Wild Horses

My sister once told me that the best word to describe herself was "priggish."  I've finally realized that my word would be "restless" (Um, yes, we are definitely different).  

I'm not talking about wandering-the-world-in-pursuit-of-truth restless.  I'm talking about unveiled daydreaming and what's to come.  I have a hard time being content with my current position at any given time, whatever that may be.  I am always wondering about where I'll go next, what I'll do next, what I should be doing to get there, who I'll go with, and if that is really the best option for me.  Rarely do I stop and mediate on the present moment and enjoy it for what it's worth.  But while reaching for the next-best-thing, I tend to leave a wake of destruction in the form of wasted money, half-finished projects, confusing goals, and the worst, hurt feelings of people I care about.  And in the end, I end up traveling in circles.

Lately, I've notice several things (and people) leading me toward a more patient point-of-view:

My friend Lucie's obsession with Yoga.  

From the handful of times I've been to yoga class, I know that a central tenant is to be aware of the present moment and to accept that moment for what it is.  This could come in handy when I'm sitting in class daydreaming about being elsewhere.  I can't be elsewhere, I must be in class, so I will maximize that time by face-stalking/e-mailing/reading my friends' blogs (I know, I know!  My attention span only last for 40 minutes).  I should celebrate law school for what it is:  a less-fun version of undergrad (ok, much less) but with many of the same perks (open schedule, student discounts, and sleeping in on Friday mornings).  Few people, including myself, characterize law school as fun, but it is an amazing opportunity to soak in new information and learn.

 My mom's obsession with Ekhart Tolle's A New Earth and all things Oprah.

Many of my mother's theories border on hokey new ageism...with a side of Ralph Lauren (just like Oprah!).  But this one really struck me:  Tolle's theory is that if we're always looking toward the future, we never actually enjoy our lives because we can't be happy in the present.  Makes perfect sense, right?  And yet, I've been living my life for all those things that I don't know about in the future instead of enjoying the fact that I am a young woman with few responsibilities and several good things going for me.  As I write, the sun in shining outside and my weekend has started.  That's a good enough reason as any to celebrate!

Finding my eggs.

Thanks to my friend Michael, who pointed out the theory of "finding your eggs" from the movie The Runaway Bride.  Remember how Julia Robert's character doesn't know what kind of eggs she likes because she just eats whatever her current beaux is eating?  She had to find her eggs in order to solve that little runaway problem.  And so do I.  Now I happen to know that I prefer my eggs gently scrambled with whole milk, topped with cheese and salsa.  But there are several things I don't know about myself, and now is as good a time as any to find out.  Day by day, I'm going to do my research.  (I think I'll start with the epic yoga v. pilates debate.)

The best years of my grandmother's life.

My grandmother (who will be 93 in June!) has always told me that the best years of her life were her 20's and 30's before she got married.  When I was young, this always sounded a little crazy to me.  I always thought that the best years of my life would happen when I got married, bought a house, had 2.2 and a white picket fence.  But now I think I knew what she meant.    Why long for the fence when you got wide open spaces right in front of you?  

I don't ever want to walk a straight line in life.  But I do want to wander a road that has kinks, quirks, dips, and even a few mud puddles. I no longer want to be restless, but I don't want to be at rest either.  I want to skip down the road, dog at my side, smiling at the sunshine, loving life simply because I get to be part of it.  

I'll start by doing that today.

(cue "Wild Horses" as Lulu and I trot down Hepburn Avenue....)

Love and Leases

Not to be a Debbie Downer, but I utterly despise moving.  Truly, Madly, Deeply...I hate it.

Despite this fact, I have managed to make 5 different moves since I graduated from college in 2005 (oh my god, that was three years ago?!).  And no, I haven't been hopping from one glamorous locale to the next, I've just been meandering up and down Interstate 65...and Bardstown Rd. in Louisville.  Hopefully, the newest place will hold me down until I graduate in May 2009...at which point I will have the pleasure of strapping my KitchenAid in my front seat and toting it to another locale (yes, I really do that). 

I have found a few positives about moving, most notably:  

1. I make great friends with the folks at Goodwill...and my house is less cluttered.  I tried very hard to follow the if-you-haven't-worn-in-a-year-throw-it-out rule...but I just might need the dress that I wore to a wedding in September of 2007, so I'm hanging onto that one anyway.

2. I find old things I thought I had lost.  I had given up all hope of finding my high school t-shirt quilt and a pair of earrings given to me by the recently-ex-boyfriend, but lo and behold! they showed up during the move.  :)

3. Moving somewhere new gives me false hope that I will become an organized person...and it lasts for almost a month!  I have yet to organized my new place, so the clock hasn't started running yet.  And Spring Break is in 2 weeks, so this means I might be organized until April!

4. I forgot how much I liked living by myself.  If this makes me weird, I don't care.  No need to worry that my roommates will hear me belting it out to Wino while I get ready or notice that I've eaten 2 pints of ice cream in one week.  No more pesky money-swapping during monthy bill paying, no more "who did that?!" and no more sharing anything.  I realize that this makes me a selfish person, but I'm willing to call a spade a spade.  I love my personal space and "me time."  (I still love you Meggie and Claire-Bear!!!)

5. I usually end up reflecting on "LIFE" and where the heck mine is headed.  This is especially pertinent this time around.  As stated in a previous post, I've recently gone through a major break-up.  Put that event within 2 months of moving to a new house and I don't even need to say it out loud that I've been doing some major thinking.  

The major Topics of Thought include but are not limited to (oh my god, I'm so lawyer-y) my non-existent career, traveling, my finances (what finances?!), my family, where to move to next, and of course, men.  

And after all that thinking, I came to the same conclusion for each Topic:  I either need that or I do NOT need that.  Finances and a career?  Yup, need that in the pretty near future.  Travel?  Definitely need some of that VERY soon.  But men?  NO.  DO NOT NEED THAT.  

Maybe having a man in your life is like having roommates.  Sometimes you just have to admit that you like living alone and you don't need someone to split the bills.  Signing a lease for a one bedroom apartment, shluffing all my own stuff into it, and sitting down at the end of the day and hearing...nothing...is an incredibly refreshing experience.  By moving out on my own again, I realized that I'm happy being alone in another space in my life--a relationship.  It's time for some "me time."  A relationship with myself.  

And I need that.   

Applications Available: Inquire Within.

Let's just put it out there:  Break-ups suck.  Really.  

No matter which way you look at it, it's a crappy experience.  You spend too much time rehashing what went wrong, what you could have done better, why you stopped trying, what he should have done to make you want to try, what he never did and was never going to do, the point where it all went wrong, and for some reason questioning why it still won't work now.  And at the end of that thought train, you're left with one conclusion:  there ain't no goin' back, whether you want to or not.  You can pick up the pieces of yourself and move on, or you can gain 20 lbs. Bridget Jones style and cry yourself to sleep.  

I've had the joy of going through several break-ups, and I've decided that I'm done with that.  To ensure that my most recent break-up will be the last, I'm posting my requirements for The Next One.  

WANTED:  

A grown-up man who likes to cuddle but will never admit that to The Guys.  

Deal breakers:  Must be a non-smoker, love dogs (especially mine), and should understand that Sunday is for football games. No blondes.  Must be at least 6' tall and weigh 75+ lbs. more than me (if you need further clarification on this point, stop reading).  Must be willing to fix clogged sinks, take out the trash, and buy me ice cream without pointing out the size of my ass.  NO UK FANS. No mama's boys.

Preferred characteristics:  Over the age of 27 (30+ preferred), likes to cook, eats red meat.  Ability to fix/build things a major plus.  Curly hair preferred but I'm flexible.  NO fans of the Patriots, Duke, Purdue, or any team from Dallas.  Must get along with my Dad and Brother-in-law and charm my Mama.  Must give forehead kisses and back rubs on frequent basis.  Democrats highly preferred.

Other criteria: 

1. Crying is acceptable, as long as the subject of your tears is because your team lost, your dog died, or the misfortunes of the Bush administration.

2. Must live East of the Mississippi, South of the Mason Dixon line.  Indianapolis residents are a rare exception, but only if you refuse to live in Hamilton County.  

3. Indy 500 attendance is mandatory, no exceptions.  

4. Must agree to live in funky, historic home.  No vinyl suburbs allowed.  Must be willing to do major renovation work on said home.

5. Flowers and jewelry are acceptable gifts, appliances and electronics are NOT (unless specifically requested).  However, cards, love letters, mix CDs, and other sweet, thoughtful, sentimental gifts are preferred.

6. Should understand that I will never:  be a stay-at-home mom, shovel snow, get fake boobs, or  like crappy man-action movies.  

7. I expect you to buy tampons.  If you're not man enough to do this, you're not man enough for me.

8. Lie and tell me I am beautiful in the morning when my 'fro is up and breath is bad.

9. Never question my shopping habits.  Just believe me when I tell you it was on sale.  

10. I will compromise on holidays but I will never be happy about it, and prefer not to do so.  How can be beat Christmas with the Clark Griswold's?  Key word is compromise.

If you think you meet these criteria, apply in person.  No long distance applications will be accepted.  

_____________________

Now I'll just sit back and wait for the applicants to flood in.  In my dreams, of course.

Coffee and...Kiddos?

Excuse me while I get my bitch on.  I'll get back to being cute and cheeky tomorrow. 

This morning, I had a mission:  to teach myself Secured Transactions.  If you don't what that means, don't worry...I don't either.  Something about attachment and perfection and description of the collateral.  In short, some kind of law that banks use and therefore I only need to know enough of it to pass the bar.  

Back to my point:  I was on a mission to learn this stuff.  As part of my quest, I went to my new favorite coffee shop which is just far enough off the beaten path to be clean, quiet, and the probability of running into another law student is slim.  After 20 blissful minutes of studying (i realize this is an oxymoron), I was approached by a father-looking figure wearing a Nowka-esque outfit of pleated cords and a shirt that definitely came from Orvis.   Said father-figure warned me that there would be a children's poetry reading in 10 minutes, asked if I would kindly move my 30 lbs. of books so he could watch his sweet little darling.  Since I try to be a good person, I smiled and moved my computer, three books, large chai, and derrière.  I plugged in my headphones and cranked up the tunes.  No harm, no foul.

WRONG.  The kids I could handle.  Of course, they were adorable and perfect and lovely.  And I expected the noise.  They weren't the problem.  But...their parents were straight from HELL.  I wish I was joking.  Apparently, if you are the parent of a seven year-old, this means you are the most important person on the planet and you no longer have to use common courtesy.  This includes:

1. Giving dirty looks to the student (who is still earnestly trying to study) because she is clearly a bad person for imposing on your child's special poetry-reading day.  She needs to leave NOW.  Never-mind the fact that this a public place.

2. Talking VERY LOUDLY when you are literally 4 inches from the student's face (Nope, I'm not over-exaggerating here).

3. Bumping into a law student's computer, nearly knocking it off the table, and then glaring at the law student because it is CLEARLY her fault for being in your way.  And don't even think of apologizing.  This is apparently unnecessary. 

4. Glaring at the law student when her phone makes a tiny text-message-received beep.  This noise is loud, irritating, and makes it impossible for you to hear your child scream, "Mommy!  Look!  I'm pouring the half-and-half all over the floor!"

5. Leaving the bathroom door propped open for the convenience of the kiddies.  When the big people (i.e. the law student) need to use the restroom and shut the door, this is evil.  Upon their exit from the restroom, you should tell your child, "It's okay, honey, some people need privacy."  

Suffice to say, I got very little Secured studying done.  As I was leaving, Orvis-man apologized.  Which was very sweet and genuine, so he is forgiven.  But the obese lady in the horrendous hot pink blazer (yes, with shoulder pads) is NOT forgiven and she's lucky that my computer survived her ass bump.  I would really like a new MacBook Air and she looked like she could definitely finance it.

Aside from just being bitchy, I really think the children-in-coffee-shop phenomenon has gone too far.  It's fine if you need to get your latte fix (I empathize) and happen to have the babies along.  Heck, buy 'em a hot chocolate and make their day.  But I feel that many parents have forgotten Mommy Nila's golden rule of parenting:  Your little bundle of joy should not impose on the joy of the big folks in the room. I know, I know.  Let kids be kids, kids make noise, etc.  And I get that, really.  But there's a time and place for that.  Mama Nila always let us know that we could be wild at home, but she expected us to be well behaved in public.

More importantly, what happened to the real Golden Rule?  Why is it suddenly okay to do whatever you want, even if it disturbs other people?  When did we become a ME-ME-ME society and stop caring about how our actions affected those around us?  I see it when I drive, when I'm shopping, and yes, in the coffee shop.  Don't get me wrong, I thought the poetry reading was a great idea.  I didn't even mind that it imposed on my studying.  But I do mind that several parents had a you're-in-MY-way attitude.  Ok, so you're a parent and I'm not.  But I do take my education just as seriously as you take your child's poetry.  So let's play nice and share the public space.  

That's all I'm saying:  Let's get back to the Do-Unto-Others.

As if I needed another reason to procrastinate...

...another reason presented itself today.

Two of my favorite authors, Geraldine Brooks and Sue Miller, released new books recently.  Admittedly, I was not enamored with Miller's last book, Lost in the Forest, but it's hard to beat her earlier works (my personal favorite being While I Was Gone).  So I'm always willing to give her another chance, and her newest looks promising.  

But my real love--Geraldine Brooks--owns my heart.  I first learned of Brooks' work when I randomly picked up Year of Wonders at a used book store during my senior year of college.  Instant love.  I read it, instantly re-read it, and passed it along to anyone who would accept my abused copy.  And then...

March.  The book that still weighs on my mind.  Rich descriptions, good plot, etc.  I don't plan on pretending that I am qualified to critique a Pulitzer Prize winner.  I only want to note that Brooks uniquely and beautifully constructs genuine and believable characters.  I found myself empathizing with even the most vulgar characters--and, more importantly, the non-vulgar characters that we "moral" humans are supposed to despise for their "poor" choices--because their emotions and actions were so truly human.  Brooks doesn't try to create the perfect protagonist; rather, she creates a REAL character who is so flawed that the reader must love him...because it's impossible not to see yourself in his actions.  It's impossible not to notice my own reaction to the "wrong" choice...only to realize that the character's action is more moral than the "right" choice.  

Brooks has really examined human actions and the motivations behind them (probably based on her many experiences as a global reporter).  Not only can she speak to our own inner workings, she is able to translate them gorgeously into print.  

In short, she's genius and I will probably go buy this book today.   If you see me, tell me not to go to Carmichael's.  Please.  For the sake of my grades, stop me.

Or don't.  :)

I'm not bitter...I just have good taste

I'll just say it:  I HATE Valentine's Day.  Really.  I hate it for all the same reasons you hate it:

1. I hate the commercialism--people spending money they don't have just to buy bad jewelry, mediocre chocolates, and the little teddy bears that some poor Thai child got paid two cents to sew. 

2.  I hate that there is a set day that you're supposed to tell someone you love them.  This should be an everyday thing, right?  Of course.  And no, I am NOT bitter because I don't have anyone to tell this to.  Really, I'm not.  Not even a little.  Not one teeny bit.    

3. I don't like glitter, sequins, or pastel colors on greeting cards.  As Wino says, No, No, No.

4. I was one of those traumatized children in grade school who never got Valentine's from the cute boys.  Who thought it was a good idea to put the Valentine's bags at the front of the room so everyone else could witness the pain and misery of my sad little bag?  (I'm only slightly bitter about this)

Now that I've spun the traditional arguments against Valentine's Day, let me just share the real reason I hate this so-called "holiday."  Pink + Red + Purple = UNACCEPTABLE DISASTER.  There is no excuse for this, EVER.  Not for 3 year-old girls, not for sweets, not for dolls, not for Mary Kay Cadillacs.  NADA.  Naturally, I hate the holiday that uses this as an acceptable color combination.   You will not see me in this horrid palette tomorrow, no ma'am!  Admittedly, I would be untrue to myself if I didn't wear something semi-fitting (hmm...my peony-pink babydoll top from Anthro?  Red Ann Taylor sweater with cute buttons?) but you will not catch me in the unholy trinity.  

And I'm not sending Valentines either.  ;) 

The Things We Do: Reflections on Being a (Girly) Girl

My morning was pretty typical:  I woke up, slugged down some coffee, and crammed in some last-minute reading before class.  And of course, I showered and got ready...despite the fact that I was only slightly prepared for class.  I never did finish the Evidence reading, but showering and fixing my hair definitely took precedence.  I can always B.S. in class, but I can't fake clean hair, right?  Right.  So off to the shower.

Halfway through my shower, the hot water heater decided to give up (this is a reoccurring fact at my house).  At the same moment, my shower caddy decided to fall off the wall, making for a lovely flourish of cold water and shampoo bottles landing on my head.  I'm entirely innocent when it comes to the hot water heater, but I knew the shower caddy was destined to fall.  It could only hold 4 bottles of Aveda shampoo/conditioner, 3 bottles of body wash, 2 bottles of face wash, shaving cream, a bath poofy, razor, and hair clip for so long.  But really, I NEED all those things.  NEED. 

After my traumatic shower, I didn't feel like going through the hassle of putting on makeup and getting ready.  But as I stared at my bulging makeup bag, I felt like I had to do the preparation.  I mean, there is probably $500 of makeup in there!  Not to mention that I have a growing motley of forehead/eye wrinkles that need to be covered up (I swear, I woke up on my 25th birthday to find them suddenly there...).  So I did my girly routine of moisturizing (face, arms, legs), make-up, perfume, and drying my hair...all while grumbling about my two X chromosomes.

As I was burning my fingers off while straightening my hair with the Chi, a thought hit me:  "Why the hell am I doing this?"  I spent 15 minutes fixing my hair, only to walk in the extreme winds on my way to class, where absolutely no one will care if the back of my hair has a kink.  Let's be honest--law school is not exactly a fashion parade.  But nevertheless, I still stood there and burned off my fingers for 5 more minutes to ensure that the back of my hair was, in fact, perfectly straight.  Because in the grand scheme of things, that really matters.  Definitely. 

Finally, I got dressed, which was more like a clothes circus:  jumping through hoops (i.e. into tights), rings of fire (me cursing), cannonballs (clothes hurled on the floor as I changed my mind), etc.  Well over an hour of pulling, priming, prepping, powdering, perfuming, and pain later, I was ready.  As I looked in the mirror one final time, I answered my own question:  Because I secretly like jumping through all the hoops.  It makes me feel like a woman, whether that's right or wrong.  When I feel pretty, I feel better about myself.  It's that simple.  And the fact that if I can't be the smartest girl in law school, I can try to be the best dressed.  

And will I do it all tomorrow?  You bet.  But hopefully the hot water lasts. 

I am officially a blogger...

...I feel so Gen Y.  But I'm excited to share my thoughts and vignettes with you!  Welcome!