I'm out

Like I needed to tell you. It's not that I've run out of stuff to say, it's that I've run out of anything to say that won't make me sound like a miserable malcontent. Let's face it, being an adult sort of sucks. It's like groundhog day - every day I wake up to the same shit. Sure, it's usually pretty good shit. And there's the occassional new adventure (yoga) or toy (hello, Brandeis bobblehead), but it's still groundhog day. And I can't even think of anything witty to say about it.

Thank you Billy Blanks

Yes, I am doing Tae Bo.  The workout craze of the, what, late nineties?  So I'm 10 years too late. Whatever.  All I know is that I totally touched my toes yesterday.  I have never been able to touch my toes.  Even when i was little and in gymnastics and could do the splits with my face on the floor.  But I could practically put my palms on the floor yesterday after 35 minutes with Billy Blanks.  Yippee!!  I do, however, look like a total ass when doing tae bo.  My coordination is such that cardio can only be done in the privacy of my own home.

I'm also taking a beginner yoga class with a friend.  I can't bring myself to "om."  It's just not me.  But the after-class tea is super-yummy.    Only issue us that there's totally a ringer in there who raises her hand and uses fancy yoga words.  I like to shoot her the stink eye.  A lot.  Along with the people who are there because they used to "study yoga" but fell out of practice.  It's like there's all these people who visited an ashram once and now say that they were students of yoga.  Why the beginner class, folks?  I'm sure yoga class isn't the place to judge.  Whatever.  I'm a judger.  Sue me.  Maybe I just need more yoga.

Pay Attention Kids

If you're 17 and you and your friends decide a group tattoo outing is a good idea: Stop.  Turn around.   And run away.  Sure, your friends will think you're lame (if they already don't).  But you will be laughing your ass off when those same friends, 12 years later, are sitting on their couches with an ice pack covering a big, burning, bleeding (in this case, turtle-shaped) scab.  

The lady said the laser would hurt less than laser hair removal.  I can say with total confidence that she was totally full of shit.

I love the aftermath of youthful idiocy...

The ethics of friending

I still don't totally understand what I'm supposed to be doing with Facebook.  I am however, experiencing the issues associated with friending.  There's a girl I know who pinged me on LinkedIn a little while back and even included a personal message about how I wasn't in California like I was supposed to be (don't bring it up; it makes me cry).  Haven't seen her since right before the clerkship.  I was in her wedding my 2L year of law school.  So I e-mailed her back to see if she wanted to get together now that I'm back in town.   No response.  That's cool.  Maybe she's busy.  She's on Facebook so I sent her a friend request.  Nothing.  Silence.  Is she mad I didn't invite her to my wedding?  It was a small affair!!  If she would e-mail be back, maybe she would know that.  It's like the unrequited friend request is the confirmation of the death of a friendship.   So sad.  I mean, I know I totally suck at keeping in touch, but is that really a reason to not accept a friend request from a bridesmaid??

Caved

I'm on facebook.  I don't get it.  I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it.  But I hear it's where the cool kids go.  And the nerds, too.  

To be or not to be

The professional woman.  Sure, I realize that I need to recognize the common mistakes that women make in terms of underplaying our strengths and smarts.  And I try not to do those things.  I try not to stand with my legs crossed, because that's apparently super-girlie.  But damn it if I'm going to start shopping exclusively in the St. Johns section of Nordstrom and trading in my awesome shoes for sensible shoes.  Maybe my button down has a slight puff sleeve.  And maybe I'm pushing it with the peeptoes.  It's not like I'm rocking a Pucci minidress at work.  And, my gosh, I will not fill my life with blazers (to make my shoulders look broad and square) and strip all of the fun parts of being a woman from my life.*

So maybe I will make a stand.  Or I'll give in and stock up on blazers.  But that's not going to happen now and, if it does, I know it will come after a long, hard fight.  

R.I.P. Nemo the fish.  Something happened to you early on and you spent the next three years hiding in your castle, like a finned Quasimodo.  Sure, you were shaped like an "S" and had the use of only one fin.  But you soldiered on.  And in your last months, you finally came out of your castle and hung out with us.  So long, little buddy. 

* It was suggested that I go by my full name, even though I haven't gone by that name for many years (I'm not sure I understand the reasoning behind the suggestion and I'm not sure that a man would be given the same suggestion).  It's not like I'm asking people to just call me Bubbles.

 

Hot

I got dressed in the dark today and it wasn't until I was in a courtroom bathroom in Burnet, Texas that I realized that I was wearing navy pants and a black jacket. Maybe no one noticed, but it was mortifying on principal.

What's up with the young guy on American Idol? I haven't watched it really until tonight, but why does he always look like he's about to cry? Is he really always about to cry? Can he handle the dog-eat-dog world of show business if he's always about to cry? I'm worried about this kid. And apparently his dad will yell at him for ruining dad's living-vicariously-through-my-kid dreams. He's screwed no matter what happens.