e.b.'s world

WordPress

2007-06-15T18:22:00.001-07:00

I didn't think it would come to this and I wasn't sure that I was ready - but a certain sequence of events led me here - or there...

www.ammanners.wordpress.com

Yes, that is correct - you can find me there as well. It has been quite a move - a lot of effort and a lot of thinking. I love my pink and my flamingo and the wonderful experience I have had here. It is just time. And hey I can always come back. But for now back sure y'all come with me (those readers and such) because I would certainly miss you!

CDBad's

2007-06-14T09:22:00.000-07:00

This will come up again because I am certain that I have not exhausted the topic. It has been bouncing around in my head for days or weeks or something like that and it has driven me mad. To the point that last night it nearly exploded - over some very poorly made Penne a Diablo with fresh vegetables. Magoo, myself, and my father sat down to dinner at a new Tampa restaurant - CDB's - at 7:30. After some initial discussions and a first round of cocktails we ordered. The waitress was mildly unfamiliar with the menu and I chose the dish above despite some confusion. In a timely manner our soup and iceberg lettuce salads with too much oil in their house dressing arrived with an extra side of bread. After the trays were picked up we ordered another round of cocktails and waited. And waited. And waited. We were told it would only be a minute. Or seemingly 45 of them. At 9 we flagged down the manager and kindly asked her to check on our food as we ordered it an hour ago. And again we waited and waited. Another 10 minutes go by and they arrived with our food and to no one's surprise mine was cold. It was evident it was cold before you even touched the entree - the sauce had hardened onto the pasta and vegetables, a sure (and unappetizing) sign. I asked the manager to please bring me a warmer dish and instead of apologizing for the wait or the food, she insisted that the food was just, "left on the line" and that, "she saw it there herself". Well to me that is not an indication the food was warm - in fact it tells me just the opposite - it was sitting on the line. But more so it looked cold and a quick taste told me I was correct. She left and brought me back a new bowl of pasta in mere minutes. This one clearly warm and fresh. Again without apologizing or even asking if things were okay she hovered over my shoulder and demanded that I eat it in front of her because she will not leave until I agreed with her that my meal was now warm. It was. I would have done anything to get her, her attitude, and her breath off my shoulder while I tried to eat. The food itself was mediocre to poor. Especially for something I waited for so long and for something I could have thrown together at home - in less time, for less money, and with far greater results. Certainly with less of a headache.

I was completely unsatisfied and totally disappointed. For quite the obvious reasons, but also because I don't get it. Why be NASTY? What benefit does it do to you or the business you are trying to run (into the ground)? This goes beyond customer service and the service industry. Why be nasty at all? I am trying really hard to understand what the need for it is in our society and in general in the human personality. I want to do my best to be a nice and charming person. No doubt I have my moments of shear and utter evil. I can be a complete bitch and a total crazy person. At times. Which is why I am working hard to curtail it. This attitude gets me all wound up and tired. It drains me and leaves me without any of the intended benefits and usually having to dole out apologies like candy. How about instead, I start with the candy and act saccharine sweet from the get go. Seems easier and more sane. Seems like I would get farther faster and with more overall success. Seems like a better perspective to enjoy. That would have made a difference in this evening's meal. If the manager had been apologetic, or even nice, I would have been far less disappointed. She achieved only one thing from her attitude - there will be three people who will never dine in their establishment again. Which to me seems to be the opposite goal of managing a restaurant. She should have started with dessert and let us decide based on our entree if we were coming back. A dollop of sweet (say like a free dessert) can last an entire meal - especially one that lasted two hours.

I get the flaws and see the other side - if we all existed in a nice friendly and peaceful bubble would these things happen? I am guessing so - shit happens. But we handle it differently, we look at it from a positive perspective and we move on from it faster because of all that. I would like to think that it would be helped overall. I will do my part to maintain that level - living my life with that existence. The best I can do is hope others do so as well. I can also hope others avoid that restaurant.

The Rash That Ate Manhattan Or Me

2007-06-13T04:36:00.000-07:00

The story won’t begin at the beginning because that is just too far away. When it comes down to it the beginning could be pegged at five years old when I entered kindergarten at Temple Zion in Miami Florida. Because that is the technical start of the educational process which culminated in a Juris Doctorate granted twenty years later by the Tulane University College of Law. In those twenty years I essentially prepared for the law degree and was groomed to be a professional. But lets start at the moment that it all began, when the girl became a lawyer. When the fun begins and the laughs never end.

Lets start at the arm pit rash of the summer of 2004. Nothing says professional and grooming like an itchy, oozey, arm pit rash. It began in June, a few short weeks after graduation, as a small irritation, an itch here and there. I was knee high in bar exam preparations and I poured over Bar Bri notes, attending lectures by day and outlining diligently every afternoon. I sweated over it all. Literally. It was Florida in the summer and the expression hot as balls means nothing until you have lived here. Sweat and heat surround your body forming a plastic casing that makes it difficult to breathe and impossible to avoid. So I thought little of the constant itching annoyance under there. I was in a generally irritated state at that point knowing I was devoting an entire summer to studying the laws of Florida. Until one day I looked down at my body and saw a thousand tiny red dots littering the underside of my arm, onto my chest and down my side. Both sides. If you wonder how this went unnoticed then you have never taken the bar exam. It is really really simple. When you live alone and shower only on even numbered days it is actually quite easy. I just never looked. I washed, rinsed, repeated without thinking of much else than criminal procedures and torts.

At the dermatologist she examined my red dots and determined that I was allergic to deodorant. After 25 years I developed an allergy to the single most important beauty item I use. At a time when I cannot experiment or manipulate, I needed things to remain even keel. I could not mess with my routine and I certainly could not mess around with an anti-perspirent. So in response she recommended the most brilliant solution ever - stop wearing deodorant. I politely nodded my head and said I understood and listened to her bogus suggestions about why this happens to people. All the while thinking that this was a load of crap and it was impossible that this women made it through medical school. Does she not get stressed? Does she not understand that it is 117 degrees outside? So it was very very clearly evident that this was not going to happen. A girl cannot sit in a crowded room with 100 strangers on a daily nervous basis studying to take an exam 20 years in the making in the middle of June in Florida and NOT WEAR DEODORANT. But I also could not continue to itch and scratch at my pits during these classes.

So I asked around and tried to find solutions to my problem. Only to find out that of the three total people I surveyed all three were also allergic to deodorant. Hello people? Why don’t I know these things? I did not know this was a condition let alone a common one. Why does nobody share this? It is not embarrassing - not like sweating through your t-shirts and smelling like a dead over ripe animal in a Bar Review course kind of embarrasing. So why were people not talking about this? I needed help so I listened to them. Based on their suggestions I began to use hypo-allergenic deodorant and baby powder when I left the house. I limited that to the few hours I had to be in class. As it did not really do the trick and it certainly did nothing to cure the red itchy heat oozing from my arms. I spent the remaining time at home studying with no shirt on, a cool washcloth under each pit, and a fan blowing on me to ease the heat sensation emanating from my chest area. Anyone wanna guess why I was single.

Well my friends that test taking strategy seemed to serve me well. Because I passed. And the rash went away. And I am not allergic to deodorant. I had hives. Simple as that. Stress induced hives. Hello Dr. Smarty Pants. Ever think of that? Which is why I am starting here. It was the induction into being a lawyer, as everyone has to take the Bar, spend months studying and stressing over it. But also as an introduction to how being a lawyer can make your body react in a physically sick and inappropriate way. Causing red dots, sweat, a stench, an itch, and an inability to go out in public or react appropriately around people. Being a lawyer would prove to be all these things and a few more token bonus goodies too. This was only the beginning of the story.

It's Getting Hot In Here

2007-06-11T11:22:00.000-07:00

Things started off this weekend quite heated. And not of the sexy kind. From Thursday night on there was some serious tension and I would like to take partial blame for dragging it out as long as I did. We benefited from cool down time as I took a solo trip down to Miami. Driving back on Saturday night, with my father at the wheel, we spotted the blazing sunset over the Everglades. Those unfamiliar with the geography - we head due west across the vast expanse of Alligator Ally - and I clicked away capturing the bolden sun as it dipped into the wetlands.

Someone asked and the new camera is a Panasonic, which will have better zoom so these kinds of shots will be even more vibrant. Though hopefully I will not have to make that trip again under those conditions.

On Sunday morning Magoo ran to the store to get breakfast pickings and proudly pulled out an 11 pound bag of cherries. I kid, but it seemed endless and we both realized quickly we would not be able to eat them all.

So while he fiddled around the house and did some awesome home improvement things, I searched for recipes and went back to the store for lunch, dinner, and cherry fixings. At this point it was one and apparently already unbearably hot outside. This was my first foray outdoors all day and the short distance from the house to car left me with sweat trickling down my face and forming at the small of my back. The only way I can describe it, again for those unfamiliar, is like taking a hot bath wearing a wool sweater. It is that uncomfortable, itchy, stifling and wrong. Already hot and bothered I stood in line at the deli counter - my least favorite activity in all the world. I swear my least and I will argue that to my death. Which I thought could come while standing there - from having to beat my head against the glass display as the service was just that horrific and the man/woman (unclear as to the gender as his/her hands were the size of the turkey breast) helping me was in fact not at all helpful. Why is it that this makes me so furious? Already overly annoyed I followed this up at checkout with the man who left his wallet in his car and when retrieved it found out that his credit card was declined. A short trip to the Publix for 17 items turned into an hour debacle. At least they had air conditioning.

Again the walk back to the car from the store with three grocery bags was mind numbingly stifling. Hello summer! Since I was already drenched in sweat, I agreed to walk Ginger and Tom and I got in some exercise. Every single time returning to the house, opening the air conditioned door, and screaming, "holy fuck nuts." We decided to do what seemed logical and most humorous. So myself, Magoo, and a bottle of Jack Daniels enjoyed the rest of the afternoon at the movies. We spent two hours Knocked Up and of course loved every minute of it - what is not to like about absolute humor, a spiked Diet Coke and 65 degree air conditioning?

Coming home slightly buzzed I made dinner, as promised, and tried to make a dent in our bowl full o' cherries. First up cherry salsa. This I made early so we could snack while I cooked and continued to drink and Magoo worked. It sounds wrong and odd (the salsa part- not the me drinking and Magoo working part - because that sounds just about right) but it was delicious and fresh. I forgot to buy the pepper at the store because after the deli counter incident I tried my best to get out of there. Tried being so key. So I used yellow and red onions to give it differing flavors. I also dislike cilantro so I added some red pepper flakes for spice. It worked wonderfully with some chips to dip in or, as the recipe suggests, would probably be good as a topping on a protein.

I then froze an ice mixture of vodka and cherries hoping to make a granita - as inspired by her. While it looks pretty - unfortunately it tasted only like water with mushed cherries - which is actually pretty disgusting. My portions were off. We sipped on the water as a cool refresher to the end of a hot hot weekend and dumped the rest down the drain. We still have cherries left - they appear here to stay along with the sweltering temps from this weekend. Though I hope it continues to remain calm and cool in my house - with plenty of "adult" beverages and good food. And the beautiful beautiful air conditioner.

Downtown Tampa

2007-06-10T08:23:00.000-07:00

For a few Saturdays in May I took a photo class at a local museum. I was served up with some serious photo envy of people's expensive cameras and their ability to take some excellent shots. Not all but some - and that to me was the greatest lesson - seeing other's eyes. You can learn so much from that - in addition to the technical lessons the instructor instilled. Some of which I am not quite sure of and some of which I am still practicing.

The photos I submitted were of downtown scenes you would not expect to see downtown. A home like feel to the space and place I called home - something I felt having worked down there for a few years. It really is a quaint little downtown, we don't even have a Starbucks, but I feel like this especially captures that as you don't really see a high rise structure. Though I have to say my classmates who submitted those were awe inspiring as they made the mundane buildings look beautiful and made Tampa look quite glamorous. To me that is what has been so much fun about photography - the varying ideas, angles, and images and what is conveyed through the lenses. It is educational and inspirational and completely fun - my new camera arrives on Monday so let the games continue.

Blood and Fire

2007-06-08T08:50:00.000-07:00

I am looking for someone, who can take as much as I give,
Give back as much as I need,
And still have the will to live.

I am intense,
I am in need,
I am in pain,
I am in love.

I feel forsaken, like the things I gave away.

(c) Indigo Girls (1989).

Summer Fare

2007-06-07T07:51:00.001-07:00

Okay folks I have been cooking. Yeah, I know I told you all this already. But I cannot stop. Monday I can't quite count because there were these factors and a game of tennis with Ash. But I still managed quite a plate of sliced Fuji's, crusted baguette, fresh mozzarella, and thinly sliced prosciutto. Think Anne's late night anti-pasta with a kick. I pieced it together and picked at it while reading over y'alls work and contemplating large life issues like how to best leave work at 6 pm. You know the basics of any summer time discussion.

To continue on the theme - picking, summer, and light fare - I composed for myself and Magoo, her recipe - a melon-prosciutto salad. Some are smitten with her and I cannot deny them she is excellent and her photos are magic. But I have been taken recently with Ms. Molly's stories and gastronomic tales. So on Tuesday in an ode to her blog I also made her rhubarb dessert. Magoo spent time in Italy as a child and has quite fond memories of ricotta. So much so that last night he sprinkled sugar on it and ate it straight from the container with a spoon. Apparently all the cooking was for naught - I can just hand him a spoon. But the baked dessert was excellent - something so undessert like as it had a magnificent combination of flavors and a bittersweet taste perfect for those who can't handle chocolate-y desserts. I had it again on Wednesday, this time left over and cold, and you know it tasted almost better as the orange zest marinated into the root and the ricotta didn't quite melt, which I found preferable since Magoo is right that is one good cheese. Before the cold rhubarb dessert part two I sliced and diced green and red peppers picked up on a quick side stop to the local farmer's market. I added them into a black bean salad - something I have made a handful of times before always with excellent results. It is perfect over burgers, garden or otherwise, as a chip dip, or a salad topper. It is so fresh and tangy we just eat it up. Unfortunately last night I overestimated the amount of tang and was generous with the red pepper flakes. It was spicy - too spicy for that kind of dish. I threw it on a bed of lettuce, added sugar, and red wine vinegar to even out the hot, cut up another fresh baguette and drowned it all with a beer. Not a bad post work out meal considering my senses were worked out also. By the end I was tearing. To be honest I am a bit disappointed having failed ever so slightly. I am also disappointed that I do not have more evidence to show you of my culinary madhouse. But a new camera is en route to casa Anne so this should not be a problem ever again.

In my excited state over cooking I don't how I could initially forget to mention last night's Cook Off on Top Chef. Season One v. Season Two. We made our bets but Magoo fell asleep before I could cash in on my winnings. How could Season One not win? I was jumping out of my skin excited for all 60 minutes of the goodness. Bravo to Bravo for following through with a brilliant idea and thank you for letting us see Harold, Sam, and Dave again.

**The black bean salad is one I originally took from the Fresh Market website that they have since removed. Smitten Kitchen has a similar one- but I have just been playing it by ear - which failed me ever so slightly last night.

A Genius and A Leash

2007-06-06T08:14:00.000-07:00

A few weeks back Magoo treated himself to a Saturday full of errands which included a trip to the Generic Pet Store. For my life I cannot remember which location has Pet Smart and which has the Pet Savers. To me there is no difference because I cannot also remember which carries Ginger's food and which does not. And I inevitably chose wrong when it comes to that time. To me it is like the color of my toothbrush. I just don't know. There are details of my life that I can never for the life of me remember. Ever. I have a penchant for detail and can tell you that Donna Martin wore a black tube top with a white flower on the first day of school but never in my whole life will I know the color of my toothbrush or which pet store is in which location. So at Generic Strip Mall Pet Store, Magoo purchased a retractable leash for Ginger. He was all hyped up and gung-ho about this development of his progression as a pet owner. He had broached the subject with me a number of times and I dismissed it. We were a family of standard leashes. Quiet, easy, complacent leashes in lovely shades that match the collars. This retractable business was too much for me to consider so I pushed it aside much like his suggestions that I remove my shoes from the front door area. I hear it and I decide it does not jibe with the essence of me so I do nothing about it. Well when you put Magoo alone in Generic Pet Store and hand him a Visa he does what he can. Because lord knows that this tactic WILL WORK TO REMOVE MY SHOES. But I am just saying - I can be bribed. So he bought us the retractable leash and attached it to Ginger's collar and it has been a miserable struggle for me ever since that moment. He poked fun at me and my inability to multi-task while walking the dog. The bag, the bag filled with poop, the retraction mechanism, and quite often the cell phone and of course just plain walking - which often times is one of the biggest challenges. Well I cannot master all these things. And the leash gives me serious anxiety. I cannot control it properly, she is either choking on it or roaming freely through my neighbors bedroom it is just that long. I can never get the mechanism to catch and in seconds she is 199 feet ahead of me eating yesterday's garbage. It is just a mess.

This evening I took her out for her nightly constitutional and at the same time was on the phone with Magoo. This I blame on him. Being in Philadelphia means that I HAVE TO talk on the phone to him while walking the dog. She inevitably made her way around and around a tree while he and I are discussing whether Philadelphia really is dirty and how he could get lost and wind up in New Jersey. I managed to notice that she had some how made two circles around the tree as the leash has that much slack. With my semi-free hand I "unwrapped" her leash trying to undo her circles but only created another one and somehow also a knot. And at this point she still had enough leash to wander aimlessly through the neighbors yard. I say shit very loudly - as now there was a beagle tied to my neighbors tree. I urgently hung up with Magoo, or really just cursed a lot and dropped my phone on the concrete, and again try to reign her in. No luck - there are now two knots. She was gently pulling and trying her best to get into the flower beds. So I do what only seems rational - I sit down on the sidewalk and try to undo the circles and knots to make sure she does no more damage. This must have looked totally normal - who wouldn't feel safe seeing a girl in running shorts sitting on the sidewalk outside their home at 10:30 on a Thursday night? I recognize this and make another well planned move - I take off Ginger's leash. She sees this as any poorly trained dog would - as freedom and she starts to run. I run too, which is not something I do ever or well and especially not in flip-flops. Luckily she sees home as a good destination and I whole heartily agree. I opened the door, grabbed the spare leash, strapped her in, and headed back to the tree. I am getting girlfriend points here, right? I seriously contemplated letting the leash stay there and walking her in the complete opposite direction pretending this NEVER HAPPENED. But, 1) how do I explain to Magoo that his prized leash is tied in knots to a neighbors tree; and 2) what would the neighbors think? So we proceeded back to the tree to untie the knots. This was a smidge easier as there was not a stubborn dog attached to one end pulling on it. But it was still abhorrently difficult as it was night and there are about 73 knots. There was also a friendly neighbor type watching. "How'd ya get so many knots in there?" Now that is the kind of support I am looking for - right to the point and annoying. I ignore him and slowly and mechanically undo every single knot thinking that Magoo better appreciate me rescuing his leash. Because I know that I am NEVER using the damned thing again. We walked the rest of the block with the spare leash all blissful and normal like old times. No thinking involved and the Beagle kept at a normal distance. And when I got home I left my shoes at the front door. That's just how I am.

Cooking Up a Storm

2007-06-04T07:49:00.000-07:00

I think it could have literally been the weather - the storm made me do it. I woke up on Saturday morning with a domestic urge. I wanted to bake. While the music was pumping and the eggs were frying, I arranged a chocolate chip walnut banana bread. It smelled wonderful and came out of the oven just as the rain ended. While the four inches of water was perfect for our parched lawns, the bread was not. There were no eggs in the bread, though the ones served at breakfast were divine, the banana bread was a low fat recipe and tasted just like that. A touch of jam gave it back it's sweetness but that's about it.

Come Sunday and a brand new Van Morrison CD I heated up the kitchen again. Three hours later Magoo and I turned out a pretty rocking meal and invited the girls over to sample and witness Sarah Silverman in all her raunchy glory. The food was good and her jokes were over the top. I peeled all the recipes off the Food Network website - adapting some to our needs including using none of the fat that Paula suggests. Wow that woman loves butter. We dabbled in mixing our own ideas into the pre-cut recipes and tried our hardest to remember what kind of modifications we made and what a 1/2 of a 1/4 is.

At dinner on Saturday night we ordered a cucumber salad that was just perfect - light and savory. Inspired, I picked out this recipe from Wolfgang Puck - with more of an Asian flavor it was still delightful. We munched on it while we waited for Ashley to bring over the wine. I probably could've made that my meal.

We also had a bunch of organic asparagus that needed to be used up and Magoo was itching to try out the new grill - even offering to grill our cereal. I declined the grilled Cherri-o's offer and instead picked out a grilled asparagus recipe from the man who runs the grilling world - Bobby Flay. It turned out wonderful - crisp, clean and spring-y with slightly melted fresh mozzarella giving it a little substance. Even served cold it worked well as an elegant side.
A few months back while laid up from gum surgery I tortured myself by watching hours of cooking shows. I couldn't eat so I figured the second best thing was to look at all the good food. Paula made this salad that looked absolutely ridiculous and the crunch of the Ramen noodles enticed me since at that point the most I was crunching was tomato soup. I finally had the chance and desire to sample the recipe. It really was good - the broccoli and dressing were cheerful and simple. You gotta cut out the butter, oil, and sugar - there is no need for them and honestly it is more flavorful if you sub in some garlic and other seasonings. But still a great accompaniment to a dinner or served by itself as a lunch.
Finally the reason the dinner existed in the first place was the grilled chicken. I told Magoo he was in charge of le chicken but he still insisted I pick out a recipe. We also wanted softer refreshing flavors to go with the excessive heat of the day. While the coriander turned out to be a bold taste the lime evened it out and gave the chicken a tasteful kick. Plus we got to use the limes picked from the tree in our yard. This made us ridiculously giddy and gave us a sense of home grown pride. The recipe called for chicken legs but we made out just fine with fillets - if I must say.

Plus now Magoo feels he sufficiently broke in the grill - so we decided next up are pizzas. Yeah I saw it on the Food Network this weekend, okay you figured me out. The next time a storm approaches or I just feel like standing in the kitchen for hours and having good friends, great food, and perfect music - we will fire it up. All in all I would say it was well played and enjoyed - you can see some of the results here.

**Does anyone know how to get Blogger to cooperate when using bullet points? They are driving me to stick a bullet point into my eye...

Aint She A Beauty

2007-06-03T04:41:00.000-07:00

We have an orchid that Magoo won in an office lottery type give away. She was beautiful with purple and white flowers. She died. I think she could be alive - all the flowers fell of the stem, so there is a chance she could grow back. I just am not sure how to make that happen. I am pretty certain though that I have to do something about it - whereas before all I did was add water. I am thinking that this was not the right step given my result. Or perhaps she needed a special type of water. For a time there Ginger only drank distilled water. There could be something about my house that brings about fancy water requirements. Some have fancy pants - I have fancy plants. I could do a good old fashioned Google search on how to care and not kill orchids.

Or maybe I ask the one person who knows how to handle beauty. It is quite clear these are not my orchids - they are alive and they are not purple and white. These are my mother's orchids - that she has managed to keep alive. A crazy feat. She managed the same with my sister and I as well. Equally as perplexing and crazy. So she seems to know what she is doing and she certainly has me beat on the orchid front. An easy task but definitely well played. But seriously we all know mothers are sources of all things brilliant and right. Aren't hers a beauty? So bright and vibrant. There is something feminine and provocative about the pistol and the stamen. Yet enticing and gorgeous at the same time. It is not about their scent but their delicate and tenuous positioning. They can almost be taken out of the flower category and placed instead into the artwork one. Tiny pretty delicate petals of dead artwork.

Hurricane Logan

2007-05-31T08:38:00.000-07:00

This man made we wait in agony over every move and every moment we would spend together. He said we could meet at 10 for one hour. Well that is what we did. He said to come over and watch TV. That is all we did. No food, no alcohol, no sex. Just TV because that is what he said. So when he said he would call me back, I knew he would. But he chose his words carefully, as carefully as he chose every other minute detail in his life including what pair of underwear he would don the next morning, and like that he chose not to say when he'd call. When he did this my heart and mind would devolve into convulsions where I could do nothing but think about him and anxiously wait in gut wrenching palpitations where my heart only beat every second time it should for him to lead me to his greatness. I couldn’t call him. Well because that was not in the instructions and because I was guaranteed no phone call back until later - the time he determined he was ready to again speak to me. So one very paranoid afternoon later, Shannon texted me the greatest words in the English language, “cockpails?” The typo a result of her early start on the game. A word that will forever mean a multitude of drinks always to begin with a very dirty martini. So cockpails it was at a four o’clock on a Friday. No, no, no lawyers don’t leave at four. Not anymore and not unless you live in New Orleans. But this was June and we had a hurricane coming. How grand it is to live in Florida sometimes? At this juncture of bad weather and cocktailing we knew that the storm wasn’t really coming, we also lived in a world pre-Katrina where all risks were scoffed at. With that I danced down the hall, towards the elevator, into my car and straight to the bar. We watched the weather, we sat outside with the unusual and often cool gusts, and we drowned in our own liquids. In a buzzed stupor I declared that I was never speaking to Mr. My Time Only if he did not call me back by nine o’clock that night. Shannon dutifully held my phone hostage in her Prada to prevent me from checking it obsessively every ten and half seconds. At a quarter to nine she granted me my one wish to have the Motorola back to check any messages from him or otherwise. When I got not a one,I slammed the phone down and again dramatically pronounced that unless my phone is broken he and I were done. Because this is what friends do who buy you cockpails and hold your phone hostage, Shannon dialed my number to show me that my phone was not broken - that he was just an asshole. She dialed and it rang and rang and rang. On her end. My little flip phone never once made a sound. When voicemail should’ve picked up, an operator came on rendering her unable to leave a message. I didn’t even get a missed call. Turned out MY PHONE WAS BROKEN. And that HE WAS NOT AN ASSHOLE. Okay wait a minute. He was still an asshole but my drunken declarations were now allowed to be thrown by the wayside. I actually could make good on those excuses. I could continue in this “relationship” and no one could stop me. Yeah no one could. They should have, but I wouldn’t let them. Not at that point anyway. Because he did call and according to him it was many times. But we have no proof of that. I'm a lawyer and I like proof. But apparently only when I have not just consumed cocktails with 8o proof vodka. So we did make plans. And we all know what that means. His plans on his time. One movie, one day, this weekend. Three hours and I am out. The hurricane never came but it did leave an excellent excuse for Logan to continue to walk all over me and the true reason why my phone did not work that night. I let him because I was having fun and I was too busy tyring to maintain the rest of my life to even see what I can see so clearly now. The thick of the fog of that relationship storm made it so no calls could get through to me about where we were headed. Like the hurricane that never hit the Bay, we were in a relationship that was going nowhere either. It just took me a while to realize it.

Things That Are

2007-05-29T14:44:00.000-07:00

Bad:

My back - I hurt it playing in the ocean this weekend. I think I pulled a muscle near my sciatica. I am old. Old. Old.

Our stomachs - After Thai food at a place that had a roach in the restroom. That should've been my first clue. Or the Ramen noodles they tried to pass off as Pad Ba-Mee. These are signs of bad bad things to come.
Being here - Back at work after a holiday way weekend is horrendous. The kind of thing that makes our stomach problems seem minor. Can't they ease us into these sorts of things?
Ginger's paw - She sprained it while running around the house post-bath. Now she limps.

My nose - I somersaulted in the pool scraping my nose on the bottom.

Good:

My weekend - totally rocked. We put the windows down and screamed our lungs out to Genesis. We drank Miller Lights for hours, Ginger had one too, and made up answers to Scattergories. Giraffes so live on farms. Hello? Giraffe farms. We had beer relays in the pool and played poor poor games of football in the ocean. There was flip cup, the new indoor grill (thanks Mike), and four Malbecs at Mad Dogs. We had some old fashioned fun. The background to all those stories, even the bad, was the highlight of three blissful peaceful well played relaxing drink induced summer days. Just look at the background of the picture. We had gorgeous weather, a cool breeze, the beat of the sun, the laughter of friends and a sensation of love and freedom. I thought on more than one occasion that this was dream like. I loved that this was my life. The pictures tell only a bit of where we were and what we were doing...but they are pretty spectacular too.

It's About the Music

2007-05-25T07:20:00.001-07:00

After tonight I want to run out and re-watch A Chorus Line. I had a ton of fun at the pops with Marvin Hamlish the composer of that music and other hits. Including the film version of The Way They Were, who does not just love that movie? And I really hate crying over movies when you are supposed to cry, because I cry enough when you are not supposed to and I cry enough in life. But that movie just makes sense because you knew she had to chase him over to LA and do her own thing but also that they were never going to make. The reality of that makes me cry because it is so simple and yet so true. When you think about it though it is the music that sets the tone for the movie and the emotion comes from the whole package, how well it all played together. What was so moving about tonight was how amazingly perfectly in line the symphony moved together. I cannot get over how they actually made the music. Tiny little violins making that much noise. Working as a machine but also as perfect individual units. Each with a task, often the same task, but also each a necessary element of the whole. Some with solos and others who were clear leaders but who actually spent most of the time working together as a team, blending in with the others. All as one. Really powerful and beautiful. I was so enticed and enamored by them. It was hooot seeing people in charge of these instruments, making melodies, and working to create a larger symphony. I get at thing, an itchy tingly thing, when people can move so well together and enjoy passions in the same form. It is quite emotional. It could've brought me to tears.

It was hot later on in the weekend as we sat outside enjoying the sun and the music. I swore this to Magoo in drunken whispers, that acoustic guitar players are hot. He can bang on those drums, so why not the guitar? Hot in the same way the symphony was - they master making sweet tunes, as he calls it, coming out of those powerful instruments. Memorable moving music. But really they do. A human able to exert that special talent and make brilliant notes is hot. Coming home after enjoying the tunes of the bar band, a bucket of beers and an afternoon by the water, to find your man listening to music full blast and cooking. Okay that is HOT. It was just so perfect. The smell of fresh sauce and the sounds of tunes from the TV - is the penultimate combination. Talk about working together. It is your way to connect and move together. Making music of your own and tantalizing pasta too. It is not just about the music, but about what those songs remind me of, how I can know every word even if I'm getting them wrong and feel absolutely great. Because that is what I do. Dancing in the kitchen in bare feet - a slight sunburn and the remainders of a beer buzz. Totally what summer is going to be about not just this one but the ones of the past and the ones you can only dream about. Summers are always so dream like, maybe it is the extreme heat and long drawn out days. It creates a moment in time to remember back to that song, that sound, the scent and all the memories. Suntan lotion, bug spray, sweat, salt and tired, that too much time in the sun and the pool kind of tired. The way A Chorus Line conjures recollections of younger days prancing around in socks and reminders of what is fun about music of all kinds - the singing along factor. In line together with older memories, making news ones connected to your friends, mixing voices together in ideas and poor poor harmonies. That is what I did at the symphony, in quiet tones under my breath, and at the bar louder and in my key, my drunken key. That's how the power of music gives into the passion and emotion, to sing and dance along to provide an afternoon and evening of entertainment, to make and bake memories and consummate relationships. Driving to work today even Ray created a not too distant memory, just the notes gave the ability to time travel and feel the warmth and goodness of that moment in December. The music makes the memory and creates a time that you cannot remember them as separate. Those songs will always go together with that image. The way the sounds coming from the TV had me dancing into the kitchen. The Moody Blues remind me of my parents, my mom humming along in her own kitchen, those kind of childhood themed memories. That song created a moment that was comforting, that made me aware of a home and what a house is all about, a connection to the past and present and who does not think that is hot?

This weekend will promise to be hot too - temps reading in the high 90's. It is the start of summer and here that means six months of blinding heat. We are going to the beach and celebrating Memorial Day the way Americans do- making it hot, steamy and with good tunes - or really bad ones if you are me. In a bad music square off I will be the winner. But that is what the summer is all about. See the rest of the Sunday pictures on flickr.

Chocolate Icing

2007-05-23T15:38:00.000-07:00

The problem is not the black box I feel that enraptures my skull causing a dull ache and a hate for all things I have to do and people around me. To me, the problem is that this is apparently an unacceptable state to live in. People don't accept it and I don't get shit done. I sit in my office and stare at the screen pretending to review documents for a latent defect that resulted in water intrusion. There is a high possibility that this sensation that has crept over my skull could be caused by those exact words. Or the people who wrote those words. And the only words I can think are who the fuck cares? When it comes down to it every bit of housing and construction is fucked up. In Florida it is humid and it rains. Can't we accept that as a premise instead of litigation as the premise and go from there as a working assumption. Because you assume then that I am out of work as a result. But that would likely be a good scenario to this. If I could just live on what I had and needed. Enough to cover the mortgage, bills and loans with money for groceries. Real groceries not the eating out kind I splurge on now. Like fresh fruit and lentils. I could be good with lentils and likely a tad skinnier too. If I just decided that was how I was going to live. Resolved to do so. I think I wouldn't want more because the more is when I get into trouble. If I keep it simple and never advance and never move on from those wants then I won't be tied to the job and the income, I won't need the more. I won't continuously have more either so I won't continue to want more. There is no moving up - it is level and peaceful and I have to think blissful. Can I do it? If it means I can walk away maybe I can. We as a people can do anything, I just know it. That is how we as a people got into a mess of insurance litigation over stucco. Maybe I can hiatus. The word sounds foreign but not luxurious because it is a street name that runs through the country. But still foreign. Because, can people do things like that? Just take breaks? I can work. I cannot work here doing this. But I can work. Like at the Gap just to earn that money I need. The minimums. Would that resolve this tension and desire to simultaneously scream my head off until my throat is dry and lie on the floor in a t-shirt drinking wine from a plastic cup? Something destructive passed me by today including from the list a fried chicken sandwich at Wendys and a pack of smokes from Walgreens. Instead when I got home I opted for a soup spoon full of chocolate frosting opened from the pantry. A healthy alternative to my choices but not a true solution to the overlying problem. The problem that lays over my head like a thick black box of mush not too dissimilar from the Betty Crocker container now missing a chunk from the middle.

My Crack

2007-05-22T08:21:00.000-07:00

Meeting new people and spending time making new friends introduces you to their stories and ideas. You learn their mannerisms, ways they tell a story, eating preferences, and quirks about cleanliness and godliness. They have their experiences and passions and inside tips on housekeeping help. Which was crazy perfect timing on that front because just that morning Magoo told me that I needed to try to find one for us and there at lunch was one offered up. Also offered was crack. Well I didn't know it was crack at the time but it turns out it is a white substance that I would become addicted to. What is all sorts of wonderful is that it is here in Tampa and it is super accessible to me, for a few small bucks. Here it's called cali yogurt but elsewhere it is Pinkberry. Not exactly illicit but ooohhhh boy am I addicted. My crackberry. I have been three times in three days - since learning about its goodness from the other girls. Oh god it is a great combination of fresh, smooth, tart and just plain yum. I dragged Magoo there after tennis and sushi and asked him what makes it so good and he responded brilliantly that it was the yumminess. Deep in the crevice of the white paper bowels buried beneath the almond slivers, my topping of choice, was that exact ingredient. He was so very right and unfortunately as addicted as I. New friends have great ideas to share - even if they are crack filled.

Love Letters

2007-05-21T11:01:00.000-07:00

In our move I found stacks of old letters and cards. I was a keeper and have a ton of notes, birthday cards and funny memorabilia from the past decade or so. Included in the pile was an un-sent letter in a pink envelope with a teddy bear sticker addressed to Alli my old near and dear friend. I wrote it in college as it was going from my PO Box to hers, a testament of our age and that time in our lives, when we sat in our respective dorm rooms and chatted about everything for hours. The content of the letter is also a testament to a younger me. Something I appear to recognize in the letter and something I feel I actually achieved. In a way the fact that it was unsent was to be destined, as if it were just another journal entry or a letter to myself. Because I prophesize and I would like to think that prophecy came true.

April 24, 1999

Allison -

Hey Baby. I know I just talked to you this morning, but I really need to get this out. This whole situation with this guy is bothering me to no end. I've already bitched to everyone about it and I know I am annoying but I just can't shake it. This is/was precisely the reason I don't hook up randomly or drunk. I want the guy to call, I want respect and I don't want to be made to feel dirty.
I'm sitting here on a Saturday night and all I can do is think about him and
this fucked up situation and that just pisses me off. I had a great life before this happened and I was a strong minded person - why am I so weak now that I can't even plan a lesson plan? It makes me mad that I can't get over this or do anything. I've called him once (which in my mind is already too much.) I never open myself up because I thought I'd get hurt. When I do, guess what? I got hurt. Whats this going to do for my self esteem? I always thought that I was stronger than this, that I could handle something like this. Which makes me even more upset - that I am not handling the situation as expected.
My final closing thoughts are why the hell can't he just pick up the phone and call me? There is not time not to mention no reason to play games. I feel like he is getting bad advice from one of his immature and retarded fraternity brothers. I can't deal with the bullshit!!!
Please remind me of this letter one day - when we are old. So hopefully I can appreciate what a great life I have and to laugh at my youth. I'm hoping that one day this will seem funny!!!
Thanks for listening and bearing with me.

Love Always - A

Besides the melo-drama the letter is dead on. I loved how strong willed I was, but I know that was what prevented me from taking those steps to be in relationships at that time and why this situation unravled me just so. Those are certain moments where we just don't know what to do. Some guy or some situation or whatever has made us so mad that we are at our wits end. Here I know that writing it down, even if unmailed, helped. I swear I don't even know who this is about. Nice, huh? But really that fact is just super telling and a great lesson - that life moves on and you will get over it. To the point where you don't remember who or what the tears were even about. It is just so incredibly true that time heals most all wounds and that you'll eventually get over those dramas and problems and move on. But more so I love how this truly became a prophecy and that I seemed to know I would move on, find it funny, and recognize that my life will be great enough to give me perspective. What is a little bit scary is that today is when I would have said I was "old." It probably would be now to my 20 year old self. Though, despite the aging, I'm in a place to do that appreciating now. Even more so, I would like to think that it can be the case in general, that dreams will and can come true, that your fantasies and day dreams will eventually happen. But it has to be in the time and moment that they are supposed to. This will happen to everyone in their time as well and we just need to remember that to help get past the drama.

No Explanation Necessary

2007-05-20T09:39:00.000-07:00

Ginger Beans May 2007

Just My Weekend

2007-05-18T07:01:00.000-07:00

Not that long ago I would just write and post here whenever I damn pleased. Those were the days, not all that far off ago, when no one was reading. Then I got readers and commenters, who I love! love! love! and would never trade in. But I sort of stopped doing that and I sort of got onto a one post per day type track and they all get wrapped up in a neat little package and have themes and stuff. Which again, I love, but I want to remind myself that this was started for me. To keep my thoughts, ideas, memories and whatever else I want. And that maybe boring or I guess it could be totally interesting in that voyeuristic type way - I know that is a huge part of what makes this whole phenomenon successful. But that is what I have to remind myself of which again is what I am doing out loud here.

This weekend I have so little to do that I actually have a lot because I want to fill in all the spaces with things. Mostly errands but also house type stuff that just needs to get done or I will blow my ear off with a 12 gauge if it does not. I just can't stand having things sitting around. Which is totally not true - I can stand it until the point when I JUST CANNOT HANDLE IT ANYMORE. Then it becomes something I have to do. Tonight I have a date with my mother to the symphony which I am actually looking forward to. Tomorrow morning I am taking a photography class, a part of a birthday present from Magoo, which begins super early at like 9 or something. So it is totally cool to have an evening at the pops with the mom. Plus I am trying hard to detoxify even if it is just for a few days because last week I drank straight through from Tuesday to Sunday and I wanted to burst. So if I make through to Saturday with no liquids I will consider it a success. After the class, which I am SO excited about, I wanted to drop off our dry cleaning, pick up one last frame at Pottery Barn, drop off two pairs of shoes at the cobblers (I giggle at that term it is just so adorable), and to return items to Target to exchange them for a full length mirror. I am tired of standing on a chair to assess my outfit, the condo had these really big mirrors so I have not owned a free standing one in years, but I need one again. Need. I will likely also need to get some of that cali yogurt again, or three times, but more about my new crack at a later time. If time I also want to get some shopping in - you know just the straight up mall kind of shopping. Again about those needs. I say if I have time because I have a burning sensation to sit on my couch, with a cold drink, and watch the Preakness. Don't ask, I am on this horse racing kick and just want to watch the damned race. That is before Magoo and I have to get showered and dressed for a birthday dinner. Sunday we will likely pick up around the house, clean, and hang pictures. I also want to push him for some outdoor time - either tennis or a fine meal or even both if we are so inclined. Here that babe? And if not I am totally okay just making it to Publix because it has been about a half a century since our butts have seen the inside of a grocery. A healthily stocked fridge makes a happy girl. Oh maybe I can finally get around to that lasagna. The possibilities of a quite empty weekend are really quite filling.

So the comments are off because this one is just for my thoughts and ideas. Plus what is there to comment on? That I don't need to go to the dry cleaners? Or that you love the symphony also? Don't think that is necessary. Instead go about enjoying your weekends.

Clear Water

2007-05-16T20:39:00.000-07:00

You know you live in Florida when driving on 75 you are stuck behind a truck filled with oranges and over to your left, in that lane, is a person doing 40 with their left blinker on. That is so Florida.

You also know you live in Florida when you get to be at the beach by 9 am on a Sunday. Magoo and I always said we were going to go but would then find something else to do. The trick really is just to get up and go - not stopping to do anything else. This is also important because by the time we left at noon the place was packed. Lines to get in, lines to park and lines to find a comfy spot in the sand. Oh and of course you know you live in Florida when it is also 97 degrees at noon. Yet another reason to beach it early early on.

We had a great time napping, reading, drinking our smuggled Jack 'n Cokes and walking the shore. I say smuggled because I am not so sure drinking out in the open on the beach is all that legal. Of course we say we are going to do it again and I think we must. But we also agreed that we are going to buy some beach chairs and even a cooler. You know do it all right and stuff that way you really know you live in Florida.

The Reality of TV

2007-05-15T14:00:00.000-07:00

Alright folks I cried during a sitcom. How I Met Your Mother got to me because I hate break ups and I hate watching breakups. Sure that was an easy statement to make because who doesn't, but whatever. I've really always felt a strong sense of ties to this show but I think that it is just because it is well done and that is the point. Any good writing should draw you in like that. So I cried - even though I knew it was coming because she is the aunt and there is no way they could be together. But still it is just so sad to see people move on and apart especially when the love is there. I mean couldn't you just see the love they shared? I know it made me think about love, and passion, and friendship and god damned breakups.

Okay, so yes, I totally have a problem with separating reality from the TV. I know I do. This is why I don't watch horror movies because I know that a crazy man with an axe for a hand will come torture me in the middle of the night on a Tuesday. I know this because it was on TV. Despite my penchant for the dramatic and my fear of anything remotely scary, those Terminix commercials where the walls talk totally FREAK me out, I do manage to squeeze in Lost. Though I admit it is done a lot of times with my eyes squeezed shut. Well, because, I can't take the death, the pain, the torture, the fear, the anxiety, the not knowing or the blood and broken bones. So, yeah, most of that show is out as well. But gimme those five seconds in between and damn I love that show. And talk about loving shows and love and breaking up and all things great on TV, and we get the Bachelor. Here though I seem to understand that it is not real. Though I disagree with Magoo and think that they are in it for real and they seem to think in the moment it is real. But that in the reality of real there is no way you can form a relationship like that except that you are forced to and you have set your mind to doing so. Therefore, the girls really do think they are falling in love. Because they said they loved him 49 seconds after meeting him. But once they step off the magic island that is ABC they realize this shit 'aint going to fly and that is not love but a game that they played really damn well. Still though I gotta watch it and stayed up late for it last night even though I went home early from school because I was not feeling well. You are never not well enough though to watch, and participate if you are me, in some really really good TV. And really you get a whole post on TV because I spent some quality time watching it both on screen and on my computer, which was really cool because I could lie in bed, so it is ingrained in my brain right now.

Though speaking of TV and ABC - those in the Tampa area can catch the ladies on the 5 o'clock news tomorrow. No not those ladies - but the dogs, Ginger and Soph, should be featured at some point. Because in this situation I was actually living through the TV. Now that was reality.

Mother's Day

2007-05-11T20:01:00.000-07:00

My Mother Taught Me:

To love animals and really dogs unconditionally

The meaning of a mothers hugs - they are filled with love

The value of a good bargain

Diet coke, low calories, sugar substitutes, fruits, veggies, and all things involved in healthy eating

The worth of well made clothes

How to value and care for your parents

The importance of painted nails - they are just plain naked without

Jewelry is important - pearls, diamonds, and any other bauble in between

Money is not everything

Cashmere in sweaters or in general because blankets and scarves are nice too

How to take care of your skin - we are a wrinkle free group

To wear nude bras under white tees and for that matter a little padding never hurt anyone

How to set a proper table

How to be bold and say what is on your mind

To drink wine really but vodka is not too far behind

Hi sweetie

Why you must love flowers either given as a gift or bought for yourself

Why you always need two pairs of sneakers

Interior decorating - though she still kicks my ass at that with impeccable taste

No thank you portions - they won't kill you

To enjoy a good book, the value of reading, and the joy of spending an afternoon doing such

TNF - that's not fair for those who want to use it

Knock wood, everything is fine

Reuse recycle

Shulffi and all things Yiddish

The importance of good oral hygiene - she has survived the dentist more than one person ever should

How to be strong

How not to whine - I still have a ways to go

How to be the Queen of Scrabble - well she has not taught me that yet though I hope she does as she gets seven letter words on triple word scores and kicks all our butts up and down the street

Keeping warm with a good foot rub, socks and an open oven - hey it's Florida we don't need the heat

Patience and perspective - two things she has an infinite ability to control and an area I have miles to go

The beauty of the Green Mountains - despite my sworn to love of the beach

That tennis can be fun and great exercise

Chocolate really is a cure all - even if she thinks it is milk chocolate and I vote for dark

Happy Mother's Day - to a mom who has taught me more than a list can show, kicks butt on every item and looks great doing it. Thank you.

Law and Order

2007-05-11T07:48:00.000-07:00

We got all dolled up and attended a Hillsborough County Bar Association dinner. In a room with 600 lawyers we dined on hotel food and listened to Fred Thompson. He is hysterical and quite fortunate having experiences from Watergate to Hollywood to Washington DC including a current stint on Law and Order, where you probably know him best. I just don't know about him as President and that has some things to do with my registered status. But we had a great time pretending to be important. The things is amongst all the speeches about how wonderful and prideful it is to be an attorney it made me not want to me one. I was coming off a pretty crappy day which did not help my sentiment regarding the law. And all the reasons cited for why the law is great and fulfilling fell on my deaf ears. What was described was not something that I feel that I actually do or that I am helping to contribute to.

My legal world is not filled with altruism and doing good and I don't often feel a sense of pride. Not in the way that was described anyway. I feel it is just a job. A new office sure, but still just a job. With that made me really wonder, and not for the first time, if this is the right fit for the long haul. Whether I should continue down this path. Because really in only a few short years I will have hit the seven year mark. Which is not reserved for just itches but also partner status. That is tempting because there is a pride there, but that too may also be short lived. However, the money and lifestyle become increasingly difficult to walk away from. Even now I would say it would be a challenge. But of course it is not impossible and my sanity and happiness certainly are not worth any amount of high income. It is just something that I have to keep in mind.

Really I also know that I have to have perspective. It has only been three years and in that time I should not have been expected to find my place. It takes time, work and a dose of good fortune to get to those kind of right fit special places. That is true of not just being a lawyer but any career choice I chose to pursue. It is not going to happen overnight and it is not going to be easy as pie. Really that is true about anything in life including friendships and relationships - they take time to build, some effort and patience and finding the right fit for you. We all look for love and spend so much time dating and investing in that relationship. This really is not that different. You need to take the time and effort to find a career that fits for you in the same way a mate would. It does not happen over night and it is not automatic that the first one is going to be right. Same deal for a job, right? So really at this point I need to just be aware of that phenomenon and keep it in perspective. Recognizing that my time will come but also knowing that I need to work at it and work towards what I want. I cannot grow easily frustrated, rather I need to keep resetting goals and deciding what I want and need to be doing.

Fred Thompson was a lawyer trained at Vanderbilt who happened to fall into a political campaign which led him to Watergate. They wrote a movie about the event and he got to play himself, which led to a film and TV career. Along the way he stayed in the law game and ran into politics as well. For him it was about timing, hard work and that dose of good fortune. I am fairly certain when he set out 35 years ago he had none of this in mind and could not have generated it if asked. That is really the beauty of it.

It is that kind of perspective I need to hold onto. That and for him it has been over 30 years of building a life and career. My three by comparison pale. Not that I want his life, but just that there are other paths out
there and that life can often lead you down them without a lot of
forethought or planning. I am lucky to have been given the chance to make these decisions and really to whine and complain about the whole thing. I also have to understand where I have come from, looking back to where I started three years ago and where I am now - knowing where I can go from here. I feel steps ahead of where I started and I can totally see new and different potential in the role I have not. Add into that what I really want to do, at least what I think that is, and I believe I should be just fine. It is not all peachy keen and wonderful, but I hope that some day it can be close to that. That and the picture below well that was my dessert, so how bad could it all really be? At least I had some chocolaty goodness to keep me warm and comforted. For the time being that is going to be enough.

Opposite Day

2007-05-10T07:22:00.000-07:00

I think it was Wednesdays in elementary school. The day when things were allowed to be backwards, your clothes, your words, and the early exit. The Dade County School Board gave us half days on Wednesday. Those were the days before it was Miami-Dade and before there was such a hullabaloo about leaving children behind, I suppose. So we made them Wacky Wednesday's and things were designated to be opposites. So today can be opposite day because couldn't the opposite of Wednesday be Thursday? If days had opposites?

Today feels all backwards and I keep having that thought. We went to a restaurant closing celebration last night. Which is fine because you should celebrate the good and appreciate what was there. But really don't you usually only have parties when restaurants open? It seemed anti-climatic. Come, enjoy our food and wine. It's great I swear. But you can never have any again. Ever. 'Cuz we are closing. Ha!

There is this hurricane named Arlene, I think that is her name. No shortage of news coverage on this morning's Today show, but I still cannot remember her name. But really she is going to make some rain and wind. Yet there are these wild fires which have made it super smokey and grey here. How can there be a storm and wild fires? Why isn't the rain putting them out? It's like mother nature is taking part in opposite day too. Where water no longer extinguishes fires and lets us suffer through both at the same time with no relief of either.

I have been having these big nights. Like where I go out and eat a bunch of food and drink tons and tons of wine and it is on school nights. Which is totally opposite because those are weekend things to do and we run up weekend type bills. But I have a feeling that this past weekend's nothingness and this coming weekends similar theme will mean that the weekend will feel more like a Monday. Which is all sorts of backwards and makes me really really tired. Because I was standing backwards in the mirror and looked at my ass and saw things that should not exist anywhere on anyone. So I have also been getting up early to use the treadmill. Which really is backwards for me because usually I sleep until the last minute and I don't generally cut into that for anything including exercise. But I cannot stand to see the back end again look like that and I don't think any amount of opposite is going to make cellulite a good thing. But it also means I am super exhausted from my backwards world and all things opposite. Maybe though I convince my body of the opposite and convince it to be awake, alive, and alert.

Seven

2007-05-08T04:38:00.000-07:00

I just got off the phone with a new old friend. I have accumulated lot of friends and most of them are considered to be old by now, you know like from childhood old or even college at this point. Because damn I met those guys 10 years ago. So this one, well he is a newer old friend. We worked together and now that I am gone, we have to test our friendship and put in the real effort to remain friends. So he called me to hold up his end of the bargain and told me he was exiting a day long workshop that our, scratch that, his firm puts on every year. We, again er, he is required to attend to meet and mingle and to do a few other law firm type things. But really it is eight hours in a Marriott that are better spent sticking snot in your eye, because it is just as pointless and equally as painful.

My first year at the conference I had just been dumped. As in four days before. I had the wounds of a newly single person fresh on me. A large conference room with nothing to do for eight hours was not the best environment for a person in my mental state. Really any mental state but others seemed to survive better than I. In those days I needed to stay busy and occupied or else I would think about him. Of course no windows and extreme boredom were no cure for that and I became crazy. So that evening when invited out I over served myself. Or maybe it was just that I had not been eating and had not been going out. He was boring and I put myself on the post break up diet routine. Involuntarily, but I did it. So to make myself feel more comfortable in a group of near strangers and to get over the mental torture I put myself through, I threw back a few Seven & Sevens. And then I got home and threw them all up. I literally made myself sick. I survived seven Mardi Gras without so much as a dry heave. But when life gives you a mind numbing seminar and a break up, you react the only way one should - you vomit three times and pass out. This was monumental at the time, because it had been ions since I upchucked. But I knew it was just my life making me sick and not the actual alcohol. And you know when your life makes you sick things are going pretty freaking well. That maybe you need to reevaluate and calm down. Put the bottle down and take a step back. Really think about your decisions.

So I did all that and decided to get back together with the fool a mere month later. I also decided that no one needed to know of this decision. Of course that is a whole other story. But as I told Shannon the other night, "You know it is a good relationship, when you have to keep it a secret." She totally agreed, "Yeah, this was the best secret relationship I have ever been in." And we both laughed over my mistakes and idiocy. But the thing is, and the conclusion we reached, was that no amount of discussion or prompting was going to change my mind about getting back with him. Clearly even my body rejecting yummy things like Seven & Seven was not going to teach me that lesson. Those are ideas you have to learn and mistakes you need to make on your own. Our friends cannot do it for us. That is the thing about bad relationships. We all get ourselves into them and count on our friends to help us out at the end of them, but the middle is where it gets sticky. We do those things to ourselves and will absolutely not hear it from anyone. Which is why I made that decision not to tell anyone. See if they don't know than they can't tell me all the bad things I am doing. Genius, pure genius. But really, I didn't want to hear it, not from any one and not from my friends. Which is why no matter how many friends you have, older, new or even older, there are certain things you need to do on your own. Even if they are riddled with mistakes. No matter how many friends you have or how well your friends know you, there are certain ideas and mistakes you need to endeavor on your own. It just does not matter what they have to say, you will go out on your limb, knowing they will be there to catch you and say not a word about the trip you just took.

I got this all from a ten minute conversation, but isn't that what friends are for? To remind you of all this and teach it to you one morsel at a time? They are there to keep you up to date, to laugh over your missteps and help you celebrate your now, new, old, blue or gold. They are there to help you remember your past, where you came from and where you are going, even if it is just to lunch on a Wednesday. Because really such plans are exactly how friends stay that way.

Beat of His Own Drum

2007-05-06T02:06:00.000-07:00

Magoo drives and spends time "playing" the steering wheel. He is hard of hearing and the TV needs to be loud and questions often need to be repeated. All this because he grew up playing the drums. He was a member of the high school marching band and spent many nights practicing in bands with his friends and brother. He is proud of this and says it made him the fun loving personal guy he is today. For that I am very thankful. He has a love and appreciation of music, often trying to help me with rhythms, but I suck and don't hear them. I am not so sure I am thankful that the expensive drum set he owned as a teenager now lives in our house. We have parts of it and the rest will follow eventually. He continues to claim he will be playing it more regularly. While that remains to be seen, I have witnessed him sport the cylinders back pack like a turtle and tap the table as if it were drums. So when this gets going who knows what I have in store for myself or my neighbors. I think I may need to invest in some really excellent Bose headphones, a padded room, or some drum lessons for myself. Because if you can't beat 'em join 'em.

Truly Absolutely Wonderful

2007-05-03T09:52:00.000-07:00

Saturday was magically wonderful as I flitted about on my own. I turned down an invite to the Dragon boat races. A good call because then I go to do my own personal great things and I heard they weren't that special. See how things were truly wonderful, I made the absolute right call. I knew I needed an oil change and I had earned myself a free car wash, but I also knew that would take a helluva long time, so I knew I would put that off. Instead I shopped and bought all sorts of wonderfully cute things for our new amazing home. The use of excessive adjectives and superlatives is absolutely necessary because I felt all wonderful the whole time. The sun was shining and I had money in the account and lots of time to spend it.

I super duper loved that in the midst of a decision over the purchase of either a red/orange or a blue/green combo new lacy underwear I got a ding from the Samsung that I have new mail. Oh boy do I love new mail and I really really love that my cell phone chimes from my bag telling me I have new mail. But really what I really truly from the bottom of my little heart love, is that it was from Pammy V. And she had these ridiculous stories about all the doctor men who love her and how she has all these dates and she cannot remember which one she told what to about her wonderful life. And how she only feels only okay about them but they just keep calling her like 10 minutes after the date is over. God I love that because she is the best catch ever and the men should be throwing themselves at her. Mmmah I can just kiss her. And then next my phone tells me that I have a new comment from Bre. And I swear I cannot remember the comment for the life of me, but it made me smile super big and laugh. Right there in Anthropologie. And comment to myself, because I don't care what I look like in public, that I am so insanely happy.

I took my happy self to get a smoothie because it was damned hot out and I was hungry and thirsty and getting tired. I figured liquid fruit infused with energy would tide me over but I couldn't be too full as I had a date with my man planned. Wines and cheeses and gooey appetizers at Mise En Place. I could not go ruining that goodness. And the first sip of the tangy sweet lemoney yumminess made me smile again and declare out loud how great this was. This time I know I said it out loud in the parking lot of the strip mall. Because who cares what the people outside Welcome to Moes! think? They drive minivans and eat cheesy Mexican, they should be happy like I am too.

Finally I tooted my ass and my beat up Honda over to the car wash. Which of course takes like an hour because all the people with Benzs and Hummers have to have their cars all shiny and pretty and demand perfection out of the beat up old rags and the underpaid dryers. Including the bitch with back fat who was standing over the man instructing him on cleaning her dirty dirty trunk. It totally had potted plants in it - of course it was dirty. But I didn't really care because they have a bench outside where I can get some sun and read my book. It was super glorious. It really was one of those perfect days where absolutely nothing happened and would totally make a really boring story except for the fact that it was truly truly wonderful and I was beyond blissfully happy.

Happiness Cubed

2007-05-02T05:01:00.000-07:00

We need a tripod or to teach Ging to take pictures. We took a million one night, well not just one night it was my birthday and I wanted it to be special. These were mostly done holding our arms out and snapping the shots. We tried to just get a good one of us and finally pretty much gave up. I snapped pictures in the car and at the bar at the Capital Grille. We did the whole self timer thing and it sucked, we looked awful and uncomfortable. I mostly thought I looked fat. Magoo slanted his chin up. Whatever. Who can look through a dozen shots of them self and not find some that they are not happy with? One of us has something we don't find acceptable.

Isn't that just true about anything really? There is always something we can find wrong. Especially as Jews, I know that is the gospel we preach to our nearest and dearest. But really there is always something we can point to and say that it is off or that we are not happy. I am super guilty of it. You all commented that it was nice to see that I had been coming along at the new job. The thing is most days are not that way. Most of the time I am frustrated and unhappy. I can find a dozen and eleven things I dislike. Don't get me started, and as I said in an e-mail today, or I will cry. But really, isn't that how everything is in life? We can chose to fixate on the bad and look for it buried in every corner? Or we can gloss over it and enjoy the present for the good that it has to offer. Doing so keeps us in the good and alive with smiles and pleasure. It prevents us from inching towards the bad as well. We can forget that the bad is there and decide instead to revel in the good places, people, times and faces. I gave the same advice to a friend today, keep it even and steady and see where you wind up. If you move away from the negative you will find it may no longer be a problem, you will find the warmth of the happiness. You will find you can live in the fold of the good without so much as acknowledging the bads presence. Especially not when you don't have to and especially not when you shouldn't be giving into it.

The point is you make your own happiness. You live in it and you create it. There is always going to be something to pick out that is wrong or incorrect. Or whatever, who cares. Let it go. Really just get over it and let it go. You can chose to waste your energy and minutes of your day and life living in it or you can chose otherwise. A decision not to abuse the time but to enjoy it and revel in it. Why spend the time cranky and angry about what could be or should be. Or festering in the disgruntled. We can chose to give into the negative and find something wrong with every stare and whisper, every picture we take, and every aspect of our lives. Don't. Push it aside, wipe it off, take a deep breath and jump into the good. Take happiness by the hand and dive head first. It is your choice to do so. Your choices are your life and what you make of it. Make the choice to appreciate it all and make it the best it can be. Choose not to sit around and pick out the ills and the but it won't works. This is not just about attitude, it is about perspective and about acting on those ideas. It is not just about complaining about what is wrong and pointing it out. It is about doing something to address it and taking those steps. Extricate yourself from negative and make them a positive. See things from a new light and in a new way, instead of the same old whine and complain song and dance. Instead of just feeling the bad, take a turn for the good. See how that fits you for a while. I know I can change the zoom, the height, the focus, and my smile, but in the end I just need to be happy with who I am and to really know that these are good pictures. They are good because I decided that I like them and I choose to see the positive. It is a helluva lot easier that way, plus there was some good steak to enjoy.

Revenge and All Things Legal

2007-05-01T06:29:00.000-07:00

One day not too long ago I had the most fantastic day. In the law firm world that is a lot to say for a Wednesday or any day really. Because on any given day law firm life can be as enjoyable as brushing your teeth with a chain saw. And in general, in my world that too is a lot to say for a Wednesday. But I was given an opportunity that made me realize a number of things and made me feel pretty freaking good. They say that revenge is the best medicine. Well they may not technically say that but I certainly do think it. And I was able to execute on that well. Let me tell you it was terrific and fabulous. It was not sneaky and it was not underhanded, it was business, as I was able to recruit away a secretary from my old firm and bring her here. She rocked and that was all I needed to convince others here that she would work.

Personally though it was with great satisfaction to know that she was swooped away from a partner and a firm that never appreciated her, or me for that matter. How awesome. How freaking wonderfully awesome. Now she is here and I get to enjoy her goodness, knowing her talents, but also knowing they lost her to me.

More so, it spoke volumes about where I am now. I had a day that showed me that I am a lawyer. SURPRISE! I know that the framed degree, the card, and the esquire seem to indicate that - but I was never allowed to be one. Not until yesterday. And NEVER at my old firm. I was given the power to make those decisions. To help out. My opinion was heard and listened to. It was valued and not criticized. I interviewed, discussed salary, and was made a part of a team. I was placed in a position, and told the same, that this was what was expected of me now and in the future, as a lawyer. This was a mother fucking light bulb to me. It was true and it was meant to be real. Not only that, but it made me realize that I had not been given these opportunities in the past. I was a worker and a disposable one at that. I was never more than a billable number. So no matter what shit will stink, at least I have that. At least I now know that I am lawyer and can be treated like one. Something that, in reality, I have been working toward for a long time. Which felt pretty freaking fantastic.

Exiting the elevator this morning I felt a small skip in my step. This was a big break. Not just in my legal world, but it was what finally made me feel like I fit in here. The new kid on the block syndrome was over and I was a part of this team. It has been a month and I was still in the I-Hate-This-So-Very-Much phase. But I cautioned myself as I walked down the hall, be careful. Knowing what law firms are like. Even this one. Yesterday's joy will most certainly be tomorrow's sorrow. That is how it works. It's the Facts of Life 101. You can't have too much and you certainly cannot have it for too long. Along with how to negotiate and take depositions, that is a lesson I have learned over the past three years. With that predication in mind fast forward eight hours. I had been asked to research and think. Referenced for my knowledge base on a specialized area of law that I knew from my previous job. I took time out from my assigned tasks to help out. I answered questions, did research, scoured the Internet and thought of questions. Only to be left out. I sat there staring at a closed door, realizing that the meeting started without me. I was not invited. Insert giant bubble burst. All the excitement from yesterday combined with all the work I had just done was quickly undone. My supposed self esteem was now in the garbage next to the three diet coke cans. My prediction was sad but true. I no longer felt lawyerly or even a part of a team.

But really this is what law firm life is like. It is days filled with bone crushing ideas like this. I knew it and I also knew to caution myself. A sad but true testament. It is teeny tiny baby steps in this world and a gigantic ton of perspective and strength. That is something you HAVE to learn, even if you don't pick up other litigation skills. So while I may now be a lawyer and I may get to act like a lawyer, there ain't nothing I can do about working in a law firm, it can suck any which way you slice it. That is unless you have some super special excellent staff people who kick butt and are as sweet as saccharine and who you secretly and covertly stole away from the dark side. Knowing that helps just a little bit. Revenge really does feel fantastically wonderful.

Were Not in Kansas Anymore

2007-04-29T06:08:00.000-07:00

This past weekend Magoo and I road tripped it down to South Florida. We both grew up down there though literally it was a world apart. Our homes and lives were lived 50 miles apart, as he reached the outer branches of Broward and I was way the hell south Miami. His childhood saw open fields, horses, landscape, and chickens. We had traffic, 1/2 acres, city life and all things Miami. We spent the weekend intertwined between the two. Lounging with his brothers, sisters, nephews and parents and then drinking and eating with the Jewish folk of MIA. We squeezed in some time to visit my family too, Magoo swore we were in the Keys with the distance we drove south. This is a world where I-95 and I-75 both end, or begin if you want to be picky like that. Those who don't know also probably don't play but we enjoy games of Jewish geography. While this is reserved for, "do you know's" left over from camp or college, it works in other ways too. Waiting for our table at the bar on Sunday night meant running into high school friends. That is how it was in my Miami growing up. See how it was in Magoo's world. This may rock your vision of South Florida, I know it did mine. See here for my bored car shots and scenes from a South Florida neighborhood.

Freaky Friday

2007-04-28T00:50:00.000-07:00

Craptastic is a state of mind and mine is there. It also is probably a series of events that led me to this state of mind. But craptasticly fantastic it is. It is fucking Friday and I am freaking tired. Talk about freaky Friday. Four hours of sleep left me feeling like I had been sucker punched in the face. That feeling usually reserved for too many whatevers. But I had two Miller lights, not enough to leave me feeling hung over. Falling asleep to tears and Magoo rubbing my back are not ideal. Some booty in there would have made it better but I would still be tired as balls. I am not sure it was all worth it either. Did I say what I needed to? Was it heard? Why start something I couldn't finish? When I finally pulled the covers off my face and used my hand to lift my head, I find the cable has gone on the fritz. The box read all sorts of numbers that made me wonder if The Others are effing with us. Too much TV perhaps, but still what the H is going on? Well maybe my overdose is cured, as the TV is out until sometime tomorrow. Brighthouse is super courteous and gave us a very usable window of 8 to 8. Nice. Thanks assholes. Meanwhile I hear Ginger rolling around and digging for gold under the couch. Turns out she was the lucky winner of a new ant trap that Magoo laid down. Yeah so my dog was carrying poison between her paws and in her jaws. I am sure that is going to make for a good experience later on in the day. Assuming she makes it that far. I am too tired to worry and too tired to care. Really I was too tired to fight about it, but I managed to get something out. Which is a ton more than I can say for my productivity today. The effort I did exert was just erased by the devil who runs my computer. The impish evil man erased my hard earned billables. Is dizziness a normal reaction to all this? Did I mention craptastic? Happy Freaky Fucking Friday.

Happy Friday to me. Three tall pours of a Malbec and I am back to feeling fantastic. Screw the craptastic. A Friday afternoon nap left me with this euphoria. I swear the last time I napped it on a Friday afternoon could've been college. Who settles in for the evening at 7? If that is the case, hold out, drink a few, and tuck yourself in at nine. But no, tonight I said I was going to be there and I was. Anyone else get nap stomach. The horrific gross nausea in your stomach after a wrong time of the day sleep? So that by 10, when it passed, I was ravenous. I slept through dinner and pushed thru the nausea to find myself knee deep in a pecan crusted brie and pulled pork pizza. I know I ate it and I know it was damn good. That place is my favoritest and I can sit for hours pouring over menu items and big tall pours. Oh and the bar tender with the accent and the magic tricks. Yeah you gotta see him. It is totally my favorite. As I told Magoo on the car ride home, I inhaled it all and cannot remember the tastes of the food. I know other things from the night and I know for certain, based on a quick spell check, that I am drunk as hell. Lets leave it at that. Happy Freaking Friday.

Greatful Dead

2007-04-27T00:13:00.000-07:00

You know me now, at least glimpses of my life, and you probably have images and ideas. But if you knew me then at all of 16, you would see a girl with Phish t-shirts, a grey Ford Taurus station wagon with dancing bears, and a propensity to listen to CSN&Y. We all have those phases. Well maybe not us all I guess others could be different. For my college roommate it was R&B. Go figure. But they are phases. They make up our younger selves and the basis of our older memories. They create a part of who we are today and speak to a side of us. I can never forget that was who I was as a happy go lucky high schooler. I had the best friends in the world, who I spent all my days with. We drank and smoked and sat around philosophizing about life and love. We played and studied. Those girls knew me and we acted as a unit. I saw myself aging this way with long grey braids and Birkenstocks, never thinking twice about growing up or moving on. I brought these ideas with me to college attaching the stickers to my dorm room wall. Like all things I slowly grew and changed. My music taste varied and my wardrobe expanded from used Levi's. So much for leather sandals at least ones with straps. But I have that memory with me still and I can hear Sugar Magnolia, Friend of the Devil, and China Cat Sunflower and feel wonderfully terrifically hippy peacy lovingly great about my self, my life and where I have been. Those girls and those days were gratefully memorable and I can recall it all as if it were yesterday.

Shannon went first recalling details of being at home. Summer break for our soon to be Junior selves. She was lying on her bed when her dad entered her room requesting all her Grateful Dead CD's. He told her of the news and as a tribute would be playing their tunes on loop all day at the restaurant he owned.

Magoo went next and recalled being in the moving in stages of his house as a soon to be freshman in college. It was his first days of life in Tampa. In the August heat of Florida he was unpacking and had the T.V. on. Though not a fan, he recollected the moment clearly as well.

I finished our trio of stories. I was in Chicago at a summer debate program, in the basement of a building at Northwestern learning fun facts about immigration law. Our instructor walked in and announced the news and then pronounced "Phish Phorever" in bold letters across the chalk board. Words too that did not survive - but that is a whole 'nother story.

Over large ass bowels of pasta at our local Mac Grill with paper table clothes, crayons, and Magoo and Shannon's drawing lessons, we discussed those younger days of our pasts. All things from those high school times; parties, music, laser light shows, and other assorted paraphernalia. That and the Dead and how we all remember where we were when Jerry died. As if it is our generations JFK. Though Jerry was not our generation, at least not initially. But that was over ten years ago and we all remember. Vividly. Even Magoo, who vowed that he did not listen, had a memory. Isn't it amazing how we can recall these details? How certain moments in time seem to be frozen and we can recollect the time of day, weather, smells and tastes. Was he that monumental to our music and society? Was it the culture he promulgated and the ideas that went with it? I am sure that this could be the case for others. But maybe for us it was just a vestige of our youth. I know where I was because I was happy and in love with my teenaged self. I was good at being 16 and I had not a care in the world. I spent the ins and outs of my days with my friends enjoying our leisure days. I may have been a pseudo hippy who had liberal notions, but I had beautifully happy high school days. I can taste that feeling, which may be why I can recollect that moment in time so well. And for that I am Grateful.

Kegs, Pearls, and Pizza

2007-04-26T09:20:00.000-07:00

To celebrate the new house and my 28th year we threw a party. Since not much had been done to the house we figured it was fine to invite over fifty of our closest. We also thought a theme, a keg, and a flip cup table were a good idea. Party goers must dress WASPY - if you don't know what this mean I am not sure where you have been living, but feel free to ask. We felt to counteract this image, of something we are not, there would be beer, pizza, and chips. We called it low brow - because it was just that. We had bagel bites and corn dogs and we served it out of plastic containers. Enough said. I cringed at times laying down money for tacky pink dishes, but it was good fun in the end. What we didn't plan, but was fitting for the occasion, was the green keg beer we purchased. It must've been left over from St. Patty's the month before. It mattered not as we all drank it out of Dixie cups anyway and played many a round of flip cup with it. Maybe we drank too much or maybe this was the point of entertaining, but my pictures stop at the start of the night. I found no time to take shots of our actual guests and the revelry that littered our house for four hours. Or even a picture of the green beer. Oh well you can imagine what a bunch of WASPs with green beer, greasy food, pearl necklaces, top siders and plaid did on a Saturday night in April.

Asked and Answered

2007-04-24T13:42:00.000-07:00

You all are awesome and have some really great questions that have been fun and sometimes very hard to answer. I enjoyed getting some of those ideas and thoughts out there and writing totally off the cuff. No seriously this had not been edited. Thanks and enjoy my responses - I tried my bestest to be honest.

Have you and Magoo talked about marriage? Yes, we do talk about it and it is something we are both interested in doing - just not quite right now. And not to each other. Ha just kidding!

How long have you been together? Just about a year and a half. We met in December 2005 and consider our first real official date to have been in January 2006.

What do you think is your best quality? Oh crap this is one that I had to come back to. I want to be honest and exact. I want to say it is my kindness and caring. Though I am certain others will disagree....

Your worst? My propensity to gossip and in turn think evil ugly thoughts. It is horrific sometimes. I am going to give you two - I am also VERY stubborn.

If you had to commit to eating the same exact meal, every day, for the rest of your life, what would you choose? This too is super tough because you think of foods you like and wonder if you would want them morning, noon, and night and how I get sick of things really easily. And how something to that extent would make anyone sick. But I have to suspend reality and though surprisingly (if in this world weight did not matter because reality has been suspended) I probably could eat some form of a pizza. I always like pizza and have never had a bad experience and I do really crave it more days than I care to admit to.

Who are you more like, your mother or father? I look identical to my mother, totally a spitting image, but I am personality wise like my father.

What is your favorite outfit that you own? Oh god I swear I have not totally thought about this in years because in my much younger days I had my favorites. But I have favorite items that make me HAPPY to wear. A pair of pink and green Manolos that I always get compliments on, my Citizen jeans that I wear all the time, a handful of pants from Express because they get me out of having to think about work clothes, three or four pairs of super comfy linen-ish pants from JCrew, a ridiculous cleavage dress from Diane Von Furstenberg.

How many kids do you want? Some days none - Ginger and Magoo seem like a handful. And growing up, even through college, I was always the girl who said she never wanted kids. But that changed and on most days I can't wait, simply want to jump out of my skin with anticipation of having babies, can't wait. But even then it is likely only one or two.

Boys/girls? I don't know what I would do with a boy. I have always seen myself with girls - little beautiful girls with ribbons, dresses, ballet shoes and painted nails.

And what do you want to name them? I got nothing here. Not-a-thing. Sorry that is the honest answer and not a cop out.

What kind of law do you practice? At my new job I do insurance defense - construction, asbestos, professional liability, real estate and whatever else the insurance company sends over. We also do insurance coverage issues. Someone asked me this in another post - but it is all litigation which means a lot of time in the car driving to depositions and hearings.

How tall are you? 5'6"

Have you lived in any states other than FL and LA? You know what, I have not. I spent many a summer in Vermont and my parents still summer up there, but I have never resided there or elsewhere.

What would you want to be if you weren't a lawyer? Holy good god in heaven that is awesome and I don't know where to start. I did a post like this not too long ago. But I would love to be able to be on my own - no boss, working from home. It is not the work that I mind just the restrictions. But honestly, a news reporter really really strikes me. Don't ask - I answered these from the gut.

What made you start blogging? Reading others blogs was inspiring and helpful to see what other (mostly women) go through. I thought that I could do this and it could help me out during a time when I needed an extra shoulder to lean on. I always had a journal but neglected it in recent months - this seemed to be a good fit for that problem.

Which fictional character do you most identify with? This was the hardest of the questions to answer. I drew a blank on fiction there for a good three hours and had to come back. Do not laugh but there are many a day that go by where I feel like Ally McBeal. No I don't wear those skirts, but her life and law firm practice were not that far off from the crazy that goes on here.

Why did you want to be a lawyer? I was that girl who always knew she wanted to be a lawyer - though the reasons for that do not actually directly effect what I do on a day to day basis. Because sometimes I feel like I shovel shit and I don't think anyone went to school for that. But seriously, I was involved in high school debate and enjoyed politics and hey, arguing. So it seemed natural - as in seriously it was never a question as that this is what I was going to do. At least for awhile.

Is Magoo a lawyer and if not what does he do? Yes Magoo is a lawyer - he went to law school, passed the Bar, and is a member of the Florida Bar. But he does not technically practice law as he is not allowed. Ha, that sounds funny. He is also a CPA and works at a super duper large accounting firm - which prevents him from legally practicing, though he uses his legal smarts all day long and is doing a "lawyer's" job that is heavy on the accounting.

Do you think women in the workplace will ever have an even playing field? In some ways no, I just don't think there will ever be equal treatment and there are a ton of factors that contribute to that - stereotypes, biases, pregnancy, etc. But in other ways, yes I do, as we move on as a society and it becomes more and more the norm for women to have leadership and executive roles they will be able to rid the workplace of the inequities and the younger generations will not even be given the chance to think of it any other way.

What do you feel is the most important thing women can do or say to get their voice heard at work? This is a really really tough one for me because I am super soft spoken at work and I have a hard time making my needs known as a person and not as a woman. And we all know it is a hard line to cross because no one wants to be that obnoxious bitch ass. But I think you have to tow that line - be graceful and charming when appropriate to earn respect and power but speak up only when necessary so they know that you have something to say and are choosing this opportunity to say it and not just running your mouth to be heard. Keep your opinions and attitudes to yourself and share only what is necessary. I also like to think that the proper place and time are key - larger groups and heated discussions are often not the place to actually make your point. Wait and approach someone individually, it could have more impact. Also accept that you may not get credit for your actions but know that you are behind them which is what is important.

Do you read many books? Yes in general I am reader, my mom is a librarian so it is a must. Though it goes in fits and starts. I find the lounging in sun by the pool time helps me knock out quite a few. Something about the winter months finds me less inclined.

What was the last good one you read? Last truly good book that every one should read and that I now buy as presents was Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett. Read it now.

Do you think we ever "make peace" with our bodies? Not in my life time I won't. I wish the best for some people. I just know I can't get there - I put on weight thinking about putting on weight so I will ALWAYS HAVE TO BE CAREFUL.

Do you ever freak out at the idea of marriage? Actually, no never.

Would you rather snort a pint of ice cream in one sitting or never be allowed to wear jewelry again? The horrific case of lactose intolerance that will ruin my stomach and the plumbing at my house from consuming a pint of ice cream (even via my nasal passages), is every bit worth the life time of glittery shiny baubles, pearls, and diamonds.

How many times have you made out with someone and realized afterwards that, not only do you not know, but you don't even care what his name is? Bonus points for chicks. (psych! - fake bisexuality gets you beat up.) Zero chicks. Do ex boyfriends count?

Red or Meth? Reds. Meth is for losers.

What's your best dance move? Ask Magoo and he will agree and I even did a rendition for him on Saturday night - the Running Man.

How fast can you push it over the Howard Franklin? Last week I had an experience on that bridge that made me want to eat deep friend dog shit instead of having to drive on it again. I vow to avoid it for a long while and I am a Tampa slut and try not to go over that a way anyway.

Why is a mouse when it spins? The higher the fewer. Though I prefer, "No Soap Radio"

If you had to drown in a liquid other than water what would it be? Vodka

What do you wish you would have invented? Air conditioning. This the first thing that popped into my head. It is genius and I don't know how people, especially in Florida, lived without it.

$1 million dollars to start a charity of your choice. What's your cause? I am not sure a mil is enough these days to really start a program and put it in place. I could dump the money into an existing one. But I like the idea of a community based grass roots program that would have a Federal Grant from Head Start or a Welfare to Work Program.

On the Road

2007-04-20T18:40:00.000-07:00

Since I will be on the road this weekend and unsure of my Internet access on Sunday - you get a PS today. Consider it a Picture Saturday instead. These are pictures from the road. One thing I do enjoy about my job is the ability to get in the car and drive. It gets me out, it gets me easy billing, and because of where I live it gets me awesome scenery. These are shots from the road - some of the same I will be seeing again this weekend in my travels. The pictures were taken at various points between Tampa and Sarasota including the Sunshine Skyway and the Sarasota government building and them placed together in a mutli-exposure frame. It is kind of trippy, no? Have a good weekend wherever your road may take you.

Dining Out After 5

2007-04-20T08:16:00.000-07:00

I attended a goodbye dinner for a friend with her friends, whom I don't really know. As an aside a goodbye dinner is such a terribly horrible thing to say, it really implies things that are sad and lonely. I prefer to think of it as the camp song went, "this is goodnight and not goodbye." But she is leaving town and so it is a congratulations for moving on, even if on is O-town. Okay my moving on. So, I don't know these girls but that does not stop me, it just means these words are not coming from an ill intent place, but just as an outsider invited to dine in. More so I cannot judge their sense of humor or the apparent fact that they have none.

Dinner arrived and as all plates were laid down we noticed she was missing hers. Forks raised not wanting to be rude someone asked what she ordered. Nothing. Sure, fine. Well not really - I have always hated those people. You knew you were going to a dinner, how can you not be hungry. Whatever their deal not mine. I enjoy company, food, and dining out too much to pass that up. Oh but she continued with a dead pan face, she does not eat after five. I swore on my Gucci kitten heels that she was kidding. It was her way of poking fun at the poor service. Those who were her friends seemed to realize not. "Aren't you at work at 5?" And in stride, without breaking a smile, because I don't think she smiles, she says, "Yes, I eat at work, so I can avoid eating after five." She was not kidding. This is bizarre and very uncomfortable as I stab my spicy chicken. Well not that uncomfortable because I don't really care and the chicken was fantastic. These are her issues which run DEEP. There are diets, weight management, healthy eating, exercise, allergies and then there is ridiculous. She had crossed ridiculous a quarter mile ago. How can you enjoy life with those rules and attitudes? This is someone who needs the rules to live by, this seemed obvious. Which means she was not enjoying. She was not living. She had a rule that she was supposed to follow or else. Or else what? Nothing. Take a bite and celebrate your friends and their company and their success. Five is for the eighty plus crowd or the insane. I judged her to be about 26. Keeping it in check at that age was scary. The food I ate was EXCELLENT. A edgy nuevo Vietnamese place with impeccable design and a chef. She was missing out. On the spices, aromas, tastes and flavors. Of what it means to be full and happy. What it is to savor and crave. These are normal and wonderfully delectable natural emotions and ideas. They show you what alive is. How to breathe, grow, and learn. They make up our world. Sitting with friends over food, sampling on small plates, taking sips of a French red, agonizing over too many options on the menu. That is socializing. It bonds you to people and to the earth. To the chef and her world and you get glimpses of heaven. This is why we eat out - to take in all of these emotions, experience new ideas and sensations, and to spend quality time with our friends and family across a dimly lit table. That is how memories are made and when special moments are shared. It is life. Her deadpan face was an absence of any of this and apparently not just some poor joke about her delayed entree. Her face lacked those emotions. Her face knew no such joy. Her face was probably hunger.

Q&A

2007-04-19T06:17:00.000-07:00

The blogger as a journalists bits are going around - where you have someone else ask you five questions and you respond honestly. Well I am not going to ask someone to generate five questions for me. That is because I am going to ask you all to do it. And because I drank too much wine and my head hurts. Though it does not have to be five - the number is up to you. So anything you want. Ask away and I will answer. You can e-mail me privately or post it in the comments. I am going to leave the post open and off to the side afterwards as well - knowing that the option is always available. But also know that if you ask a stupid question.....well you know the rest.

Airing Our Dirty Laundry

2007-04-18T06:39:00.000-07:00

We don't believe people who say they don't fight and we don't believe that an absence of fighting is a good thing. Should've added that to My Believe. Sure there are horrific fights and really the content is what matters in general anyway. Small fights over the garbage or big fights of infidelity, clearly not the same and clearly the fighting is not the issue. But we bicker, we pick, I nag, condescend and leave the dishes next to the sink. What we have really come to blows about though - the washing machine and dryer. No, not doing laundry. The actual machines. Because there is no issue over doing laundry. Magoo is on top of that. On top. Seriously. Is that shirt dirty? I think I saw a stain. No really it is soiled. He is on it like flies to honey or whatever the expression is. It is not a question of getting it done or even getting it folded. Though there have been conversations about proper sorting. Towels don't go with clothes. Ever. Sorry they just don't. And only once was there some tie-dying going on. But for the majority of the time that is his domain. Yet we have managed to duke it out over the machines going several rounds and counting. Primarily because of his love and need to clean every article of clothing regardless of dirt level or length of wear. In this world apparently you need machines and you need them NOW. Or else the laundry monsters will come get you and hold you hostage for ransom doled out in Tide bottles.

When Magoo moved in with me in November my stackable was on its last legs. It worked fine for a gal who did laundry in months that began with August and who had access to her parents machine, the dry cleaner, and her boyfriend's machines (his were sold in the move, as they did not fit in the condo and no, we did not know we were moving.) But stackable last leg lassie was not good enough for the laundry King. We first imported a donated used machine, promised not to be on its last leg. It took us a solid day of moving and arranging to get the thing in requiring removal of trim, paint and probably my head at some point. Since I know Magoo wanted to kill me on quite possibly seven different occasions and I quite nearly attended my Holiday party alone. Well, we are not electricians and we had no warranty. Not only was the machine no more effective than my last leg but she spilled water. Everywhere. For days. Even after we stopped using it. Which led to a whole 'nother round of controversy in laundry central regarding costs of diagnosing and fixing versus purchasing a total new one. Let's say we fought. And let's say we did that on several occasions, maybe even once standing on the steps of Ceviche. Let's just say that and move on.

In the mean time laundry was NOT GETTING DONE AND SMALL BABIES WERE DYING AS A RESULT. So we finally agreed to a new machine and we finally found one that fit in the small space, given that the damage to the walls had already been done and we had some room to work. To insure that no more babies died, we spent a Saturday at the laundromat. I thought he would be happy. A plethora of machines all lined up to be used at the same time. He was not happy. The laundry King likes to rule his domain and not share or let others see his collection of white undershirts. He was none too pleased - which is entirely my fault and I take full blame for considering a laundromat as his personal slice of heaven. Again I apologize for this particular fight. After laundering the necessaries we returned home and anxiously awaited delivery of our now 3rd machine.

We enjoyed her for several months. She lived with us blissfully unaware that she would be abandoned in April despite Magoo praying and swearing to her nightly. When we looked for homes we made sure there were washer/dryers or at least hook ups and we judged the greatness of a house on whether there was a Magoo Room - you all know it as a laundry room. We found that in this house. An entire space (enough for him to lay a cot in) devoted to the machines. Unfortunately there were no machines. Which meant, yet again, we had to find some. Knowing this history both our parents offered them up as house warming gifts. Which was uber-generous and so welcomed because I could not handle a single more conversation about washing machines. But of course the money for the machine did not mean that the conversation was over, it meant the conversation was just beginning. Hours on end on the Internet researching machines, which meant precious time away from my blogs and such and of course several trips to such fantastic places like LOWES! and HOME DEPOT! Front load, high efficiency, warranties, noise, whether the machine would give you a hand job while feeding you chocolate. We looked into all of this, 17 different times. And discussed it repeatedly. We found ourselves, again, in the aisles of Sears, having another "discussion" about a washing machine. Who knows what we "discussed". Let's just say the salesman knows our views on fighting. We do it in public apparently. After all that was said and done, which was a lot, trust me, we agreed on the purchase of what now becomes our fourth machine, in a mere six months.

You can see our choice below - though careful, it is not for the young or naive, as Magoo counts this as soft core porn....

And that, I can only hope, marks the end of the discussion about such appliances. No more fighting. At least about clean clothes and such machines. Now we can properly devote our energy to other super very important things - like sorting and folding.

Tragedy

2007-04-16T11:50:00.000-07:00

I had another post planned for today, which will likely arrive tomorrow. But all day I have not been feeling it. I feel gross. Blah. Icky. My pants are too tight and it is my fault - I should not have worn them. I am just aggravated and my boss did nothing to alleviate that fact. The decision was prompted by a quick run at the NYTimes headlines. I was decided in my decision to hold off on something silly, though important to Magoo and I, in the wake of the Virgina Tech shooting.

To me college was a safe haven. We walked around freely and liberally and did whatever we wanted. I am not kidding - I saw people having sex in the quad outside my window. Seriously though we did not consider risks and safety, let alone a crazed gunman shooting at us. And this was New Orleans, a place with the highest murder rate in the country. While there were no walls and stranger danger was present, the University did an excellent job in making it a non-issue. At least to the point we did not have to think about it. It was a time for carefree carelessness and a time to revel and celebrate. Certainly this time of year when the weather changed and summer break was this close. We could taste the freedom, as we held classes on the grass and laid out during study breaks. For us it meant French Quarter festival back to back with Jazz Fest. Nothing short of perfection. And nothing to worry about, except maybe studying for your Spanish Final. But like today and my hatred of my clothing, really nothing to worry about. I know the same is true across the country littered with universities, including Virginia Tech. That is what college is about. It is the best thing about those blissful four years. That, in part, is what makes this so horrific. It is tragically sad what happened but it is worsened by the fact that college does not mean that anymore. Not to these kids, not to the ones who lost their lives and not to universities who now have to deal with this reality. The freedom of learning, living, growing, and relaxing was so harshly interrupted that it can never be the same. At least not there. That is so terrifically terrible.

So tomorrow it will be back to my reality, but for now I pause and think about real problems and issues and am thankful that mine are only the communication problems I have with the jefe. Truly thankful.

Starbucks Sunday

2007-04-14T08:39:00.000-07:00

This Sunday is a typical Sunday - or I would presume for most of America. We spent post-Easter gluttony at the park and reading the paper. Well he read, I pictured. Enjoy your Sunday with scenes from our last Sunday - including the 'bucks and the beach. Click for flickr.

Catch the Wind

2007-04-13T09:02:00.000-07:00

You've seen the commercial and it has pulled me in. I want to listen to it on loop. It says children, parents, mothers and fathers, sisters and love. It says wedding dances, camp, mix tapes and pyjamas. It is cozy, warm and comfortable on the sweltering days. It is belly laughs and chocolate. It is sofas, fleece, too much candy and toes. It is telephone calls, earrings, and diet coke. It reminds me of coffee, french braids, and board games played on the floor legs crossed and never cheating. It is everything we want and remember to hold onto. Our moment of now and all our growing up. It is all the good tingly sensations in the key of C.

In the chilly hours and minutes,
Of uncertainty, I want to be,
In the warm hold of your loving mind.

To feel you all around me,
And to take your hand, along the sand,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind.

When sundown pales the sky,
I wanna hide a while, behind your smile,
And everywhere I'd look, your eyes I'd find.

For me to love you now,
Would be the sweetest thing, 'twould make me sing,
Ah, but I may as well, try and catch the wind.

When rain has hung the leaves with tears,
I want you near, to kill my fears
To help me to leave all my blues behind.

For standin' in your heart,
Is where I want to be, and I long to be,
Ah, but I may as well, try and catch the wind.

**The song is from a GE commercial and it is written by Donovan.

On Why I Missed My Calling

2007-04-12T20:55:00.000-07:00

"When does your ship leave, sailor?"

Heard recently in our house following a single half minute in which I blew my nose in my sleeve emitting a ginormous bugger and mound of snot onto my stomach and clothing and then let out a fart.

Chicks, Ducks, and Bunnies

2007-04-11T08:34:00.000-07:00

In law school we had Sunday breakfasts. For many weekends on end we all brought food, coffee and a George Foreman to cook the bacon. Mmmm bacon. It was then that I learned the joys of the meaty goodness. We gathered early, by 9 am, to prepare, enjoy and catch Meet the Press, central time. We were a mixed bunch of right and left but we all agreed to shut it and eat, at least most of the time because who wants their eggs with a side of Ann Coulter? It really was meant to be a hearty home cooked meal and a social hour before the library. I then agreed to host the Easter one. This one was later, more relaxed, and involved the Masters, as Easters do.

This year I agreed to host Easter again with promises of delicious food, good company and of course green jackets. No one needed to rush off to study anymore. Plus we wanted to make use of our new space - when we first took a look, our initial thought was this would be great to entertain. So we did this past weekend - even if we were not quite entirely settled. I spent Saturday night busying around, cooking, cleaning and making good use of the camera. On the menu, many many bottles of champagne, fresh fruit, lemony asparagus, sweet and spicy bacon, quiche Lorraine and spinach quiche (store bought thank you very much), passion fruit sorbet and boozy baked french toast. All as delicious as billed and all recipes gently lifted from some of my favorite food blogs. So enjoy our Easter as much as we did and check out some shots of the new digs. You can view the set here.

My Believe

2007-04-09T12:15:00.000-07:00

I commented to her that I didn't think I could do it and I definitely did not think I could do it as eloquently as she did, especially since I have always had a hard time spelling the word believe. But as I drove around running lunch time errands "I believes" kept popping into my head. So here it goes. Thank god for spell check.

I believe that a hair cut and a good set of tweezers can make a world of difference and make you feel stunning, thin, and beautiful.

I believe there is a tremendous amount of evil and ugly in this world, but that looking to the positive, warmth and good in people will help you keep the faith ,otherwise you too will be swallowed by the black hole of depression.

I believe that I look better in white than black even with the slimming qualities.

I believe that the gay/lesbian/bi-sexual population is without a doubt equal and should be treated as such in every aspect of the law and allowed to live their lives accordingly.

I believe in global warming.

I believe that a good song, good weather, good friends, good wine, good food and a good night's sleep can cure almost everything that ails me.

I believe that coffee should be strong, hot, and dark and a martini should be stiff, dirty and cold.

I believe in karma, past lives, old souls, destiny and fate as ideas that explain the phenomenons in the world, relationships, friendships, deja vu, and good and evil. It explains where we came from, where we are going and why we are here. No interaction is random and no person is without importance they all create a role and impact on who you are and what your life is.

I believe you can never have too many pairs of shoes, ass hugging jeans, slimming black slacks, white tees, or handbags.

I believe that money spent on expensive jeans, shoes and purses is well spent and well worth it. Though sales are where to look and no bargain is too good.

I believe that every person has a strength and quality that allows them to shine with inner beauty and talents, which is what makes us unique and special individuals and valued to our friends and family.

I believe what my mother taught me that nails, especially toes, should never be naked.

I believe that everyone should have a lot of perspective, the walking in another shoes kind, a good amount of humility and some fat, some chocolate and some wrinkles as they all keep you healthy, alive, and aware of what else could be.

I believe that my love for her is unending and pure and that she really is my pride and joy.

I believe in the curative properties of eight glasses of water, Advil and tums they heal almost everything.

I believe that airline seats are too small and cramped, the food is non-existent, the lines at the airport are horrific, but that everyone should travel to experience new landscapes, cultures and people and to really appreciate your home and life.

I believe that we have spent too long, too many resources, and too many lives in Iraq and that this is being ignored and completely mishandled which will mean we live with these scars as a nation for generations to come, some of which we cannot even fathom and the media refuses to ignore. In the same way they have handled the tragedies in the Sudan.

I believe in the strength and fundamentals of the US democratic process and systems including checks and balances. There is foundation, history and thought in the notions laid down in the Constitution and Bill of Rights. It is a whole other question as to what has happened to that.

I believe that fresh flowers, spa time, quality stationary and soft sheets are luxuries we can all treat ourselves to and the perfect gifts to give as a way of saying thank you to ourselves and others.

I believe that I have been extremely fortunate and quite lucky and for that I am beyond grateful.

I believe I am a good attorney, friend, sister, daughter, girlfriend and that I will make an excellent wife and mother.

PhotoSunday

2007-04-08T07:32:00.000-07:00

I'm starting a PhotoSunday section. A shot from the weekend or the week that I enjoyed or that may symbolize those events. I am not wedded to it and it maybe a collage or a series of pictures or even a link of them back to flickr. Something to enjoy on your Sunday afternoons when you are lazying around with coffee, the remote control and a belly full of brunch.

This is how we enjoyed our Friday evening. It began with a photograher's exhibit at a hipster coffee shop/wine bar. Because there has to be that /, which meant a lot of wine. Oh yeah and we also ate Greek, surrounded by Opa!, flying napkins and conversations tid bits of girlie bits and coke-a-martinis - rimmed with, well you know. We finally stumbled into the late show Blades of Glory - no beef to Will but I took a 10 minute napper. With wine and dark theaters a girl just can't be helped. Not when that photo was the start of the night - a series of shots shot by a photographer herself with her phone. She is just that good. Enjoy your Sunday.

One Million

2007-04-05T06:17:00.000-07:00

Enough with the whining and the drama and the ranting, onto bigger and better things. As my birthday approaches I do what we all do at that time of year - ponder what I would like to receive from my super generous friends and family. My mind wanders to all the glorious objects out there and to items I have ruminated on over the past year and pointed out as things I will ask for that for my birthday. Then I really think about the things that I really want but most likely will never in a million years actually get. And that is how we got here. The following list is a wish list a la if I had a million dollars. Because I sure 'aint paying off my loans - that is not any fun. But these are, for the most part, practical requests. Yes I swear they are. While they may seem extravagant and frivolous all lined up together, they are not ridiculous. Well not super ridiculous. At least not to me. And it's my birthday so I don't want to hear it.

macbook - just the basic one, as if a grand is basic. My lap top is on its last legs, no seriously the cable guy laughed at me the other day, and I want to go mac.

i-pod - I have the shuffle but I want one with more capacity and that is not two years old and finnicky.

An SLR camera - no explanation needed. Though I will take the Canon Rebel or the Nokia D40, 50 or 70. Thank you.

Bose speakers sound dock - to hear all my new i-tunes.

Kitchen Aid Stand Mixer - I am thinking red to match the new kitchen

Louis Vuitton Speedy Bag in either the 25 or the 30 - the problem is I can't decide. Life can just be oh so challenging. Though I have also seen them on e-bay which can prove to be quite useful in that they are substantially less money. *Hint*hint*.

David Yurman - this ring will do. But I am in love with him in general and I will not turn down other jeweled gifts.

Diamond stud earrings - simple and classy for everyday wear. And to be honest the smaller the better. Seeee, not super ridiculous.

Brooch- not the old lady kind either. A nice one to wear on a suit jacket and one that is me.

Her rings are adorable - as are hers. The multi-colored ones are funky, yet dressy almost cocktail rings.

Since I am stuck on a jewelry kick - her stuff is perfect This, I swear, is reasonable and I truly do want a charmed bracelet and not one that will weigh me down. So her single seahorse would be my choice.

Maya's semi-precious stone necklaces are dainty and classy.

I am stopping now because my online jewelry searches are getting out of hand and I have not even begun to look at watches, but if you are asking, Cartier is just fine. Clearly I am not really asking for these things, though I would by no means turn them down. And what girl wouldn't be able to find just one thing on this list she would say yes to? They are just on that wish list for that one in a million chance I win the lotto or have been secretly mis-informed that I am not a trust fund baby or something like that.....ah sigh. Got anything to add that I may have "missed"? Happy Shopping!

*Housekeeping note - some with Reader or Bloglines may have seen this initially. Blogger effed with me and I had to take it down and redo it.

Learning Curve

2007-04-04T09:34:00.000-07:00

I hate that expression learning curve. What the fuck is a learning curve? Does it mean there is a curve that I have to get over to learn? Do I need to learn how to curve? What curve is it? Is it a hump? Is is a good thing? A bad thing? I don't fucking understand it. And I can't stand how it is thrown in my face daily. I want to take the curve and boomerang it back into their mouth. How is that for a curve? Did you learn anything from it?

I feel new and peanut butter and jelly-ish. I feel sticky and uncomfortable. I don't know where I belong. It is too early to cry at least with the door open. Some would say it is not worth crying about. But the unease and the gas forming an anxiety bulge in my stomach are worth the tears. I fixed the ergonomics problem. Maybe it was feng shui. I think it was both. I felt cramped, ugly, and uncomfortable. It helped make me feel less claustrophobic and less paranoid. Who can sit with their back to the door? How very Sopranos of me. It just irks me. What I can't fix is not knowing. What I am doing. If they like me. When I will eff up (because I will, we all do at some point). And why I have to eat alone. Like the new kid in kindergarten style, I sit alone and make miserable decisions about where to eat, what to eat, and if I will do it alone. Again. No that's not kindergarten. There everyone was your friend. You sat in circles and shared and your only worry was who got the red sleeping mat. This is not kindergarten, this is hating high school. Those uncomfortable awkward times when you didn't know a person and felt alienated. Which I didn't, so I guess ten years later I get initiated. It is never to late.

Which is funny because getting here felt like rush. Smiles and fake noises meant to impress. "I love your shoes" now translates that they like me. But 90 bucks at Charles David does not count, it says nothing about me. And I was told it is superficial and a sign of someone who does not want to get to know you, the real you, the one beyond you and the pointy black patent pumps. The magic is, that person is now here, working down the hall. Reminding me of these ideas and where I came from. Amazing when life does that to you. A little circle of a reminder of god's way of showing you that life works itself out, that it has a meaning and purpose. It helps to know that everything will be ironed out. That there is a place and time. Mine will come and I will feel more secure in it. More at home and welcomed. Like high school really was for me. That, with time, I will see things from her eyes and the way they were back then when I was less stuck. Maybe this is the learning curve. Probably not though and to be honest I don't really care. Fuck the learning curve.

Pass-Over

2007-04-02T14:23:00.000-07:00

This will be streaming consciousness of a total collection of ideas and thoughts over the past 72 hours or so. With Passover hours from now I will give you a pass through of a weekend that whirled by but felt like an eon ago. Where was Friday? I swear it was seven months ago - at least it feels that way sitting here back at the desk mid-Monday. I was able to bolt early on Friday afternoon owing to the move. But I didn't do any moving - I sat in traffic heading Northwest on the mish mash of Veterans, Memorial and 60. Who does that? I felt like a suburbanite sitting there on an early Friday afternoon. Trying my best to get home. But I don't live there and it is ironic that sitting in traffic heading away from my new home made me feel suburbany. I stand by my conviction that we live in the city. Still. I was headed to a condo too - old friends, old co-workers. It was warm and comforting and an hour spent catching up before I had to turn around and change. This time drinks and dinner with Tom's old friends. First we did a tour of the homes. Seems like there is a lot of movement these days. I am more than thrilled with ours and think we are the winners. Though I could be biased.

At dinner with mixed company I become paranoid and self conscious. Why do I need a stranger's approval? Why do I want him to relay that Tom has a girl and she is cute? Why do I need that validation? In a few short hours, far too few if we are counting, we are moving up and out. Into our home. While it has been us this is a move, really it is one. What about this does not translate into security? Or insecurity? As I watch him move and sing and grow careless with strangers. Who is this? And who am I that jealousy can take over so easily? I am not ashamed of jealousy - I think it is a natural human emotion. It helps ideas to register and become a barometer. I just think it needs to be checked. So where did mine come from? As I lay on the carpet that night in tears I had no answers. I can blame wine, whine, and sleep deprivation. But I won't. Despite the airs of confidences, I am just as insecure and crazy as the next one. It comes in waves and never truly leaves you. I felt much more insecure in my life and have had some reasons to. There are residuals of that. Plus the generals we all deal with as women, weight, hair, food in our teeth and boogers in our noses and as people who intereact. The truth is it never goes away - you just have to learn to manage, control, and gain perspective from it. And sometimes admit you are wrong.

Saturday came too early at 6 am we were up waiting for movers who did not show until 10. But we were moved by noon. Which still meant we had HOURS to go of unpacking and shopping. A little Bed, Bath and Beyond, if we had time. And we did. At least we made time as we trekked up and down Dale Mabry spending more money. But we needed sheets for our bigger bed. We needed to insure they were on there as we knew we would crash. Long hours, long day and the GATORS. We also knew we needed to be showered and out of the house by 7 to get parking and navigate the crowds. Cherrys or Hawks or whatever you call the largest gathering of Gators outside of Gainesville is packed. Somehow we managed to VIP it up the stairs with a handful of others. Forgetting that stair climbing, no underwear and a dress are a bad idea but not really caring as my clothes were packed. Our own bathroom with a screen across from the porcelain. Who knows. But I would not have survived the crowds or the cheering. I can handle Magoo's claps but that was about it. Until the end and the chorus of "It's Great's..." as we exited with two minutes to go and an assurance that the Gators will be repeating. We got home to a scared and tired Ginger. She is having difficulty adjusting - she may be more moody than I. It figures.

I spent Sunday alone. I pushed, pulled, unpacked and cleaned - my feet mostly and the constant dirt kept them in a constant Britney Spears state. We got cable and internet - wireless throughout. I know what heaven may be now. The cable guy could not stop gushing about how much he enjoyed our digs. I would have been creeped out - but something was charming and sweet. So I reveled in it and agreed. So did Magoo when he came from work (yeah on a Sunday you don't have to tell us that it sucks). We do love it. Something about a new place makes you want to do new things, start new traditions. So I decided a bath was the way to go. Trying hard to push aside my bathing fears I sat for about 20 minutes. Until it grossed me out. And really until the glass of wine was done. Feeling loopy and relaxed my tired body sat with a towel, our new cable and wireless and unwound.

Changes

2007-03-29T15:55:00.000-07:00

If you want a cure for the whines and non-wintery blues an easy solution is to drown yourself. I have done it successfully over the past two months and have not been able to hold me head above water long enough to catch my breath. I have been a crazed soul. I swore I was feeling blah and then turned around sixty days later and could no longer remember the passing days of February and March. Blah turned into a whirl. I can’t say a breeze because that implies ease and something like porches and ice tea. There was none of that. There was chaos, depression and anxiety. There was stress, happiness and excitement. There was anger, frustration and exhaustion. Pick an emotion and I had it. We bought a house. Which makes two. A house and condo. So now we carry two mortgages and I consider myself a land lord. Well hopefully one as we try desperately to rent it out. Which is stressful, and annoying and entertaining, with more stories to come. But something I have complete faith in. Until I am proven wrong. But lets just assume that won't happen here. Will ya?

I have to hope to god that I make a good landlord, in that not a thing goes wrong and I silently cash those checks every month. Please please please let that be the case. Because in the two years I have lived there, I have not had as much as a toilet over flow, and I know how to over flow a toilet. I count not the leak, because that was external. So let us continue on this wonderfully perfect home ownership streak. At least so long as a nice unassuming renter squats there.

Well this also means we moved. In one month's time. We packed up and moved. Organizing and arranging such was for lack of a better word, awesome. In the way the bible describes awesome, like awe inspiring. Or really really crappy. You take your pick. I am not going to bore you with brown boxes, packing tap, and sweaty men, who are set to arrive this weekend. No not those kind of sweaty mean either. But this takes time and effort and infinite patience. None of which I actually own or come close to possessing on a good day. So I become Glinda the not so friendly totally evil maniacal I hate you so very much bitch. Which is exactly what Magoo wants when he is making big purchases and deciding things, like moving places with people. I mean who does not want to live with such a princess? Which again made our whole world a wonderfully peaceful candy cane filled joy.

I got a new job. Yeah because changing addresses and zip codes was not enough for us all. That in between all this I was on a mad pace to interview in any law firm that showed me some leg or cleavage. Because I was a whore. And I would’ve accepted any one of these jobs even if they paid me $9.73 per hour and asked me to pay for my computer usage time, which you know is a lot. Because I needed to get the HELL OUT OF DODGE. That was a burning building and I was not going to be taken down with it. Not when I was made to feel so incompetent for too long. Not worth it. Not worth it at all. I knew it and had known for a long long time. But the gun was loaded so I was at point blank. It just so happened to be when I bought a house and moved. Yeah so timing is not everything. But it sure feels good to be leaving this address. The new one is scary and anxiery filled, again more about that later, but rest assured it was the right and proper decision.

Lets also throw in the dentist. Whom I love. Or love to hate. Every ounce of my being is consumed with anxiety over my visits. And there were plenty of visits leaving my wallet infinitely lighter, so there was plenty of anxiety. Plus a solid near week of no food or conversation, following the gum surgery. While not anxiety per se it was stressful and tiring none the less, as eating and talking are pretty much by existence. Which was impressive during these days when my anxiety was devoted to prepping and waiting for potential employers to call me back and tell me they love me. Or in reality, not. Since I went on 76 interviews before I found the one. And when all my remaining energy has actually been spent renewing insurance policies, paying taxes, finding a renter, packing clothes and ordering movers. So that does not leave a lot of spare time to fully loathe the dentist in the proper way that he deserves. But I did. I managed to squeeze it in while cursing under my breath how much I despise moving and what a *(!#*($U@# my boss is. Not that I don’t curse, but the use of the expletive is necessary as words can’t adequately describe my emotions. Which is impressive as I am expressive as well. It is just that bad. Take my word. Like I said, not too terribly sad to say good bye.

That’s all. Not really. But that is all I have time to think about and detail. We all know that is not all there is in life. There are vet appointments, and manicures, there is time to exercise and go to the grocery store. Birthday parties. Anniversaries. Yoga, tennis games, manicures and dog walking. Friendships. Families. Phone calls. Oil changes. E-mails. Paying your bills. Making dinner, sex and sleep. There is life. So that is not all, it is just the tip of the ice berg and the major giant sized glaciers that were ramming themselves into my life making me realize that I had no such animal as winter blues. And making me recognize that this is truly what life is. Especially because it is now spring and I look forward to the renewal and new life. It means wonderful pastel colors, flowers, and sunshine. The weather is perfect here and there is so much good to look forward to. So much to dig and plant. We will grow in this new house and I will thrive at my new job. I would disgust you with the story of my new gums. But know that there is growth there as well. It is the time for renewal and changes. Every one of them will be good and positive. It is time to stick your toes in the grass, dream, and marvel at what life gives you. It is time for porches and ice tea. Finally. Mine will have bourbon, because you know me and that's what I do. Because some things never change, no matter the zip code. But please just bear with me as I may not be around as much - anxiety, moving, and bourbon will do that to you.

Skivvies

2007-03-28T07:17:00.000-07:00

I sit at my desk crossed legged, even in a skirt, even with no skivvies on. I don't care. I need to be comfortable if I am going to be strapped to the chair for eight hours. Ew gross, sure. But it is behind a large oak desk, so I am flashing nobody. I just let it hang out. Isn't it most important that I am comfortable. Or are appearances everything? Do I really need to be a la-di-da lady with my door closed? Because I have an esquire behind my name and a plaque on the wall, does that mean I have to maintain certain pretenses? Can't I just be me?

We do our best to find ourselves. Our true selves. To just be me. But what society tells us to do gets in the way more often than not. It is impossible to filter. All our decisions and impressions come from outside sources. I know there is psychology on this. To the point you will disregard your whims. You don't even know you are doing it, a lot of the time. Gut instinct is dismissed when others voices are planted. They tell you to go ahead do it, don't feel that way. We can convince ourselves of anything.

But we have to make sure those conversations don't detour from the original purpose, the one where you need to know what is good for you. The chorus of opinions offer advice, that may talk pretty, but they cannot over power your inner voice. Not to the point where you can no longer understand where you lay. You came to the table with an idea and a notion. But now the multiple voices have drowned out those thoughts. It has become a jumbled mash of mixed up ideas. Almost impossible to tell what yours were and doubly impossible to determine if they were "right". But we all know there is no right. Not when you are trying to be you. Because it is just you. There is no wrong, so don't go there either.

Go where you want. Do what you want. Offer advice and take it, but only if you can handle it. Only if it is meant to be processed and refined to match your ideas. You have opinions and beliefs. It is you after all. Go with those. You are the only one who is going to know 'em, to truly without pause know them. You are going to be the one who has to live with 'em, at the end of the day it is your head that has to hit the pillow. Make it so you enjoy it. Because in the end it is just about being you. Sitting comfortably crossed leg at your desk wondering if your secretary knows your ho hah is hanging out.

Won't You Be My Neighbor

2007-03-26T20:29:00.000-07:00

I lived next door to Fidel Castro. In Miami in the 1990’s. I know the neighborhood can attest to this truism. At the house two doors down, the only non-ranch style house. It appeared to have two stories and the the purple Mustang in the drive. I suppose there is no accounting for taste. Especially in a house where a Cuban dictator lived. Who wouldn’t have thought that a bearded man wasn’t Castro? Not when we roamed the streets in army greens. My sister and I swear we saw a cigar, Cuban no doubt, hanging from his mouth and peaking out from the grey beard. In those days too, Castro’s prominence was questionable. The media never showed him and there had been rumors that he died. Well, we knew the truth, he was alive and talking leisurely strolls down 70th Avenue. Residing amongst millions of Cubans exiles and lapping in the sun of South Miami.

In Tampa we moved to the golf course neighborhood. New to us, but there were old school Southerners. Rambling homes with oak trees, brick streets, and Muffys. One next to us who spent her days at the Yacht club, drinking beverages with tonic and lunching. Or we would presume. Possibly mostly the beverages. As her husband later went bankrupt – which would drive me to drink. To welcome us to the neighborhood she “made” a peach cobbler. People like her make things by paying for them. She daintily crossed the lawn careful not to ruin her silk heels or trip over her alcohol. She warmly knocked and welcomed us. A kind gesture no doubt. But for the chunk of cobbler missing from the dessert. “Oh, my husband was hungry so I gave it to him.” Welcome to the neighborhood.

In a few days I get new neighbors. As we are set to move into a house in a new area of town. Yeah we are moving. (!) Out of the condo and into more space, where we don't need a storage unit and we have grass and a kitchen. We will have tables and not just one but a dining room one too. This means no more eating on the couch and and it means room to spread out and cook and relax. It also means I get to meet a new breed of people. To me they are like co-workers. You have no idea where they come from and they are bizarre and strange with some questionable fashion sense. Yet they are there daily and you spend significant amount of time with and near them. Some how they also become the fabric of your life. Weaving in and out and sharing their witticisms with you - often without a choice. You standing there awkwardly waiting to exit the conversation and be polite. They do make for good storytelling and insane frustration, but hopefully in this instance some good friends too. We all dream of those blocks with parties, friends, and wonderful street life. Or at least a lack of drama. Let’s just hope Castro and Muffy stay where they are.

Afternoon Ladies

2007-03-23T16:56:00.000-07:00

The last time I can remember being at home just watching TV was hurricane day. The anniversary of Katrina. When Ellen was too much - the tears were more than I could handle - I flipped to Oprah. It was late summer, August, and she and Gail were debuting their road trip. Now here I am several months later, home again, and it is part two and three of the road trip. Are the TV gods telling me something? Road trip? Girl time? Get out and see America? I am never home at 4. I always wonder about signs like that. Road signs if you will. Some kind of sign that I can figure out later. Maybe when I get some more signs or clarity. Because at least she appeared to have a true real time out on the highway. Her and Gail in love with the moment. God they are not gay - they are just true to life best friends dealing with the ups and downs holding hands and smiling all the way. They just seemed happy.

Now it is time for Ina. I am not sure why she is the Barefoot Contessa. She is one of my favorites. Magoo and I also love the decadence of Paula and her obsession with butter. But Ina is so soft spoken and always has a ton of references to our traditional Jewish foods, she could be my mom or my best friend. But what about her is Contessa like? Or barefoot for that matter? She is Martha Stewart-esque, minus the annoying over achieving aspects. Martha's attitude makes me feel bad about myself. That I don't own actual linens and that I don't iron them. Or even have a proper room for them. But who the hell really does? I doubt Ina does. She seems real and always in love with her friends. Martha has no friends. At least no real ones. But Ina seems to possess an Oprah/Gail ability to be happy and in love with her friends in the moment. It seems genuine. Martha is just a plain mean girl and we know what I think about that.

I continue by breaking up teeny-tiny pieces of bread to shove into my mouth. A snack. Uh yeah whatever. My co-workers are on the cleanse diet and in a sad way I am too. I know that the adage that if you chew your food slowly and in small portions you will become fuller. I know it because it happens to me. Three bites of oatmeal and I am done. I've gotta be down a few. I turn back to my TV lady friends and notice that they consume and enjoy. No cleansing diets for them. They love their food, both dedicating their shows to it. Well all three, lets throw Paula in there too; she is gentile, kind, funny and welcoming. And they all have shows. How 'bout that? They are warm, smiley, and successful. Open about the whole thing. But they hold onto those extra lbs - lovingly almost. Like old friends who just don't care. So I stop worrying. When my ability to chew is back I will enjoy the hell outta a burger. Surrounded by my friends. Maybe this attitude will give me my own show. Probably not, but at least it will make me smile and happy and I can embrace them, hold their hands, and laugh. That may mean we are gay but it does not make us gay. It just makes us happy.

The Non-Grudge

2007-03-22T06:20:00.000-07:00

I wrote this and minutes later my doorbell chimed. I peaked out and no one was there. I opened anyway and there were tulips. Sent from a dear true old friend. One who I met at the same time as the other, but whom I actually became and maintained a friendhisp with. By choice and not by circumstance. Who I have remained such even under circumstances. One of which passed not too long ago and that we were not too removed from dealing with. Though she still cared enough to send flowers. A quality we should all have in our friends and ourselves for that matter. But one I found he did not possess.

The bigger point is that I need to keep that in perspective. I do it all the time, not just with her. In a lot of my life and relationships. Forgetting the larger picture and living in the details. The moment of it all should not erase what has been done in the past, especially when it is voluminous. One time should not cost us the total love. We all fail. We all make mistakes. Some are unintentional. Which is equally as wrong and very difficult to swallow. But so long as those times happen with infrequency we can continue down the rose garden of friendship. It is when the wrongs out number the rights or they are just so wrong that we put the friendship down. At least we should. But that was not the case here. I just needed a drill to my mouth and a mystery doorman to remind me of it.

The Grudge

2007-03-20T20:54:00.000-07:00

I have a sick day and a new friend helped me by sending some exercises.

***

We were not those kinds of friends that were considered us to be old. We considered ourselves to be good though. At least at one point. Having been there during a time when we both needed the company. It bonded us together until that necessity stopped needing. At least I learned that later. We pretended to continue to need, but we actually didn’t when we first met and we no longer do. So it has been easy to keep the grudge. It was my way of holding on and my way of taking control. As if admitting that our true friendship was gone. We had known each other for years before, never bridging a friendship. Not until we had to and then we needed to. So when those times passed it was not surprising the friendship ended with it.

I invited him to a party. I don’t have them for this reason. I can’t handle the rejection. The idea that no one will show up. That people will pass on something you are thrilled about wanting to do to; show off your home, your food and your love by inviting them in. And they say no. No to all of those things and no to your ego. Well he didn’t have to, he said yes. He just did not show up. Or call. Or apologize. Or call again. Not for several weeks at least. And then there was a failure to mention any of it. I was tremendously hurt. I put myself out there, and as my friend he agreed to it. By not showing, he showed me he failed to care. To even garner enough respect to cancel or apologize or make up a lame sickness excuse.

With him though I was not terribly surprised. This was not too far from his norm. I had come to expect this response. Which really was the problem, not the party. It is never really about the party is it? To me, it is not what friends were made of. But yet we maintained the pretense of a friendship, probably longer than we should have. So I held a grudge.

The truth was it had been dead for a long while for all those reasons. I could hold the grudge, but I was holding onto a long gone relationship. My way of ending something that was already on life support. This was my way of taking power over the situation and my feelings of loss, rejection and hurt. But his overall behavior that told me we were not going to remain friends. I couldn't do it with someone who didn't value me in that way. Didn't think about friendship in the way I try. Which is probably why were were not initial friends. Which was why this was never meant to be a long lasting one. Which was why were not supposed to be old friends. And why the grudge continues.

Breathing

2007-03-19T09:05:00.000-07:00

I am without a doubt nervous. It creeps up on me and my hands shake, I have to catch my breath. The true literal meaning of it where it is taken from me and I have to dig deep to find it. Then I tell myself some calming thoughts. None of which are true, but they suffice to get me straight again. And they will have to do to get me into that chair. In the next several hours I will become more and more of a wreck. At times even holding my breath without knowing. Biting down hard and grinding. Which is what got me here in the first place. I decide to read about others reactions and procedures on blogs and in chat rooms. Then I decide it is too horrifying and gruesome. Maybe I would rather not know. Though in my calming exercises I tell myself that my anxiety comes from the unknown so I try to play out what they will do. Which is how I got online in the first place.

I also tell myself it is only thirty minutes and I try to capture thirty minutes of time to see how quickly they pass. But we all know when living through a personal hell those thirty minutes will last a life time. So I eat. Fearsome because I won't be able to later and I can't stand the thought of being uncomfortable AND hungry. But also to soothe my nerves. It keeps my busy, it makes me happy and it fills my belly, which feels empty and scared. I like the feeling of the hard apple against my gums, knowing I won't get that for days. Or longer, I just don't know. And I don't really want to.

The best thing I can tell myself is that I will get through it. That it will pass and it truly will be over in a matter of time. That at least I am getting it taken care of and I will no longer have to worry about it. But again, that does not a whole lot to ease the worries. And the closer the hour gets, the higher the anxiety level becomes.

I will tag this breathing, even though I really am not.

Even Stevens

2007-03-19T06:06:00.000-07:00

As promised, the pictures. Also because I told Kevin this was blog worthy. So really it is mostly for posterity purposes, as I don't want to continue to rub in the blue skies. In a few short hours I am heading in for gum surgery. It is actually a graft where they take some from the bottom and move it to the top. A cut and paste job, if you will. So let's call it even. I have the weather, but I am bed bound and going to the dreaded dentist. Again. Plus my eating will be severely impaired and that is a huge concern of mine.

Saturday was billed as Gasparilla Part Two. Which mostly means sitting around and drinking as there was no parade. Though I am willing to guess as many drunks. And who really needs an excuse to drink? As if the whole St. Patty's thing is not an excuse in and of itself. Especially when the weather was just so.....remember we are even. No grumbling. We had a tremendous afternoon lazying around, eating, watching what else but basketball, playing with the dogs and celebrating birthdays. And did I mention drinking?

Sunday was the Tampa Yankees. Our spring training team. We managed to make it through five innings and a grand slam, before the real spring team played. There were as many Yankee's jerseys in that stadium as Gators. And they all needed to exit by 2:30 for NCAA action. Looks like it is time for the Sweet Sixteen.

Just send me wishes that mine will be sweet too. And remember we are even.

Green with Envy

2007-03-17T19:12:00.000-07:00

Yeah so today is supposed to be about green and beer or whatever the Irish enjoy. And right now I am six or seven deep though mine is Canadian whiskey and the green is for MSU. No I have no lost it, I am a good sport. For that sport. We have a TV. As in a single one and it is that time of the year. So long as the beverages flow and I get access to the internet, I am good with the basketball. Well as good as it is going to be. Since I doubt two devout Gators would let me watch Sex and the City on a Saturday evening.

As for the afternoon. It again was gloooooorious. Sorry to the Northerners suffering through the March snow. But we got it good. Good as in the 60's with crystal blue skies. But for now you gotta take my word for it. Or maybe I don't want to make you too too jealous. Or it is just a lack of technnology let's be honest. More pictures and details to follow, promise. Not to mention that it will be equally as lovely tomorrow and there are more outdoor activities - involving sunshine, friends, and hops. Remember we live in a world of spring training.

Smell the Flowers

2007-03-15T10:38:00.000-07:00

I have had the opportunity to leave work early these past few days. Which means 5 o'clock. Because of the time change as well, it has been glorious at that hour. Look at that blue sky. So Ginger and I have had the chance to take long walks around the neighborhood. Keep in mind in busier winter-y times it is dark and I am tired. But she gets to revel in the glory of my current status, as her tongue hangs out of her mouth by the time we get back home. Likely from all the energy exerted in sniffing out every piece of garbage in the 3 mile radius. Regardless, I have noticed the lovely flowers that have bloomed as a result of our Spring. I also like to think that, as a result of my current position, I am now in a able to stop and smell the flowers....

This one is actually growing on my back porch. It "bloomed" on it's own accord. It is actually an aloe plant that sprouted this flower.

I found these across the street, next to a parking lot and office building. I like to think Ginger helped these grow over the past few months.

The hibiscus are quite common in Florida, but still look exotic and lovely. The orange bloom in multiple layers.

Whereas the hot pink are vibrant and big.

And the lighter pink are softer and delicate. To be honest, I cannot verify if these are true hibiscus. But they sure are pretty.

I am not sure what these yellow beauties are either. They were one of only few blooms on a desolate tree. Quite lovely. I was able to snap them before Ginger's nose dragged me away for better scents - hers were not of the floral variety though.

Our neighbors down the street had these growing next to their fence. Ginger and I quietly trampled up to the side of their house to snap these.

These had a Christmas time feel to them, I think because of the colors. They were in a bed low to the ground. I was able to get that close to them as Ginger also used them for a "break", let's just say.

After all our scratching and sniffing, well mostly hers, she returns home happy and with a hanging tongue. I got my pictures, she got a cookie.

Now it is your turn to enjoy the great out doors and take the time to stop and smell the flowers.

Reason No. 637

2007-03-14T04:15:00.000-07:00

I climbed into bed on top of a groggy man. He was half asleep, with an ESPN Magazine resting on his chest. Tired from a long day, allergy medications, and an alarm set to sound at 5:30. He mumbles I love you's. Half coherently. I ask him for one specific reason why. He complies with a sweet response and demands 10 kisses. I comply. Then I climb back off and head to the showers. Dropping my clothes to the ground on the way into the bathroom. I flip on the light and turn the faucets, only to be greeted by every ones worst nightmare. A cockroach, in the corner, near the toilet. I do what every Florida girl does, I scream. In 2.5 seconds, a sleepy Magoo comes running in. No further words are exchanged. I jump into the shower, closing the curtain for apparent safety. As if the that will protect me from the bug. He reaches for toilet paper, grabs the sucker, flushes him down the toilet, and stumbles back to bed. And that is the reason why I love him.

Spring Forward

2007-03-12T10:41:00.000-07:00

Things I want to do:

1. Plant a garden/buy plants.
2. Enroll in the 90 day writers workshop
class.
3. Make a lasagna.
4. Spend a weekend at the beach. Even just one
night.
5. Print out and frame my photographs.

Meaner Girls

2007-03-09T10:12:00.000-08:00

I wrote thinking about those girls, from my past and wondered where they were. Then I got picked up over here , and a ton of comments . I spent time thinking about it and I realized I faced a modern day mean girl dilemma; are the associates in the offices next to mine just grown versions of the mean girls? I don't think so, but in a law cliche, the verdict is still out. The Nina's and Lisa's of the world were evil. They manipulated and plotted so that they looked good and made you feel bad. Real bad. Laughing about it the entire time. They pranked called and some how made you always feel like a sucker. I was left holding a phone and feeling like an ass, when in reality they were.

They were smart in that they understood what they were doing and how to execute. But I don't know if they were savvy. I think what differentiates them from aggressive people is the savvy. And I think what you find at a law firm, for the most part, is savvy. People doing what they can to get ahead, at what ever cost. It is not meant to hurt you, unless you are in the way. But it is not a direct attack. It is simply because you stand on their path to greatness. You can spot them as they never look at you, just through you in an attempt to get by you and to figure out how to do it best. And they just don't care. Their time, their ideas, and their shit is not only more important than yours but somehow they have made it not stink. They just push on and up. With no intent other than to make them number one. Don't be fooled they don't mean well though. They are still mean people. I guess that is the difference between an intent to harm you and just plain indifference. Again, I'll use the law, but it is the difference between first and second degree murder. How I remember that second degree murder is a depraved indifference to the value of human life, is totally beyond me. I can't even remember Magoo's phone number.

But the aggressive people out there have a goal and go after it. They may work hard or they may work smart. The mean girls just worked mean. They may have morphed into those aggressive types, but I think of them to be different creatures. Evil and ugly, but different. Which may mean my answer is no, they are not those kinds of mean girls.

Then I think. Does it freaking matter? They are all ill perceived, at least to me. And to most, as you all have so wonderfully pointed out. Making excellent calls about unhappy people and wrinkles. So who the hell cares what kind of mean they are? They are all people I can't handle and the reason just does not matter. I try to avoid acting like or associating with either breed. Of course the problem is they may be my associates. But it does not matter how you brand it, they are ick people. Unhappy with some extent of their life or just built with the aggressive, competitive, get-ahead gene. Either way they are not meant to be someone I associate with, at least not beyond the coffee room or Holiday party. I long ago moved away from Nina and Lisa. I was in a sorority and found the clump of people who had no tolerance for the crap. The other 40 some odd girls could have their Greek letters. There is no room for it. Really there is no need for it.

I went to law school and I litigate, so they are everywhere, especially in these corridors. But the bottom line is I cannot STAND people like that. Get over yourself and get a grip on being mean or meaning to be. Live a little and laugh a lot. Enjoy. That is, enjoy your time as a happy fun loving person. Breathe. You will see how much energy was wasted on the negative and the hateful. Being mean may be fun, but it is a crack cocaine high. One that lasts for a brief moment, is fabricated and highly dangerous. Not the natural high from the wind in our hair. Go out and enjoy that life and stop taking the time to get ahead or to hurt another. Enjoy your time enjoying.

So if they want to continue with it. Go ahead. I want no part in it. I am out enjoying my life, laughing at you, not with you, and kicking ass but not in the way that it hurts anyone, just in the way that it will make my glutes look killer.

Big Chill

2007-03-08T09:03:00.000-08:00

…. Labor Day weekend; the start of the holiday, the end of summer. Technically. The calendar said it was time to start school, roll out the tweeds, boots, and oranges and tuck away the swim suits, beach towels, pinks and flip-flops. But it was Florida and we had months of sun to enjoy, even if white pants were forbidden. There was still humidity to contend with. With the air conditioning cranked down to simulate cooler temps and in a nod to the impending fall, we cozied in. Sharing space next to each other, we sat crossed legged at the coffee table. Able to do so as the dog had been dropped off that afternoon, at Fuzzie Buddies, in anticipation of the holiday trip set to begin the next morning. Otherwise, food at that level was perfect for her grasp and guaranteed to be gone in an instant. So we relished the holiday away from the jaws of a 30 pound beagle and set out three types of cheeses, apple and pear slices, dates and nuts accompanied by chicken finger slices. You insisted on them as their smell always permeates the Publix parking lot and draws you in. Normally abiding by the rules of the diet, this time though, you gave in, using the holiday as an excuse for gluttony.

There we sat, splitting a bottle of red and a movie we chose for the occasion. To me, nothing says the end of summer like The Big Chill. You had never seen it and it was on a list of such movies. A movie about friends on an unexpected holiday. I had seen it a dozen and a half times and memorized the soundtrack. It is really the music that makes that movie. Well, maybe not, maybe it is the acting and the actors. Or that compelling story line. Reminds me of my friends of the past and what I want from friends in the future. Well, minus the suicide and the adultery. But a compelling story and it draws me in no matter how many times viewed. Such a classically good movie, makes it impossible to pick one aspect that makes that stands out. It was chosen for all those reasons and more. I wanted to see those scenes through your eyes, seeing it for the first time. Which creates a new imagery and ideas. Sharing those with someone and learning their innocence. The essence of fall is present in that movie; the changing temperatures, the multi-colored leaves and football. That Michigan football game, is fall regardless of the state or decade. The outdated running shoes and hair do’s transcend the 1980’s and still today portray an spirit of fall. Those emotions tumble together into the first days of school, a slight crisp in the air, browns showcased on the cover of Vogue, new TV shows and football Saturdays. All kept me entertained with the memories of such. Smiling contently from those ideas and from the warmth of the wine, cheese and my company.

At the same time it all brought me to tears. During I Heard it Through the Grapevine, a small whimper of a cry forms. Tiny drops I was able to keep private. Even hidden by a smile and a few seconds of singing along with their performance. But by the end of the number, I sobbed and held my face in my hands. My chest heaved and loud sobs emanated from my throat. You looked over fearful you missed something to cause my convulsions. But this was not something; this was the moment of it all. We’d created a strong sense of peace and contentment. So thoroughly at ease that I enjoy myself so much I tear up. That perfect place captured with a perfect scene, and not the scripted one portrayed on the T.V. It was this scene, this moment with our knees touching, holding hands, laughing at the movie. I wanted to live in that and wear around me like a warm blanket used on cool days next to fire places. I feel at home in the emotion and that moment, where tears form without knowledge. Just pure bliss. The kind that gives goose bumps, belly aches, and heart palpitations. The kind made for T.V. and longed for in our best dreams. I had all of that in my hands during that moment and it made me smile and weep all at once. Letting me create a present perfect memory of a new type of Labor Day. The temps were dropping, the time would change and we would fall forward, but that night I wanted to sit in those last days of summer and enjoy the emotional holiday before the vacation began the next morning. Before we moved away from summer.....

Hot Pink

2007-03-07T08:34:00.000-08:00

"I am so pale"
"Oh my god me too. I would love to pick this hot pink, but I am like so pale."
"We HAVE to go to the beach. Like now"
"Ahhhhh such a good idea!. Lets go to Boca Grande, like next weekend"
"Hell yeah. We are so going."
"Does this red make me look slutty?"

Scenes from a South Tampa nail shop one Friday afternoon in January. Scenes between two high school aged chickies. No older than 18, with no perception of the world. Really. None. Boca Grande? Tanning does not mean a three hour trip to an expensive island get away. Not at 17 and not on a whim. And not just so the barbie pink Essie nail polish will look better on your toes.

I sit and think if I was ever that bad. If I ever came across to strangers in such a way. I understand my lot and position and how I can be perceived. I know what it is like to be in a group with girlfriends, loud and unaware of people listening in. It can get out of hand and it can look, well, like a snotty mess. I am aware of that possibility and aware of what is going on. This seemed different as it smacked of indifference. A lack of understanding or appreciation of what was going on around them.

I have to think that in a Sweet Sixteen Laguna Beach world this type of open display of vapid wealth has been deemed acceptable. They see the shows and think that it is the norm. With little understanding how ridiculous they sound. How overly grown and yet totally unsophisticated they come across. But with disposable wealth at their newly painted finger tips. That when we watch the train wreck that are those shows, we laugh and point and shake our heads. Wondering how much is played up for the TV. How much is edited and prompted by the producers. And who really has parents that are willing to drown their kids in spoils, without realizing the repercussions of their actions. But I fear that when that generation, because yes this is a different generation, views these shows they look at it as examples. Of how they can and should behave. And that it is okay for their parents to provide them with every amenity. That there is no perception of reality, aside from what is splayed on MTV and a determination is made that this is what they want as well. With no grasp of the absurd nature. That instead of an understanding that these shows are ironic and are meant to point out just how ridiculous these kids actions are, the exact demographic embraces the life. They mimic it to the best they can and then display it openly as if proud that they resemble the spoileds of Orange County. Not fully realizing how they look or what message they are sending. Or what life is really like for these kids. No perception.

With no boundaries and endless wealth at 16, things are lost. And those things are ideals, morals, and values. Those come with boundaries, lessons, and earning things. We are taught by our parents and by looking to our peers. We learn lessons from their examples and the tough way, through failure. These roads are important to gauge yourself and learn trust. To experience, cry, pick yourself up and become stronger. Perspective is key to seeing all that and understanding the privilege as well as the struggle. But with the world in your Gucci wallet, it no longer matters what the rest of society deals with. It is not about learning lessons the hard way, because that has been paid for and bought. You can see only as far as the next manicure or tanning session. And as teenagers we are all short sighted and self absorbed. This is not going to change. But when the habit is fed with a bottomless pit of green, it knows no limits and can't possibly be learned. They are not going to recognize or see that this is not how the world functions. They are indifferent. There is no one and nothing to stop it and give them a reality check. Especially when reality TV shows that this is what is the norm. And that upsets me. Which is big coming from somone with a love for pink toes, tanned legs and MTV.

Gum Disease

2007-03-06T07:07:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows me, who really knows, understands the depths of my fear of the dentist. Everyone claims to have some. Mine is probably clinical, like a fear of heights or spiders. This is hard core serious anxiety. My fear has made it so I try to take good care of the teefers. So I can avoid all procedures. The simple cleaning causes panic and stress for the two weeks leading up to it. Just the suction noise will irk me to the point of vomit. Fuck writing about it right now I am chilled and bothered. The drill is all sorts of unheard of. I can't even hear a drill without getting stressed about dentists in general.

Today I saw a periodontist. Gah. It is so awful even saying it. Magoo had to make the appointment for me. In a mind over matter method I drove myself there. Repeating a mantra to myself that it will not be that bad. Good thing I have a ton else going on that I couldn't let myself run away with the horrors. I tell myself, repeatedly on the 20 minute drive to Temple Terrace, that it is just going to be okay. I have to convince my mind that this is manageable. That 'there is nothing to fear but fear itself.' I need to get there mentally. Plus it was just an initial eval, to tell me what I already know. But it is just a quickie to go over the big details so there should be no invasive treatment. Of course the fact that I am en route to a dentist is enough to send me into cardiac arrest.

With that frame of mind I enter the office. I sit anxiously waiting for the terrorist, er doctor. He is a kind middle aged Bull Gator. He talks to me about New Orleans, attorney life and of course my health. I take it all in, probably breathing every third minute or so. This is all pretty routine for any doctor's office, but it still creeps the hell out of me. And nothing can prepare me for what is about to happen though. The entire staff was kind and understanding, and not in a condescending way. They seemed genuine. I found myself complimenting one's engagement ring, something I never usually do. The tech actually patted my arm when she could sense my anxiety. Mind you that came during a routine discussion about flossing. But the whole thing freeeeaks me out. The point is that they were so very soothing and comforting that they almost (I say almost because probably only a bottle of Xanax could really get me there) calmed me. At least they did so to the point that during the initial gum exam, I found the doctors finger in my mouth soothing and slightly erotic. He ran his hand through my gums and around my tongue with a latexed gloved finger. It felt warm and comfortable. I wanted to suck on it. And it was definitely a little turn on. From a 50 some odd year old dentist nonetheless. I have to think that my anxious emotion was transferred to him when the office was so soothing. That I found something new to ask for in the boudior. Bonus. But seriously they rocked and that takes a whole lot for me. I am still not over the fact that I have to go back and undergo a true procedure. But at least now I don't dread my March appointment. Plus they promised me sedatives, which is kick ass because it means I get fingered and good drugs. But no, I still hate the dentist. Hate.

Cheese

2007-03-03T05:54:00.000-08:00

I get words stuck in my head. Like songs, but just one word. Over and over again. Is it Rain Man? Or a stress technique to keep my mind occupied. Like counting. I have been a counter, counting cars, stairs and minutes. I did it on road trips to pass the time. And in class, well you know why. My ninth grade English teacher had a sign over the classroom clock covering the time that read, "time will pass, will you?". Clever, but did nothing to cure the boredom. But we were in school and it was meant to be borseome at times. Today the word is fideo. Yeah sure not just any old word like cheese, which it has been before, but fideo. I can tell you where it came from too. An article in Food and Wine that featured Ilan, the season two winner of Top Chef. His specialty, derived from his Manhattan based Spanish restaurant, were fideos. The article featured the recipe and he won praise for such on the season finale. Go figure. That was what stuck. Go figure that he would win.

What I am not struck by is Top Design. Blah. Blah with a side of vanilla blah. So goddamn boring and I will pretty much watch anything. Which means Bravo, you have effed this one up good. How could you fall so far from such greatness? Despite the choice of Ilan, Bravo has shown serious levels of greatness. But Top Design is a disaster. The camera work is nauseating, panning back and forth between the designers and their rooms. Todd Oldham is completely un-motivating and his voice borders on chalk board to nails irritating. There is no enthusiasm or interest like his counter parts. The three judges have about as much to say as, "yeah." No one offers insight or perspective on the design or decorating world. They point out such obvious things as, "design is subjective." Well kids that is not going to cut it. Not here when we need an hours worth of TV and we sign up to be entertained. Because the problem is all of these shows are subjective, but you gotta pick a winner. And as supposed leaders in your industry you should know a few things about such. You should be able to offer praise and criticism. Like what good taste is. Or how to well execute an idea or plan. Or the theories behind interior design. And how to make something not look like a bag of crap. But maybe that is subjective. All I know is that it has been booted off the DVR rotation. Because it bores me and I am no longer in 9th grade. Which gives me all the more time to repeat fideo over and over again.

Hamstrings, Perfect Men, and Birthdays

2007-03-02T08:21:00.000-08:00

An E-mail

eb.:Is there anything you want for your birthday?

Rebe: humm- dont know. maybe cooking classes- but i cant commit to a certain time because i have lots of traveling coming up. maybe a new pair of legs for running. the perfect man? what do you have in mind?

eb: I am not going to tell you. I just wanted to know if there was anything my credit card could buy for you - 'cuz I am not sure I have enough credit to buy legs and I don't know if there are perfect men and if there are whether he would accept visa.

Rebe: Alright, how about looser hamstrings. i bet those are cheaper than an entire set of new legs. i actually like my legs, i just wish they were faster. ooh- how about some run faster potion. i bet they sell that on red envelope.

eb: Yeah I saw a two for one sale on hamstrings. which is good b/c you probably need two right?

Rebe: I would say so

To My Dear Sister - Happy 25th Birthday.

Here is to a year of perfect men, better hamstrings and 'run faster potion'. May all your dreams come true.

Mean Girls

2007-02-28T21:13:00.000-08:00

In elementary school they were the mean girls, Nina Monroe and Lisa Berger. A tag team, arriving to our class in the same year. Revered because they were new and because of the triangle. The upside down triangle on the back pocket of their jeans. Guess Jeans. They had them and matching outfits from Limited Too and Burdines. But they were mean. Prank callers, hair pullers, and note passers. The notes were the worst, written in spite to instigate trouble and hatred between girls. Always. And it usually worked because we believed what they were saying. They were those girls. With that kind of power. But boy did they have fun. You know it because of the giggles, but also because you joined them from time to time. There was a rush, with the planning and the anticipation of how it would all turn out. Of course the smugness when their plan sprung into action on an unsuspecting victim. Pure seven year old bliss. Like riding your bike so fast that you can feel the wind in your hair with your mother's warnings echoed in your ears. Extreme fun, the kind with consequences. The best kind.

I met one again this summer. She was a summer associate and the only thing I could think about her was that she was mean, in the way that Nina and Lisa were mean. But she was 25. And in law school. This is not the law firm, cut throat mean I am talking about either. This was elementary school hair pulling and finger pointing antics. She just had that it about her. The one that says she never outgrew it. She truly was still a mean girl. In the way that I know she intimidates her friends. Gets her way through bully tactics. And it is allowed, until the girls grow tired and move on. She finding her next "friend". I have to think she is the word frenemy. We quickly grew tired of it all and she will not be joining us.

Do Nina and Lisa still do it? Have they toned it down? Or are they now mean women? I hear they live in New York City, where such behavior is groomed, displayed and cultivated to a lifestyle. I am certain they are still well styled individuals. But it has been 20 years, I have to give them the benefit that they have outgrown the note passing stages of 1989. But really, more so, am I still a mean girl? To people I dislike or I feel have hurt me. I gossip. I know I do and talk ill of others who I find humorous or even feel threatened by. This is different. At least I tell myself it is. This is not done to their face and even more importantly it is not used to harm or dismantle them. It is done for myself, usually to make me feel better. It goes no further. The mean girl outwardly projects onto it's victims. That is what makes it mean.

I know the rest of us have outgrown that, if it ever existed. We are mature adults. But does some of that still resonate? I just wonder how much we outgrow and how much we chose to retain. The lessons we learned as fourth graders, on how to intimidate and manipulate. Using our power to make others feel poor and ourselves feel rich, at least for that momentary high. Do we incorporate those techniques into our everyday, in ways to get a job, a date, a car, or a home. They are power moves after all. Used to place you above the others. But there is a difference between mean and savvy. Between nasty and smarts. That is not what mean girls are made of. I have learned these differences and appreciate the nuances. I try my best to live a decent, kind life. With no intention to harm or even manipulate. Knowing those scars run deep and how poorly it is received by the rest of society. It is just plain ugly and there is nothing more that I hate than ugly. But there are flashes and moments when I can feel the mean. When I am doing to my friends what I learned on a playground in the sunshine of Miami and sometimes it feels pretty good. Especially when I am just retaliating. It feels excellent. Like wind in my not yet died blonde hair. It feels like freedom. Of course there are consequences. But damn, mean can be fun. The best kind of fun.

He Loves Me, He Love Me Not

2007-02-28T07:07:00.000-08:00

You know that feeling when we are waiting for someone we like to call. Hey, we do it with new friends and not just men. That pit in your stomach and the nervous anticipation every time the phone rings our your Yahoo says you have new mail. My heart literally skips a beat and fucks up my blood, so that for the next several moments I have to catch my breath. Could it be them? And will they respond positively to me, echoing the way you feel about them? It is a finely delicate place. You don't want to seem to eager, but you don't want to appear indifferent. A thin line between obsessed and impressed. Checking and rechecking. The verge of my emotion resting on a response one way or the other. A battlefield ready to spring into action. The whole watched pot idea floating around in my head. But that can't really work. After all, I have always believed that the pot does not boil because you were there to catch it. Watching it. The checking and rechecking is not going to prevent the response from coming and it is not going to make it a dreaded one. That much is out of my hands, beyond my control, and no amount of refreshes are going to change that. Like waiting for the bar exam results. By then my portion was done, but I was still nervous as hell to know the result. The fact that I am controless should make it easier, but it does not. Because it is all about the waiting. The longer I wait, the more the anticipation builds. And it freaking kills me. Because I want it so so very badly. And because I put myself out there. I took a risk. Taking the first chance and letting them know all about it. Exchanging the first glances of I love you's. I feel for something, someone and let them know it, even if it was in a refrained tone. But I took that leap and anytime that happens it is nerve racking. Heart racing. Vomit inducing. That person may not respond or respect that. Which creates a whole new layer of fear. While it may be a done deal by now, the fact that it was done in the first place creates the anxiety, the want, the pit in the stomach and the desire to glue my phone to my hand to insure I don't miss the call on its very first ring.

Love'n Lime

2007-02-26T18:05:00.000-08:00

We all want to see her happy, so when she asks us to come to dinner to meet him, his first time in town, we all parade out. Happy to do so. Reservations for 11 at 7 at Lime. The place to see and been seen. And we did a good job. Hogging the space and noise for over three hours. Drinking, laughing and making new friends. Leaving dancing to Lionel Richie. They to continue the dance at a birthday party, us to another kind of dance, at home. A private party if you will. Ahem. Yeah and we liked him too. A lot. Forgetting that it was still the first time and accidentally asking important lawyer-like questions, "Are you moving here?" He gets an oh shit look on his face and I realize my mistake, making a joke. Though it is no longer my role as Magoo was coined, "the funniest man alive". I think so and was in love with that. In love with the whole thing. Margaritas may be talking. Oh and their table kegs. But that is love too. And yeah she was happy. Cheers.

To an entire weekend filled with wining and dining. That was just the start of the dance. So many reasons to celebrate, the first of which was making it to Friday. At times it seemed touch and go. The anxiety level was as loud as the music that night at Lime. Pounding in my ears like the base. But it was more than that, so much more. A ton of bricks more reasons to celebrate. Which led to an afternoon out at the docks. We swore it would only be one. But there we were 97 beers later and a slight buzz mingled with a sun burn. We were jolly as we pulled in, like a caravan, dancing around the yard. It is where love is coming to live and to grow. Not just hers, ours as well. We wrapped arms and pranced on the lawn. Celebrating. This is love and life, it was totally worth celebration and not in a dramatic kind of way. This was ours to cheer about.

We spent the last night with Oscar. Though he was not our main man. In fact I missed most of the Academy moments. Because the weekend was about meeting her man. And in his honor, a little girl's always and forever main man, her father whipped up his chefly creations, mom over serving white wine. Magoo's, repeated pleas for BBQ shrimp coming through. Now that is something to love. Delicis times 100. That and the kindness of friends and family. Both new and old and some to be added soon. Hopefully that is. I think his response would differ now, if I asked him again. But I dare not. We were having too good of a time. The easy conversation. The laughter filling the kitchen like the scents of filet, which was also heavenly. Oh and that blueberry Stilton cheese, I could've eaten the entire block. I think I tried to. Stories of long gone childhood pets and renovated kitchens. That is what we want to fill our glasses, memories, bellies and lives with. Those stories are the heart of family and the love the surrounds the trappings of a sparkling kitchen. They show that there has been a lifetime of children, sidewalks, peaches 'n cream desserts and friends. Really a lot of friends, when our families live anywhere but here. The night so truly was about that. The love created by new friends, extended family and anyone we were willing extend the love to. That and alcohol pouring easily. As it had done all weekend. As it always does. But isn't that what picture perfect weather and out of town guests are for? Because we are all in love, with something or someone. Or just a frame of mind. One where we embrace the good and positive of our lives and our situation. Squeezing glory out of every moment in the 48 hours. Because it was all worth celebrating. All worth dancing for. Cheers and cocktails with a slice of lime.

B-Ball

2007-02-24T10:09:00.000-08:00

Saturday mornings are spent alone, usually. I get the time to myself, with my treadmill, laptop and DVR. I clean, read, write. There is usually a brunch date. We have a standing one, at some point during the weekend there will be eggs. She and I have done it for years now. Through break ups, singledom and boyfriends. Post and pre workout. Nursing hangovers and relaying events of the nights before. But this Saturday the weather was too nice and I was feeling friendly. So I ventured to the site of Magoo's weekly basketball game. And you know how I feel about basketball. But it was not about playing, at least not with a ball. For me it was about soaking up the sun and taking pictures. Fun enough for me. I had a blast. But that had nothing to do with the round orange ball or the five sweaty guys. The park was full of families, sights and sounds. An art festival around the corner. A birthday party at a picnic table. Swings, see-saws, and sunshine. A glorious Tampa morning. It was a welcome reprieve from my usual. Enjoy my time here.

On Fire

2007-02-22T20:03:00.000-08:00

I want to write like my head is on fire. Like every last word, emotion, and thought needs to get down on paper. Or else, danger. Though I do my best on the key board. I like the fast motion and the sounds of click-click-click. It takes to long that long hand business. I need to spew it all out and I want to see it there in front of me. Now. I have such strong emotions these days we can liken them to a roller coaster. But with that there is an end where you can get off, look back, smile and decide to enroll again. For me, here, I see no end. Just more ups and downs. And downs and downs. Those dips where your stomach is in your ears, you eyes are sealed shut and you are screaming at the top of your lungs. But without the fun. The anxiety of it all is so very much that I react inappropriately. A sharp small physical pain turns into a flood gate of tears. All of it, pouring out letting me release, when it was you that should have been releasing. I was the one coming out when you were the one inside. And that is not how it is supposed to be. But this is the problem when you keep it all inside. The feelings that is. Piling up. That's why I need to write it all down. Spill it before I make a slip like that again, one that hurts us all. Because at that point it is not just about my head on fire. There will be a full on fuego one that ends up burning down the house.

Getting Racked

2007-02-21T12:55:00.000-08:00

I recently began a gig at HotelsByCity. I get the opportunity to write and this time with a Tampa based theme. Since I do a good amount of eating, drinking and shopping, I presumed I was qualified to write about the lot. Check it out. And I believe them to be hiring in cities and towns across this great nation. You too can put your nights out at bars and your trips to museums to good use. Below is the first post and a link has been added on the left. C'est La Vie!

We spend our nights out here. Not with the intent to get drunk, though there is an intent to drink and we all know that leads to drunkenness. But here, there is more. So much more. It is where a lot of my Tampa life has happened and un-happened. Men, dates, break up's and sob stories. And food. A lot of nights revolved around the menu. All made and told at the counter of the bar. If any bar defines nightlife and a high life it is The Rack. I doubt I am alone. As the masses come pouring in at all hours. They serve lunch. And they stream out until closing time at 2:30 a.m. Often one of the hardest things about enjoying the time there is finding a parking spot. In the too small lot and the one way streets of South Tampa. Which is actually a really a good sign, as it means it brings in the people. So you can't complain. But as a combo dive bar, pool hall, sushi restaurant, sports bar, how could it not be crowded? Yup, you read that right, the Rack has all that to offer. And more. Located across Platt from Hyde Park Cafe, an ultra-sheik lounge where pretentiousness sticks to the wall, there is no lack of scenery, both spill over and outside, in the seating area that overlooks the front door of HPC. Another benefit of a night at the Rack. Especially one where the weather behaves in Tampa perfect quality.

The food is above average bar food and that does not do it justice. The sushi is grade A sushi quality, feeling fresh even at 1:30 a.m., when you don't. But the guy you met over Heineken's may be. Really that is another story and not one for this post. Aside from raw fish, there is the usual smattering of bar food, all beginning with the word fried. And all ending with delicious, since friend food is perfect. As well as pasta dishes, sandwiches, and a slew of appetizers. The bar tenders are proficient and well stacked, I mean stocked. All kinds of cocktails and top shelf so and so's to be delivered to your hearts content. For a hefty price that is. A recent Saturday night dirty martini run showed that Kettle One and olive juice cost $12.00. A price well worth, the six or so pool tables, the tremendous space in the bar for sitting, playing darts, plunking coins in the juke box, and overall enjoying your evening. Go on, get racked.

Cookie Monster

2007-02-20T22:51:00.000-08:00

As we well know by now, Ginger is a cookie whore. Determined to make every moment into a Milkbone moment, she will do her darnedest to get a treat. This past weekend, she completed the entire box of cookies, no not in one weekend, but the box was empty. I placed it next to the garbage to be recycled with our beer bottles and Diet Coke cans. She immediately ran to it, knowing the red box and smelling the scent of cookies. Probably thinking, "idiot, why'd you place the box on ground level, now it is mine for the taking." As such, she immediately dove in to claim her prizes. Not quite realizing the it takes hands to reach into the depths of the box and pull those wonderful cookies out. She first attempted to bite at the box, sensing a cookie should be in there.

This method did not work to get any of the mystery cookies out. She next must've thought, "I know I can smell them and they have to be there. Let me stick my head in there to get to the bottom of this." That is if she were a rational creature, she would've.

"Wait. Where are those cookies? "

"And? And? How do I get this thing off my head?"

At least I would imagine that was her thought, as she ran around the house, now unable to see because of her milkbone box hat; smashing into the walls, hitting the mirror and getting stuck in a corner at one point.

We, fortunately, found this quite humorous. Taking pictures and laughing the whole time. Why else do people get dogs? Or for that matter have kids? But to laugh at their humiliating moments and capture them with the Kodak. I would imagine she did not. As she not only ran into walls, but she was unable to remove the box, and she did not actually get any cookies out of it.

I eventually ended her suffering and removed the box from her head. After some confusion and she returned to the now villain. Knowing it is still the cookie box, but scared about her recent run in, she sniffed the box suspiciously.

She rather quickly got over that fear and took full vengeance on her hat head, in an effort again to get to the bottom of the problem.

She ripped the box to shreds. Hoping that she could take proper revenge on the box and perhaps learning that there were no actual cookies in there. Or not. Who really knows what a small stubborn cookie loving beagle thinks?

Despite her "traumatic" episode, she happily accepted a new cookie from the fresh box and continues on her mission to seek out all cookies everywhere regardless of what harm or humiliation she has to endure. She is just that kind of girl.

Emeril

2007-02-19T08:57:00.000-08:00

When I moved to NOLA in 1997, it was solely to attend school. Not to live in a city, per se. I was going to college. (!). Exclamation point included. I was dead set on leaving Florida, pinkie swearing on the corner of Dixie Highway that it would not later be used against me in a guilt trip. It never was. But there I stood all of 18 years, thinking I knew every damn thing there was to know about every thing. I swear I knew everything. And I was going to college.

What I didn't know was there was this entire city of people, places, and history that I was going to be introduced to. That would come well after I spend my requisite nights at frat parties and the Boot. Weeks and weeks and weeks there. But eventually I would take my nose out of the vat and would learn of this wonderful world built around one of the greatest cities. Where history meets personality and there is culture in every space you turn.

What I didn't know was that the first two people I befriended would not make it through the first year. Both owing their departure to some nose candy and an inability to handle the consumption of the city and of the affluent influences of Tulane's study body. I too had no idea. I had a foundation, I had seen it. To a degree as a highschooler. Lexis' in the parking lot and party hopping at the age of 17. But this was country club, private school, nuevo riche with all the trappings that came with it. We drank keg beer in backyards out of red plastic cups. They did coke. A whole different ball game that claimed each individual separately. I would learn that Tulane was not for everyone. Also claiming two of my suite mates after the first year. For totally different reasons, but still it was not meant for them. Really that glamour does not translate to sustainability. Reasons we chose the school in the first place do not match what our day to day experience are. On all ends of the spectrum

What I didn't know was that when I asked for a restaurant referral on the first parent's weekend was that there was not really a place called Emeralds. In those days before google, I tried my hardest to find this place that came so highly recommended. What I didn't know was that she meant Emeril and that he was a cooking legend and his food was a phenom. Something that I will learn as we later enjoy his BBQ shrimp and visit and revisit his restaurants across the continent.

What I didn't know was how much I would hold so close those memories and times. I think back fondly on my undergraduate days despite all the turmoil, trauma, and young girl mistakes. More importantly is how much you learn in college about, well, about life. Things I swore I already knew as a so so very sophisticated high school grad. I had spent a lot of time discussing such with my very brilliant colleagues at Miami Palmetto Senior. I knew everything about everything. So I went to university to major and learn of macro economics and Latin American studies. But that really became secondary to all the education going on around me. Since what we truly learn are lessons about people, behaviors, friendships, our own limits and strengths and of course great food.

They Way We Are

2007-02-15T14:03:00.000-08:00

They way you held onto my leg tight when we broke.

The way you pretended it was you who had to go to bathroom to save me the embarrassment.

The way you said you were learning.

The way you call me your everything.

The way you turn around, wink and mime I love yous.

The way you call me gorgeous porgeous.

The way it was too much, 45 was too much.

The way you Google better ways to give foot massages.

The way you tell me I am the love of your life.

The way you so patiently deal with me, my moods, my anxiety, my smell, my everything. Because you, you are my everything.

A Loss of a Partner

2007-02-15T06:02:00.000-08:00

The thing about divorce is that you can never really know. You may sense they are coming, the fighting, the distance, but you still feel surprised. Or I would imagine so. I would think that no matter what happens in the middle, the fact that there is now an end is a surprise. Because you would have never started the partnership thinking it could end.

You never know what the result of the split will be either. You can anticipate the reaction by the other party and even dream of your life post. Knowing that the status quo is not how you want it. But you can never really know what the fall out will bring. How people will react. How the situation will be handled. Will it be all business? Acting strictly according to guidelines. This is yours, this is mine, and we will sell this. All nonchalant and proper. Or will the emotions get involved? The water in the eyes seen when the news is announced. Will you let that get the better of you? And what emotion will surface to the front? Anger, for the deceitfulness and the decision to leave? Hatred, for the hurt that the separation will cause? Sadness, for the loss? Ache, for the memories of the good that was and what could have been in the future? We just don't know what reaction we will get. Or what emotions will be stirred in the pot of seperation. What if there is no reaction. Do you wonder, if no emotion is displayed, was it the right decision n the first place? Were we meant to part ways after all? Or is that even the reason for the loss?

You just really never can tell. They may have been able to glean ideas and make decisions about the consequences. But you can never know for certain. That is how it always is when making a decision, especially one with known consequences. Knowing that some consequences already exist, it is often impossible to know for certain all the rest of them. You get lost in the ones you know, losing the idea that more can exist. Ones you cannot adquately prepare for. Ones you cannot properly assess their risk and reactions. As lawyers we spend time and money doing it. We try to anticipate every scenario and a planned response to such. We are paid to. But there are curve balls. And when emotions and real people are involved those are 90 mile per hour fast balls. Truly difficult to handle as you can just never know what the true actions will be in a situation. That is until you are there. And then it is too late. Then you are reacting and there is no time left for the plans and preparations. The ones you made are long gone, with an understanding that you never really knew and never prepared adequately. Despite how much you think you did. Because you never can really know.

You don't know that you will have to part ways with people, really possibly several people. That there will be issues with money. That there is uncertainty about the future, for everyone. That we are on edge. We feel bad about ourselves and question every action and decision. That we are left wondering why and for how long was this coming. Who knew and when. You can't really know any of it. So we are the ones left wondering. Scared, confused, alone and sad, and wondering. You just never know that. Isn't that what makes it so hard? Or do we even know?

White Trash VD

2007-02-13T21:34:00.000-08:00

A few weeks into our courtship, Magoo came over on a Saturday afternoon and asked me an important and topical question, "What do you want to do for Valentine's Day?" I blinked up at him as he leaned against the counter of my kitchen. "I called around to all sorts of restaurants and they are all booked solid," he continued, "instead I thought I would make us dinner." I remained silent as he pulled me into him. "So, what do you want me to make? I will do anything to your heart's delight" In that moment I was so touched that I even had a Valentine, let alone one who went through the effort to pick up the phone and attempt to get a reservation, somewhere, anywhere.

"Hot dogs."

"Hot dogs?"

It just popped out of my mouth. But I love them. Love love love them. And I never eat them outside of the months of June, July and August at BBQ's and baseball games. We had several more weeks until summer and I could so go for some meaty goodness in the middle of February.

"Yeah, that's all I want, hot dogs, please."

To me it was enough that he wanted to be my Valentine and offered to cook me a nice dinner. It was not about where we were or how much we spent, but the time and effort spent together. Isn't it about sharing the love and expressing your appreciation for your loved one? I always thought V-Day, was about that idea, even as a single gal. So even as a new couple, I knew I would be insanely happy with just a foot long, a bun and my hon. Plus we eat out all the time, at some of the best places, so we didn't need an excuse to go out and sit with the amateurs paying too much money for a crowded meal. I wanted couch time and hot dogs, which felt gourmet because of the heart that was in it.

That night I brought over PBR to enjoy with our cuisine of dogs, beans, and french fries. He picked up some gooey brownie goodness from a local bakery. We sat on the floor and enjoyed our romantic evening; holding hands, watching TV, walking the dog and retiring to bed. Uh yeah we did that too. It was the most wonderful Valentine's Day I have ever had. So relaxed and warm. Our bellies full and not because we thought they should be but because we enjoyed the meal and the time. We loved the plan so much we are doing it again this year. Hope your day is filled with beef, beans, and warmth.

Sophie and Ginger

2007-02-12T08:58:00.000-08:00

Sophie is a gentle seven year old lab-Airedale mix of a mutt adopted from the pound. She, since day one, has earned her old lady name and spent most of her life lounging and enjoying cookies. She loves and greets all animals, dogs, and humans and most likely would go home with you in exchange for a Milkbone. Bearing a resemblance to the Old Navy dog, she constantly brings in the praise for her beard and stands dutifully when petted and complimented. A calm, docile, and lovable creature.

That was until she met Ginger. Her sworn mortal enemy. She has come to believe that Ginger was sent here from the dog underworld to steal her cookies. In an effort to prevent such and insure that Ginger goes back to the hole she crawled out from, Sophie does everything in her four legged power to make her life miserable. As soon as Ginger steps foot into her home, she barks and prances and makes her dissatisfaction known. Sounds which we had not heard in the six years she lived with my parents. When walked together, Sophie pushes Ginger out of the way to make sure she gets in the door first and is granted the first cookie.

Though she is crafty and has figured out that Ginger possesses some redeemable qualities. Well really only one quality, but it is enough for the big lady. She learned that Ginger is more agile, smaller, and has a better nose as she is trained to sniff out garbage and hamburgers in a 50 mile radius. And she has learned that these qualities mean that Ginger will help her find the goods that she cannot find on her own. So while meandering down the street, because Sophie does not really walk per se, she will follow Ginger's nose to a scent or scrap. Once Ginger has sniffed it out, Sophie sticks her giant head in the way, pushing Ginger's 30 pound body aside and takes over. Never once thanking the Ging for her hard work. Easily enjoying the find and not once looking back.

On Thanksgiving, Ginger helped the family by cleaning out from underneath the couch where my dad collected cereal crumbs. As a nightly habit he cradles the cereal in his hands and inevitably leaves a trail behind between the cushions and under the sofa. Given Ginger's propensity to seek out such goodies and her ability to stick her nose and paw under the couch, she began declaring her fortune. Sophie, always diligent to Ginger's actions, immediately scampered over to see what treasure Ginger found her. Pushing Ginger aside she stuck her snout under the couch but quickly learned that her nose was too big and her paw too wide to gain the booty. Disappointed but not deterred, she made sure that no dog prevailed. She plopped her 70 pound body in front of the couch and lay there until she was thoroughly satisfied that Ginger had forgotten about the cereal find.

All of this Ginger takes in stride, often walking away with her tail between her legs agreeing to Sophie's bully tactics. She lets Sophie take full advantage and gracefully takes the second feeding and the second cookie. Allowing Sophie to reap the benefits of her snout's hard work. Knowing one day, at one point, she would figure out her revenge. And her chance came recently when she saw Sophie's pride and joy open and ready for business. Her bed. That had always been Sophies' and she knows to get in it with a simple instruction. She spends the entire night blissfully asleep cradled in the corner, snuggled with her blankets. However, this time the little Ging out smarted her and jumped on a golden opportunity. She took over and made herself at home before Sophie could make it upstairs. She knew what she was doing and she did it with a stealth smile. Leaving the big mama to sleep on the cold hard floor. Revenge is sweet, even if it is dog eat dog.

Moms

2007-02-08T14:18:00.000-08:00

The moments when you realize you have turned into your mother are cliched, but catch you off guard none the less. I had my pants around my ankles and was daintily applying toilet paper strips to the white seat in the stall at work when I had the realization. This was something she does. And this was something I never thought I would do. I always thought I would be a squatter. Until it got to be too much. And I began to wear heels all the time. And I began to drink my eight ounces, so my urine streams down like an unending river that no amount of squats can prepare my quads for such a workout. So I sit, just like she does.

We try to be good parents and swear we won't do things like them. Especially in those tear induced moments when we are crying so hard we can't breathe or see straight. When we scream out, "I hate you", not realizing how harsh that is to say to a parent. If mine ever say that to me and who am I kidding, because they will, I will most surely join them in the tear fest. But then you have to be butch and realize they don't mean and they will regret it if not now, then in 15 years when they realize it was hormones and adolescence. And that we, as parents, really try our best. And that when we swore not to do it like they did, we actually don't mean it at all since they not only did the best they could, but they did a pretty damned good job.

I am clearly ahead of myself as I have not birthed an individual. But I know, and predict, and sense, and have been on the giving end of the parent rage. And I consider myself a mother to the little beagle who inhabits my space. We try our darnedest to be good to her with the understanding that we want to spoil the crap out of her. She is a freaking dog after all and deserves to be loved and cuddled, especially after spending the first six years of her life abandoned. But there is a time when that bites us in the butt. When she pushes and pushes and really never stops peeing on the carpet. We try to discipline and try to scold. But you truly cannot teach an old dog a new trick. And you can't teach a beagle a damn thing since they are more stubborn than, well, than me. And I am an Aries litigator. That bitch will not back down. The more we try the worse it becomes. We have baby gated her into the section of the house with tile. Because tile is easier to clean piss out of than carpet. She takes this as an open invitation to pee. Every day the same place. Now she refuses to go behind the baby gate and will no longer accept a bribe of cookies and Dent-a-Bones. She whines and stares and asks in her Ginger voice to not be caged in. And what can we do? It only makes her pee more. Which is the opposite goal we were looking for. And she throws the "I am so very cute" card our way and we cave. After a debate that consists of such compelling and strong arguments as,

"Do you want to lock her up?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

"We probably should, but she is just so cute."

"I know and I just feel bad for her."

We are bound to eventually give in. So much for our disciplinarian techniques. Are we doomed to fail as parents as well? Or do you just get over the cute and scold and reprimand when necessary so you don't raise hellions? You have to wonder if dogs are truly different than babies. Sure the snarky answer is clear, but are they? I have heard that raising a dog together is excellent (though not quite complete) training for child rearing. So really does that mean I will have spoiled little snots? I know we will try our best to succeed and put in place rules and regulations. But life takes over and they are our kids. It gets messy and in the end we want to just give them unconditional love and support. We want them to know that and pass it along. The best we can do is draw from the tools given to us by our parents. Instilled with their love and coddled with their vision and passion, both good and bad. They tried and failed at times, but more often than not the love was what shone through. Those ideas they used and taught us with are actually quite valuable. In so many varied ways. Teaching us the tools to be a good person and a great parent. Just like they were. So when they creep up on us while sitting on the john, we know it is a good thing that we may be turning into our mothers. Since they did an excellent job with us giving us the means by which to do a good job with them. Even if them is a seven year old slightly overweight beagle with an irritable bladder.

A Racket

2007-02-07T05:44:00.000-08:00

In the week before Valentines, Magoo and I decided to embark on a little game of love. Love-Love that is. Tennis. I have been trying to take lessons for months. It has been a series of events that prevented me from actually making it to the class offered on Monday nights. I decided, instead, we were up for some love action. Back and forth. Me him. Him me. The ooomph of the shot. Hitting hard and attempting to place a winner. Trying our best to be good sports. We did not keep score. That wouldn't be fair. The game of love is in reality not fair. It is not meant to be balanced and equal. One person wanting more with the other left holding their feelings. One feeling abused and used as if the weight was on their racket, having to defend and hold each shot. Each with different skills and needs. Plus there are no losers. At least there shouldn't be. We may not be able to achieve a perfect equilibrium, we can still hope there is no loss. That we are given a reward for our efforts and angst, even if it does not mean we actually win all the time. But simply that we are not losers and we are not left with a loss. In the end, no one should be considered one or even made to be one. That is not the goal or the reason we agree to play. It is never the idea when we step on the court. While it may be dicey in the middle; tempers flaring, openly angry, raised voices, and aggressive shots, when all is said and done it is still a game. One meant to be played and enjoyed. With heart, sole, and passion. With sweat and tears. With the aches and pains of breaks; the game, our hearts and wrists and ankles. Because it is still Love. But is it really about tennis any more?

Good People

2007-02-05T19:32:00.000-08:00

I went to the same Starbucks twice in the same day, 13 hours apart. The second time I was given a free cup of decaf. Not because I was a repeat customer, because how would they know, but because people are good. Really it may have been laziness or just ease. But her simple action, my belief that she meant good, was enough to make me smile. It was a long day (evidenced by the stop at the 'bucs on Dale Mabry twice) and her easy gesture was a nice one. The idea that someone else's off handed thoughtfulness could make me so happy, is an interesting one. A science of happiness. It does not even depend on her intent or desire to do good. Like I said, it was probably that they were closing and she had shut the register. But it was that it meant a lot to me. Maybe I was in need of a boost, caffeine or otherwise, but it hit the spot and made me feel good about people. In the pop study of happiness psychology, reflecting on what makes you feel good at the end of each day is considered an important innervation. Doing so is supposed to be good for you. In the end, it makes you a happier, healthier person.

I got this "ticket" while dining at Acropolis the other night. A fun-spot Greek restaurant in Ybor. Could the people of Tampa be any nicer? A warning, that was so kind and unassuming. Smacks of good people. Again, a decision on the part of the government not to ticket those visiting or those who made a "mistake". Mine was laziness; I just didn't feel like putting money in the meter. It was dark, I was alone and running late. I would rather pay a ticket than stand and feed money into a machine, especially in a dimly lit lot at night. Seeing that the city was willing to forgive my transgression again made me smile. Very generous. Made me feel good about people, myself, and this time specifically the city of Tampa. You don't get this goodness in a bigger city. And isn't that why we live here? An affirmation of good on a number of levels; especially that I chose to live in the right place and park in the right spot. A good decision. Oh and a crazy good meal - those Greeks know how to have a good time.

Thailand

2007-02-03T12:04:00.000-08:00

She was the first person to tell you that you look thinner. That is the greatest compliment possibly ever and probably means an instant serotonin boost, if I had an ability to measure those sorts of things. Because now you feel thinner and inspired to continue. That's why my mom told me to always compliment a person who has lost weight. They need to hear it. And when it is your hair dresser who has styled you for the past three years it feels pretty damn good. From her you demand bold bright and funky, as a way to get out of the blah. You then get to chatting, because we all know that is what happens at salons. And you explain the blah to her. But with an understanding and a preface, that you cannot complain. Because really you can't. There is nothing wrong with your life and there are a million and a half things to be thankful for. Don't get me wrong because I totally know. But you describe the blah. And in a word, the too tall, all legs, blonde, who makes your hair shine says, "well, you're just bored." Bam. Like that she has the diagnosis. And we know I had been looking for the diagnosis. She continues, "for me, I was bored, and then I booked a trip to Thailand, and I leave in three weeks."

Oh shit. That sounds fantastic. Clearly, Thailand is out of the question. You can barely get time off to go to the dentist. But something. Just a fantastical whimsical trip. Even if it is being a tourist in your own city. I really love that idea. Just a destination and event to look forward to and plan for. Not an Asian country necessarily. But the idea is there. Something. So while the foil sits, I plan my plan. My Thailand.

A Meme, Magoo, and A Quiz for You

2007-02-01T12:21:00.000-08:00

I made both of us do this because I thought it was cute and a way to introduce him a bit. And because I think he is adorable and his answers are too.

Magoo:

A - Available/Single? No

B - Best Friend? Chris or Michael

C- Cake or Pie? Pumpkin pie

D - Drink Of Choice? Mountain Dew

E - Essential Item You Use Everyday? Toothbrush

F - Favorite Color? Yellow

G - Gummy Bears Or Worms? Bears

H - Hometown? Davie, FL

I - Indulgence? Multiple showers and clean clothes

J - January Or February? January

K - Kids & Their Names? None

L - Life Is Incomplete Without? Without my boo boo

M - Marriage Date? I don't understand

N- Number Of Siblings? 2

O - Oranges Or Apples? Apples

P - Phobias/Fears? Plane crash, snakes, not being able to support myself (family)

Q - Favorite Quote?

R - Reason to Smile - love of my boo boo

S - Season? Summer

T - Tag Four People? What?

U - Unknown Fact About Me? I sometimes don't like being funny

V - Vegetable you don't like? radish

W - Worst Habit? Interrupting people

X - X-rays You've Had Recently.. teeth

Y - Your Favorite Food? Turkey sandwich

Z - Zodiac Sign? cancer

e.b.:

A - Available/Single? Nope

B - Best Friend? Magoo

C- Cake or Pie? Apple Pie

D - Drink Of Choice? Tropicana OJ

E - Essential Item You Use Everyday? Deodorant

F - Favorite Color? Pink

G - Gummy Bears Or Worms? Bears - Haribo

H - Hometown? Miami, Fla

I - Indulgence? Candy, candy, candy

J - January Or February? February - I love that it has fewer days and the whole leap year thing

K - Kids & Their Names? Not yet baby, not yet

L - Life Is Incomplete Without? MTV

M - Marriage Date? Not yet baby, not yet

N- Number Of Siblings? 1 - mi hermana

O - Oranges Or Apples? Apples - Green and unreasonably hard

P - Phobias/Fears? Loss and rejection

Q - Favorite Quote? "Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming woo hoo what a ride!"

R - Reason to Smile - Magoo's devotion and Ginger's belly

S - Season? Fall

T - Tag Four People? Not gonna do it - feel free to do your own though

U - Unknown Fact About Me? I am afraid of escalators. I hesitate before I get on and cannot stand on the same step as someone else.

V - Vegetable you don't like? tomato - does it count? It's just really gross.

W - Worst Habit? picking my nails

X - X-rays You've Had Recently:Teeth

Y - Your Favorite Food? Mac and cheese, at this moment.

Z - Zodiac Sign? Aries - stubborn and more stubborn

I got this quiz from my Daily Candy e-mail. I love their weekend planner on Thursday, it always puts me in a good mood for the weekend. I have had the quiz open all day and have been able to answer a few at a time. I will brag and say I am at 18 at this point. Which has taken me 9 hours to get to. I think I am close on a few, but they claim it is the wrong answer. But what do they know? Plus there is no answer key and I was so the girl who looked in the back of the book for the right answers to the math problems and a believer that Google has the answer to anything. So I am frustrated - if y'all get them, send your answers back to me.

A Whine

2007-01-31T05:48:00.000-08:00

I can't call it SAD as she did, because really we have no seasons. It alternates between chilly and warm and the sun is usually shining. I know it is not depression. Not even the slang term we have adopted to represent the clinical diagnosis. It is just the blahs. At times linked to hormones other times to circumstances. A sort of wah feeling. That I want nothing and to do nothing. Really it feels like nothing fits right. No I don't mean my clothes, because those are actually looking good. I am talking me. Anything I try on for size does not seem, well, correct. I need something more, something different. I feel restless and tired at the same time. Worn out and annoyed. Nothing seems to soothe this emotion. I read what she said and think that sounds wonderfully lovely. Back to back posts about self improvement, visualization, goals and pampering. I think I will go to Borders and pick up some books like those she mentioned. Then I grow tired and don't feel like driving. It seems too far and too much trouble. And I think that I don't really want to do any of those exercises anyway. And how when I quit half way through that project I will feel worse about myself and my state. So I try to conjure up ideas on what else I can do to get out of the funk. Small things, like a Starbucks, a magazine or playing music. All seem, too small. I don't want to make busy with dinner or baking. The effort in planning, executing and cleaning is too much for me. It is taxing even considering such an endeavor. I tried yoga the night before and it helped. But only for a while. Because the feeling came back. So I am not sure if another class is the true fix. And again, I just feel too spent to put the effort in to change clothes, grab my mat and drive over. Ditto for the treadmill. Seems like such an ordeal. When in reality it is there in the second bedroom and all I really need to do are tie my sneakers. But it is just this mindset and feeling. And an idea that more needs to change, which will not be helped by cooking a lasagna or doing a few miles on the treadmill. This is bigger and needs a larger band aid. I am not there yet though. Diagnosing the problem is still the top priority and that is in it's infancy. It is multi-layered. I feel bad about myself and not in the I am fat and ugly bad about myself. This too is multi-faceted. So I am not yet at solutions stage of the game. For now I am assessing and evaluating. Trying to see if I am a complainer or a realist. If these are legitimate concerns or just a passing emotion. These ideas and notions hit all of us from time to time. At least I tell myself that, to make myself feel a little better. These blahs come and go and sometimes they are real and we need to address them to improve ourselves and our mental status. And sometimes I am just a whiner. So for the time being a glass, or several, hell really it was a whole bottle of wine and some cheese-ass TV will soothe the pain. At least until I pass out from the alcohol.

Gasparilla 2007

2007-01-29T12:10:00.000-08:00

This weekend the Pirates invaded Tampa. Named after Jose Gaspar, the last of the Buccaneers, he terrorized the West Coast of Florida in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Gaspar deemed himself to be Gasparilla when he headed the Royal Spanish Navy for five years. Thereafter, he and a mutiny of pirates set sail for the Florida Straights where he began a life time as an outlaw of the sea. When he died the legend was he left a fortune along the Florida coast, which was never unearthed. In his honor, in 1904 Tampa leaders, the Ye Mystic Krewe of Gasparilla, organized a pirate invasion, and arrived on horseback to capture the city. The event was a hit, and the Krewe planned a more elaborate spectacle the next year, when all 60 of Tampa's cars were paraded through downtown. Now the invasion is lead by the pirate parade float. That is the history of Gasparilla, we also know it as an excuse to drink all day long. As if you really need one. Think Mardi Gras; beads, boobs and beer. On a smaller scale and confined to one day. But Tampa does its part to get in spirit and throw a party. We began before 11 with mimosa cocktails and breakfast at lovely Ashley's house. Followed by parties, vodka, the parade, beer, and more parties. The evening ended with pizza and an early bed time. It is tiring carrying a buzz for 10 hours. Check here for additional photos from the weekend.

**Info courtesy of TBO and Wikipedia.

Waiting Game

2007-01-28T20:35:00.000-08:00

It is Friday night. Yeah, one of those Friday nights. I am cleaning up the Annie’s (cooked with broccoli) from dinner and getting ready to make these treats. Willing to give it a try, learning later they are difficult to serve. Too cold makes them hard to eat, too soft makes them messy. But in the moment it is fun to bang and mash the pots and pans around. I am overcome with a memory and an image. Instead of standing at the kitchen counter in a tee shirt and bare feet, sipping a red, and mixing cream cheese and Cool Whip, I am standing at a bar. Holding a martini, sipping softly and standing awkwardly. Countless nights spent like that, waiting. For something. Or someone. I always felt that there was something else out there, as I stood in three inch heals waiting for it. I looked around, half listening to my girl friend's chatter and discussion. Waiting for that moment. People pass by, smile politely. On occasion, an offer of a drink or a pick up line. That is occasionally. I traveled in packs and appeared un-inviting. At least I have to think so. I never met people at bars. I thought it was a possible, every night I went out and dressed. Applying perfume, eye make up, and cleavage. But it never happened, not that way. Instead I stood there, enjoying the ladies company and laughter. Always darting my eyes and looking for something. Waiting. I think I was waiting for this.

Joe

2007-01-26T09:00:00.000-08:00

In a free association moment, I saw a crushed cardboard coffee cup in the middle of the street with the words Joe written on the side in bold print and a few steps away was the black lid that once topped the cup off, now also smashed by the traffic. This triggered a memory of a guy I went to law school with. Whose name I cannot recall. He dated and eventually married an Anne. I remembered hers because, well, she was memorable. She wore plastic Notre Dame shower shoes, everywhere. Everyday. Including with a satin dress to the law school formal, or Prom as we liked to call it. I get the whole alumni thing and I know those Fightin' Irish are pretty passionate, but no one understood her. Chris. Thinking about her and those shoes, his name popped into my head. Chris carried the biggest coffee mug I have ever seen. It was white, with a red handle and top and must have been purchased at a gas station of sorts, as their logo was splashed on the side. He arrived every morning to Professional Responsibility with a cup of coffee the size of his head. Literally. It was enormous. I sat there wondering how he held it (I learned nothing in Professional Responsibility and this could be why). I know I would spill such a monster of a cup. Hell, I spill the grande size 'bucks without even taking a step. So I wondered. How did he transport it in his car? It could not possibly fit into those tiny cup holders. I also wondered how he made that much coffee? Did he have giant sized appliance at his house too? The big-as-your- head coffee maker by Black and Decker? And, and, how did he drink it all before it got cold? There was so much liquid in there, no way he could enjoy all that coffee. It could not still be hot coffee at the end. It did not seem possible. Which was why I always believed it was not actually coffee in that cuppa Joe. He was just like that. After all he married Notre Dame. Or maybe I was the one with the spiked coffee this morning.

Deserted Island

2007-01-25T07:21:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, while playing one of those games you play on car trips, Magoo asked me, if I were stuck on a deserted island, with one musical group, who would it be. I immediately answered Ray. Ray LaMontagne. I think I have extolled his virtues to a few of you on your own web sites. I could just kiss his smokey, smooth, sand paper voice. I think I would forget I was on a deserted island and just lie in the sand listening to him serenade me. That was, until last night. When I saw the Indigo Girls in concert. Thinking back, I must have been listening to their music for over 10 years by now. So it is evident I have a love of their music. But I had never had the opportunity to see them live. Which in retrospect was unfortunate, because they rocked. I swear, unreal. More amazing than I could have ever imagined. Their harmony was perfect. After each song they changed guitars and played 96% of the show acoustic. The venue was a small theater and we (by luck) were blessed with seats a few rows back, so we could see their every move. It was amazing and I wanted them to come home with me and sing me to sleep, that night and every night. What was more amazing is how long they have been doing this and how good they are. It has been twenty years of making albums, singing songs, strumming guitars and touring. I have a live CD of theirs from 1991. 1991! That was over 15 years ago and in that live recording people knew all the words to their songs. To be honest, they sounded louder, clearer and even better last night, than they did in 1991. Seriously amazing. They still play to sold out shows with the entire audience on their feet singing every word of every song. Really, can you imagine such? The pride and joy they must have after all these years to sustain such a fan base and a talent. But there is a reason for it, their lyrics are poetry, they have a message and real social activism and their voices are unbelievable. I tell ya' those ladies can come with me on that deserted island.

Room

2007-01-23T05:36:00.000-08:00

If we had made it we would be living there, most likely. My clothes would be cramped into a guest room closet with an old comforter and our diplomas, down the hall from the bedroom. The house decorated like you, just you. With my ideas, tastes, and tokens of the past 27 years stored in the other guest bedroom, the one where your brother lived. You would still be attached to your parents, using their house for gym equipment and meals. Your after work routine. Not mine. I have to create my own, like it always had been. It would be unaltered by my presence or our seriousness. I would be a guest, but not welcomed. Your mother cannot handle the competition. So I would eventually avoid it and make excuses about work, my family and personal time. Which is the way they wanted it anyway. Despite that they would be just a mile away. I would see her at Publix as I am now the one buying you a toothbrush and diet coke and she will resent me because that was her role for thirty years and some how my choice in diet coke is wrong. Because everything I do will be wrong. When in reality it was us that was wrong. And it felt wrong. I hated your small toes. I sat nightly on the worn brown leather couch, watching terrible action movies, and wondered if those were feet I could look at forever. You later handled that inquiry and cut us off at the knees.

If we made it, would the linen covered table clothes have turned? Would the good start to out number the bad. When we were together, the bad was there living amongst us hanging in your closet next to the ties and dress shirts aligned neatly. It should not have been bad, not in the beginning, not like it was. There were moments of glimpses of good. Where I sought happiness and reveled in the gaps. I believed that would be what we would be. When it fell together coherently lined neatly like the books stacked on the shelf. I truly thought it would do that someday. I was wrong.

If we made it would you continue to bring me orange juice in bed while I lounged. Offering to make coffee and instructing I stay put. Sleeping in the bed you initially invited me into our first night. At that time I declined. Thereafter, it was the best sleep I got on the soft comfortable expensive sheets, next to you. I took it as a sign of us. But the bed was the only thing inviting in that relationship and the only time you let me in. I would relax in that bed until I have to tip toe through the kitchen to the bathroom and sneak a moment by the coffee pot. The day started with us laughing and embracing. Would it remain like that? Or would the relationship slide as the day progressed, as it always did. By night, we sat in silence, tired from the strain of the day and our burdens. I thought this too would get better. But we never made it that far, we lived in the strain, our waking hours spent spooning it out. We never got past that. Really, how could we?

If we made it would the small tokens continue; remembering the pearls and roses. Each a small gift that brought smiles and false promises. An innuendo that was not there, though I believed and willed it to be so. Carrying the gift and an image with me. Thinking that would be us when it all worked out. At times you meant it and expressed it as you could. The phone calls and text messages, "I am so proud of you" and teasing me about my quirks. But not really getting them right, since they weren't my quirks, since you never really knew me. You could not know me. To know me would mean to let me in. When it was your world all the time. You, you, you. And you never bothered to make room for me.

So, would we have made it? Would there have been an us, if we got the chance I wanted us to have. Would I have been given space in the guest closet next to the old musical equipment, when I was never given room in your life or your heart?

NY Times Style

2007-01-22T09:23:00.000-08:00

RE: Angelina Jolie - I am not the only one who thinks so.

Dream-ing Job (Another Fiver)

2007-01-21T21:33:00.000-08:00

This was the second tag, this one from from PJ, someone whose posts I consistently enjoy as well written, interesting and often thought provoking. While reading her entry I thought to myself (see, though provoking) that this would be a fun exercise to undertake. And there at the end, she encouraged me to do so. It is something we all probably entertain from time to time, the what if. But to really sit down and think about it, as I have over the past few days, has proven harder than expected. I always come up with something negative or horrific about a certain profession and if I am going to dream I want my dreams to be candy coated perfection. So here goes, "What I would do if I was not a lawyer."

1. A TV news reporter. I could handle sitting at desk in jeans and a blazer and having my makeup done everyday to simply read off a cue card. I can read. I am not talking high profile, Today show type reporting either. Those folks get up at 3 a.m.; this is the reporter that does your six o'clock news. They are pseudo-local celebrities, and seemingly do not work all too hard. Please let me know if I am incorrect. I understand that in certain markets, Tampa included as it is apparently the fifth largest in the nation, it takes time and devotion to your career to land a gig like that. Understood. But this is my dream and I am a reporter.

2. A chef. Again, not a big fancy schmancy, multiple star, white glove type establishment. Too much pressure to perform on a nightly basis. Way, way too much stress. I read Kitchen Confidential and that is some crazy shit. It takes a special individual and leadership skills to run a kitchen like that. They are not joking around on Top Chef when they say you need balls and power. So I am thinking a smaller size venue, that is already established. No need to worry about drawing a clientele, but still have a fan base and a following and you are allowed creativity. Or as a caterer. Same story. The point is, it would be fun to cook all day and be good at it. Because, yeah, in this fantasy I have improved (dramatically) my cooking skills.

3. An event planner. Organizing, planning and making people smile. The idea of simply being organized and having a plan is so enticing. There are set dates and deadlines. There is room for creativity. You are planning (hopefully) something that someone else is excited about and is a celebration. There are flowers, photographs, and food. Picking those out, sampling, trying them on and making those decisions could make me very happy. Notice a theme here?

4. Owner of a flower shop. Same idea as the event planner. Making people smile. Plus being surrounded by fresh flowers all day, heavenly.

5. Photographer. Something I have developed an interest but only recently. Though to be paid to spend the day behind a lens and looking at ideas and angles to capture their beauty sounds pretty delicious to me. I have a friend who is a professional photographer and she spent the past few days erasing cellulite from a client's photos. See what I mean, every job has the potential to blow. But she did this from the cozy of her home. How bad can that really be?

I think I can go on. Honestly, if I had a 6th it would be an owner of a small boutique. This is a real dream though. One I have often thought about, given their relative absence in Tampa. They have fantastic ones in New Orleans that I would use a guide. Seriously, if in a few years this lawyer-ing thing does not work out, come check out the clothing selection I have on store, in my store. Because that is a true to life dream.

I have a few more ideas floating around in here and the obligatory no-no's to go with them. A bakery owner because that would just be awesome, but there is a fear of getting too fat. A professional ballet dancer because the pointy pink shoes are beautiful, but, and for the understatement of the year, I am not quite lithe enough. And a truck driver, because I would love to see the country, but I have a fear of that Oxycontin problem and of driving really big trucks.

You get the drift, if we could dream, our childhood fantasies would take over. How innocent and glamorous it all seemed. We think back to those days when wanted to be a fireman or an astronaut. Or in my case a cheerleader for the Miami Dolphins. What were my parents feeding me? To their credit, I think it was a crush on Dan Marino and an era when the Dolphins were good. It was something that seemed so fantastical and magic. Everything you hope your life turns out to be. At least in your dream. Now we can dream out loud and think realistically. So, your turn - what would you be when you grow up?

Excuse Me

2007-01-18T16:45:00.000-08:00

I have started this before after glasses of wine and bottles of beer sipped at the counter of a bar. Surrounded by noise and conversations unnoticed as we were in engrossed in ours. Girlfriend to girlfriend and a week’s worth of stories to tell marked by, “why’s” and “how’s” of text messages and unreturned phone calls. These kinds of stories have been told countless times, by me, to me, multiplied by us all. These stories were created in bars just like that one started on nights just like that with a girl, a boy and a Gucci bag full of stories left for their friends in the nights to come. I have had this thought countless times.

These stories are not mine and are not unique to those who orbit around me. They are based on questions of, "why does this not work" and known for having such inconclusive answers as, “He’s an asshole”. In between the versions change but the message is the same. He said he would call and he didn’t. He spent the day with basketball, football, or anyone but you. You were neglected, trampled and made to feel less than. There were kisses, sex, but you were left in the morning with nothing to hold. Well maybe that phone when the texts came in that read, “Later babe, I am with the guys.” Taking solace in that he called you “babe”. But that is all there was.

It is clear it is not you, it is him. The problem is you want it to be a real relationship. You hope for it to be. In the moments of panic, when the call goes unreturned for three days, you reflect only on the good believing things will be fine. That last moment in bed, when he looked into your eyes and swore to your cuteness has to mean something, or everything. When he disappears at the party for twenty minutes and you find him in the corner talking to his ex-girlfriend, the tears and anger well up. But he makes it better by taking your hand and telling you that too expensive cleavage revealing BCBG top is hot. You know it and realize he does too. So you stay, squeeze his hand, and whisk him to the other side of the room. After all he came with you. And he leaves with you. That night it is again just the two of you, that sparkly top now on the floor in the hallway, but she still permeates the room as his phone chimes at 3:47 a.m. Just freshly asleep, you hear it and pray he does not move. Because it is supposed to be about you, snuggled in the pocket of his arm breathing in the D&G cologne. You think this is bliss and that this will last forever. But you are the only one who thinks so, you are the only one who is thinking, period. He checks that text. He makes plans around you, not with you. He spends whole uninterrupted days with no effort thrown your way. He cancels without an after thought. It is not about you. That is all about him. So why do we spend so much time thinking of him? Agonizing over him? Wanting to make it work? When he puts in the same effort as he does to pick out a pair of boxers in the morning.

These are the stories and questions that single girls lives are made of. What kills me and makes me want to dump the Stella Artois on top of the Chloe toting single-tte is that they stick around for it. Make excuses why it is okay, to make themselves feel okay. Excusing excuses. When inside they are hurt and tears maybe shed publicly and in the quiet of the down comforter. They wonder what they did wrong. When it was nothing. Not a thing. Except spending too much time wasting after a never will be guy. Basing their egos on a follow up date and his affirmation. When he is worth little and should not hold the balance of your worth in his effort to hit send. No person should make another feel that bad, that they excuse such horrible inconsiderate behavior. No person should hold that much power of your person and esteem. No person should allow that kind of respect-less attitude prevail. And what is worse is that no person should stick around once they are placed in that position. The excuses should not be excused. That should be it. One time and you are out; forget three strikes. That is too much to give to a person who has nothing to offer. It is never going to work, so why wait and try, again and again. It ends in tears and heartache each time worse and more humiliating than the time before. He cares less and less, keeping you intertwined and entertained. His entertainment at all expenses, with you left holding the bill. This is not it. This is a waste, of time, energy, emotion and tears. When it is real, none of this exists. Love is grander, easier, prettier and heartfelt. It will never wear this ugly mask not once, not ever. No excuses.

These tales are centered on the why did it happen and how do I get it back. When they should be focused on moving on and moving up. At that bar, next to cocktails and cell phones, we should not be looking for answers and making excuses. We should not be giving second, third and ninth chances. People make mistakes, but when your ego and heart are in the balance generally one is more than unforgivable. Especially in the early stages of love and smiles. It should be all good without the edge of anxiety and the possible tear fest. Those are saved for real drama and the meat of a relationship. Not the courtship. Our attention is focused on the negative looking for a way to make his ugly positive. When he has blown that wad early and already. When our attention should be focused on those around us, next to us at the bar stool to the left. Looking for new people, eager to buy the next glass of Pinot. Who have fresh chances at making it right, without the excuses. Who are ready for the pretty, to make you feel pretty, all the time. No excuses.

My Five

2007-01-17T10:13:00.000-08:00

I was tagged twice yesterday, and I sorta feel like the cool kid on the block. And I am pretty okay with feeling that way. I decided to tackle this one first, thinking it would be easier. But really it has proven to be a challenge; to think about what people don't know about me, to make it original, and, I guess the theme is also to make it unusual.

1. Magoo heard a tirade about this one this morning; but I cannot stand Angelina Jolie. I find her unattractive; her arms are long and sinewy. Her tattoos splayed across her back and arms are unsightly and odd. A bar code? C'mon nothing feminine about that. Her lips are too big (and I have big lips and was once made fun of on the playground for it). When I saw the wax figure of her, I thought that did her the most justice, as she looks waxy everyday. I also am perplexed as to why she is considered saintly. Is it her new role as humanitarian? Because to me it is just a role. Remember just a minute ago when she was goth chick who wore Billy Bob's blood in a vile around her neck and made out with her brother at the award ceremony? Why is she suddenly reputable and genuine. Or her lesbian role years before that. Who is she really and why is this position revered? She broke up a marriage. Anyone remember that? Yes, she adopted two children and does world wide humanitarian work, but again is that because she is a celebrity and using her power to flaunt it? Is this part of her new role? And while we are at it, what makes Jennifer Aniston so horrible? To me she is the victim.

2. I cannot stand to be touched by bare feet. The touch of anothers toes is creepy. Like Jello, which I despise, it feels squishy and gross. Even clean feet. They are a no-no.

3. I strongly dislike 80's music. It's not a hate and there are moments and songs that can be tolerated. Those all 80's stations are awful. It is not that I have discerning music taste, there is Ashlee Simpson on my i-pod and I am a self professed country music fan. It is something about the pop-y, bubble gum-y, over played hype that I dislike.

4. I have to shop alone. That is when I intend to spend money it needs to be alone. I can browse with others. But the true, I am here to spend money, do not stop me now, kind of shopping is always done solo. If I see something I desire and I am with another I will wait and return another day to purchase it. I get a high from doing it alone. Breezing in and out of stores, maybe spending 30 minutes in a fitting room or not even and just purchasing. I am not harried or rushed by another. No one can pass judgment. It is just me.

5. I have an order to my shower routine. Everything must be done a certain way. It is not just an order it is meticulous, intricate and well thought out. Example, while conditioning, I wash my face to allow the conditioner to set. It is no longer just about order and efficiency, it is a necessity. I am generally half asleep in the shower and it is an easy way to keep things in check. Otherwise, I forget to do things. Don't think I have not gotten out of the shower without washing, or worse, forgetting to rinse the conditioner out. So annoying. That is what happens when my system was out of order and I do not remember what step I am on.

Five totally random facts about my existence. Feel free to comment, critique or even contribute.

Chaotic

2007-01-16T07:39:00.000-08:00

Not like Britney and Kevin, but the word I would use to describe my life one year ago. Playing this game, I would say it was a sleep deprived anxiety induced heart palpitations chaotic. I had my one year, "I am a lawyer" review at work. And I had not idea what to expect, I had never been reviewed, at least not openly and to my face. And don't particularly like criticism. I feared the harshness of the words would lead to tears which would lead to embarrassment. Earlier that week I was at lunch with a new friend, when he offered a dinner and a plan for Saturday night. But I was planning on a trip to L.A., a real vacation. Not a day for laundry or one at the beach. This was vacation. Whole multiple days off from work basking in the glory of sunshiney movie stars. Two days before that transcontinental Delta flight, I learned my 93 year old grandfather had taken a turn for the worse. Flights off. We are on alert and Mom flew immediately to Montreal to be with the family. Instead of vacation, I could accept the dinner date extended earlier.

This was my first dinner, my first let's call it real date, with Magoo. Under the crazy pretense of a relative on his death bed. That Saturday night we dined, laughed, cried, and closed down the restaurant. I revealed in the first breath of the date that I hated basketball. He displayed his dismal sense of direction. Five days later I accepted a second date. In the interim, I also accepted an offer presented via IM at work, "Anyone want a beagle?". The message came through on a Tuesday morning, that a six year old beagle was up for adoption. This was how and when I came to meet Ginger. I lay awake those first few nights in a constant state of anxiety. Worried I would not be able to handle the responsibility of another creature. Worried she would commit the P trifecta; pee, poop and puke. But like all parents, you adjust and deal. 'Cuz yeah they all happen. I also stressed that he would not be a dog person and I just blew something by quickly adopting a dog in a matter of minutes. Then, I rationalized that I did not want to be with someone in the end who didn't like dogs. I had dogs in my future, so if you too wanted to be in the future, you too must love dogs. Just like the movie. Seemed simple but stress can play cruel tricks on your psyche and your heart. Mine raced and pounded out of my chest every night for a week. Pure sleep deprived chaos.

Date two. He learned via e-mail that there has been an addition to the family. Instead of flowers or candy he showed up at the door with a dog toy, a squeaky basketball. A present for her and a joke for me. Clever. I love clever especially in gift giving, it shows smarts and heart. And he had me at the squeak. Again, we close the place down while downing five too many classes of Sangria. Small plates of tapas and not so small talk. This was the real deal. After the chairs had been stacked on the tables and the staff swept the floor around us, we return to what is now our home to walk the dog together arm and arm, buzzed from the wine. Within the next week, my grandfather passes away. That la la la L.A. vacation turned into a week long trip to snow bound Montreal. Not the glam trip planned, but a necessary family event and a fact of life. He lived a hearty loving life, to an age we can all hope for, in good health for a majority of those years, accompanied down the road of life by his wife of fifty some odd years. A celebration of his life and not a mourning. All the time, awaiting for me at home was a new man, who diligently dog sat a dog he barely knew for a girl he may have liked.

Many sleepless night were had during those four weeks. The review was less than stellar, causing more panic and a fresh set of tears, both in an out of the office. I swore to Magoo life was not always this way. He made it through that time, including crying at that first dinner and urine on his carpet (Ginger's, not mine). And here we are one year later. Ginger still pees and I have a pesky review right around the corner. Somethings never change. We move on and in together. Holding and helping each other through it all. At least that is the idea. Since there is always going to be something chaotic. But we have each other and maybe that is where the chaos lives. We just learn to manage and control. Wheel and deal. Whine and dine. Coping is what draws us together and the chaos finds a home on the couch cushions next to the pillows and the hand knit throw. It lives there dormant and cozy. Controlled by the balance, waiting to appear again when the timing is not right. We just hope there are less tears.

Summer Like Sun-Day

2007-01-14T14:04:00.000-08:00

Because she inspired me. And, yes, she is inspiring in more than her ideas on photographs; she is a wonderful writer and an inspiration for physical fitness, to say the least. Though, instead of scenes from my windshield, you get scenes from the chaise lounge. If it is going to be over 80 degrees in January, you better believe the Floridans are going to take advantage of it. Jealous? Just wait until summer. As I read in the paper this morning, with this progression it will be 137 in June. Anyone wanna visit then? To see the rest of the pictures click here.

Candied Hearts

2007-01-11T14:43:00.000-08:00

Ginger, I am sad. I say this out loud in my head as we wander around the house, doing pretend cleaning. She looking for missing scraps of food left behind. I am pretending because I am paying someone to do it tomorrow, but for now it keeps my hands busy. I strip down and put on his Simpson's boxers and the t-shirt left on the bed. Wearing them makes me feel girly and comforted. Men's clothing with a faint scent of his deodorant. When I am sad I eat candy. The sourer the better. When it makes your cheeks crinkle and your tongue sore. It is not a part of the diet. Fourteen hundred calories gets eaten up quickly with sugary candy. But he is not here to tell me not to. I love when he tells me not to. I look up at him and smirk. Pretending I hate being told what to do. But in reality I love it. I love the assertiveness and the control. And knowing he is right. Because later I will bitch about my thighs and wonder why I can't lose weight. So I listen when he says no. I just wish he would say it more often. I tell him that and he says, "shut the fuck up." Which I adore and maybe that is why he says it. The power of fuck. I can sense those words and his true favorite command, "pet my head" as I move around here. I hear the echo of his personality left here; his orange juice class on the coffee table and his flip-flops at the door. Gone but a few hours and we have a few days to go, but there is an absence. I know he is not just out for an errand, it is more. There was a plane ride and a last goodbye at the airport. He hates that I called a last goodbye. As if it were ominous and ending. I was dramatic, but it is the lonely I hate. That and all the work I have to do. Coming home to the quiet when you have been worked to death is gross. It makes me want to curl up in a ball and eat candy. The stores are stacked with the pinks and reds of Valentines. The whole bag full until my teeth hurt and my stomach is swollen. With the sugar in me, I will text him hearts and smiles. Damn Cupid. And pretend I didn't just consume 27 million calories in conversation hearts.

Broken

2007-01-09T08:00:00.000-08:00

1984

I had a broken leg. As a kindergartener, I determined I was capable of climbing to the top of the fireman’s pole. Like my male class mates, once on top of the pole, I knew I could jump off. Forget shimmying back down, the boys dangled from the top bar and let go, landing on their feet. So I too dangled and let go. But I landed on my ankle, smashed it against a rock, and fell over onto the side. My mom was called to the school, as I limped off the playground. I waited, able to join the class back inside for the afternoon art project; rolling a marble, dipped in paint, around a shoe box. See, I’m fine. I don’t need any help. I was taken to Dr. Geoffrey. My parent’s dear friend. I hesitated at the idea of a cast. How was I going to continue to play? While of course it was necessary, I stood firm and refused the use of crutches. No way, I was not going to look weak. I won the crutches battle and even grew to love and accept my cast, letting my friends sign it. After six weeks I was healed. The doctor removed the cast and I ran freely through the playground again. Trying to catch up with the boys and match what they did.

1991

I had a broken finger. He was a crush and a friend of a friend and I determined he liked me. We must have been flirting. As much as 12 year olds can flirt in shorts, sneakers and our JCC camp t-shirts. This meant we tried to touch when we could. Passing each other at swim time or on our way to pottery class. He grabbed my hand, sending tingles down my spine. He didn’t let go as I passed by chatting with my girlfriends. Laughing and pretending I didn’t notice that he paid me attention. Also not noticing that he had yet to let go and in the process bent my finger backward. I hesitated reporting it. How was I going to continue to play? So I kept my mouth shut and proceeded to my sleep over date at Dani’s house, Dr. Geoffrey’s daughter. By night the pain was too much and the swollen finger was impossible to hide, especially from an orthopedic surgeon. He wrapped and splinted it. I was taken out of activities for two weeks. Not a way to spend your summer camp days. But the finger healed and the splint came off. I was able to freely hold hands again. By that time I had a whole new crush and someone else to chase around the camp grounds.

2002

I had a broken heart. He was a love and I was determined this was going to work. We planned and he promised. He whispered of my talents and my beauty, swearing it would be forever. Until it was not true anymore and forever came on a Saturday in June. This time Dr. Geoffrey wasn’t there to cast or splint. It is not because a surgeon cannot mend a broken heart; but because he passed away in 1996. That is a whole different broken and a terrible type of ache. This. Now this, was a broken heart that cannot be casted, splinted or repaired. Unless you count whiskey or even tequila. But those are temporary and not a fix. This is not the kind of broken that allows you to show it openly like a band aid or stitches. Unless you count un-washed hair and puffy eyes. Even those don’t excuse a broken heart. So really these pains and breaks cannot be treated by a doctor in a white coat. This is not the kind of ache that gets you out of work or special parking privileges. It does not mean you get to miss play time or sit out swim classes. Life has to go on. And it does all around you.

This time I had to accept the pain, I couldn’t refuse a cast or pretend it didn’t hurt. The pain was too much. A broken heart meant that blood stopped flowing and my body stopped functioning. With legs, I had two. With fingers, I had ten. This was my only heart and it hurt. That pain echoed in the empty of the broken space, while people danced around merrily enjoying their lives.

This kind of broken takes a cliché to fix; time. And that was the only way for this kind of broken to ever go away. The schism of heart gradually moves closer back together like a fracture unionizing. While the opposite happens; the boyfriend who created the break gradually moves farther away, the union you shared grows more distant. The schism between you grows wider. It has to happen that way. Otherwise, the heart remains broken and there is no room to mend. Kicking him and those memories out, means there is space for the heart to become whole again. Pumping and functioning properly. You move out of bed, away from the wine bottle. The tears stop, your hair gets washed and you can leave the house. You become part of that world again, it stops moving with out you. New people, new events, new ideas all take form. With time and distance the heart finally re-grows. Stronger, healthier and ready to pump out a greater stronger love. For someone new, who has something new to offer. Someone who makes it skip a beat and pump faster. It is healthy and strong now. It is a renewed heart that is primed to chase after a new boy. Ready for a time when you can keep up with their activities, with no broken legs, hold their hands with no broken fingers, and sustain the relationship with no broken hearts.

A Case of the Mondays

2007-01-08T11:08:00.000-08:00

I wish I could describe what some days are like at a law firm. Somethings are hard to nail down and others are protected by privileges. I just don't know if the same is true at other offices or other professions. No, I think that at other firms it is probably worse. Much worse on a more consistent basis. Higher volume, more stress, bigger dollars and less competence. Scary about that competence thing, but true. I am not sure if the non-lawyers out there get this kind of special treatment. I just don't know, if this is unique to our world. This, this is not the horror stories you hear about or see portrayed on T.V. With bosses screaming their heads off or associates burning the midnight oil hoped up on Dexatrim. See here, this is a comedy. Well at least to an outside observer, I would imagine them laughing. Doubled over, holding their sides laughing, "Ha, ha look at the girl in black patent heels running around like a crazy woman." Then they stop laughing when they see that she is sitting in the corner, rocking back and forth, and eating her hair. But only for a minute, because that too is pretty funny. She pays a lot to have that hair highlighted and cut and for those wonderful shampoos that she adores. So her eating her hair, well, that is pretty entertaining.

These kind of days are marked by scenarios like this:

"I said ASAP" (yes it is a cliche, but it gets said.)

"Well I took ASAP, to mean when it was possible for me to get it done"

"But that was three hours ago?!?!"

"Yes and now it is possible"

Really who can argue with logic like that? Certainly not me. As I am the one who is left on the wrong end of that rationale and with a document that was supposed to have been e-mailed at 9 a.m.

This one too was a winner, look and listen:

"Did you say David was going to run the document to the court?"

"Yes but he is gone"

"Oh can someone else do it?"

"No. He already left for the courthouse"

"That is super-interesting. Because I am holding the document in my hand"

I am still not sure where David is or if he is having a wonderfully amusing afternoon at the Judge's office. I know I am not amused. Again, though, someone somewhere is laughing. At least I hope so. Otherwise, this Monday was a waste of my damn time.

Attitudonal

2007-01-06T07:26:00.000-08:00

Attitude is everything. I am not talking about presence. This attitude is what affects how you feel and what you do. Your behavior and outlook. Having a bad attitude is only going to make things seem, well, bad. Ditto for a positive attitude. It is all about frame of mind and like I said, attitude. A negative harmful one will not get you far. Not at all. It will get you negative results, a negative outlook and a negative response. No one is going to respond positively to a puss face and a sour mouth. I know this from being on both sides of the attitude train. I’ve seen it coming and going.

If you determine something is going to be awful, boring or just plain suck. It will. Your negative attitude has pre-disposed the event to suck. Doubly suck because you will spend the time thinking about how much it sucks. Good god it is like a big ugly vacuum, just sucking, sucking, sucking. And you know what? So do you. Why not try to think positively. Why not attempt to enjoy. Sure it may suck. But you never know it – because you already decided it did. My parents made me taste a food I decided I didn’t like. This decision was based on child like rationale such as smell and appearance. Of course, I had no real knowledge of whether the food was good. So they required I take a “no thank you portion”. Sampling it, to see if I liked. Otherwise, I was allowed to move on and from then say, “No thank you, I know that I don’t like it.” Try that on for size. See if you like it. If not, then say, “yeah, this does suck”. Without trying it, without giving it a fair chance, you can never know. Your pre-determination becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. My debate coach in high school would write PMA on our hands, when we came in with a negative attitude and a can't win determination. Positive Mental Attitude. Say, write, live it. And we did, just being that would make the difference in our appearance and confidence.

It makes no sense really. There are always times that things are waited for in anticipation. We look so forward to that event or occasion that it can never live up to expectations and inevitably something going wrong. Prom. No one ever enjoys that night. Too much hype. A good thing gone bad. Let’s flip it around. A bad thing gone good. Maybe, just maybe, this will not suck. Maybe it will be fun. You may even enjoy yourself. I bold statement, but possible. Even if just for a small time, it can be pleasant. But only if you allow it. If you make it that way. If you adjust your attitude and allow the fun in. You gotta have that attitude. Otherwise it really won’t be fun. You will never get to that place where the bad can become good. Or where a small sample means you actually enjoy the taste. It takes a certain level and a certain attitude. After all, attitude is everything.

Private Communication

2007-01-05T06:31:00.000-08:00

I dreamt we broke up in a heated fight. At the end I escaped to the mall and he passed by looking at me. I refused to smile or blink. I just stared hoping to convey my attitude and disdain. He got that and it was over. In the dream I sat for the next four months numb. And sewing. I needed to keep my hands busy.

The fight had been over privacy. He scoured through my personal belongings coming across journals from days of old. He read them. Then he used them against me. Some, he alleged, were about him and were unfair. Others were about my past and again somehow this was unfair. I yelled and screamed about decency and respect. There are limits and privacy. I never once made the argument that this was all in the past and that the writings he alleged concerned him really did not. He mis-read the dates and mis-understood the meaning. To me that was irrelevant. The lack of privacy and the lack of respect were unforgivable.

After months in a near catatonic state I approached him. He was engaged. To a high school love, who he reconnected with immediately after our dissolution. They had plans to marry soon, as she was set to graduate and move out of state. In fact, they were taking their engagement photos in a few minutes, so he really did not have time for me. I lay in him, again, for his wrongdoing. He stood there lifeless. This time not defending his actions, as he had in the past. Arguing that he had a right to read them since the words were so hurtful. He had a right to know my true feelings and understand my perspective. This time, finally, I clarified. I told him of how these were all of past men and indiscretions. That he misunderstood. Why it took me so long to speak up, I don't know. But that seemed to do it. In one minute, and in a movie like sensation, he broke up with the fiance and we got back together. Just like that, all was well. No questions asked and the topic was closed. No further discussion about those events or communication about what we were going to do. We were together again.

Amazing how a dream can span several months, extreme emotion, and heartache and can be so vivid. Are there lessons in them? Or is it a reflection of our waking lives sending us a message and clarifying some confusion points. This may have been a stressor of the remnants of sharing my space with another. After five years I again have a roommate. Of course this one is far different than the five girls I shared a cramped apartment with in college or my crazy roommate in law school. But it is about the sharing and the space and learning to deal. The law school roommate dropped a piece of tofu on the kitchen floor. Both of us leaving it there for days as neither wanted to be the one to clean it. That shit does not fly now. We are a team and not out to passive-aggressively manipulate the other while sitting in silence. Further, we have to understand our limits and respect each other's private spaces. It is a balance and we both work hard at it. Since we feel intimately connected, it is often hard to disconnect that we are not allowed into every space and nook and cranny of the other's life. There are still private moments and private thoughts.

It is so much more than that as well. It is respecting the other's habits and annoyances. After almost thirty years and several of our own single years, we both have those perfected. They don't often overlap and at times drive each other crazy. It is about speaking up and stating what the annoyance is. The other may not know it is even that irritating. Otherwise the anger builds and the frustration level expands with every action and moment. Then it is ugly and loud communication. Much better to have gotten it out initially and not let it develop into a storm of emotion. That kind of communication is so key.

That may be what part of the lesson was in the dream. It took me several months, despite heated argument after heated argument, to finally say what was important about those diary entries. After all that, it was what turned us around. Stating your piece and defending yourself may be what saves a relationship. Isn't that what communication is all about? Getting the other person to understand what it is that you need and getting them to realize how important that is to you. It may be picking up your shoes from the front door or not leaving glasses in the sink. Those needs need to be communicated. Other things, though, they go without saying. Those things include privacy. That is understood and respected by all. Until it is not and all hell breaks loose.

Literally, I don't think the dream is significant. I have old diaries and journals. They are openly displayed on the bookshelf next to a Bar-Bri review course and the Practices of Accounting. He knows they are not meant to be opened on his own accord. Like I said, that goes without saying. But what is the difference truly? Most of the stories and people in them have already been relayed first person. That kind of communication, told with love, to let the other person in, is wholly welcome. It helps prevent later communication, one where our voices are raised.

Laissez Le Bon Temps Roule

2007-01-03T09:32:00.000-08:00

The pictures tell a lot of the stories. Partially because my words cannot do it justice, but also because I was obsessed with my new camera. You only saw a percentage of the pictures, as a good deal were deleted. A many of the side of Magoo's face as I snapped and clicked at random times. He of course was a good sport - knowing that there is that handy-dandy delete function. The excitement of it all had me up most of the night on Thursday. I also am terrible when I know the alarm is going to sound at an early, ungodly hour. Somehow that thought keeps me awake. So in an excited trance we made our way to the airport, to be confronted by our first (and may I say only) disagreement. This one over the ever important use of my credit card to check into the flight. It wasn't working. Enough said. We agreed that we would not get pissy (well I am the pissy one) and we would not bicker. And we didn't. A lovely vacation.

We arrived early to New Orleans - 8 am central time. Got some delicious CC's coffee and enjoyed the atmosphere on Magazine Street. No one appeared to be working on the Friday of the holiday weekend. People all over the place drinking their morning coffee, shopping, and running errands at the Whole Foods and the bank (Beth - Hibernia is now owned by Capital One). It was wonderful to see the commerce and energy. But there is a noticeable difference. Just something slightly off. If you had never been there before, it would not have been detectable. Like a sadness that sort of lingers in the air with the smell of chicory coffee and the River. It hangs there as a past remnant even as people move about their days. You see it where things used to be. As Magoo said, 'used to be is the catch phrase of the weekend'. I said it over and over, "there used to be a Walgreen's there" or "there used to be a gas station", as we drive by an abandoned boarded up old building. Not noticeable to the normal eye, but prevalent if those were places you bought diet cokes, toilet paper, and gas. You feel they should be there and should be able to turn into them without thought. But they are not there and there is just a general sense of loss. Of course things change and cities and people move on. I have not lived there in over two years. But this isn't a new Starbucks. This is a loss and a general feeling of such. Noticeable at certain moments of quiet.

We headed over to Tulane to see the school and show Magoo my old stomping grounds. Again, Audubon Park was vibrant as ever with dogs, walkers, bicycles and golf players. But the absence was present. The large oak trees that densely lined the streets of St. Charles were sparse. You could see through them clearly into the park. Those oak trees are part of what makes Uptown a gorgeous place. It was terrible and tragic to see that spice of life missing from the scenery. But they, like the City as a whole, will grow back and thrive with the love and attention of New Orlean-ians. This much was evidenced throughout the whole weekend. New Orlean-ians have always had pride and love of their town. Sporting bumper stickers, long before Katrina, that read, "New Orleans Proud to Call it Home". This enthusiasm is what kept the city alive all these months and is what will help it to continue to thrive.

We did our part to help the economy and shopped the boutiques of Magazine Street. Purchasing for ourselves and family. There are more shops than ever and all have commemorative tees, knick knacks and goodies adorned with signs of New Orleans. Tons of Fleur de Lis. Not to mention the Saints gear. They are clearly no longer the 'Aints. This team has put several in the win column and the city is there to cheer them on every step of the way. Every where we turned there were hats, t-shirts and jerseys on sale. And each person was dressed in them. That night we saw the Soul Rebels at Tipitinas. Aside from being a packed crowd, the music was fabulous as they were a vibrant and upbeat brass band representing all things good in New Orleans. But in the midst of their set a group of fans started cheering "Who dat, who dat, who dat gonna beat dem Saints?", an anthem for all Saints. This got the entire crowd going and the band joined them playing a rendition of When the Saints Go Marching. Never has the city been this energized about their team. Clearly it is a rallying point on so many levels. This much was apparent. As the enthusiasm spread through the French Quarter on Sunday, with people cheering and partying, even with the loss to Carolina. We heard people planning their trips to Miami, for the Super Bowl, as if it were a given they were going. It is just that infectious and a sign of sure recovery, not just for the NFL players, but the entire city.

We visited another New Orleans heavy hitter for lunch on Friday; Emeril. We agreed that was the best meal we had, and it was not for a lack of trying with the other restaurants we visited. The BBQ shrimp was a-mazing, and we do not eat seafood. It was just that good. Of course beignets on Sunday morning, Mufalletas, the Mexican goodness at Santa Fe and our New Years Eve menu were nothing to laugh at. We dined hard core and enjoyed every breath of the bite. It is New Orleans and you have to eat. They weigh you on the way in and out to make sure you have eaten enough while visiting.

In between the gluttony, we journeyed over to Lakeview. The site of the 17th Street levee that broke on the Tuesday after the storm. To add to the gloom and the mood it was raining. A true New Orleans rain where it pours for hours with no end in sight. The puddles form instantly and the roads become unnavigable in a matter of minutes. It was but a small preview of what a Category 5 storm can do and how easy it is to lose a car to a flood in a matter of minutes (yeah that happened in 2004). In addition to the rainy roads, the mud painted an awful picture of the destruction that was still there. Almost a year and a half later, homes and streets looked untouched. Broken windows, belongings strewn about the street, trees down. The x's still spray painted on the sides of the home, evidence the National Guard had been there as well as the SPCA to check for animals left behind. I can't do it justice to describe the terrible condition of these houses or people's lives really. The power was back on, the street lights were back up and the signs had been re-posted. But those were the only indications of life. As if it mattered, since it appeared few returned to resume their lives. All the signs of hope elsewhere; the consumerism, the tourism, the protest banners against the Army Corps, and the flags of Rebuilding were totally lost here. None of it was evidenced on those blocks. Total despair and desolation was the only thing we saw. That and a tour bus making the same rounds and a Home(Hope) Depot, sure to drum up some serious business in the upcoming years.

We ended the trip and the year on a positive note. Filling the consumer coffers and our bellies with food and drink. Perhaps too much drink on Saturday night as I threw up from the revelry (and the tequila). Leave it to New Orleans to bring that on. We toured the French Quarter, admiring the art and the architecture. Listening to the sounds of New Orleans; the riverboats and the street performers. We saw the fireworks reflected on the sides of the buildings at midnight on the 31st and fell asleep to the other sounds of New Orleans; party-goers, horns honking and sirens. See life there is getting back to normal.

As we return to our normal life and tell our stories and look at the pictures, we will keep in mind those still affected by the aftermath of the storm. They live it everyday. The city wears it like an open wound, with the scars still forming. It is still fresh and alive and occupies a lot of conversations. It will change the landscape of the city for generations to come. In the end, the best we can hope for is that it is for the better. Improving on the greatness and helping the weak areas. For now, may 2007 bring health, wealth and prosperity and may the good times roll.