...and I moved!

In light of major changes in my life, and the fact that Blogger is a part of Google, and Google is increasingly taking over the internet and every shred of our privacy along with it, I decided to switch blogging platforms and create a new blog at the same time. Every time I write a blog post, every time I start a blog, I wonder if I should announce it to my people from Real Life. I blog under the assumption that there are people I know from real life reading, but I never directly address it. Maybe on this next blog, I will.

For those of you (are there any of you?) who have continued to click on my new blog posts, who have continued to check for updates... please consider the new blog an extension of the this one. Except instead of learning to cope with being on the dark-half of my twenties, it starts with me at age 30, a newly minted lawyer and expecting a baby. So, whoo-hoo! Here we go...

Studying for the bar now.

I am actually studying for the Bar. I'm actually studying for the Bar! Woo-eee! I feel like I've arrived :)

Hmm. Ask me again in four weeks. I suspect I'll be singing a different tune. I just can't believe I'm now doing what all those law blawgers were doing when I started following them 3 or 4 years ago, as I was considering whether to apply. Sweet!

Graduation day

I graduate today, and it's a surreal feeling. Seems like just a year ago that I was living in Richmond with T, working at my old HR job and fooling around with LSAT books. We lived in a bigger apartment, had a porch, weren't married, had two paychecks, I was bored with my work, we were close to family, T ran a printing press every day and we were four years younger.

I never, even then, would've seen myself as a "law student" much less a "lawyer". Throughout the entire application process, right up until the first day of school, I went through the motions with my tongue planted in my cheek. It all felt silly, almost. Buying a cheap backpack at Target with T the night before my first classes, because the messenger bag I'd used for work wasn't gonna cut it with all those case books I had to lug around. Getting used to all that free time during the day, when I could be at coffee shops or chatting with my new classmates. All those meet-and-greets with professors and other students, like I was back in college. Oh wait. I WAS back in college. It just didn't seem real. And once again, it doesn't seem real.

In between, I got accustomed to the classes, the free time, the other students, the backpack, the test anxiety, the casebooks and the latin. It almost began to feel completely normal. This really hit home a couple weeks ago when I made a dark joke about the death penalty to a group of non-law school friends and was met with concerned looks. I quickly went to explain myself: "Sorry, I'm in a habeas corpus class this semester. Humor is a coping mechanism." My friends looked at me like I had two heads and then proceeded to make fun of me for the rest of the evening for using the phrase "habeas corpus" in casual conversation. I don't blame them.

Anyway, I guess I was gonna get three years old whether or not I went to law school. But now that I'm graduating, it's as good a time as any to reflect on being three years older. I remember thinking, at the beginning of this journey, "Woah... I'm gonna be getting ready to turn 30 the year I graduate," and being horrified at how old that would be. I've gotten used to the concept of turning 30, along with a lot of other things. Unlike three years ago, when I first matriculated, I have no idea what the next three years will bring. I'm back to the normal adult world of choices and job hunting and making a paycheck and charting a path to the future without a map.

But before all that, I have to go celebrate with all the family that's come into town, and then do one last final test of endurance: the bar exam. So for the next 6? 8? weeks I'll be holed up cramming bits of knowledge into my brain on a tightly planned schedule. And come August, I'll be let loose into the world again.

If not now, when

I can think of a lot of reasons why I should be nervous right now. Job search. Student loans. Moving out of the firetrap. General anxiety about "The Future" and all that.

Yet I find myself more content, more happy than I've been perhaps since I started law school. I'm learning to accept my life for what it is, rather than what I want it to be. I have no idea what my life will look like six months from now. Why should I? Instead, I'll put my entire focus on making the present count for all it's worth.

Sometime soon, I'll make a more substantive blog entry. For now, I'm off to be with T.

The JE Guide to Life gets rich!

And sometimes that music drifts through my car
On a spring night when anything is possible
And I close my eyes and I nod my head
And I wonder how you been and I count to a hundred and ten
Because you’ll always be my hero, even if I never see you again
- The Dismemberment Plan, "Back and Forth"

On Thursday, the Dismemberment Plan is playing in the Big City. One of my favorite bands from my late teens and early twenties, the Plan was awesome, danceable indie rock of the kind that cannot be described, merely listened to. Or maybe I just am not the one to describe. But listen, seriously, I promise you'll like it.

Anyway, they are playing here on Thursday, after having played a couple of big reunion shows in their (and my) hometown of DC. Although I eschew reunion shows as a hard and firm rule (including, and especially, my most teen-angsty favorite band of all time, the Smashing Pumpkins) this is The One True Exception. Even six years ago, when they apparently played a 2005 reunion show as a benefit in DC, I didn't have the heart to come out and dance on the Dismemberment Plan stage again. But now is a different time. I am a different me.

I am, of course, the person I am today because of everything that I was in the time leading up to this moment. I once heard that people change their fundamental personalities every 10 years. Not that I believe it, but I see the general point. We evolve and grow as people, and it should be that way. But do we owe anything to our former selves? Do I owe it to my 20-year old self to go out to a concert on a Thursday night and dance along to music that moved me so fervently 10 years ago, but that I rarely listen to anymore? (Although when I do, I am still transported to that happy place at the side of the main stage at the Black Cat wearing a Salvation Army t-shirt and bright pink hat.)

Am I driven to see the Dismemberment Plan out of some allegiance or some desperate reach for my younger self, or is this something that almost-30 year old me wants to do for herself? The reason I don't usually go to reunion concerts is because I'm usually interested in letting bygones stay that way. In this case, I think I'm doing this for the me of Now. And I don't think I'm the only one.

In reading Facebook posts and Tweets and all sorts of other social media updates I've been watching my friends that are still in the DC area going through their own Dismemberment Plan revivals. Hell, just reading band interviews it's been pretty clear that the band is deliberately reliving its past from a very different place. Everyone in the band has "real jobs" and nobody is trying (as of yet... supposedly) to turn this into a new career. Just like all my college friends and I have moved on in our lives from that time when we would drive up on school nights, park somewhere on 14th St. and wolf down seitan burgers at Food For Thought before the first band came on stage, getting back to the dorms at somewhere past 2 am to stumble into bedrooms darkened by our already sleeping roommates.

It's a different place in life for all of us. Some of my friends are parents. Some of them are highly specialized and extremely well-paid careerists. Some are both. Some live in communal houses in the city, work day jobs in social services and play in bands at night. Some teach high schoolers, college kids. Some are working behind bars or counters. Some have supported their parents through the end of life. Who knows where we'll be in another ten years. We're just getting through our twenties.

So I guess this D Plan show is kind of a reunion of sorts. Even though I'm not getting to go with all the same people I used to dance with, and even though my self-consciousness will probably be uncomfortably palpable, I am looking forward to reconnecting with a feeling that isn't (yet) anchored in age. The joy of possibility. I was about 19 or 20 when I went to see a Plan show with my friend K, a decidedly anti-scenester (that's what we used to call hipsters) non-indie-rock loving friend who simply agreed to accompany me, probably out of boredom. At the end of the night, even he was smiling at the unselfconsciousness of the dancing, the fun and excitement that radiated from the band, the music and the audience. If this show fails to replicate that moment, I won't be surprised. But that's okay, because when I turn on my iPod and listen to The City, I feel thrilled for who I was at the beginning of my twenties, and excited for what my thirties are going to be. In a way, maybe, it's letting go of the past and acknowledging that even this moment is the brink of a new era. Who knows how I'll look back on it. Right now, I'm just feeling ready to embrace it.

We exhaust ourselves trying to get there.
- The Dismemberment Plan, "Back and Forth"

A soccer adventure, or how I forgot I was in law school for one night

Last night, I felt like I got a taste of my life in the days before law school was even a twinkle in my eye. Ironically, it started with my skipping class to study Federal Courts.

I do that. Skip class, I mean. And skip it to study. There may be little to no logic in it, but I've realized that instead of beating myself up over it, I should just trust myself that I can learn the material, learn it well enough to do okay on tests and as long as I don't surpass my allowed absences, I need to go with my gut.

Anyway, that's what I was doing last night. I was set up in the little corner of our bedroom that's been designated as my study spot, and which I've recently rediscovered as a less distracting place to read than the couch in the living room. I'm working my way through supplemental jurisdiction and debating whether or not to read United Mine Workers v. Gibbs for the gazillionth time. So I decided to take a break and check facebook on my blackberry.

"COLOMBIA!!!" is the first status update I see listed on my friends page. And that's how I learned that the US was playing Colombia in an international friendly match last night. "We're coming up from DC on a party bus!" was the first comment on the status update. And that's how I realized that the US-Colombia match was going to be played in the Big City. Oh crap!

In typical me fashion, I got super excited extremely fast and immediately start scheming for ways to get tickets to the game, planning the best route to the new stadium (that's 30 minutes outside the City) and imagining all the shots of aguardiente (a popular Colombian liquor) I would be taking in the parking lot. I leap over to the iPod, put on the Diomedes Diaz and start a massive text message campaign.

Can you guess what happened next?

30 minutes later, my blood is still pumping fast, but I have realized that tickets to the game are going to run us a minimum of $35 a person for the worst seats, we'll have to pay $15 for parking, T is going to be tired when he gets home and everybody else is out of town or studying. Plus even the soccer bars in town didn't know about this match, or just didn't care enough to remember it. I can feel my dreams of a Colombian rumba slipping away. I settle on watching the game at the one local soccer bar that's got the game on its schedule. I find a friend who's up for going.

When T gets home, he's up for watching the game but less than excited about watching it at my selected bar, which is admittedly a jock chain irish pub and not exactly our preferred atmosphere. He suggests the local German beer house around the corner from us, where we caught many a World Cup game. I call them up and they agree to play the match. But when 8 o'clock rolls around, T is on the phone with his business partner and my other friend has already committed to meeting people at the jock pub. I walk over to the German bar alone.

Sitting in that German beer house alone, eating a soft Bavarian pretzel and watching old footage of the fateful Escobar auto-gol (can any Colombian match be shown on a US network without that clip being played) I started feeling sad. Sad because I couldn't find other people to share my excitement. Sad because I didn't care about the game so much as the camraderie. Sad because nobody else in the bar was watching the game, and because the damn place was blasting polka music. Sad because I was homesick for another country.

The game started late, and T showed up just as it began. I learned from striking up a conversation with an older couple at the bar that the bar's owners had actually gone to the game. They had a bunch of tickets they were selling to go as a caravan with bar regulars, but they couldn't even give them away. We had just missed them. It occurred to me that anybody in the Big City who actually care about the game was actually at the game.

"I'm sad we're not there," I said to T.

"You want to go?" he replied.

"No, there's no point." I sighed, fully invested in feeling sorry for myself. We sat in silence, trying to get excited for a minute. "I mean, by the time we get there, the game will be almost over," I added.

"We can go, if you want to."

"Well..." I considered it. Thought of all the reasons it wouldn't be worth it. And then thought about what would happen if we stayed. We would drink a couple more beers. I would muster up a little enthusiasm, but mostly continue to feel sad, and then we'd go home. The polka would continue to blast.

"Eff it, let's go." I looked at T to see if he was really okay with it. "Let's just do it, why not?"

"Okay," said T. "But I think the dog needs to go out."

So I handed T my credit card, told him to finish his drink and pay up, and I walked back to the apartment to walk our dog and grab the car keys. Five minutes later, we were on the road. Before we even left city limits, I felt a thousand times better. I didn't even care if we missed the game.

We didn't really have much of a plan. I'd grabbed some cash from T's sock drawer, but not enough for us to buy two tickets to the game. Besides, we weren't even sure how much time would be left by the time we got there. We just decided to go and see if we could figure something out once we were there. Maybe they'd let us in to see the last bit of the game. Maybe we'd just party with Colombianos in the lot. Maybe the whole thing would be a bust.

We spent the drive talking about our days, like we'd do if we had had dinner at home. I watched the city lights as we crossed the bridge, as if we were driving back to Virginia. It felt like an escape. With my stupid new little Blackberry as our guide, we fumbled our way through shitty parts of abandoned towns to get to the soccer stadium. We laughed at the marker on Google Maps for Chiang Jiang Chinese Food. T rolled his eyes when I insisted he use Google Street View to figure out the best place to turn. "I can't even see that thing. It's not helpful!" And then he blamed Street View for nearly turning too early. "It looked familiar! Street View confused me."

Anyway, by some miracle we ended up finding the stadium about 35 minutes after our initial decision to go. Getting there involved turning onto a half-paved road, crossing railroad tracks and driving through a chainlink fence with barbed wire on top. But we did it.

The parking lot was closed off because the game was over halfway done. I jumped out of the car at the barricade and called over a parking lot attendant.

Parking Lot Man (PLM): "You know the game's almost over, right?"
Me: "Yeah, we're just trying to catch the tail end."
PLM: "It's supposed to be $15 to park here. That's okay. Gimme $10 and turn to the left and park over there."
Me: "How about $5?"
PLM: "It don't matter. That's fine."
Me (Running back to the car and whispering to T): "Quick! Give him five bucks, let's go!"

So we parked the car in the lot and walked over to the stadium entrance, fully prepared to bribe some other people to let us into the game. Cash in hand, we sauntered up to the entrance. There were at least three stadium attendances at the gate, none of whom was prepared to let us in without a ticket.

Me: "Even though there are so many empty seats? Can we just pay at the gate?"
Stadium attendant (SA): "Nope. If you don't have a ticket, you can't get it."
Me: "What are we supposed to do?"
SA: "Try over there?" (Gestures to the closed ticket booths.)

T and I wander over and knock on the windows of the ticket booths, where a woman working late came over to tell us that we couldn't buy tickets after halftime. We wandered further down the stadium to the team shop, which had the game playing on a big screen t.v. that we could watch through the window.

As we stood there watching the game, I listened to another couple standing beside us, watching the game and talking to one another about how their passes would get them anywhere except the field. I looked over. They were wearing shirts from the local soccer team and big passes around their necks. Someone from inside the store came out and took orders from them. "How much is that shirt over there?" said the man. The store clerk went in and looked and came back with a price.

I turned to the couple. "Are you here with...the team?" The woman turned to me and smiled, "We're with the [Big City] team."

"Oh, that's cool," I said. "Well, it's kind of a bummer that your stadium won't sell tickets to people who want to go to the game just because we got here late."

"Half-time," she said apologetically, by way of explanation.

I shrugged. "Yeah, that's really disappointing."

I listened to the couple muttering and they eventually went back to their banter as they watched the game through the glass. Getting self-righteous and huffy, I began fantisizing about the bad review I was going to post on Yelp about the experience. After all, every news article about the game mentioned the lack of ticket sales. Why wouldn't they take our money?

"I'm not sure we're going about this the right way," said T. We stared at the screen. Score was 0-0 with just under 30 minutes left. "I don't think there was anything else we could do," I said back.

We glanced behind us to where a small cadre of people had gathered with the couple who had been standing beside us. They'd relocated somewhere back by a flagpole. I wondered who the hell they were.

"They want to get into the game?" I heard someone say. I looked over. A girl in a knitted beanie and big puffy coat rushed over to the storefront. Next thing I know, she was standing beside me.

"Here, take these, quick!" she whispered. "Don't tell anyone!"

She flashed two tickets to the game and pressed them into my hand. I grinned. She rushed away.

"Wow, thanks!" I said. I have no idea if she heard me.

And that's how T and I ended up getting into the game, where we caught the last 20 minutes of the US-Colombia international friendly from mere feet away from the US goal. We were surrounded by so much yellow and red and spanish and beer and soccer chanting that I couldn't stop smiling the whole time. It was amazing! We did it! And when I turned around from our seats, I saw this:



PAZ EN COLOMBIA. Peace in Colombia.

And then it was over. No score. Un empate. But on the way back, we drove under a bridge as a train passed by, and I noticed every diner on the side of the road. T laughed when I said, "The best part was that we just went." When I asked why he laughed, he said it was because of how nonchalant I was. I reminded him that this was kind of thing we used to do on a whim, to just go, to adventure out and find something to get ourselves into. It's how we have ended up tailgating a rodeo, napping on the Gulf shore, eating lobster rolls in Maine, climbing to the top of a drive-in movie screen. (And falling in love.)

Last night, I remembered that there is a life beyond law school, beyond work, beyond the daily grind and its attendant expectations. Thank God.

Protruding stomach

I have a protruding stomach. When I sit down, my stomach hangs out and it looks like I have a big ol' gut like my dad's. I don't necessarily hate it. I've gotten used to it in a lot of ways. I do hate that the bottom half of me is wider than the top half. That much I do hate. But what I hate the most is the way T reacts to it. He tries to play it cool, and a lot of the time he does. But I can tell that he doesn't prefer my fatty fat round belly. And of course I don't blame him. I was pretty thin when we met. I'm expanding and it's hard to stop it. He deserves a wife that tends to her appearance. And considering he likes me better without make-up, tans and fancy clothes, it's not the hardest thing in the world for me to make an effort on this one front. The more I think about it, the worse I feel. And that's the cold hard truth.

On the one hand, I want to get in shape and take better care of myself because it seems like a good way to care for myself and show myself some love. On the other hand, I feel obligated to do it faster! quicker! better! because it's what my husband deserves. And to not do it is to be a bad wife, a lazy wife, a fat slob. This is real. When I feel that way about myself, all I want to do is crawl into a hole and give up. I start to make excuses about how when you start encroaching on 30 your metabolism slows down, it gets harder to keep off the weight. And that's true. I am mad that it's so much more work for me now than it ever was. I'm mad that I have to bust my butt to do what happens to T naturally. And I'm mad at myself for not being a natural at it.

If I were motivated from a healthy place, I would probably get a lot more done. This summer I stopped drinking beer because it seemed to be a major culprit of empty extra calories. But then the school year started. I've fallen off that wagon. It's hard to feel empowered and focused on the positive when there's a million deadlines hanging over your head and it feels like your future depends on each of them. I can't focus on more than one thing at a time: school reading, fellowship deadlines, keeping fit. These all require a lot of effort and I'm not in the habit of making any of them second nature. Right now, fellowship deadlines are #1. But after that? It'll probably be replaced by other job-searching efforts. And an endless litany of excuses for carrying around an extra 15 pounds will be sure to follow.

So instead of being motivated by feeling really on top of my game and wanting to take care of myself, I'm motivated by lingering glances and minute gestures that indicate my belly has not gone unnoticed. I'm motivated by shame and self-hate. And these are not very motivating factors in my experience. For some people they are extremely motivating: some people turn shame and self-hate into a militaristic regimine of dieting and brutal exercise that works wonders. That's really what I wish I could do. Turn my negative emotions into something productive. In moderation, it's probably a good thing. Better, at least, than wallowing, which is what I see myself as doing. Wallowing with the occasional fitful attempt at getting off the couch. But like a half-finished course of antibiotics, partial attempts at exercise inevitably make the malaise harder to beat. Sure, you're up and running one night, or even one week. But eventually you stop. And the next time you want to get up and try again, you remember how you failed the last time, which once again raises the volume of that little voice in your head saying, "What's the point? You always give up eventually." Until eventually that little voice is the only thing you can hear, and it's all but insurmountable.

I think I need a support network.

A year from now...

Where do I see myself in a year? Where do I see us? Those are the questions that I've been thinking about more and more these days. This coming week, I have a meeting with the two head honchos at my office to discuss fellowship project ideas. If I can come up with one wow their socks off and they decide they want to sponsor me, I'd have to start putting together an application for yet another competitive application process. (And I thought applying to law school was a pain...)

Let's just say I were to get a fellowship that would enable me to work on a project in the field of immigration over the two years following graduation... What would my life look like?

For starters, I would be staying in the Big City. T would keep his job (God willing) and we would have a dual income. Our families would secretly cry collective tears, while publicly putting on brave faces and expressing their vicarious satisfaction that our lives have flourished here up North. It would mean two more years of long, difficult commutes to T's family on the coast. Two more years of being displaced Virginians. Two more years of expensive housing, small living spaces at relatively exhorbitant prices. Two more years without yards or porches. Two more years away from communities we grew close to and left behind.

On the other hand, it would mean two more years of foot commutes. Two more years of being able to walk to our coffee shops, bars, restaurants, grocery stores, hair salons, doctors appointments, Macy's and our offices. Two more years of blissful ignorance of the fluxuation in gas prices. Two more years near friends that have moved closer. Two more years of living in an incredibly diverse setting and being part of a Sesame Street-style neighborhood. Two more years to develop deeper ties to friends we've met and allow the roots to grow where they have been replanted.

Um, more specifically, there are big questions: do we want to own a house here in the Big City? Do we want to have kids here in the Big City? Does T want to continue in his line of work if we move somewhere else? How important is his being vested at his current place? Will my law school's alumni network get my foot in the door out of this state?

If I get the fellowship, I imagine that the question of whether to stay or go almost takes care of itself. It would be just a matter of adjusting our mindsets to the new development. On the other hand, if I have to take a more, um, proactive approach to my career path, the options abound. Big City vs. Virginia is just one of the issues. Do I look for a firm job? Try to get hired at a legal services corp? Seek employment in rural areas where there is a greater need? Strike out on my own? Have I decided on immigration law after all? What kind? Blah, blah, blah.

I may sound like I'm freaking out, but I'm not. I'm excited and I'm just thinking outloud on my blog. T has been having some (unrelated) anxiety lately, so these aren't questions we're in a position to seriously tackle at the moment. In the meantime, I'm hoping that one day I'll look back fondly at this moment and cluck my tongue and smile.

ohgoodgodlongrantingpost

Gah... the last week and a half has been non-stop. After the 4th of July camping/visiting home/meeting new honorary nephew 3-day weekend, we got back to Big City in time to pick up our friend A for 5 days of visiting/staying at our house so he could look for an apartment and a job since he is moving here for the second half of the summer. That week ended with our loading the family (me, T, the dog and our friend A) into the car and roadtripping it back down to Virginia. With a very brief stop off at my parents to leave the dog, we kept going south to Richmond so T could work on a print job all weekend. The drive took 6 hours, which is two hours longer than it should've taken. And when we were in Richmond, I spent the whole time watching a very active 16-month old and taking my former Little Sister out to see Toy Story 3 & go to a belated birthday dinner. T's print job took so long that we didn't leave Richmond until late on Sunday, and after picking up the dog, we didn't get back to the Big City until nearly 3 a.m. I woke up to go to work the next morning and stayed at the office late so I could meet my visiting mom, sister and aunt at their hotel when they got into the city. After schlepping them around the city for a few hours, and getting us all stuck in the middle of a rainstorm without an umbrella, even the wine and mojito I'd enjoyed at my mom's expense wasn't doing it for me. I put them in a cab around 11:30 at night and conked out on the couch in the middle of an episode of the Office. I fell asleep with my bra on. This morning, I was going to go to work but fell asleep on a chair in the living room and decided I needed to call in sick. Which I did, except that at 11 my family showed up so we could all go to brunch. Then I had to walk them around the Market, which was nice, until each of them in turn had a bathroom emergency. We got back to the car, I drove them to another sightseeing part of the city, we parked, fed the meter $1.50, got ice cream and came back 40 minutes later and two minutes too late, to be greeted by a $36 parking ticket. Once they left, I fell back into a blissful sleep until 7 p.m. Then grocery shopped, cooked a very late dinner, watched more the office and got into soft clothes. And then, got into an argument with T about money. Oh, the joys! I just want to crawl under the covers and sleep for a week. Or more realistically, not leave town again for a month.

The big 2-9

And just like that, the last birthday of my 20s has arrived. Oh God. But I won't dwell. Because this is a post of celebration and praise. Instead I'll focus on the firsts: this is my first birthday with my husband :)

Last night, even though it was a day early, I had perhaps the best birthday date I've ever had. And I owe it all to T's planning! What I told T is that I wanted an excuse to wear the flimsy black dress that I bought off of Gilt.com a while ago for $36 (marked down from $299!) and other than that, I didn't care. With not much else to go on, he made us reservations for a well-known tapas restaurant in town that I'd mentioned a few days earlier. I got fancied up, he put on his good jeans, we hailed a cab and we were off!

Dinner was incredible. From the beautifully crafted menu (literally... T was admiring the butcher paper the whole night) to the delicious jamon serrano with manchego and quince to the handsome man sitting across the table from me, it was perfect! We stuffed ourselves on crab puffs, asparagus in cream, olives, some kind of fancy tater tots and, of course, sangria & wine. After dinner, we walked aimlessly down city streets until we landed ourselves at an upscale hotel bar, where we cozied into some seats by the floor to ceiling windows to people watch as we sipped more wine. I don't remember much of what we were talking about, but I remember a lot of laughing. And then, we hailed a cab home, where we eveeeeeentually found ourselves snuggling on the couch watching old episodes of The Office.

This morning, we slept in. T "gave" me my present: a subscription to the New Yorker (yay!!) and we ate eggs and drank coffee. Now I have to go, because we are packing up the dogs and a couple of changes of clothes, so we can hit the road and look for a good place to camp. We're making our way south on the backroads to see my best friend and her brand new baby boy, but with any luck we'll take our time and stumble on some great roadside diners along the way!

Stick to the eye

I walked the dog to the park today, as per usual. At the end of a long day (shepardizing cases for an emergency motion to stay a deportation & taking the heartbreaking affidavit of a Sudanese refugee), all I wanted to do was get home and lose myself in a sudoku puzzle. So when I raised a stick in the air for E to jump up and grab, of course he jumped too soon and knocked the end of the stick directly into my eyeball. And of course, as I'm panicking and envisioning my eyeball being dislodged from my socket, I go running over to three complete strangers on a park bench to ask if my eye is still there. In my mind, the whole thing was nothing short of a medical emergency. I couldn't understand why they were all just sitting there, and why the one woman kept talking to my dog about how, "sorry, mom said you couldn't have any treats," like in the midst of being blinded for life I'm going to change my mind and allow her to give my dog a greenie. The man looked in my eye and said it looked fine. I wanted them to walk me home. I couldn't open my eye! Instead, I took E and stumbled across the street to Best Woman's apartment. Thankfully, she was home. She let me in, sympathized with my discomfort, did not make me feel like an idiot for being freaked out, gave me eye gel and walked me and the dog back to my apartment. What a good neighbor.

In other news, my best friend just gave birth to a healthy baby boy. El bendito was born at 11:47 p.m. on Sunday, June 27th, 2010. I am over the moon and I haven't even met him yet. Mother and baby are doing great!

The race

It's a marathon, not a sprint.

...it was beautiful.

When people think of "Northern Virginia" (at least out here on the east coast), they usually think cookie-cutter, faceless developemnts, mini-mansions, strip malls, SUVs, cultureless suburbia... Or maybe that's just what those of us who grew up in NoVa think of Northern Virginia. (Even those of us who have grown up to buy our own SUVs and mini-mansions in suburban developments.) As a child, my neighborhood was all I knew... I dreamt of growing up and living in the Big City, running away to some urban paradise. As a teenager, my mind was fixated on all the changes taking place... the trees being cut down to make way for new housing developments, the houses of childhood friends being sold to new families, with new children. As a college student, I hardly recognized the place that I'd come from... I certainly didn't recognize myself in it.

So imagine my surprise when, one summer day, on just another trip home, just like all the other return trips I'd made since I left for college in 1999... I pulled into the driveway of my parents' house to discover...it was beautiful.

The branches of young saplings, overcome by their own green growth, bowed gracefully before me as I made my way to the front door. Chipmunks, cardinals and rabbits scampered across the backyard upon my approach. White flower petals from the dogwoods were strewn across the lawn as if to welcome me home. And I realized: nothing had changed. It was beautiful and it has always been like this. Or had it?

These days, one of T's & my favorite ways to welcome in the summer is to load the dog into the car, jump on 95 and drive until we pull up the hill and into my parents' driveway. We call it our summer home. We call it E's summer camp. It feels like a getaway. We make pots of coffee, sit on the back porch, watch the blue jays and the woodpeckers cautiously approach the branches above our heads. At night, we play cards, drink beers and watch hockey. Sometimes on Sundays it gets late and we postpone going to our home, we start a fire in the firepit and listen to my dad tell stories about his brother.

This past weekend we were there. We stopped in on a Friday, spent the night and left the dog so we could attend a friend's commitment ceremony near Charlottesville. Saturday night, we danced in the humid Virginia summer air until our clothes were drenched with sweat and the ice we used to cool ourselves down, until our feet no longer supported our legs. Then we drove back, to my parents' and our dog, where we tumbled into the bed, conked out like little children. In the morning, we slept until the dog woke us up, ready to play.

*

I was recalling to my mom how I used to refuse to kiss my Tio goodbye as a child. How I used to be petulant and sulky and stubborn, and how he used to act like his feelings were hurt, and I hated it. How I was probably very difficult.

"You little brat!" my mom said, laughing.

It stung.

When she said those words my face fell in the way it tends to do sometimes, because I get stern with my parents. I always have. She knew I was upset. She rolled her eyes. "I was just joking!" she said. I told her that now, even as an adult, it hurt to hear her say those words. Because we had just been talking about how she called me some names: Brat. Pill. Bitch. Sadist. (As a 10 year old, I thought she meant "satanist," which I took to be a grave insult, since it was coming from my fundamentalist Christian mother). "Fiiiine," she groans. "When you have kids, I won't call them names."

It's ironic. She has often recalled this one incident from when I was little where we were in the car and Iwas sassing her and she just slapped me. I have no recollection of it whatsoever. Not because it was traumatic, but because I was really little, like 4 or 5. Whenever we get to talking about my childhood (read: whenever I start bringing up unpleasantries from my childhood), she remembers the slapping incident and talks about how sorry she is, how bad she felt. She asks, "Did I scar you for life?" And I say, "No, Mom. I don't even remember it!" and I groan like she did. But when she jokingly refers to me as a brat... that's when it hurts.

Kids hear messages about themselves enough and they begin to believe them. Like if you're told you're mean, you're rude, you're too sensitive enough, you start to believe it. If you get angry and your parent always acts disgusted with you for it, you start to believe you are disgusting when you feel angry. But then, I know that one day I'll have my own kids to whom I can be a terrifically imperfect parent. And I'll screw up a lot, and I can only learn and feel and then let go. As my mom says to me, when I remind her of X, Y or Z thing I wish she'd done differently, and as her mother said to her, I'm sure one day I'll be saying to my own kids: "Jeez, did I do anything right?"

*

I'm sitting on the couch at home with T sitting in the little green chair I inherited from my grandparents' apartment, and we are both on our computers, typing, surfing silently. Sometimes I think it's these peaceful interludes, just being together in the same room, that I'm sure I'll remember most vividly. Remembering them from some future house, some future present day, remembering when.

Tired, dreams, tired

God I'm exhausted. I'm actually looking forward to cleaning... Um...what? I feel disgusting and sticky from the heat and the lack of lunch (unless a cupcake counts as lunch?) and I really need to move the clothes over to the drier. Inlaw visit on Saturday that lasts for three days. Then another day off, and then, finally, work.

*

I keep having dreams that I am pregnant and that it feels like I've been carrying the baby around forever, but it's still not at full term. Last night, the dream baby was still alive and kicking and everything was okay, but I had a biatch for an OB who was making inappropriate comments and sent me to buy her a cookie from the food court. I hated her. But every time I laid down, the baby weighed on my stomach and I couldn't sleep. The dream ended as I was in the middle of looking for an emergency room...I wasn't sure if I was going into labor or there was just something wrong with me.

I was thinking about that dream in the shower this morning afternoon. The message of the dream fell upon me like a ton of bricks. A ton of comforting bricks.

*

I like visiting friends. I like visiting family. I like having friends visit. I like having family visit. I'm not sure how I feel about all four of those things happening in the span of one week. I need to go lay down.

Soaking in it.

How do I soak up this life that I'm living?

A few days ago, I went home to Northern Virginia. It's where I'm from. I went home to see my best friend, who is 8 months pregnant with her first-born child. I went to hang out in her living room while she worked from home and watched reruns of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, and then we drove over to Babies 'R' Us so I could spoil Baby D with clothes and rattles and various toys that I really can't afford right now. We went out to eat Mexican and spill the kind of kiss-and-tell secrets that only BFFs can spill. Then we returned home so I could cajole her into letting me take pictures of her belly. Eventually, she ran out to the grocery store to buy fruit, in order to entice the baby to kick for me; I settled in to watch the season finale of Grey's Anatomy.

On Saturday, T and I drove down to Southern VA for the wedding of a girl friend of mine's from college. She is the last of "the girls" to get married. She actually got engaged before I did, but she and her fiance put off the wedding because they paid for the whole thing themselves, and they wanted to Do It Right. This was an awesome wedding because it brought together a whole bunch of friends from school that haven't seen each other in a long time. And really, we don't know when the next time we'll all be together under the same roof again. Dancing. It was a blast. Even if I did get mad at T partway through the night for getting a little too loose-lipped with his jokes, and maybe because I was a little exhausted from T's sudden love of dancing. I couldn't keep up with him! All my girlfriends, on the other hand, continue to be amazed that this "quiet" "shy" guy is bending his knees, shaking his hips and getting low low low low on the floor, while most of the dudes are standing on the sidelines watching with detatched amusement. It was a fun time.

We're home now, with another old friend from college, A, one of T's groomsmen. He just got back from an incredible and incredibly fast two (or so) years in Guatemala with the Peace Corps. Now A is here visiting, and I am trying to make the most of my last days before my summer job starts. And trying to really, really soak it in. What, exactly? Just it. Life. Summer. Youth. (Or whatever you call the days just before you turn 29.) My time in Big City. My time with T as "newlyweds". Downtime. So yeah. Life.

Home

So sleepy. I really don't feel like writing much, and I don't have much to say. What I will say is that going home to the place where I grew up, where by the grace of God my parents still live, and sleeping in the bedroom where I laid my head as a child, is one of the most reassuring simple pleasures there is. I am lucky to still be able to do this. Signing off from my snuggly childhood bed, where I am not entirely sure why Tears for Fears' "Mad World" is playing through the wall I share with the computer room where my mom is sitting at 1:30 in the morning, but I'm happy to fall asleep to the noise.

Too many hands to count.

I did my run yesterday! I'm soooo proud of myself. It was actually a walk/run switching off every 100 meters (or about 1 city block).

On the other hand, I did not get my lazy behind out the door and over to the social security office so I could get a replacement card, so I could get a new drivers license, so I can drive down to Virginia tomorrow without having to worry about the legality of my being behind the wheel of a car. Looks like my trip home will involve $10 and a wait in the "replacement card" line at the DMV.

On the other hand, I did make arrangements for T's birthday evening, which (if all goes according to plan) will involve delicious food, a bottle of wine, good friends and an evening at the cinema (or "big tape" as T calls it).

On the other hand, I'm broke, so I couldn't buy T the present I wanted to get him. I would write more about that, but on the (very) off-chance he reads here before the end of the night, I wouldn't want to spoil anything ;)

On the other hand, I will be starting work soon and getting the paycheck I so desperately need.

On the other hand, it's work study funds. So, in other words, not much.

On the other hand, I have been kicking butt at this cash-flow report which tracks all of our income and expenses. I love love love to do it. Maybe because it gives me a badly needed sense of control over an area of my life (ahem, $$) that appears to be bleeding out while I stand helplessly watching.

On the other hand, yeah. Money.

On the other hand... love. Love is playing cards for hours around the kitchen/dining room/living room table, listening to weird Swedish country-western music and laughing at one another. Watching a documentary on art in advertising on the Wii. Sharing a fake ham and avocado sandwich. Making the bed. Messing up the bed. Waking up early to make breakfast. All those little things that make me forget about money. It makes up for the other hand.

Ahem. On the other hand, speaking of love, I need to go clean the kitchen before T gets home.

Lightening bug days

Saw the first lightening bug of the summer today! First lightening bug of the summer is always a quietly joyous occasion for me. I smile inside whenever I first catch sight of the glowing green dots, and for a moment I'm transported back to the cul-de-sac of my childhood neighborhood... bikes on kickstands...fireworks, sparklers, a ride around the block in my neighbor's shiny convertible...high school buddies crowded together to celebrate my July birthday... summertime.

Tomorrow, among the various chores I have assigned myself, I am also going to start a running regime. I want to train to run a race, so I can cross another off my list of 30 Before 30. It doesn't hurt, too, that I forced an admission out of T that he would like me to lose some weight. I forced this admission from him because I know I've put on weight, about 15 pounds that have stuck with me since fall of the year I turned 25, to a total of about 20 pounds since college (give or take 5 pounds depending on the day). I want me to lose some of that weight. I want to stay attractive to my husband. And what's more attractive than self-esteem. Of which I've been severly lacking as the months turn into years and my hips and belly continue to expand more rapidly than the rest of me. And it's just hard to snap out of denial and face reality when you've got a husband telling you he loves you no matter what, he doesn't notice, he thinks you look great, etc. All of which may be true. But I still need certain cold, hard truths. Do you wish my stomach wasn't quite so protruding? You do? Ok, good. Now I know. And by the way, so do I. I'll work on that. It's part of the radical honesty that we promised one another when we took our wedding vows. I appreciate that I can count on it when I ask for it.

This weekend was a semi-success in moderation. An old friend visited for the night on Saturday, which also happened to be the night a new friend had rented a local church bowling alley for his annual Beers & Bowling party. Come on, that's awesome, right? Bowling in a church with a keg of Lionshead and tables upon tables of air hockey and foosball for the conquering. So, Saturday night, I went a little big. But considering I spent the entire day just watching the scenery at Big City's Biggest Block Party, where street vendors were serving vodka-spiked popsicles and every man, woman and child grandparent in the city was toting around a plastic cup of PBR, I'd say that a few beers after the sun goes down made for a pretty quiet Saturday. Aside from that, I mostly played Bananagrams on Facebook (my new obsession), enjoyed the weather and ate lots and lots of pizza while trying to understand the rules to a game that involves a bunch of grown men knocking a strange ball into the neighbors' windows with sticks. Oh, and T and I started Big Love. So psyched!

All play and no work...

Well I can now cross accordion lessons off my list.

Take accordion lessons.

That felt good! Of course, yesterday's lesson was only the first lesson in what I hope will blossom into a long and glorious tutelage under the fine instructor at my local accordion shop. I can now proudly declare (and plan to do so on a regular basis for at least the next seven days) that I am capable of playing "Row, row, row your boat" on the accordion in the key of C Major. Sweet!

Seriously, this is awesome. One day, I hope to be able to play this. But for now, it's still this...

In other news, my life is not all roses and sunshine, despite all the roses honeysuckles and sunshine spilling forth from the streets of the Big City. I'm concerned about and working to improve the balance in my life between career productivity, relaxation and personal/emotional development. I think I spend farrrrr too much time in the middle category of relaxation, to the point where perhaps I'm not doing enough reflecting and wasting a lot of time that I could be growing and maturing.

At my last day of my internship on Wednesday, my boss sat me down and told me she wanted to have a "frank" talk with me about some things before I moved on. She'd got word that an application I'd submitted for a scholarship a while back was missing several items and generally sloppily put-together. (I'm sure this is true, since I threw it together at the last possible minute.) We talked for a bit about how my work is really good in the office, but that I can sometimes send out hasty communications and procrastinate in other areas to the point where it reflects poorly on my capabilities. This was only slightly embarassing to hear; mostly I was happy that she took the time to be straight with me and not just give me fluffy feedback. There's no greater skill in a mentor than the ability to give useful and valid criticism in a gentle and caring manner.

Sometimes I feel like I've drifted too far off course. Before we came to Big City, before I enrolled in law school, there were things that I sensed were missing from my life. A sense of direction. A meaningful career. Certain experiences that are just missing from small southern towns. Our decision to move to Big City and to have me pursue this education has paid off in spades, and not just in the ways I anticipated. T found that he can thrive in a career working for an employer (i.e. not self-employed), that there are some benefits to an office full of colleagues. He loves being able to provide for his family (i.e. me and Elvis and our future). I'm reaping the benefits of attending a diverse school, living in an old immigrant neighborhood, walking everywhere, reacquainting myself with people my age after a relatively solitary period in my life. We've developed closer relationships with T's brother, perhaps the most rewarding surprise to come from the whole experience. In so many ways, it's been awesome.

And then there are the things we gave up. Some of them we knew we'd be leaving behind. It was two hours south to see T's parents, two hours north to see mine. Any time we wanted to get away, we could hop in the car and be back in old familiar territory in time for a homecooked meal (or, you know, pizza from Ledo's). Rent was cheaper. Almost all of our friends were closer and a visit was never hard to arrange. T had a truly fulfilling business that, if not always thriving, was always challenging and rewarding. We knew we were giving some of that up. It was a hard decision to make, our decision to forego my attending law school in the same place we'd been living and maintain the status quo. We didn't know anything for certain, but we were pretty sure that we'd be glad we'd taken the risk.

I am glad. T is glad. But there are so many things I couldn't have anticipated. Things that are just a part of change, I guess. Like how many more days we spend hanging out at bars, rather than sitting on porches. It was boring to feel confined to a porch sometimes; but it's also boring to feel confined to a bar stool. Life is busier... there are fewer days where we sit around looking at each other and wondering what to do with our afternoons. We are tired from working so much, so we nap a lot. We have friends and acquaintances to catch up with, lots of invitations to meet up (at bars), so we stay up too late, spending money and drinking. We can get almost anywhere we need to be on foot, so we rarely find ourselves on car rides singing along to the radio. When school is in session, I have studying to do pretty much round the clock, so I spent lots of time shutting out distractions so I can read, or procrastinating on the internet. T has to entertain himself so he works late, or works in his home office, or goes out with friends. Life sometimes feels like a flurry of activity and then I start to miss the slow pace of Virginia. We used to love to grocery shop. (Okay...I did. But I also loved dragging T with me to do it.) Now it's a chore I can barely squeeze in, and we walk the two blocks to pick up little things here and there instead of making it a whole excursion.

I just feel run down and I miss the little world we had in the smaller city. It all felt more mangeable, more healthy. We're just changing, evolving, I know. I know that's normal. But in some ways I think I want to redirect the course of that change a little. Get back a little of the cozier lifestyle where we had to work for our fun, instead of buying it for $2 a can on just about any corner in the city. KWIM?

30 before 30, redux

Okay, so I've got about three weeks until my job starts. I want to make the most of this time! What better way to kick off the summer than to review the 30 Before 30 list I created last year for my 28th birthday and try to knock out a few things. I should go ahead and add some as well, since I really only listed like 22, I think?

Here it is:

1) Read the New Testament [I'm halfway there...]
2) Plant a (herb?) garden
3) Perfect grandma's chicken and rice [Well... I cooked it again, but I'm not sure I quite perfected it!]
4) Learn to cook Ajiaco
5) Attend Catholic mass in Italian Latin and Spanish (neighborhood churches around here do that sort of thing) [Latin mass attended; next up, Spanish!]
6) Get a Brazilian wax [This was supposed to be the 'gimme' for my wedding, but I kinda sorta chickened out...]
7) Be able to do a new hairstyle (no ponytails) [I learned how to properly blow-dry my hair and straighten it... I'm counting that as a win.]
8) Introduce T to my Colombian relatives [This New Years....]
9) Learn to hem / basic sewing
10) Record my dad's life story
11) Visit my bro in CO or wherever he is [Did it last December!!]
12) Run in a race [Gonna train to run the big city 10k next May!]
13) Play on an intramural/community sports team
14) Get a bike
15) Go back country camping
16) Go fishing
17) Spend a night dancing at a Latin music club [I've danced my behind off at a couple places this year :)]
18) Shoot a roll of film & frame a new picture for my walls
19) Take a Tae Kwon Do class
20) Take a yoga class
21) Publish a zine
22) Ride a wave on a surf board
NEW ADDITIONS
23) Take accordion lessons
24) Be a regular volunteer
25) Visit at least two local museums
26) Do an agility course with E
27) Play blackjack in a casino
28) Get a spray tan
29) Visit a farm with my mom
30) Take a road trip with T

Ok.... this is gonna be fun! I haven't gotten far yet, but I can definitely tackle these items within the next year and some change. This time last year, I had fallen down the stairs and hurt my leg, gotten sick with bronchitis and was about to lose two family members, one completely unexpectedly; and I was planning a wedding to boot. This summer, I pray, will be more relaxing, slower-paced and inspiring. Woo hoo!