Boogers

Yes, I know, I have not posted in a millenia. But after a mind-numbingly boring, I-want-to-kill-myself exciting, what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here, margarita-glass-with-a-garter-around-it type of summer, I have decided it is time to return to the wonderful world of Blog.

I've been working for a non-profit here in New Orleans as a legal intern and am presently counting the days until I leave for ha-vy-ee. Yup, Hawaii (for those of you who did not get my pronunciation key joke). But, my life being my own, I have had a few dear problems pre-Hawaii to deal with and I would like to discuss those with you now.

1. Boogers. Yes, boogers. In my eyes. Evidently I have succumbed to a not-so-rare, not-so-horrible eye disease witha name I forget. Not pink eye, something much more gruesome and emotionally damaging. Imagine someone ice skating over your eyeballs but instead of using your basic ice skates decides to strap machetes to their reeboks and go hogwild. Doesn't that sound enjoyable? And when machetes are NOT dissecting your cornea, you just plain look like a freak because your eyes water relentlessly. I don't mean a tear here and there. Oh no. I mean waterfalls running down your cheeks. Do you know what it's like to be having a reasonable conversation with your supervising attorney only to have him grab a tissue and say, "Really, it's gonna be fine. The court date rescheduling isn't that big of a deal" because amidst the discussion of Client X's concerns you have begun to sob uncontrollably. No, you do not know what it's like. Because only I am the legal intern with an eye disease.

2. Dried Mangoes. Have you had these? Because I need to be stopped. Someone needs to tie me down and keep me away from Whole Foods indefinitely. I can't afford to pay my credit card bill but dammit I am going to get me some dried fruit at $8.99 a pound. Yes. It's life or death. I left my house at 7pm last night in the middle of my new favorite book to drive across town to the Whole Foods and spend $12 on dried mangoes. And a green power shake. In my mind this is healthy. In my soul I know this is a new form of crack.

3. Speaking of crack. And obsession. Have you read the Jasper Fforde Thursday Next series????? Is Jasper married? Does he need an intern? Because I could spend the rest of my life happily making up satirical quips about 6 fooot tall hedgehogs, annoying Dickens characters, Wuthering Heights' Heathcliff's anger-management problem, and Falstaff's disgusting ploys for sex. The man is a genius and I am HOOKED. I read The Jane Eyre Affair and enjoyed it but didn't rush out to buy the second book. I thought it was a cute, semi-dorky book that only a recovering English major could enjoy. But then I found myself obsessing over what Thursday Next would do next, what literary crime would she solve? Would the Prose Portal be rebuilt? Oh the agony! So now I'm on Book Four (Something Rotten) and am already lamenting the absence of a Book Five. I want to be a litarary agent. I want to jump into books and talk to Captain Nemo when he's on vacation in a crap crime thriller. Sigh. Reality is so lame.

Killer Caterpillars From Hell

I love New Orleans. I really do. I love that you can smell flowers year-round, that when I bought groceries last night there was a jazz funeral across the street, that Muriel's serves the best best best duck ever served anywhere. I love how warm it is here, and how breezy it is at night. I love that you can forget you live on the coast until a quick breeze reminds you of salt water not too far away.

But I do have one complaint. The caterpillars have to go. These are not the cutesy caterpillars from your childhood. Oh no, these are heavily documented spawned-of-Satan caterpillars. I was brutally attacked by one of these evil doers a week ago and it is only now that I am able to speak of the harrowing event without breaking into a cold sweat.

I sat on my front stoop (isn't "stoop" a much better word than "step"?) and made sure not to crush any small creatures in the process. I noticed the caterpillars but, thinking them harmless, did nothing to protect myself from their outwardly innocent selves. All of the sudden I felt a brief but powerful sting on my right knee. I squealed and knocked at the area, brushing away an evil doer. As soon as my hand hit the creature, however, I felt the same powerful sting on my right ring finger. I ran up the steps and into my apartment and and ran both wounds under the faucet but both continued to sting considerably, enough to bring tears to my baby blues. After a couple hours of benadryl and pain meds I could handle the stinging but my knee and finger looked hideous, with a sort of grey tinge, tiny black dots, and a painful puffiness. A few days later both the grey and the puff were gone and replaced with tiny red dots. I know, serioulsy messed up.

So, dear New Orleans, I would request that you do something about the evil doers that clutter my sidewalk. They are evil and should be stepped on with escalating ferocity.

And the Beat Goes On

So I've decided to stop being myself. Anytime something big happens, date, job interview, presentation, whathaveyou, all my friends give me a few snippets of advice and then say, "Just be yourself." Well I've decided that that really doesn't give me any options. I mean, if you're going to say, "just be yourself," shouldn't there be some other option hanging around that someone is trying to persuade you to avoid. For example, if you are capable of telling someone, "be yourself" shouldn't they have a choice to be someone else. Next interview I'm just going to give my friends a list of possibilities and THEN they can tell me who to be. The Karate Kid, Artax (horse from Neverending Story), Tonya Harding, Flipper, or Myself. And THEN I can at least make a friggin DECISION about it.

I'm just sick to death of being forced to "be myself" when there really is no other choice.

Can you tell that I hate my life at present?

But I have gotten really good at making things with Tuna. Tuna Melt. Tuna Salad. Tuna with Noodles. Tuna Sushi. Tuna Tacos. Tuna omelet (better than it sounds, folks). I think I finally ate all of the tuna left in my freezer last night so now I'm on to the tilapia. Tilapia Melt. Tilapia Omelet...

I have one of those weekends coming up that you just know is going to exhaust you. Friday I have class til 4:30 and then I'm going to a baseball game and then to a bar/party. Saturday I will spend all day in the library and then head to Stephy's for dinner and Machelle's for the 20s v. 50s Party (I think I'll pick the 50s era but I do have that great flapper dress...). Sunday I have to live in the library and then I have a study group meeting to re-learn contracts. I will need a weekend after my weekend.

But, anywho, aside from exhaustion and crabbiness over tuna overload all is well. I'm just being myself, after all. But perhaps tomorrow I will choose to be someone with a bit more of an edge, someone who eats ketchup with her tilapia, someone who stands up for the rights of turtles, someone cool...

This is the greatest thing I have ever seen. Ever.

Today I wish I were square-dancing. Look at that young man's concentration. Look at that darling girl's joy. Why can't I concentrate that well, or be that joyful? PROBABLY BECAUSE I'M IN LAW SCHOOL. Stupid law school. Oh well, at least it's supposed to be sunny tomorrow. I promise to be my normal, uplifted self as soon as it's pretty outside again. Promise, promise.

Thank You For Reminding Me That I Am An Idiot

It happens without fail. I think to myself, "I'm okay as long as he doesn't ask me to answer X." And then, what happens? Who gets called on? That's right, folks, moi.

I love the process of self-hatred that spirals out of the "I have made a jackass out of myself" moment.

1. Oh, it wasn't that bad..

2. I'm sure I'm not the only one who had no clue about that one...

3. I'm in school to learn after all..

4. But I should have known that.

5. I did read, dammit.

6. I never should have stayed up late watching Real World.

7. And I should have reread the chapter instead of making my grocery list.

8. And I never should have come to law school.

9. I'm not worth dirt.

1o. I should move to Paris.

11. In Paris no one would think I was dumb for saying, "I don't know."

12. In fact, they'd be impressed I could say, "Je ne sais pas."

13. I should just lock myself in my apartment, chain myself to the couch, and watch reruns of West Wing and calculate the calories ingested when I eat kumquats for dinner.

14. Yup, that's what I'll do.

15. Because I'm worth nothing.

16. I'm worth negative nothing.

17. Like, negative infinity nothing.

18. I should have my toenails removed. With pliers.



Yeah, that's pretty much the progression of self-loathing.

Send me hugs.

HALLELUJAH

SPRING BREAK! I'm so happy I could lick something unsanitary!

But instead, I shall play with my compadres and watch lots of Celebrity Poker.

happiness is a full house and leftover shrimp primavera.

For Stephanie's Sake

I have been informed that I must post on the blog at least three times a week, preferably the night before property class, so that dear Stephanie has something to read during class. So, far be it for me to disable a comrade's procrastination shipwreck, here she blows...

I spoke on the phone with my sister, Caroline (aka Scaroline, Pickle, Carebear, Lungzit, Bucket, the Black Falcon). Caroline is the baby of the family and she loves it. She's a realistic child and she knows that one kid under the roof equals a lot more crap for that kid. It's a law of physics. Or biology. Or something. I will now evaluate the financial situation of the three children.

Moi. I am broke. This is to be expected, of course. I am a graduate student living off loans and the occassional surprise cash that Marmee send my way. God bless her. I don't do laundry because it's a waste of water. I get gas ONLY when the gas light turns on. I buy my food at the "sketchy" grocery store. And when I shop and spend loads of money, I always end up bring back 3/4 of the haul due to guilt. But, I don't really feel broke. My parents will help me if I get into serious financial trouble. My friends are equally poor so cheap adventures suit us all. And I'm in school, what would I do with money anyway?

Mon frere. Roberta (aka Robert Houston, Rob, Loser). Roberta is a freshman at a private university in Chicago. He's awesome. And as he is a freshman, he is still under the assumption that money is imperative to happiness and that Daddy is a walking wallet. I have no doubt his money goes to pizza at midnight, pizza in the morning, CDs, beer. Such is college. The last playpen. The final Daddy Warbucks living experience. Sigh. How I do miss those days.

Ma soeur. The Pickle. 12 going on 18. We spoke on the phone last night and she's definitely got that snide, supercool, I-rock voice going on. I hope she keeps it. Moneywise she's a smart cookie. She saves for things she wants and what she wants but can't afford she asks for for birthdays or christmas. The key being that she doesn't have to WORRY about money. And she shouldn't, being 12. She SHOULD be coddled and cooed over and given things and sent to camp, etc. It's what my parents did for The Loser and I. I just didn't know how great we had it.

WHY did I not appreciate childhood? WHY did I not sleep in more? Or watch more cartoons? I really think from age 14ish I was thinking of college, not parties. I had my fun, of course. But I certainly didn't play as much as I should have. Oh woe is me. So, to remedy this loss I will do the following...
10. Stop setting my alarm for 5am when I don't have class til 10am. That's 5 hours. What am I doing in those 5 hours besides stressing out over NOTHING?

9. Feed the ducks with Stephanie.

8. Talk to my sister on the phone more. Live vicariously through her 12 year old crushes.

7. Make weird things to eat. I used to be addicted to ragu+green pepper sandwiches. Now I eat more "mature" food. Bullshit. Ragu+green pepper sandwiches are the bomb diggity. Who said immature combinations of food were a bad thing? I'm no BobbyFlay but potato chips dipped in yogurt kicks my ass.

6. Stop apologizing for my obnoxious laugh. Obnoxious is hot.

5. Tell my friends they're gorgeous. All the time.

4. Drink beer in bed (alright, I didn't do this as a child but it seems somewhat teenagerly).

3. Play softball. I will get my glove when I go home for spring break and then it's on, bitches.

2. Have a crush. Whole 9 yards, folks. Find out his schedule. Stalk him. Kiss my pillow and pretend it's him. Wear colors I know he likes. Have a meltdown when he says "hi" to me. And then, one day, wake up and decide I'm SO over him.

1. Wear shirts that display my boobs (I already do this...some things never change).

The Things that Went Wrong Today

1. I accidently set my alarm for 4am instead of 6am. I got up, took a shower, did my makeup, and did not realize how early it was until stepping outside at 5am and seeing that it was oddly dark.

2. I poured coffee on my grapenuts and did not realize it until I took a bite. Quite possibly the most disgusting bite of anything ever.

3. My blackberries, which I bought 2 days ago, are already moldy.

4. I broke the heel of my shoe while running up the stairs (after seeing that it was still dim outside).

5. I put creme eyeshadow on as lipstick. Thank heavens I looked in the mirror before walking out the door. Makeup companies should be forbidden to place different types of makeup into identical applilcators.

6. I dropped my right contact down the drain. Then I dropped the left one. What type of moron drops BOTH contacts down the drain within a 80 second period?

7. Denise Richards and Charlie Sheen broke up. First Brad and Jen, and now this? I can't take it anymore. Where is the love????

8. My first thought upon waking up was, "I have to go to class, do my con law between property and con law, do my contracts work, figure out my oral argument, do laundry, clean my room, deposit that check, balance my checkbook, figure out what's making my car smell like spoiled cheese,..." It sucks when your first thought of the day is a list of crap you have to do.

9. My favorite coke machine is out of order. I had to get water. It's 9:30am. I don't need water. I need chemicals.

10. I have over 12 hours before I can go back to bed.

Wow, I Don't Know What to Do With Myself

The appellate brief is finished.

Give me ideas.

Love,
Me

Important Things to be Able to Say in Dutch

Belangrijke Dingen Zullen Bekwaam Zijn Te Zeggen in Nederlands
1. Ik ben een kalkoen.
2. Kan ik nog een bier hebben?
3. Ik beloof u voorgoed te houden van indien u belooft te stoppen ademen
4. Ik zou houden om van 4 beha's, 3 stellen van panties, een zwemmende poel en een dozijn oesters.
5. Komt u over en toneelstuk.
6. Een in de hand is waard twee in de struik.
7. ZOU rode haar, blauwe ogen, u meer perfectioneren KUNNEN ZIJN??
8. Nemt u mij naar uw leider.
9. Ik spreek Nederlands vlot.
10. Zuigt u op mijn tenen, hoer.

(copy and paste the above text, go to www.freetranslation.com, and choose Dutch to English)

Appellate Brief, Bowler Hats, and Megan's Sleeping

Today I am living in the library, sitting next to Katherine and across from Stephanie, working on The Brief.

I've been getting death threats due to my recent blog laziness so in order to preserve my own vitality I have decided to set down a few thoughts to satiate the masses.

1. My interviews went well. I looked cool.

2. On the way to school this morning I thought, perhaps, the wine from last night was still doing a number on me. It is not mardi gras season nor is it near any type of National costume-related holiday. However, a bearded man wearing a red silk robe and a bowler hat was riding his bicycle (with a clothed dog in the basket) down Freret street this morning. Yes, I thought I was hallucinating, too. But he was whistling. Can you see AND hear hallucinations?

3. My bestie, Megan, is spending a week down here with me. We are trying very hard not to kill each other. Megan is pretty much my sister (sometimes older, sometimes younger depending on our moods), she's known me since I was ten. Unfortunately, she picked the worst possible week in the history of mankind to visit me thanks to the appellate brief. So she's having to play by herself a lot, which makes me sad. And when we're together for longer than @ 3 hours we start to nitpick each other.
the real problem with Megan
1. she's prettier than me and that pisses me off
2. she thinks I'm pretty but when she says so I think she's lying
(3. these are largely thanks to my own issues, obviously)
4. she thinks I'm smarter than her so she's self-conscious around my school friends
5. she asks me permission to do things (turn on the fan, turn on the heat, etc.) which
makes me feel like a bad host/friend/southerner
6. she doesn't understand how much work I have to do
7. she lives too far away
8. she's the only human being on earth who knows when I'm kidding myself and she's
sometimes not smart enough to let me figure it out on my own
the real problem with this week
1. I have to do work
2. I wanna play with my sista.
3. Those two things seem to be mutually exclusive.
how I will solve the problem
1. go home at 8 to watch a movie and bake pizza and cookies and make guacomole (we
keep adding stuff to the menu...it's starting to get out of hand)
2. ride the streetcar to the quarter tomorrow and eat beignets and go to Mass
3. give her more hugs

4. I wear strange color schemes when I'm stressed out. For example, today I am sporting a melon-orangish-reddish shirt, green velour sweatpants, huge red hoop earrings, red flats, and a red and green ring...oh!...and my new chartreuse eyeshadow. Interesting, no doubt. But odd.

5. When I am stressed out I become obsessive-compulsive. For example, I applied my makeup alphabetically last night. Blush, eyeliner, eyeshadow, lip gloss, mascara. Hmmm. I normally apply my makeup as follows: eyeshadow, eyeliner (if I'm wearing either), lipgloss, mascara, blush. So, you see, my routine last night was quite bizarre.

6. Megan hates my feet. I just do not care about feet. I walk on them, they get me places, they wear fun shoes. Who cares if they're dry and cracked and otherwise unattractive? Since she has arrived I have applied more lotion to my toes than I have in the entire school year.

7. It's lovely outside and I'm indoors.

8. My ring is red with green vines and a little ladybug on it. It's heavy. Makes my right ring finger really sweat to keep it upright. I should give my finger a rubdown tonight after all the strenuous ring-lifting exercise.

9. I miss my non-law school life.

10. I want to go home.

Juice is my Friend

My friend, Juice, went to a talk the other night given by a scientist dude on the String Theory (alternate realities) and I was thinking, instead of doing Constitutional Law, it would be much more productive to contemplate what my other selves are doing in those other realities.

Rabbit Rachel: Hopping

Sea floor sediment particle Rachel: Sitting around, sedimenting

Me: Reading room, writing on my blog, scratching my nose, rearranging my bracelets so that the colors are arranged alphabetically (top to bottom of course)

Rae-of-the-Future: Riding a seahorse to work (in the future we will all be very, very tiny)

Clive Owen's Girlfriend: Um yeah. We'd be doing several different things. Several times a day.

Shadow: Under a really big tree, covering an ant hill, changing at random into ridiculously scary shapes to scare small children

Freckle: on the nose of a Moroccan child

Those are a few of my alternate realities. In comparison to the OCD of "Me" I'm sure we'd all prefer a smidge of alternate reality today. But it is beautiful outside and that's something.

Blonde Redhead

No, dearhearts, I am not speaking of myself.

I went to the Interpol concert Friday night and Blonde Redhead opened. They are amazing. If you do not own them, you should. Because owning's fun, and fun is good. I think I had a sorority shirt that said something like that once. Not the "ownership" bit. Something else...bleh.

I have decided that appellate briefs are created only to make law students psychotic. My friends now randomly cry in the halls; I stare at that damn Nathan Hale statue in the reading room and SWEAR he's checking out Bitty's boobs; in that last phrase, instead of "statue" I wrote "statute," that says it all.

So hear is a Top Ten List of Things I'd Rather Be Doing:

10. Anything
9. Eating steak with a straw. Blended steak. Yeah. In a blender. Liquified meat.
8. Ripping out my eyelashes
7. Reading McCulloch v. Maryland every hour, on the hour, for the rest of my life
6. Grinding diamonds to dust with my teeth
5. Hot glue gunning my toes to the floor
4. Licking the windows clean
3. Translating Ashley Simpson lyrics into Latin
2. Sleeping with a goat
1. Anything

Sigh. Yes, folks, it's that bad.

I am Physically Unable to Dress Like a Lawyer

Houston, we have a problem.

Yesterday I went shopping for interview clothing. Sigh. Why is everything so freakin' boring?? I tried on a dozen suits and each one made me want to scream. Is color SO evil? Can we not break out of this black and grey rut? I'm not asking for much, just a tiny bit of pop-bang-wow-oomph-yowza excitement.

I didn't buy a suit. I bought a sweet little silk skirt and a precious little lavendar top that I will wear under my brown blazer with my kicky new round-toed creamish plaid pumps. That's the outfit for interview number one. Interview number two, as it is with a big-wig firm, requires more corporate-ness. I'm still gonna go suit hunting Sunday but I will probably stick with my navy and cream dress with my oh-so-demure red cardigan and long red necklace. Sigh. WHY CAN'T I HAVE A JOB WHERE I CAN WEAR MY NEW URBAN OUTFITTERS SKIRT OR MY FAVORITE "greens-against-Bush" SHIRT??? WHY?????

Sigh. I hope I don't ever start LIKING to dress like a lawyer. That would be spooky. Maybe if I had gobs of money and could buy super fancy-shmancy suits with perfectly placed lapels and tiny little buttons and ridiculously sexy heels I could be content. I have always liked those pantyhose with the line up the back, a la Casablanca. I could work the menswear. I guess.

But today I just cannot envision myself in a pinstriped suit. I love my bright twirly skirts and my slightly offensive conversation tees. And I love my neon green heels and my orange snakeskin stilettos. And I love wearing flowers in my hair. Bleh.

I shall single-handedly overhaul female lawyer attire. My blue velvet kitten heels and my orange cat-eyed glasses will show no mercy. I am Fashionista J.D., hear me roar!

Ode to the Reading Room

Great vestibule of self-destruction;
Under whose watch was this madcap crucible created?
Wireless cordless electric power doom
I'd cry but that seems so dated
so lacking in precedent
so void of intent


I place my books in a semi-circle around me
Like some Druid circle of old
And my lipstick crusts on Diet Coke bottles
While the moan of Cardozo pulses, "And we hold..."

And I'm accepting 20 years of debt for this wooden chair?
Scalia, Ginsburg, Posner, Holmes, oh shit!
I used to be an actress, a volunteer, a woman
And now I am fingers and a keyboard and a contested circuit split...

At least Elizabeth is on the other side of the table,
eyes crossing, my comrade in arms, highlighters piled.
And Sarah is sleeping somewhere with visions of amendments
bruising her sexpot style

Katherine stares out her window and dreams of a boy
and assures us of high hopes, sometimes makes us tea
and Stephanie curses and calls me Miss W and reminds me
of a stronger woman I used to be

My girls, my fighters of fights I couldn't fight on my own,
Sit at this table and question it all, too.
So at least I'm not alone with my redbound books,
not alone in this home-hell-res-ipsa-loquitur Room.

Dedicated, quite obviously, to Miss P, Miss N, Miss V, and Miss M, with much love on this gloomy day.

Trolls, yes, Trolls

This is how I feel right now. I feel like my red hair (it would be cool if it was hot pink) is standing on end and in completely whoppyjawed (see translation below) fashion and my blue eyes are exploding out of their sockets (it would be cool if they were pupil-less...or are those sunglasses?) and the studious pencil of academia is shoved through my spleen. Today, I admit it, I hate law school...but those silly trolls do look rather happy. And there are three of them. That's it. I'm psychotic and am now suffering from multiple troll personalities. Yippee!!

Nah, don't worry about me. I have my appellate brief to keep me company. We're good friends, the appellate brief and I. I call him Alfie. If only he looked like Jude Law. Alas, he is a wreck of papers, some of which are decorated with curse words and blue highlighter drawings of puppy dogs. Alfie and I have bonded recently over outline formation. We argued briefly about which should come first, Annoying Issue #1 or Annoying Issue #2. I argued that since Annoying Issue #2 was the MOST annoying, I definitely wanted to get it out of the way first. But noooOOOOoooo, Alfie put his foot down and made me go with Annoying Issue #1 in the beginner slot. He's such a jerk.

But aside from organizational arguments we really do get along swimmingly. He thinks the whole blog idea is horribly de trop but he lets me post here while he hangs out with the other briefs in the student lounge. He has a special place in my apartment (no, to answer your question, we are NOT sleeping together) and I feed him bonbons and grapes whenever he's hungry. And occassionally he lets me go for walks in the park alone.

Well, Alfie is back from his smoke break and he's rolling his eyes so I guess that means I have to sign off for now. We have to hammer out Super-Ridiculous Sub-Issues #1-4 before he'll let me go home to watch Scrubs.

He insisted his name be highlighted in red. A Biblical reference I'm sure.

Pete and a Girl I Don't Know

This is my friend Pete. Pete is fabulous. See that smile? How can you not LOVE that face? He's one of my favorite people in the world. On my list of favorite people he's only slightly below Clive Owen on the hotness scale and slightly above Snoopy for cuteness and loyalty. And yes, I consider Snoopy to be a "person."

Yummy and Easy Recipe

Cilantro-Lime Rice Salad

White rice (sushi rice works best)
2 teaspoons fresh cilantro
half a lime
1 pat butter
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon sugar

Mix all ingredients into cooked rice when rice is still very hot. Place in fridge once it's mixed well.

Salad base: 2 chopped cucumbers mixed with 1 teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon sugar, 1/2 teaspoon black pepper, 1 teaspoon olive oil

Place chilled rice mixture on top of cucumber salad.

YAY!!!!!

I want to go fishing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!