I passed the Texas Bar exam. I was lightheaded and made my son check the list with me about four times to be sure it was a Pass List and not just a Takers List or something. There is no such list, but at times like these one is not rational.
It is finished.
“Son, we need to box some things up around the house and get ready to show the house.”
“BOXES. Boxes to put junk in. Of course, if we don’t need it now, why we want to box it up and take it with us is questionable.”
Where do you get boxes?
“Wal-mart, grocery stores, dumpsters.”
“Sure. I’ve found boxes behind 7-11-type stores before in great condition. Want to come? You need to know how to do this. I’ve done this nine times in just your short life. This is how you get boxes.”
Dumpsters? Dumpster-diving? O-kaayyy.
“I’ll be there in 15 – be ready.”
I’ll be ready as soon as I go ask the Smiths for their leftovers.
It’s aspirational. Bought this Anya Hindmarch* “I am not a plastic bag” tote in navy this morning on ebay. I would have loved it more if I could have picked it up for $15.00 back when it was originally sold in 2007, but $36 for this Anya-loving (she knows me: “you have a very intimate relationship with a handbag”), large-sized tote, going green-ish girl works for me.
The history of the tote is here, at We Are What We Do, “a global movement that inspires people to use their everyday behaviour to affect big environmental and social issues.” I love the focus on intergenerational communication – I’ll touch on that another day.
[Post edited to remove dead links.]
*If you like handbags and/or Anya Hindmarch, check out this exclusive video interview with her by NET-A-PORTER available on youtube.
Aside: The 14-year-old ambled in around 2p. In her pajamas. “Huh. You’re home?” Yeesss. “School was canceled?” Yeesss. That makes sense. There is, like, six inches on the ground. It reminded me of the time Kate was in third grade, probably, and she was waiting on the school bus at the end of our Michigan driveway. Mooomm, I don’t think there’s school today! “What? Of course there is.” Noooo, no one is going to school today. “Well, even if no one else goes to school today, YOU are.” She comes in fifteen minutes later. Seems a lady stopped and told her school was delayed a couple of hours for fog. So hard to believe that state calls themselves Wolverines. Or worse, Spartans.
So I walk outside. Or look outside, rather, from the garage door. I cannot wear these boots. They’re cute and suede. I promptly had to make changes which, because I love (me, you) so much, I’m going to show and tell.
The Slouchy Boots became Kamiks. We all need Kamiks. Smart-looking and weather-proof. Not warm, but you’re not walking a great distance, are you? Love my Kamiks.
The purse was changed after I got home. I noticed water spots on my bag while I was out. Because I adore this Brandy-brown B. Makowsky Rebel bag, this is unacceptable. The snow on my Kamiks melted, my purse touched my Kamiks, and I got to thinking, “What if the snow/melty-stuff/water had … salt in it from the salt-trucks?” I love this bag too much to risk unknown harm. So I’ve now transferred all my worldly goods to this purple suede bag which I picked up for $15.00 when I was Christmas shopping at Coldwater Creek for the older1 people in my life. Fif-teen dollars. It’s $48.99 at the Outlet right now.
There would have been something wrong with this purse with that outfit, though. It’s hard to see, but I am sporting a purple sweater dress.2 I just fill it out more than the woman with beautiful long hair and fifty-nine-inch-long legs. And I don’t wear that ridiculous scarf and not just because a scarf around my hips looks ridiculous. Oh, go have a kid whydoncha. And don’t carry a purple bag with that dress. This Simply Vera Wang ruched clutch in burgundy would have been a sharp choice. Man, I love that bag too . . . .
I don’t know what is up with me today, but maybe it’s passed. I need a new WordPress post category like Something Shiny or Manic Moments.
(PS) Is my “I am supposed to be writing an opening, closing, direct, cross, cross, direct, and Note” showing?
(PPS) I solemnly swear to clean that mirror one of these days.
1 There is nothing wrong with Coldwater Creek, per se. But you have to admit that if you are not very, so very I’m unwilling to do it, picky, you will look like you are headed to the nursing home, not as a visitor. I kid, ha ha. <- that is for my dear Gina who loves Coldwater Creek and asked me “What is wrong with Coldwater Creek?” when I saw her at Christmas. Stick with their solids and they have some very, um, solid choices. But all that print old-woman stuff? My own PSA – skip it.
2 My gay friend doesn’t like this dress – he’s “not a fan” of the tunic and tights look. “Honestly? It makes your hips look bigger than they are. Andthey’renotthatbig.” Why doesn’t he just shut up and stay out of my head?
I want to complain out loud, right now, but I’m not. Because I’m going to read at least three articles for my Note and organize my iCal and my Google calendar. I do not have time to complain. About the kid who “has style, it’s just not yours” which is said while she’s dressed head-to-toe in an outfit I put together for her, half of which is mine. Or should be. Lately I’ve been channeling Joan Jett, which goes very well with this child’s style. Sure, she doesn’t like or wear everything I do, but I know her style. She robs my closet.
I let her try on my Victoria’s Secret Blue London pencil jeans (because if I see one more American Eagle swoosh-like thing on a back pocket I will burn my own), and I proceeded to put together her current outfit: the great Miss Sixty faux-leather motorcycle jacket (that I can borrow and I thought would look amazing on her and it does), her long sleeved black tee (I have my own already, thanks), and new (Thanks to who? Me. Yes, me.) short-sleeved Brad Butter tee to go over that. I suggested the black knee-high boots with tucked-in jeans and my burgundy multi-strand necklace. I would wear this outfit – and might I say that we both look good in it.
I similarly brought this child home a white long-sleeved tee with a black “I’m in love with a fictional vampire” short-sleeved tee to go over it (I’m totally borrowing this, I don’t care how ubiquitous it is) and a Tryst brown and aqua long-sleeved tie-dyed tee . . . mmm, no. That is now mine. I look good in that shirt. With my brown scrunch knee-high boots? Give me back the Blue Londons.
Clearly, my point is that I have great style I am the definition of über-hip she’s just unthinkingly reactionary as are all 14-year-olds you don’t define your style as Anti-Mom while you are dressed in your mom’s stuff. Moron. But I’m not complaining. It gives her something to say and sometimes (read: never) she’s just too quiet. I just hope she looks good today and tomorrow. (And I know she will, because I freaking dressed her.)
However, what rocks my Consumer World today is the point of this post:
(1) Sherlock Holmes. This is an enjoyable movie. Do it again, Guy. Do it again.
Aside, from Dinner at Eight, Frasier:
Niles Crane: Oh, oh-oh-oh, the food is to die for!
Martin Crane: Niles, your country and your family are to die for; food is to eat.
And then, like Oprah, I have a few favorite things:
(3) My B. Makowsky Rebel bag. I can’t stop touching it. It’s amazing. The leather. The hardware. I’m bringin’ back big bags. (To my gay friend: “Look, look: I look like Nicole Richie in pencil jeans with a bag two sizes larger than I am!” Gay friend scrunches nose. “This is not a good thing.”) This bag, though? Good thing. He’s an idiot. Beloved, but even so.
(4) My Samsonite Black label Bayamo Doctor’s Bag. You shouldn’t stop touching it. (I did not, however, pay an exorbitant amount for it. But I might have. It’s that amazing.)
(5) Mittens and gloves, fingerless (warm and you can still do things with your phone – what is not to love?) and standard: long winter white fingerless mittens (like these), short black fingerless gloves, sorta long black leather gloves and I’m still looking for the right pair of opera length black leather gloves.
For the love of … It’s about information and affirmation of existing standards. Comforting noises, even.
Oy! Like all Law-Students-Writing-A-Note, I have Law-Student-Writing-A-Note Tourette’s. Halfway through writing this entry, that sentence – the idea really – begs me to write it down and translate it to a page and a half, if I’m good, of quasi-indecipherable language and like every Law Student who is only 17 pages into the 30 quasi-indecipherable ones required, I wrote it down right where I stood, which is here on this very page, lest I lose it. Or right where I reclined. Which is in bed. In pajamas. It’s very, very snowy out.
Oh look. It’s the genesis of Law-Student-Writing-A-Note ADD: something shiny! (Psst – it’s the hardware on my B. Makowsky. Yeah, baby.)
Alright, we have sound. But we were dead Friday night. Utterly lame, tired, pained, not in a courtroom. However, this is Conor’s cross of his actual co-counsel playing a hostile witness and she is good at what she does to both Conor and Eric. Conor says, “This is horrible.” Eric: “I feel your pain, man.” Naoshi can destroy either of them with a few sentences.
To explain just a bit – Eric and I are the Defense team for competition. Conor and Naoshi are the Plaintiff’s team. During competition, we four will not face each other, but the Defense team will serve as favorable Plaintiff’s witnesses, and the plaintiff team will serve as our favorable witnesses. The non-favorable witnesses will be played, at competition, by other teams therefore we four give each other a hard time on cross so nothing will surprise us. This leads to the most amusing moments we have, actually.
A few moments from this incredibly poor round:
(1) My response to the judge, which is really in response to Conor: 0:11-0:13. “Any objection, counsel?” “None, Your Honor.” “Except it’s a waste of time.”
(2) 2:19-ish I cannot begin my re-direct. Just blanked. I walk over to Eric and say, “Gimme a sentence.” “A sentence?” “Yes. How does this start?”
(3) 3:29 Naoshi (the witness) lists off a litany of facts favorable to my side, ending with “…scaring employees.” Eric begins clapping. It was a really brilliant moment, there, N.
(1) Head games – my last fortune cookie:
You think that is a secret, but it never has been one.
(2) Cori will be 14 tomorrow. We agreed to a ring, hairstyle, and summer week-long camp as gifts. I showed her a ring that I keep admiring online. She loved it; we ordered it. Tonight I came home to a sticky note on my black dress from this morning which read, among other things: “You are the most stylish mom I know / the best. I love you so much.” Clearly, my favorite child.
(3) The first time I ever pumped my own gasoline I guess I was sixteen. I remember it was a station way out in the middle of nowhere. I paid, put the nozzle into my gas tank and pulled the handle. Nothing. I made quizzical faces at the young station attendant. He made gestures through the glass at me. We were at an impasse. I was certain something was wrong with his gasoline machine.
Momentarily, he ran out and flipped the lever down and to the right. I guess I didn’t see exactly what he did. I thanked him, he ran back inside the store, and I happily finished dispensing gasoline into the car. However, when I was finished, the nozzle would not go back into place on the pump. That lever! I kept bumping the nozzle against the pump like Austin Powers doing a three-point turn. I finally laid the gas nozzle atop the pump, waved at Attendant Boy and drove off.
2007: As my friend comes out of the gas station, I am smiling and telling the gentleman “Thank you.” Friend: “What. now?”
Me: Look at this. BP labels their gas ‘regular’ ‘silver’ and ‘premium’. I was just asking him if regular was safe for our car or if it was leaded. ‘Regular’ threw me off.
Friend: Were you born in 1942?!?
(Note: Since 1996, sale of leaded gasoline for on-road vehicles is prohibited by the Clean Air Act. The move to unleaded began in 1972.)
The Picture of Productivity:
Drive with windows down listening to 20 minutes of Evidence and forty minutes of playlist;
work on the Citation Exercise;
put on pajamas;
read two pages of the approximately bazillion required;
unsuccessfully attempt to watch a DVD – twice;
re-dress and blowout hair;
eat cajun fettucini and some chocolate cake at Za’s;
research why Mac’s optical drive is failing now and during the previous five months;
research why Firefox loads slowly;
disable all add-ons and fix that annoyance;
read RSS’s and change default search engine to Yahoo!;
decide ymail.com would be a good back-up to eighteen other email addresses;
drive with windows down, listening to forty minutes of Maroon 5;
drive to Sonic for a vanilla Dr. Pepper;
decide you’re the only person who would find “Sonic Boy? He’s trying … to … kill me” amusing unless 3d party had recently watched The Fugitive and/or committed Sela Ward’s lines to memory and knew how much vanilla the boy added;
thumb poetry from books into phone at B&N;
return black wedges because they hurt the feet, not boding well for an identical white pair;
buy one black sheath dress for work and one black sundress for play;
try on five new lip glosses;
unsuccessfully attempt to convince self the lips sheer and glossified will do;
try on three navel-length necklaces for the black sheath dress – discard all;
purchase two bottles of wine, hummus and pita chips, and a creme-filled doughnut; settle into bed. That was tough.
I’m exhausted. I finished the 3 hour Con Law exam less sure of myself than I wanted to be, but there’s nothing for it. I began some crim tonight. Totally not fun to walk into that. I’ve taken some breaks, most notably to create an “If Found” message for my iPhone. I kept thinking this does not require extravagant moves or money (although this is a lovely app for just $.99 and may be well worth your dollar).
(1) Choose your wallpaper from the web, there are many beautiful images free to download.
(2) Save it to your computer and then import into an image editor. For ease of use, I used picnik.com, a free image editor.
(3) Add text to your image – your email or an emergency contact number, save to your computer and synch with your iPhone. I had to play around with the exact location of my text to prevent it from being hidden from view under “Enter Passcode” and the passcode entry area.
(4) And now my email address is visible on the wallpaper; no passcode required to contact me. The first day of school this semester, I left my purse on the shuttle bus. I came unhinged and had the company not worked with me to secure my purse immediately (The first dispatcher would not actually “work with me” and contact the driver but would “file a report.”) I would have wished I’d had some form of contact information available on my phone in case a student should have secured my purse and attempted to return it.
Now, should an honest soul find my iPhone and wish to reunite it with me, they are not locked out of all contact with me by my password; they’ll have access to my email address, in plain view on the wallpaper. (My phone is always password-protected and therefore ICE – In Case of Emergency listing in contacts – could not be viewed and used to contact me without the password; now wondering why I have an ICE entry….)
EDIT: I wrote this last night, clearly for people who already understand what I’m getting at and while zonked on nighttime meds. I’ve since clarified a few things because, hey, I have time: I watched Unsolved Mysteries yesterday in the nail salon on my way to my Con Law exam and correctly identified the accomplice who will be charged with the same substantive crimes as the principal and noted attempted felony murder and discarded – heh, attempt is a specific intent crime! – for purposes of exam-work and charged that bad boy with attempted murder, robbery and kidnapping (we have asportation!).
(Perhaps a bit hard to follow Gwyn’s reasoning in the beginning, but the practical matter is that I was away from her.)
Gwyneth : “No offense, but I don’t think I’ll do this to my kids. Law school is kinda tough on us. How long do you have to stay there?”
She’s been left alone upstairs while everyone is watching an adult movie in the basement.
“I am proud of you, just like you’ll be proud of my public school. I just miss you.”
“Hold on a minute.”
“Did you hear that?”
No, Gwyn, I didn’t.
“I put the phone up to my heart.”