Raisins the clown

I finally got the makeup I ordered like five weeks ago. I generally wouldn't buy makeup online, but it was a special launch deal where everything was $1, so I figured what the hell. The lip gloss is good. The blush is definitely a little too pink. Like scary-clown pink. And I am pretty sure I didn't order eyeshadow in a silver/dark blue color palette. Not that these colors wouldn't look awesome on a fair-skinned redhead. Whatever. At least I finally have an eyeshadow brush, which is fun. Now I just need some eye shadow.

I do want to learn how to do the whole makeup thing. I figure I should learn what eyeliner is all about before I hit 30. Or not. I am a Taurus and I don't think we're supposed to wear that much makeup. And my better half thinks that any amount of makeup equals Tammy Faye Baker. But I don't really know where to turn for makeup advice. The mall makeup counter people look like trannies, so I really don't want to ask them.

Work tomorrow. Thank you lazy intern for ensuring that I get to spend part of my weekend fixing your work. Thanks a lot.

Hair, and other weighty issues

I finally got my hair done. Imagine Catherine Zeta-Jones in Chicago. Now substitute a flat chest, bony ass, chicken legs, and a skin tone the color of death. Yeah, I am smokin' hot. I'm just glad to have the large mass of hair gone. I am still growing it out, but anyone who has done this knows that sometimes you have to get some crap cut off to make the process as pretty as possible. Unfortunately, I left my brush in Austin and haven't had a chance to replace it since I worked late tonight. So I don't really know how it will look when I try to do it for real.

In other news, my post-move weight loss is starting to freak me out a little. Small women generally don't complain much about their weight because other women may be tempted to punch them. I don't have any girlfriends within punching distance, so I'll just go ahead and bitch about it. The thing is that small women are generally just as paranoid about their figures as other women - we just happen to want a bigger everything rather than a smaller everything. And then there's skinny-fat - when you're small but have a relatively prominent gut. That one really sucks. Normally I am okay being small because I am just small. My weight can go up or down by 10 or 15 pounds and I am still pretty much the same size, which is weird to me; maybe my body has a gift for distribution. But I think today I may have caught a glimpse of my sternum. It could have been weird lighting in the elevator, but it still weirded me out. Nicole Richie isn't my hero. So tomorrow I shall go to the grocery store and load up on fattening, preservative-laden fare. I should probably start eating something than animal crackers for lunch. But I haven't been much of a lunch person in a long time. I find lunch distracting. It disrupts my groove at work and I inevitably experience a mid-afternoon crash. Plus, I am crazy cheap and don't really want to eat sandwiches every day. If only there was a drive-thru close to me so that I could easily gorge myself on chicken nuggets and a cheeseburger, a classic and favorite fast-food combo.

Of course, in a few years I will probably be suffering from the almost inevitable problem of a formerly small woman whose metabolism comes to a screeching halt but who has no clue how to count calories or fat grams and who has no desire to exercise.

Thankful

I overslept Thursday since I accidentally set my alarm for 4 pm instead of 4 am. The cab driver didn't seem to know where he was or where he was going. Other than something of a rough start to Thanksgiving Day, it's been all good since. My flights left on time, everyone kept their shoes on, I got a seat in the emergency exit row. Jamie and the food fairies made a feast. The best part was the banana cream pie he ordered just for me and pulled out as a surprise when it was time for dessert. I have put back four feasts since Thursday evening, which should go a long way towards putting on a few of the pounds I have lost since moving and that I would like to have back. Leftovers are by far the best part of Thanksgiving. And my fiance. But the leftovers rock. Maybe I'll just make him cook a turkey like once a month.

Dr. Who??

It occurred to me today that I have no idea who the surgeon general is. Of course, not everyone can be as cool as Koop or as awesome as Shalala (come on, her name is Shalala), but still, I'd think this is one administration official that could be parlayed into some good PR. He's presumably anti-disease, and that's something that we can all agree on (as long as we don't get into those sticky questions about curing said diseases).

In other news, I woke up to snow falling this morning. It was the first time I've seen big, fluffy snowflakes, I think. I've seen dinky snowflakes in Texas, but this was like real snow. Of course it didn't last and I was forced to wear boots with pants when that didn't really make sense, but it was fun nonetheless.

I am everything I despise

So, one of my pet peeves (among many) is when people waiting to get on the elevator don't wait to see if anyone is getting off. But, despite my best efforts and keen awareness of my own tendency to do this, I just charge forward and then have to say "excuse me" and apologize profusely because I have just done something rude. I"m working on it. So, if I charge into you as you're getting off the elevator, I apologize in advance.

Work = craziness. Getting in early, working late, working weekends. Thanksgiving is actually turning out to be a pain in my ass - totally messing with my normal routine. Although I am sure I'll be glad for it when I get to see my better half and Jenn's house, and that magical moment when I have to unbutton my jeans because I stuffed myself to maximum capacity with turkey and stuffing.

A sign?

I just saw the Volvo commercial with the little girl blathering on about something unintelligible and the dad looking a little confused, but amused at the same time. This commercial just seems to confirm for me that kids are weird. I've never been good with kids. My better half can get down on all fours with a colander on his head and have some kind of babble conversation with a kid. I stare at the toddler who has just attempted to communicate and all I can do is smile and nod because I'm really wondering what the hell this kid just said. It's even better when people put a babbling toddler on the phone. Then I really don't know what to do. It worries me that I won't be good with my own kids. But then I remember that my mother, who is a saint and the best mom in the world, didn't particularly like other kids and swears she never felt maternal before having kids. Of course, there was the poor girl down the street whose mom also didn't like other kids and wasn't maternal. The only problem was that she apparently wasn't all that into her own kids, either. I hope I'm not that lady.

A note to Fox: Watching a new episode of Justice was going to be the highlight of my evening last night. And it wasn't on. Jerks.

Too much time

This recent, solitary three-day weekend has highlighted my predicament. I either need friends, a hobby, or both. I left Texas on purpose when I graduated from law school. For some reason, I thought I would have the same kind of social support system I did in Texas. Or that it would be relatively easy to build such a support system. Not so much. Now I am faced with a conundrum I have only heard about and never experienced: making friends in a new city as a working adult. I think my sister is currently experiencing the same thing since most of her friends from dental school have moved and she works in a small office. She runs with a woman from the office, but this woman refuses to call her by her first name, insisting on calling my sister "doctor." I tend to agree with my sister that someone who will only call you "doctor" can't for sure be on the friends list.

I haven't ever really had hobbies. Unless drinking with your girlfriends counts. But I don't have girlfriends here, so drinking as a hobby would involve me drinking alone. I think that's called a disease. I have been thinking that maybe I can find an art class to take - maybe meet some people and learn what it means when people use the word "perspective" when talking about art. I always wanted to take an art class in college, but since I have no artistic talent to speak of, I was worried I would fail such a class. Do college art classes give A's for effort?

I'll do some investigating and figure this out. There has to be a better way of spending my time than watching entire seasons of Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team and House of Carters. Of course, watching House of Carters made my appreciate my own family: decidedly messed up, but in a safe, middle America kind of way. Those Carters are really fucked up. It is entirely possible that this feeling will pass and I'll end up spending my year here like I did in Austin: sitting on my ass, perfecting the butt-groove in my couch.

File it under "not my job"

Today was like Christmas. I got my purse and my frames for my diplomas and whatnot. My office will look all official and stuff. Turns out I need two more, but luckily they're cheap. I did have to call UPS to see what was up with my purse since the online tracking thing was telling me that my purse wasn't coming until Monday. The woman was nice enough to tell me that I was welcome to go the UPS facility to pick up my package. You're a delivery service and you so far have made all of one attempt to deliver my package. Your helpful suggestion that perhaps I want to do your job for you was unwelcome.

In the same vein of "not my job," are you ever in the elevator when someone gets on and asks you to push the button for their floor? I always offer if someone's hands are full or if I'm just feeling extra nice. But when someone is fully capable of pushing the button, why ask me just because I am like six inches closer to the button? Am I wearing a funny jacket with gold buttons or some other odd piece of clothing indicating that I am the elevator operator? It's not like I'm hugging the button panel or blocking anyone's access. Push your own button, people.

UPS, where is my purse?

So, I was a little bummed at not being able to make it to Austin for the swearing in, so I decided to console myself with a new purse. Banana had some 40% of deal if you paid with your Banana credit card. I only have the card because I wanted the 10% off when I was buying a new suit. Anyways, UPS left one of their little notes on my door saying they tried to deliver it, but that I wasn't home and they'd try again. Well, they didn't try today and it doesn't look like they're going to. I'm working from home tomorrow since it's a holiday and I am expecting another package, so it's not a huge deal; I'll get it. But when your life is as uneventful as mine, getting a purse in the mail is a real event. And UPS is ruining it for me.

Tomorrow is veterans day. Thanks to all our veterans for doing what I won't because I'm a wuss. I would like to take the day off to reflect on the sacrifices made by our men and women in uniform while watching tons of crap on tv, but work is rearing its ugly head.

The prison was interesting. I have never felt so pretty or desired. They don't tolerate cat calls at this prison, but I guess there's nothing they can do about obvious leering. The prison is in Appalachia (I actually work with a guy who grew up in a holler not far from where we were; really, he grew up in a holler). Apparently they get a lot of prisoners from D.C., so the warden said there were some, um, cultural issues at first with the staff and the prisoners. What struck me as we walked around was that prison seems a lot like high school, only with shanks, homemade "hooch," and a good chance of getting raped by your roommate. You can go to art class, computer class, join a band, maybe do some ceramics. No free weights, though. Those aren't allowed in federal prisons anymore. And I did learn that you can cut through a chain-link fence with a binder clip. There wasn't a gift shop, so no souvenirs. I did get a coffee mug, though. It'll look nice on my desk. Maybe people will be afraid of me. You know, because I've been to prison.

The excitement never ends

So I left work early to go vote today. Good thing the county coroner was running unopposed since I must admit that I'm not sure how I would have evaluated the candidates' platforms. There's some weird eminent domain issue on our ballot - the county wants to condemn the water company. I'm not quite sure why, although apparently it's owned by a German company, so I've heard that there may be some xenophobic undercurrent. I'm not quite sure that I would ever vote for the government to take over a service that seems to be operating just fine since I can't really think of anything that the government does especially well (okay, except waste tons of money).

Last night we took in a basketball game. This is a big basketball school and we heard that we'd never get tickets to a real game, so we went to the exhibition game against South Carolina Upstate. I thought the upstate of South Carolina was North Carolina. Anyways, it definitely wasn't as exciting as I'd hoped, but I guess the experience is different for real games.

Tomorrow we get to go on a prison tour. Federal prison. Apparently someone was killed at this prison a few weeks ago. Super. All I can think of is that episode of The Simpsons where Lisa goes to visit the cute environmentalist in jail and she's walking down the corridor and someone shouts "Fire in the hole!" and the flaming roll of TP goes flying. As long as we don't have to like tour the yard or anything I'm sure it will be fine.

Who are these people?

Apparently some designers are coming out with sub-zero sizes. For women with 23 1/2 -inch waists. Who has a 23 1/2-inch waist? Even if there's like .001% of the population that is this small, do they really have 35-inch hips? It sounds like the physical impossibility of a Barbie doll. I wonder if people that small are grumpy all the time from the lack of food. Because being this small must result from a lack of food. Or being nine years old.

And it's good to see that the NAE president who stepped down actually threw away the crystal meth he bought and only got a massage from the gay prostitute. I just knew there would be a perfectly reasonable explanation for what was supposed to be a prime example of utter hypocrisy on the far right. Close call there, guys.

Go Horns. Please don't freak me out tonight with your crazy antics and your affinity for getting pushed around the entire first half. And remember to protect the ball. I'll be watching. Please don't make me talk to the television.

I'm like practically a lawyer

I passed the bar. Now, I wasn't all that worried that I would fail. I had some paranoia, but nothing crazy. Although it was entertaining to watch the page view counter on the results page go up by like 50,000 in the course of a few hours today. Not that I was refreshing for any other reason than to watch the page view counter go up. It's just good to know that it's all over. And, God willing, I will never have to face the MBE again, which is good, because I'm still not sure who my declawed bobcat can kill without the potential for liability.

I won't be in Austin for the swearing in and, to be honest, I don't even know if I will get my license until I get back to Texas in 2008. I think the bar results are good for two years. We'll see. I don't see why I would pay the fees and be subject to CLE requirements when I am out of state until this time in 2008. I need to figure this crap out. I guess it would be cool for me to say "I'm sort of a lawyer" when someone asks me what I do. Wait, no one asks me what I do. And I guess I am still sort of a lawyer since I did pass the bar.

Yay for me!! And my friends!! Send me gifts.

Cute pants = tree falling in an empty forest

Like most women, I generally dress to impress other women (one problem is that the one woman I work with pays as much attention to my clothes as the men I work with). Anyways, it's cold here and I am back in the office, so I was excited at the idea of wearing my cute new wool pants to work tomorrow. But it's just me and one of the guys for the next 2 days in the office, so I feel like wearing them would be something of a waste since no one would be around to take in the cuteness of my pants. But would it really be a waste since no one pays attention to what I wear anyways? Is having one guy ignore my cute outfit worse than having four guys and one woman ignore my cute outfit? It's a conundrum. Of course, I could wear them tomorrow and later next week. There's only one person who might notice that I wore the same cute pants 2 weeks in a row and I seriously doubt he would even notice. I can't wait to work with a girl again.

Gosh, it is so involved being me. Really, I think the above totally proves that I should have my own reality tv show.