Tuesday, April 26, 2011


I'm still sick. I'm sort of convinced I'm dying. I'd say that is meant in a joking way but I'm not getting any better so I figure the end result is either I get over this STAT or I just die. The lack of concern amongst my family is...amusing. And sure, there's slight hyperbole there but really I'm tired of hacking up my lungs, feeling unable to do anything, not going to the gym. Tomorrow. I better freaking feel better by tomorrow. I've sucked down enough cough syrup, vitamin C, DayQuil, and vitamins that this shouldn't be unrealistic. ENOUGH!

The whole thing just leaves you feeling so vulnerable. Vulnerable to the whims of the universe, to the frailties of your body, to the impending doom of death as you hit the other side of a birthday that ends in 0 and is not twenty.

The seeming constant reminders lately that I am not in fact in my twenties anymore, not understanding over my head pop culture references (I flipping hate the term Swag), feeling like everyone is finally getting their sh*t (I'm trying not to swear so much anymore) together while I live this sad in between life is...GGGUUUUHHHH. (I know, I know, po' po' pitiful me.)

Linds deservedly passed the New Hampshuh bar this week and while I am stoked for Linds it was the first time in my "la la la la la denial!" approach to my own bar results that I had to finally be like, "Crapballs. Our results are coming out soon too! What if I DON'T pass?" I don't have an answer to that. I sorta know what I want to do with my life. I need to suck it up and figure out if that is in fact possible. And that plan doesn't actually involve needing a bar card. So. Ya know. If that doesn't work: Florida or Alabama bar. Screw it. I want out of California. A sassy lady lawyer in the South with her west coast ideals sounds perfect for hiring, right? If not, I take the experience and turn it into a book that gets optioned for a script. (Oh wait. A girl from my high school already did that. Awesome. Even my crazy life plan isn't original.)

I also went to Easter Brunch. And because of said illness, it took a good 24 hours before I realized all the things my brother said that were totally insulting. Sigh. I've just come to the conclusion our relationship will always sorta suck. He's so, just, arrogant. Which isn't me at all. My mom asked his girlfriend at one point, "Do you think he's as handsome as he thinks he is?" She didn't respond directly but said that her 3 year old told her the other day, "D's very handsome." So even the little kids are hoodwinked. He made sure to drop some "I hang out with Brian Wilson" stories at brunch. Because he does. I got some good ones in too, something about him having a Ducati and me just saying totally straight faced, "Yeah. That's bullshit." My mom laughed. He's just...ya know...kind of an idiot and the one person I'm not quick witted around so I find it frustrating. And, as I told Linds, there is unfortunately truth to some of his cutting comments so I have to reevaluate and change my behavior. Not because he said something but because I need to. Which is even more annoying.

Other than that I could REALLY use my tax money. Like really really and I don't have it which is...guh, a whole 'nother issue. The crushing law school debt being a reality starts to get scary. Must. Find. Job.

And I feel like I failed at my first paid writing assignment just because I took foreevcerr in my usual procrastination fashion, foot dragging self when I didn't really have to. I mean, the amount of time to actual write stuff and get back a whole bunch of "wow that was brilliant" responses? Surprisingly little time. (Go ahead say something about my cynical nature because I would get back the glowing reviews and be like, "Um, does editor dude know from good writing? Because seriously, this is me." Issues. I haz 'em.)

That's all the horribly depressing crap in my brain. Hockey break? Hockey break. ('Nucks beat the 'Hawks in overtime and it. was. glorious.) I'm looking forward to the Caps playing again later this week. And once I get my tax money Imma finally buy this shirt.

(Oh, wait, minor rant: I wanted to tweet something earlier, even realizing it's not like I have a million twitter followers or anything, and realized that because of the girls/sports fandom dichotomy I would undercut any good will I have as an actual fan by girly tweeting. Which is bullshit. I have looked at more pictures of models than I would like, listened to misogynistic comments about golfer's wives, had guys make comments about girls sitting behind benches. But if I tweet about how pouty and gorgeous Mike Cammalleri's lips are? Not a real fan. But here? I can do what I want. So:

Mike Cammalleri has soft pouty lips

And in the Pens/Lightning series? Both coaches are hotter than should be allowed in Dan Bylsma and Guy Boucher. Phew. Done.)

I'm going to bed so that I hopefully don't feel awful tomorrow.

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