Monday, January 30, 2012

4th & Goal (More on Sports)

Have I ever told you about my friend D? I love D. In a totally platonic way. I paid him to be my trainer for about 3 years where he acted as part trainer/part therapist. During that time, despite the initial paid arrangement, D became a great friend.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Doctors v Lawyers (Sports Blogging)

I seriously hadn't planned on this being how I spent my sunny afternoon but I figured I had to clarify something that I tweeted and was retweeted by someone with almost 10k followers.

In case you weren't aware, and I don't always blog this fact, I spend an inordinate amount of time wondering about sports issues from CBAs to intellectual property rights to contract structure to the exploitation of the college athlete. On and on and on. The business side of sports, or even just the away from the playing of sports, fascinates me endlessly. (I'm looking for work, everyone! I'll do jusssst about anything.) 

To that end, between sports law in both undergrad and law school, entertainment law, into even business law and intellectual property which all tie in, I've had some actual schooling on these topics. 

When it came out this afternoon that Sidney Crosby, star player for the Pittsburgh Penguins who has missed over an entire season of hockey due to concussions, apparently also had fractured vertebrae that was somehow "missed" by team doctors, my first thought was, "Well, there's that complicated conflict of interest I've often (quietly and to myself) questioned before." In fairness to those doctors, my second thought was, "None of the people that I follow on Twitter are MDs so maybe there is more to how this got 'missed' than we know?" 

Chris Jones, who I realize has a complicated internet relationship with people I count as friends, said, "Given Sidney Crosby, Colt McCoy, the Mets, the Red Sox... There is an important story to be done on athletes and their medical care." 

Again, as this is something I take a personal interest in, the way some people take up knitting or video game playing, I tweeted in response to his comment, "Always wondered about the divided concern of drs to players when team pays directly for their services. Seems...complicated." 

The fact that a team pays a doctor creates a relationship wherein the doctor is beholden to the team.  For obvious reasons I can imagine the doctor wanting to keep that job. That is a high profile, money making gig that probably helps him in his private practice/popularity. Even people who act as gods in operating rooms probably had some fascination with sports growing up, why wouldn't you want to work for a team? However, because of the nature of being employed by the team, the doctor's loyalty may at times run in direct opposition to what is best for his patient. The team's goal (win the most games possible to bring in revenue to be a successful corporation) may run in direct conflict of interest with the player's needs (get healthy, have a long and successful career, not die young of brain problems). How does a doctor rectify that situation? (Honest question. I truly don't know.) 

To expand on my point I said in a tweet directed at Chris Jones, "As lawyers we'd never be able to rep a team AND the player in a matter of overlapping concern. Drs shouldn't."

Chris Jones said that was a good parallel and proceeded to retweet my comment. Not even gonna pretend that for me and my myriad of insecurity issues, despite his aforementioned complicated relationship with my friends, to be retweeted by a writer for a magazine I used to fantasize about writing at didn't feel really good. 

Still, my immediate thought after tweeting that was, "I shouldn't have said never." Obviously it's not never. There are some situations in which it would be okay. If a player was suspended and a team lawyer represented him at a hearing, that's probably all fine. But there the team and the player's interests are concurrent: be suspended as short a time as possible. 

If a player was arrested for a criminal act, the team could ask the team lawyer to help out, but it would have to, under our ethic rules in California, be made very clear to the player who the lawyer represented and that if it was in the best interest of the team to have the player plea out and keep it quiet than to fight the charge, that is what the lawyer might direct the player to do as his responsibility is to the team, not the player. The player has to consent, in writing, to such an arrangement. It'd often be advisable for the player to get his own lawyer, even with informed consent. Which he likely has. I'll say that again: A player likely has his own lawyer. So shouldn't he also have his own doctor who is putting his interests before that of the team? Because even with informed consent for team representation on a civil or criminal matter, there are far too many ways for things to go wrong that complicate our ethics and inhibit our ability to provide the best advocacy that an attorney would likely avoid doing it.

I'm guessing implicit in this all is that a doctor's edict is "first do no harm". We expect them to follow that. But doctor's are lawyers with medical degrees, meaning fallible and human and thus prone to put concerns like job security and winning now over winning later and shoot him full of cortisone and get him back on the field attitudes before the overall health and well being of a player. They are human. And if memory serves (I'll look for a citation later), in the NFL (I'm unsure about other sports), a player is required to use the team doctor for treatment during the season. That's a scary thought: the guy whose advice you HAVE to take on medical issues is being paid to do what's in the best interest of your employer, not necessarily you. 

Continuing on the legal analogy, if the teams needs were in direct conflict with a player's needs, like contract negotiations, there is no way in god's green earth a lawyer could rep the player and the team. It flies in the face of our code of ethics where we are to offer zealous representation to our clients. If you don't know who the client is, or the clients have completely opposing interests (team to pay as little as necessary, player to make as much as possible), how is that supposed to work? It doesn't. It's unfair to one side or the other. We're simply not allowed to do it, even with all the informed consent in the world. (This conflict arises often with player's agents. How do you rep multiple clients playing the same position in a sport who are up for free agency at the same time and ensure that they both get fair deals? How are you not hanging one out to dry to the advantage of the other? Sticky. A discussion for another time...)

Our job is to be an advocate, and the law won't simply let a client sign that right away against his interest. You have to have someone represent you and only you, whether it's in criminal or civil matters. We allow that person to be yourself but no player could simply say to the team, "Eh, whatever your guy comes up with is fine." He could immediately contest that contract in court as unfair on its face. So why do we let doctors do essentially this? 

If a player needs ample time to heal, or a surgery that is going to take him out of the game for some time, or to even be told that his career is over, but the team has invested a great deal of time, money, and resources into such a player, or even if they haven't, which is probably worse because they have even less concern about how he heals, and there is a solution that patches him up quickly and gets him back out there, what should the doctor do? Even assuming a doctor went to the team, which he likely has to do as they are his employer, and said, "This time consuming course of action is best, but there is a quick fix available alternative that might not last as long and require more surgery later," after which the team takes door number 2, isn't that at the very least problematic? I imagine that even if the doctor knows option one is in the best interest of his patient, the player, he has to do what the team says or risk firing, knowing that to help the team some other doctor will do what he is hesitant to. That sort of hanging job insecurity creates an ugly dynamic between team, player, and doctor. Ugh. I worry about these kids, I really really do. I know they have agents and managers and people paid to look out for their best interests but do they have zealous advocates? Crosby is only 24. I don't think at 24 I would have been able to advocate successfully in my best interests. Or even known that I needed to be advocating for my best interests. 

I'm not saying that doctor negligence or putting a team first over individual interests is what happened to Crosby. Or even what happens generally. In fact, the Penguins organization seems to have been as diligent as they possibly can in this case, at least from my reading of the situation (though upon further reading, Crosby's "unhappiness" with staff in Pittsburgh may say otherwise). Still...the doctor/patient/team relationship is one, as Chris Jones pointed out, in which an in depth look is needed by someone with far more journalistic skill than I possess for the conflict and problems it can create in the health of pro athletes.

(You can read more about Crosby here via PuckDaddy.) 


This kid from my high school class was on Jeopardy Thursday night. He's a doctor in the Army now. He won. I was annoyed. (This is one of those posts where I use my blog as a form of therapy to talk out a problem because lolz lack of universal health care! You've been warned.)

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Getting Old

I got cat called on my walk home from the gym the other day. (Yes, I'm so masochistic at this point I walk to and from the gym. It's about a half mile each way. The way home is obviously way less fun than the walk there. Not that going to the gym is fun period but being fat is less fun. The link in our society between traditional "pretty" and what that gets you is...could fill lots of books. Ugh. It's depressing. But not why I'm doing it! Health and self esteem and all that other good stuff. Side effect: traditionally pretty. Anyway, I, obviously, digress...)

Down the street from my house is a middle school and on the walk home from the gym, to avoid the hills of this city, I cut through the park that is adjacent to the school and then walk next to the school building before getting to my block.

I had my headphones on and my gym bag slung across me. As I walked by the school, prepubescent teenage boys stuck their head out of a third story window and shouted "Nice ass!" I glanced up, more annoyed than anything, but kept walking. I was exhausted from the gym. And also sweaty and disgusting.

They giggled in the way idiot prepubescent boys do, probably shocked that they hadn't been caught or scolded and proceeded to yell it out the window again, "Nice ass!" before slamming the window closed.

My first reaction was "God! They could at least be realistic. I don't actually have a nice ass. And I look like crap." Insecurity is an amazing thing. I realized, intellectually, that of course they were just mimicking something that saw on TV/heard at home. They could have yelled anything. It didn't really matter. My ass was irrelevant.

My second thought was this, "I should march in there, figure out who these little bastards are and teach them a lesson on the objectification of women because this is seriously uncalled for! I mean, I'm an educated human being and these shits are yelling comments at me based solely on a physical feature? The hell? What is WRONG with our world?!" (Righteous indignation for a thousand please, Alex.)

I don't know if there's clearer proof of adulthood than that. I wanted to lecture these young boys on why this was inappropriate? What has happened to me?

I didn't for a couple of reasons:
1) I was, as mentioned, on my way home from the gym. Stopping off in a rage at the local middle school after an hour of cardio was not something I had the energy for. Under different circumstances? Maybe. I dunno. I might have been more likely to chalk it up to youthful idiocy if I hadn't just spent an hour sweating my ass off (sorry) at the gym in an attempt to fit more into society's view of traditional beauty.

2) It's not my job to parent or teach these little public school miscreants. Takes a village blah blah blah, sure. And I actually don't doubt that a stern talking to by a stranger can have an impact, but... I dunno. At some point someone else who is far more qualified will teach them this stuff, right? (That's actually stupid logic, as even I see it now. If they're doing it at 12, like they're gonna stop at 15? Like someone in our education system is gonna give them a lesson on gender inequality and why you shouldn't do that to women? I'd love to have that much faith. But I went to private school and those guys were misogynistic assholes. Can you imagine if you DON'T have guidance? Guhhh.)

I just will never get used to having these little moments where I have these "adult" reactions to things. It's very bizarre as most of the time I still feel 15. I have thoughts on many other things lately: wealth, waste, interpersonal relationships, ignorance, trust/inability to, honesty and ethics...all these grown up thoughts. And yet, still not a fully formed human being. Sigh.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Football Food Returns (Kinda)

It's football playoffs. For those of you who still care. My season ended. We're not talking about it.

We're midway though the hockey season as far as I'm concerned. (I watch so much NHL on the Fly at this point that I go to bed at night with foreign born player names running through my head. Which is basically all of them because Canada is a foreign country. (They spell defense and offense wrong.) (Oh, and if someone can explain why Saskatchewan accents sound like they're from Finland, I'd appreciate that. Perplexes me.))

But I wanted to tell you about an addicting recipe. One that is not mine but is stupid easy (as per usual) and your friends will enjoy if you want to trot something out for the inevitable Super Bowl party, whether the 49ers make it or not.*

Friday, January 13, 2012

When all else fails...

pull on the parental heart strings.

(This post is coming a little late. I got all distracted by that whole losing the National Title thing/new year exercise regimen.)

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Bourbon & Time Eases All Pain

In January of 2004 LSU went to the BCS title game and played the University of Oklahoma. The game took place in the Superdome in New Orleans and was the first time LSU had sniffed the national title since 1958. It was a BIG DEAL. In fact, with 1958 being LSU's ONLY national title, it was the biggest deal. And I was lucky enough to still be at school there. (In my super super senior year, what of it?)

I drove the 75 miles down I-10 to New Orleans, taking the exit that wraps around the Superdome and parking in my favorite lot at the Hilton at the end of Canal Street, with the person I was dating at the time, before heading into the throngs of people along Poydras Street. I joined revelers in purple and gold in the cold January air.

We didn't have tickets to the game. They were an impossible get. You had to know someone in congress and pray that you were well liked by them. I was not that well connected.

We'd actually gone to an LSU girls basketball game earlier that day to try and win tickets, they were giving away a pair as a promo. We weren't that lucky.

Down in New Orleans, the air was electric. And freezing. I had very little discretionary money with which to buy tickets. I was a broke undergrad. (Ugh. How little has changed terrifies me.)

If you've been following along at home, you know I have amazing observational skills. They often serve me well. I notice this group of three guys standing a little ways off to the side of me, after we'd been walking up and down the street for a few hours trying to procure tickets to no avail. They seemed like corporate types, as they weren't adorned in the colors of either institution. I hear them discussing an extra ticket. "We can't scalp it. That's illegal. What do we do with it?" I like to imagine that their missing compatriot was passed out in his hotel room after enjoying too much of what New Orleans has to offer.

Upon overhearing this conversation, I interject that they are allowed to sell the ticket outside the stadium, just only for face value. (In retrospect these many years later, I should have just told them they could give it to me. Missed opportunities for a thousand please, Alex.) They then hem and haw before turning back to me and say, "Well, do you want it?" Why, yes, fine corporate gentleman with no rooting interest, I ABSOLUTELY will take that pesky lone ticket off your hands. I fork over the $200 for the ticket.

And promptly went about looking to resell it.

I know. You just gasped. "But how could you?! You LOVE LSU football! More than anything!"

Yes. Yes, I do. But at that moment in time I don't think my love of LSU football had cemented itself in my brain as completely as it has at this later point in life, if that makes any sense. And I was dating someone at the time who was very important to me and who I knew that there was no way in god's green earth I could possibly ever leave alone in New Orleans without having to bail that person out of jail later. I really didn't want that happening. Unable to procure a second ticket, I did the next best thing and sold it, flaunting the scalping laws of Louisiana.

I sold the ticket for a $300 profit to an Oklahoma fan. (It seemed unethical to rip off a Louisiana fan. In retrospect, a rich alumn might not have cared but younger me didn't consider things that way.)

Also, and I have no idea how it is post Katrina, but the Superdome used to be one of the worst venues in sports. Not sitting there cramped was alright by me.

I was perfectly content having free money with which to find a table at a nearby sports bar and drinking and eating without worrying about how much I couldn't afford it/finding bail money later. The person I was dating was afraid I was going to hate them for life, trading being together for being at the game. Even after we broke up and there was no love lost there (though, this is me, I'm completely apathetic at this point), I honestly don't regret not being in the dome at the game. Being in New Orleans, hanging with my fellow LSU lovers, being around the environment was plenty for me. I would have felt the same way were I down there this time and unable to get into the game. (I more regret being responsible about my job and leaving the city early to be at work the next day.)

We ended up at the House of Blues, drank beers, ate snacks, watched LSU break Oklahoma's will and ultimately win the game. I was elated. We were newly crowned national champions!

Once the game ended, we made our way immediately out of HoB and down Bourbon St., still not crowded yet as the throngs had yet to catch up to us. We were headed to Port of Call on Esplenade for a celebratory burger. On our walk, my companion had to make a pit stop. So we ducked into Lafitte's Blacksmith Tavern. I waited in the main part of the bar, worried I'd get kicked out of there because I wasn't buying anything. As I stood awkwardly (so much of my life is standing awkwardly it seems), I noticed a girl bawling her eyes out at the bar. She was with someone, but along with my natural observation skills is a natural nosyness, the curse of being the daughter of cops. I go to see what's going on and ask her if she's okay. I don't remember her being adorned in Oklahoma gear but she might have been.

Through gasping sobs she tells me, "I can't believe we lost!" I console her, half laughing, and say, "Awww! Sweetie! It'll be okay! It's just a football game. There will be others!" She says, "It's just not fair! You don't understand! You have all this (motions to our surroundings, meaning the city of New Orleans)! All we have is (sobs) (sobs)...COWS!" I genuinely laughed, gave her a hug, rejoined my companion after being assured this poor Sooners fan was safe, and went on my way.

It remains, to my mind, one of the funniest football related interactions I have ever had.

Until tonight. Not so much with the laughs. It should have occurred to me then, especially considering my school hadn't been there in almost 50 years, that these opportunities don't often present themselves. Even if you're an Oklahoma fan with 7 titles under your belt. Even if you're an LSU fan going to the title game for the 3rd time in a decade. It may come on the heels of another 50 year drought.

I went into today not really feeling it. I was having a hard time, feeling depressed, with a lot of tangential stuff related to game buildup/not being there, as mentioned a few posts ago, and other bigger life stuff. I just...I don't know. I knew without knowing? I tried to be excited. I wanted to be excited, the way I had been for Oregon and Florida and Auburn and West Virginia (Bama 1 carries way too much crap with it) but I just wasn't. Which made me feel worse somehow. LSU is playing in THE biggest game of the year and I can't get off the mat for it? What is wrong with me? (Rhetorical question.)

I stayed at home and watched the game with my favorite junk food, Abita, and Chuck watching with me. The dogs were annoying the piss out of me, despite making sure to run them at the dog park so that they wouldn't be crazy, which didn't have the desired effect, until I finally kicked them out and could focus on the game. It didn't work. I was in all my LSU gear, head to toe, top to bottom, and yet...

It was pointless. I'm not gonna break down the game. There are far smarter people than me who can do that. You can look at the score and know a lot: 21-0. Our defense kept us in it a lot longer than we probably deserved. The offense was just...there aren't even words. I swore up a storm on Twitter. By the 4th quarter, when we couldn't get our offense moving even given chances, I started watching hockey highlights. I couldn't take it.

It likely would have been easier to stomach a well fought battle or a close game. "Chin up, chaps! You fought hard and came up short in the end! Cheer cheer!" You can always say that at the end of a game you are contending in (if you're in Dickensian England anyway). But we were never ever in this. We lost the coin toss. We could have stopped there. However, even in such a thorough shellacking, I'm less likely to slit my wrists than I thought I would be. It's likely been replaced by rage at wondering WTFF my head coach was thinking because I am at a complete and total loss.

But it was only replaced by rage after the tears.*

I suddenly knew exactly where that Oklahoma fan was coming from. In a world where, as you get older, so much is a grind and things suck and you feel a bit helpless, college football is our bright spot. To come to the top of the mountain, to be the best of the best, to have dominated every opponent all season long (save for Bama 1 which was still a win, mind you), to go through the elation of it and the nerves, to tie your hopes to that of your teams, only to then watch it all just wash away in such a spectacular failure is an awful awful feeling. It's never JUST a football game.

And we are left for the next 8 months with that collective failure as our football legacy. Just...ugh.

We try to put the anger and rage and hurt away, channeling it into something useful (at least that's what I'll do. I hope the team does as well), and circle November 3, 2012 on the calendar for the rematch. A night game in Tiger Stadium.

There is one upside: I feel a lot less despondent about not being in New Orleans for the game. I'm not convinced even my presence could have willed my team to a win. I'll save/get/make/steal money and hope to have the opportunity to attend the aforementioned rematch. I thought I'd be angry with this team, this game, the coaching for a long time. I thought I'd have a "Guh, I don't even want to watch this!" attitude in September. I could envision it all in my head. But even a mere five hours after the game, the rage begins to subside and you start to think about rebuilding. Hope springs eternal each first Saturday of the football season.

An aside: Our head coach at the time of the 2004 game was Nick Saban. And every time on ESPN all night tonight whenever they would mention this win being his third national title, as he raised that crystal ball over his head, I would get so angry that they left out the part where the first one was AT MY SCHOOL. Though: as the stinging emotions of this night do wane, I'm much happier with Les as the captain of this wacky, zany ship than I think I would ever have been with Saban and his stick up his ass ways. You keep him, Bama.

As I mentioned on Twitter, and became the title of this post: bourbon and time eases all pain. Let's raise a glass and start prepping for 2012. 

Geaux Tigahs.

*To clarify: there were no gasping sobs. I was not the wreck the poor Oklahoma fan was. I was sober, despite a few Abitas, and more enraged than anything. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't tear up a bit at it all.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Don't ask the fat girl too many questions

I renewed my gym membership just before the new year. It had expired at the gym I've been going to for a few years and the cheaper option was to buy the 2 year commitment from Costco, even though I really don't want to be tied to that gym for the next two years. (Though they do have outposts all over the place so hopefully WHEN I get the hell out of SF, I can use it elsewhere.)

Anyway, since my membership had lapsed before being renewed I had to deal with the super enthusiastic, mid-20s, athletically built membership counselor rather than just having it automatically renew with no hassle.

I was handed a short form by the girl at the desk to fill out first. Ya know, basic name, address information.

To put this in context: it was new year's eve. An evening I feel more pressure about being single than even Valentine's Day. On Valentine's Day you can hide for the whole day, talk about how completely ridiculous the day is, make fun of couples giving each other stuffed bears, and not feel like a pariah.

New Year's Eve? When that clock strikes midnight and you're not kissing someone, whether at intimate party or full blown amateur hour bar scene, you feel awkward and uncomfortable and oh look there's some champagne I'll just drink more of that, thanks. Therefore, I was feeling a little touchy.

So I'm at the gym on New Year's eve day, because I hate myself apparently, and I'm filling out the form mindlessly when I get to the question that says, "What is your marital status?" with a check box for married and one for single. And I completely balk. Oh hell no. I'm not answering that. WTF does that have to do with me working out? Not a damn thing. In the crowded, noisy gym I even say out loud, "Oh! I'm not answering that!" The fit, sincere, 20-something dude who has approached to take me to the computer stations and officially get me re-registered says, "It's just so we can determine if you can add a family membership or..." I interject that "It's still none of your damn business! I'm not answering that." I dramatically draw a line through the question. He laughs nervously. (Pretty sure my reaction was a good indication I'm single as f*ck. Ya think?)

I do actually take umbrage with the way it was phrased. If you have a live in partner they don't count? Civil union? It simply had married and single as the options. So...only married people can add a membership to their account? In a culturally diverse city with a myriad of terms for who people are to each other, it seemed narrowly tailored. Still, probably not the most reasonable/best time to bring up my objections to the gym's policy.

We're now seated at the computer stations where he's typing all the information I put on the card into the computer. And he has to give me the mega-gym pre-approved questions about what my fitness goals are. I really just want to hop back on the elliptical and be left alone. I'm not a chatty gym goer to begin with. I'm also a bit (more than usual) out of sorts because I haven't been able to work out at the gym in over a month, waiting for funds to come in. Long walks on the beach only do so much for my mental health. As much as exercise is not fun, it amazingly does have an affect on your mood. Who knew, right? Because of that though, I'm in no mood to exchange chit chat with the well meaning, way too healthy gym employee. Just punch in the info, have me sign what I need to sign and let me be on my way. But no. That's not how it's gonna go.

He asks me what my fitness goals are. I pause. I really don't want to answer. It's none of this stranger's business what my fitness goals are. If I wanted to dump my shit on someone, I would trade my gym membership for a therapist (which I also can't afford. Hysterical!). "My goals? To not be insecure and hate my body. To fit into expensive brand name jeans and visit the skinny girl section at Nordstrom with the trendy clothes and maybe buy something age inappropriate, cheaply made, and slutty looking at Forever 21. Those are my goals, jackass. What do you think of dem apples?" are all the things I didn't say. I may have even tried to deflect the question but overly eager gym employee is looking at me all big eyes and I'm just like "guhhhh." In a moment of complete snark, without even really thinking about it, I say, "Well my goal is to be a supermodel but seeing as how I'm not 17 and 5'11" I'm not sure how realistic that is so we'll just go with 'to be healthier', mkay?" He again laughs nervously.

He continues, "So we have a special on personal training..." I am vigorously shaking my head no. "Look, I barely have money for the membership, I don't have money for a trainer. Thanks." He punches in more info. It feels like I've been at this computer terminal for twenty minutes now. "Can you just show me the screen and let ME type in the info? This will go faster," I want to implore. And I'm feeling a little bad. I mean, again, this kid is nice. He's doing his job. He means well. But I'm seriously, ridiculously, completely in no mood to be accommodating. I just wanted to get to the gym and get signed in before the new years rush of people that go to the gym twice for their resolutions and are never seen again.

After what feels like another interminably long time he says, "And what do you usually do when you come to the gym? What's your routine?" I realize that these aren't THE most personal questions in the history of the world. He's not asking me how many sexual partners I've had or when the last time I drank to excess was but it's just more than I can handle at the moment. I recognized that the point of his question is so that he can then tell me about all the wonderful classes they have blah blah so I respond this way, "I do cardio when I come here and some of the weight machines. I am a put on your headphones do not interact with anyone gym goer. I don't do classes, I don't talk to people. I just get in and get out." I actually probably should have let him hand me a class schedule because I am interested in taking classes, but again: no mood.

This last retort is when he likely gives up on me. Which I'm okay with. He finally fills in all the little boxes on the computer screen and gets the membership activated and I am free to, mercifully, go on my way. To get one last workout in before the new year.

Ugh. The gym, man. Just...ya know?

As we start the new year, and my month lay off from gym going means workouts are painful, I offer you a comedic aside on gym going. You're welcome!

May you all have happy and healthy 2012's, where you achieve that goal of supermodel looks. I know I will.

Friday, January 6, 2012

New Year...same me

I've been trying to get it together to write a New Year's post but been unable to. Until now, I suppose.