Wedding Cake On Board

Today I was driving down U.S. 1 on my way home from my massage. The sought-after relaxation effects were being ruined by the damn traffic. Just as I started to move, I see a car ahead of me with its double blinkers on traveling at a speed of about 15 MPH. As I near the car, I see a hand-made sign affixed to the back window:

"WEDDING CAKE ABOARD."


Ok, is the sign supposed to provide incentive for me to drive more carefully and avoid an accident with this prized "wedding cake" car, or rather, encourage me to drive recklessly.


I chose the latter. I mean, do these egocentric people really think I give a flying fuck that their little wedding cake is in the car. As if they expect me to think "Oh, a wedding cake. I will guard it with my very life."


Then i start to think about the whole ________ on Board fad that took the nation in the late 1980's.

You know:

Baby on Board
Child on Board
Honor Role student on Board


Like the wedding cake sign, did these moronic bumper stickers actually cause persons to drive more carefully to protect THEIR precious cargo?

I THINK NOT.

There are actually a few ______ on Board stickers that could serve some useful purpose. Of course, they were never produced, because bumper sticker with utility rarely are. But, for any enterprising individuals reading this blog, here are some ideas:


ASSHOLE ON BOARD

Life would be a lot easier if assholes properly identified themselves. Hell, I'd probably be one of the first people to put this sticker on MY SUV. Enough said.


OLD FUCK ON BOARD

I'm sick of getting stuck behind 100 year old people in Cadillac's driving 35 MPH on the highway in the passing lane when I'm late for my manicure. Short of revoking their license, can I please get a warning.


STEROID-USING ANGER-PRONE PERSON ON BOARD

I may be prone to road-rage myself, but I draw the line at yelling and screaming things like "Get the fuck out of my way granny" and "Move, you pathetic moron. I draw the line at any sort of physical violence. This sticker could avoid road-rage of the dangerous type.


HOT SINGLE GUY (OR GIRL)ON BOARD

Can be "GIRL" too. What do all you single people think?
Can I get a "Hell Yea?"


I welcome comments with any other ideas from people reading this (LOL at my delusion that anyone reads this.)


I know you are anxiously waiting to hear the fate of the Wedding Cake. After tail-gating the car for a half a mile, I decided to back off. Some bride and groom deserve one last happy day of wedded bliss in their life before they discover the torturous scam called "marriage" they just entered into.

Jesus Loves you, but he loves ME better!

My two children constantly fight. I guess I need to see the humor in the content of these mini-battles, because otherwise I'd lose it altogether.

They usually fight over things that mean nothing to either of them. Like a cheap Mcdonald's Happy Meal Toy that has been buried in the bottom of the toy chest but recently discovered.

The latest fight was yesterday morning. I am in the middle of a big jury trial, and I was edgy to begin with.

The topic of argument: A plastic braclet that says "Jesus Loves Me."

Let me digress. Both me and my husband are athiests. My children have an uncle, however, that semmingly thinks that it is his duty in life to save my kids from the paganist lifestyle we've created. So he buys the kids Jesus books, Jesus coloring books, Jesus bracelets, Jesus movies, Jesus underware, Jesus blow-up dolls (OK, I made the last two up, but you get the point.)

Back to the fight. I walk into the bathroom, and they are on the floor punching eachother. After I break this nonesense up, I ask them what is the problem. My older child produces the long-lost 25-cent Jesus bracelet.

Daughter: "Uncle M gave this to ME. It's Mine."
Me: Can't you let your brother borrow it.
(As an aside, her brother is 5 and austistic)
Daughter: But uncle M said Jesus loves me.
Me: Honey, your brother does not understand sharing. Can you let him have it for few minutes. you have like 500 bracelets, he has none.
Daughter: But Uncle M said Jesus loves me.
Me: I've got to get to work. either stop fighting or the stupid bracelet is going in the trash
Daughter: (In sassy tone) But Uncle M said Jesus loves ME. That means the bracelet is mine

What I wanted to say: Jesus does not love kids who fight.

But I did not say this. Nor did I say Jesus loves you both.

Instead, I put the bracelet in escrow until one of the children can provide evidentiary proof that Jesus loves them more.

One Big Mac from emotional equilibrium

This is the true story of my desperate search for a cheeseburger.

The other day, I left school after 12 hours on campus.

I was tired.
I was starving.
But I wanted to get out of the city.

I actually briefly contemplated a "vending machine" dinner (which usually consists of a main course of Ho Ho's with a side dish of Doritos and a Mountain Dew cocktail) It was 8pm and I had not eaten since breakfast. I decided it was too early in the semester to resume my "vending machine diet" and I really wanted real food.

OK, something that LOOSELY resembled real food - A Big Mac

So, I started my trip from Washington DC towards my home in Virginia. My commute is about 35 miles, which takes about 2 hours 15 minutes during rush hour. However, it was 8 pm, and I figured it should take me less then an hour, and somewhere along the trip I was bound to just happen upon those "Golden Arches."

I WAS WRONG!

About 15 minutes into my commute, I hit a road block, just before the "National Mall."

It's a protest.

I'm racking my mind to think of what people could be protesting on Tuesday at 8PM at night that was worth fucking up my commute home. The IMF or World Bank were not meeting, to my knowledge, no recent Supreme Court decisions on any hot-button issues, such as abortion, death penalty, saving the fuzzy striped eel, etc, in the recent future

WHY WHERE THESE PEOPLE FUCKING WITH MY COMMUTE?

I'm hungry
I'm Tired
I just want to eat a Big Mac and go home
Is that too much to ask??

Don't get me wrong. I am all for freedom of speech. For God's sake, I'm a fucking law student.

You can call me Ms. Free-speech

But when your free speech collides with my commute home. We have a problem.

I fantasize for a second about running down the protesters, running right through the blockade and continue on the most direct path home. Instead I take the detour, and wonder if all the protesting groups plan their schedule around my commuting schedule.

One hour later and 5 miles later, I'm out of the city and in the Commonwealth I call home. Only 25 miles to go.

I am starved
My head starts to hurt
I'm getting a migraine
I NEED A BIG MAC

I decide to bail off the highway (where the Golden Arches are sure to not be) onto the first, unfamiliar, exit. At the end of the exit ramp, I am faced with a key decision.

LEFT
OR
RIGHT?

I glance quickly down each direction. The car behind me starts to blare his horn (a prerequisite to living in this area is impatience). I pick left.

I drive 1, 2, 3 miles. I am becoming desperate. I reach under my seat and find an old bottle of coke.

It is old.
It is hot.
It is flat.
It is arguably dangerous to ingest.

I drink it. I reach rotely into my brief case looking desperately for ANYTHING to eat. I am becoming delirious. I am becoming annoyed. When you aren't looking for a McDonald's, they seem to be on every block, where are they now?

Then, like Manna from Heaven I feel something in my brief-case. It is a very old box of Butterfinger BB's. I savagely rip the unopened box open. I suddenly look up and realize I have, in my hungry delirium, entered into a very very bad neighborhood.

I am in the GHETTO.

Not only am I in the ghetto. But I am in the ghetto with a sign saying "Car-jack me" written all over me. My luxury SUV stands out like a sore thumb. My laptop computer (Lily) sits in plain view on the seat besides me. My brand new IPOD sits in plain view on my dashboard. From my back seat is clearly visible the television screens on both sides of the car, plus my children's X-Box hooked to them.

I don't start thinking "What if I get carjacked" I start thinking "When I get carjacked." In the back of my mind, my more primal instinct are still ruling. I am thinking "DAMN, there's never a McDonald's in the ghetto. I start looking for a safe place to U-Turn and prepare for my inevitable car-jacking.

Just as I am U-Turning I come face to face with THEM. The young men who are going to car-jack me. I try not to make eye-contact, but they keep pulling besides me.

I catch a glance.

I've never been car-jacked before but...

Do young men who carjack you always yell "Hey baby." and blow kisses and make other vulgar gestures?

Then it occurs to me. In my starving delirium, I have reached my entire hand into the box of chocolates. Forgetting the scientific fact that HEAT MELTS CHOCOLATE, my hand came out chocolate-coated.

I was licking my hand like a shark that just smelled blood. I realize the licking between my finger JUST MAYBE looked like a vulgar gesture.

That explains my young ghetto-inhabiting admirers in the car next to me yelling:

"LICK IT BABY"

I am somewhat relieved that I am not about to be robbed, raped, and murdered. But, I have more serious matters on my mind.

I MUST FIND FOOD
I MUST FIND FOOD
I MUST FIND FOOD

I am back-tracking under the interstate, heading the direction I would have been heading if I had turned left in the first place.

The ghetto suddenly turns into yuppieville. Its so sudden its shocking. I feel like Dorothy when she first entered OZ.

I look around for the munchkins, but instead I see a sign "Condos, starting in the low 800's"

Yes, folks, that's $800,000 for 1,000 square foot condos. What I don't get is the word "low". If a person is prepared to purchase an $800,000 condominium, does the fact that it in the LOW as opposed to HIGH $800,000 REALLY make a difference?

But I have been distracted from my task at hand. My search for that cheeseburger in paradise.

Then it occurs to me, as seldom as you find fast-food joints in the ghetto, it is even more seldom you find them in neighborhood's like this. I am surrounded by places like Sutton Place Gourmet and Panera (all of which are closed this late.)

I accept my destiny.

I am going to perish right here. I suddenly long to be back in the ghetto. At least there I would not have died alone.

Then, like a sign from Heaven I see it. Those familiar Golden Arches. That smell of grease and saturated fat. That international symbol of obesity and heart-failure.

My life has been spared!


After my trip through the drive through, I scarf down my Big Mac and head back towards the highway that will take me home.

An Alanis Morrissette song comes on. I feel as if Alanis is singing straight to me:

"I'm broke but I'm happy.
I'm poor but I'm kind
I'm short but im healthy
YEAH!
I'm high but I'm grounded
I'm sane but I'm overwhelmed
I'm lost but I'm Hopeful

BABY

What it all comes down to
Is everythings going to be
FINE FINE FINE

Because I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one's giving a peace sign."

My emotional equilibrium has been restored.

Life is good.

Everything I need to know I learned before 2nd grade (subtitle: my wasted 19 years of education)

Well, today is my first day of school. My last first day in my life I hope (This is my final year in law school).

So, I'm sitting in the law library right now. Trying to read Agency Law. Doing EVERYTHING but reading. I'm 30..I'm too old for first days of school. I'm so over this! But, just saying that makes me sound like I'm in Highschool..lol..LIFE COMES FULL CIRCLE.

I told my daughter (who's going into 2nd grade) that mommy was going back to school next week. She started asking questions, like all second-graders are obligated to do.

Q: What grade are you in?
A: I'm in my third year law school, honey
Q: No, mommy, what GRADE.
A: I just told you, third and final year law school
Q: No, mommy, I'm in 2nd grade, my friend Tom's in 3rd grade, what number grade are you in

I pause...I had to use my hands, and toes, then hands again to get an answer tio this one. Let's see 12 years plus 4 years undergrad plus 3 years law school.

A: I'm in 19th grade

OMG, 19th grade.

I start to think to myself have I REALLY learned 19 years worth of material. I mean, I learned most of the important things 16 or 17 years back in my education. You know, important things, like you must wait in line to go to recess, don't eat glue, and you should not kick, bite, or hit others.

OK, maybe I did learn some other useful things. I learned math somewhere in there, I'm sure that's somehow useful. On the other hand, it just took me 5 minutes, one hand, one foot, and one hand again to figure out what grade I was in.

I also learned writing skills somewhere in this 19 year educational excursion. I am sure that was useful. On the other hand, are writing skills really useful to lawyers? I mean, do lawyers really actually write in the English language? If you have ever read a contract drawn up by lawyers, you know what I mean.

As I'm coming to the brutal realization that I have not learned anything useful since 2nd grade, I realize my daughter is desperately trying to gain my attention.

Q: What classes are you taking.

OK, the true answer is I'm taking Agency Law, Criminal Procedure: Post-investigative Process, Juvenile Law and Remedies. This would make no sense to an 8 year old. This makes little sense to me.

A: I study law.

And I get a perplexed look. But she presses on.

Q: What classes, mommy, like reading and art?

A: Well, I am studying Juvenile Criminal Law (I have no idea why this one came to mind)

Q: What's that?

OK, here I forget the verbatim. My mind was actually someone stuck on the fact that I've just wasted 19 years in a class room and learned nothing. But, somehow, I freaked her out. In my explanation of the class, I gave her the impression that we throw 2nd graders in jail for not cleaning their rooms....on the other hand, maybe it's not so bad I gave her this impression.

Q: Are your teachers nice?

NO! My professors are assholes. Total pompous ass-wipes. They try to make you cry in class. They are so full of themselves. They are lawyers for God's sake.

No, I did not say this.

A: Yes, they are nice

Q: Are you excited mommy?

A: Yes, I'm excited to start back.

Then my daughter says, well, I want to go to school to be a veterinarian to help sick animals.

I'm thinking, good choice. At least you may learn something useful, and maybe save a dyeing squirrel you just struck with your SUV on the way home from work.


Another successful conversation in my road to successful parenting.

Just me and my laptop

Let me start with a confession:

I HAVE AN UNHEALTHY ATTACHMENT WITH MY

LAPTOP COMPUTER.

My boyfriend calls my laptop my "other boyfriend." I have panic attacks when I have to sleep somewhere if my laptop is not under the same roof. My laptop even has a name, Lily. (which, I guess, would mean I was in a lesbian relationship according to my boyfriend - but that's neither here nor there.)

Let's get this straight. This is not a computer or internet addiction that I speak of. As I type right now on the desktop in my bedroom I realize that this particular machine is just that. A machine. Replaceable. A means to an end. But oh no, not my Lily.

Part of the reason for this attachment is practical. I purchased Lily just before I started Law School. Lily holds notes fropm every class I have sat through. She holds the "work product" from all my legal clerkships. She holds my complete MP3 collection of near 10,000 songs and my recipe collection, which includes 5,000 recipes. She holds my thesis paper, and all of its drafts. She also is adorned with 100's of desktop pictures, which I have cycled every 15 minutes.

So, you think, why don't you just back up this data. The thing is, I largely have backed up the important things. But, still, there is the deeply rooted feeling that if I lost my friend, Lily, it would never be the same.

Which leads me to think that this attachment goes deeper then an attachment for the sake of practicality.

I got Lily when I was still married. She may very well be the first big purchase I made on my own. I picked out Lily myself, and paid with her with my own money (albeit school loans, but nontheless, not my ex-husband's money.) Until the time I started Law School, I has been a "stay home" mom. I married and had kids young, and never really had a job, and definetly never had a career. I also felt like I never had anything that was "just mine." Lily was just mine.

Lily represents my newly found independence. The day she came to live with me somehow marks the "critical point" in my life, after which nothing has been the same.

My marraige quickly deteriorated after I started Law School. My ex-husband made it clear he preferred a "house-wife." Taking night classes to finish my under-grad 3 or 6 credits at a time posed no threat to him. Going to school, all day...and not only school but LAW SCHOOL posed a huge threat.

This was all new to me. I had never had a job. I had done very little without my ex-husband. I felt very alone. But, Lily was there for me every day. The first time I rode on the Metro Train to get to school, Lily was there. My first trip EVER to the city without my ex-husband, Lily was there. That first class in law scool, as I sat terrified, feeling out of place, a 30 year old with two kids surrounded by young kids fresh out of college, who all "looked" like young lawyers. All I could think is "I do not belong here." But, Lily was there, and I got through. When I felt so islolated, so unsupported, when it seemed that all of my friends and family did not believe I would make it, Lily was there.

And THROUGH Lily I built a support system. Finally, I felt free to express myself. For the first time in my life I felt a new sense of privacy, which enabled me to build a new "cyber support network." Finally, I had a medium which I could express myself, without having to subject my private thoughts to the prying eyes of my ex-husband and ex in-laws. (As an aside, my ex-mother -in-law stole my diary, and read it to her entire family. It contained very intimate details, including suicidal thoughts I had in the past and an extra-marital affair I had, and details of my own father's suicide - This is one reason why I felt like I never had any measure of privacy until Lily came along.)

As my marraige quickly deteriorated, I made the most important decision of my life. To leave the marraige. I found my new apartment through Lily. I also found a divorce attorney through Lily. I also found a group of friends at a Message Board called "Divorce Talk" through Lily.

The first day in my new apartment was the scariest day of my life. I have NEVER lived alone or supported myself.

I WAS SCARED

I WAS ALONE

THE APARTMENT WAS EMPTY

I THOUGHT I MADE A BAD DECISION

I CRIED

But, I had Lily. I literally had no furniture except a bean bag chair and Lily. I survived that night. And the rest is history.

Two years later, and I'm in my last year in law school. I m no longer scared or lonely to be in my apartment. I now have obtained a sense of privacy, independence, and autonomy and happiness that I never dreamed possible.

Yet, I still need Lily.

Lily is "in the shop" for the next two days. OK, I'm not having panic attacks, and OK, I am going to survive.

But I will miss my faithful friend.

Fun Vacation with Ex-Husband is NOT oxymoron

Yesterday I returned from vacation with my ex-husband and kids.

Every time I say that statement, it seems I am encountered with confused stares from the listener.

Then come the question and answer session:

No, we are not reconciling.
No, we did not “hook up.”
Yes, our respective boyfriend and girlfriend are OK with this.
No, we did not try to kill each other.
Yes, I am sure we are not reconciling.
Positive.
And, yes, as we have in past years, we all had a great time and we plan on continuing this
tradition for years to come.

My ex-husband and I do these yearly excursions to the beach primarily for the children. We both believe that the fact that he and I did not work out does not mean that our children should be deprived of spending their “special times” with BOTH their mother and their father.

Here is another statement that tends to get stares of puzzlement and bewilderment from listeners:

My ex-husband and I are very close friends.

Maybe this is so because we were both mature adults about the divorce. Maybe this is so because the divorce was consensual. Maybe this is true because during the last 2 or 3 years of our marriage we were already basically living as friends and co-parents, therefore divorce was not such a drastic adjustment. Regardless of the reason, it is what it is: My Ex-husband and I are close friends.

WE GREW APART.
WE MOVED ON.
WE NO LONGER LOVE EACH OTHER.
WE STILL LIKE EACH OTHER.

Is that so bizarre?

As I ascend (or descend) into blogesphere

A friend of mine, Croaker, started a blog a couple months ago.

I called blogging egocentric.

I called blogging self-indulgent.

I declared that blogging was an unhealthy escape from reality.

Yet, here I am.

I have a confession. I have secretly been reading blogs. I can't figure out why I would enjoy engaging in such a frivolous exercise. Maybe it's the same reason I secretly watch Jerry Springer and Dogg the Bounty Hunter when I'm alone. Maybe it's the same part of me that puts on a skimpy leather outfit and a leather mask once a month and becomes the very submissive "BUNNY" and goes to dark and scary, yet exciting and deliciously stimulating, underground clubs with my "MASTER." Maybe its the bored part of me, the part that spends the day with a group of straight-laced largely uninteresting and unstimulating attorneys. Maybe I'm just rebelling. Maybe I'm just looking for a creative outlet or an escape. Maybe I'm just self-absorbed and overly-indulgent too!

But here I am.

I think what honestly draws me to this "medium" is the combination of the anonymity mixed with the intimacy. I think we all yearn to share ourselves with others, but its hard to share our "true selves" in this world.

I am a single mother
I am a law student
I work at the Commonwealth Attorney's Office
I am sexually a submissive (named Bunny)
I am independent
I am sometimes lonely and scared
I am very kinky
I am very intellectual
I am a very good friend
I party a little too much sometimes
I am an overachiever at school
I am a terrible housewife
I am me.

I hope all of these parts can come out in this blog. Enjoy the read!

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Test Blog.