Recovering Twilight Addict

Because what the internet needs is another Twilight post.

It's still a little weird to me how insanely popular this franchise is. I first came across the books right after New Moon came out. I was just cutting through the BYU bookstore, when I saw this woman signing books. The line only had about 10 or so people, and a quick skim of the book jacket and it's promises of supernatural romance was enough to inspire me to grab the first two books and get in line.

I went home and devoured the books . The first book was all I could hope for. Alright, so the actual plot, or at least the plot that pops up 2/3 of the way through when the author seemingly remembered that books usually have plots, was a bit hackneyed. But the overall feel of the books, the dark sexy hero, the heroine that was so easy to imprint with myself and my insecurities, the sheer tension and drama grabbed firm hold of my inner teenager. The second? Well, I was with it until the end. Just as with the first book it was so easy to get pulled in by the emotions, if not the plot. But while the second book, like the first pulled you in by Bella's larger than life emotions, this one jolted me out by completely invalidating all the excruciatingly detailed pain of the heroine (and by extension me), saying it was all ok, because deep down she knew that Edward loved her? I had been hoping for something a little more apologetic, romantic, or at least mystical. Something that actually resolved all the awfulness, made it ok. Still, I didn't read these books for the brilliant writing, so I just forgave that as a lazy mistake, and moved on to waiting for the 3rd book to arrive that summer.

When the third book finally showed up, Twilight fever was starting to rise up. I was right there with everyone, I got my book the first day it came out, and burrowed away for some escapism. Or at least I tried to. Despite my best efforts, it was hard to not stink, to not be bothered when Edward would kidnap Bella for her own good, berate and disrespect her. When even Bella straightforwardly acknowledges that their relationship is like a cocaine addiction, but somehow that is supposed to be a good thing? I gave it a good try, but I'm only human, and its hard to not think about what is screaming at me from every page.

And just like that my Twilight infatuation was over. I read the fourth book, hoping for something to take me back to the early escapism, I've tried re-reading the early books, I've even seen the movies. Ultimately, once I started thinking and actually looking at what I was reading, I couldn't stop, couldn't unthink a thought.

All the creepiness, the abuse, the control in Bella and Edwards' relationship has been discussed by many others much better than I ever could (see The Bobby Pin for one such post, and some good links to others).  This isn't a post about that.

This is a post about how to deal with thinking about what I watch and what I read.

Because the thing is, as much as thinking about the books completely ruined them for me, it was probably the right thing to do. The negative themes were already in the books. Regardless of whether or not I consciously recognized and analyzed them, in someway I was going to be picking them up anyways. I know that as I read the first two books, more than once I was sighing dreamily and thinking about how romantic it all was, how much I wanted that kind of desperate passion. Once I was forced to look at things a little more clearly, eh, not so much.

It stands to reason that I internalize little messages in pretty much everything I consume. And Twilight is hardly one of the only pieces of entertainment that has some negative themes, most of the others just tend to be a little less egregious.

Still, I tend to pursue the entertainment I do because I want to be entertained. Sure, sometimes I enjoy delving into what I'm watching and over-analyzing things, frankly with some shows you almost have to just to keep up. But not everything is worth thinking about. When I first saw Avatar, I was similarly sucked in by all the pretty pictures. I liked it, it was a fun 3 hours. At least until I heard the first comparison to Fern Gully, and then once again I ruined some perfectly good entertainment by thinking. Only this time, I don't think I gained much from my analysis. Some things are just fine as mindless fluff. They don't need any extra thinking mucking things up.

So, how do I decide when to make more of effort to unpack what I'm being served? Is it worth it to maybe ruin some harmless enjoyment for the sake of  keeping a smart eye on things?

And is that even enough? Plenty of what I watch or read concerns gray people doing gray things, I'm not about to limit myself to things where everyone acts according to my standards. I don't even consistently act in accordance with my standards. Can I just count on my being able to go "Oh, I'm being sent this message right now. I disagree with that. So brain, don't internalize that." and hope to go along my merry way unscathed?

Somehow I doubt it's that simple. Things rarely are. Still, I don't want to ruin everything by overthinking whether or not I should overthink.

Unexplicably exhausted

Do you ever wake up and feel more tired than when you went to sleep? Where you feel like you have 10 lb weights dragging you down with every step?

Everything seems to take so much more effort than normal, even the simplest acts take a cheesy b-movie level inspirational speech to garner up enough motivation to move. I'm crabby, not so much because I'm grumpy, but because being nice seems to take so much effort.

It's shaping up to be one of those weeks when just being alive, getting up every morning seems to sap me dry. Not for any particular reason, nothing I can point to or fix.

It's just the way of things sometimes. Occasionally life feels less like an active task, something you can push and shape with will and effort, and more like riding out a storm. Sure, you do all you can to stay afloat, but you never know what weather patterns are going to hit, and just as quickly as they roll in, the fade away and bring in something utterly new and unpredictable.

One morning, maybe tomorrow, maybe not, I'll wake up refreshed and happy, eager and energetic, with just as much explanation and warning as all this.

Thunderstorms

Generally speaking I'm a west coast snob. Especially during DC summers, it is easy to wistfully think back on the mild(er) humidity free summers back home in Oregon.

However, DC summers do have one thing going for them. Thunderstorms. Much as I love/hate the peaceful perpetual drizzle of the northwest, there is something spectacular about an East coast thunderstorm. I still can't get over how fats they crop it. Today started off hot and sunny, and next thing I know the sky has been invaded by a steady march of black thunder clouds, and then it starts, fast and furious, rain beating down furiously, with the loud accompanying thunder and lighting. It's simultaneously pretty, powerful and peaceful. I love it.

Today I got home before everything started, opened the blinds wide, ate a leftover cupcake and just enjoyed sinking into the show for the twenty minutes before the sun erupted and that was that.

And knowing that the storm usually breaks the humidity helps a little bit too.

Happy Birthday to Me!

I'm going to go cap off a wonderful day with a almost as wonderful cupcake. Full report of merriment tomorrow.

The glass is half sunny

I know it's going to be a good day when I step outside, and my first thought as I get hit by a wave of heat and humidity is "why hello summer."

Gift Espionage

I've always been bad about trying to figure out what my gifts are before hand. I was the kid who knew all the secret hiding places, all the best ways of carefully lifting up wrapping paper to take a little peak. My worst moment was checking my Dad's ebay username before one of my birthdays, where I discovered a lovely digital camera that had just been purchased. I've got the chops to pull of a very convincing excited/surprised face, but while peeking satisfies my curiosity, it does leave the actual experience being a little cheated.

I bring this up because my birthday is coming up on Sunday, and it is driving me batty knowing that somewhere in the shoebox, there is a gift with my name on it. I could easily find it in, oh, about 15 minutes if I tried. (Sure, I can't find my keys, but my present finding skills never fail.)

It is taking every ounce of my willpower to not be bad. When Zach came home from ''oh, just walking around" I intently did not look back to greet him until he had time to stash whatever it was he was trying to hide behind the grocery bags. When I walk into the closet (where I'm 85% sure it is) I am very careful to just get what I need and get out of there, before the urge to just lift up a few things kicks in. I've even managed to avoid checking the credit card statement, just in case.

The longer I force myself to not look, the more my inner craftiness comes out to play. I have devious plots formulating uncontrollably of how to casually knock things over, subtly interrogate my target for information, etc. Sunday better hurray up, I'm not sure how long I can keep this up.

Source

Learning to eat my veggies (I'm worse than the average 5 yr old)

I'm really, really trying to eat better. Not for any particular reason, it just always seems like a good idea. So I'm making some strives. Less processed foods. Whole grains. Counting calories. The whole shabang.

It's a good idea in theory. I can deal with eating yogurt over cake. I can work with mixing in some whole wheat with my pancakes. I'm ok with eating less of what I love. (usually)

It's the eating more of what is good for me that is hard. There is one giant hurdle to all that. I hate vegetables. There's just something about them that makes it difficult to force them down my throat. Even when the taste isn't offensive, the texture is usually enough to push me over the edge.

As a kid, I would only eat frozen peas and other vegetables that I could swallow whole with a milk chaser, like pills. I consider it a victory that I can now enjoy a good salad now and then. Granted there is so much dressing, bacon and other goodies on them that I'm not so sure that is an actual nutritional victory, but I'm still counting it. And I've grown to accept some good grilled zucchini and veggies mixed in very well with other things. I can enjoy some fruit. But generally speaking, veggies are not my friend.

But every guide to healthy living all seems to focus on eating more of the veggies. Really, there isn't anyway to get enough nutrition without eating too much food without a majorly plant enthused diet. Trust me, I've tried. 

So now I get to try to find a way to eat veggies without gagging. Lucky me.

Tonight I got ambitious and made Smitten Kitchen's ratatouille, in the hopes that the pretty colors and pixar reference would be enough for me. Plus, I kind of like tomatoes, onions, red peppers and zucchini. And the other ingredients didn't seem to bad. It seemed worth a try.

The verdict? Well, it was very pretty. I could make myself eat enough to constitute a light dinner. The pioneer woman's red pepper risotto certainly helped it go down smooth. I suppose it was kind of a victory.

Still, I'm looking for a little more than just food I can force down. I'm sure this is a great recipe for some people. It's just not enough to combat the fact that I just don't like the basic ingredients.

So, it's back to the drawing board. Any suggestions for a ridiculously picky adult?

Sex Noises

"Yes, yes, oh yes! Come on, come on... Oh God, yes!"

Really, really sounds like sex noises. Probably just someone at work watching the world cup. Either way, the occasional loud bursts of oral passion are making it really hard to concentrate this morning.

Swollowing the frog

It's amazing how simple so many things are if you just do them.

I lost my keys over two weeks ago. I know that they are somewhere in the apartment. However, after repeatedly tearing the place apart, including a memorable trip through the kitchen trash, complete with chicken guts, they were nowhere to be found.

Sure, we made things work. But stressing out about getting home in time to make the key swap before Zach leaves for evening classes and essentially leaving who ever was key-less trapped inside just isn't the best way to live. 

The worst part was that my keys had the only mail key. Like many, I pretty much just use the postal system for netflix, but it still drove me crazy knowing that there were things in that little metal box that were mine, but I couldn't get.

I have no idea why the idea of going to the office and admitting that I can lose my keys in a 380 square foot apartment seemed so repugnant to me. I don't know if I was scared of a lecture, a fine or what. I just know that I  tried to pick the mailbox lock before asking for help. The you tube how-to video did make it seem easy (it's not), but still.

So, I finally went in, tail between my legs. No sooner did I mention needing keys when they handed me a complete set. One quick trip to the hardware store, keys were copied and everything was just peachy.

So why didn't I just do this two weeks ago?

Sunshine

As I emerged from the artificial light of my work on Friday, the bright blue sky and warm kiss of sunshine almost knocked me flat on my back.  All of a sudden, here was summer in all her glory. Not muggy, not grey, just an explosion of , the scent of sunshine and green. I couldn't bear to go inside even after my bus ride home, so I found a green patch on the lawn of the complex next to mine and spent 20 amazing minutes finishing up my commute book and soaking everything in. Even after I returned to the shoebox, I couldn't stop smiling.

So Saturday I woke up and from the first peek of sunshine between the blinds, I knew I had to get back out there, this time with the preparation to really enjoy it.

I hope I'm not the only one who feels the need to bring a giant bag, full of everything I could ever possibly need everywhere I go. In this case, I was literally just going the other end of my block. I could have walked back home, grabbed whatever I need, and walk back in under 5 minutes. I still felt the need to completely stuff my giant bag full of any and everything I could possibly need, and then some. I felt particularly silly grabbing a Costco sized bag of pita chips and some hummus.

I felt less silly as my afternoon played out. Just me lounging in the sun, casually munching on pita chips and being drawn into a good book. I'm not sure how to not sound cheesy, but it was almost healing. I spend so much of my time inside. Really, aside from waiting for the bus and walks to the grocery store, I spend all of my time inside. i know that sitting a block away on some apartments grass, with all the comforts of home totted along with me is hardly the great outdoors as most people mean it, but there was something almost magical about that sun, that breeze, that sky. Aside from the occasional very obvious constriction worker oggle, it was just perfect. And even then, so long as no one is shouting obscenities, I'm counting it good.

I may have stayed out in the perfection a little to long, part enjoyment, and part I tend to forget that as an indoor bound adult I don't soak up the sun with quite the ease I'm used to.I may smell like aloe vera and normal clothes kind of hurt, but it was well worth it. After all, we all need a little sunshine sometimes.

Father's Day

For the 3 hour each way krispy cream runs to Issaquah together that weren't really about the donuts. For standing up for me, even when it embarrassed me. For supporting me, even when it terrified you. For trying to care about what I cared about, even when that meant listening to a teenage girl yabber on and on inanely her obsession if the week. For making me feel special. For listening and treating me respectfully, even when I was kind of an idiot. For always being there.

You aren't the best Dad in the whole wide world. You were always a person, and sometimes you messed up. But I always knew you loved me. I always knew you would so anything for me, would always be there. Technically perfect or not, I don't care. I wouldn't want anyone else for my Dad.

Happy Fathers Day.

(I know the whole parent/child wedding picture thing is cliche, but given that I'm 3,000+ miles away from both the man and the alternative cliche baby pictures, I'm calling it good. Also? Picture taken by a friend, so sure the lighting isn't up to pro standards, blah blah, I just love the look on our faces.)

At least I feel healthy

I love how merely bringing home a big bag of produce makes me feel healthy. Never mind that inevitably some of it will get lost in the recesses of the fridge and spoil before it is found again. And that even what does survive is more likely to be eaten by Zach than me. It still makes me feel healthy.

Bananas luchadores

By day, they are just your ordinary, unassuming bananas.

But by night!

See, if I'd known that you could do crazy things like this, maybe I would have paid attention to all the craft stuff tossed at me as a youngin.

Source

Love you to bits

Whenever someone says they love someone to bits, I always picture them as a creepy serial killer with a big smile, bigger axe and the object of their affection, well, in bits.

Yah, not exactly my favorite term of endearment.

My middle school eyes

So, I look like a junior high hooker. Actually, the hooker language is unnecessary. It's pretty much just how most middle schoolers look. After all, how can people tell how grown up you are for wearing makeup if it is not clearly and obviously visible to everyone within 50 ft.

And then you grow up, decide that maybe like like a whore who exclusively caters to glitter clowns just isn't working anymore, and move on to spending 15 minutes everyday so you can look like you did nothing. I tried to explain this concept to Zach once when we were dating and he mentioned that I looked tired, I tried to explain that I just didn't have makeup on and he tried to claim that I almost never wear makeup, so that couldn't possibly be why.* Considering how much time I would spend to try to impress guys, their extreme ignorance can be a little disheartening.

At least I've had some confirmation that my natural looking makeup skills usually work. Mostly because I have no creativity make-up wise, so I stick to my tried and true itty-bitty bit of foundation, quick swipe of blush and various shades of beige eyeshadow with a swipe of mascara. It works for me. At least until one of my tried and trues runs out. Well, in this case it didn't so much run out, as it did shatter into a cloud of bronzey beige powder. Several times. While I don't really expect my hand-eye coordination to be superb first thing in the morning, it's still a pain to have to replace it.

Apparently enough of a pain that I just kind of grabbed something that looked similar to my old stuff without really looking at it. Had I looked I may have been tipped off by the use of the word crystal and maybe even noticed the giant pieces of glitter. Even using this stuff conservatively results in David Bowie Labyrinth eyes. I don't want to go and spend another $5... but here's hoping for a few groggy mornings so I can get an excuse to end this hideous fashion flashback.




*Actually, I'm not entirely sure this ever happened. I feel like it did. I'm sure we've at least had conversations with similar themes. Still, if I don't have a disclaimer, next month when Zach gets around to reading back posts I'll end up having another I'll have to defend this statement, and I really don't have anything.

Life is open book and other ways school may have messed me up for reality

I've grown very accustomed to the fine art of information regurgitation and BS. Really, most of my academic career has consisted of throwing out whatever I know that relates to the subject, however remotely. Worst case, you guess. Above all, you make it sound like you know what you're talking about.

This is a decent strategy for a test, when its better to have something on the page than nothing, and close counts. However, in the real world it is apparently not a good idea to just guess confidently when giving legal advice to people.* No, you actually have to be sure that what you're doing is right. Thank heavens life is open-book. This may take some getting used to.



*For the sake of making me continue to seem somewhat competent, I should point out that I didn't actually give anyone made-up legal advice. I'm far to terrified to do anything that bold (and stupid). My supervisor just said something, and it got me to thinking. No malpractice 'round here. 

Lunching in

I think I might actually need to start packing lunches. The past couple days I've been buying lunches, and while I am overjoyed to actually get paid this summer, blowing 1/6 of my lovely paycheck on eating out (yes, I make that little/lunch can easily cost that much) as opposed to practical things like rent, or fun things like shoes, kind of seems to defeat most of the paycheck joy. Paying for work lunches is too much like paying to work.

Which leaves me with packing my own lunches, like a good frugal person. Which I'm not. I haven't consistently packed a lunch since elementary school. My tastes have probably changed a bit from when I would scarf down cold Chef Boyardee everyday. During the past school year I would usually just try to power through with out lunch until I went home for the day mid-afternoon. Or, if that was to much to bear and I got lucky, I could often manage to scavenge a free lunch from the various conferences going on. The conferences, and their free lunches have dried up over the summer. I know, poor baby can't steal free food anymore.

On the plus side, I now have access to both a refrigerator and a microwave, so my options have expanded considerably beyond just sandwiches. I hope to be able to just use leftovers for much of my lunching, but since we are now used to making dinners fit for two, without so many leftovers that things go bad, I can't exactly count on that. Also, I'm lazy in the mornings, so I need something I can easily do the night before without it going soggy - a major flaw for sandwiches. Preferably something healthy. And delicious. I'm not about to go through all the effort of lunch packing for something mediocre. My laziness requires some serious yummy motivation.

Any suggestions? I'm thinking some form of pasta salad sounds nice and summery. And that's pretty much all the ideas I've got.

Sandals

Apparently my beat up rainbows aren't exactly appropriate footwear for an adult, and since I'm kind of hoping that if I keep pretending to be one, eventually the whole grown up thing will just kind of happen, I've been eyeing alternatives lately.

I love the greek, but not crazy gladiator look of this and this, plus the silver feels a little more modern than white, while still being a calm neutral.  After years of getting a new pair of white saltwater sandals every year as a kid, white sandals just feel too juvenile to me. But silver? I can do that. Now if only I could decide between the two. Or come up with $100 for sandals.

I'm also loving the look of neutral wedges, like these. Way comfier than a heel, but still giving a little extra height. Plus, with the beige, I bet they could make even my stumpy legs look long(ish).

Any sandal styles you guys are loving this summer? I still don't see myself giving up the flip-flops any time soon (at least until I can find the miracle triad of comfy, cute and cheap) but it can still be fun to browse.

So this is what a weekend is

I really, really love having weekends entirely free from homework and other nagging responsibilities that tend to float around and mar perfectly good, unproductive fun. I'm going to go do something entirely frivolous now, because I can.

World Cup

Winding through Embassy row on my way to Costco today, I was a little surprised to see several giant posters adorning some of the embassies wishing support for their countries teams in the world cup. Sports and fancy, official government buildings don't usually meet. But then, such is the power of football.

Now, I'm not a sports person. I'm not a fan of anything. I don't watch, play or care. But I do find football fans kind of endearing.

Haven't a clue why. Like sports in general, I'm fairly neutral towards most sports fans. Well, except American football. I used to be just peachy toward them, but after 4 years at BYU of being told that my cougar apathy was almost blasphemous was enough to make me loath American football fans and their boorish superiority complex.

But football? I don't know, the fans are kind of charming. They stay up late to watch games between countries many of us haven't ever heard of. I like the bright jerseys. Ole ole ole is by far one of the least annoying sports chants. Sure, there's the occasional riot, but I can overlook that.

I still don't care about the world cup. But for all those that do, I hope you have a nice time, because I do care about you.

Metro Eloquence

This morning, on the metro, I sat in front of a man who very enthusiastically, and at great volume ranted incessantly for no apparent reason about something that made no sense. Which in and of itself isn't that interesting. While the metro in the summer is usually a decent mix of mid-level professionals and tourists, there is still the occasional vocal  possibly unbalanced passenger. What was interesting about this guy, was he had one of the most impressive vocabularies I've ever heard. Some nice rhetorical devices were thrown in as well. Alliteration, $5 dollar words, the whole shebang. Don't get me wrong, what he was saying so eloquently didn't make a lick of rational sense. But he said it very well.

Why not better?

Zach keeps asking me what I want for my upcoming birthday, and I don't know how to answer. It's not that I'm one of those people where golly gee my life is so perfect, how could I ever want more? No, I can't answer because I want far too much.

I want an awful lot of stuff. Shiny stainless steel pots and pans. DSLRs. A car, the ability to just hop in and go without consulting dozens of bus schedules and routes, praying that everything will run on time. A real home, with real things and a real life.

Really, it isn't about the stuff. It's about feeling stuck in this stage of life. I care about all the shiny things, sure, but I mostly just care about the kind of life they represent. I'm so tired of feeling like we should be someplace other than where we are in life. Everywhere I look and see couples our age or married for as long as we are who are having babies, buying houses and getting jobs. Moving forward in life. And we're just sitting here. Stagnant and terrified that we'll never be able to move forward. We knew that grad/law school would be hard, but we always thought that it would be worth it, we would come out the other side and find great opportunities. Now I just see debt and more of the same. 

One of the reasons I want to move so badly is that when I think of the shoebox, it always feels like the place we are in because we can't do any better. We don't live here because it is good for us, we are here because we fail to do any better. I hate having that constant reminder around me. I hate that every day I wake up to that, come home to that.

It feels the like the Universe has personally stabbed me in the gut and is twisting the knife every time we find a perfect place, get excited and then watch it fall away. There is always a good reason. It's against policy to rent a studio to 2 people. The apartment already rented. But it all sounds like you can't do better to me.

I so badly want to just go screw it, it's only student loan money and just get a decent place. All the other in-school couples I know live in 1 bedrooms, why not us? Why can't we just move forward, just a little bit?
Why can't we ever seem to do better?

Private

Whenever the blog of an acquaintance or a blog stalkee goes private, I always assume that it's because of me and my apparently creepy repeated visits from DC.

Preserving Perfection through Procrastination

While searching for new potential homes, I found an apartment complex that I just fell in love with. Perfect location, right next to the Zoo, beautiful views of Rock Creek Park, next to a lovely neighborhood with perfect little shops, and minutes from the metro. Still a studio, but much bigger and with nice nooks for the bed, which is almost like a one-bedroom. It's just perfect. I've taken to calling it the magic apartment. I bet the roof doesn't have holes in it.

I'm already planning paint colors and playing around with furniture placement. Never mind that I have no idea if there are any vacancies or if there were, if we would even be approved. I'm almost scared to ruin the illusion by actually calling (I sent an e-mail to their generic address, but that may never get a response). I just so don't want to be here anymore, and I don't want to risk the dream of elsewhere, even if it is just a fantasy.

Happy Birthday to the Zach

Zach turned 27 today. You know how when you are a kid, everyone seems so old, and 20 may as well be 30, which is close to death? From my youngin' perspective (I'm 4 years younger than Zach), 27 seems awfuly close to 30, which does kind of make me go whoa. But, still we celebrated.

We celebrated by gallivanting all over the Nat'l Zoo, where we got to look at sleeping animals and get horribly hot and sweaty. It's the funny thing about being happy - objectively, it was kind of a zoo failure. Really hot, really humid and of the half of the animals we could find, about half of them were asleep. (Which is why the picture for this post is a stone lion.) Well, most were asleep, with the exception of the lions, who were cuddling, and then, well, doing more than cuddling. Which was fun, mostly because the reactions of all the parents were kind of hilarious. But, while the actually stuff was kind of a miss, we were to happy to be out and about, spending some good time together to really care.

Also, we had some really good Thai food.

But mostly just the joy of us. I'm glad you're around Zach. You make even the hottest and humidiest of days not just bearable, but enjoyable. Happy Birthday.

Looking beyound the shoebox

With the giant hole in the ceiling still not fixed, and warnings of another power outage next week, I've been scouring apartment ads on Craigslist lately. Even though almost everything looks better than where we are now, I kind of expect a place to be amazing to be worth the hassle of moving. Sure, the shoebox is the shoebox, but it requires no special effort to live here beyond paying rent. I'm familiar with the neighborhood. There's a lot to be said for that. Also, it seem silly to move not knowing where (or if) I'll be working next year. But, they also seem to raise the rent by $100 every year, just because they can, and most people are too lazy to move in protest. For an extra hundred, I'd rather be someplace not here. So casually looking around seems like a nice option. No commitments, but if we get swept off our real estate feet, I'm open to a new relationship.

On that note, what are your thoughts on basement apartments? Some of them seem quite nice. I like the idea of being in a real house, not an apartment building. But on the other hand, I wonder if being that close to your landlord might be a little awkward. I'm not nuts about the management here, but at least they aren't also my upstairs neighbors. When my neighbors annoy me or visa versa, no one has the power to kick me out, or punitively refuse to fix things. I like the looks and price of so many basement apartments, but they make me nervous. Any experiences?

Friday Favorites

1. Rainbow flip-flops. I know that I'll look so much more put together in slightly nicer sandals, but in this heat, its nice for at least on part of me (feet) to be comfortable.
2. Sarah Dunant Novels (Birth Of Venus, Company of the Courtesan, Sacred Hearts) Books of women, passion, life all in a Renaissance background, with ample focus on the arts, by an actual historian who weaves in every little detail perfectly. I'm just eating these up.
3. Speaking of actually eating up,  Lemon and Raspberry Gelato. So good. Like a fresh raspberry lemonade, sweet and tangy and perfect. Or just any fruit at all. Ooo, and dried mangoes. Between fresh produce and it being too hot to cook, I eat so much better in the summer.
4. Oddly enough, today I've been digging Britney Spears. Sure, she can't really sing, but in some ways that makes singing and dancing along all the more enjoyable. If I could only erase the memory of my high school dance class routine to "I'm A Slave 4 U."
5. Dreams of Hawaii and a white, sandy beach. (Apparently Hawaii Air is doing a $330 round trip special. Ahh, if only)
6. This swim suit. Want. So much. If only I ever went to the water.

Pathetically Tired

I am so pathetically tired. As in, have no real excuse to be, and yet can still barely stand up.

Needing sleep isn't pathetic. I recognize that some super humans claim to be fine with just a few hours, bit I think they lie. I can't imagine functioning with less than a norm of 8. I can do less, but not consistently. I need my sleep, love it, crave it. And I use the best of my student powers to ensure that I get it. Law school is hard and time consuming, but it does have flexible scheduling, especially now that I can plan all of my own classes.I've sucked it up and done classes at 10 am or even (gasp!) 9 am. But generally I try to get some good sleep time in my schedule. And then after finals, which suck in many ways, but are even more free flowing schedule wise, and then vacation. Well, I haven't gotten up before 9 am since the middle of April.

Until now. I haven't even had to get up all that crazy early. Today I had to be at the courthouse downtown at 9 am - you know, the normal time people go to work. I didn't even need to stay long, I was home by 1pm.

By 4 in the afternoon I was barely conscious. I kind of waddled over to the bed after requesting an "apple' from Zach and being very frustrated that he didn't understand that I was asking him to play some soft music on the i-pod as opposed to bringing me fruit. I crashed hard, and only got up at 6 because Zach cajoled me to. I'm already tired again. This after all of three strenuous hours of watching court hearings and taking a brief tour.

The real world is going to eat me alive.

Get Loose

Well, my new job started today. On one hand, the part of me who likes nice, neat orderly routines is twitching. I still have no idea what I'm going to be doing each and every day, or even what my schedule will be. I think that being told that things are kind of relaxed, and just do whatever works was meant to be comforting.I'm wondering how anyone in the severe Type A atmosphere could possibly think that would be comforting. I consider myself relaxed and free flowing - for a law student anyways. But the thought of no routine, no consistency, no idea what to expect sends chills down my spine.

On the other hand, I came in at 10am today and was home by 3:30, because that's just when we were done. I may learn to like this looseness.

My 1950's reverso marriage

Sometimes I think I am quite possibly the laziest person alive. And a lousy spouse to boot.

I remember long before I got married I would see all these women who did all the housework, all day, everyday, while their husbands got to go to work, come home and relax. I remember all the lessons, implied and explicit, about how important it was for girls to be good homemakers. To cook and clean and care. I didn't want any of that. I swore that when I got married, we were going to straight up equals, neither of us enslaved to household drudgery (I'm sure it can have its rewards and positive attitude. But come on, cleaning sucks. It's necessary, but it sucks). There was no way I was going to be in such an anachronistic relationship.

Ha. I'm as bad as a vintage '50's husband. Well, minus the affairs and plus the whole talking about feelings thing. But housework wise? I suck. I clean the bathroom. In theory once a week, in reality... well, I've wiped down the worst of it recently, but actually cleaning? I can't remember. I also clean up some clutter and sweep and vacuum the main room. But all that, even on a good week is probably only a little more than an hour. I cook sometimes, but it isn't the norm.

Zach, on the other hand, does dishes, everyday. Which, what with no dishwasher, is substantial. Hell, he does everything in the kitchen, from cleaning out the fridge, to mopping the floor, to cleaning the stove. Everything. And all the laundry (that is largely because he is cheaper than me, and likes to air dry everything and then put it all into the dryer, for 10 minutes each bunch to get rid of the crunchyness). And most of the cooking. And some other stuff.

Yah. Technically, he is in class less hours a week than me (and over the summer, with me working and him in school, he will likely have more time) but generally our workloads are similar. This is just a result of me sucking. There really isn't that great of an explanation. I just get caught up in whatever I'm doing, sink into my relaxing nothingness and then pow! Next thing I know its bedtime. Or worse, I realize what needs doing and just don't wanna. So I don't. And he does.

I do try to be better. Sometimes. And I am, for a while, until I get super busy and it's ok to not do all that, he'll take care of it, after all we are partners, we help one another out. Until suddenly I'm not busy, and we sure aren't acting like partners anymore.

It's a horrible habit. It's not good for him, for us, or even for me. Like so many habits it's so good, so easy, so hard to fight. So here I am, at the end of a long day, where my big accomplishments include taking a shower and getting my hiring paperwork filled. Meanwhile, the kitchen in sparkling, I've been fed, fresh laundry is drying. It's fairly pleasant in the shoebox, or it would be, if everything didn't silently condemn me. And yet here I sit, blogging not doing, again.