Observations from the Ob/gyn

If there's one thing that women never look forward to, it's a trip to the gynecologist. Last week when I went to refill my birth control prescription, I discovered it had expired, meaning it was time for an annual trip to the land of stirrups. Don't worry, this post won't involve the sort of graphic descriptions you're afraid I'm going to provide, so you can stop cringing now.

My ob-gyn is across the street from Northside Hospital, in a large practice that apparently delivers about a bajillion babies. I know this because every time I am forced to go there, the waiting room is littered with women who look like they are smuggling basketballs and watermelons under their shirts. Normally I have an afternoon appointment, which means I am sharing the office with women getting their regular every 2 week checkups as their pregnancy progresses. But today I had a first thing in the morning appointment (or at least it should've been if it had started remotely on time), and apparently first thing in the morning on a Thursday = appointments when the daddy comes along. There were at least 3 uncomfortable looking men in the waiting room when I arrived. Two of them were with women who were visibly pregnant, one was with a woman who was not.

At this particular office, there is one huge main waiting room and then a smaller waiting room in the back where you are taken after the medical assistant takes some basic information and weighs you. (What a joy this is to find out that for yet another year I've gained a couple pounds since the last time I was there.) This back waiting room is small, and uncomfortable, and when I arrived there were 5 other people already back there. The couple that interested me in the main waiting room was there, and though neither of them said a word, I could see their story clear as day. They were not married, potentially not even seriously involved. But she was pregnant, and coming to the ob-gyn for the first time. And he was terrified.

I waited and watched, hoping to see some small sign of reassurance between them, anything other than the complete terror and panic on both faces. I wanted him to reach over and hold her hand, or give her a smile, or to say something to cut the tension. Instead, they sat there, not touching, his leg bouncing uncontrollably while she eyeballed the rack of pamphlets about infections and birth control options and elective surgeries on the wall.

If I was a telepath like Sookie on "True Blood," I suspect I would've heard her telling herself something along the the lines of:

Well, he's here, and that means something. But I have no idea if he will still be here in 6 months. Can I really do this without him?

And if I could have heard his thoughts, it probably woul've sounded something like this:

WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T I WEAR A MOTHERFUCKING CONDOM?! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD...

After 10 minutes or so of uncomfortable silence, they were called off to an exam room where the poor guy undoubtedly got an education in what we women go through with a vagina. He would've seen a wand, about 8 inches long, coated with lubricating jelly and inserted into her in order to do an internal ultrasound and see the fetal heartbeat. He would've heard an estimated gestational age and due date, and then all of the discussions about all the decisions that will need to be made. And yes, he was there, and that is something. But just like the girl fears, I don't know if he will be there in six months. He looked pretty freaked out.

Then I had to go into a small room of my own, pee in a cup, put on a paper "gown" that essentially consists of an unfolded paper napkin wrapped around my shoulders and another one strewn across my naked lower half, and sit on a table and wait. There is no confidence or comfort in that moment, only a recognition of our utter ridiculousness. I am wrapped in paper and waiting for someone to come poke, prod and hurt me while asking uncomfortable questions about my sex life and the fragile ecosystem that is my nether regions. But thankfully, I have an empty uterus and no panicked guy next to me trying to keep it together and do the right thing. I was given a clean bill of health and another year's worth of birth control prescriptions. As added bonus, this time they came with a heaping helping of incentive to use them carefully, lest I ever put a guy of my own into that state of mortal terror and me into a world of doubt. There but for the grace of God...

The breakup

I think I have to dump my stylist.

When I first moved to Atlanta, I stumbled upon a wonderful stylist at a small salon down the street from my house. She magically knew exactly what I wanted and what would look best on me, and I got nothing but wonderful haircuts from her for a year. Then she left that salon to parts unknown, and I was crushed. Since many people I know get their hair cut at VanMichael in the Highlands, I decided I would go there too. Originally I got an appointment with someone who cuts a guy friend's hair, but when I had to reschedule to a later Saturday I was forced to switch to someone else who had availability. My choices were someone I had never heard of, or the "creative director" of the salon. I chose the latter.

For about a year and a half now, I have gotten haircuts that I generally really liked from Rob. He is expensive as hell, but I have never been disappointed. However, I have started to be annoyed as I have told him on at least three visits that I wanted to add length to my hair, and yet would find that he was cutting it back to the exact same point he always cut it back to. This last visit, when I reinforced that I really did want to add length, he persuaded me to let him cut in shorter layers up top and in the back. I should have known better because I've always hated layers in back, but I let him do it.

I now totally and completely detest my haircut. All week, it looked flat and choppy and too short. I kept hoping I'd get used to it like I normally do, but instead I have simply started daydreaming about changing stylists. I cannot deal with the discussion that will ensue when I tell him how unhappy I have been with this cut, and the wearing down that I know I will get from him about why he thinks lots of layers are a good idea for me. Much like dumping someone I have been dating, I am awful at the rejection and would much prefer to simply stop answering the phone.

But first, in about 2 months I'm going to need a new stylist. Anyone who has recommendations for someone they really love in the Midtown/Highlands area, please let me know. It will be painful and uncomfortable, but I'm pretty sure this breakup will be better for both of us in the end.

Sex and the City review

Today, our female attorneys on my team (and, not so surprisingly, our one gay male associate) went to the 4pm screening of Sex and the City. Earlier today there was some Twitter traffic about whether SATC has lost its charm or its social relevance in the four years since the show went off the air. To those sorts of critiques, I quote you this:

Much has been made, and said, in recent weeks about the appeal of "Sex and the City." Social critics are wringing their hands on the sidelines, fretting. They can't understand why so many women are so captivated by the SATC world, which is, after all, a totally fantastical place in which women have financial autonomy and healthy sex drives. It's a materialistic, completely unrealistic world, the scolds tell us. Yes, of course it is. That's kind of the point. It's escapist fun.

I don't wear $600 pairs of shoes or carry $10,000 handbags. I wouldn't even if I could safely afford to do so, honestly. Nor do I give blowjobs to the UPS guy on a whim when he delivers me a package. (Though sometimes I wish I could!) But, when you strip away the obvious hyperbole of it all, there is something empowering and wonderful to be taken away from Sex and the City. If you don't get it, I can't help you figure it out. But I, and many other women, we get it. And we need, after four years, to go watch this movie with our friends and remember it.

So, the short version of the review is this: I loved this movie so much that I don't think I can adequately convey my joy. The longer version: I am blown away by Michael Patrick King's truly heartfelt, funny, and meaningful script. Each of the 4 main characters experiences her own difficult and powerful journey, but none more profound than Carrie's dealing with the ultimate nightmare scenario of her life. Sarah Jessica Parker was a revelation not only during the good times, but also in her portrayal of complete and total heartbreak. In a way, this was the story that had to be told about her and Big, with whom nothing has ever worked out as planned.

The clothes are spectacular, the jokes are hilarious, and Jennifer Hudson does a very good job playing Carrie's assistant. Some of the dialogue is a little trite, some of the plot turns are predictable, but in the end the movie is like a fantastic orgasm: it leaves you not only spent, but satisfied. It is exactly what you didn't even know ahead of time that you wanted. And you can't wait to do it again. That may be the hardest part of this movie...the knowledge that at some point, it's just over. No room was left for a second movie, no loose plot points that need to be tied up in a sequel. This is it. But I could not imagine it ending any other way.

We drank margaritas during the movie and I cried so hard I had to work not to sob. When I walked out of the theater, the first thing I wanted to do was call my friend Samantha, who I have known for going on 17 years now. In the end, it is a celebration of the wonder of lifelong best girlfriends, the people who will take a bullet for you and do whatever it takes to see you happy.

If you were ever a fan of the series, go see the movie. You will not be disappointed. This movie is going to do HUGE business.

XOXO

NY mag has a fantastic write-up of why you should be watching Gossip Girl and not feeling the slightest bit ashamed about it.

I discovered the show when it premiered and have been trying to get others to watch it ever since. Seriously, you don't know what you're missing!

The article, however, fails to mention one of the main reasons I watch: because I find the love story between the 2 parents to be really bittersweet, heartfelt and well-acted. I' m a sucker for a good tale of star-crossed lovers who can't seem to get each other out of their heads and hearts.

The show returns soon for a final 5 episodes, and back episodes are apparently available on the CW website or via iTunes. Check it out.

Full day

I probably won't get very many hours billed today, because at 4:30 I'm headed to a birthday party for a coworker's baby girl who's turning 1 year old today. Last night, I truly frightened myself when I spontaneously decided to go buy a birthday gift at Target and found myself adding cute outfit after cute outfit to my basket. Dressing babies is a lot like dressing dolls (only wigglier) in my still-in-the-abstract mind, but when I got to the tiny little socks for newborns and made a squee noise, that's when I became honest to god ashamed of myself. I put most of the stuff I'd selected back on the shelf, and settled on an adorable outfit of a matching shirt and jean skirt, plus a terrycloth coverup and hat. (This particular baby is headed to her grandparents' house in St. Thomas in a month and already loves to swim, so I know the latter will be perfect for that trip.) I left Target terrified that my biological clock just awakened from its long hibernation and will be terrorizing me for the next ten years. Being that I'm single and not dating anyone right now and thus not in a position to get knocked up anytime soon, I'm a little worried about that.

After the birthday party I have to skedaddle to the Commerce Club downtown for the Atlanta Press Club panel on Ethics and the New Media. After multiple APC events about how the blogosphere, social media and YouTube are changing the face of traditional media, it was striking how concerned APC members apparently are about what they believe to be ethical lackings in "members" of the "new media." I suspect this panel was set up as a place for them to air their grievances, particularly when you see the panel is a little sparse on representatives of the new media whose ethics will be hotly debated. Basically, the short version of all that blather up there is I think we're spoiling for a fight and I wanna be there to watch. I like to watch.

After that if I'm not completely demolished by a long week and day, I think I'll be returning to the weekly poker game. I haven't played in 3 weeks and I need to start brushing up on my live play skills in advance of our trip to New Orleans in May.

So, for the six or so hours I'll have in the office before the baby party, I'll probably need to actually work and thus blogging will resume tomorrow. Maybe. If I feel like it.

(Oh yeah, that music post below is one I tried to post like 3 weeks ago and it just showed up last night. Fucking YouTube!)

I'm the best! And I have no life!

A survey of attorney productivity with a breakdown of male vs. female and parents vs. childless found that childless women attorneys are the most productive of all 4 categories. (Women with children being least productive.) Surprisingly, unlike with women it appears that men with children are more productive than their childless counterparts. I have a couple of theories of why that might be, such as perhaps the childless men are still looking for mates, or maybe the men with children would rather work late than go home to screaming babies. I don't know.

The important thing is this: I am the only single woman in my practice group. This means, apparently, that I should be billing circles around my coworkers! But alas, I am not, because I am lazy and easily distracted and would rather go drink beer with friends or sleep occasionally than slave over a hot computer all day.

This sort of survey just reinforces what many of us already know: Ladies, you apparently can be a high-powered lawyer or you can be a mother, but you can't really be both. Most of the high-ranking and high-earning female attorneys I've known and known of over the years have been childless. Given that male attorneys can apparently find time to breed, it's quite sad that the profession won't find a way to accomodate women's desire to do the same and also make partner.

I don't know if I ever want to have children. But I don't want my ability to do that to be foreclosed by my chosen profession or my desire to have a full time job at a top law firm where I get meaningful and interesting work. Why can't I have both?

Then again, right now I'd settle for time to find me a babymaker.

Signs you have a shopping problem

My parents are at my place today, and my dad is building me a new closet. My lovely 1915 house only has one real closet, and it's about 6 ft by 6 ft at most. I have somehow managed to fit an insane amount of clothes, shoes, bags, laundry baskets and luggage all into this tiny column of closet, but it could be better utilized if we actually built in better shelves, racks, etc. Hence my dad's project. In the meantime, the contents of my closet are currently on my entire queen size bed and along one wall of my bedroom. Before you think that the contents of this blurry photo are all the clothes I own, you should know that I also have a large armoire in the guest room that houses suits and dresses, and have 2 or 3 big plastic bins of off-season clothes that reside in the basement. Yes, I might have a problem.

What's wrong with this picture?

Matthew Yglesias has a post up about Debbie Wasserman-Schultz, a congresswoman from south Florida who is supposed to be working to turn Republican seats Democratic, but refuses to participate in targeting of three vulnerable Cuban-American members of Congress also from South Florida because they are buddies. Despite the meat of that post, I can only focus on the picture Yglesias chose to accompany it.

Now, in full disclosure, I knew Debbie Wasserman-Schultz when I worked for a lobbyist in the Fla. legislature back in 1996 when she was a lowly state Representative. She was somewhat of a caricature even then, with let's just say a unique personal style and a tendency towards behavior that got her noticed for perhaps the wrong reasons. But in the last 12 years she got herself elected to Congress and has been an effective representative for her district. And while it is certainly fair game to question the political judgment behind refusing to help take vulnerable seats because you like the Republicans who hold them (and maybe because you don't want to piss off the Cuban vote in FL in the event you ever intend to seek statewide office there), I still have a weird feeling about this picture.

Maybe it's just that I personally reacted reflexively and negatively to the awful blue eyeliner. I am a girl who knows her makeup, and who has strong opinions about the times when brightly colored eyeliner is appropriate. (Answer: pretty much never.) Maybe it's that I remember the Katherine Harris/Cruella DeVille comparisons and feel a little guilty for participating in them. Or maybe it's that we've finally seen a national campaign with a female candidate in which her appearance has been inordinately focused on as compared to her male rivals. But something about that photo rubs me the wrong way. I can't decide if I'm bothered at my own reaction, that Yglesias used that photo when Wasserman-Schultz has a more recent official photo, or perhaps I'm bothered that a Congresswoman would ever choose to wear bright blue eyeliner in her official photo (which that was, according to Wikipedia.) I honestly don't know.

Wasserman-Schultz's current official photo is this must more tasteful and reasonably-made up one:



Why didn't Yglesias use that one? Sure, the one he used came up first on Google image search and was on her wikipedia page. But her official photo came up second, and would be on her house page. It was an editorial decision, and maybe it was just to make Debbie look a little kooky. But maybe there was a subtle intention there to cause readers not to take her as seriously. Even if she did have bad choice in eyeliner, that's not enough of a reason to write off someone's judgment entirely without giving them the benefit of the doubt or the respect a Congresswoman should be afforded.

My thoughts on this topic are ever-evolving, so I may edit. I may decide I don't care. I may decide it's my personal quirk. I dunno. But let me know if you think I'm off base.

What's sexism got to do with it

Lately it's been very en vogue to see Hillary Clinton's failings as a sign that sexism is dooming her candidacy. Certain local bloggers have in fact asserted that it is proof positive that racism is less powerful in our culture than sexism. But I found it terribly sexist when the Clinton campaign was assuming that she would win in large part because female voters would be unable to overcome their estrogen and would reflexively vote for Clinton--even if they're Republicans, Mark Penn said! As though we don't vote on issues, don't make decisions carefully and independently, and would immediately fall in line like the homogenous Chick Borg everyone presumes us to be. But a funny thing happened on the way to the female-fueled nomination...

This article from today's Boston Globe sums it up perfectly: many of us women voters just don't like Hillary Clinton. It's not sexism, it's not a weakness of female voters, it's human nature. We want to like our president, even if likeability is not the best measure of whether someone will be able to lead effectively. I know, I know, people liked George W. Bush too and look where that got us. I know. But as someone who has spent the last 7 years wanting to punch our president in the face every time I see him on television, I cannot overestimate the importance of having our next one be someone who I can actually stand to listen to for an hour at a time if something important is happening. When I see Hillary Clinton during the debates and she says something ugly or does her strange fake cackle, I see red. I want to turn off the television lest I commit violence. I do not like her, and no amount of softening or crying or appearances on Saturday Night Live are going to change that.

As the author notes, having a problem with someone's likeability is not an inherently sexist proposition:

Questioning a woman's tone and delivery evokes charges of sexism, of biased preoccupations with niceness - as if no one ever complained about the Bob Dole snarl or the Dick Cheney sneer. How many times do we have to hear that when women get forceful, they are called shrill and angry, while bellicose males are lauded as strong and presidential? We get it. No one has questioned Senator Clinton's toughness, or her readiness to be commander in chief.

Many male candidates have been rejected because they were not likeable. Richard Nixon lost once because he was perceived as less likeable, then won in his second attempt...and turned out to be a collossal asshole. Al Gore's loss in 2000 could be blamed almost entirely on the public's negative reaction to him during the debates and the public perception that he was self-aggrandizing. Mitt Romeny's loss this year was probably in large part because people found him unauthentic and snide. Pointing out the likeability deficit as a problem for a candidate is not sexist. Disliking a particular candidate because of their personal tone and style is a natural human reaction and has nothing to do with sexism.

Frankly, asserting that every rejection of her as a candidate has sexist undertones is further exacerbating the problem. It reinforces the old canard used by throwback opponents of feminism that women are always embracing victimhood for personal gain. If you cry wolf by finding sexism in every defeat, without showing that it's actually at work, you weaken the cause of those who have to fight real sexism every day. Hillary Clinton is losing because she is running a bad campaign and because she is a candidate with an unfortunately tumultuous past relationship with the American public. It's not because anyone has questioned whether she could run an army or manage a national crisis because she's a girl. But if she doesn't stop asserting that every disadvantage she finds herself in during this campaign is rooted in sexism, she's going to continue to lose women voters at a fast clip. We don't, in my experience anyway, tend to react well to whiners.

Random thoughts: in which I talk about my breasts

As I was wandering through the mall with my parents yesterday, looking at dresses in the window at Miss Sixty that I could not shoehorn my 36Ds into if my life depended on it, I wondered why no clothing designer has cornered the market on curvy women. For years it has seemed as if the stores and designers were attempting to out-flat-chest each other, adopting less and less forgiving or generous styles until the point when friends of mine who wear just a C-cup or even a generous B report that they can't wear certain styles or designers. Banana Republic has adopted slim fit dress shirts that won't fit any woman who needs to wear a bra out of the house. The big name couture designers make their clothes specifically for emaciated girls so thin that they have regressed to nearly prepubescent. Where are the clothes for the rest of us?


I'm not talking about plus size here. I don't wear plus sizes, but if I want to buy a dress at most stores I have to find either an XL or a 16 (and even then, half the time they don't zip over the bazooms), even though the last pair of jeans I bought was a 12. Such is the disparity between top and bottom. And I sincerely doubt I'm alone, since I'm not exactly approaching Barbie doll proportions here. I know plenty of women who have nice racks that wouldn't look great in half of the tops or dresses available out there. Don't even get me started on suits! How dumb is it to have to buy an entire suit in one size when either the jacket won't button, or the skirt is too big?


Petite women have entire sections of stores dedicated to them. Even tall women, a group of which I am also a member, can now at least order long lengths online from many of our favorite stores. But where is the "busty" section in my local Macy's or Banana Republic? Why can't I get that adorable suit that I bought last month with just a little more give in the front? Or that strapless dress with the adorable beading...can we make one that zips over some DDs without looking like a tent from the bustline down?


There are also no seamstresses that I know of who specialize in making too-big sizes fit breast-blessed ladies like myself. Short women can get their pants hemmed, but I can't get a jacket let out in the bust, nor can I get a one taken in everywhere but up front. And the many dresses out there that are tailored in the bustline all seem to have been tailored horribly once they have to support actual breastesses that move and weigh more than an ounce and exert weight on spaghetti straps. I know I am not the only woman to have an ill-advised wardrobe malfunction when the strap finally said, in its best Scotty from Star Trek voice, "I'm giving her all I've got captain and I can't hold her any longer!"


It seems like someone should take up the mantle of being more friendly to "curvy" women. Make it equal opportunity--have alternative sizes not only for the busty lasses of the world but also the ones with a little junk in the trunk. I think a company that does this could really light a firestorm, given the hard time women have finding clothes that fit their individual frame. And the best part is that when clothes fit you right, you look better. That makes everyone who has to look at you happier, too.


Someone should get on this idea. There is an untapped niche here.

To-do checklist before taking my first real vacation in for-freaking-ever

(This will serve both as handy to-do list and also evidence of my insanity, while also serving as blog filler because I have no time to actually blog right now. Enjoy the madness.)

1. Meet with new petsitter tomorrow at 5pm, introduce her to cat, make arrangements for visits and payments, and pray he doesn't greet her with a rug full of poo like he did me on Friday when I got back from my parents' house after 2 days.

2. Go to CVS, refill and pick up birth control prescription and buy a bottle of conditioner. No, those two things are not related you freaks.

3. Complete all billing entry for November, even though the month will not be over yet, because the whackos I work with have moved up the deadline for time entry to Saturday the 1st just to spite me.

4. Get back on treadmill on a regular basis after a week of resting due to shin splints, even though Saturday's half hour showed I had backslid back to nearly slug level, just so I can then not get on the treadmill for 5 days while on vacation and feel even lazier and more out of shape when I return. Yeah, this one's not gonna happen.

5. Watch Battlestar Galactica: Razor. Maybe at 2 in the morning tonight at the rate I am going.

6. Decide what outfits I am going to pack, and what shoes I will need to take with them. Because I am a girl, this means that for 5 days I will need approximately 12 outfit choices and 4 pairs of shoes. Consider purchasing additional luggage to accomodate same.

7. Go to the bank and take out $1200 in cash *gulp* for all of my buy-ins. Pray that by broadcasting on my blog that I will be carrying that much cash on Wednesday, I am not somehow inviting a crazy blogstalker to mug me on the way to the airport. I swear, I don't really look like that picture. Imagine that only short, fat and trolly looking. Yeah, that's the girl you should be looking for, would-be robbers.

8. Determine jewelry to accompany rediculous plethora of outfits. Also, research whether hotel has an indoor pool or a fitness room and then decide if ridiculous plethora of outfits should be expanded to include either swimsuit or workout gear. Yeah, as if.

9. Tell myself I should absolutely not finish reading Harrington Volume 2 because if I don't know it by now, it will only distract me and hurt my play. Curse myself for not reading it 2 weeks ago like I meant to until I fell asleep on the way back from Boston. Damn.

10. Ideally, pack on Tuesday night. But let's be honest, this is me and I just told you there will need to be like 12 outfit choices involved and at this rate that could take me 12 hours to decide on. So, probably pack on Wed. afternoon right when I get home from work and before leaving to the airport. Inevitably, forget something crucial like, I dunno, underwear. Or my hairbrush. Both have happened before, on shorter trips than this.

11. Figure out exactly which work emergencies are really my problem, and then save appropriate documents to laptop hard drive that I might have to work on from the road. Curse the work gods AGAIN for dumping crazy emergencies in my lap 2 days before I leave.

12. Consider breaking my Blackberry on purpose so that I can use the ever-popular "sorry I couldn't read emails from the road" excuse. Hell, it's already semi-busted anyhow.

13. Finish up discovery hell and pass it off as diplomatically as possible to someone else to make it their problem. Pray they don't blame any problems with getting it completed and filed on me while I'm unable to defend myself. Pray even harder they don't expect me to work on it from the road when things inevitably go wrong.

14. Have 14 additional conference calls before I leave, because life is not complicated enough right now.

15. Make sure cat has plenty of dry and wet food and that litter box is fully cleaned out just before departure to avoid that unfortunate "pile of poo" problem mentioned earlier.

16. Decide if I want to wear an iPod while I play. If I do, become obsessive about creating the perfect poker playlist and then realize only after I've completed it that I won't have a charger with me and the thing only lasts for 8 hours.

17. Send last minute planning emails to all other participants in the trip, thus reinforcing their not-so-secret belief that I am a little too tightly wound for my own good.

18. Change voicemail and email auto-replies to reflect that I am actually taking a vacation goddammit, and if you bother me on my cell phone while I'm gone you better HAVE A FUCKING GOOD REASON, BUTTMUNCH. Decide that is probably too harsh and start over with a friendlier version, or better yet have secretary record it for me.

19. Research musical acts playing at Tipitina's and other N.O. venues for the inevitable night out when I get knocked out of play after 20 minutes and need to drown my sorrows in blues and tequila.

20. Pack the valium. That first hour of play is gonna set new records for anxiety levels in my addled brain.

21. Stop playing bad online poker. See # 9 for futher explanation. Also, not a great time to be losing money. See # 7.

22. Print out all travel confirmations and put them somewhere so that I can promptly forget and/or lose them. I do this virtually every time I travel and if my assistant knew this she would never make a lovely travel folder for me ever again. I'm sorry, Sharon.

23. Consider packing bottle of Patron in case the valium is insufficient. Decide against it, because an exploded bottle of Patron would probably render most if not all of the 12 outfits unwearably smelly.

24. Love up the cat, who will figure out I am leaving the second I pull out the suitcase. Try to treat him to so much affection that he doesn't care I will be gone for 5 days. This will not prevent the fresh grudge vomit I will certainly find in front of the door when I return on Monday.

25. Finish the memo I have been putting off for 6 months, finish the other case update that dropped in my lap at the last minute, and then race off to the airport in the nick of time!

Sure, that's all doable by Wed. right? Right?!

Will wonders never cease

Despite my whining and worry, our Thanksgiving dinner was in fact entirely edible. My aunt's mother has apparently learned her own limitations and did not attempt to make things that were too complicated or prone to failure. So, there was no gravy or mashed potatoes, but baked white and sweet potatoes which were fine. (Luckily thanks to my mom making me a full turkey dinner last weekend, I'd about had enough mashed potatoes and gravy to last a lifetime anyhow.) The stuffing she made had apples and sausage in it and was actually very tasty, the turkey wasn't too dry, and we made the standard green bean casserole as a side to accompany their bland sauteed zucchini and summer squash. Mom and I also made the pecan pie and pumpkin cheesecake, which were as good as ever.

All in all it was a very nice dinner and I felt guilty for doubting their abilities. Not having gotten the cooking bug out of my system, however, when we got home that night I decided to bake a ton of pumpkin bread. I fear I will be eating it for weeks, I made so much!

On Friday we decided to brave the outlet mall up on 400, which was probably a bad idea. Every year we swear we'll never do Black Friday again, and every year we ignore it and do it anyway. About $1000 later, a hefty chunk of my Christmas shopping is done AND I got lots of new fall/winter clothes for myself. But still, it was terribly exhausting.

Now I'm trying to get a ton of work done so that I can head out of town on Wednesday evening for the *gulp* poker tournament in New Orleans. Anxiety is growing by the day, but expect a full rundown of the plan before I leave on Wednesday. I'm going to try to take my laptop with me as well and blog about it on the road.

Hair Today

My stylist was sick on Saturday when I was supposed to get my hair done, so I'm heading out today for the standard extremely expensive haircut and scalp massage. I have been useless at work today, but I don't really care. I need pampering, pronto!

Lead Lips?

A consumer group has found detectable levels of lead in many popular lipstick brands. Since lipstick is often ingested through licking the lips or eating, and lead can lead to infertility and miscarriage, this should be concerning to women. You can download the full report in all its typically hysterical glory here.

The weekend that was

All in all, it turned out pretty well I really must say. Despite driving 11 hours in 2 days and sleeping way too little, I got to see my team win live and in person for the first time in 11 years. You can't beat that.

So, Saturday morning I drove down to Jacksonville. It was a lovely day and the drive was just fine despite a little traffic in the city near the exit for the stadium. I drove past that and met Sam on Amelia Island, where our hotel was located. If you've never been, Amelia Island is one of the mostly unspoiled Florida beach towns that is about a polar opposite of places like Daytona and Panama City that are tacky and dirty. In contrast, the beaches here are beautiful, there are hardly any touristy shops or clubs or hotels, and the trees lined with old mossy live oaks are just quintessential old Florida. Anyhow, we met there, changed into our gear, and headed to the stadium with little time to spare.

After my post on Friday about her concern about clothing attire, you might be wondering what Sam wore. I'd brought about 4 FSU t-shirts or tank tops for her to choose from, but none of them were really what she had in mind. Sam was wearing a skin tight miniskirt and wanted a shirt that was girly and flattering, but also a little forgiving over the top of that miniskirt. Everything I had was either too big or too small, but she ultimately selected the stretchy baby tee that I wore to every single game last year. I had decided that shirt was cursed, so I was hesitant to let her wear it.

We got to the stadium midway through the first quarter due to a serious difficulty finding parking, and headed up to the top deck where our seats were located. Due to the demand for this game, not all FSU season ticket holders who requested them were able to get seats, so even though I'd been willing to pay more to sit in the lower deck I was happy that I got tickets at all. And surprisingly, as you can see from the photo above, the seats were still pretty good. It's a nice stadium, though I was surprised to hear that yesterday's game was better attended than the recent Super Bowl hosted at this stadium. What's up with that?

So we arrived to find a sputtering FSU offense and a 0-0 score. Up in our section the fans were rowdy, young, and largely very very drunk. I tried to explain to Sam that unlike at regular FSU games where everyone tailgates and gets shitfaced but then they sober up during the game because of the lack of alcohol in the stadium, that here everyone is not only shitfaced but has access to as much alcohol as they want so the situation was likely to continue to degenerate. At least 4 different people fell down the stairs while we were in our seats, including one girl who plowed right into the back of me and nearly knocked me over, then burst out laughing, then announced "let's try that again!" and proceeded down the stairs.

Shortly after we arrived, an orange T-shirted guy who stuck out like a sore thumb showed up and sat almost directly in front of us. Yes, that's right, a Gator fan game to an FSU-Alabama game and wore a Gator T-shirt. I have decided that the Gators are now the college equivalent of the Yankees. They're cocky, obnoxious, but unfortunately have been insanely successful lately. And everyone hates them, except for the douchebags who are their fans. This guy was a supreme douchebag, standing up and loudly insulting our team and openly seeking the hostility he quickly got. Being that most of the people in our section were pretty hammered, the jeers were of questionable hilarity. "Santa Fe Dropout" was a nice touch (for those who don't know, Santa Fe Community College is located in Gainesville near UF and is where the wanna be Gators who can't get or stay into the university usually go), as was "don't tase me, bro!" but the one that really stuck was "he wears jean shorts!" Apparently this is a massive faux pas, and even though I was sitting with a former fashion editor we really didn't get it. Things were tense for awhile, with security even coming up the steps to see what was going on. (This prompted one guy to say "he's right there, officer, get him!" while pointing out the Gator. That was freaking hilarious.)

Midway through the second quarter I noticed that suddenly Xavier Lee was playing at quarterback, which I was thrilled to see. I don't know how it translated on TV, but the energy of the offense totally changed when he took over. And as we know from the results in the second half, Lee definitely got it done. I don't want to say I told you so, but I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO! So happy for Savior Lee and I hope he gets the start at NC State. If I never see Drew Weatherford throw a pass again it will be too soon.

Somewhere in the second half Sam disappeared for about 20 minutes. Turns out she decided to go buy an FSU shirt and try to rip it up into some sort of halter top. Lacking in scissors, she did this with her teeth and it didn't really work out as planned. So, she ripped the back of my cursed T-shirt up and tied it into something...strange. Let's say it was a work in progress. Anyhow, she takes credit for breaking the shirt's curse and I think she's slightly insane.

So, we won the game and it was awesome, and the people around us were fun and hilarious. Sam and I each had 2 Foster's oil cans and since we are lightweights with the booze we were pretty well hammered by the end of the game. Somewhere in the third quarter this really hot guy standing behind us started getting seriously flirtatious, and in my younger and dumber days I probably would've gone for it. But in my heart, I knew that he was really drunk and way younger than me and that it wasn't worth it. Call it maturity or getting fucking old, but despite Samantha's exhortations to me to make out with him (because there were people making out all over the stadium--like it was a nightclub at 2am, seriously) I ultimately declined. But I have pictures of him, because he was seriously fucking hot. So, yeah.

After the game we eventually made our way back to the hotel, and stayed up talking til the wee hours. We also had to listen to all the voicemails left by the drunk boys after we suddenly and mysteriously disappeared. Finally we got to sleep, but then crazy early this morning we both had to get up and head back to our respective homes. Sam left before I did, so I headed to the beach for my first taste of ocean air in 2 years, and soaked it up for awhile before beginning the long drive back. (Beach photos will be in a separate post.) It was glorious.

I feel so rejuvenated by the whole weekend--by seeing my team win, by seeing Sam again after over 6 months, after getting hit on by a hot guy who probably would have run screaming if he'd known my real age, and by sitting on a beach soaking it all in. Even though I am exhausted, I am recharged too. Bring on October.

Baby's First Football Game

I am headed to Jacksonville, FL later today to meet my best friend Samantha. She's accompanying me to tomorrow night's FSU-Alabama game, and since she's never been to a college football game before this could be a painful learning experience for us both. I am somewhat hardcore about my team, and let's just say the one and only time I took Sam to a Red Sox game that didn't go so well. Baby gets bored and wants to go shopping or to flirt with cute boys (at least she did before she got married) and meanwhile I want to see us get a first down already!

So, yeah, this should be interesting. The discussions about appropriate attire went something like this:

Sam: What should I wear to the game?
Sara: Do you own shorts?
Sam: ...well, no. But I have jeans.
Sara: It's going to be over 90 at gametime, jeans will be hotter than hell. Get some shorts.
Sam: what about a skirt?
Sara: sure, if it's a skirt that won't look silly with an FSU t-shirt.
Sam: do you have one that I can cut up and make into a halter top?
Sara: you can buy your own damned FSU shirt if you are going to cut it up, I have T-shirts and tanktops I can loan you but they need to all come back in one piece.
Sam: maybe I will see if I can find a shirt down here and cut it up...

Yes, this is life with a former fashion editor and jewelry designer who probably couldn't tell you whether we're going to see Florida State or Florida if her life depended on it. But bless her, she's coming anyway and outside of the game we should have a ball.

I'm coming back Sunday afternoon but will immediately have to prepare to fly to Philadelphia for a deposition bright and early on Monday, so don't expect much if any blogging until Monday night sometime.

Oh, and...Go Noles! Here's hoping that not taking the potentially cursed person who attended last year's games with me to this year's games will prove to make a difference.

Beauty and terror

I have a ton going on today and won't really have time to blog, but here's a quick and dirty rundown:

* Our annual reviews for the associates in our group are today. Yes, on a Saturday. I'm more than a little nervous about them for reasons I can't go into here. Hoping I can keep my cool.

* I'm getting my hair cut today, but when the salon called to confirm yesterday they said I'm having it cut by Ross. Because I'm a moron I can't really remember the name of the guy who cuts my hair...but I'm 99% sure it's not Ross. So this should be interesting. At least if it's not the usual guy, it also hopefully won't be ninety freaking dollars--before tip.

* After that I need a pedicure in a bad way, and to run some errands. Then I have a birthday party tonight. Might squeeze some beer in there somewhere beforehand.

* Sincere and heartfelt congratulations to Griftdrift, who I have been pushing for years now to start playing in major poker tournaments, and who finally listened to me last year and has now played in satellites or table events at three different World Series of Poker circuit events. And last night he came in third in one such tournament, out of 157 players. He made himself enough to pay not only for his trip, but also for probably the two other trips as well. I am so thrilled for him and proud of him. And I hope now he's got the bug and will want to do it more often.

* Where'd the title come from? (Other than being an apt way to mention both getting my hair done and annual reviews?) Well, Rainier Maria Rilke once wrote:

For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror,

which we are still just able to endure,

and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.

I think of this quote every time I find something in my life that I suddenly become transfixed with and want incredibly badly, but also become instantly afraid that it will be taken away from me. Lately I've been thinking how depressing it is not to have something to obsess and be excited about, but now that I found a new one it's absolutely terrifying to think of all the ways that this could fall apart. Not knowing how things will turn out is so deliciously awful that I can hardly stand it. But I'd take it over having nothing worth obsessing over, any day of the week.

Random Stuff I would've twittered but can't

Remember how I hated Twitter back in the day when everyone else adopted it and I found it stupid? Yeah, me neither. Now, I'm so used to plugging in a few random thoughts a day, and reading everyone else's, that when Twitter goes off the rails (as it currently is) I feel...mentally constipated. Actually that is not really the right word since a tweet is more like a fart than anything more substantial. So I guess I feel mentally bloaty. Considering that I feel physically bloaty today too, that's pretty par for the course.

Anyhow, things I would've tweeted today but can't:

* Subway's sweet onion chicken teriyaki ain't half bad. Yes, I recognize I am like 3 years too late on this phenomenon, but I fear change.

* All day I have felt like I am mere seconds from falling asleep. I got 8 hours of sleep last night, but it appears to not matter for some reason. I am terrified I will be caught dozing in my office.

* You know how like everyone pronounces the word angina (cardiac chest pain) so that it rhymes with vagina? Well, cardiologists don't do that. They call it ann-gen-uh, not annj-eye-nuh. So don't sound like a moron by pronouncing it the way I used to. (I also had a friend who insisted on pronouncing Orangina as Orang-eye-na because he thought it was funny. It was not.)

* So after the verbal smackdown from yesterday the ex went back to emailing me like nothing was different, about some mutual friend of ours from college who he found on Facebook. Interesting tactic, buddy, but it's not going to work. DELETE.

* Which makes me sound more insane--ripping apart my closet trying on 42 outfits to pick one to wear on a date and leaving them all on the floor of my bedroom when I finally pick one and leave...or trying on all 42 outfits the night BEFORE and picking one out ahead of time? You guys don't know how good you have it, not having to agonize over your clothing choices like we do. At least I am resisting the urge to go out and buy an entirely new outfit. So far.

* I love ice cream, but I don't want to eat a quart a day, so I buy weird rich flavors that I can only have a tiny bit of before I am sated and can't eat anymore. This is why I love Haagen Dazs' new line of extra fancy ice cream flavors. They are some weirdass combinations like pomegranate and chocolate, or my current pint--Toasted Coconut and Sesame Brittle. Yes, it sounds strange as hell but it is SO good. Two spoonfuls a night (OK, maybe three) and I am all set with the sweet tooth.

* Now that the chemical burn's remnants are finally gone I feel like my skin looks better than ever. I guess that is the upside, I got a free chemical peel. But that week of ickiness really, really sucked.

* Now that temperatures are back in the 90s, my office's temperature is back into the low 60s. Seriously, what is this ridiculousness? I have to put a sweater on over my sweater today, I'm so cold. And I'm not one of those scrawny bitches who is cold when it dips below 90, either. I am FREEZING today. This is stupid.

That's all for now. I hope Twitter is back up soon so that I can spew my mental flatulence elsewhere.

Under my skin

I've always had sensitive skin, which includes an incredible sensitivity to chemicals. If I use any sort of skincare product that contains salicylic acid, I will get a chemical burn in minutes. My skin starts to sting, becomes covered with little bumps, and eventually those lovely bumps will turn scaly and peel off. It's sort of an accidental chemical peel because afterwards my skin looks great but in the meantime it absolutely sucks. As a result I am extremely careful about making sure that I never use any products containing salicylic acid or other harsh chemicals.

Well, usually I am.

I ordered makeup from Sephora last week and they included in the box a sample for some moisturizer. That moisturizer did not have an ingredients list, but it said it contained sea silk and was oil-free, and I thought what are the odds that moisturizer contains something bad for my skin? So, I tried it for a couple of days. I didn't notice any weird sensations although I did not love how my makeup applied over it.

But now my cheeks are covered with little bumps.

In three or four days, my skin will be scaly and then peeling and it's going to be quite disgusting to behold. And I'm so annoyed that I didn't check the ingredients list online before I used the stuff. It contains Steric acid, which presumably is the source of these lovely little bumps.

Grr.

Random Observations

-Today marks day 9 since I have spoken to my parents by phone or in person. This may be the longest I have ever gone without talking to them at least by phone. I feel rudderless and like I have so so much to tell them. I know they're having a great time in Italy but this experience has shown me just how much I rely on them to keep me sane and grounded.

-Upside of having an exterminator come visit is that the roaches and such are dying. Downside is that they are dying all over the inside of the house, meaning a) I had a lot more bugs than I thought I did and b) they are now popping up everywhere. It's ooging me out, man.

-Perfect red lipstick: Nars' "Fire Down Below." This with Black Honey gloss from Clinique will turn me into a redlipped vixen from now on. You have been warned. Getting the perfect red that's not too blue, not too pink and not too orange is incredibly hard for a redhead. But this color is absolutely freakin' PERFECT.

-While I love the clean lines of french manicures, why do they last so little time? I got this one yesterday and I've already chipped half the white off of a nail. I will need a redo by Saturday at the latest.

-I don't consider myself someone with impeccable etiquette but so often I am astounded by the bad manners of others. Were people raised in a barn? I guess more sank in from my momma than I thought.

-All of you friends who urged me to put aside my prejudices and date someone who I wasn't immediately smitten with (and who's shorter than me), I listened. It didn't work. If that makes me shallow, so be it.