriatric.
Okay, okay, fine. You made me tell you. In truth I’m having these vicious nightmares that typically end between 5:30-5:45 am and send me bolting upright in bed. There are always two in a row. The first one usually involves some kind of problem in a relationship. For example, in last night’s no one in my family would talk to me, and they wouldn’t tell me why. I was sobbing, begging them to tell me what was wrong, but they just looked at me sternly and told they couldn’t believe I’d done what I’d done.
The second one is always violent and involves me being chased, bound, kidnapped, trapped in a closet, involved in combat, etc. Fun, huh? I’m convinced it’s all stress related to an unknown future. I’m not sure what the first one means, but I’m pretty sure the second one has something to do with feeling a lack of control about what’s to come in relation to professional, personal, etc. That, and despite my joyful exuberance at getting my life back once the power returned to Boy’s house, I am dismayed to realize that I do not like sleeping without him. This is especially odd given that I do not like to share my bed with even the dog. Very unnerving.
Speaking of Boy, again, I was talking to Wine-Time-Girl today about how he is the first guy I can remember really liking while still being ridiculously aware of all his flaws. Usually when I like a guy this much it’s because I’m peering at him through rose-colored glasses from a vantage point far beneath his pedestal.
With Boy I walk into work each morning and say to Wine-Time-Girl, “He has this wrong and this wrong, and this wrong, but I still like him. Perhaps there is just something wrong with me?”
WTG, who is deeply ensconced in a 2+ year relationship finds this ridiculously entertaining. Still, I find it strange because I usually ditch guys who aren’t perfect, and who is? Yet every time he does something that drives me crazy, I find myself pausing and thinking, “Is this an issue worth raising? Do you want to leave over this?” Normally I would just get drunk and fly off the handle without any regard, then proudly pat myself on the back for sending the guy off on his merry way without having to be the dumper. I hate being the dumper. I would much rather be the person who gets the guy to leave on his own by acting crazy and dramatic and unstable. You’re totally in charge, they have no idea, and it’s fun to act like a crazy chick. I don’t do this with Boy, or when I do get upset and rambly, it’s pretty justified. And he listens or consoles me in the just the way that works to calm me down. It’s so strange.
And it’s not just me. Martha adores him, and dutifully follows him everywhere. They take little walks together so that they can have their private time, and when Boy and I are jetting off somewhere he often asks if we can bring the dog. When I make plans to come to his house he’s all, “Don’t forget to bring Martha!” Now, I love Martha, but that’s mostly because she is MY dog. For others, she is just a crazy, energetic mess. But Boy loves her too, and says she is my ‘best accessory.’ (Oh, PS – I so can’t wait to show you her Halloween costume. WTG is threatening to report me to the SPCA and Boy has shook his head in consternation, but Miss Martha WILL be a ladybug come Halloween.)
And did I tell you that I told Boy I had a blog on which I wrote about personal things including him, except that it was private, and he couldn't read it, but I wanted to let him know, and he was perfectly fine with what he called my mini-ego stroke (which it kind of is in addition to cheap therapy and creative outlet)?
Okay, that is enough of a gush over Boy. This is probably a good idea as tomorrow something will inevitably happen that will send me reeling, and I’ll be all like, “And I just wrote that post about him, too!”
Oh, did I mention that I met his parents last night? Me! I have only ever met one set of parents, and that was my first boyfriend. Since then, I have firmly refused. Firmly! Not with Boy. What is wrong with me?
And just in case you’re wondering how a guy who is not gay could possibly handle, deal with, enjoy a personality such as that of Ana’s, I might have a little idea. You see, both of Boy’s parents went to Other-University. Dad was a basketball/football player with a Math degree. Mom got hers in Mechanical Engineering. When Boy was still very little, Dad was making more than Mom when Mom got a job offer in Europe. Determined to continue her way through the glass ceiling after fighting in the Boy’s Club that was the engineering department, she wanted to take the job. Dad then quit his job so that she could go and he became a stay-at-home Dad. That’s the environment that Boy grew up in. Those are some bad-ass training wheels, my friends. And yes, I liked his mom.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Perception is everything...
There are many things I like about structure and routine. I am definitely more productive when I have them. I feel better when I’m productive. Structure and routine are good.
Except... there are some structural/routine things that I just don’t/can’t/won’t buy into and one of them is the Monday-Friday, 8-5, 40-hour work week. Perhaps I should live in Europe because I think 40 hours a week is a teensy bit much. To me, my ideal and most ‘productive’ schedule would be more like 10-4. As for the stringent 8-5 thing, I’m kind of amazed at the number people who do it.
I literally cannot consistently work 8-5. How do people get there right at 8 or no more than 10 minutes late? Some nights I get to bed later, or sleep poorly or (gasp!) wake up early. And leave right at 5? Some days I churn through work and want to stay late while others days I stare at a computer screen trying valiantly to remember my last name or where I parked my car. But it’s 8-5 every day for most people, and they look at you sideways when you’re twenty minutes late or you leave fifteen minutes early. Such a slacker!
The other thing that gets my goat about this – as mentioned, I am productive person. A few days ago, I got pulled off an assignment so that I could finish someone else’s. This person had been working on the assignment for six days, done an estimated twenty hours of work, and was about half way done. Eight hours (and ten smoke breaks) later, I turned the other half in. Today, I learned that I had one error and all my substantive/editorial changes had been accepted (Because even though I’m technically just supposed to be checking citations and marking typos, I just can’t help myself, but suggest substantive changes as I review. It’s my favorite part of the job.) The gist of this is that I got paid half as much as the other guy to do the same amount of work. So yeah, they keep me around at my job despite the fact that I casually arrive during the midmorning with my big sunglasses, large cup of coffee in hand, and Dorothy Parker-like mumbling laced with sarcasm.
I don’t know what’s up with the rest of you law kids, but under-achievement is totally underrated. You too could be making fifteen bucks an hour and nursing a hangover every day.
Incidentally, I am OUT of wine this evening. I thought I’d be grabbing drinks with Boy, but he is out drinking and playing music with his friends. Bad Boy, Bad boy. In his defense, he is taking me out tomorrow night and to a soccer game on Sunday. Also, he offered me veto power on Guy’s Night which I declined because a) it was a good friend’s birthday, and b) I refuse to play “Mean Mommy.” Oh wait, I just remembered that I have beer in my fridge…uno momento.
Okay, I am BACK…and I have poured a can of Pearl Light into my wine glass. Say what you will about Pearl being a rock-gut cheapo beer. It is a total memory drink for me. My grandfather used to drink one every night with the six o’clock news (just before his requisite ten glasses of scotch), and when I sip from my glass, I can’t help but feel transported back to San Antonio circa 1982. Mmmm, I can literally hear my grandmother yelling at him in that wonderfully shrill nag-like tone. God, I miss them.
OH! Random thought. Boxed wine. I know, it sounds awful, but a few weeks ago, Boy and I were headed on a road trip. There’s always beer, but he hasn’t quite yet learned to supply me with the red, and I was at Target, preparing for a weekend of couch camping and carefully loading bottles into my canvas sack when low and behold…Wine Cube. Wine Cube is a box wine that runs for under $20 and holds the equivalent of about FOUR bottles of wine. As I was about to embark on some travel, I decided to give the oh-so-portable Wine Cube a whirl. My assessment? Perfect. Not so bad to where you can’t drink it. Not so good to where you’ll drink a ton of it in one sitting. That thing lasted for ten days. (It doesn’t go bad immediately nor does it require refrigeration, so you don’t feel compelled to suck it down in one sitting.) I highly recommend.
We know return to our scheduled posting…Stay with me, kids.
I was talking about the 8-5 work day. Suffice to say, most days I get out of bed and into work at a reasonable hour, reasonable being a loosely defined term. However, I don’t especially like getting up in the morning, and when there’s an added incentive to stay in bed, it is exceptionally difficult. The Cracker Jack prize at which I hint just might be waking up to find a cute red-haired boy lying next to me. Cute red-headed boys are warm and snuggly. I mean really, why get up?
Of the two of us, I am known as the ‘practical’ and ‘responsible’ one. I know, it makes the mind reel, doesn’t it? Anyhoo, I guess because of this Boy just assumed that I’d be the one to hop out of bed in the morning and get the day rolling. Ha. More than once he’s woken up, shaken my shoulder, and said, “IS THAT CLOCK RIGHT?” then jumped out of bed and sped down the stairs while I casually yawn. After six weeks, he’s caught on though and the other morning I was greeted with:
Ana, it’s 7:30.
Mumblemumblemumble
Ana, it’s 8.
I roll over, kiss his shoulder, and fall immediately back to sleep.
Ana, it’s 8:45.
Okay, I guess I’ll get up now.
As Boy didn’t have to be at work until noon, he offered to walk the dog while I got dressed. (Single guys, I cannot tell you how many points you will get with the ladies for doing something like this.) By the time he returned, I was ready to go, and we sat on the steps for a few moments before filing into our respective cars.
“You’re going to be SOO late,” he said.
I looked at my watch. “Actually, only ten minutes or so,” I replied.
“What do you mean?”
I proceeded to explain my schedule to him. I’m hourly, and I can set whatever hours I want, but work insists that I schedule regular, consistent hours. For awhile, I said 8:30-5:30, but I was often late, and despite working at a laid-back place, everyone there is a lawyer, so I often got the evil eye. Ergo, I changed my schedule...to 9:30-5, but I don’t actually work those hours. I come in some time between 8 and 9:30, and then just work until I get my eight hours in. (I rarely take a lunch.) At the same time, if I’m not feeling it, I’ll just leave at 5. And the best part is, when I get there before 9:30, everyone thinks I’m all committed to my job and putting in the ‘extra effort.’ Same goes for when I ‘stay late.’
“Are you kidding me?” Boy asked.
“Nope,” I said. “It’s quite genius, actually.”
Except... there are some structural/routine things that I just don’t/can’t/won’t buy into and one of them is the Monday-Friday, 8-5, 40-hour work week. Perhaps I should live in Europe because I think 40 hours a week is a teensy bit much. To me, my ideal and most ‘productive’ schedule would be more like 10-4. As for the stringent 8-5 thing, I’m kind of amazed at the number people who do it.
I literally cannot consistently work 8-5. How do people get there right at 8 or no more than 10 minutes late? Some nights I get to bed later, or sleep poorly or (gasp!) wake up early. And leave right at 5? Some days I churn through work and want to stay late while others days I stare at a computer screen trying valiantly to remember my last name or where I parked my car. But it’s 8-5 every day for most people, and they look at you sideways when you’re twenty minutes late or you leave fifteen minutes early. Such a slacker!
The other thing that gets my goat about this – as mentioned, I am productive person. A few days ago, I got pulled off an assignment so that I could finish someone else’s. This person had been working on the assignment for six days, done an estimated twenty hours of work, and was about half way done. Eight hours (and ten smoke breaks) later, I turned the other half in. Today, I learned that I had one error and all my substantive/editorial changes had been accepted (Because even though I’m technically just supposed to be checking citations and marking typos, I just can’t help myself, but suggest substantive changes as I review. It’s my favorite part of the job.) The gist of this is that I got paid half as much as the other guy to do the same amount of work. So yeah, they keep me around at my job despite the fact that I casually arrive during the midmorning with my big sunglasses, large cup of coffee in hand, and Dorothy Parker-like mumbling laced with sarcasm.
I don’t know what’s up with the rest of you law kids, but under-achievement is totally underrated. You too could be making fifteen bucks an hour and nursing a hangover every day.
Incidentally, I am OUT of wine this evening. I thought I’d be grabbing drinks with Boy, but he is out drinking and playing music with his friends. Bad Boy, Bad boy. In his defense, he is taking me out tomorrow night and to a soccer game on Sunday. Also, he offered me veto power on Guy’s Night which I declined because a) it was a good friend’s birthday, and b) I refuse to play “Mean Mommy.” Oh wait, I just remembered that I have beer in my fridge…uno momento.
Okay, I am BACK…and I have poured a can of Pearl Light into my wine glass. Say what you will about Pearl being a rock-gut cheapo beer. It is a total memory drink for me. My grandfather used to drink one every night with the six o’clock news (just before his requisite ten glasses of scotch), and when I sip from my glass, I can’t help but feel transported back to San Antonio circa 1982. Mmmm, I can literally hear my grandmother yelling at him in that wonderfully shrill nag-like tone. God, I miss them.
OH! Random thought. Boxed wine. I know, it sounds awful, but a few weeks ago, Boy and I were headed on a road trip. There’s always beer, but he hasn’t quite yet learned to supply me with the red, and I was at Target, preparing for a weekend of couch camping and carefully loading bottles into my canvas sack when low and behold…Wine Cube. Wine Cube is a box wine that runs for under $20 and holds the equivalent of about FOUR bottles of wine. As I was about to embark on some travel, I decided to give the oh-so-portable Wine Cube a whirl. My assessment? Perfect. Not so bad to where you can’t drink it. Not so good to where you’ll drink a ton of it in one sitting. That thing lasted for ten days. (It doesn’t go bad immediately nor does it require refrigeration, so you don’t feel compelled to suck it down in one sitting.) I highly recommend.
We know return to our scheduled posting…Stay with me, kids.
I was talking about the 8-5 work day. Suffice to say, most days I get out of bed and into work at a reasonable hour, reasonable being a loosely defined term. However, I don’t especially like getting up in the morning, and when there’s an added incentive to stay in bed, it is exceptionally difficult. The Cracker Jack prize at which I hint just might be waking up to find a cute red-haired boy lying next to me. Cute red-headed boys are warm and snuggly. I mean really, why get up?
Of the two of us, I am known as the ‘practical’ and ‘responsible’ one. I know, it makes the mind reel, doesn’t it? Anyhoo, I guess because of this Boy just assumed that I’d be the one to hop out of bed in the morning and get the day rolling. Ha. More than once he’s woken up, shaken my shoulder, and said, “IS THAT CLOCK RIGHT?” then jumped out of bed and sped down the stairs while I casually yawn. After six weeks, he’s caught on though and the other morning I was greeted with:
Ana, it’s 7:30.
Mumblemumblemumble
Ana, it’s 8.
I roll over, kiss his shoulder, and fall immediately back to sleep.
Ana, it’s 8:45.
Okay, I guess I’ll get up now.
As Boy didn’t have to be at work until noon, he offered to walk the dog while I got dressed. (Single guys, I cannot tell you how many points you will get with the ladies for doing something like this.) By the time he returned, I was ready to go, and we sat on the steps for a few moments before filing into our respective cars.
“You’re going to be SOO late,” he said.
I looked at my watch. “Actually, only ten minutes or so,” I replied.
“What do you mean?”
I proceeded to explain my schedule to him. I’m hourly, and I can set whatever hours I want, but work insists that I schedule regular, consistent hours. For awhile, I said 8:30-5:30, but I was often late, and despite working at a laid-back place, everyone there is a lawyer, so I often got the evil eye. Ergo, I changed my schedule...to 9:30-5, but I don’t actually work those hours. I come in some time between 8 and 9:30, and then just work until I get my eight hours in. (I rarely take a lunch.) At the same time, if I’m not feeling it, I’ll just leave at 5. And the best part is, when I get there before 9:30, everyone thinks I’m all committed to my job and putting in the ‘extra effort.’ Same goes for when I ‘stay late.’
“Are you kidding me?” Boy asked.
“Nope,” I said. “It’s quite genius, actually.”
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
What are you, my mother?
Does anyone else hate it when you’re trying to find a statute on Westlaw, and you’re not sure what the magic abbreviation is, so you give it your best guess and Westlaw brings up a screen that says:
The proper citation format for blah-di-dah is…
And then it makes you type it in all over again…which is dumb because clearly, the program recognized what statute you were trying to retrieve.
I’m not sure what it says about the legal industry when even the computer search engines are hyper-detail-oriented to the point of being anal.
The proper citation format for blah-di-dah is…
And then it makes you type it in all over again…which is dumb because clearly, the program recognized what statute you were trying to retrieve.
I’m not sure what it says about the legal industry when even the computer search engines are hyper-detail-oriented to the point of being anal.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
You know you want one...
There’s a large bottle of Pellegrino sitting on my desk at work. Wine-Time-Girl walked by, picked it up, and said, “I’m jealous.”
“You want me to bring you a bottle?” I asked.
“No, it’s alright,” she said.
“No really,” I told her, “I have a ton. Fairy-God-Brother gives them to me by the case.”
“He does? Why?”
“He just knows I like it, so he gets it in bulk at Costco and then shows up at my house with some every so often,” I replied.
“Not fair! I want a gay boyfriend!”
“Don’t we all.”
“You want me to bring you a bottle?” I asked.
“No, it’s alright,” she said.
“No really,” I told her, “I have a ton. Fairy-God-Brother gives them to me by the case.”
“He does? Why?”
“He just knows I like it, so he gets it in bulk at Costco and then shows up at my house with some every so often,” I replied.
“Not fair! I want a gay boyfriend!”
“Don’t we all.”
What I'm like in the Morning...
I am never up before 8 am, but for the last several mornings I've briefly woken up between 5-6 am. Today, I decided to go ahead and get up, and now I remember all of the things I hate about getting up early. (Early for me, I mean.) Why does it wait so late to get light outside? I jumped out of bed and was like, "Whoo-hoo. I can walk the dog!" Except it's dark, and I'm not going to jog around this area in the dark.
I have a killer headache which means I must have drank too much wine last night. If I'd slept until 8:30, I bet I'd just feel tired. I think I drank more wine than usual though as I tried to break up with Boy over text message, or at least attempted to enflame him. Yeah, I don't know why I did this. I guess this will be something for Wine-Time-Girl and I to ponder over email today. Gah. Drama queen. Me, not her. Boy, by the way, did not accept my break-up (or engage in my emotional stunt - depending on how you look at this).
And now that I'm walking through the house, I find the ashtray. Yeah, rough night, indeed. I don't usually smoke in the house. No wonder my head hurts. This place stinks like a bar...not that you can smoke in bars anymore...darn non-drinking/non-smoking people who vote and overwhelmingly outnumber all of us little alcoholic smokers. I swear, they're determined to get us all to stay locked in our houses, chain smoking our cigarettes we purchased online and drinking boxed wine. Silent epidemic.
Ooh, sunglasses. I bought these HUGE sunglasses at Target on Sunday after brunch with WTG. Oh wow. My head hurts less when I put them on.
Ok. Took some Advil, made some coffee. (You guys know not to take Tylenol after drinking, right?)
I need to quit drinking...and smoking...and typing.
Let's hear it for a new day.
rah-rah-rah.
Oh look, it's getting light outside!
Ouch.
I have a killer headache which means I must have drank too much wine last night. If I'd slept until 8:30, I bet I'd just feel tired. I think I drank more wine than usual though as I tried to break up with Boy over text message, or at least attempted to enflame him. Yeah, I don't know why I did this. I guess this will be something for Wine-Time-Girl and I to ponder over email today. Gah. Drama queen. Me, not her. Boy, by the way, did not accept my break-up (or engage in my emotional stunt - depending on how you look at this).
And now that I'm walking through the house, I find the ashtray. Yeah, rough night, indeed. I don't usually smoke in the house. No wonder my head hurts. This place stinks like a bar...not that you can smoke in bars anymore...darn non-drinking/non-smoking people who vote and overwhelmingly outnumber all of us little alcoholic smokers. I swear, they're determined to get us all to stay locked in our houses, chain smoking our cigarettes we purchased online and drinking boxed wine. Silent epidemic.
Ooh, sunglasses. I bought these HUGE sunglasses at Target on Sunday after brunch with WTG. Oh wow. My head hurts less when I put them on.
Ok. Took some Advil, made some coffee. (You guys know not to take Tylenol after drinking, right?)
I need to quit drinking...and smoking...and typing.
Let's hear it for a new day.
rah-rah-rah.
Oh look, it's getting light outside!
Ouch.
Monday, October 06, 2008
Wherein Ana fakes a meme...
Politely Obscene tagged me for a meme-type-thing, and since I don’t want her to think I’m haughty and ignoring her or otherwise excluding her from the law student/hopeful attorney blogosphere, I’m kinda sorta responding with a post.
I’m supposed to give you guys five non-law blogs and five law blogs that I read, and then the five law bloggers are supposed to do their own meme. Let me say right now that everyone I read has probably already been tagged, so if your name appears here, please disregard.
So, five non-law blogs… Um, I am really lazy right now and not reading too many blogs. At work I am stationed right next to the printers, and everybody and their dog walks by my desk. In addition, it’s the kind of place where people look at your screen to see what you’re up to. As I am evil, today I tried to keep a full screen with a relationship article that was titled something like, “Why you need to get some self-esteem and stop seeing that married man.” I know, I know. I do stuff like that, and then I get miffed when people jump to all kinds of conclusions about me, but you know what? I get a huge kick out of it, especially when someone comes up to me and is like, “Uh, Ana, I heard that…” Inevitably, I pester them until I find out the source. It’s an easy way to find out who in the office is a nosey, gossipy, busybody, and while I should probably worry about my reputation...really, who cares?
All of this is to say that most of the non-law blogs I read are those of people I actually know. My old friend Maura occasionally posts pics of her adorable kid. Another gal from high school is an incessant whiner. No seriously, worse than me. Weef talks of trips to the city and house remodeling. I would not reveal the actual identities of these blogs as most of them are created solely for the purposes of friends and family. Plus, you’d probably click a link and then wonder, “Why did she direct me to a playgroup blog?”
As for my five actual law blogs, I mostly check up on the people who graduated at the same time or whom I’ve read for ages.
Magic Cookie is the one I always check first. I have the teensiest bit of a blog crush on her. She seems like such a nice gal, and she’s one of the few bloggers with whom I’ve sometimes corresponded. She once asked me for book recommendations which I found very flattering. (Incidentally, MC/CM, I am currently reading The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri, but I have a feeling you’ve already read it.)
After that I move onto PT-Law Mom. PTLM actually corresponded with me before she started her blog, and then one day I was at school and heard a “PSSTT!” Low and behold, PT-Law Mom and I were classmates. Oh, and you know how PTLM is always like, "I'm so frumpy and dumpy and old and fat!" Yeah, she's a liar. She might not be fully aware of it, but...liar. We made plans at some point to meet up for wine, but it’s never quite happened. Now she’s got Blue Eyes, and I’ve got my own adult version of Pumpkinhead. (I did mention that Boy is red-headed, right?) One day PTLM and I will get together. I’m sure of it. In the meantime, she’s apparently getting laid… a lot. I’m so jealous.
Speaking of red hair, Butterflyfish is another one I regularly check. I first started following her before she was even Butterflyfish, partly because her avatar was holding a glass of wine, and partly because I was certain that a first year law student with a baby and husband in Iraq was the recipe for a moving train wreck. As it turns out, Butterflyfish is a bad-ass, an at times wickedly funny bad ass.
I still follow Zuska when she posts – which is rarely these days. I like E. She reminds me of me. (Hey! Self- love should be your first love, they always say.) It’s okay, I’ve been slacking lately, too. Life interferes with the blogging sometimes, and while the blog makes for a perfect law school outlet, whining about your maternal issues, your boyfriend, or your alcoholism just doesn’t seem appropriate, you know? (I’m talking about me, not Zuska, here.)
Last but not least, I also read LagLiv. I tried to avoid her blog during the whole child services disaster as something made me feel as if I was inappropriately spying on this woman in tragedy, but once she moved to Austin and was studying for the bar, she officially became an unofficial comrade. I didn’t realize that she was in town last week. If only I’d known I would have helped her find a live goat in the area. (If LL reads this, she’ll understand…stupid new associate scavenger hunts.)
Is that five? Oh wait! I also read Artsy-Fartsy all the time…because I love her.
You can find links for all these gals on my sidebar, by the way.
And what’s new in my world? Well, I’m avoiding Boy tonight. Why? Because I’m an idiot. Because I’m starting to think that I really might be able to like him. Because he’s kind to me in a way that others have never been. Because I’m starting to freak out, and I’m a little skeered. And before you bash me for this, I’ve only heard from him once tonight…and it was a text message that said, “I’m home watching some sweet tv if you want to come by.” Not exactly the type of text that requires a response. Hmpf. If you’re wondering what the heck that text meant: he recently got his power back on after two weeks, I don’t have cable, so he didn’t get to watch anything while he was at my house, AND he has a new gargantuan TV. Something tells me I couldn’t compete with that this evening.
I’m supposed to give you guys five non-law blogs and five law blogs that I read, and then the five law bloggers are supposed to do their own meme. Let me say right now that everyone I read has probably already been tagged, so if your name appears here, please disregard.
So, five non-law blogs… Um, I am really lazy right now and not reading too many blogs. At work I am stationed right next to the printers, and everybody and their dog walks by my desk. In addition, it’s the kind of place where people look at your screen to see what you’re up to. As I am evil, today I tried to keep a full screen with a relationship article that was titled something like, “Why you need to get some self-esteem and stop seeing that married man.” I know, I know. I do stuff like that, and then I get miffed when people jump to all kinds of conclusions about me, but you know what? I get a huge kick out of it, especially when someone comes up to me and is like, “Uh, Ana, I heard that…” Inevitably, I pester them until I find out the source. It’s an easy way to find out who in the office is a nosey, gossipy, busybody, and while I should probably worry about my reputation...really, who cares?
All of this is to say that most of the non-law blogs I read are those of people I actually know. My old friend Maura occasionally posts pics of her adorable kid. Another gal from high school is an incessant whiner. No seriously, worse than me. Weef talks of trips to the city and house remodeling. I would not reveal the actual identities of these blogs as most of them are created solely for the purposes of friends and family. Plus, you’d probably click a link and then wonder, “Why did she direct me to a playgroup blog?”
As for my five actual law blogs, I mostly check up on the people who graduated at the same time or whom I’ve read for ages.
Magic Cookie is the one I always check first. I have the teensiest bit of a blog crush on her. She seems like such a nice gal, and she’s one of the few bloggers with whom I’ve sometimes corresponded. She once asked me for book recommendations which I found very flattering. (Incidentally, MC/CM, I am currently reading The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri, but I have a feeling you’ve already read it.)
After that I move onto PT-Law Mom. PTLM actually corresponded with me before she started her blog, and then one day I was at school and heard a “PSSTT!” Low and behold, PT-Law Mom and I were classmates. Oh, and you know how PTLM is always like, "I'm so frumpy and dumpy and old and fat!" Yeah, she's a liar. She might not be fully aware of it, but...liar. We made plans at some point to meet up for wine, but it’s never quite happened. Now she’s got Blue Eyes, and I’ve got my own adult version of Pumpkinhead. (I did mention that Boy is red-headed, right?) One day PTLM and I will get together. I’m sure of it. In the meantime, she’s apparently getting laid… a lot. I’m so jealous.
Speaking of red hair, Butterflyfish is another one I regularly check. I first started following her before she was even Butterflyfish, partly because her avatar was holding a glass of wine, and partly because I was certain that a first year law student with a baby and husband in Iraq was the recipe for a moving train wreck. As it turns out, Butterflyfish is a bad-ass, an at times wickedly funny bad ass.
I still follow Zuska when she posts – which is rarely these days. I like E. She reminds me of me. (Hey! Self- love should be your first love, they always say.) It’s okay, I’ve been slacking lately, too. Life interferes with the blogging sometimes, and while the blog makes for a perfect law school outlet, whining about your maternal issues, your boyfriend, or your alcoholism just doesn’t seem appropriate, you know? (I’m talking about me, not Zuska, here.)
Last but not least, I also read LagLiv. I tried to avoid her blog during the whole child services disaster as something made me feel as if I was inappropriately spying on this woman in tragedy, but once she moved to Austin and was studying for the bar, she officially became an unofficial comrade. I didn’t realize that she was in town last week. If only I’d known I would have helped her find a live goat in the area. (If LL reads this, she’ll understand…stupid new associate scavenger hunts.)
Is that five? Oh wait! I also read Artsy-Fartsy all the time…because I love her.
You can find links for all these gals on my sidebar, by the way.
And what’s new in my world? Well, I’m avoiding Boy tonight. Why? Because I’m an idiot. Because I’m starting to think that I really might be able to like him. Because he’s kind to me in a way that others have never been. Because I’m starting to freak out, and I’m a little skeered. And before you bash me for this, I’ve only heard from him once tonight…and it was a text message that said, “I’m home watching some sweet tv if you want to come by.” Not exactly the type of text that requires a response. Hmpf. If you’re wondering what the heck that text meant: he recently got his power back on after two weeks, I don’t have cable, so he didn’t get to watch anything while he was at my house, AND he has a new gargantuan TV. Something tells me I couldn’t compete with that this evening.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Yay for Normal!
I can hardly believe it, but things might actually be back to normal. Finally! After my most recent post where I whined and semi-chronicled health issues, I was taken down for the count by yet another health joy. Last weekend, Boy and I drove to Austin for the Austin City Limits Festival. It was great to get out of town, but I was even more exhausted when we returned. To make matters worse, the festival was one big dustball, and I came home with a hideous cough that worsened as the week wore on. I’d wake up in the middle of the night hacking in pain. My supervisor at work tried to get me to go home, but as I’d lost three days of pay for the hurricane in addition to about a day’s worth of work during my time in Austin, I insisted on sticking it out, and they all but put a plastic bubble around my cube in fear that I had the plague.
Things were getting pretty ugly until one night, after getting me slightly tipsy on margaritas, Boy stealthily pulled into a drugstore parking lot and dragged me inside for some cough syrup. (For days I had insisted I was fine when I clearly was not.) Unbelievable. I’d never had the stuff before and was AMAZED that it worked. What? I grew up in one of those families where you didn’t take medicine unless you were dying. Besides, I’m tough, and independent and self-sufficient…and stupid. Three days later the cough is almost gone, and I can’t tell you how much happier I am due to the extra hours of sleep at night.
Speaking of sleep, Boy’s power came back on this week! SO HAPPY! No longer do I come home at night and wonder when he will get home, whether or not I should eat without him. No longer does he roll in at 10 pm, turn to me as I am sitting in my pj’s, recently showered, curled up with a book, and ask if I am up for going out with the guys. Don’t get me wrong, Boy is awesome, but having the person you are dating stay at your house for over two weeks as you are still getting to know them can be a little rough. That being said, I think Boy was a little bummed with my ecstatic response when he informed me that he once again had electricity. Of course, now that he’s gone, it feels a little lonely around here. I think the dog is totally depressed that she lost her playmate. (I miss him, too.)
Work is progressing slowly, but surely. I start doing lawyer-work one day a week later this month. Money’s going to be tight for awhile, but hopefully this will turn out for the best over the long haul.
Wine-Time-Girl and I have revived wine-time or actually now we meet for brunch each Sunday. Along with a few mimosas, we get in all our girl-talk for the week. Boy calls it our Sex and the City meetings. (Clearly, he’s just jealous.)
Okay, I’ve got more to write, but guess what? I’m tired, and I’m getting to bed at a decent time tonight so that I can get this week off to the right start. Hopefully this week I’ll get around to the other stuff – like embarrassing illness. Ha-ha. So fun.
Things were getting pretty ugly until one night, after getting me slightly tipsy on margaritas, Boy stealthily pulled into a drugstore parking lot and dragged me inside for some cough syrup. (For days I had insisted I was fine when I clearly was not.) Unbelievable. I’d never had the stuff before and was AMAZED that it worked. What? I grew up in one of those families where you didn’t take medicine unless you were dying. Besides, I’m tough, and independent and self-sufficient…and stupid. Three days later the cough is almost gone, and I can’t tell you how much happier I am due to the extra hours of sleep at night.
Speaking of sleep, Boy’s power came back on this week! SO HAPPY! No longer do I come home at night and wonder when he will get home, whether or not I should eat without him. No longer does he roll in at 10 pm, turn to me as I am sitting in my pj’s, recently showered, curled up with a book, and ask if I am up for going out with the guys. Don’t get me wrong, Boy is awesome, but having the person you are dating stay at your house for over two weeks as you are still getting to know them can be a little rough. That being said, I think Boy was a little bummed with my ecstatic response when he informed me that he once again had electricity. Of course, now that he’s gone, it feels a little lonely around here. I think the dog is totally depressed that she lost her playmate. (I miss him, too.)
Work is progressing slowly, but surely. I start doing lawyer-work one day a week later this month. Money’s going to be tight for awhile, but hopefully this will turn out for the best over the long haul.
Wine-Time-Girl and I have revived wine-time or actually now we meet for brunch each Sunday. Along with a few mimosas, we get in all our girl-talk for the week. Boy calls it our Sex and the City meetings. (Clearly, he’s just jealous.)
Okay, I’ve got more to write, but guess what? I’m tired, and I’m getting to bed at a decent time tonight so that I can get this week off to the right start. Hopefully this week I’ll get around to the other stuff – like embarrassing illness. Ha-ha. So fun.
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