Tuesday, November 30, 2010

RomComs Lie

You don't go on vacation and meet some native of that place who you have both an immediate connection with and yet contentious relationship with, have wacky adventures and only after you leave, realize you love that person and one or the other of you travels a great distance to make it work. Stupid RomComs.

I am wrapping up my time in Hawaii. Actually, I'm now on the plane coming home from Hawaii. I'm kinda bummed about this. I want to move to the North Shore for the winter, do beach runs and swims all day and eat tuna poke and salads every night. I mean, seriously, I can re-study for the fucking California Bar anywhere, why not the north side of this island? OH, right. Because my student loan money is about to run out and I can't afford to. Sigh.

Shit got long, yo. Click for more.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Hawaii Update

Edits made below in fancy colors so if you already read it you can skip to the parts you haven't read.

I can barely type this as I am hungover like whoa and LSU is motherfu*!#ing losing to Arkansas on a end of half play by Ryan Mallet that just...gahhhhhhhhh.

Anyway, I thought you all might appreciate a quick update on our island adventures. Um. There aren't really any. Well, okay, here's what happened: my brother isn't here because he got sick and was ordered not to fly. I actually feel bad for him. I have thus spent three straight days with my mother and my stepdad and sort of wanted to kill them most of the time. It wasn't particularly fun. I haven't even swam in the ocean yet! And right now I'm, well, hungover in my room watching football. When the game is over I'll rectify that.

On Wednesday we arrived here, took naps after snacking at the Cheesecake factory and went to late dinner at the amazing Duke's. Went to bed early because we were all exhausted.

Thursday we woke up and went to breakfast at this place my mom likes. My dad and I have this thing about waiting an hour for eggs: don't. They're fucking EGGS. Give me $4 and I'll make you my own in fifteen minutes. So that wasn't fun. At all. Except that the food was actually good. And everyone here is so fucking friendly. SO FRIENDLY. It's hard to be pissy when the waiter is all like, "How's it hanging brudda?" So the food was good. But I WAITED AN HOUR FOR FUCKING EGGS! 

We went to the pool that afternoon where my mother had a wee bit of a meltdown. And I almost got in a fight wanting to punch the guy at the pool bar, where I ended up fortuitously for the last five minutes of the Saints/Cowboys game. Dude says, "I was just in New Orleans. That place is a shit hole. I'm never going there again!" Ohrly? It is? Did you go to Port of Call and Irenes and Frenchman Street or did you just drink flavored sugar water rum at Pat O's you giant douche? Fuck you. About ten minutes later he would say, "Yeah, I'm from Dallas. I hate the Cowboys, I'm not a fan at all, but I'd like them to spoil everyone else's season." Well. There you have it. THat just about explains everything about you, doesn't it? Douche.

And then to dinner buffet at the Royal Hawaiian. That was tasty and fun. We again called it an early night, the time change screwing with us, and woke up early Friday. Oh, also: I worked out. In the gym. On Thanksgiving. I figure this is good for the stupid amounts of mai tais I will drink this week. I also almost got in an altercation leaving the gym. Some people are island people. Some aren't. I'm guessing all these asshat tourists aren't. I'm getting onto the elevator when man moseying the fuck off it gets in my way. I happen to catch the corner of his foot on my way to make the already open elevator. I mumble excuse me but he doesn't hear this apparently. As the door's closing he says, "Well EXCUSE you." Fuck you, asshole, I SAID excuse me. You were the one in the way! Kind older southern lady on the elevator asks what that was about, I explain and she says in her amazing drawl, "We could take him." Ha! Thanks! Mom says after those two events that apparently I can't go out in Hawaii by myself. 

I had one thing I wanted to do here: go to the USS Arizona memorial. Because I'm a military nerd. This was MY thing. My stepdad totally hijacked it the second we got there. In fairness, he is also a military nerd. He's like a lifetime member of the WWII/D-Day Museum in New Orleans. And my mom wanted to go to the mall that afternoon. I had told her I didn't want to do both in the same day but this was vetoed. Anyway, we go to Pearl Harbor and I'm feeling rushed and we go to the USS Missouri and take a tour but then have to rush back on the bus to get back to our shuttle boat for the USS Arizona memorial. I don't like being rushed. I wanted to enjoy the USS Mo more. I'm about to lose it, but quietly and thank god for smart phones so I can tell others of my dilemmas. Then: Twist! It's too windy. They can't shuttle people over to the USS Az anymore. So I don't even get to go. GAH! But we go back on the bus and head to the Pacific Aviation Museum which wasn't impressive and I'm starting to loosen up because *spoiler alert!* I LOVE planes! I am later not bothered by this because someday I will be admiral of the Pacific Command and can go to Pearl Harbor whenever I want. So there. 

So anyway, in the midst of my text message bitching with my dear friends, I finally had enough yesterday and decided it would be a BNBD night and I would loosen up. We go to the mall, which ended up, despite being the mall the day after Thanksgiving, pretty fun. There's a restaurant at the mall that overlooks the ocean. And a Mai Tai bar in the middle of the bar mall. Life could be worse. And I spent a ton of money I don't have on stuff at Macy's. But tax here is only 5% as compared to the 9.5% in CA so really I'm saving money. On stuff I don't need. Whatevs.

Mom wants to go to Roy's that night, I need a shower, I get all dressed up because I am going out tonight! BNBD baby! (For the uninitiated that is the acronym for Booze and Bad Decisions, something has evolved from conversations with my stepsister and I. It is both a horrible horrible misguided rallying cry and an excuse for the feelings the next day. It started by me saying, when extremely hungover, "OMG I smell like booze and bad decisions.") Mom calls and says she's not feeling well, she's gonna stay in. But I'm dressed. But now I lack courage. It's HARD being a girl! Going out by yourself is scary. But I text and look for courage from my usual posse of folks and head downstairs to the hotel bar where after two mai tais I have a little liquid courage. The bartender, apparently recognizing that I'm alone at a bar, gives me a list of Chinatown bars that he says are awesome and full of locals and not stupid Waikiki bars. Because Waikiki is like Fisherman's Wharf. Very few locals places there. But a cab? To go to bars where I don't know anyone? This sounds sketchy. So I head to the one bar I swore earlier in the day to the adorable girls at the jewelry store mentioned when I asked where to drink that I wouldn't go to. A bar so awful, so fratastic Jersey shore debauchery that even undergrad me would have eschewed it. A bar...just...I have no words. Senor Frogs. God help me I was at Senor Frogs in Waikiki. I have never been so convinced I was going to be date raped at a place. It's totally date rapey there. Thank god it was early and I'm a girl so that the bouncer let me bypass the $10 cover because that would have just been more than I can handle.

I sat at the bar, made friends with the one adorable bartender, texted my step sister, drank her special cocktail (bicardi limon and tonic, which I changed to soda). And then made friends with a bunch of short Air Force guys who were in town for one night on their way to Guam tomorrow. (Ohhhh and why were they were going to Guam from Travis all of a sudden in the midst of Thanksgiving? I wonder...) At this point I'm beyond just liquid courage and into liquid stupidity. So yeah. There *may* have been some drunken dancing to bad pop music in Senor Frogs. There may have been some making out with an Air Force guy. And I have no idea how my directionally challenged self managed to make it back down Waikiki to her hotel but I did it.

And now I am hungover and useless and even typing the word mai tai makes me want to throw up a little. Thank god for a) room service and b) Dr Pepper available in the lobby of my tower at this massive hotel.

Now if only LSU can figure out how to beat the freaking Hogs...

LSU fucking lost which is all sorts of annoying but that's okay Imma go eat some Kalua pork for dinner and imagine it's tasty Razorback. Also, in my hour at the pool I had the following conversation with my mother:

Mom: There was a girl out here earlier who had an Oklahoma Longhorns shirt on.
Me: Oklahoma Sooners or Texas Longhorns. There is no Oklahoma Longhorn.
Mom: Whatever. I don't know. It was orange and had horns on it. 
Me: Texas Longhorns. 

You think in all my years of college football fandom something would have rubbed off on her but nooooo. At least she supports me watching it all day in my hotel room. And okayed my hungover ass ordering a burger from room service. $18 burger. Plus $12 room service delivery charge. Now the most expensive burger in the history of eating burgers. But she said it was cool. Nom nom nom nom. 

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Thanksgiving Thanks

With all the...grumbleness...of the past few days, even with the amazing friends and the serendipitous moments, I am taking a deep breath and doing my annual* Thanksgiving blog early (except obviously that didn't happen). Because I fly off to Hawaii at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow and will, hopefully, not be pulling out the computer much (but am way too much of an addict not to take it with me) (and I'm now in Hawaii and awake too early and on the computer finishing this. Because you mean that much to me!). I need to appreciate all that is around me and this day, week, was set aside for that. So here ya go.

*you don't know it's annual because this blog hasn't been around for a year, but trust me, it is.

1. I am thankful for the constancy of sports, right now more than ever. A lot doesn't make sense. The Republicans in power, failing the bar, losing friends to the far corners of the earth, the uncertainty of the future in so many ways. But every Saturday ESPN's College Game Day airs, and a whistle blows signaling kickoff. I can rely on that. Even in the uncertainty of the outcome, I am certain Les Miles and his batshit insanity will make it interesting. I have waxed poetic about this so many times, you all should know it by heart, but good god I love college football. I am not a religious person but know that I am only half joking when people say something about the NFL and I respond, "My god plays football on Saturday."

My god also plays baseball all summer and I appreciate that. I appreciate the crazy cast of characters that were this year's Giants and their bringing this city a World Series Championship.

I know it seems silly but having something I am passionate about matters to me. I'm not into politics or world events or...any of the other seemingly "important stuff". But O'Bannon v NCAA and issues with academic eligibility get me going. And so does the sheer contest and the hard hits and the marching bands and the plastic cups of coke that have been half poured out and filled with whiskey. I like arguing why watching sweatervest coach a team is endlessly boring and why Tim Tebow is both attractive and important to football and why the Pac 10 is supremely inferior to the SEC and watching Army/Navy. Also getting me going: the crack of the bat, the run to the warning track, the catcher getting the guy out at second. East Coast Yankee bias arguments. Humidors in Colorado. Duck the Fodgers. Garlic fries. Midweek, day game baseball.

And for some reason the god that plays football on Saturdays and baseball all summer thought I was fit to handle all the last second cardiac inducing wins that the Les Miles era at LSU would bring in AND the hearbreakingly close 1 run games the Giants are notorious for playing.

I don't know if I thank crazy old testament god or peace loving new testament god for that, but either way, for sports I am grateful.

2. Friends. All of you. New ones, old ones, reconnected ones, meeting in real life ones, ones who are exclusive to the way we connect in this crazy world wide internet web. Even the ones I have loved and lost. Michael, Chuck, Andy, Beth, David and Sara, Irene... you all know who you are and just because I didn't name you doesn't mean I don't love you. Every single last one of you amazingly wonderful crazy unique individuals with whom I can laugh and talk and bitch and whine. For your truthful comments and new perspectives. For giving it to me straight and not letting me get away with shit. I love my close knit group of real true compadres and want to tell silly high school me that being popular is bullshit, having 800 acquaintances so not as important as having people who have your back in a knife fight. Know that I have yours right back. There is something to said for growing up and choosing your own tribe. I am totes down with my tribe.

3. But you can't always choose your tribe. You have family. They drive me bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S. But man. I have strong women on one side and compassionate and emotional men on the other. Repressed Irish Catholics and crazy half Jewish half Southerners. They gave me green eyes, dark skin and the most awesome mutt European background anyone could ask for. They, like my friends, love me in spite of myself. We argue, we bicker, I spent a lot of time trying not to scream at my mother or strangle my brother, but at the end of the day, they too have my knife in a back fight back in a knife fight. Or a gun fight. I also love my non-family family members. An ex-stepsister and a faux stepmom. Even the slightly ridiculous stepdad. Second and third cousins twice removed. Whoever these people are that I share a little blood with. They're pretty great too. You know, when I don't want to kill them. (Ask me about this in three weeks when I'm trying to study for the bar. Again.)

4. Since I am in Hawaii, a little materialism: I am thankful for first class upgrades and unexpected surprises (redundancy). I am thankful for hotel spas and island breezes. Mai tais. Omg mai tais. I LOVE mai tais. (I am not thankful for being charged for in room internet or using fitness equipment but whatever. Imma just gonna see about beach sprints. Which should be highly amusing.) (Or: just fall asleep on a lounge chair and worry about wind sprints later.)

5. I am thankful for good health and am going to be paying better attention to that. My brother has some mystery illness, spent the night before we left for Hawaii in the ER and was ordered not to fly, so he's not here. Whatever his illness is, it involves a catheter. Yeah. Let's pay attention to our health.

6. I am thankful for an ability to bake. Baking, believe it or not, keeps me sane. That and writing. It's sort of a zen thing. Mix, stir, melt, dip... And whenever frustrated I enjoy doing it. It's also the holiday season so I have an excuse to stand in the kitchen for hours and do it without seeming deranged. I enjoy giving the end product to my family and friends and watching them devour the goodies. I look forward to going home and baking baking baking. (I have to say, being in Hawaii, while AWESOME, is also bittersweet. I love cooking for the big holidays and it's weird to not be making turkey and sweet potatoes from scratch and endlessly stirring the gravy, a job only I have taken over from my grandmother who was the master gravy maker.)

7. Thankful I'm still here. (I heard this song for the first time the other night on Great Performances, A Birthday Celebration of Stephen Sondheim. And although not 80 or even 60 or 40, there's days where slogging through it just sucks. Then I heard this song and was like, she's AWESOME. Song is awesome. I hope to be rocking out like her when I'm her age.)

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Boys. Sigh.

A few letters sent to the ether because I won't actually send them:

To the boy who sent the death knell text(s) the night after I failed the bar:
Srsly? Wow. THAT was awesome. Thank you. Really. And ya know what? Bad on me for totally not predicting it would end that way. I mean, really, all signs pointed to yeah, that would happen. And bad on me for falling into the age old "Why do girls date assholes?" trope. I was always not that girl. But apparently even I have lapses in judgement (several, apparently) and am susceptible to being *gasp* just like everyone else. Still. You seriously seriously suck and I'm glad I get to see it now and get over it all and stop being ridiculous. I like having my brain back, thanks.

Note: I don't know exactly what the texts said, I read them and was just too hungover/still drunk/shell shocked to process them and couldn't come up with a fantastic witty response either. I haven't felt any desire to revisit them. If anyone would like to take over this duty for me, I'm happy to let you have a gander at my phone.

To the boy that helped me get over failing the bar:
THAT was totally unexpected. No, seriously, it was just... The universe is funny, ya know? Thank you for listening to me ramble and be dramatic and emotional and pretty much completely lose my shit in front of a total stranger. I'd tell you I'm usually more together than that, but, truthfully, I'm not. I had, despite everything that was going on, a really good time. I will now try desperately NOT to run into you again, which I will fail at because San Francisco is freaking small, I go to Philly Club against all better judgment when drunk, and you're house is walking distance from mine. You shouldn't take that personally but just more of my general human failing and inability to deal with awkward situations (also, why do guys NEVER ask for a number? Do you forget? I may be the most ridiculously forward person in most situations but not in the "hey, does he even like me?" ones. I'm so confused by this). Unless you were interested in making the first move in which case I would totally not be opposed, at all (but I'm writing this ON A BLOG, so, ya know, that's not gonna happen).

To the guy who I scared by being overly honest leading to rejection: I thought there was something wrong with me. After several alternate opinions it turns out you're an idiot and I'm not. So: you're an idiot and I'm not. Ahhh. That feels better. I will also avoid you like the plague and you're football team sucks. K thx bai.

David Lee: I don't even like basketball AND you went to UF. But you're cute and seem genuinely nice and considerate of your fellow human beings. I could use more of that. Wanna go out?

To every other boy I will date in the future: You owe me actual dates. No, you do. And from now on I will demand this. Also: the standards are set pretty damn high, and I will be reminded of this every time I hang out/talk to every amazing guy I know. I won't put up with your wishy-washy commitment phobic crap from now on, I got enough of my own, thanks. Also: I got men who show me what a man can be. Chuck is acerbic and funny. Michael listens and makes amazing cocktails. My dad opens doors still. STILL. Andy has amazing one liners and perspective. None of them ever ever ever judge my behavior negatively but are supportive and smart. And this amazing mishmash of men in my life who put up with me makes me realize that some other amazing mishmash of a guy will want to put up with me too. All the too much honesty and ridiculous mouthy-ness and football obsession is right for someone. I'm creating some standards and sticking to them. You're on notice.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

One of these Sundays...

I won't be massively hung over and be an actual real live grown up. Someday. Maybe.

First: A thanks to my incredibly amazing fantastic supportive couldn't do it without them friends. And my family too. No group of people can make a girl feel more loved even in abject failure than these amazing folks. Thank you thank you thank you thank you for coming to support me and watch football with me and love me in spite of myself. Seriously. Y'all ROCK. Hard.

And now: for a time line of my Saturday.

7:30 a.m.: woke up far earlier than I am accustomed to because bar stuff was seeping into my brain.

9:00 a.m.: Left room, started getting ready for the day.

11:30 a.m.: Go to Hooters to pick up chicken wings because they are, in fact, my guilty pleasure.

12:15 p.m.: Get to Michael's house. Eat a few chicken wings, drink beer, eat jello shots. Should be noted that I had not actually eaten anything prior to this point.

12:30 p.m.: Watch football with Michael, Chuck, David and Sara, Cheryl, Beth, and...wait for it...Doug. Eat more jello shots. A lot more jello shots. I have no idea what happened during the game. It's almost a complete blank spot, except I know that we won. Vaguely.

5:00 p.m. ish: Realize I am completely drunk and need a soft place to land. Somehow manage to get down to Chuck's lower level apartment and pass out on his bed. Note: mixing depressed emotions and alcohol generally has adverse effects. Thank god he never complains when I pass out in his bed. Which I've only done twice, btw. I have no idea when or where everyone else was or when they left or what happened but everyone let me sleep, as far as I know. So thanks for being there and sorry if I didn't see you on the way out.

9:00 p.m.: Wake up after sleeping through a thunder storm, which, for those of you not from here, is a completely rare and pretty awesome occurrence. Go back upstairs to the couch and rub my temples, leaning alternately on Sara and Chuck. Have epically awful text message conversation with The Boy. That one is now scorched earth, and honestly? It's about time and thank god and I shoulda done it myself a long time ago but now I get to be the slightly injured party about except, ya know, screw it, whatever. When I text Andy and Irene about this later their comments make me once again grateful for amazing friends. When I say to them he broke up with me via text Irene responds, "Um, is he even in a position to do that?" Andy says, "It's like a dude in the ocean yelling 'Fuck you Titanic!'" So we will now thoroughly be moving on, not that I hadn't mostly already. But seriously? Fuck him and his timing. This is the same person that on the second day of the bar exam told me he didn't want a relationship. That couldn't have waited 24 hours? And now I've failed the bar and you're calling shit off? GFY, dude. Note to self: I deserve way better.

David and Sara decide around 10 that they are going home, and now that' I'm hung over and not drunk, I'm going home too.

10 p.m. ish: I decide I want to see what my dad is up to. So I drive to his house instead of my own house, but all the lights are off. So I drive to my house. But not before I drive by Philly Club. Twice. Before deciding its just better to go home. Good decision time!

But: 10:30 p.m. ish: I get home and the score report telling me just how badly I failed the bar is on the kitchen table. Ffffuuuuuuu. I can't handle this. I don't want to be alone in my house for this. I want to be around alcohol and other people. I want crown and coke. This may have been a flimsy well designed excuse to go back to the bar, but, whatever, it worked. Bad decision time! So I go to Philly Club anyway, which is mercifully empty of people I went to high school with and parents friends and assorted idiot boys who can't handle me. I sat at the bar, ordered a crown and coke, and stared at the score report hoping that the longer I stared at it, it would morph into something that said I passed. It didn't. And I was alone and sad and my zen acceptance of yesterday was all gone and then I thought I might cry. At a bar. By myself. Which would have just been epic levels of patheticness. But then the bartender asked me if I was all right and the guy standing to my right asked me what I was reading and we laughed and drank and in one of those random the universe knows what it's doing moments I met a guy who had also failed the bar on his first try, a year ago, and passed on his second try and knew EXACTLY what I was going through and who listened to me rant about it because he had been there in a way that the brave face I'd been trying to keep up with everyone else didn't need to be kept up and I talked too much and said too much and was my usual overly honest self but guy was cool with it and now it's 2 a.m. and I was starving and ate Carl's Junior and we watched Sportscenter and yeah, ya know, yeah, awesomeness, yeah. So. That.

So: football, drunk, pass out, hungover, drunk again, BNBD, home. 24 hours of what can only be described as undergrad levels of retardation and let's hope being upset about the bar is mostly over and we're all moving on now. And by we I mean me. But for today Imma just gonna lay here with my mouth still tasting of crown and coke and cigarettes even though I've brushed my teeth several times.

Tomorrow: we get up and we do it better.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Fight On

So. I didn't pass the California Bar Exam. And that sucks. It sucks HARD. It sucks because I now have to re-imagine how the next six months of my life look. It sucks because the thought of sitting through that three day exam, re-learning every area of law that there is, spending 8-10 hours a day slogging through it for the next two months sounds beyond fucking miserable. And I don't know if I will...that's to be contemplated, honestly. Actually, the point of the "fight" in the title is that I will most likely take it again and kick some ass at it. But contemplating that right this second is SO depressing, I can't even tell you.

It sucks because there are some serious assholes I know that passed it. There are some seriously amazing people I know who didn't. (Some I am just guessing about, I won't know for sure until the pass list becomes public on Sunday.) It sucks because you compare yourself to your peer group and think, "I am so less than that person and that person and that person..."

It sucks because I will now be seriously broke and have no idea how I'm going to support the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed. I will have to pay another $700 to take the exam. Fuuuuccckkkk. And I need to find a PC on which to take the stupid thing. The practicalities of it are annoying.

But mostly it sucks because I know I should have done better. Studied harder, practiced more, BEEN better. And I wasn't. And I feel like I've disappointed, let down, all those people who were like, "You're smart, you totally passed." AHHHH! How can YOU have that much faith in me when I clearly don't? I do feel a bit like a failure and a bit like, "No one is evvveerrrr gonna love me!" Which I understand is totally hyperbolic and ridiculous and has to do with non-bar issues, but while logical rational me GETS that, the emotional part of my brain is just gonna linger there for a minute, mkay? And drown it in alcohol and watch football and eat things dipped in ranch.

And I'm...conflicted...by the fact that I think deep down I didn't really want to pass. That it took until a week ago when I decided on the next phase of my life for me to realize I *did* want to pass and move on to the next phase. Until then I was petrified. And not that I don't think I gave the actual test all that I had, I think I did. But the prep? I needed to do a lot better. And failure lets me defer all decision making for another six months. Note that this is probably all subconscious self sabotage. But I think there's some truth to it, too. So while I was prepping and freaking out about the future, failure meant not dealing with the future and further avoiding it. And now that I have failed, that deferment becomes real when I'm ready for it to not be. I don't want to defer, dammit! I want to start my liffeeee. Make sense?

Let's also be honest that I was a bit flip about the test. "I totes got this" mentality creeped in. Charm and a smile. A witty turn of phrase here and there. I can write an essay, yo. Just apparently not a bar essay, in retrospect. But I thought I was minimally competent for fuck's sake! MINIMALLY competent!

I also think there's truth to the fact that me, and one of the other people I know who failed and who I so so so adore, were conversing the other day and both came to the conclusion that we don't really want to be lawyers. So maybe we didn't want to pass to make that a reality? She was on the floor sobbing and drunk last night and I feel bad for her. I've been zen about it. Probably too much so and at some point I'll drink whiskey and watch Good Will Hunting or A River Runs Through It or some silly ABC Family Christmas movie and end up my own sobbing mess, but for right now I'm just fine...mostly. I woke up earlier than I have in forever after little sleep because this is so in my brain.

The text I sent out said this, "I spent twenty minutes being depressed and then realized the sun will rise tomorrow, LSU will play football, I will eat chicken wings, and be surrounded by friends. So fuck the CA bar. What do they know?" My mother was shocked at how well I took it. What am I gonna do? I can't exactly argue with some amorphous grading body. And the text is true. As Annie sang, the sun'll come out tomorrow... Life goes on. The world keeps spinning.

The only response I got that almost sent me over the edge was from my aunt. I love and adore my aunt. But telling me this will build character made me want to punch a baby. Really? Character? I don't have enough fucking character already?! And then she closed it with, "Call me when you want to talk, or exercise." Whaaaa?! I been working my ASS off, lady! God I love her but seriously, stfu.

And I know, yes, I know this isn't the end of the world. All things considered, it's not even particularly terrible. Just something that happened. I knew that for me failure doesn't drastically change my life. On Wednesday I hop on a plane to Hawaii and the following week I hop on a plane to Florida. There are worse fates.

Still. This sucks pretty hard.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Concern and Perception

When Beth wrote her blog on what happened Saturday night (a much more coherent version than mine), I had a momentary panic attack. She's friends with both my brother and father on Facebook, a few clicks and they would have access to all that is contained herein. And then I thought, Fuck it. Much like, and probably more so than, the previous blog I stand by everything in here and it probably wouldn't actually hurt them to know a bit more about what's going on in my life. I own it all. I understand the ridiculousness that is my life. And I kind of love it. Every single random serendipitous adventure that I go on makes me grateful to be able to have such random serendipitous adventures. So here it all is. Every wart, every zit, every stupid thing I say or do. Well...mostly...

It also got me thinking about perceptions. How we view ourselves v. how other view us. I do not think of myself as overly confident, and yet Beth refers to me that way in her post. I am as insecure and have as many self esteem issues as pretty much every other girl out there. I feel invisible about 80% of the time, especially when in the presence of my aforementioned father and brother. When I mentioned to Cheryl what Beth had said in her blog, she's like, "You are! You just walk in like you own places!" So, for future reference: I'M TOTALLY BLUFFING, Y'ALL! Maybe faux confidence turns into real confidence? I know I talk a lot. I know all the random, useless trivia in my brain makes me able to prattle on and on and on in just about any situation. And in the Marina I think part of it is I know that if worse comes to worse I can kick any of those coke snorting girl's asses (seriously. two girls go into the stall at Bar None together? there's only one reason for that). But mostly? I'm totes faking it, yo.

Beth, btw, is AMAZING. I went to her Soberversary tonight. I can't imagine spending the last two years sober. I can't imagine not picking up a cold beverage to take the edge off when I need it. I can't imagine what fortitude it takes to be around people like me who can't handle not doing that. I would never ever meet guys if it weren't for alcohol. So yeah. Mad props to Beth and her ability to handle it all with incredible grace.

Anyway, San Francisco has had amazing weather. It's 70ish in November. I finally decided that getting out and about in SF was something I needed to be doing. I walked from Taraval up to the parking lot at Land's End and back. It was fantastic. And exhausting. My hips are killing me. But it felt GOOD to be out there, seeing how far I could push it. And despite all protestations to the contrary, I am beginning to notice small differences. My jeans are a little bit bigger in the thighs, shirts a little looser. And it feels phenomenal. But I don't want to jinx it. Because I'm hellza supersticious and all.

CANCER (June 21-July 22): In the 1925 silent film *The Gold Rush,*
Charlie Chaplin plays a prospector during the Alaska Gold Rush. After a
series of adventures, he finds himself stuck in a remote cabin on
Thanksgiving Day with a ruffian named Big Jim. They're out of food, so
Charlie gets resourceful, boiling his right shoe in a big pot and serving it
up steaming hot. What the audience doesn't know is that the movie prop
is made of sweet licorice, not leather. So while it may seem that dinner is
a hardship, the actors actually had no trouble polishing off their meal. I
see a similar scenario in your near future, Cancerian: something like eating
a "shoe" that's made of candy.

That's my horoscope for this week. I...don't know how to take that. Is getting bar results gonna be the shoe? Is this week the shoe? Is swallowing down licorice how I'm going to act if I fail? AHHHHHH!! I'll try not to dwell too much on it. It is just a horoscope. But we all know that Friday is looming. So there's that...

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Remember when I was all...

"Dude, that guy is a total ass and I'm NEVA gonna talk to him again"? Yeah. That sort of gets thrown out the window when it's 3 a.m.

But to back up: I had no intention of doing anything yesterday. I was in my pajamas all day watching crap football. After the burning, searing shame of the previous weekend, I was taking a break from alcohol. Then I got an IM from Beth saying that she was bored. And so the adventure began...

I suggested that we go watch the LSU game at the LSU alumni bar because it wasn't on anywhere else. (I later learned it was on ESPN 3 and I could have watched it from the comfort of my own home, but whatever. You would then be deprived of all THIS.) We get there for the second half, have a drink at the bar, then sit with Sara Y and her boyfriend at their table and make friends with the other LSU people once Sara and her boyfriend leave. We watch the Cal game with them and found out that the Brickhouse (I believe?) is the unofficial LSU bar (that was some bullshit, btw, Cal, you should have figured out a way to win that one). Props to the LSU guy whose name I totally didn't get who went toe to toe with me in football knowledge and didn't balk at me being a girl.

Beth and I decide we need to go eat dinner and were debating some place around where we were, in the decidedly touristy Fisherman's Wharf area. And Beth has an aversion to seafood. So I finally decided, fuck it, she would LOVE Lorenzo's. I haven't been there in like a year, and usually alert Lorenzo ahead of time when I coming, but it's like 9 at night, so why not?

We walk in and are given the royal treatment. Lorenzo is eating at table but seats us, moves my car for me, and we begin the eating all the fantastic food I have come to enjoy there.

Oh, earlier in the night, Beth and I had discovered our mutual love of Carrier. We end up discussing this endlessly.

This will also lead to proving true what Andy told me about recency and confirmation bias, which he defined thusly:

You think you never see it, but then see it a lot: Confimation bias.
You see something once and recently, and take it as representative of the whole: Recency bias.

The reason this will matter is that as soon as I wrote a blog about wanting to join the Navy, started saying it out loud, it suddenly seems to be everywhere.

As Lorenzo comes over to say Hi to me and have some chit chat and I apologize for taking him away from his table, he tells me it's a customer that came in three years ago with the Blue Angels and is a pilot. My eyes get big. Beth's eyes get big. It was completely serendipitous. Beth and I enjoy our meal, as Beth is totally molested by the waiter, and then Lorenzo calls us over to his table, with the two couples, and we proceed to spend the next hour and a half or so talking with them.

The FA18 pilot totally tolerated all of my ridiculous questions. We discovered that he was on the cruise when Carrier was filmed, told us what a ridiculous shit show filming was, listened to us talk about who was hot and who was not. Said some less than savory things about the female pilots but also that they were awful pilots. He told us how horrifying it is to land on the aircraft carrier at night, but that some of his best missions were night flights, as it's infinitely easier to drop bombs then. He even knew the pilot that I talked to that night at Bar None during Fleet Week. Apparently the aviation community is small. His wife was fantastic too and tolerated us as well. Mostly me. Tolerated me. Beth is far better behaved than I. The other couple were also phenomenal, a guy who called himself a farmer, but was married to a lawyer and flew his own plane up from Lemoore (a city outside Fresno) just to have dinner and spend the night in SF. The navy pilot, call sign Bo (or Beau? not sure) was being deployed in two weeks on an aircraft carrier. I can not thank him enough for his graciousness.

Beth mentions that she wants to meet my brother. So I text him and find out he's at Bar None. We head over to the Marina. It is...ridiculous. But we end up having a lot of fun. Or I do. It's, I don't want to say odd, but I feel bad for Beth who is a non-drinker as I get progressively drunker, louder, more obnoxious. But she didn't complain and seemed to be having conversations with all of Doug's ridiculous friends who were there: Charlie, Derek, Chuck, etc. One guy who wondered why I didn't remember him from high school and insisted I should even though the reverse wasn't true. I don't know what that was about, things get admittedly hazy around then. I also vaguely recall dancing to a country song with some red headed guy. Weird. But it was...fun, actually. Doug and I didn't even fight. Oh, and I was purchased a shot of Jameson. I did not feel like throwing up. I threw the shot on the ground and put the glass back on the bar. Sorry for wasting liquor but, yeah. Oh oh oh! And I just remembered that Nate Schierholtz and his girlfriend were at Bar None. Talked to the girlfriend, not him, in a display of being, ya know, cool.

Beth and Doug are now friends. I was surprised to realize that my brother in his own quiet way had been following Beth's blogs ever since she wrote the piece about my dad. He knew exactly who she was. He has promised to try and get her an interview with his friend, a certain Giants closer that it annoys me to no end that he knows. I hope I get to tag along because I SO want to meet him.

Bar None finally closes, and thank wonderful Beth for driving us back to her place. I take over driving duties from there, find my way home, drive past Philly Club in West Portal even though it is 2:30 a.m. because I am a) an idiot and b) a glutton for punishment but then have enough sense to just go home. But you'd be silly if you thought I was done. I open my computer and have opened a few tabs in Safari but am not really paying attention. And I'm in the process of texting TB because...well...ya know...when my phone rings and it's him. But then he hangs up. So I call him back, "Did you just call me?" "Yeah. You're logged into [dating site] and I was messaging you but you didn't respond." "I am NOT!" Look at computer. "Oh. I am. But I wasn't paying attention to it...can I come over? I was in the middle of texting you when you called." "Come over."

And there you have it. But just so you know this is still me and I have, despite being admittedly awesome about it all previously, become fed up with the BS, yelled at him for a good fifteen minutes when I arrived. "You're an idiot. I totally deserve better. I should not be here..." And then. Then I pulled out of my ass one of those arguments that I don't even know WHERE it came from but probably has a ring of truth to it, "You stopped talking to me because you actually LIKE me and that scares you!" Pretty sure this was agreed to. Pretty sure it's irrelevant. I'm treating this like any other...ya know. I'm not getting on this crazy ass merry-go-round again. I'm more cynical and more cautious now. It's just not worth my time. I got plans for my life now, yo, and they don't involve being distracted by guys that don't treat me like I'm worth a damn.

I'm going to continue pretending that thing that's happening on Friday isn't happening and have a pretty busy week ahead of me.

So yeah. That was my Saturday night. And it ended up being pretty ridiculously epic. So thanks, Beth, for the random IM at 3:30 on a Saturday afternoon to get me out of the house.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Sanity Or: things we're ignoring

I once had a high school friend ask me why I wrote. I pointed out that if I didn't, I'm pretty sure I would go insane. So for the next week, expect lots of writing so as to keep my brain from dwelling on that thing that's not happening on Friday.

It's unfortunate that this not thinking about thing is coupled with what is a lackluster weekend in college football (other than the continued implosion of Auburn at the hands of the Cam Newton scandal and hoping they lose to The Dawgs). LSU has homecoming which means we play a crap non-conference opponent to get a big W for all the alumni in town.

I am looking forward to next Saturday and doing a little shindig for the LSU v Ole Miss game wherein we will not discuss that thing that didn't happen the preceding day. Denial, not just a river in Egypt. Note to self: buy more vodka for jello shots.

So I might have to combine writing with one of my other favorite fall/winter past times: baking. I usually save this for closer to Christmas, but as I am out of town from pretty much Nov 24-Dec 10, I can get an early jump on it. And my mom has been bugging me to make my white chocolate, macadamia, cranberry cookies. I just might indulge her. I'm scouring the magazines for new recipes. It might be an epic year for my baking skills. Already thinking of throwing an appetizers, desserts and cocktails holiday party. It's been a while since I've entertained and feel completely let down by not getting to throw the big party this year. (That link has limited access, from my old blog, that started a shit storm. If you want access, email me, happy to grant it.)

I will also be working out like mad. Because something funny happened when I wrote the big declaration of a blog yesterday: I was suddenly completely and totally at peace with it all. I was like, "Yeah. This is the right decision. This is good for me." And for the first time in a long time I wasn't terrified by the future but kind of excited about it. I watched Speed and Angels again, thought more and more about the "fight for it" motto and decided I needed to take even more steps towards my goals. So I started by taking an internet break and actually READING one of the New Yorkers that are scattered all over my room. I know, right?! I figured I should start with getting my brain back in fighting shape, after the five month vacation it has taken since the bar exam. I also know that I need this body to be way better than it is. I didn't go for an out doors walk today like I had intended, no particular reason, just totally lame, but will make up for it with some kick ass Friday night gym activity. Note: as nerdy and lame as going to the gym on a Friday night can feel, it's also kind of empowering because, "Yeah, I'm doing this instead of drinking beer, what of it?" Also: it's mostly empty, which is nice. (Okay, those all might be slight rationalizations. I'd rather be out causing some mayhem.)

I now get to be tortured by living at home past an acceptable age with the oil to my water brother coming over for dinner and them wanting to plan out our Hawaii vacation. Which, frankly, they've mostly already planned out, much to my annoyance. Anyone know of any amazing museums there I can torture them with? Do I have to keep my "Drink lots of mai tais and make out with hot island guys/military personnel" plan to myself? Yes, I'm being a brat about going to Hawaii. Feel free to smack me. Also feel free to get to know my mom, stepdad and brother before wanting to smack me.

Sigh. I love my family, I do (I always make that caveat, don't I?), but for freaks sake. I am traveling with a woman who walked around Paris waiving her hand in front of her face going, "*cough cough cough* what is WITH all the smoke?" Dear god woman, it's PARIS. This is what they do! These people are the kind of people who are super excited about planning travel to the Ala Moana mall. Going to the mall! In Hawaii! I'm going to need a ton of alone time. And plenty of cocktails to not lose my mind. I think I'm dragging everyone to Pearl Harbor, the same way I made them visit Harvard's campus the day after we spent THE ENTIRE day at Fenway. We had to tour Fenway, but they bitched about me taking pictures of the library at Harvard.

Okay, I'm gonna try and be positive now. Try try try try. Thank god for technology, alcohol, and the ability to walk the hell away from them all.

I mean, because really, I'm spending Thanksgiving in Hawaii. And eating here a few days after. Be jealous. Be very jealous.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Fight, Flight, and having a Dream

This is gonna ramble a bit, so bear with me, we'll get to a point, eventually...

Wednesday, November 10, 2010


There's a lot going on in my teeny tiny brain. So LIST!

Tuesday, November 9, 2010


I'm still recovering from the burning shame of Saturday night. I feel REALLY stupid. Which, considering all the stupid shit you guys know I am capable of, is saying something. I get the genesis of it, in my self analyzing way, but still...it was pretty dumb and deflating.

Also: Bar results come out shortly. I don't want to dwell on it. Dwelling on it leads to drinking which leads to the stupid decisions which leads to the shame. It's the ccciiirrrccllleee of liiiifffeeeee!

I was starting to secretly, silently in my uber-superstitious, non-jinx juice, crazy kind of way, getting pumped about bar results. People have faith in me! It's gonna be finnneee. Then I read my blog post about the bar exam. Yeah. THAT was a bad idea. Make the sound of air being let out of a balloon. That's exactly how I feel. Wow. So I get to just sit here and be anxious until results come out in ten days? How much fun is that!?! Thanks, State of California Bar Examiners! Totally appreciate that!

So excuse me if I am hiding under the covers until that happens and ignoring everyone. I don't want to think about it. I sure as fuck don't want to talk about it. It's hard NOT to think about it, but I don't want to think about it. At all. Nope. Not thinking about it. (Totally thinking about it.)

I don't really want to hide under the covers, either. I would like to be out there savoring this fall weather and getting back to that "Let's go DO stuff!" me I was a mere three weeks ago but...meh. That's about all I got. Meh. Which is how I cover up all consuming anxiety.

Things currently making me anxious:
1. Asian Carp
2. Pregnancy (Something I am definitely NOT, to be clear, but fuck that Kaiser ad gives me nightmares. Allison Janney's voice scares me in it. The commercial is even scarier. Like anyone taking a pregnancy test isn't between 16-35 and hoping to god NOT to be pregnant. Idiots.)
3. The disaster area that is my room and where to even begin to tackle it
5. Bar exam results. Obvs.
6. Chocolate shortages?! WTF, universe?!
7. The possibility, amazing hypothetical possibility, that puts LSU in the BCS National Title game. (I'm pretty sure this is like a billion to 1. Since the likelihood of going to and then winning our conference championship game is slim to none as Auburn has a pretty good lock on the SEC West, and even the BCS isn't stupid enough to put a school that didn't win it's conference championship in the national championship game assuming Auburn lost that game to a weak SEC East, I don't think this happens. And we still have 3 regular season games to win and I could totally see Arkansas playing spoiler in this scenario. Fucking college football.)

Alright, that's my short rant on all things right now. I hope it explains crankiness over the next ten days. Basically, I'm just apologizing in advance for hating everything. Cuz that's how I roll, bitches!

I have to go make soup now. Something I really don't feel like doing. I really want to eat pizza and watch bad TV. Which I might do tomorrow. Cuz I CAN!

That is all.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

"You got a friend in me..."

This song suddenly comes to mind. I do far less stupid shit when in the company of my compadres, my amigos, my homies. And they also say amazing, fantastic things to get you right where you need to be.

Saturday night was full of epic stupidness. Crushing rejection. Moronic...something. It was FAIL. And it was my own doing. I made a drunken ass out of myself. What else is new? Wait. Actually. I don't always make an ass out of myself. And when I DON'T make an ass out of myself is when I am with my amazing friends. But I was solo. And solo me is all kinds of retarded. I won't get too into it (most of you know the highlights), but yeah. Let's not do that again, mkay?

Oh: but LSU beat Bama and THAT was fucking awesome! Strutting in my LSU stuff after a big win always makes me happy. Strut strut strut strut. Oh, also, Michael? This. And this. Remember the chance of rain is....NEVER! When the sun finds its home in the Western sky...it is Saturday night in Death Valley! (This made me think: I don't really want to celebrate passing the bar. Fuck the bar. I want to celebrate with you guys watching the Ole Miss game. Will send out an email later...sorry for the digression, everyone else.) Dave didn't realize what a huge LSU fan I was. He made an off handed crack in an email and I came back full force. He was taken aback, that I got upset about that and not the other cracks he made. Um. Yeah. Then he was on the phone with Chuck yesterday while I was screaming in the background. He couldn't believe it. Then today, as I was in my comfy LSU sweatshirt and purple Uggs, he laughs that my nails are painted purple. Why is that surprising? Yeah. He had no idea. We are gonna change that.

I also adore that last night the conversation turned to Michael, Chuck and I going on a trip to a game next season. I told them I already had Florida circled on the calendar, though may have to change that for the grudge match against Auburn. Maybe attending the *no jinx no jinx no jinx* bowl game if it happens to be in New Orleans.

Even after Saturday night, I still had Sunday plans to be back at Michael's to BBQ with Dave, Sara, Chuck and Michael. I woke up pretty sure I was still drunk. My inability to even contemplate tying my shoes leads me to believe that was probably true. My failure at buying ice also leads me to believe that was true. So I show up, talk to Michael and Chuck, mention the failures of the previous night to which Chuck says, "Don't take it to much to heart." Something I appreciate. I also think he worries about me occasionally which I also appreciate. Michael wants the details and listens, offering his own take and advice. Again, I appreciate that. There is never any judgement or telling me I'm an idiot (I got that part covered). They're just my friends.

And then Sara and Dave showed up. I haven't seen them since...Labor Day, I think. And I'm talking to Sara about nothing in particular, I make some offhand remark about being slutty, she makes sort of a concerned face, says not to devalue myself that way, I say I was joking (kinda) and she says, "I thought you were like seeing someone...?" And I say, "Funny you should bring that up. It sort of just fizzled, for whatever reason, but he texted me last night and I gave him what for that I think he deserved." Sara stops and says, "Ya know...I hope you're clear about what you deserve. Because you're like really cool and awesome and chill and you just really deserve to be treated well." Dave is sitting there and sort of starts to laugh and be like, "Whoa!" I look at her, and I know she's really genuine in that moment and I say, in all sincerity, "Thank you. Really. I needed to hear that."Sara and I also talked about the fact that I don't really have a plan for my life. She says that's amazing and being open is really great. I liked her perspective on it because it mostly scares the crap out of me.

Sara is a counselor and she just has this amazing way about her, of saying the right things at the right time. I told her that I try to be that way but that it's not always easy and that some of the behavior I'm not thrilled with but I know why I'm doing it so there is a level of self awareness there. So it was a great moment and I realize that I adore having these people in my life. I feel like I should thank the friend that is no longer my friend for that, because it all traces back to her.

The lesson is: have your friends get your back. Don't go all loan wolf on this shit. 

In essence: I love you guys. *single tear, slow clap*

Tuesday, November 2, 2010


I was gonna save this 'til I could speak rationally about it but, I can't sleep (and just got a text message), so why not now?

Wow. Just fucking WOW.

Here's the thing: We all knew this was gonna happen. We all KNEW we were gonna win. This team. This scrappy, rag tag mafioso of misfits and outcasts, we just knew. Somewhere in our bones we knew that this young, insanely good pitching staff would carry us through. That all those torturous close games all season long had just been a proving ground for us to handle any kind of pressure. That some bat, on some night, would come through when we needed it to. That's how it's worked all season long.

Not one superstar. Not even one regular star. Just a series of guys having fun, playing baseball, enjoying the hell out of it. There's the crazy like a fox, incredibly intelligent, but out of his mind closer. The journeyman first baseman who has never been on a winning team and his college teammate who was almost out of the game. There's the ROY candidate who they debated about bringing up from the minors. The guy we picked up off of waivers WAIVERS just to keep away from San Diego who ends up being the MVP of the NLCS.

And we knew. We knew going to Texas that we had this. We won games 1 & 2 decisively. We lost one. We regrouped. No one else knew. No one in the national media had any idea. But we knew.

But still. You're cautious. You have to be. As a sports fan, it is your duty to be pessimistic. You never ever say, "Yeah, we totes got this." It's jinx juice. You shouldn't even THINK overly confident. Because a good sports fan is always waiting for it all to come crashing down. For every nerve racking, torturous 1 run win by these Giants, there is a corresponding nerve racking, torturous 1 run loss. (Good god, look at that end of June stretch.)

And Giants fans? We've been here before. We've been so close and watched it implode.

But not this time. Because we totes got this.

Like I said yesterday, it wasn't this way all season. I think I attended more losses than wins. I shook my head in disgust at silent bats. I watched a miserable outing v. the Brewers in person. (A game that should have been about 11-0 and is not accurately reflected in the 3-0 that it was.) We watched Zito and Lincecum struggle. For most of the season we got just plain crazy Brian Wilson working us into a jam in seemingly every game. We grounded into double plays over and over and over again. We left men on base, something so frustrating that my dad said, "Well, at least we do it consistently."

But then. Then the stars aligned. Wilson, with the most saves in a season in franchise history, became a master of his domain. (I would say that started with going into the All Star game and just straight dominating.) Timmy found his rhythm. Zito didn't, but that's okay, others did. Cain, who for so long has been the quiet, steady pitching leader of this team, got the run support when he needed it. And a 21 year old from North Carolina who, and I will never get over this, bought his wife a bull calf for her birthday, just straight dealed. Cody Ross became a hero. Edgar Renteria became a hero. Pat Burrell...as Andy tweeted: In 2 World Series appearances, Burrell is 1-27 at the plate. And yet has 2 world series rings. Baseball. What's not to love?

And it was ours. It was gloriously and completely ours. That trophy, with all the pointy little pennants, was coming to San Francisco for the first time ever. EVER.

Orange and black never looked so good...

Monday, November 1, 2010


People will tell you that baseball is boring. Those people will be wrong. I won't wax poetic on why it's not. Far smarter people have done that far better than I ever could.

I've mentioned before, several times, that once upon a time I loved baseball. But then I left it and developed a deep and abiding, though often times tumultuous, love affair with college football, which persists to this day.

Tonight I'll tell you the story of why I first loved baseball and how I came back to it.