Undefeated!

So, I've been gone for awhile but I had a really good reason. I just returned from a monthlong trial in Houston...my first jury trial. And we won. I can't really post about the trial itself, as much as I might want to, but I can say that I learned a great deal.

One of the most important things I learned is what really matters, based on what you can and cannot live without for an extended period of time. I've read or watched almost zero news or sports over the last few months, and I haven't missed it. I haven't watched a single moment of television except for the Indy 500 since sometime in March. I slept very little. I felt at times completely out of touch with what was going on in the world. And it was very disorienting, but I could live without those things if I needed to, because it was important.

What I could not live without, even though I had to try, was the love and support of my friends and family, the people who really matter to me. Being out of touch from them was nearly physically painful, so much so that I jumped at an opportunity to run home for a quick weekend to spend with those I really care about. It was glorious, and it kept me sane. And now that I'm back, I still haven't gone grocery shopping, done laundry, restocked my fridge or my bathroom cabinets, or anything essential like that. Instead I've spent 2 days being around the people I missed so much, and will continue to do so for much of this week. I am home, in every sense of the word, and it's what I craved and felt so deprived of for the past month of trial and even the weeks leading up to it.

The greatest lesson I learned is to appreciate and revel in that wonderful feeling of being home with those I love, because it's the one thing that I will desperately long for when I don't have it. I'm looking forward to not knowing that feeling again for a good long while.

Quick and Dirty

I have no time or enthusiasm for blogging anymore, obviously. But I just can't bring myself to shut this place down. So, we do a quick and dirty update since the last post pre-vacation:

* I played in one poker tournament in Biloxi. Finished somewhere in the high 40's, and top 27 got paid. I had terrible cards for most of the day so even lasting that long was really surprising, and actually made me feel pretty good about my effort. I had nothing to work with, but I made it work well enough to outlast some really good players.

* The sexism in poker still gets to me, but I'm finally used to it now. I actually had a guy lay down pocket queens to my bet, and it was an older guy who had been super-flirty with me to that point. (He saw me on my cell phone at the break and asked if I was "texting with my boyfriend," kept calling me "hot stuff," etc.) Now he said he was laying them down because he had gotten burned with them several times already, and I think that was at least partially true. But I also think he was trying to do me a favor, which is fairly condescending. Of course, I had pocket jacks so I was happy for the fold, but I didn't tell him that. He had been very chatty with the whole table, trying to play the "I'm just a dumb first timer, you must be really good at this" role...meanwhile before the tournament started he was bitching about how lousy the comps were for poker players when he had gambled over $2mil. in MGM owned casinos in the last year. So, notsomuch.

* It was raining when I got to Pensacola the first day of my vacation, so I decided not to play in the Tuesday poker tournament and instead stayed all morning in Fla. to get a nice long walk on the beach in before I had to leave. It was wonderful. Despite normally not being a big Hampton Inn fan, I have to give it up for the Hampton Inn on Pensacola Beach--it is way nicer than most of the chain and I would totally stay there again. Although their "heated pool" was so cold I nearly died.

* I ate at a restaurant on the beach called Peg Leg Pete's--also highly recommended. The food was delicious and the company was good too. However, I did have an older retired couple from GA there start talking to me about why they moved to Pensacola, and at one point the guy did a quick look around the bar and then just launched into an incredibly racist statement. (Something about how the locals all call this one beach "chicken wing beach" because "that kind" hang out there.) I hate it when things like this happen, because I realize it would do no good to chide him for saying it, but I also don't want to be complicit in his racism and act like it doesn't bother me. So, inevitably, I end up sitting there with an uncomfortable look on my face, hoping he will realize he shouldn't have said it but that I am too polite or weak or whatever to flat out call him out for it. And then I wrapped up my drinking and left soon thereafter.

* In Biloxi, I lost a lot of money and ate a wonderful meal at Mary Mahoney's, as is my annual tradition. Still the best seafood gumbo I have EVER had. However, they cannot make a gimlet to save their damn lives. Here's a hint: it should not be over ice, and it should not be fizzy.

* After Biloxi, I drove back to attend a friend's show at Smith's, and the next morning on little sleep and much hangover, I flew to Vegas. We stayed at the Mandalay Bay this time, and I much preferred it to the MGM Grand where I stayed in May. I again lost money, but had a couple big slot machine wins ($350 oncer, $200 at the airport) and some good blackjack play. However, overall the trip was pricey because my gambling would swing hard in both directions. Not as bad as T., who was with us, and who lost $800 in about 20 minutes on 8 $100 hands of blackjack! LIVING THE DREAM.

* We ate our way through Vegas, and that seriously has to be the best foodie town in the universe. First night we had Border Grill mexican food that was delicious, the next day we had Burger Bar for lunch (it says a lot that this very tasty meal ended up being the least impressive of the trip but was still good), then Nobu for dinner where SOME PEOPLE ordered kobe beef steaks cooked over hot rocks at $32 an ounce, then the next day for lunch I had a lamb burger and fried dill pickles at BLT Burger that was TO DIE FOR, and finally we finished it off with an excellent Russian fusion tasting menu at Red Square. All of it was yummy.

* Good thing I went on that "crash vegas" diet...I lost 7 pounds in 17 days, and I wasn't even trying that hard for the last week or so. But I gained 4 right back in Vegas! (I've taken off 2 of those in the last week since I've been back and hitting the treadmill again.) This really inspired me to rededicate, because I do feel so much better when I am working out 4 days a week at least. Also, with the cooler weather, I am going to try walking outside on weekends more often. I still hope to get myself half-marathon ready by January...

* The craziest moment of the entire Vegas experience was when I realized while eating lunch at BLT Burger in the Mirage that my wallet was gone. I didn't know if I had dropped it, been pickpocketed, or left it in the cab I had arrived in 45 minutes earlier. I have to give major, major props to the staff of the Mirage, who got the security folks to find the cab number of the cab I got out of through their security camera footage, called the cab company and fought their way through the labyrynthic maze to reach the driver, and discovered that he had my wallet and made arrangements for him to bring it back to me. It completely saved my vacation, and then I tipped the entire world for their help. I will also probably stay at the Mirage next time I am in town, because I feel like I owe them for going over the top for me when I was not even a guest on their property.

* Speaking of next time, there is already a movement afoot to go back for Thanksgiving. I don't think I can afford it!

* This was only my second "real vacation" (i.e. not a long weekend or Christmas/Thanksgiving holiday trips home to family) since I graduated from law school. Twice I have managed to take an entire week off from work, in 10 years. This is sad. This needs to be remedied.

Tell me about your Christmas list

I am at a total loss in the gift-giving department this year. I just cannot figure out what any of my friends or family want or need, and since I'm unlikely to have much time to shop I need to come up with some ideas in a hurry. Unless people give me some good suggestions, virtually everyone on my Christmas list is getting a sweater, a bottle of wine, cologne/perfume, or a Snuggie. Seriously, I wish I were kidding but that's what has been purchased so far and what I think I am stuck with.

As a little quid pro quo for you sharing your wish list with me, I'll share mine with you in case you are similarly at a loss for gift ideas:

1. A Blu-ray disc player: preferably the kind that also can download movies etc. via wi-fi, because seriously, how cool is that?

2. Lolita Lempicka perfume: I wear this constantly. I got 2 bottles of it for my birthday a few years ago and I have just about used them up!

3. A dutch oven: the Le Creuset ridiculously expensive cast iron kind, not the one where you fart in my bed and pull the covers over my head, in case anyone was thinking this one sounded way too easy.

4. Gift card for a massage at a spa: always a good idea for the women in your life.

5. An FSU flag to fly outside my house: now that the team is back on the right track to its former perennial glory, I want to proudly display my allegiance in front of my soon-to-be garnet and gold house

I could probably come up with a few more, but those are the first 5 things that spring to mind. Of course, I would also be thrilled with a sweater or a bottle of wine (or tequila), because I am simple like that.

Mood Music: a song and a story

It's been a weird week, folks. Thanks to Monday morning's email from the ex-boyfriend, I've had more occasion to think about my life in Tallahassee and Boston many years ago than I have in ages. This morning the following song came on my iPod and it immediately transported me to 2002.

But let me take you back even further, to the fall of 1995 when we first met. I was a young, inexperienced and woefully naive 20 year old FSU student. My roommate convinced me to run for student Senate, and while campaigning for our seats I met Gabe. I actually met him for the first time at the house just on the edge of campus that we used as our campaign HQ--known as the "House of Kaos." I was at a party there, and Gabe walked in. (He was also a student senate candidate.) It was one of those moments like out of a movie, when you see someone and for no apparent reason you realize they are going to be significant to you in ways you cannot possibly anticipate. A few days later, we spent an afternoon campaigning sitting at a table outside the English building talking to students who stopped by and wanted to know more about our party, the Progressive Coalition. I was intrigued by him, and the die was cast.

During the course of that senate campaign, I also met Susan, who was running for one of the other Arts & Sciences senate seats. We became fairly good friends almost immediately, and in the months that followed after we won our senate seats and took over the FSU student senate, we spent a lot of time together. Susan was there for the budding romance between Gabe and I, including the disastrous first date (wherein SOMEONE neglected to mention to me that he would be rooting for Miami until we arrived together at the FSU-Miami game), the dream I had that convinced me to give him another chance despite said disaster, and the growing realization that there was more than just a spark at work.

Susan probably also knew it would be an eventual catastrohic failure. In some very obvious and important ways, he and I were so different.

For reasons I've long since forgotten, Susan and I fell out of touch. Gabe and I moved to Boston for several years before we finally broke up at the beginning of 2002. At the end of that year, I bought Aimee Mann's Bachelor No. 2, and I can still remember the slow, sad smile that crept across my face as I listened to this song for the first time. It was just so right.

In a happy quirk of coincidence, Susan and I have now both ended up living in Atlanta, and last fall we reconnected via Facebook. There is something so wonderful about reconnecting with someone who knew you at such an incredibly important formative point in your life, and I am privileged to have her as a friend again. I have never told her this story of how this song has made me think of her for the past 7 years, but hopefully she will listen to it and smile as well.

Abortion juice

I wrote about this briefly on Twitter, and realized it was one of those strange but funny stories that would be perfect for a blog post.

Back in college, I spent a year living with a fun-loving and completely batshit crazy woman we will call A. I had been an RA and A had been one of my residents, and we became fast friends. A liked to live on the wild side, though, and in that regard we really could not be more different. (I merely occasionally dabbled.) By way of example, I went to a Bush concert with A during that year, and she was tripping on acid. She decided during the show that Gavin Rossdale was her soulmate, and proceeded to force me to travel to other Bush shows for the better part of a year until she finally actually met the guy in person and he showed her zero interest. (Even back then he was hooking up with Gwen Stefani as they toured together.)

Anyhow, A was a bit of a hellion. She kept sheets of acid in our freezer, she had a fake ID she'd obtained by stealing a military ID from someone she babysat for in high school and altering the photograph with one of her own, and she was the first friend I ever had who was just unabashedly and unapologetically promiscuous. A had an endless stream of guys in her life, and somewhat famously kept a list on our refrigerator that she called her "Fuck List." In order, it listed every guy she slept with and she updated it religiously. (At the time, she made a Fuck List for me that was blank for most of that year, until I started dating the guy that I would move in with by the end of that year. Yes, I was a late bloomer.)

A wasn't great about birth control, however, since she was still on her father's military health insurance and had to go all the way to Panama City to get her birth control prescriptions filled. She somehow let the prescription lapse for awhile, and then she unexpectedly got pregnant. We panicked together as she peed on stick after stick, and tried to figure out what to do. At the time I was active in the FSU Women's Center and FSU NOW, and my good feminist friends with their knowledge of pre-Roe v. Wade methods of dealing with unwanted pregnancy told us about an old wives' tale that drinking a strong concoction of ginger juice could induce miscarriage.

A and I decided to try this, in the hopes that we could avoid the expensive and painful surgical abortion that she was otherwise going to have. We went to Publix and bought several pounds of raw ginger. I peeled it, cut it up, and boiled it in some water until it reduced down to a few cups. I made her try it, and it was awful. She said she couldn't possibly drink it, so we decided to add it to a jug of Kool-Aid. I mixed half of a large jug of red cherry Kool-Aid, and added the ginger liquid. We let it cool, and then I poured A a big glass. She insisted that I had to try it first, because she was worried she might hurl. I will never EVER forget the terrible flavor of that one sip that I took. I thought it might burn my throat, the spiciness of the ginger was so strong. But I tried to keep a brave face and show A that she could drink this stuff. She managed to suffer through about half a glass before giving up. We put the jug back into the fridge, intending to try again the next day.

We must have either given up on the "abortion juice" or forgotten about it, because a week later it was still in the back of the fridge. Around about this time I had started getting semi-involved with G, and after a party at our place he had slept over on the sofa. (We weren't officially dating at this point.) I woke up early the next day to go to class, and when I returned he was sleeping in my bed. I woke him up, and after we talked for awhile he asked me what the hell kind of alcohol we were brewing in our fridge. I stared at him puzzled for a second, and then realized that he meant the abortion juice. Turns out, G had gotten up in the middle of the night looking for a drink, and had found what looked like a jug of red Kool-Aid in the back of the fridge. He had poured a big glass, taken a swig, and been met with the unholy burn of concentrated ginger. When I told him the story of what he had just drank, I laughed so hard I nearly peed.

Ultimately we abandoned the abortion juice idea, and A went through the usual method of terminating the pregnancy. I was there, holding her hand, through the whole procedure. That entire experience made me hyper-vigilant about my own birth control methods once I had occasion to employ them a couple months later, when I finally wrote a name on my own Fuck List. But, I had completely forgotten about abortion juice until a friend from college blogged today about making homemade ginger beer, and that awful taste memory came flooding back. None for me, thanks.

Mood Music: No Shame Edition

There are so many fantastic Michael Jackson songs I could choose from to remember him by, but I have to go with this one. Six years ago I drove from Myrtle Beach to Atlanta with a good friend who I did not know very well at the time. We came across this song on a CD of hers, and she initially went to skip it to the next song until I told her to stop. We had that moment of understanding when you realize that someone else also loves the song that you love, that everyone else thinks is cheesy. And then we began belting it out at the top of our lungs together.

For six years we have kept that secret, refused to tell anyone else that we love this song. But today, I confess. I love this song, and it's just one slice of the oeuvre of an immensely talented artist. Whatever you think about Michael Jackson's personal life, his appearance, his criminal trial, or anything else, if you were a child of my generation then he held a huge place in your musical awakening. And we will all miss him.

NOLA (updated with a couple pictures)

I wrote a post about my trip, but Blogger eated it. No, seriously, it was almost done and then it went poof.

So, here's the highlights:

Drank too much, stumbled and twisted my ankle so I walked gimpy for the rest of the weekend, yes those things might be related.

Ate wonderful food: boiled shrimp and red beans & rice at Desire, shrimp po boy and gumbo at a restaurant on Jackson Sq. that I forget, beignets and frozen cafe au lait at Cafe du Monde, wonderful dinner at Brennan's (shrimp remoulade, gumbo, veal with lemons and artichokes, chocolate cake that I thought was too rich), beignets at the airport that were actually better than CDM!

The power was out to the first 4 blocks of Bourbon St. from Friday about 6pm until Saturday at 8pm. This killed most of our eating plans as the restaurants we inteded to patronize were all within this radius. Sorry, Arnaud's, I will try you next trip.



Hurricanes are the devil's drink.

When I of all people am the voice of reason that convinces you to keep your clothes on, it is time to call it a night. It was pretty funny to look up on a balcony of beaded men begging women to flash and see one guy who looked directly at me, raised his camera in one hand, and gave me a nodding thumbs up with the other hand. But my goodies stayed covered.

Strangely enough, all of the women that I saw flashing, and there were several, were over 40. Some were WELL over 40. What is up with that? And I felt truly sorry for one woman old enough to be my mother who flashed a balcony and got no beads thrown at her. Perhaps that should have been a sign?

All the bars in New Orleans with live bands play the same 10 songs on an endless loop. I know this because in the world's longest walk back to the hotel with drunk people who wanted to go in every bar, I heard all of them at least 4 times. Did you know that everyone in New Orleans (other than me) knows the Cupid Shuffle? And loves to do it over and over again?



In the end, I got to do most of the things I wanted to do with the exceptions of riding the streetcar and eating raw gulf oysters. I lost the $200 I intended to lose in the casino, though it took me a lot longer than I expected. I met some great people and had a lot of fun. I neither removed my clothing nor made out with a random boy, and I had opportunities to do both. I think my ankle will heal, eventually.

New Orleans, I want to be back to see you in the fall. I hope I can make that happen.