Why is everyone smiling in this state...

when you can't buy hard alcohol anywhere?!! Honestly I am in some kind of alternate universe! Yes it's true you couldn't buy the hard stuff in Libertyville either but at least it was readily available. Plus in my new homeland people don't even seem to understand that alcoholic beverages exist outside of the beer and wine family.

I wanted to make mojitos for my mom...it is super hot out and it seemed like a fun summer drink. We walk in to Safeway and see a large beer and wine section but alas no booze. Being the intelligent woman that I am I figure that like Libertyville, this lovely state abides by the no booze on Sundays, after 9 p.m. or in the regular grocery store rules. I take this information and decide it's really no big deal since I am living less than a mile from campus and figure there must be at least half a dozen such stores in a ten mile radius. WRONG. DEAD WRONG. There are ten liquor stores in the whole city and none are open on Sundays and none are near by. In fact when I began asking people (young 20 somethings who looked like they enjoyed some quality time with the bottle) they looked at me like I had two heads. In fact I asked one young guy where the alcohol section of Safeway was and he said "its right there" (pointing to the beer and wine). I said "no the hard stuff" and he said, "I don't know...not here" ... As if he had never drank the stuff or even heard of it. Ahh the insanity. Okay enough for now.

The X Files

Today another chapter of my life is thankfully closed! I sent Clinger all the things he so nicely requested I mail to him. Please, I figure unless its jewelery or expensive electronics, things left at an ex's become casualties of war. Oh well. It's done and now there is nothing connecting us and no reason for him to contact me...ever...again :) Okay so that was a little melodramatic but honestly I am so glad that part of my life is over and I actually can't believe I was ever interested in someone like him. But I guess that's growing-up. Every experience helps you to grow and shows you just what you want and don't want in life. Anyhow this will most likely be my last post for awhile...I don't think my Internet will be up in my new place till the middle of next week.

I know I'm not Oprah

but I thought I would start sharing a few of my favorite things!


In the spotlight this week: The very cute laptop sleeve by Timbuk2 (www.timbuk2.com). For all you Mac lovers out there they are sized perfect you your little beauties. I am in love with mine :)

Roommate Hall of Shame Part II

Okay so I realize this is long overdue but honestly the weeks have been blending together in a basic black hole that has been the month of July. So here is is the next installment of roommate hell...admit it you have been waiting with baited breath, maybe not as exciting as the last Harry Potter but damn close!

The Foreign Sexaholic

For this week's tale of woe I draw inspiration from a good friend's ordeal.

Picture it, college town USA, the year is 2005. A very laid back, chill, vegetarian chick goes looking for a new roommate after the winter break. Her previous roommate has graduated and she begins the arduous journey of finding a replacement. Eventually she decides to allow a male to share her room. She thinks he will be less drama than the alternative...an overly processed, overly blonde bimbo. There seems to be a bonus, he is foriegn and hardly speaks any English (limited talking = less chance of being annoying). As an added benefit he also has a girlfriend and claims he will be at her house constantly.

Things start out fine. He seems normal and his garbled English is endearing and makes her want to look after him and help him acclimate. He plays well with others and enjoys the bottle as much as everyone in the house.

The problem begins when his girlfriend enters the picture. We will call her Rat Face. Let me describe Rat Face. She was about 5 feet tall and 90 pounds. She had this strange hair that wasn't straight and wasn't curly...and it was constantly slathered in some kind of gel or mouse. Although she didn't say much her facial expressions spoke volumes. If dishes were left undone or something wasn't up to her standard she would begin yelling in her native tongue and then give dagger eyes to anyone who happened to be in her range. The passive aggressive bullshit was bad enough but it got even worse. Apparently in their homeland there is no protocol for letting your roommate know you are getting jiggy. So my poor friend would constantly be walking into her room only to be greeted with the image of the twosome consummating their love, over and over again.

The question is, why no sock on the door? Or if that isn't your style as least lock the door. Although this constant assault on the eyes would be enough to qualify this situation for the Hall of Shame what really puts it over the top in the following.

If my home girl happened to be in the room and the pair got the urge they would just start up with the funny business. I mean why?? What drives someone to this behavior? You are so desperate to get some from your long term significant other that you decide it's cool to just go to town while your roommate is literally three feet away?

Okay so I will be honest. I have been guilty of getting frisky while others are in the room but trust me, many ounces of alcohol had been consumed prior...by both myself, my partner and the unassuming witness. I know this still makes me a slightly bad person but at least when I am in my right mind I don't just strip down and get freaky...well at least not yet.

*Next week: Baby Voice...enough said*

Just so you all know

I am so freaking excited about starting school! Oh man I know I am just setting myself up for disappointment but for some reason I have a really good feeling about everything. Sure I am prolonging adulthood by going back to school but I honestly believe that once I have graduated I will finally be able to get a job that I not only tolerate but like. We will see.

Anyhow today I got my orientation schedule and that made things seem so much more real. I mean before it was always just out there but now I have reading assignments and whatnot. It's so cute they even have activities we can participate in during orientation week. Sporting events, hikes, picnics whatever you want. I don't know why but that makes me happy. I just hope there are a few normal types there so I don't go crazy this year.

Who thinks I need to go shopping for a pink suit?

The role models next door?

Okay admit it, you have all watched "The Girls Next Door." There is something strangely amusing about watching the 80 year old founder of Play Boy romance his three blonde live-in girlfriends. It's like a reality version of "Big Love" but with fake boobs, mansions and Vegas parties on almost every other episode.

Why are we drawn to shows like this? Shows that tell us men can be sexy at any age but women have a shelf life? Yes I know he is Hugh Hefner but still.

Anyhow I'm diverging. What prompted this entry was yesterday's episode. The girls go to Vegas and hundreds of people are lined-up for their autographs. Holly, the oldest 'girl', refers to herself and her other house mates as 'role models.' What makes them role models? I mean I really like the show, but I wouldn't consider the girls role models. There is noway I would want to fashion myself after these women, and I hope young girls aren't set on having a life the includes one man for every three women.

Nothing of note

Okay so I came to a sad conclusion today...I have way too many clothes and I hate about 70% of them. I have seriously been doing laundry for days. Washing everything from sheets to sweatshirts and jackets. I have packed away all my sweaters and fleeces until winter comes around again. As it's almost 90 degrees where I am headed I don't think I will be wearing anything heavier than a tank top for the next couple of months.

I am trying to come up with something good to entertain you all with but my days are mostly filled with packing and crossing things off my "to do list." I am happy to report that I bought a new wall calendar and have loving written down all of your birthdays!

In the last month I have had a physical, two fillings and my eye prescription renewed. Man this should keep me healthy for the next year!

Okay so I am really boring today! I promise to come up with something interesting for later.

Movin' on up

So as most of you know I am moving in a little over a week. I had a request to knock it off with the sarcastic posts and go back to my sentimental roots so here it goes.

Moving. I don't know why, but whenever I leave on place for another (even if it is a much needed move) I get a little teary and a bit reflective. Anyone who is over the age of 23 has moved enough times to know it's a killer on the body and soul. Moving is like closing a chapter of your life and even if you are happy to see that chapter end it still marks the progression of time.

I have been anticipating this latest move since the day I moved back in with my parents a little less than a year ago. If someone asked me at age 18 where I saw myself at age 24, I would not have said, unemployed and living in my parents back house. But as hard as this is to admit moving home was exactly what I needed. No I don't recommend everyone go live in close quarters with their parents after not being at home for over five years... but for me it was like pushing the reset button. You know like on an IPod or a computer. Its going so slow and has so many viruses that it just needs a start fresh. That was me a year ago. Burnt out, disillusioned and tired, so tired.

Well back to the actual packing. For some reason I am having a really hard time throwing things away. I feel like one day I am going end up on Oprah " women who are drowning in crap" or some such nonsense. I mean why am I reluctant to throw out a tube-top I haven't worn in years or a pair of Capri pants that just aren't in style any more? I think it's because of my damn memory again. It's like I see throwing these things out as a symbol of throwing out happy times. The mind is a crazy thing.

So I'm scared, obviously, of starting law school. Mostly because I am worried I'm not going to meet any normal people. But you know what I thought the same thing about undergrad. I loved high school and my friends and was convinced that no one could take their places but I was wrong. The friends I made in college became my family. My best friends and the people I depend on most. Maybe if I'm lucky I can make one friend like that in law school. That would make me happy. Just one normal person :)

Goal for today throwout crap and don't cry about it! Miss you guys :)

Men who write poetry

should be shot. I'm sorry but it's just so pathetic. Yes I have been in love, yes I know how nice it feels to have someone confess their love for you but it doesn't have to be in iambic pentameter or a haiku to get me hot. I mean isn't something about it just totally pathetic? And the worst part is...most of the poems they come up with are garbage...but we are expected to swoon over them and compliment their ability to come out of their masculine shells and actually express a feeling. Please. I am not going to get all excited over some half assed attempt to get me to do a threesome. Okay, well maybe that's not always the motivation but I think it could be the driving force behind 99.9% of all male poetry efforts.

one tequila, two tequila, three tequila floor

Well I wasn't drinking tequila but you get it. After not drinking for a REALLY long time I decided to let my hair down so to speak. I ended up falling asleep while getting a ride home and waking up in a strange bed. Don't worry it's not how it sounds. Nothing like "that" happened. The next morning I woke up to find myself sleeping next to a friend from work . Apparently he tried to put me on the couch but I kept falling off so he carried me to the bedroom. When will I grow-up? Well maybe never but I have decided to enact a strict 4 drink maximum policy whenever going out from now on...just isn't worth the consequences. Well at least in this case the only thing bruised was my ego.

PS

Just this very moment a movie came on called "Fire Down Below." And no its not a porno.

Why?

Today as I was taking my hansom puppy around the neighborhood I looked down on the road and what did I see? I super sized tampon applicator. First off why would this be in someone's front yard and secondly how did I identify it as an applicator of the super variety? Well as to the first question I may never know the answer but if you know Sandy Town then you know this is not such an unusual sight. In fact it may have even been some type of yard decoration for all I know. The answer to the second question is that I am a female and as such I have had the sad privilege of using the super tampon. But why is it called super? There really is nothing super about having a period so heavy that you need to use a tampon, that according to statistics, would make some men jealous. I know what you are saying, "none of my men." But you know what I'm getting at. Anyhow don't you think it would be better if they renamed the offending object say the 'hell' tampon or 'shittiest day of the week tampon or even the ' don't talk to me, I am trying hard not to be a bitch and your chit-chat is making me want to slap a bitch' tampon.

I'm not together but I'm getting there

Today was an important day. I finally fit back into my jeans from college. Yes I really am that vain. But honestly it is a big moment for me because I finally finally feel that I am coming back from someplace I didn't want to be. I am a firm believer that people's lives go through cycles. Times of plenty and times of want. These last two years have drained me. Don't get me wrong there have been great times. New friends and new experiences. But there have been a lot of growing pains too. Realizing that I can't always work my way towards the things I want... somethings are not meant to be had. Finding out that I am more fragile than I thought and understanding for perhaps the first time in my life that being alone is okay...more than okay, it can be wonderful.

After I broke up with Clinger I decided it was time take back myself. I started jogging, eating better, caring about myself again. I have been listening to MY music and spending MY time writing, reading and reflecting on all the things I love about myself and the things that need to be changed. I see myself as a work in progress...we all are. But for the first if a long long time I see the sun coming out and I feel like I am ready to be me again. To make new friends, have another adventure and trust myself enough to make the choices I need to make and shut the doors that need to be shut.

Although I was never a huge fan before I am really loving John Mayer's 'Continuum.' The songs are so beautiful. If you haven't, take the time to check it out.

Okay enough promos for Mr. Mayer.

My hope for all of you is that wherever you're at in life, take the time to stop and look around. If you're in a good place stop and enjoy the moment...less than idyllic time? Stop and embrace that as well. I think it's the hard times that teach us the most about ourselves. Maybe that's all bullshit but now that I am coming out to play again it seems plausible.

Stop this train John Mayer

No, I'm not colorblind I know the world is black and white
Try to keep an open mind
But I just can't sleep on this tonight

Stop this train
I wanna get off
And go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly, won't someone stop this train?

Don't know how else to say it
I don't want to see my parents go
One generation's length away
From fighting life out on my own

Stop this train
I wanna get off
And go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly, won't someone stop this train?

So scared of getting older
I'm only good at being young
So I play the numbers game
To find a way to say that life has just begun

Had a talk with my old man
Said "help me understand"
He said "turn sixty-eight You renegotiate"

"Don't stop this train
Don't for a minute change the place you're in
And don't think I couldn't ever understand
I tried my hand
John, honestly we'll never stop this train"

Once in awhile, when it's good
It'll feel like it should
And they're all still around
And you're still safe and sound
And you don't miss a thing
Till you cry when you're driving away in the dark
Singing
Stop this train
I wanna get off
And go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
Cause now I see I will never stop this train

Get excited, get very excited

It's official a Sex and the City movie is in the works. How excited am I? Well I actually made an audible sound of joy when I heard it on the news. Side note, is that really news worthy? To me yes! So break out the Cosmos and manolo blahniks (I wish).

Roommate Hall of Fame Part I

In honor of another school year starting I have decided to begin a roommate hall of fame or should I say shame. Each week ( or until I run out of entertaining stories) I will recount the tale of a horrid roommate. Ones that I have personally been subjected to or have witnessed. And we are off and running:

"The Bait and Switch"

Initially this roommate seems fabulous. They are happy and seem social and outgoing. However after a few months of relative calm they suddenly snap into, for lack of a better description, a Bridezilla (too much television). All of the sudden everything and everyone is expected to bow to their command.

My freshman year I had such a roommate... we will call her Lemon. Lemon basically morphed from a mild mannered party girl type into a self absorbed crazy person. By the third quarter her boyfriend had taken up residence in our apartment (without asking) and she would routinely come into the common room at 10 p.m. or earlier asking us to "keep it down." Come on now we are living in a dorm not a convalescent hospital. No Lemon did not have a job or an 8 a.m. class....but her better half needed his beauty rest. For the love of God.

At this point maybe you are asking why the sane members of the house didn't ask the love birds to get lost. Well in addition to Lemon's permanent guest situation she would also hold the house emotionally hostage. Example: if we questioned her or asked her to refrain from bitch behavior she would stomp around the house slamming doors and giving us the death stare.

This continued through the end of freshman year and into our sophomore year (yes before she showed her true colors we signed a lease for the following year). I think my favorite moment came when after refusing to pay her portion of the rent she elected to get a boob job. Another goodie: when she would go out of town she would mark all her alcohol bottles as she was convinced we were all drinking her stash. Paranoid much? Lesson learned: If it looks like a bitch and acts like a bitch, guess what its a bitch!

Coming next week: foreign roommates that speak little or no English and engage in sexual activities while you are in the room...awake.

Variation on a theme

So I realize this blog is not a huge departure from my last entry but it has been on my mind for quite sometime...what I am wondering is why are some women so put together looking at all times? You know the type I am talking about, maybe you even are one! The women who look like even if they tried their hair would never be frizzy, their skin would never have a blemish and their shit defiantly wouldn't stink. You imagine that they wake-up smelling like a daisy and flashing their dazzling white smiles. When you go out with them they never drop food on their shirts, they never have sweat stains and even when it's cold out and they aren't wearing a bra their nipples never show themselves at inopportune times.

I am not one of these women. I can often be seen with a lovely shine on my face, stains under my armpits and wrinkled pants. It's not that I don't try it's just that life happens. You leave the house looking (I will admit it) pretty damn good and by lunch time you catch a glimpse of yourself and wonder, "what the hell happend?" Meanwhile you look to your left and see one of the perfects. Her hair is still perfectly coiffed, their skin is glowing, not with sweat but with that something extra that comes from expensive department store moisturizers. Her pants are still perfectly pressed and she looks relaxed and in control. Meanwhile I look frantic and messy.

This leads me to my point or should I say question. Are these women genetic hiccups? Is it breading? If it's the latter then why can't I learn the behaviors that would make it possible for me to jump into this league? I am going to have to go with genetic hiccup. I have seen wealthy women who to be quite honest would be lucky to look like the half way done version of me when they actually leave the house. I have also been in the presence of women with limited resources who still somehow manage to looking stunning.

I don't hate these women I just look at them with something akin to awe. Would I like to be them? Maybe. It sure seems like a lot of work. If it meant giving-up my coffee on the go habit (could lead to a spill right?) or take away more than an hour of much needed sleep then no thanks. But a girl can dream.

JD or MRS?

I currently have no life of my own so I spend way too much time looking into the affairs of others. My school was kind enough to email me a list of my future classmates. I decided to use the information for evil... looking them up on the Internet and in turn forming preconceived notions about them. A truly wonderful way to spend a Tuesday.

The worst case scenario would be a classroom full of the types of people I met while living in Libertyville (with the aim of keeping my anonymity the names of people and places have been changed to protect the innocent as well as the guilty). These women appear to be ambitious... but what they really are, is after a man. No joke. A wolf in sheep's clothing. They appear to be concerned about social issues, looking to change the world or at least their communities but REALLY they are looking for the ultimate prize, a two carat diamond from Tiffany's. This brings me to another story...I don't know if it is exactly funny but it is telling.

So I am sitting in the SF airport waiting for a flight to some point east and I happen to be wearing my college sweatshirt. I am staring longingly at my laptop hoping to pick up a wireless signal when an older couple interrupt me. They tell me their grandson went to X school and that he majored in engineering. I act appropriately impressed ( It's not like I hadn't met millions of beer swilling engineering students but who am I to ruin their fantasy?). Anyhow after a few minutes of chit-chat the man looks at me and says, "having any luck getting your MRS. degree?" and then he has the nerve to wink. I smile and make some excuse about needing coffee NOW.

Separation Anxiety

College is such a tease. You start to live a life that isn't real and when it is all over you are left holding the bag and most likely a box of tissues. My friends and I attended school at an undisclosed location perched on the side of a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The streets were filled with beautiful people, tasty food and lots of liquor. After four years of basically living in a resort local (a place most people visit for a once a year or once in a lifetime vacation) we were all tossed out into the cold cold world.

The first year was by far the worst. We were separated, broke and searching for any work we could get our hands on. As time passed we all moved on but late at night images of what once was float through my mind and I wonder "why did we have to wake up?" In the immortal words of the classic film Reality Bites, " I was really going to be something by the age of 23."

It has been two years and although we are all going through the motions of our lives something still seems terribly off. Can't we continue to go through life wearing flip-flops and sun dresses, with a mojito in one hand and a vanilla clove in the other? No, instead we have forced ourselves into high-heels, scrubs, maternity tops and business suites.

I was always in such a hurry to grow-up until I realized that once you get there or at least close to it there is no going back. Unfortunately life is a one shot deal. There are no do-overs and there are no take-backs. What's done is done. Period end of sentence. Why is it so hard to embrace the present and so easy to look back with longing at times gone by?

My girls and I still have monthly conversations and during each talk we inevitably revert back to talking about all the boys, booze and bygones. Each conversation ends in the same manner :

Me: " Why can't we go back to how things used to be, when we didn't know how good we had it?"

BFF: :"I don't know but if you find a way sign me up."

Running on Purpose

I decided to take the plunge. I have officially moved from reading blogs to writing one. I was beginning to feel a bit too voyeuristic just reading about the lives of others. I guess in a small way, now I can feel like I am somehow contributing to the community at large.

I started running about a month ago and although it was awful at first, it is now my absolute favorite time of the day. My favorite game to play is putting my IPod on shuffle and imagining the perfect movie scene for each song to play in. For instance today Third Eye Blind's 'Hows it going to be' came up. Not your ideal jogging song but a great movie song. I imagine a girl coming out of her apartment. She starts walking up a deserted street and then builds-up to running while stripping off jewelry, a bulky sweatshirt and even her shoes. Next song Stevie Wonder's 'Cheri Amour.' Great song. Perfect for the begining of a love story montage. Strolling through the park, sitting at a sidewalk cafe, walking their dog together...you get the point. Next The Rolling Stones, 'Sympathy for the Devil.' Not quite sure of the story line but lawyers are somehow involved sitting around a table laughing.

I should be spending what little time I have left learning exactly what a tort is but for now I can imagine myself as a budding screen writer as opposed to what I am actually becoming...a law student. One of the most hated individuals on earth. C'est la vie.