Last stop before 30

Hey! So in three days, I turn 30. And I hope that I remember to pack a pen and a journal to write about and reflect on turning 30. But I'm not doing it here. Maybe when I get back.

Instead, I'm trying to focus on studying for the state-specific portions of the Bar, and kind of obsessively calculating in the back of my mind at all times what the likelihood is that I'll not pass.

Tomorrow, though, we're headed back down to VA to see my best friend's baby turn 1 (!) and then go camping. Yay! We did that last year for my birthday, and it was awesome. Maybe a little tradition in the making? Who knows.

Oh yeah, and I pretty much didn't do any of the things left to do on my 30 before 30 list since the last time I posted. But that's cool. It just gives me some things to work on over the next year!

Another Friday night during bar prep

Dinner tonight is shells & alfredo sauce (aka mac 'n' cheese) with fried (fake) chicken cutlets. I am letting T nap while I prepare this half-baked (heh) dinner. Afterward, we are hitting the road, along with the dog. I decided that instead of staying home to study this weekend, while he's in Richmond, I'm going to go to my parents' house so the dog and I can have some open air and greenery around us. I'm packing up all my Kaplan books and my laptop, so I don't miss a lecture or a quiz or homework assignment, though I'd be lying to everyone involved if I said I was going to do everything I'm supposed to while I'm gone. I can't even keep up from home.

Oh well. I took a practice MBE earlier this week. Aside from the grueling tedium of sitting for six hours answering multiple choice questions, it wasn't that terrible. I managed to hit the supposed goal posts for this far along in the course. But we're half way through, which means it's getting closer to the Big Day. Errrr... scary!

One thing is for sure, though. I am lucky to have this wonderful man in my life who works hard every day to make sure we have money for groceries and gas and electricity and the occasional dinner out, so I don't have to totally freak about money while I study. It helps that he's handsome and has a good sense of humor too. Love ya, T!

Just kicked in

The excitement! Oh, the excitement!

In less than 24 hours, we will be outta here. I love the Big City and all, but it's time to bust out and have some winter fun. We're going down to the Eastern Shore for a T Family Christmas in a rental house on the bay (I think?) in Maryland. It'll be T's family - parents, aunts, uncles and cousins - no kids yet. So lots of drinking, eating and general hanging out, spanning time.

After a few days with the T Fam, we move on to my parents' house for one night of FAST catching up with my parents, brother and sister, 3 nieces (in town on the one holiday that I'm not there!) and cousin, aunt, etc. It'll be a lot of socializing in a little time, though, because on Monday morning, we fly...to Colombia!

Two weeks in Colombia. As usual, I tentatively think I might have some kind of clue what to expect, while simultaneously feeling sure that I have no idea whatsoever what to expect. I do know that despite every logical part of my brain being convinced otherwise, we will be in HOT weather. So I am forcing myself to pack shorts, tank tops, flip flops even. And a swim suit, if I can find it.

In Colombia, we'll see lots of relatives I've long wanted to introduce to T. And I'll get to show him my family's home in Purificacion where my dad and grandmother were born, and where my great aunts and uncle still live. And for the first time ever, we'll get to do some exploring outside the realms of family. I just can't wait.

We'll fly back on January 9th, the Sunday before my last semester of law school (si Dios quiere) and then resume normal life again, which by then, I suspect, we'll be more than happy to do.

Hooray! Merry Christmas! Happy new year, ya'll!

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.

Camping with the President (kinda)

Mmm... vicodin brain. Camping was awesome when we eventually found a place to camp. My original plan of camping in the Catoctin Mountain National Park failed miserably when we arrived to find the entrance blocked off. Well, before that, I stopped at a little fishing pond and bought a couple ears of corn out of the back of a man's truck. As we got to talking ("Are you all from the city?" he asked by way of introduction), I learned that the President was up in the park for the 4th of July weekend. "If he's up there, they're not gonna be letting anybody near there." Not entirely sure if the man was off his rocker or we had stumbled upon a crazy random coincidence, I kept driving to the park, only to discover that he was right. Barricade.

As we drove out of town, T said, "I'm starting to put two and two together." "What do you mean?" says dense I. "I think that was Camp David." And, um, he was right.

So we kept going until we found an even cooler campground. And Sasha and Malia surely missed out, because this campground had tree houses! (Plus they didn't care we had a dog, plus they didn't have a no alcohol policy, plus we couldn't see any of our neighbors!) We're pretty sure the camp owners just wandered off the Appalachian Trail one day 20 years ago and decided to never come down off the hill. Check it out, this place is awesome! If you're ever camping in Maryland, I recommend it.

Anyway, fast forward three days and my back is absolutely punishing me. I'm not sure if it's from the camping, or from the sleeping in the car on the drive home from my parents. But it feels like someone has been punching me repeatedly with a fist and stabbing me with a knife at the same time, in the exact same spot in my middle back. So against the advice of my medical advisor (T) I just took a vicodin pill that expired in August 2008 from back when I had to get my molars out (or was it when I had to get that colonoscopy after I passed out unexpectedly in a Richmond diner...bizarre medical history). And my head feels nice and fuzzy, an entirely placebic effect, I'm sure, but one that I'm happy to kick back and enjoy. I'm just going to ignore the irony that I just turned 29 and immediately started having back problems.

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!

...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.

Real

Things I have done [so far] instead of going to Guatemala over Spring Break:

* Ate out with T at the gourmet all-vegan bistro we've been meaining to try since we moved here. Seitan BBQ & Vietnamese (lemongrass seitan) tacos for appetizers. Skewered winter squash over a bed of black lentils, salsa verde, grilled green onions and a pepper stuffed with cauiliflour mousse. YUM!

* Beat the first level of the secret World 9 (star world!) in Super Mario Wii. Now working on getting all the star coins in World 2 so I can unlock the second star world level. For anyone out there playing Mario Wii, don't neglect or blow off those star coins. They're good for more than unlocking stupid hint videos!

* Outlined/read the first week of Civil Procedure II. It's a great system I have going. Even a little bit of reading makes me feel so much more competent and confident. The problem is I work sooooo slowly. But I'm still proud of myself.

* Took a solo road trip out to Amish country, where T and I spent our first night together 7.5 years ago on our first date. (We slept in the front and back seats of his car while parked on our way to Niagara Falls!) It's also where T and I went for our 6th anniversary when we got in a big fight about when we were gonna get married on our drive home. Haha...

* Ate first lunch in an old train dining car while I watched Amish families trot down the road in their buggies. Ate second lunch at a luncheonette where I was the only non-Amish (also the only non-octogenarian) in the place except for the woman serving us. Got a great close-up look at the white prayer veils the women wear over their hair, and good listen to the Amish / Pennsylvania Dutch / German pidgin language they speak. Also watched one of them flirt with an old man with a long beard as he was leaving. Can they do that?

* Bought farm fresh eggs at $1.50 / dozen.

* Watched far more Netflix than I'm comfortable with.

* Made plans for my best friend and her husband and their two dogs (and her bun in the oven!) to come visit tomorrow.

I was disappointed about not going to Guatemala. We made the right decision, but it's hard to sit around the apartment in the evening knowing that spring break is running out and I'm not off on a big adventure. But I know that life is all about attitude, so I've tried to look at this time as a gift and an opportunity to do all sorts of things I wouldn't otherwise do. (Yes, that includes start outlining.) While I was driving on the backcountry roads yesterday, I let my eyes linger for a few moments on a house that may or may not have had a candle lantern on the front porch. When I looked back at the road, I saw a truck coming at me, and realized I had drifted into the other lane. I quickly corrected and the truck swooshed past me, safely. But that instant, those fleeting seconds, made my blood run cold. I pulled into the Mennonite Church at the next intersection, parked the car and prayed. Life could be gone at any second. I feel like we're all here at the pleasure of someone bigger than us. So, yeah. I'm gonna try to appreciate what I've got. Guatemala would've been nice. But it can wait.

The first shall be last

This is the semester that will not die. My original plan was to be done early, while all the rest of the suckers slaved away during the second half of exam week. It happened that all four of my exams were scheduled during the first week, and although I could postpone some, I had no plans to put off the inevitable. After all, my brother was graduating from college on December 12th, after many long years of equivocating over whether to put forth the effort to get the degree. On top of that, one of my 30 things to do before turning 30 was to get out to Denver to visit him. I was planning on boarding a plane on Friday with nothing but a change of clothes and a fifty dollar bill with which to get my brother hammered.

Then my first exam happened on Monday. I was able to fight off the strong urge to go straight to the bar to drink my troubles (i.e. 1500-word limits!) into oblivion. As any survivor of a law school exam will know, that is no small feat. However, the only reason I was able to stay sober was because I had a date to study with a classmate for my evidence exam, a mere 40 hours away. After we were through, thoughts of the "free slot" exam I had planned to take the next day took on a laughable tone. Instead of studying, I hung up Christmas decorations with T and we watched more Deadwood. Post-Evidence exam on Wednesday, I had all but vowed in blood that I'd be postponing ONE exam until the next week. I was still ready to take on Employment Law on Friday.

Then I remembered rush hour traffic. To be more precise, my friend reminded me that the airport we were planning to fly out of on Friday at 7:00 takes an hour and fifteen minutes to get to without traffic. My exam was due to let out at 5:30. It was postpone exam #2 or miss brother's graduation (and lose out on a bunch of money). I made a beeline to the Dean of Academic Affairs.

So. Flashforward one week and here I am about ready to take an exam at 6:00 so I can come home to cram for my final final exam on Thursday (or, horrors!... Friday??). Thus I am fulfilling at least the second half of the biblical prophecy: The last shall be first, and the first shall be last. May I never secretly gloat over finishing my finals before other law students again.

antisocial

I am getting ready to head back to my parents place for the second weekend in a row. Last weekend we swang by in order to drop off the dog so we could attend a wedding at the bottom of the state. This weekend I'm actually staying the whole weekend with the parents while I attend a job fair in DC. T is staying the night but then moving onward down 95 to attend to his printing press in Richmond. Instead, I will be accompanied by a classmate, a fellow 2L who I somehow never met until a recent dinner party for latin american law students. She's awesome and I'm glad to get to be hanging out with a classmate who is easy to talk to and with whom I seem to have a lot in common (aside from being "brown").

Yet.

I am not looking forward to this trip. Obviously one reason is that it will involve a lot of networking. Considering I don't even have any interviews lined up (not because I was rejected... I simply didn't realize I was supposed to bid...gahh!!), I'm feeling less than inspired. Another obvious reason for my lack of enthusiasm is the fact that it's nearing the end of the semester and I could definitely get a lot more work done by staying put. However, the worst reason I'm not excited is that I feel this sense of dread about hanging out with other people. Why? I have no idea. I have gotten worse and worse at extending myself out of my comfort zone. It's not that I don't enjoy hanging out or that I'm not sociable. It's just that I get exhausted and anxious about it after a short period of time. A whole weekend at my parents house with someone I don't know that well makes me nervous, like I'll screw something up. Like I won't be able to relax. Is that normal? I feel weird just writing that.

Also, I feel like a terrible 2L because not only did I not do write-on or get accepted for some sort of legal sports team (i.e. trial team), but I haven't even applied for a single OCI. This weekend is supposed to be my big opportunity to find a job, but I don't have an interview. Instead, I'll mark it as the beginning of my great Job Search. If I'm gonna run off a few resumes, might as well make it a hundred. Might as well get a bunch of envelopes and start drafting cover letters. Might as well flood the mailboxes of legal eagles all over Virginia, where I hope to practice after I graduate, and all over Big City, where there's a plausible chance I'll end up for a while after I get the JD.

What a pear!

My new favorite food is the Bosc pear. Fry it up in some butter, toss in some walnuts and sprinkle dried cranberries on top. Crumble some cheese over the whole thing. Yum YUM! (Or should I say, "Scromph!") One day, I won't live a block and a half from Whole Foods. That will be a sad day for my diet.

I got my blood levels tested the other day on account of some issues with my "lady parts" as my mom so disgustingly delicately put it. Supposedly all is normal. But I am starting to worry that I am pre-diabetic. Wow, this blog is a crazy outlet for my hypochondria! I can't help but think it's doing T a great service. (Now I have the poor unsuspecting internet to listen to my various ailments and suspicions!)

And in other news, T & I went to a dance party wedding this weekend where, for the first time in our entire relationship (i.e. 7 years on Saturday), he kept dragging me onto the dance floor. I'm still not sure what got into him, but after trying to get him to dance at so many weddings, I'm not gonna complain! Even if I did have to hide in the bathroom a couple of times just to get away from him and catch my breath. Even if I did come out of the bathroom once to find all the guys at our table rushing at me saying, "Did you see what T did?! He got some guy crowd surfing!" Even if he literally made me dance my way out to the coffee nook and dance my way back to the table. And even if we did almost knock over the photographer not once, not twice but three times.

T has two theories for his sudden love of dancing. His first is that now that we've tied the knot, he feels like he can kick back and enjoy everyone else's without stressing out about whether we're going to have to do that at our wedding. His second theory is that it's because of something I've told him over and over (at every wedding reception, I'm sure) about how I don't care what he looks like when he dances, I just love to see him having fun. He said it's because of me. Obviously, I like theory #2 better. But they're both pretty good.

And since the wedding was in the deep south of Virginia, I got my good fill of the life I miss here in the Big City. We stopped at a fruit co-op and bought jars of red raspberry preserves and kickles ("pickles with a kick!"). We heard all about how the hotel receptionist's daddy declared on the day of her birth that she would be known as "Mary Cathreen" and how her grandbaby has the same name, so there are now two people on the face of this earth with the name Cathreen. We spotted a headless deer and a vulture (and possibly a deer head in the mouth of a vulture). And at the wedding, we ate mashed potatoes, green beans, lots of gravy and watched the bride and her mom dance to good ol' Rocky Top.

Sopping wet and trashy

T and I just got back from camping. One week before our wedding, we were laying under a semi-starry sky talking about the things we want to promise each other on our wedding day, while drinking Lionshead and feeding pretzels to the dog. In the middle of the night, raindrops started pitter-pattering on our tent roof. The dog was a good sport about it, considering he is terrified of even the dark clouds that precede a rainstorm. The rain lulled us back to sleep. A couple hours later, with daylight just on the horizon, we awoke again to a downpour. Our tent was still dry, so we cozied back to sleep content in our waterproof cave. Not much long after that, I heard a weird scraping noise and realized the dog was standing in the far corner of the tent. Without opening my eyes, I asked T, "Is the dog licking the tent?" "Yes," replies T. "Okay," I mutter, and fall back asleep. At about 9:30 I wake up to realize that there is water coming in from all angles, not flooding us out, but slowly soaking anything on the edges of our sleeping area, including my shoes, our flashlight and the bag with my only pair of non-pajama pants. Whoops. T, brilliant problem solver that he is, quickly comes up with a plan to get us out of there relatively free of soak. Flashforward 15 minutes: I'm mostly dry (but still in pajama pants) and T and the rest of our gear is mostly wet. We're on the road.

So we just got back, at a decent hour, to our little firetrap in the Big City. Our little firetrap is on the third (top) floor of a row home, with no porch, no stoop and no balcony. Step out our front door and you are greeted with an assortment of characters waiting for the bus. In short, there is nowhere to put soaking wet fabric. Of which we have a lot.

Me, brilliant problems solver that I am, have come up with a solution! I have tied a loop of fisherman's yarn between our two bedroom windows, which overlook the street. In a kind of half-assed, fake-Seasame Street-meets-NYC at the height of the industrial era way, we now have our very own "laundry line" out the window. Which is to say, a soggy, sopping wet tent and a bright blue tent tarp sunk into the middle of a piece of string are dangling precariously close to our second-floor neighbors' windows.

Flashforward 15 minutes: T, upon spotting my brilliant solution, remarks astutely, "We look like the trash neighbors." Clearly, there is only one proper response to such an observation: "Good," I say. "This neighborhood needs to be taken down a notch."

Down to Virginia

We are headed down to Virginia in just a few moments. I've stolen away with my cup of coffee to sit here and make a quick little blog post. We're on our way to visit the site where we'll get married, and take care of all those details we've put off to the last minute. (Photographer, I know you're out there somewhere...) In three weeks, more or less, we're getting married. Wow. I'm still having wedding dreams, but they're less and less like nightmares and more and more excitement and happiness.

The dog is hanging around our feet tonight because the sky was rumbling so much earlier. He has no idea we're about to shove him into the trunk of T's hatchback for a long haul south. But once we get there, he'll be glad. There's much more room to run and play, and many more gross and smelly things to roll in. Pretty soon, he's gonna get a weeklong vacation in the country, while dog-mom and dog-dad go to Spain!

Another weird thing: I can't stop burping. It's getting gross. I think burps are more disgusting than farts by a long shot. A few minutes ago, I sat down next to T on the couch, and immediately began a chain reaction of mini-burps. "I'm so glad you chose right here to sit," says T, snarkily. So I got up to write this post instead. Have a good weekend!

Cold wind blowing

Sometimes it feels just like one step forward, two steps back. T and I decide to tie the knot, but then the holidays, the stress of school, a month on the road, lack of routine, unfilled prescriptions and unpaid vacation days catch up to us, and it feels like everything is sliding backwards. I've been here before. This is the point where I dig in my heels, fix my gaze to some far off point and settle into "just survive" mode. Everything else feels unimportant. I just want to make sure we can get back to normal again. Thing is... since we got to the big city, nothing has felt like normal. The only thing normal is that I am still in love with T and my dog. Everything else feels more like a whirlwind.

Making good time in 2009

I've never had real New Years resolutions that I actually vow to stick to. Usually I do make a resolution or two in the spirit of sharing with friends over a toast at midnight, but this year, I didn't even do that. Instead, I silently vowed to myself in the wee hours of the first morning of 2009 that I would try to be more mindful this year. I want to write more. I want to open myself up more to talking about the things that really matter to me, the things that are on my mind. I want to spend less time distracting myself with things that don't matter at all. (Hello, Wii and Uno FreeFall!) For a moment, I entertained the idea of vowing to post on this blog every day for the whole year, or maybe write in my journal or something. But I'm not one for making promises I know I won't keep. So, instead, I'm just going to try. And I am holding myself to it by announcing that here.

So now I'm sitting in the Duke undergraduate library, typing out this first entry for the year while I kill time down in North Carolina. I'm in NC to visit old friends, people from a life I feel I've left pretty far behind by now, but not so far that it's irrelevant. I spent a good two years here, developing my post-college identity and setting the course that eventually landed me here in law school, engaged and more content and settled, if a bit more boring. Boring has been the theme of this "vacation" home to visit friends and family all over Virginia and NC. Not that it's been boring, but that I wonder if I AM boring. Even writing that, I laugh at myself a little. I don't feel boring, and that's what matters. But hanging around my bro, and other old friends, I remember myself from five years ago, seven years ago, when I would run around all night with them, hoping from diner to basement to liquor store to parking garage, playing video games and doing stupid suburban things. They don't do that stuff anymore, but they have moved on the grown-up version of such pasttimes: parties with friends in the city, clowning in the circus (literally), I don't know. I just feel different. It's not bad, it's just something I don't notice except under certain circumstances.

Anyway, that's one thing running through my mind this break. Another was the whole shadow of living under my parents' roof again. That's the kind of stuff that trips me up from writing on a blog, because it's dark and scary and I'm afraid of making my family life sound terrible. I'm also protective of it, but at the same time feel an urge to write. What I realized, on my drive down to NC, is that I am terrified of sadness. Too much time at home and I start to feel scared and lonely. So I'm ready to go back up to the big city, where T awaits me and I can live MY life rather than worry about my family's. I just wonder, I keep wondering if I am running away from something.

Well, I have to get back to driving around these old streets and trying to make sense of being here. As unhappy as I sometimes feel with living in a big city and having disrupted something good T and I had going on in Richmond, I feel very very grateful to be with him in our tiny little apartment, and I don't really care where it is. Big city, tiny town, boondocks or cookie-cutter suburbs, I am just happy to have the little family I have and be living in something that is mine, that is the present.

in the thick of it

i'm in the thick of it, in a good way. school is in full swing, with students scurrying along the sidewalks from the main law school building to the other one, clutching cups of coffee and passing off tips about where to find the free pizza. the weather is starting to turn cold. it makes me grateful for the vendor who sells me coffee on monday and wednesday mornings at 60 cents a cup.

we tried a new taqueria today. rather, a loncheria, with $1 bean & cheese tacos and some amazing huevos a la mexicana. it just opened up at the curb market around the corner from our apartment and i stumbled upon it when i accidentally rode the subway a stop too far and had to walk home the long way. eating in a little room with sparse walls and bachata blasting from a boombox behind the counter happily reminded me of durham. t pointed out, as we were sitting around the table scooping up beans with tortillas, that our friend a (who is in the peace corps in guatemala) is eating like this every day. he quickly added: "i think he's sick of it." can't say i'm surprised, as i'm sure i'd be sick of it too after a while. but sometimes i wish i were tucked off in some little village in the middle of nowhere, eating beans and tortillas and speaking spanish.

we went to the countryside this weekend in celebration of our 6-year anniversary. it was a breath of fresh air, both literally and the other way. rolling hills. the smell of autumn. diners with bottomless mugs of coffee. train whistles. scenic routes. what-would-it-be-like-to-live-here?'s. since falling in love with t on that road trip way back when the country had yet to go to war, i seem to always get a little giddy this time of year. pumpkins, train tracks, long drives, and red and yellow leaves = falling in love. somehow, even the worst parts of our history have not eradicated my association of halloween decorations with this little love story of ours. maybe its that the best and the worst times have all happened this time of year, and maybe that's why this time of year my senses become so heightened.

on a less personal note, in just two weeks, it will be time for another gut-wrenching evening of watching the page turn and catching our first glimpse of the new chapter that lays before us. how long, how depressing these last eight years have been for us as Americans. it makes me sad. no matter how much hope there is to cherish, election day must also be a time to pause and reflect on the frightening power of the American people to steer our destiny down its fated path.

Monday morning post

It is quarter to nine on Monday morning. I am taking it easy. Although I did not study round the clock over the weekend, I did get in a few hours of quality face-to-face time with my books. I even briefed a few cases. And so, by 4:00 yesterday, I was free to enjoy the Redskins win over the Cowboys at the bar on the corner. And then, a drive around the outskirts of our city. And then, an episode of the Wire. So, it should be obvious by now that what I am doing is avoiding putting myself back into that "student" role again, by not cracking the books this morning. Instead, this blog post.

T is gone. He left at 8:30 this morning for work. He did it! All the hard work he put in applying for jobs and slaving over his resume and calling people back, all the drudgery of job hunting, has paid off! This is contract work, so it is not a permanent gig. However, for the time being, we can rest easy knowing that a paycheck will be forthcoming, and T will be "earning" his downtime (as he puts it). My hope: this will lead to a bit more structure in our days, and enjoyable evenings of reading and relaxing together.

Yesterday, when we went to the car for our mechanic-mandated road trip, there was a parking ticket tucked under the windshield wiper blade. Ordinarily, this would be an expected gift, but we had taken care on Friday to leave a note politely requesting that the Parking Authority not ticket the car due to extenuating circumstances (not to be divulged here). Our request was apparently denied. Fine. But when T grabbed the ticket to read the fine print, he found a special message was written back to us:

"Learn to park, dumbass."

Thanks, Officer Connelly. Will do.

I have to laugh, because this is my first real-life story about the infamous horror show that is driving (and owning a car) in this city. That message was classic.

I can see the perfect sky is torn

I heard that song "Torn" by Natalie Imbrugiliaigualia (sp?) on the radio this morning while driving to work. It inspired some sort of epiphany in me, and led to the following internal monologue:

"Wow. I should write about that in my blog when I get to work. Except. No. I swore off the computer today. Today I will actually get work done, but that means NO TOUCHING INTERNET EXPLORER... OR MINESWEEPER. Oh well. I guess I can enjoy this little gem of insight all on my own."

It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway: What the hell kind of epiphany was it? Wish I could remember.

*

So I totally knocked out my advanced Minesweeper top score, which is now down to 182 seconds. I like to imagine myself in some kind of tournament like the one that takes place in that Fred Savage movie about the Super Mario Brothers 3 tournament, all intense stare and rapid-fire clicking, opponents being knocked out and collapsing to their knees all around me.

*

Law school is coming. But first: my birthday! A weekend at T's family's house! Seeing my sister! Visiting NC! Packing and moving! Borrowing $15,000! Spending a week at the beach! Some other stuff, probably!

We are trying to take it all in stride.

Highlights (for Kids)

CM and the gang are well on their way back North by now, and I am left recovering from three nights of sleeping on the floor. It was a really nice visit. I got to see my goddaughter for the first time since C & R's wedding four years ago. Back then, K was only 3 years old and we were pretty preoccupied with the wedding, so I didn't have much of a chance to get to know her. Before that, my only post-partum visit with K had been the time C came down to shop for wedding dresses and K was just a baby, crawling all over the trains and trying to eat tiaras in David's Bridal.

This visit, K is seven and a half, full of enthusiasm and excitement, and very affectionate. She took to me right away, and dragged me around the amusement park on Tuesday, trying to pull me ahead of everyone else so we could be the first in line for all the roller coasters. We rode: the Scooby Doo (or as K called it, the Scooby Doobie), the Rebel Yell, the Hurler, the Grizzly, Ricochet and the Anaconda (and I also rode the Dominator (or as K called it, the Denominator), the Shockwave, and the Volcano). Every time we got on a roller coaster, she started to scream as soon as our seat neared the top. Sometimes her screams took the form of words, like, "I want my mommy!" or "I don't like this!" But inevitably, as the ride came to an end, she turned to me and bounced in her seat, jabbering, "Letsdoitagainletsdoitagaincanwedoitagain!!"

As fun as it was to hang out with K, she wasn't much of a surprise. Her personality is very much like her mom's, although C swears her daughter somehow inherited many of my idiosyncracies. The girl is a spitting image of C, and has the same precocious attitude I remember from when C first moved into the house next door.

On the other hand, I must have been a small letdown to K. Apparantly, she was expecting me to have wings.

*

It's back to thinking about law school. The last few days have been a pleasant break from the anxious scrambling to find an apartment, plan a move and create a plan to prep for school. Yes, I plan to be one of those people that preps. It's amazing to me that there is actually a controversy over whether or not to prepare before school starts. After all, you can prep and also have fun. It doesn't have to be all or nothing.... right?

If this pre-move, pre-1L era were a roller coaster, I wonder what name it would have.

Philadelphia, or part of it.

Philadelphia this weekend. T and I left on Friday night, after a brief cross-legged pow-wow to discuss our strategy for tackling the various obligations and expectations that lay before us. The dog was pumped and ready to go.

Three stops on the way up: 7-11 in Hanover county for gas (mood: sour). Wawa in Fredericksburg for food and oil (mood: sheepish). Parents' house in Fairfax to drop off the dog and sleep, briefly (mood: relaxed).

Dad took us to Union Station. Made a conscious decision not to freak out about the time (4:45 am) on our way into the city. Dad said we'd better hurry, usually my line. I adopted his standard laid-back demeanor. "I trust you," I said. And we made it, albeit by the skin of our teeth.

Train ride fast. Snacks in the food car. Sleep on T's shoulder for the two-hour trip. We arrived in Philly, greeted by crazies in the station as we sat and waited for his bro to pick us up.

Twenty-five minutes pass. Bro calls, wants us to meet him and S in South Philly. First chance to invoke the policy of joint agreement. We decide to meet them in Center City instead, on our way to Temple.

Breakfast: delicious. S and I made our way to Temple. T and M went to dig a hole in somebody's back yard.