Migraine and 8th Graders

I started getting a headache on Sunday, and it lasted through yesterday evening. It faded in and out, but it was still constant. On the bright side, since I've reached my out-of-pocket maximum with my insurance company, my migraine medicine is no longer nearly $400. I got 9 pills for $35, which is still unbelievable since it probably cost them about $4 per pill to produce. Either way, I'm still grateful for the invention.

I guest lectured at my mom's school yesterday. I discussed the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the other Amendments (which are like red-headed step-children, but most are really cool!), and in one class, I discussed the court system and even ventured into the tiny bit I know about the death penalty.

The biggest challenge (other than the headache and my STUPID decision to wear heels) was putting things in terms that they would understand. Since my mom teaches in South Central Los Angeles (yes, inner-city, underprivileged, all minority), these kids are behind the curve. So rather than speaking to average 8th graders, in some classes, it felt like I was talking to 3rd graders. But a couple kids out of the approximately 100 I saw that day were bright, promising, but were stifled by their surroundings. The teachers can't challenge the bright when there are 30 others who can't read and understand the words in the textbooks.

Moral of the story? All I wanted to do yesterday afternoon was curl up on the couch in my sweatpants with my head on my ex's lap while he gently patted my head. Migraines and 8th graders don't mix.

Opinions Are...

I imagine we all know the common end to that sentence. But I don't know why it is that everyone seems to have an opinion on other people's weight. I mentioned today that I was trying to make healthier decisions, trying to drink the amount of water that I should, etc. Why was the immediate response "so are you going to the gym today?" Nope. And stop looking at me that way.

Don't judge my choices, the extent of my choices, or why I make my choices. It's not cool. Especially since I don't tell others to stop smoking, drop their loser boyfriends, cut back on drinking, drive more carefully, etc. I don't like it, and I imagine those who judge me wouldn't like it very much if I looked down my nose at people who judge me.

And by the way, it's damn near courageous of me to try to start making healthier choices about my eating habits when I am getting BAR RESULTS IN 23 DAYS!!! Cut me some slack, and...oh yeah...remember that you're not perfect either. Back off if you can't be nice. And if you want to muster some support, keep it supportive rather than accusatory, condescending, and/or arrogant. You aren't perfect either.

Distractions

One of the best, most effective things to keep your mind off of that looming, dooming November 21st date is sex. (Sorry to my more modest friends, and especially my aunties!)

When I was in Seattle, we had sex. The kind that left bruises and other "love marks" on various parts of my body. It was kind of funny, actually. My mom asked me about some bruises on my arm. It was all I could do to not tell her "It was from a great sex session, Mom, the really dirty kind." Needless to say, that was not my response. My response was that it must have happened trying to carry all my bags into one of those tiny airport bathroom stalls.

Now that I am 2 weeks (I think it's 2 weeks now) removed from Seattle, the kissing, nasty talk, and of course, the sex, it's hard for me to not try desperately to think of different scenarios that could welcomingly take my mind off of bar results.

I experienced somewhat of an awakening that weekend. Frankly, I've never been that open and honest with someone I've slept with. And it was hot. Was it hot because it was good? Sure. Was it hotter because it was the first time in over a year that I wasn't thinking about bar results? ABSOLUTELY.

I suddenly wish it wasn't 11 a.m. I could really use a green apple martini. And if I smoked, I would certainly be indulging right now.

Anyway, this post was inspired by the woman who commented most recently. She says it helps to know that there are others who are out there commiserating about results, and it got me thinking about advice. My advice? Find someone who (1) you know and trust, (2) feel comfortable with, and (3) get them to do things to you that would make your parents disown you had they known what you were doing.

Ouch

My ex up north has been through a lot last week. I won't violate his privacy about the additional things that have gone on, but needless to say he's been through a lot. Please keep him in your thoughts and/or prayers. He's overall a good guy, and this is rough.

I finished my project for my friend (at least I pray I'm done). It was tough working that many hours in a week and a half. But I should be grateful for the experience, and particularly grateful for my friend having enough confidence in me to hire me to do it. And I should shut up because the money is good.

While there is a lot about my life I would like to and am working on changing, I still need to focus on my many blessings. While I am loosing contact with some of my law school friends (which I suppose is natural), I am so blessed to have the friends I do have. They're awesome, supportive, funny, weird, and the best I could hope for. It hurts that some friends have not made an effort to keep in touch, I still wish them all the best and I'll miss their friendship.

And yes, I'm overweight. That's life. It's my life, anyway. And everyone who judges me based on my weight should shut the hell up. It's my body, you don't know why I am this way, nor is it any of your business. Last time I checked, we all have something. I'm over it, you should get over it.

I want such wonderful things for my friends and family. I think they are just so amazing, and I am lucky to have them in my life. Maybe I should take C's advice and try to see myself how my friends see me. I would never dream of being as hard on my friends as I am on myself. I would never be that demanding of them. I need to cut myself a break sometimes. Easier said than done, but I'm working on it.

And I am going to enjoy this evening, going to bed at a reasonable time, watching America's Next Top Model, and even taking out the trash. I'm lucky to have so much.

Ah, the stages of waiting for bar results...

Tired of It All

I'm tired of working, tired of being poked fun at because I'm fat, tired of staying up late, tired of this project, tired of the weather staying this warm, tired of living with my mom, tired of not having bar results, tired of taking the bar, tired of obsessing about bar results, tired of having a budget, tired of my car payments, tired of being unfairly criticized, tired of my loan payments, tired of some of my law school friends not calling (why should I always call them and they don't call me?), tired of the cat litter box, tired of missing America's Next Top Model, tired of having hair on my legs, underarms, bikini line, etc., tired of intelligent people defending Sarah Palin (which I won't ever understand), tired of Obama trying to be a stand-up comic/politician, tired of Bush (but aren't we all?), tired of not having a life while simultaneously having too much to do (explain that one!)...I think it's time for bed.

Enough for Tonight

A former college professor who now practices hired me to do a project. It was actually a former college classmate who now works for him, but I consider the job to be for the former professor. I told him I've been in boy turmoil lately, and he said something startling: it just gets worse as you get older because the good ones are, in fact, all taken by the time you're in your mid-thirties. Ouch. My Aunt N and my girlfriends are mostly telling me to keep up the hope, that there's someone out there for me who is fabulous. But this man who I've looked up to and admired (particularly admired his intellectual abilities) tells me that it just gets worse? How terrifying!

So this project I was supposed to be working on that my former classmate estimated would take about 10 hours of work has already taken me about 17 and counting. I have about 75ish% maybe 80% done tonight, and I'm just crashing. I haven't worked 17 hours on a weekend in a LONG time. And I have no clean clothes to wear to my regular job tomorrow. I'll have to wear something that must be taken to the dry cleaner's. I'm exhausted, burned out, and that is a dangerous combination. When I'm tired to this point, I start making mistakes. And since REAL people's lives and damages are at stake, I'm done for tonight. I have to be.

I finally spoke with my boy and found out why he didn't call me back since Friday. A friend and former co-worker of his passed away on Friday. He took it pretty hard. So please keep him and his friend's family in your thoughts and/or prayers, please. Thanks, and have a good night.

Why?

Why is it that women always seem to want what they can't have? Can't have chocolate cake because it's too many calories. Can't have the perfect man because he's married, gay, geographically undesirable, etc. Can't have a job and a career and a family life because someone will either call you a bitch (for having too much career ambition), a bad mother for not staying home, or a bad wife for not focusing all your attention on your husband.

Yes, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit. But I have to evaluate why it is that I seem to fall for the wrong guy, especially when I already know he's the wrong guy. Maybe I know that since it's probably doomed, I can't really get hurt when it inevitably doesn't work out? Maybe I'm just covering a lot of fears? Am I afraid to be with a good man, one who loves me and will love me for being me? And if so, why? And trust is really difficult for me. I know why, but it's still tough to get over sometimes.

But why do I always want the guy who is unavailable? C's theory is that I just want to be wanted, something that every woman wants. Is that it? Probably. I clearly want him to think of me as sexy, smart, capable, etc. Is that why it's making me nutty that he won't call me back?

34 Days

Ugh! A bar-acquantaince of mine has a counter on his blog. As if it weren't bad enough that the BAR has a daily countdown? No. This gentleman's has days, hours, minutes, seconds. And he tries to outwardly have people believe he's not thinking about it. Well, the only way to not think about it is to not look at your blog. Otherwise, it's a constant reminder that a large part of your fate still looms on the horizon, just out of reach. For another 34 days, that is.

I have some contract work that I should be working on, but it kills me when my friends who passed bitch about being lawyers. Are you kidding me? Especially the ones who had to repeat the exam. Um, weren't you the ones bitching that you didn't pass just a few months ago?

To all of you, especially the repeat takers, who passed: PLEASE don't bitch to me about being a lawyer, making court appearances, having to work, etc. I would gladly trade places in a hearbeat. Yes, I have a great-paying job, even though the subject matter is boring and my boss is occasionally really mean to me. But I don't have a license yet. I can't go to court yet. I can't advise clients yet. Please, for the love of God, please appreciate the gift you've been given and stop bitching to me about how much it stinks. Just for a moment, please realize how blessed you are, lucky, fortunate, whatever adjective you'd like. And if you have to bitch, please don't do it to the girl who would rip out all of her eyelashes to trade places with you.

All this being said, C and C (female and male, you know who you are), I am not talking about you two. I am referring generally to those who have forgotten what a blessing it is to have your license, to get to call yourself "lawyer." I am also specifically referring to other people who probably don't read my blog anyway.

34 days, 2 hours, 37 minutes, 10 seconds...

He Loves Me? He Loves Me Not?

I remember when I was a kid, and we used to have miniature wild daisies growing in our front yard. They're the kind you sometimes see growing in the grass in parks. My friends and I used to think of male classmates and pull the petals off of the daisies, saying "he loves me, he loves me not" until each petal was gone.

It made me think recently. I wonder if I love "him" or if I love the idea of him. Or maybe I love how comfortable I am with him? I've known him for just over 14 years. He knows so much about me, but since we didn't stay in touch while I was in law school, there is a lot he doesn't know about me any more, and there are some assumptions he's made about who I am now.

And it bothers me that while I was in Seattle, he reminded me that I've said some "really mean things" to him over the years. It took all of my strength to not tell him that he's said and done some really mean things to me too. But it wasn't worth picking the fight, especially since I don't think he intended to start one. But could he get over that kind of thing? Could I get over the fact that I would have to pay the lion's share of the bills? Could we move on and leave the past behind? Do I even want to try? Or should I just take him at face value, have a good time every once in a while, and leave it at that? I think I might go insane if I knew he was with someone else. But why?

Over our 14 year history, he usually told me he loved me quite frequently. I believe he meant it. So why should it bother me now if he doesn't say it as much any more? But why doesn't he say it? Does he not love me any more? Is it because he loves someone else?

And why was he worried about tanning when he should have been worried about "manscaping" instead? Inside joke.

So does he love me? Does he love who I am? Who I used to be? Who I want to be? Does he love me at all? Maybe I just need to be reminded?

Withdrawals

It had been a long time. Years, in fact. And he was the last one. So there is something to "being with" my ex again, especially after all this time. It's kind of like bringing things full circle. Or maybe all of the hormones just went to my head. Either way, it was still fun.

Who knew?

After three full days of "heightened awareness" after more than three years of drought, it's difficult to reconcile my current feelings. It's strange. I had grown used to going without, but right now, it's all I can think about.

Today was Boss' Day, so we took my boss to PF Chang's for lunch. My fortune cookie read as follows: "You may attend a party where strange customs prevail." I couldn't help but laugh. My assistant laughed too, as I had told her the highlights of my time in Seattle. She certainly doesn't know the full extent, but she knows enough to imagine that fortune cookie had an interesting meaning to me. And I'm going through withdrawals. I am going to have to figure out a way to fly to Seattle at least once a month until I can find a suitable replacement that doesn't require frequent flier miles. I just wish he read my blog.

When Worlds Collide

So I'm back from Seattle. The city is definitely not for me. I really enjoyed the little shops, all the local vendors, the cooler climate, etc. However, it's nearly impossible to overlook that (1) it reminds me a lot of the city in which I went to law school, (2) people openly smoke pot, (3) purple hair, torn jeans, and Kurt Cobain immortalized...enough said. I also enjoyed spending time with my ex, but I realized that we want very different things. And when I tried to tell him that we don't aspire to any of the same things, he interpreted that to mean a general outlook on life, whereas I meant actual goals. I want to be a lawyer, help people, make good money, be generally comfortable and happy, be a wife and mother. I don't know what he aspires to in life, but I do know he doesn't want to be married or have any children. So what happens when worlds collide? Just fun, nothing serious. Am I disappointed? Yeah. As N put it, dating is a lot of work like a full time job, especially in the beginning. While the perks are good, you still have to put in the time. When it's not new, it's not quite as intense. I'm just not looking forward to dating again.

Songs 'N Stuff

I was in the mood to spend a modest amount of money downloading some songs tonight. (Yes, I am one of those nerds who actually pays for music as opposed to illegally downloading. I would rather spend the 99 cents than have the Bar refuse to admit me because I downloaded "It's Raining Men.")

For some reason, I've been on a bit of a disco kick. It's particularly funny to me, since I wasn't born when any of the songs I downloaded were on the charts. In fact, many were probably on vinyl or 8-tracks. I bought the following:
1. Love to Love You, Baby
2. It's Raining Men
3. She Works Hard for the Money
4. Love Song by Sara Bareilles (yes, it's the sole contemporary on the list)
5. On the Radio
6. Don't Leave Me this Way

By the way, I defy any woman (or straight man, for that matter) to not feel the least bit aroused after listening to Love to Love You, Baby.

I guess I'm just trying to get ready for bed. I'd love to not have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. I'm nervous. I keep having visions of the doctor telling me he's only going to take a little bit of my skin, a little blood, etc. Yes, I'm probably paranoid, but I fear the realistic one is probably the blood draw. I guess I'll resort to anything instead of facing the only thing that lies between me and the doctor: sleep.

So a buddy commented on my most recent posting about Sarah Palin. I don't know about the rest of you, but I can't help but think of Tina Fey every time I see her talking about dogs with lipstick and seeing Russia from her house. Yes, in that voice. And I also can't stop thinking that Palin, someone who most assuredly would rather live in a world without gays (check out her bio, including "A Day Without Gays"), copied Karen's hairstyles from Will and Grace.

So I'm listening to my ipod and I'm realizing how terribly painful these little earbobs are. But it's still worth it to blast P!nk at levels that my neighbors and mother shouldn't hear, especially when she tosses around words like "d*ckhead," "sh*t," etc.

I guess I'll go take a shower. I feel like I'm reading a real-life version of The Monster at the End of This Book. It was my favorite book when I was little. My mom would always do the Grover voice, and it makes me laugh to this day.

Oh! And who thinks I should spring for World Series tickets for my dad? They'll be unbelievably expensive, but it's probably one of the last times (if not THE last time) the Dodgers may be in it in the conceivable future. Any thoughts? Oh yeah, and my federal loans come off forbearance (i.e. I have to start paying them) in November. Any thoughts?

G'night. I'll let you know how it goes at the doctor.

I Hate Sarah Palin

She said just now in the VP debate that this country respects and values "women's rights." How this woman could possibly make that assertion is beyond me. Maybe she's forgotten how, under her tenure, she made rape victims pay for their own rape kits in hospitals. Nice. How is that respectful or showing value for the rights of women? After the most intimate, horrific, and unfathomable violation of an individual woman's rights, she thinks it's okay to ask her to pay for the privilege of collecting the evidence? I guess maybe she wanted to pile on another reason to intimidate women, especially poor women, from coming forward and seeking the help they surely and desperately need after being violated beyond imagination.

My legal assistant said she doesn't like some of the associations to which Obama belongs. I bet she's not too keen on my belonging to some of the organizations to which I've belonged. You may not like that someone is a card-carrying ACLU member or a NARAL member, whatever. I am far more offended by Sarah Palin's actions against the rights of individuals than what group she may send a check to once a year.

I don't care if you disagree with my political beliefs. That's life, and it's American to engage in vigorous debate. But making women (and probably some men) pay for their rape kit, which is obviously necessary for the identification and prosecution of a rapist is something that no one in their right mind could believe to be a sound policy. Is it somehow more important to catch those who only rape women who can afford to pay for the kit? Maybe we should start requiring individual crime victims to pay prosecutors by the hour, too. Where's it going to stop? I bet she believes OJ was innocent, too. No, honey. He was just able to buy some justice, which is obviously what you believe in.

God forbid she ever be in that position, and I say that with sincerity. I wish that no one would ever feel that kind of violation. I doubt there is much more hurt, shame, anger...that anyone could endure. But I am certain that if she went to a hospital after surviving a violent attack, the last thing she would want to do is get out her checkbook before she received the kit that might help bring the attacker to justice.

Go get her, Joe!