Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween! Especially to all the lazy/not so social people who aren't out doing anything fun and costume/candy related. Over here we've been having a Buffy marathon and tomorrow it's all about the discount candy. It's been awesome/ok.

Sanity

Still really, really excited for the Rally to Restore Sanity. (Just a few more hours).

But, until then, here's a little reminder that as bad and nasty as things are now, they're not nearly as crazy, horrible and entertaining as they once were.

Fried (somewhat literally)

No blog post today because I am straight up loony toons right now. As in, I apparently forget things that happened just minutes ago. Ex. Zach came back inside - I looked at him and asked where did you go? He looked at me like I was crazy and said that he just took the trash out, like I had asked him to. No idea what he's talking about. I'm going to consider this a good night if at some point I can walk around, without falling over! Ah epilespsy, nothing like internal lighting frying my brain for a good time.

So yah, I'm going to rest up, because I'm rallying at the Mall tomorrow!  Very exciting.

True Ghost Stories

I may be a wuss about scary movies, but I'm a sucker for real life ghost stories. As in, I know that rationally there are probably perfectly logical explanations for flickering lights, odd noises, moving objects, etc. But, somehow the idea of honest to goodness ghosts or energies or whatever just somehow makes sense to me.  I don't know, but you know how sometimes you go to a historical site, or even just someplace that seems ordinary, and from the moment you walk in, it just feels a certain way for no good reason? You feel more comfortable and familiar than you have any right to be, or you just want out as soon as possible even though nothing is wrong. It's probably nothing, or just a subconscious something or other. Still, some places just seem to have a certain energy that sticks around them, and the idea that big events or big people leave something there doesn't seem to outlandish. Or maybe (probably) this is just another of my bits of crazy.

Either way, especially around Halloween, I like to curl up and read random collections of supposedly real encounters with unexplained things. Just for a little bit it's nice to not be skeptical and just believe in what if for a while.
 
Of course, I've never actually experienced anything  much, which is probably for the best. I do occasionally chat with and say thank you to Dennis, our elevator ghost that I 20% believe in (that elevator spontaneously opens up for me way too often, especially if I'm carrying something heavy, or have had a bad day). I'll probably keep up friendly conversation at any sign of possible other occupants of places I may live, because hey worst case scenario I'm just talking to myself, best case I'm being a good roommate. (Assuming they're decent people of course. I'm not living with anyone malicious, I don't care how dead they are).

This is about the closest I come to actually having anything extraworldly touch my life. 

I grew up in a house that was built in the early 1900's. We really don't know how old it was, but apparently it was built with square nails, so we presume it was pretty dang old. As a kid whose knowledge of history almsot exclusively consisted of Pioneers, because that what a combination of growing up both as a Mormon and in Oregon does to a kid, I just assumed that my house was lived in by pioneers. It was a cool, if kind of run-down house. It also had a gigantic basement. To get into it, you crawled into this little half door at the base of the stairs between the porch and the kitchen. Down you went into a maze of boxes and half walls, the light coming from a few exposed bulbs that were always swinging and what little came in from the constantly smudged and bubble windows. In the very back of the basement, behind the water heater and right next to the exposed heating pipes that always groaned a little was a little room that could shut off from everything. There was no way in heaven or earth I was ever going to set foot in there.

I especially wasn't going to go in after my Dad told me what had happened to the little girl whose family first built the house. Back then this was just a house on the outskirts of town. The family was full of kids, and always busy. So when it was time for them to make their big trip into Portland, everyone was excited, everything was frantic. And everyone missed the little girl, trying to find her doll. After looking everywhere else, she was looked in that back basement room. Which is where she was when the family left, never missing her amidst all the hussle and bussle. And where she stayed, locked up tight, no one around. Where she started to cry when the rain came, leaking in through the window, but trapped inside with her behind the heavy door that she could not move no matter how she tried. That's where they found her when they came back, and that's where her spirit stays to this day, still crying for someone to find her every time it rains.

Of course, none of that was true. Not even remotely. But after my Dad told me that story, every time it rained there wasn't a chance on earth that I was going to set foot anywhere near that room. Even now if I were to go back, there's no way I would set foot in that back basement room. Especially if it was raining.

Kapoww

Law school hammered me upside the head all day today. Wow. At this point I half expect a knock on the door, "hello, who is it?", oh, it's law school, followed me home to punch me in the face.

In other words, I take back everything I said yesterday about liking the drama of law. 

Voyurism

• I just found out that as a law student I have access to all sorts of crazy databases with very personal information. Of course, they're so poorly designed that all I can figure out how to do is look at property sales and assessments. Which got boring pretty fast. But still. 
• If I ever learn a skill that could be used for devious purposes, I always try to think of ridiculous hypothetical situations where I could use that as part of my master plan.
• I especially do that when I've been watching Gossip Girl. 
• I have kind of a voyeristic personality. Not gossipy, I don't care about sharing info, I just love to know all the juicy details. Hence why I read blogs.
• I'm slightly concerned that my interest in Family law may be more motivated by that than by a better desire to be good and helpful to people. Already my favorite law school readings are the cases where the facts are just soap opera insane. I wonder if I could use that as the tag line for my future firm. MylastName esq. - for all your soap opera crazy legal needs.
• Using these bullet points is so lazy. I could easily take all that and turn it into a nice, flowing coherent post. I just don't feel like it tonight.

Scary Movies

I cannot handle scary movies. At all. I saw one of the Halloween sequels once, and I still taking a running leap into bed to avoid being grabbed by the evil person underneath. Nevermind that with all the boxes under our bed, no one could possibly be hidding. If I bend down to wash my face, I have to open my eyes very slowly when I stand up again, so that I won't be surprised by someone appearing in the mirror behind me. Don't even get me started about TV static - and I kept my eyes shut for the last 20 minutes of that movie. In short, I have a very overactive imagination, and a loose grip on reality when it comes to fictionally induced fear.

So, being the smart woman I like to think I am, I no longer watch horror movies. But, being the sometimes stupid woman I actually am, sometimes I read the plot summaries for current movies on Wikipedia, especially if I've seen one too many ads and I'm just curious about what happens. How bad can a few paragraphs of bad bones text, no scary music, no sudden jumps, none of all that extra stuff, just the basic ins and outs of plot be?

Um, pretty bad. If I fall asleep in class tommorow, I'm blaming you Paranormal Activity franchise. To everyone who manages to actually watch full horror movies and go about their lives normally - I don't understand you.

Bedding

We currently have a beige, fuzzy blanket as our bed cover thing. It is very comfortable, and very boring. So, when I came across this thread over at Jezebel full of gorgeous bedding, the desire for something with a little more, well anything, hit me hard.

Of course, dropping a few hundred dollars on bedding just isn't going to happen anytime soon. So after browsing at the beautiful, but expensive sites, I wandered over to Target, where I found this:

Oh my. I don't normally go for something so girly, pink and floral. But I think it's so bold that it doesn't feel frilly, just warm and lovely. It's more mod than little girl. And ok, I do love purple. I also love $20 quilts. Hello.

Of course, I also love Zach. Whose response was that it was very pretty, and yes he could see why I like it. But, while he could live with a girlie pattern or a girlie color, both was just too much. Which is reasonable, and expected. I'd really like to complain about how sometimes it would be nice to just do whatever I want, decorate however I want, blah blah. Except that 95% of the time, that ends up being true. Still, pretty.

Anyways, as part of my it's not that crazy girly, I made a polyvore. I'm not thrilled with it, it still needs somethings to help balance it out. But I do so love the bold colors.

Bedroom2 by GenaveeC on Polyvore.com

Three and a Half Seconds About Life

Odds are most people already saw this at Dooce, but I find it absurdly funny, and it's Saturday and I don't feel like blogging.


 

Stress Preferences

Would you rather have a packed week and a relaxing weekend, or have everything a little more evenly spread out?

Personally, I'm in the packed week, slow weekend category. Having a constant level of stress and business, even if it's all reasonably moderate just wears me out. When I'm relaxing, I like to know that I can sink into it for a while without anything hanging over my head. I can deal with crazy amount of stress, so long as I know when it will end.

In other words, even though I had a decent week work load wise, I'm still a little put out by the necessity of going back up to campus on my weekend. 

Dressing the Zach

Labor day sales were really fun for me. Not because of anything amazing I grabbed for myself (not that that didn't happen) but for one of the first times in our marriage I got to dabble in doll fantasies with Zach.

See, most days Zach wears jeans and a button down, white shirt. The same button down, white shirts he wore on his LDS mission. Which he went on when he was 19. He's 27 now. The shirts have lasted amazingly well, so there hasn't been any need in his mind to replace them. I beg to differ. Don't get me wrong, white button down shirt and jeans is a decent look. Or it can be. But everyday, with baggy old shirts and sad Dad jeans, just isn't ideal.

We eased in nice and slow. His white shirts that I suspect he will still be wearing ten years from now all hailed from Land's End. So when I saw the magic sale words at their hipper Land's End Canvas, I jumped. It took several hours looking at every possible thing, discussing what colors and patterns were too bold (him) or to blah (me), whether a medium was too loose (me) or too tight (him). And finally ended up just deciding that they had  a great return policy, so lets just try it all. And so we did. He was right about Gingham looking idiotic on him, but I was too busy thinking how great he looked in some fitted shirts with great stripes to care.

So, his wardrobe is now white shirts, and about 5 stripped shirts in various colors that fit just right. I'm thrilled. Really, really thrilled. I know it's good to not be superficial, but I kind of am to some extent, and my oh my did he look good to me.


Now if I can just convince him that just because his light wash Costco Dad jeans are indestructible is no reason to not get at least one dark wash pair with a little fit. Maybe for Black Friday.

Not Actual Legal Advice

I'll say it again - this is not actual legal advice.

But. You know how sometimes you want to just pull an ostrich and ignore something in the hopes that it will go away? And how that usually just results in you being eaten by a metaphoric lion?

Apparently that is actually a sound legal strategy! No joke. Filling lawsuits is annoying. And with a little perseverance and filling know how, you can probably annoy the other side into just giving up. Even if you lose the actual case, they have to go through even more annoying stuff to get the court to make you pay or do whatever it is your supposed to. Sure, if they ever do manage to slog through it all, or have a rotating supply of fresh student attorneys to do it for the client or otherwise can manage to do something to make the court make you do something, you may end up in a less than good situation. But all in all, ignoring it is a wonderful defense strategy.

And that's one of the things I've learned from clinic (well, that I can blog about with breaking various ethics rules. Sometimes when I'm bored/nerdy I play a game where I imagine something I'd like to do or say, and the try to figure out how many ethical rules I'm breaking. It's always a little disturbing when I come up with something particularly gnarly and then realize that it is apparently perfectly ethical. Ah law.)

Aloha Wins! (and my football heart grows three sizes)

I wrote previously about how I don't really get football and team spirit and blah blah blah.

I still don't get it. But I do apparently care. You see, over the weekend Aloha High beat Jesuit, 38-25. Which means absolutely nothing to almost everyone reading.

Aloha High School, home of the Hawaiian themed warriors even though Aloha Oregon has nothing to do with Hawaii, is where I attended High School. It's a decent school, some good teachers, good people, etc. But it is not known for good sport programs in general, and Football in particular. In my four years of High School, I'm pretty sure the football team only won one game. And that was a pre-season game, so it doesn't count. It was a truth universally acknowledged that the football team sucked. We still had the requisite pep rallies and half-hearted cheers, when the team was lucky. When the team wasn't so lucky, they would get what felt like the entire school shouting the opposing teams name after being asked "Whose going to win this game!" in a futile attempt to get us riled up by our endlessly optimistic Principal. We were a more realistic bunch.

And then there was Jesuit. Jesuit wasn't just a big, fancy private high school. They were also a sports powerhouse, to the point of almost being comical. Watching them face off against Aloha was like looking at   an inspirational sports movie with the loveable losers and the well-funded, lean, mean bad guys. Only crossed with a ritualistic slaughter. It wasn't just that the won everything, all the time, they were kind of jerks about winning. Oh, and they also lied about obviously recruiting. No one ever seemed to stand a chance, because any decent player was always swooped up by the machine.

They beat Aloha for 25 straight years. Not they we were special, we may have lost the worst, but they usually dominated everybody. Every now and again another school would somehow manage to steal away the district title, but they had still managed to keep the thing for six straight years.

And then on Friday, before probably a crowd of 5,000 (I seem to recall games being lucky to get a few hundred, and most of them were there for the marching band) Aloha beat Jesuit. By a lot. I didn't even know the game was happening, didn't think I would care even if I'd known. But when I heard the news, I was smiling and fist pumping without really knowing what I was doing.

I'm still inexplicably happy about this. This has nothing to do with me. I obviously wasn't playing the game or even in attendance. I graduated six years ago. Even when I was a student I took pride in not caring. But even though logically a big win by some teens who play at my former high school doesn't have anything to do with me, it sure feels like it does.

Autumn means

To me, autumn means delicious, carby, pumpkin muffins.

To Zach, it means a constant stream of relatively healthy homemade cranberry sauce.

This is why he is going to outlive me. Even his desserts are pretty much just fruit. Considering I'm jealous and selfish enough that he can't remarry unless my ghost says it's ok (I have the same request from him, but he rarely says no now, so I bet I can talk his ghost into if it comes down to it) I keep trying to get him to eat more like me so we can die closer together and don't have to deal with that whole mess.  But the man just prefers healthy foods. Freak. Loveable freak, but still.

A ____ kind of weekend

This hasn't been a blogging weekend. It's been a going to training seminars, finally getting rid of the ring on the bathtube, get papers started, take the pile of returns that has been clogging the apartment out to the post office, fill out passport application, take a long nap, relax with homemade pizza, a Katherine Hepburn movie (everyone has a favorite old movie star, and she's mine) and Zach kind of a weekend. See you tomorrow.

Superhero cake

Today, I made toast. Burned toast. I fail.

Bacon Pancakes

I have an  (unfairly earned, in my opinion) reputation in my family of having an excessive love of bacon. I contest that claim on 2 grounds. 1. Bacon is awesome. How can you love a good thing too much? 2. I don't really love bacon all that much. I just think many things taste better with it. And why wouldn't I want my food to taste good? This is not the same as wanting a bacon T-shirt, bacon bandaids or bacon packing tape. Yes, I've received all of those, and no, they didn't really get used.

 But back to bacon making things taste better. I'm a little shocked I never thought of it before, but bacon pancakes just seem like such an obvious bit of breakfast perfection.

Baby brides

You know you're probably too young to get married, if you still have braces.

Somewhat related, I've found that browsing through the wedding albums of strangers who happen to have friends in common with me is the perfect mix of "oh how sweet and pretty" and helping me to get out my weekly quota of judging in a quick, fun and easy manner.

Looking, Feeling and Being Awesome today

I know these pictures are horrible (only corner of the apartment that isn't super shakey, bad light, blurry due to bad light, etc). But my oh my, did I look and feel awesome today. And what's the point of a blog if I can't use it to share my awesomness with the whole internet?

My oh my, I am really having fun getting a little more dressed up and loving bright and bold colors. Also awesome is spending an hour trying to find a solution to a client problem, and in one phone call finding out that the problem just magically resolved itself. Personally, I think the awesome outfit might just have general powers of awesomeness. For a day that began with a bowl of cereal filled with spoiled milk (this was before the outfit made it's appearance, apparently yoga pants only have powers of comfyness), I'm really happy right now.

Breast Cancer Awareness

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Even though much "awareness" seems to center around randomly making things pink, awkward jokes about saving the ta-tas and vaguely dirty facebook memes that don't have any logical connection to anything productive, overall awareness does good things. Like reminding people to do self-exams to check for lumps.

I first heard about the importance of doing monthly self-exams a few years ago. One of my favorite aunts had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer (she's fine now), so for once I actually decided to give it a try.

For as much as I appreciate all the aesthetic awesomeness of my breast, my attention had mostly been focused on choosing tops that made them looks fantastic but not overly skanky. Not so much with the getting personal and touchy feely. So it felt a little odd to be feeling myself up in the shower. It felt even worse when I realized that I had a huge lump right in the middle of each breast.

I was sure that meant I was going to die. I couldn't believe that I had waited so long to check, and now it was certainly too late. Fortunately, somewhere in the midst of my hypochondria fueled paranoia, I started to think about how odd it was that I had two, perfectly symmetrical lumps in the same exact place on each boob. And then I remembered that the point of breasts was not just to flirt my way into a free meal, but to actually feed babies. And just maybe, maybe, that might require some sort of a gland that would be in each breast and feel hard to the touch. I felt like an idiot, which at least was better than thinking I was going to die.

So this October, feel free to engage in silly memes and pink ribbons. Especially remember that now is a great time to schedule yearly exams and get started checking things out for yourself. Just remember that some lumps are supposed to be there.

The people in my pillow

I was trying very hard to fall asleep last night, tossing and turning, trying to find the just right position. And then, just as I was drifting off, I started to hear these voices. I lifted my head up, nothing, no sound at all. Back down, and again with the voices. By this point I was really tired, and just could not understand what was going on. Clearly, there were no actual little people hiding and making whispered mumblings. Hopefully, I wasn't going crazy. Zach steadfastly assuring that he heard nothing really didn't help.

It wasn't until morning that I finally decided that this was just another joy of apartment living, thin walls and the weird ways sound can carry. 

Smell Like A Monster

Saturday Song

Right now the Weepies in general and this song in particular are my go to feel good music.

Quicktakes - shoe edition

• I love internet shopping, especially with the promise of free returns. Actually packing things up and walking down to the post office to send back the many rejects? Not so much. What I'm trying to say is there is a giant pile of boxes sitting in the middle of the main apartment walkway (aka one of the few spaces that is normally just space). It's not pretty or functional, but I'm kind of starting to get used to it. Which is really not good. Curse you Zappos and your one-year return policy that is not helping to spur me into action. 
• I once had a box of shoes from Zappos that I almost forgot to return by the deadline because I was using the box as a nightstand and forgot it actually had shoes in it.
• After years of listening to people rave about boots, I finally bought a pair (well, I bought several, I'm keeping one). They are very pretty, but I don't quite understand the rules of how to wear them. How cold should it be? When I wear them with a dress, am I supposed to wear socks? 
• These are my boots. I love them. I don't know if they are trendy or equestrian or motorcycle or anything. Just that they are comfy, smell amazing and make me happy. 

• Despite my lack of understanding of boots, I like them. They make me feel kind of bad ass. And warm. And normal sized. I sort of want more, but I'm picky about my shoes, and only love the expensive ones.
• Specifically, I want these. You know, if they weren't over $200. I've tried convincing myself that I would just let that be the conclusion of my fall clothing budget, but I know that I would probably just be seduced by the next can't miss sale with the can't miss thing. Even I can't lie to myself that well.

• Is it weird to follow up a post about privilege by doing a post focused on my consumer lust for pretty shoes? It feels kind of weird.

Privilege - I Haz It

I want to think of myself as a self-made woman, from self-made parents. Everyone does. I know very well all the hard things I've had to deal with in life. I know exactly how hard I've worked to overcome them. I bristle at any suggestion that somehow my hard work doesn't matter, that I didn't earn my accomplishments. And that's exactly what any suggestion of privilege or help sounds like.

I grew up poor or low middle class, depending on the year. My Dad worked more than full-time, my Mom usually worked part-time or babysat other kids. On top of that, they worked essentially another full time job managing apartments so we could have a place to live. Still, we lived in as much of a bad neighborhood as you find in the suburbs. I found used drug needles when picking up trash around the complex, there were gangs and vandalism. In just the small complex we lived in, I remember one person being shot and ultimately paralyzed and another being murdered by a stabbing. We were well off for the neighborhood, always had food, clothes and a little extra. Things were much harder after my parents divorced and didn't really start to look up until I was a teenager.

My parents had it worse. My Dad grew up one out of seven children, and while I don't think he would appreciate me displaying the details of his life on the internet for all to see, some of the stories feel more like something out of a sad book on rural poverty than anything someone real and so close to me grew up with. Both of them graduated high school, but with kids and other responsibilities piling up in their early twenties, neither was able to attend more than a few classes at community college.

Now, I'm in lawschool, I have a brother in college, and it's just a given that the rest of us will go to college and have nice, middle class lives. Both of my parents are solid middle-class homeowners. My Dad is an IT manager in a position that most of the other managers have MBAs. Life isn't perfect, but we've come very far and worked hard to get there. 

I want to look at all that and talk about hard work, boot straps and how you better believe that we earned and deserve everything we have. But that just isn't true. We are enormously privileged. My parents and now I work hard to make the best of those opportunities, but there are a whole host of other factors, some luck, but mostly just that society is set up to work better for people like us.

I had a hugely privileged education. Free schools of decent to good quality. Curriculum created by people from my general culture. At home my parents read to me, helped me with/forced me to do homework, because they had the time and knowledge to do so and that was the norm for our social group. Even not being college educated, they both read and spent time with other educated people at church and other settings. So they talked a certain way at home, so I grew up around a large vocabulary and proper grammar. I didn't have to do anything special to learn it, that was just the environment. I also had the privilege of everyone around me automatically assuming I would go to college. That played a big deal in how I viewed myself and the types of choices I made.

Even though we weren't always technically middle-class economically, I grew up in a very middle-class kind of a culture. I grew up exposed to how things work in the Middle-class world. I know what to wear to a job interview. I know how to behave in different restaurants. I can make appropriate chit chat. How? My parents taught me, by example or explicitly. I participated in mock events at church. Manners and social graces aren't signs of moral character, that's all learned behavior. The hardest working kid from a poor working class family won't have that social knowledge and that will make things harder. The same way I would be lost at a country club or other upper-crust kind of a setting.

I'm white. People are going to make more favorable assumptions about me based on that fact alone. In most business settings just my race makes me feel automatically more familiar and similar to the people in charge. And even if we really were color-blind (whatever that means) the fact that so much of what we get comes from our parents, who got stuff from their parents and so on, means that because 50 years ago my grandparents had significantly more opportunities and faced less discrimination than the grandparents of many people of color means that I get all sorts of generational benefits.

There are also other little things that I didn't earn that help me out. I have natural talents that I did nothing to earn. I didn't do anything to be "smart". Sure, I worked at school and cultivated that, but the basic ability to learn quickly is pure luck. That's a privilege.  I'm also pretty, at least according to today's standards. Not stunning, but it's enough that when I dress well and smile, I get a favorable response. That's a privilege too. I have epilepsy, and that does place some limits on me, but my overall good health is also a privilege. Just like my near constant access to health care and healthy food is too.

And that's just me. I'm also married to a man who is quite privileged and I get all kinds of benefits from that too. Both his parents are college educated, work hard and are generally wonderful. Educated, upper-middle class, white male Zach has all kinds of privilege going on.

All of that puts us in a very good position. We still have to work hard. We still have to make good financial choices. When we make mistakes, like me getting into too much law school debt by going to a Tier1 private school instead of a lower ranked but more affordable state school, or not living more bare bones than we are already, that can and does hurt us. We live on about 20k in student loans per year, the same amount the school says should be the expected budget for one person, (plus the 20k in savings we started out with) so we eat our rarely, don't have a car, live in a studio,etc. and are generally responsible. Oh, yah, the ability to get the credit to take out those loans is another privilege. But, even with all the ways we are awesome (and we are), we still wouldn't have been able to accomplish so much if we didn't have so much privilege going for us. At the very least it would have taken much, much more work on our part.

Privilege is all that and so much more. It's all the little bits of our societal framework, the way we tend to think thing just naturally work. Only, just because that's how things are, doesn't mean it's how things should be or have to be. Just that after years and years of choices and norms and power, things are such that they tend to benefit the kinds of people who generally have had the power to make the choices that create all those structures.

This doesn't mean I should feel bad or guilty about being handed a life with more than many people.  But I should recognize it. I should maybe even look at some of the societal structures that we take for granted, recognize the ways in which they aren't fair and try to change them so they are. I should certainly remember how much of everyone's lives are somewhat outside of their control for better or worse, remember that my perspective and my experience is not universal, and treat people accordingly. Just generally not being a self-righteous, judgmental biddy would also probably be good.

The Best Chocolate

I'm afraid I've become a bit of a chocolate snob. Shopping largely at Whole Foods, and their giant wall of fancy chocolate that beacons to me, urging me to try each and every kind does that to a person.

Cheap Hersheys has it's place. It's fun when you just want to have something sweet and a lot of it. But real chocolate, oh my. You only need a few pieces, because each piece demands to be savored.

It's also been fun finding all the little differences in various kinds of chocolate. For example, there is a company, TCHO, who markets all there chocolate as having a slight citrus, or floral flavor. They don't add anything, it's just the different tones from the beans.

I suppose my point is that I enjoy a lot of different chocolate. But so far I have one clear favorite.

Noi Sirius 56% bitersweet is a bit of Icelandic deliciousness. I do love the rich sharpness of good dark, chocolate, but I'm not nuts about the equally sharp texture in most bars.

This stuff is perfectly creamy. It's a little too sweet, but the deepness of the chocolate makes it work. Plus, they do it in little, thick squares that feel hefty while still being bite size and they are actually easy to break apart. The traditional wax paper wrapper is also a nice touch.

Oh, and each package contains two bars.

I'll probably have a new favorite next month, but right now I've been smuggling little bits of this stuff to class, and it is significantly improving the quality of my life.

A lot

Frequently when I'm blogging or doing some other form of writing, I'm tempted to use the phrase "a lot" to describe a great quantity of something. But I just can't use it in good conscience. This is not to say that I don't ever use a lot, well a lot. I just feel bad about it whenever I do. I can hear Ms. Barden's voice in the back of my head every time I do - "A lot is a piece of land, not a unit of measurement!"

 Ms. Barden, my high school English teacher, was by far the best teacher I've ever had (and I've had some wonderful ones). 

The first class I had her for was Honors American Literature, my 10th grade English class. I was alternatively terrified and awestruck in that class. Ms. Barden was a force of nature. She was not in any way an easy teacher. She would call students out for being idiots when they were being, well, idiots. One way or another you were going to think and work in her class. But best of all, she really respected us. She wasn't looking for form answers, she would really listen and praise when we did well. Praise that actually meant something. She was one of the first teachers who treated us like we were real, intelligent people, and nothing less would be expected. It was fantastic.

I also wrote my first, real, research paper for that class. Unfortunately, I didn't quite grasp the difference between they're, their and there by the time I turned my final paper. After about 10 corrections, she wrote in big red letters "I give up!" I felt so horrible for disappointing her, and myself, that for the next year or so I would force myself to double check every single they're/their/there because I knew there was no excuse to get them wrong. I'm only human, so I still mix them up occasionally, but I do know the difference.

Even after being slightly traumatized by the there/y're/ier, I was overjoyed when Ms. Barden took over AP English my senior year. That class was even better. We all knew each other, and that class really started to feel like home. In between Hamlet and Wuthering Heights (which remain some of my favorite novels) she would tell us stories about college and all sorts of things about growing up that somehow made everything about the scary imminent new world seem like something I could handle. I also remember her giving us her home phone number and telling us that if we were ever at a party or something we were to call her at any hour of the night, and she would be there to take us safely home. She might lecture us a bit on the drive home, but she wouldn't tell our parents - she just wanted us to be safe.

Graduating was bitersweet, especially leaving that class behind. For our final we each got to choose from a list of possible projects. My heart almost burst with pride when she told me that the 1 minute novel idea was largely done because it was perfect for me, and she wanted to see what I would come up with. It was my last high school project, and I rocked it, just like she knew I would.

I don't think remembering her every time I break one of the rules she drilled into me is quite the legacy Ms. Barden was hoping to pass on. But every time I read a good book and am forced to think about it in spite of myself, or I write something I'm proud of, I think of her. Most of all, I remember how much she cared and respected us. Thanks Ms. Barden, thanks a lot.

The last bit of the weekend always sucks

Sunday night is my least favorite time of the week. Most weekends, I feel like I have plenty of time to get everything done. So I start off with grand plans. I'm not only going to complete all the schoolwork I have to get done by Monday, but I'm also going to get a head start on the rest of the weeks assignments, plus I'm finally going to get done one or two other home things I've been meaning to do. The world is my oyster.

Friday, hey its just the tippy top beginning of the weekend. I deserve to relax.

Saturday, I start to make some token gestures towards getting things done. I open a word doc, make a very nice heading and commend myself of the good start. I may even do a few little things, like re-organize my sock drawer, that weren't even on my original list. All in all, it would have been nice to get more done, but I still feel decent and hey, I have a full day. I may not get done some of the extras, but I'll make it.

Then Sunday hits and the idea of getting anything done is excruciating. I know I need to start, time is dwindling. But, still, I can wait a little longer. Until finally it's Sunday night and I'm trying to decide whether I should just stay up later or count on an early start to get the bare essentials done in time.

Goals

I've never been very good about long, sustained goals. Anytime I decided that from now on, or even just for the next few months, I will make the bed every morning or work out more or always eat one vegetable each meal or anything else that feels like forever I end up stressed out and miserable, no matter how good of a goal it is.

However, there is a reason why I keep trying goals, even knowing that. Goals give me a little push to get out of my rut, to grow a little. And goals don't all have to be big lifestyle changes or forever commitments. I can have a goal to do one thing, just once.

So, this fall/winter I will bake some form of delicious bread. Because picking up a warm baguette from whole foods at the end of our weekly grocery trip is one of the highlights of my week, and how cool would it be if just once I was the person to create that highlight. If I like it, I may do it again. Or I may not. But, at the very least I'll have done something new and I'll know that I can do it. Plus, I'll get to eat delicious bread. Yum.

A Baby in Parliment

I'm not a Mom yet. I probably won't be for quite some time. But even knowing that getting to be a parent is a far off in the future thing, I already stress out about how on earth we will manage to be good parents, financially sound and mentally stable, especially with me about to enter the demanding (but necessary to pay off student loans) field of law.

So today when I saw the following picture of Licia Ronzulli, a member of the European Union’s Parliament from Italy, sitting and voting in her parliamentary seat, with her newborn baby asleep in a sling, I felt my heart jump a little. Seeing a powerful, accomplished woman simultaneously performing an important job while taking care of her baby? I know that this isn't the whole picture of her life, but it's still a rare image, and maybe even the only one of it's kind I've ever seen.

Good work-life balance is not the norm. It's not how the world is set up. But I am so grateful for every father and mother who pushes a little bit against the norms of how people conceive work and family. 
I don't mean this as an attack on stay-at-home parents, working parents with demanding schedules or anyone else. Those decisions are almost always hard, they almost always involve some sacrifice and they are almost always sincerely made because that is what they feel is best for their family. Any family that tries to make everything work has my respect and admiration. Sometimes we can barely seem to figure things out for just the two of us.

But I also appreciate that every choice individual families make, whether they mean it to or not, affects the general culture and structure we all live and work in and thus affects the choices of others. And yes, I am biased towards people who make choices that I feel help to open up the range of possibilities for everyone. Because I honestly believe that far to often people aren't able to make the best choice possible for themselves and their family because there are so many factors of our culture and our economy that make it impossible for some wonderful options to even be imagined, let alone a reality.

So while I celebrate every family who does their best at figuring everything out, I am especially grateful for the people who push things a little more open for all families and especially give me a little bit of hope that we too can do what is best for our someday family, truly whatever that may be.