Things I learned over Christmas Break...

1. Regis's last name is Philbin, NOT Philman. It seriously sounds like Philman though.
2. Applebee's does not accept AMEX giftcards. Just another reason for me to hate them besides the sucky food.
3. Cookies don't taste as good when you eat them 5 days in a row.
4. Western New York gets killer tumbleweeds on the highway.
5. Don't wear pearls and a peacoat in Deposit,New York unless you want the locals to treat you with lothsome contempt.
6. If you belong to Citizen's Bank and you use your ATM card at another bank, not only do you get the other bank's fee but Citizen's charges you $2.oo as well.
7. Wegman's ice cream taste better than any other kind of ice cream in the world. And it's cheap.
8. Kyle doesn't know how to order a grande nonfat peppermint mocha with no whip extra foam.
9. Having multiple days in a row off makes me stay up late- as in 4:30 am late.
10. I secretly like roast beef, but when I'm pouty and hungry I say I don't like it and make a big fuss in the deli department.
11. When Kyle asks if you want to do something devilish, ALWAYS say "yes". :)

You Are What you Eat

Can certain foods give you bad dreams? I've had nightmares 2 nights in a row, and usually I have good dreams, not bad ones. Nothing is different with me, I'm perfectly happy with life,and I consuled my dream dictonary and got NO help, so I am forced to think that the cause of the nightmares is external- something I'm eating.
I did a lot of holiday baking over the weekend and I made stuff that I don't eat often- seasoned crackers, peanut butter cookies, peppermint patties, magic layer cookies... All totally yummy, but is something in there making me dream of dead children, doors that open to only more doors, talking corpses, silver pig fetuses washed up on ocean shores and falling out of amusement park rides? Is coconut making me nuts? The obvious solution is to just stop eating the goodies and see if the dreams stop, but that isn't any fun at all! Plus if it's NOT the treats then I'm missing out on all the yummy goodness (that's assuming Kyle has left some yummy goodness for me when I get home from work later). So tonight will be night 3- let's see if the dreams get wierder still or if they stop.

Alternative Sources of Income

I have $17 in my account for the next 2 weeks. And that simply won’t do. So I decided I need to make more money and yesterday I looked up my options on Craigs list. First I found an ad for $300 to go to a company xmas party with a guy, but that sounds too much like a call girl and if he can't find a date I don't think I want to spend time with him. Next ! There are various listings for dancers. And I love to dance! But not without my clothes on, so that's out. There's an ad for a "bikini bartender" in a gentlemen's club that I thought about for a 1/2 second and then realized that as much fun as the movie Coyote Ugly was, it's probably a lot less glamorous in real life. Plus, imagine if I ran into anyone from work? How awkward for both of us. Bottom line is I’m a lawyer now and a fiancé, so I need to keep my clothes on.
So then I started thinking about being an egg donor. It sounded perfect- I get to help a couple get a child, I get to feel all gooey and good about myself for being so selfless and I get paid for it! Plus, I have a law degree and I’m cute so the child would likely be smart and cute too. Sounds great, right? No, not really. The money is good- we’re talking several thousand dollars a cycle, but a cycle is several months long and there are lots of doctor appointments and daily self injections of hormones. PMS is a beast with my normal amount of hormones-if I were taking more I’d probably die of a self induced chocolate overdose or actually, physically bite Kyle’s head off. Plus there’s that whole I have a biological child out in the world somewhere issue. I think it takes a certain kind of person to be able to handle that and I’m not sure I’m one of them.
I look through restaurant listings, telemarketing posts, and so many pyramid schemes it made my head spin. Just when I was about Google “ selling a kidney” I found the answer to my problem- Medical Research Studies! I live in New Haven, home to the fabulous institution of learning that is Yale. Yale with tons of medical and PhD students doing research and lots of moola to throw to willing human lab rats. SCORE. I decided I need ground rules for myself because I don’t want to be the reason they find out a particular medication isn’t save for human consumption. No thanks. So no medications or injections or procedures. I’m not THAT broke. I made a few phone calls and left messages for a brain scan study, a meditation study and an anxiety study. I’m excited to hear back from them and really hope I get to so something- what if they find out how to unlock that unused 90% of my brain? What if I end up with psychic powers? Stay tuned….

The true meaning of friendship

I've figure out how to tell who your best and closest friends are. Surprisingly they are not the ones who buy you bracelets that say BFF on them. Nor are they the ones who call you regularly. Nope. The secret to determining how close you are with someone lies totally in how you are in the bathroom with them.
Before you think I'm completely crazy, hear me out. What happens when you meet someone new and you go to the ladies room together at a public place, for example, you meet your brother's new girlfriend at a restaurant and the 2 of you go to the bathroom. The chatting will go smoothly, until one of you enters the stall. Then you both get quiet until the stall thing is complete (which to be honest probably makes things more awkward...) so that's a level one friendship, an mere acquaintance really.
Your "good" friend, or a level 2 friend is someone with whom you can go into a bathroom like, each enter a stall and the conversation doesn't ever skip a beat. Those are probably where most of the friendships of the girls you see regularly ends up. And that's great. Be thankful for those good friends.
But your best friends, those girls that will literally be there for you no matter what are the girls who can join you in a single toilet no stall room (like at Starbucks) and completely ignore it while you keep on gabbing. If you can do that and not be bothered by it, you know you can talk to them about anything without fear of being looked at oddly or misunderstood. So if you have a good girlfriend and you want to be GREAT friends, just ask if she wants to go to the bathroom with you.
I swear I'm not trying to be crude or crass here. I just really think I'm on to something here. Think about it and I bet you'll agree. And if not, well, I do love the comments!
NOTE- this applies girls only... I don't think it translates to males.

crazy dreamer

So I'm irritated at my fiance. And not for anything he did or forgot to do. No, this crazy lady is mad at him for something that happened in my own subconscious. That's right folks, last night I had a dream-fight with my man and I woke up still angry at him, and now I can't shake the feeling. (I told you I was crazy).
See, I have really realistic dreams and I can do what's called lucid dreaming - its where during the dream I realize it's a dream and can change things at will. It's wicked fun, especially when you realize you're dreaming while falling off a cliff and decide you can fly instead so you just soar around (BEST DREAM EVER!). Or if I wake up from a bad dream I can go back to sleep into the same dream and change what I don't like to resolve it.
That's what I wanted to do this morning when I woke up from a dream at 6:30 am. In the dream I had gotten into a huge fight with my sister over a little black poodle that I had and we were on a cruise ship. I woke up feeling icky over it, so I went back to sleep to try and fix it.
Instead of going back to the cruise ship I was launched into another dream that involved me meeting this smoking hot blond chick, us riding bikes and practicing cheerleading together (down boys, it wasn't that kind of dream) and then me finding out that this girl lived with my fiance and was in love with him. And when I tried to talk to him about it, he didn't care and was really cold and cruel to me.
So I woke up feeling hollow and hurt and angry. Kyle hates when I have dreams like this because he spends all day making up for nothing. He already was nice enough to drive me into work this morning, and I'm still miffed at him. I know I shouldn't be, but I just AM. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to call my sister to give her a piece of my mind.....

YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA

Lauren's coming up from Baltimore on Friday to spend the weekend. I haven't seen her since last October and frankly, I'm more excited to see her than I am to eat turkey tomorrow. (and if I'm being honest, I really don't love the turkey all that much, just the sides. I do however love turkey, mayo, and cranberry on white bread sandwiches, but when I suggested that perhaps I'd have tomorrow instead Kyle looked at me horrified).

so enjoy the holiday, I know I'll enjoy mine!!!
YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!

Really really really wanna zigazigAH!

While at work I decided to do one of my typical activities - email my friend from law school about random things. It passes the time and makes us feel better about our jobs. Today since I haven’t heard from him I assumed he was busy and therefore set out to think of a topic that I could send a bunch of emails on just to annoy him and make his Blackberry go off repeatedly in a meeting thus increasing his chances of getting fired or at least yelled at (this is how I deal with my inner jealousy that he has a job as an associate in Manhattan and I don’t).
So I decided to send him lyrics from cheesy pop songs in the hopes that one of them would stick in his head and stay there (don’t you HATE that?) And as I’m typing out lyrics I realized how ridiculous some of the words in these #1, chart topping hits are.
For example: “I know that I can’t take no more, it ain’t no lie, I want to see you out that door baby bye,bye,bye..” We ate this song up as teenagers. Learned the arm waving dance moves, all the words, loved the guys with their crazy hairdos… what was wrong with us? This is a bad song! When have you ever broken off a relation ship by telling a person to leave your house, goodbye that’s it, all over? Never. No breakup is that easy. First you need to tell the person every single thing you can’t stand about them anymore, then you have the “take your crap” roundup where you run around the house trying to gather up all their DVDs and clothes, then you fight in the doorway for another 20 minutes, THEN they leave. If you’re lucky.
What about: “My loneliness is killing me, and I, I must confess, I still believe (still believe) when I’m not with you I lose my mind, give me a sign, hit me baby one more time”. Now let’s just stop and think about this for a second. What exactly does “hit me” mean here? If it’s being used in the urban slang use as in “to hit that” then our parents should have never let us listen to this tart. So that’s not it. And surely she isn’t asking to be physically beaten, sooo? The song makes no sense. But did we care when we were 16? NO! Ever girl I knew, including me immediately bought a plaid skirt and experimented with putting her hair in pigtails. (And let’s be honest, they don’t look good on everyone) I still have that skirt.
My personal favorite in the “makes no sense” song genre is Candy Rain by Soul4Real. Remember? “My love, do you ever dream of, candy coated raindrops, you’re the same my candy rain.” What does it mean?! No idea. Either he’s comparing her to the rain (weird)or they played Candyland and now he had a dream about it… I don’t know, but those words made that group millionaires.
I’m sure I could go on with many more songs that make no sense whatsoever yet managed to be monster hits, but I need to stop because I can’t think straight- I keep hearing,“If you want to be my lover, you gotta get with my friends…”

Nom Nom Nom

Sorry for the delay between posts, but work has been very hectic lately so posting has been impossible.

You know what I HATE? I hate it when desserts don't live up to their expectations. Like when you go to the store and you see this cake that looks so gooey and covered in sweet frosting, and then when you eat it the frosting is just that cheap whipped cream stuff that tasted like sugared nothing. It happens most often to me with supermarket bakery stuff. It looks good, and I should know better by now, but every now and then I fall for the trick of how it looks and I buy it hoping the quality has improved and it has not.Shame on me.
Or when you go to a restaurant and the picture of the dessert looks life changing, and then you order it and not only does the actual dish looks nothing like what's in front of you, but it tastes just so-so and you've been charged $6.95 for it.
The obvious answer I know is to just bake the yummy things myself and then I know it will be good because I'm a great baker (yes mom, I know I leave the kitchen a mess, but the FOOD tastes great and that's the real point). But if I take the time to bake it, I have all that time to think about how unhealthy the goodies are, and that can sometimes give me Eater's Guilt when munching, which is no fun. I prefer my chocolate brownies to be full fat and low guilt (actually in a dream world I'd prefer them to be full taste, no fat, no guilt, but you get what I mean).
But what's even worse than ordering or buying a bad dessert is planning on a certain dessert and then being disappointed. That is hands down the WORST. You've had hours and hours to build up this image of sugar heaven in you head and with one bite- deflated.
Case in point- last night Kyle and I went out to dinner at this place that advertised Godiva tiramisu. I'll pause here to let that image sink in. GODIVA. It's the Holy Grail of chocolate. We picked this place last week (part of the New Haven Restaurant week deal) and we've been talking about the upcoming desert ever since. Frankly, I think I was more excited for the dessert than dinner itself. Although the calamari was really good.... But really I wanted that dessert.
And when it came, it was a major let down. Mostly a mound of whipped cream with a trickle of chocolate sauce over the top and 5 bites of cake underneath with 2 dry ladyfingers on the side. It tasted mainly of almond flavoring and whipped cream. No chocolate wonderland here :(
I should explain something. While I talk about food a lot, I'm not a fatty. We eat pretty healthy during the week and try to let ourselves have 1 "bad meal" with dessert a week. That's why I get so upset over dessert, because I have a whole 6 days to fantasize about what I'm going to eat, so it stinks when it doesn't live up to my expectations.
And that's why tonight I'm taking a stand. Ky and I were dying for this dessert, and we just weren't satisfied, so tonight I'm breaking my once a week rule and my not making dessert rule and I'm going to make tiramisu at home. Out of Twinkies. It's going to be awesome. At least it better be!

What’s so great about the Truth?

When you ask your partner “Do I look fat?” or “Is my hair thinner?” do you really want an honest answer? “Yup, you look like you’re pregnant.” or “Hair? What hair? All I see is my reflection.” Of course you don’t. You want to be told how skinny you look, or how your hair looks like McDreamy’s. In short, you want to be lied to by the person you love. But how can that be? Aren’t we always supposed to tell and want to be told the truth in our relationships?
Love songs don’t talk about the truth. Try to name a single well known love song that talks about honesty. Can’t do it right? But I bet you CAN sing the chorus to Shaggy’s, “It Wasn’t me”.
Honesty isn’t even in the marriage vows. To have and to hold, for richer of for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, love honor and obey, till death do us part… Nope, not a single mention of the truth.
The only time I hear people talk about truth is when I give the oath in court to have people tell “the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth”, and that’s usually right before the Judge grants them a divorce. Yup, the truth will set you free all right, as in free agent, because your butt will get dumped and then you’re single.
I don’t think this is accidental. People have been getting married for centuries; surely I am not the first person to notice this seeming oversight. I’d like to think that honesty was somewhere in the original wedding vows, but then we as a people got smart and took them out. Because love is not about being honest. Love is about seeing the very best in someone and ignoring their flaws. It’s about supporting someone, being there for them for whatever they need, and getting the same in return.
Being in love is like being and having your own personal cheerleader. And while that’s very nice, it’s not very honest. Cheerleaders still say “You can do it!” when there’s actually no chance of winning. But no one gets mad at the cheerleaders for lying. They understand that it’s done out of care and concern for the players, or in short-out of love.
You don’t want the truth from your loved one. That’s what your friends are for. What your loved one is for is to call you svelte and hand you ice cream when your friends tell you how your butt REALLY looks. And that’s why you love him.

My Dream Job

My friend Elyse just bought a new couch and there's a problem with it, so the store is sending a Couch Specialist over to fix it. that's right- this job title actual exists. Screw practicing law, opening a bakery, or going into the crafts business. I WANT TO BE A COUCH SPECIALIST!Just think about it:

A- I'm assuming the job is to test couches for comfort and softness by sitting and napping on them. Maybe I'd have to plump the occasional accent pillow.

B- A couch doesn't talk back or give you an attitude. It's the perfect client/co-worker.

C- If someone tries to talk to me about an ottoman, or an armchair, I'd get to look sympathetic and say, "Oh, I'm so sorry I can't help you with that, but I only do couches." And then I get to hand them this awesome business card.

HOW COOL WOULD IT BE???!!

I wonder if that phone number is actually the number to anything...

Wedding Ring and Staying Calm

I wanted a nice wedding band. Not something too flashy, or too wide. I wanted to to complement my engagement ring, but not compete with it. So I went searching. I looked online for days, dragged Kyle into every single jewelry store we passed, and ogled the rings of every woman I saw for inspiration. (Some of them gave we weird looks like I was going to mug) I decided I wanted a white gold channel set diamond band that was 3mm or less to match my ring. (for any male readers, I'm sure that last sentence made your eyes glaze over so : Football, Bikini, Tacos, Britney Spears. There, that should bring your focus back)
I finally found my dream ring at Walmart. I had serious reservations about getting it because, well, it's Walmart. I love them for things like cat litter and cough medicine, but do I really trust them with the piece of jewelry that I will wear for the next 70 years? Plus, wedding magazines make it seem like your marriage will instantly disintegrate if your ring doesn't cost the same as a mortgage payment. But this ring was exactly what I wanted, so I decided to throw caution to the wind, cross my fingers and order it. Kyle was really excited for me. I want to pretend that was because we were getting this symbol of undying love, but I think he was just excited that we were still going to have money for groceries after buying it.
They said the ring would be in on the 1st, but I never heard from them. We happened to be there last night (I needed pantyhose and didn't feel like doing laundry) and we decided to stop in and check on the status of my ring. Low and behold, it was in, but they didn't call me because my cell phone is out of area code and "Walmart won't pay for a long distance call". Which gave me slight pause because 1- Then how would I ever know when it was ready? and 2- If that is the policy shouldn't the workers be trained when they take a contact number to make sure it's local?
But I didn't let it get me down. After all, I was going to see my WEDDING RING! This was it! I got ready to be dazzled and slide the ring on my finger. And frowned. It fit like a dream, but when they resized it, the thinner, "custom fit" area that should be directly underneath the top diamonds on the ring is off to the side. Because this thinner area is naturally supposed to rest on the underneath of your finger it makes the whole band rotate so that the band is off center and the diamond part is sliding down the side of my finger. And when I try to put it the right way, it fights me and slides back sideways.
I tried to politely point all of this out to the lady behind the counter. I say tried because I have just a teeny tiny bit of an attitude issue towards working people sometimes. I SWEAR I don't mean to be rude, I really don't realize that I'm doing it, it just comes across as snotty. My friends yell at me about it in restaurants, Kyle tells me to behave myself, my Mom hisses at me to cut it out... only Lauren doesn't say anything I think it's because she has the same attitude as I do. Basically I'm a type A personality and I have no tolerance for other people's stupidity. But I'm working on it. I do yoga on Wednesdays to calm me. I take deep yoga breathes when I feel stressed out. Om, Namaste and all that good stuff.
But anyway, my point is that I tried really hard to be nice ans sweet to the lady behind the counter. She didn't care. She just said "I can't do anything" like 9 times. So then I asked her what my options were she told me to talk to the department manager, who was not there on weekends or after 4 pm.
So I took a deep breathe, walked away and called this morning at 8:52 . It took Walmart almost 40 rings to answer the main number.I did 5 Om breathes while waiting. I was transferred to jewelry by a snotty woman, where the phone rang and rang and after 50 rings no one picked up. 13 Oms. I hung up, had an internal scream at the number of cell phone minutes I was wasting, took another calming yoga breathe and called the main number again. This time they picked up after 10 rings and a nicer sounding women told me the department manager was in a meeting and could I please call back in 20 minutes. I was happy to finally get some information, and that my Oms and positive energy seemed to be paying off.
Kyle quickly killed me joy by telling me the department manager probably wasn't even there and they were likely lying to me. I retaliated by ignoring him while doing a pretend yoga mediation.
I called back 1/2 hour later armed with my nicest manners and aligned chakras. I talked to the department manager who sounded very nice. I explained the problem to her, and she said she would look at the ring and have ir sent back out for repair if need be and would call me this afternoon and let me know what was happening. I hung up pleased and proud of myself for not losing my cool. Namaste to me!
And then I had to call her back to give her a local number so that she could actually call me.

For the Record

I'm getting sworn in on Friday. For all you non-law people, that will be the official, "I am now a lawyer" moment. The 3 years of never seeing my friends, the insane student loans, the neck aches from carrying 94 lbs of books, learning the federal tax code, my crazy intership experiences, the entire wasted summer of studying and that hellish Bar Exam have all lead up to this Friday.
I know that it's a honor to be admitted to the Bar. That I should be humble about this. In fact, the Rules of Professional Conduct basically tell us to not be bigheaded. Really, they do. I can summarize the Rules in 3 points:
1. Don't steal money from your clients.
2- Don't lie to the Court.
3*- Don't be a jerk.
I get all that. And I try really hard to be a graceful person. It's one of my life goals. That and meeting Matt Damon. I know I should just smile and nod, and downplay the whole swearing in thing. I know I should be modest. But I don't want to.
I have literally poured my blood (papercuts), sweat (hiking the hill up to the law school) and tears (Margulies's Con law class) into this moment. I've sacrificed for this, I've worked my tail off for it. So I don't want to be polite and gracious. I want to stand up there and when they announce me as an attorney yell "RESPECT MY AUTHORITY!!" like Cartman. I want to strut into Walmart and when the checkout people are rude to me say," DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" I want to have people treat me nicely because they're afraid of being sued. I want the power.
But they take away your liscence to practice for being a jerk like that.Not Good. So nice and polite and modest it will be. It's a little like being Frodo in Lord Of The Ring. You've got this insanely powerful object, you really really want to use it, but you know you shouldn't. Well, if a little Hobbit can be strongand resist, so can I.
But if you ever see me muttering "my precious...." under my breathe, now you'll know why.

Maybe the Yalie is onto Something

YAY for Obama!

We were really excited as last night was election night- a.k.a Kyle's SuperBowl (yes, I'm marrying a political nerd, but I love him anyway :) ) I made special election night chicken soup and Victory extra fudgy brownies. I also managed to get Kyle to the gym early in the evening, since most of the polls were still open and there wasn't a lot going on yet. Plus the cardio machines at the gym have individual televisions, so he didn't miss a minute of coverage.
Personally, I loved Obama's speech. Hats off to the writers, and to Obama for great delivery. I'll admit it, we cried. It was that moving (sorry to completely rat you out on the crying Ky, but I had to!) It was quite possibly the best speech I've ever heard. Kyle said it was the perfect blend of JFK and MLK Jr.- inspiring and uplifting but also reassuring and calming. I said he was a genius for coming up with that analogy on his own.
No matter which way you voted, Kudos to all for voting in the first place. I'm proud of all of us in our late teens/ twenties who decided to voice our opinions about how we want this country to function.
But I never did get my free starbucks.

I want my free starbucks!

I voted already. Kyle practically jumped out of bed in excitement at 7:45 this morning, dragged me out of bed and into the shower and gleefully skipped to the car to drive us to the Thompson School to avoid what he told me would be a "really really long line." He was so excited that he misheard the helper lady and tried to get in the Z line for his last name instead of the E line for our street name. He also almost went running down the hall to the wrong room before I dragged him into the correct gymnasium.
where I want to point out there was NO line. NONE. We walked right up to get crossed off, walked right into the privacy booths and then right to the scanner to complete our civic duty. NO LINE. I could have slept for another 15 minutes. But I'm happy we got it done early, because then we had time to get breakfast :)
The only bummer- No "I voted" stickers! Now people won't know all day that I'm a savvy American who rocked the vote. They'll think I'm an uncaring idiot. And Krispy Kreme won't give me my free doughnut. But I voted people, I DID! And I don't need a little blue sticker to tell me that. But still... it would have been nice to have one....

My Dirty Little Secret

I used to eat whatever I wanted. When I saw cupcakes I drooled on sight and forgave any misdeed you had done to me if you gave me a brownie. I ate frosting straight from the container. And I didn’t always use a spoon. I have eaten an entire box of poptarts in one sitting. I once took a log of chocolate chip cookie dough, cut it in 2 and handed half to Lauren, where we proceeded to eat it like a sandwich sub. Such glorious memories.
Now I eat much healthier (and so does Lauren). I limit my sweets to 1 night a week, that’s our deal- one “bad” eating out meal a week, and one dessert a week. Sometimes I’m a little lenient on what counts as “a” dessert, but for the most part I eat much better than I used to, and it shows.
But I still love sweets. I am the soul of Mrs. Claus trapped in a size 6 body. And my craving for sweets, my lust for baked goods is still strong. I had to find away to scratch my frosting itch without causing serious damage to my thighs. I tried baking for other people, but I found that horribly unsatisfying. I tried convincing myself that I didn’t like candy because of the chemicals and dyes. My stomach didn’t listen. I tried getting 100 calorie packs of my favorite snack foods to treat myself a little bit. They tasted like cardboard. I was seriously contemplating just letting it all go ala Oprah when I found my answer. FOOD PORN.
The food network has these cooking shows where they show you in close-up, buttery rich detail all the yummy goods they’re making. And Paula’s Home Cooking happens to coincide with my Wednesday evening gym time. I love Paula. She is one of my heros. She’s Southern and plump, and she says things like, “Now y’all need to add just a lil bit of butta” while adding an entire stick of lard to her concoction. She tried everything she makes, and you can see her get all excited to taste it. And she takes real bites. Multiple ones. Big bites. I love you Paula…
I usually don’t watch these shows because they make me want to go into the kitchen to find a snack. But If I watch them while I’m on the stepmill, I can’t get to a package of cookies. And while I’m drooling over Paula’s buttery toffee bars, the other gym goers just think it's sweat dripping off my chin.
I know some people may think it is sadistic to look at food while exercising, but I don’t think so. It’s like guys who look at porn. They know they can’t have it, but looking at it is exciting enough to keep them coming back for more. Same for me and my Paula. There’s something about watching her make fresh whipped cream at 300 calories a spoonful while I’m huffing it on the elliptical that just makes me sing on the inside.
Gotta run now. Its Thursday- almost the weekend and that mean’s its time for me to start planning what I want for dessert this week…

Pictures!!!

Check out Shannon's space under my blogs- she did an engagement shoot for Kyle and I on Sunday and also took some old fashioned shots of yours truly. I think she did a great job if anyone's looking for a photographer!!

My Fiance Rocks

It was cold and yucky and raining today and not only did Ky drive me into work so I could sleep late and not get wet on the walk from the parking garage, but he also came and took me to lunch when I called him and said I was hungry and didn't want my yogurt. Thanks for being so great, for making me laugh and for booking our awesome flights for the honeymoon!!! I'm a lucky girl.

All we have is beans

So I'm out with Kyle and Shannon last night when we decided to stop at Taco Bell (don't worry Shan, the Boy doesn't read this, so you're safe... wouldn't want a repeat of the GummiWorm episode). So we pull up to the drive through window, salivary glands in overdrive. The guy mumbles something that sounds like, " Ali maverick Jeans." "What?" we yelled. " Ali maverick JEANS!" He repeats. We looked at each other like, what is he saying? Is John McCain campaign in his Levi's at Taco Bell? What is going on? So we pull up to the window and the fast food guy leans out and says, " All we have is beans." We looked at him dumbfounded. And I'm thinking a million things at once: 'What do you mean all you have is beans? You're a major fast food chain, don't you plan for this sort of thing? And your Taco Bell for crying out loud- we know the meat isn't Grade A, you get whatever Alpo has left over so get to Costo and get a few cases and let's get this show on the road!I'm fine with that, I don't want to know what the nutritional value/ likelyhood of food poisoning is when I eat fast food, I just know that it tastes good to me. And that's not even a grammatically correct sentence!' But I didn't say any of that.
We drove away without complaining. There were people in there eating too. And I wanted to know- were they just eating beans? Were we being punked? Where were the cameras? Can I just get a bean burrito? It was shocking and sad. So we went to Arby's.

The Heart of the Matter

Engagement rings are a topic of obsession among 23-35 year old females. Girls who don't have them want them, and girls who get them compare theirs to everyone else. Advertisers do a FANTASTIC job of making us think that the size/cost of the ring is directly proportionate to the amount of love/loyalty the giver possesses.
Let me clue everyone in on a little secret. The engagement ring is just a piece of jewelry Like any ring, it gets scratched, needs to be cleaned and will feel uncomfortable when you're bloated. It can get lost or misplaced or damaged like anything else you own.
So then why do we make such a big deal over it? Why is it the Holy Grail of jewelry? Shouldn't the guy's sense of humor count for more than the carat weight? Shouldn't the way you feel when he holds you in his arms mean more to you than whether the setting is platinum or gold?
And why do we feel entitled to expect men to spend thousands and thousands of dollars on us when we buy nothing for them in return? If the custom was that the girl got a ring as an engagement gift and the boy got a car, would YOU be able to spring for a Porsche? My guess is not. I think we'd see a lot of Hondas on the road. But a girl with a Toyota of a ring will be embarrassed by it.
I don't think we shouldn't have rings. After all, what girl doesn't love to feel spoiled and special? I for one have a beautiful sparkler of a ring. And every time I look at it I feel like a princess. And that's great. But I guess what I'm trying to say is that long after the silver finish on your ring goes dull, it's the marriage that will matter. My grandparents had 7 kids, survived hard times and are have been married for decades. My parents still flirt and play fight each other. And my other Grandma still misses her late husband, and when she says his name you can hear in her voice how much she still loves him. That's the stuff I picture in my head when I think about marriage. And for the life of me I can't tell you what any of their rings look like.

It's stuck in my head...

(sings) " 1-2-3-4, Come on baby, say you love me 5-6-7 times,
8-9-10-11, I'm just gonna keep on counting until you are mine..."

Reason # 461 Why I'm Not Ready to be a Parent

I'm not really a cat person, but when I broke up with my ex and he moved out I was lonely so I decided to get something to keep me company and my apartment wouldn't let me have a dog. (technically I wasn't supposed to have a cat either, but they're a lot easier to hide and 2 other people in the building had them too so I figure it was safe.) I went to the animal shelter and found a black & white kitten who was the runt of his litter. One eye was completely milky white- the product of a bad infection from when he and his littermates where found abandoned under a porch. I knew there was a chance his eye would never heal, but when all the other kittens wanted to run around the room, this guy just wanted to look up at me. When I tried to look at any other kittens below him, he would reach out and tap my ponytail as if to say " Hey you, I'm right here, pick me, I'm the one!" I knew what his fate would likely be if I didn't rescue him, and I figured this was a major good deed that would help counteract my college misdeeds (except for that party the night we won GreekWeek, when I die I have some definite explaining to do...) So I took him home and named him Riley James.
His eye cleared up, but he's an odd cat. He's cuddly like a dog- always wants to be in your arms or laying across your chest. He stalks all forms of plantlife and attacks it- trees, plants, flowers have all perished from his claws.He cries when left alone and has no censor when it comes to food- he will literally eat a 20 lb bag of kibble if I let him. Which brings us to last night.
Riley's pretty good at not eating things he shouldn't. He loves the plastic from ice cream cartons, bread ties and grape stems. He bats them around like mad, but never eats them. So last night when he was eyeing a my Congratulations on Passing the Bar helium balloon, I decided to let him have some fun. Within seconds he had bitten through the string and the balloon floated to the ceiling. We thought he would just play with the string then. Instead, that little Fatty ATE it. He gulped it down like a gummi worm. It happened so fast we didn't realize what he was doing until it was over. And then, like any mother would do, I started to panic.
First, he threw up twice (and bless his little heart he stayed on the tile and not the carpet) but there was no ribbon. Frantic, I consulted the Internet where I was greeted with horror stories of cats dying or needing emergency surgery when ribbons get twisted in their intestines. The web suggested we try to make him throw it up before his body tried to digest it, which we attempted to do in a variety of ways: first we gave him 1 and 1/4 teaspoon of hydrogen peroxide, which was supposed to be a "sure bet" to make him sick. Well he definitely didn't feel great, but no dice. Next, I gave him an entire can of wet food (which he never gets) hoping to make him sick. He ate every single last morsel like a champ and then just sprawled out with a belly ache. But still no ribbon. Desperate, Kyle started holding him upside down and patting his tummy, kinda like you burp a baby. He purrrrrrrred the entire time. No ribbon.
He slept with us all night, just in case, but when I woke up this morning he was completely normal and cuddly. Hopefully he just passes it and he'll be fine, but I guess it's good to know that if they ever do Fear Factor: Pet Edition, Riley could kick all the other cat's butts!

Where am I registered?

Everyone keeps asking me where we’re registered for the wedding, so I thought I should explain the registry situation.
You see people, I’m clumsy. I know people reading this will say, “But you can dance!” To which I say, “Why thank you!” But believe me, that’s about rhythm, which is totally different. I have absolutely no grace. It’s hard for me to admit it but I’m not a delicate little flower that waits to be admired, but I’m not. I’m more like a giant sunflower.
I walk into things. Walls, furniture, people. While walking around like a normal person I place my life and limbs at serious risk. I have at any given moment at least 2 bruises of unknown origin on my body. Case in point, I currently have a burn on my right knuckle from the oven last week, a red mark the size of a half dollar on my chest that I hope is a bruise, and a bump on my hairline from hitting bottom of the cabinet this morning.
I break, on average, 2 things a month. And that’s just in the kitchen. I don’t know how exactly, they just break! When Kyle moved in with me in June he brought with him 6 pretty blue glasses. Five months later only 2 remain, and that’s mainly because Kyle won’t let me use them anymore unless it’s a special occasion. We tried counteracting my destruction by getting plastic things in fun bright colors instead. However, I quickly learned that plastic things melt when confronted with hot frying pans or are too close to the stove.
My clumsiness doesn’t just affect me. Just last week I broke a juice glass at my mom’s while doing the dishes after which her own clumsiness intervened. She got cut on the glass through the garbage bag and had to get stitched up by my sister (it appears the lack of grace is hereditary).
This brings me to the registry. Traditionally couples register for nice pretty things to fill their new home with. Things like fancy china for formal dinners and wineglasses. Expensive sheets with high threadcounts and crystal cut vases to hold the flowers your news husband is supposed to bring home regularly. And that’s great for them. I love to peruse the registries of my friends to see what fun things they’re getting. But I can’t join them. For obvious reasons, the china is a BAD idea. My cat views all new things as potential toys, especially flowers, so vases and decorative items would likely face the wrath of Riley. And while high threadcount sheets sound divine, Kyle loves to make corners with sheets, something that can only be done with stiff, average Joe cotton bedclothes. Plus, we already combined 2 apartments when we moved in together, so we have everything we need already. A full registry would result in us just throwing out perfectly good stuff to replace it with new stuff and we just don’t see the sense in that. (We have, however, registered for our honeymoon in Disney which I think is way cool!)
But for those of you who love to satisfy their voyeuristic needs by looking at other people’s registries, I’ll post a list of things that I don’t currently own that I want and would put on a traditional registry if we were to have one. This way I can look back and say I had the “experience” of creating a registry:
1. A loaf pan to make banana bread. (it’s the only baking things I somehow don’t have)
2. A college picture frame for our wall (so we can be vain and look at pictures of ourselves)
3. An apron (so I can fulfill my fantasy of being a 1950s housewife)
4. A vacuum (because using the hose attachment on my hands and knees around the apartment is getting old. And painful)
5. Just married flip flops (Just because!)
6. Bandaids.

Forest of Tears

So tonight we're going to the Forest of Fear. It's rated as the #3 Scariest Haunted House in the US. It has a monster, unrated, 26 room haunted house and scary people chasing you through the woods. My parents, Aunt, cousins & Fiance are all pumped up to go- they've been talking about it for weeks. I've been talking about it too, as in screaming-in-the-dead-of-the-night-in-terror talking about it. I HATE scary things. I know some people love being scared. Some call those people adventurous. I call them CRAZY (or Lauren). Why would you want to be terrified? Chased? Jumped out at? And they want us to PAy for this?
And what's worse, I let myself get dragged to these things year after year. And every year, THEY KNOW. The monsters smell the fear coming off of me in waves and they TARGET me! All the warning signs claim "The Actors will Not touch you". So you think, oh, good, I'll just look at them, and politelyand say, "yikes", then move merrily along my way... Yeah right. It's true, they don't touch you, but what the signs DON'T say is that the actors will come so far into your personal space you can see whether or not they need a Biore strip.
Last year we went to the haunted Graveyard. Every room we entered, the actors would look at the group of us, and move towards me like a magnet. There was one "butcher" in particular, with blood stains all over his smock and a giant ax who kept asking me if I wanted him to "Trim off a few pounds". Jerk.
I know they're actors, and that its not real. But WHAT IF people. What if some sick sick person decided to get a job at this place- its the perfect cover! You can hack someone to death in front of a crowd of people and they'll just cheer you on and think that the special effects are awesome. It could happen! Or what if I get so scared I run, and I run into something and trip and fall on a branch (let's face it, it wouldn't be the first time I've fallen in the woods, right Kappas?) Or if they forget to take the blade out of the chainsaw? I've seen CSI, there are like a trillion ways to die in freak accidents!
So that's where I'll be tonight.At the Forest of Fear, dragging my feet, sobbing and using my 12 year old cousin as a shield. If I have no voice on Monday, you'll know why. If I live that long...

Religion 2.0

Kyle and I have been saying for months that we should start going to church on Sundays, but we lately we’ve been worshipping the gym instead. So while in Rochester this weekend we decided to join his mom and sister to make a good impression (on them and God). I am happy to report that nothing has changed in Church- the songs and format are exactly the same. I remembered everything like it was yesterday, which was both comforting in its familiarity and odd (I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast 2 days ago but I still remember the Apostle’s Creed?)
We did notice one change however, and that is this- God has gone high tech. We found this out when the priest made an announcement at the end of mass that “DVDs explaining the ceremony of the mass were now available for $5.00”. I was shocked. The Catholic Church doesn’t have DVDs! It has stuffy smelling books with teeny tiny print and Latin words that no one understands but reads anyway!
But Kyle pointed out that God created the world, which means that he is the original high tech guru, not Bill Gates as I had previously thought, so it only makes sense that Church is going high tech. We thought it out and it really makes sense when you think about it. We’re getting more like God all the time. God is Omnipresent, and so is everyone else with a buddy list- you can always be online and accessible. Even if you have an away message up, people can still leave you message for when you get back to your computer. Just like you can pray to God and he may be there, and get the prayer and get right on it, or it may just go to his away message and he’ll get it later.
We figured God’s Screen name would be ‘Almighty 1’ and that when he wasn’t there his away message would simply say “Damning”. The Pope would be in his own separate group (#1 Fan) with the rest of us organized into groups of: Believers, Nonbelievers and The Warriors (that’s where Lucifer is).
At first I thought this was great sacrilege, but Kyle assured me that it’s okay to be funny. He thinks God’s got a sense of humor and would appreciate the fact that we’re thinking about him at all, even if it is to decide whether or not he would use the invisibility feature to avoid the Dali Lama when he doesn’t feel like talking.

Columbus discovered America, I discovered Rochester

What a whirlwind of a weekend. I found out that I passed the bar exam, drove the cat to my Mom's, cleaned up sick-on-himself cat, pestered my sister into going to the store, made brownies, drove back home, packed up the car and drove to Rochester. That was just Friday! We spent the weekend with Kyle's family and I had a great time. I went to my future sister in law's baby shower, to church with his mom and sister and our nephews, pumpkin picking, out to eat with his dad and stepmom and Grams. It was good times.
Some highlights: Getting to see Kyle's elementary school, church, and his playground.
His 3 year old nephew yelling, "Draw his Boobies!" during Church
Linda's chocolate chip cookies.
Funny story from the trip- Kyle's very active and healthy 82 year old grandma picked the place where we were going to eat Saturday night. No one had been there before, but she was planning to go to lunch there with her bridge group so she wanted to try it. It's called Tastology and Kyle and I were excited because they brag about the fact that everything on the menu is 500 calories or less. We thought this would be great- we'd get to eat some really yummy but healthy food. The decor was sleek, it reminded me of IKEA- all the walls were painted a different color, lots of tall green shoots and light colored wood. Some of our party were a bit miffed that the silverware was laid directly on the table, but I was open to new ideas.
So we order, and we all ordered the same thing- the stuffed chicken (this should have clued us in, when 6 people all find just one thing on the menu appetizing, it's probably not a good sign). The salads came out first. A teacup sized bowl with a few lettuce leafs and a drizzle of dressing. They looked tiny and sad, but Kyle and I had ordered soup instead. The soup was sweet potato with orange juice and a drizzle of yogurt. It was yummy, but small. But things were still hopeful. We all thought maybe the place was just modern so the portions sizes were small, but the food quality would be great.
But then the chicken arrived. 1/2 of a plain boiled red potato mushed up, 3 spears of cold asparagus and 4 round pieces of chicken with about a half of a spinach leaf each in the center. The chicken was so dry you could see wrinkles on the outside. It got really really quiet at the table. Within minutes everyone's plate was completely clean (except for mine, because on my first bite of chicken I encountered a hard, unidentifiable black thing and it made me give the other 3 pieces of chicken to Kyle). Kyle's Grandma, bless her, kept saying how yummy it was and how big the portions were. No one wanted to ruin her mood so we pretended to agree. Oh, and did I mention there was a political fundraiser going on with live guitar music so to hear each other talk we had to yell? Yeah, not the best times.I could tell his Dad was mad about it, but they're rally polite people so no one said anything- had we been out with my family there I think it may have ended differently. As we left I could see Cheesecake Factory across the street and I swear the moment I saw it my stomach started grumbling.

When we got home, Kyle and I made an excuse to leave and went out to get actual food (cheesecake, obviously :) So the moral of the story kids, is that you CAN get a meal out for under 500 calories, just don't expect to be full afterwards.

Bar Results

I PASSED!!!! AHHHHHH!!!

ABCs of Me

A- Attached or Single? attached to Kyle Zander. He's cute. And cuddly. And has great arms :)
B-Best Friend? Kyle and Ms. Lauren Victoria Blumenfeld since the 2nd day of high school.
C-Cake or pie? Cake. chocolate. with fudge frosting. and lots of layers. and chocolate chips. mmmm, cake.
D-Day of choice? Friday b/c the whole weekend awaits me
E-Essential Item? lip balm (see Tuesday's post)
F-Favorite color? Turquoise
G-Gummy bears or worms? bears that have been frozen
H-Home town? Danbury, CT (also known as D-block when I'm feeling frisky)
I-Favorite indulgence? scented body washes. I have pumpkin pie right now. When I shower I smell like Thanksgiving.
J-January or July? July for the sun and fun!
K-Kids? I like them, I want them. They will be cute and well behaved with fun names.
L-Life isn't complete without: Laughter and Love. (gosh that sounds cheesy, but its true!)
M-Marriage date? June 13, 2009 - my god that's coming up!
N-Number of brothers and sisters? 1 little sister, Ris
O-Oranges or Apples? Apples of the Rome or Macintosh varieties (rome ones are huge so I feel like Snow White when I eat them. Also, apples are better when you pick them yourself. I alos like them candied.)
P-Phobias? Bridges and Drowning. Or more specifically, drowning b/c of a bridge collapse. I keep the window rolled down and one hand on my seat belt buckle when crossing them for a quick escape.
Q-Quote? "le sigh"
R-Reasons to smile? The bar results are tomorrow at noon. ask me then.
S-Season of choice? Spring. I like how the wet grass smells
T-Tag 3 people: Kyle, Lauren, Shan
U-Unknown fact about me? I did print modeling as a child- Mrs. Butterworth, Dental Magazines, toys...
V-Vegetable? spiniach. But I like all veggies. even brussel sprouts.
W-Worst habit? Worrying to much about things. And biting my nails.
X-Xray or Ultrasound? hmm. Well Xray means you broke something, Ultasound means somethings bursting..... I'm gonna go with X-ray- less risk of needed surgergy.
Y-Your favorite food? Poptarts. I would eat them every single day if I could get away with it without becoming the size of a doublewide trailer.
WHAT HAPPENED TO Z?

It's a Jungle Out There

I wear a lot of skirts to work. It's not because I want to, believe me, it's neither fun or graceful trying to prevent a Marilyn Monroe incident when the wind is kicking up and you are walking to your car surrounded by coworkers and potential employers. I wear skirts to work because I'm a young aspiring attorney in a field where some of the older gentlemen attorneys still think that if a woman wears pants she's trying to "be a man". Men can be so dense sometimes. So I wear a lot of skirts. And I don't mind all that much (wind episodes aside). As long as you can remember to NOT tuck your skirt into your underpants when leaving the bathroom (yes, it actually happens) skirts can be quite fun actually. They make you feel pretty and most of them have the added bonus of having stretchy waistbands, which is just grand on those "My tummy is so bloated I could pass for a pregnant lady" days. No, I like the skirt just fine, thank you. It's the pantyhose I can't stand.
I work in court, which is supposed to be a fancy, serious affair. Somehow that translates into the dress code that women should wear panty hose at all time. And in theory, I agree. Really I do. I understand that it's not very formal to see bare flesh in Court. Also, hose have the added bonus of hiding any stubbly spots you missed when shaving. But in July with 90 degree heat and a 12 minute walk to the parking garage, those hose make my legs sweat more than a guy caught cheating(I work in family court-beleive me-I know).
You would think that if pantyhose make you sweat in the summer than they most definitely make you roasty toasty in the winter. Well if you think that, you must be a male, my dear reader. Let me assure you that a thin coating of nylon has as much insulating effect as putting a piece of plastic wrap over your unmentionables before someone kicks you. Yeah, see? Not so effective.
But the havoc they wreck isn't even my biggest complaint about hose. That would be the runs. I don't have long nails. My cat stays out of my clothes drawers, and last time I checked, the walk to work does not include me climbing concrete walls or wading through a briar patch. And yet, by the end of every workday my legs look as though I've been attacked by a pissed off cheetah. It's even worse when you're wearing black stockings (as I am today) and you have a run (as I do). Suddenly I'm paranoid- i think that everyone one who looks at me is instantly drawn to my legs. I'll try everything- turning it around to make it less noticeable, pulling it up, hairspray, nail polish, prayer. And no matter what I try, inevitably when I get home tonight the reaction will be the same-" Wow, what happened to you?"

What can I say, it's an addiction!

With the cold weather officially here (it was FREEZING this morning) I'd thought I take some time to talk about one of my favorite things about fall & winter- lip balm. I freely admit it, I'm a bit obsessed thanks to a high school stint taking Accutane. At one point I belonged to an online support group- it wasn't helpful, since people mainly talked about what kind of lip balm they used and therefore all I did was go out and buy more lip balms to try. Not many people know this about me, but it's a secret shame of mine. At any given moment I have no less than 3 tubes on me. So being somewhat of an expert, I'd thought I'd review some of the leading brands for you:
- Lip Smackers: pro- the flavors are out of this world (I mean, Dr. Pepper- come on!) Con- the flavors make you lick your lips a lot (mmmmm root beer) which makes your lips drier than they were to begin with.
- Chapstick- Ah, the classic. that waxy taste reminds us all of childhood. Unfortunately that Katy Perry chick has ruined the cherry version for me for all time .
- Anything glossy- I'm talking Victoria's Secret, stuff from Sephora, you know, the clear stuff that usually tastes fruity. It's great for photos,and attracting the fellas, but lets be honest- it's sticky and if you get your hair caught in it good luck untangling that mess! Hair stuck to the mouth is not at all sexy.Plus it's not very soothing.
- Burt's Bees- the ultimate in lip care. it cools, it soothes, it costs 3-4 dollars a tube !
- Medicated stuff in tubs- I'll give it credit for working, because it totally does. But, you end up with its greasiness all over your fingers and smell like a sick person. Good luck getting the boy to kiss you when your lips smell like BenGay. Too high a price for smooth lips.
-Classic White Blistex- it works great, no mess on your fingers,the tingling feels cool, but the white residue it leaves on your lips, well that's not going to help any girl's work reputation, now is it?
Now do you understand why I can't choose just one?

My Folks are on youtube!

Watch for the guy and the lady in the bee costume.. that's them! Sure, it's quick, but still, they're on youtube and I'm not... (plotting....)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WCyvbH9TkvY

Fitting In

My readers (and by “my readers I mean my 3 friends who visit my blog when they’re bored) may be wondering why I decided to start blogging. That’s simple. This is the first September in 17 years that I’m not in school and I miss not having assignments, so this helps fill that void. Also, it helps me keep my mind off the looming bar results (next Friday) by giving me something else to focus on. That’s the stock, what-I-would-tell-people-who-I-don’t-know-well-enough-to-be-honest-answer.
The real reason has nothing to do with boredom prevention and everything to do with Shannon. But not in a purely “Shannon had a blog first so I decided to copy her like a 12 year old girl who wears black nail polish because ‘Miley Cyrus does too!’ ” I met Shannon my senior year in College. She was rushing my sorority and I desperately wanted her to join. She was fun, laid back, and really pretty. We joke around that I’m her big sister in our hearts (it’s ok, Jen will never read this). As a big sister you teach your little sister all about Greek life. Well maybe I did, but Shannon taught me about real life.
I spent most of my middle school and high school years trying to fit in by suppressing parts of myself. Don’t pull out the tissues, this is not an after school special- I had a great time in school with great friends & memories. But along the way I lost little pieces of myself to fit in. I hid the fact that I love to read (because it’s nerdy) I stopped wearing flats and started wearing heels (because you can’t go on a date in sneakers!) I wore contacts and makeup every singe day and I bought ridiculously expensive clothes from Abercrombie because that was what all the coolest kids wanted to wear. Enter Shannon.
I’ve been friends with Shannon for 4 years now and along the way she’s shown me the power in being yourself and not apologizing for it. Shannon’s obsessed with scrapbooking, not obsessed with doing dishes, listens to country music, is religious, loves Pearl Jam, gets queasy at the thought of sharing anything dairy, and reads Nicholas Sparks books. She refuses to wear short skirts or dye her hair and is such a bargain hunter that I’ve seen her analyze the value meal versus the dollar menu at McDonalds to find the better deal. I’ve benefited from these traits literally (she got me an extra $50 off my wedding dress!) but also in that it’s given me the courage to flaunt my hobbies too. I take my knitting to work, talk about every book I read, don’t hide the fact that I like to eat healthy and if I don’t feel like putting on makeup or wearing my contacts, I don’t.
Shannon’s also the only person I know who doesn’t view graduation from college as the finishing line in choosing a career. She takes photography classes (she’s GREAT- she’s shooting my wedding, check out her blog for photos!) She’s even applying to go back to school to get her teaching certificate. She’s not letting just one role define her and I really admire that. It’s inspired me to realize that even if I don’t pass the bar, there are other things I could do, things that I want to do. Like open a bakery. Become a wedding crafter. Or write.

So in sum, Shannon has shown me the value in being comfortable with myself. (thanks Chica). The funny part is, Cosmo just did an entire article on the same thing, so now we’re cool without even trying.

Partial Retraction

So, what Lauren actually said was not to speak ill of her people (i.e. the Mexican folk) not her. So it's possible that I didn't have to write that last post. But I find it amusing and therefore it stays.
P.S. to Lauren- You can't stake claim to your ethnicity now just because Jessica Alba and JLo made it "cool" to be Latina. You don't even eat rice and beans, you eat pancakes.

She's Going to Hurt Me For This

Lauren is my best friend from high school. She's crazy fun (emphasis on the crazy), fashionable, loud and likes to hit people. She sent me a message asking me specifically to not speak ill of her on this blog. Obviously she still doesn't know me after our 10+ years of friendship, because if you give me an order like that, the first thing I'm going to do is look for a way to start trouble. However, because I love her, and because as an almost-lawyer I'm trained to look for the loopholes, I will not speak ill of her. No, not at all. Because everything that follows it TRUE:
1. Held me down and sat on my chest on the auditorium freshman year in high school while exclaiming;" If you die I get your part as a dancer, DIE, DIE!" (I was a dancing nurse in South Pacific. She got to waive a flower around as a glorified prop)
2. Chased me around her bedroom in an attempt to cut off a lock of my hair so that she could tape it into a notebook (what can I say, it was when that movie The Craft was huge). Succeeded in attempt by throwing me facedown on hardwood floor with my head dangling over the top of the stairs. My hair took 2 years to heal.
3. At 2:30 a.m. during a sleepover in my basement decided that I needed to "learn how to fight", put on Rough Riders, and attacked me. The music and my girly squeals awoke my stepdad. The look on his face when he found us at 3 a.m. with me pinned to the floor and her yelling,” Protect your nose!" was priceless.
Her enthusiasm (i.e. violent tendencies) hasn't always been directed towards me. She has also:
1. Smashed hole in the hallway wall by shoving little brother backwards.
2. While at a party at her mother's coworker's house, tackled her mom to the ground when she though her mom was going to tell her crush she liked him. Thankfully Shirley was a little tipsy and laughed off the fact that she had grass stains and leaves in her hair in front of her boss.
3. Unhinged her jaw and attempted to eat her little brother's head while screaming in his face that "Oo, she would NOT get him juice! He was 4 at the time. He's in his teens now and still whimpers a bit when you say the words, "fruit punch".
Sometimes her violence is self-directed. I have seen her:
1. Break 2 bed frames by dancing on them.
2. Twist herself into a strand of Christmas tree lights.
3. Fall over a speed bump while running.
4. Punch a door open with her fist while simultaneously falling up a flight of stairs.
5. Fall out of a booth at Friendly's and onto the floor (yes, she was sober).
6. Climb onto the curb and declare "I'm going to jump!" and then hobble around in a circle as though one leg was shorter than the other (yes, she was drunk).

I could go on for hours. I could talk about our boy debacles, walking adventures, and the thing that used to make her a lil' bit country, but frankly I fear her retribution at this point so I'll stop. I'm banking on the fact that I won't see her for a few months so hopefully her anger will fade. And if not, well, I've been taking Kickboxing....

Tuesday mornings at 7:30

My new apartment has great maintenance staff. At to my old place, my landlord couldn't be bothered to change the lightbulbs or put a lock on the front door, thereby turning any nightime trips to my front door into a game of "Open-door-in-dark-really-fast-and-pray-there's-no-one waiting-in-the-stairwell-to-kill-me". It was so bad that I used my cell phone as a light source to find the keyhole. And on nights that my cell phone was dead, well, I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.
But not at the new place. When the locks need to be changed, the toliet goes on the fritz, the door won't close, etc., it's taken care of by Vic and his merry band of immigrants within hours. It's like we're living at the Plaza.
Except on Tuesday mornings at 7:30. That's when Victor and his elves inevitably decide to do something LOUD- whether it's mowing the lawn right outside my bedroom window (this morning), hammering something down in the yard outside my window(3 weeks ago) or jackhammering in the street (ok, so that was the City, not the maintenance guys, but STILL- it was a TUESDAY morning at 7:30!!).
Now, I understand that most people are awake at 7:30 a.m., in fact, there are some crazies out there that are already gone for work for the day by then. But I am not one of them. I'm a fuss free kind of girl and I have it worked out so that I can get up at 8:10 and still make it to work at 9. Kyle would happliy sleep to 10 every day if he could. Still, we decided not to complain to the landlord lest we look like lazy sleepy people (which we are, but we don't want people to know that) and we don't want to upset the elves, just in case the toliet ever starts acting up again.
But 2 weeks ago the Victor and his merry band of followers crossed the line. At 7:25 we awake to hear loud, cheerful Spainish coming from the grass outside the bedroom. "I can deal with this," I thought. "Sure, I'm awake, but there's no tools making noise and maybe if I fall back to sleep I'll have an exotic dream of being in Mexico." Then suddenly I hear a loud metal thud outside the window and hear "clank-clank-clank". I sit up and look out the window and lock eyes with a small brown man who's head and shoulders are now blocking my view of the pretty elm tree across the street. This is distressing, especially given the level of clothing Kyle and I chose to wear while sleeping. I make a dive for the blankets and force Kyle out of bed to close the curtains. I'm mortified, and very glad that I don't speak Spainish, because otherwise the next time I run into the elves would very uncomfortable. Suddenly jackhammers don't seem so evil after all.

The hunt for OJ

Maybe it's a karma thing, or God's way of telling us to be more frugal, but Kyle & I often find ourselves in the position of wanting to buy something and then not being able to. Don't get me wrong, it's not for lack of trying, it's like once we decide to buy something and get in the car and start to drive to the store, a message must go out over some radio system we don't know of that says, "Attention Target staff, remove all (insert coveted object here) from the store shelves, Meg & Kyle are coming and we do not want their money!" This really is a reoccurring issue with us. It's happened with the most mundane objects: laptop desks, wine bottle stoppers, teeth grinding guards, expo markers. And inevitably, after going to several stores and finally finding whatever it was we were looking for, for the next month we will see the previously elusive object EVERYWHERE, and at a much lower price then what we paid for it.
Sunday night was a particularly horrible experience. Kyle had been feeling stuffy all evening and wanted some OJ (he's convinced that drinking large quantities of OJ will prevent him from getting sick. Personally I'm not sure if it really works or if it's just a placebo effect but if it makes him feel better who am I to comment) so we decided to run out and get a bottle of OJ and some milk since we were out of that too. It was just about 10:00p.m. which may seem late, but remember we don't have kids and we relish the freedom to just get up and go because we realize in a few years that luxury will be gone when we reproduce. So we know from the getgo that Stop & Shop is closed, because in this Puritan rooted state a person can't purchase food on Sunday nights. But no worries, we thought, Walmart will be open- Walmart's always open right? Wrong. After a 15 minute drive we arrive at Walmart, eyes glossy with the promise of low priced OJ (and maybe a bottle of hair dye if I can charm Kyle into it, asmy roots are getting out of control) but GASP- the Wal is closed at 10 as well. It's now 10:05 p.m. and though slightly deflated I am not completely deterred. The Rite-Aid down the street from our apartment- that's gotta be open 24/7. After all, people get sick in the middle of the night and need cold meds right? At the very least it's got to be open until 11 pm. Nope. We ride all the way back to the apartment to the Rite Aid that is close enough for us to walk to from our place if we are feeling ambitious, but it's locked up tighter than the HP novels before their midnight release. Kyle is ready to throw in the towel at this point but he's sneezing so badly it's like listening to a machine gun go off so I refuse to give up." The gas station!" I excitedly exclaimed, pointing to the less than savory looking minimart next to Rite Aid. Kyle feebly agrees, more to shut me up I think than anything else, even though he did point out that the gas station price for a single serving bottle of OJ was likely to be nearly as much as a whole 1/2 gallon of it at the grocery store, but I didn't care, by that point I just wanted to accomplish our goal of getting some darn OJ! So we walk into the mini mart, avoid eye contact with the shady guy swaying at the counter and begin the hunt through the greasy glass cases for a bottle of Florida's best. After nearly 5 minutes of searching we find a bottle of OJ crammed into the cooler in the very back of the store. Triumphant, we march up to the counter where I proudly plunk down the OJ bottle and Kyle brandishes his debit card. And then we exchange a blank stare with the Indian owner who just glares at us and doesn't say anything. After about 30 seconds of uncomprehending silence I ask, "What's the total?" He mumbles, " No card." "What? " "No Cards." Crap. We are so close to OJ glory, and now this. After a minute and a half I finally manage to extract from the owner that there is a $10 minimum charge for debit card purchase. Kyle refuses to buy $7 dollars worth of gas station snack foods so we return the OJ to the cooler (I may have put it back with the label not facing out as a small sign of protest) and return home OJless. All that energy and time wasted and no vitamin C to make up for it. Kyle sneezed all night. But it all ended well-when I got home from work today there was a gallon of OJ in the fridge instead of our usual 1/2 gallon and Kyle had finally stopped sneezing.