I am in a place...

where I feel like I'm surrounded by fucking nut jobs. Seriously, fucking nut cakes.

I need like 1,000,000 hours of therapy just to ease into my new life.

If I am feeling like the most sane person in the room-and I am acting insane something is seriously wrong in the universe.

Thank God for jazz on the radio, half a glass of red wine, a sleeping dog on the couch, and a husband coming home with mashed potato pizza.

I always have to remember-this is my real world and this is my real life-I can give myself permission to the be the pleasant yet somewhat cold, newbie at work. GAWD.

The reasons older lawyers love their jobs so much is because they have other people doing all the shit work. And when that person is me...poor both of us.

Stress Release

I'm always looking for new supplements, magical pills, and activities that will help me live my life in way where my fight of flight response isn't always kicked into high gear. I realize that I'm a naturally very high-strung person, but throw in law school (this place was MADE for testing ones ability to stay emotionally, physically and mentally balanced or even remotely sane) and I'm one crazy mother fucker. First, I'll do anything to distract myself from thinking about my real concerns: bills and school work.

I'm having a heart attack, an aneurysm, breast cancer, brain tumor, sexual dysfunction, emphysema, early Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, MS. I only exaggerate slightly. My panic attacks on the road were so bad I once was convinced that I had had a stroke, my hands tensed up and I couldn't move my fingers (as a result of the stroke of course) and I called my mom all-I can't move my hands (of course I somehow found the ability to move them enough to dial her number) I think I was even convincing myself that the left side of my face on gone numb. I give my mom much credit for not laughing her ass off during that situation.

That's around the time I was like-yeah this whole alcohol thing every day to the point of oblivion really isn't working for me in the way self-medication should.

Over time I have gotten better and at least I can talk myself out of the panic attack now. I read about Ashwagandha awhile ago, but had only tried it in tincture form. I bought some in concentrated pill form last night and it is the Ayurveda bomb! Instantly I was like-whoa muscles relaxed, breath slowed down, all stoned but alert. I love it! So far it's my favorite chill pill. And though it pains me to refer to is as a chill pill, I really couldn't help myself. Too easy.

Grey Gardens and Grey Gardens Redux

If you haven't seen the documentary Grey Gardens than you are probably not a gay man. If you haven't seen it-really you should. It's follows the lives of two women-the aunt and first cousin of Jackie Kennedy. The huge mansion they live in has become a ruin. I can't do justice to it with my explanation. Show the clip, Jimmy:




When I heard that Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange were in a new film-a remake of the original-I was like, "Come again?" But when I saw the trailer I decided I'm totally willing to give it another chance. I mean,it does look sort of awesome.

This is why today wasn't easy. This is why today was still o.k.

I cried at work.

This is me:

Except with tears. And apparently a choker.

I really can't explain it in detail in the fucking off chance someone in my office will come across this.

I felt really overwhelmed and my boss is basically like..."ummm... you do it and you do it right."

I got to work this morning and through miscommunication from her I just felt totally used. Sort of like I'm doing her job. And I was so PISSED and I felt so helpless to do anything about it.
I got back to my desk---"look it up!"(see above)---my ass! 

 I was going to totally lose my shit. Like if one tear trickled out I was doomed.

I was all curious about it. Why am I crying now? I never cry-or if I do it's only at Oprah? I've taken so much shit at my job-at school-at life. Why now? Why am I so close to the sobbing point.

I realized, it's because I can take constructive criticism. It's o.k. Yeah, I fucked up. I'm pretty good at accepting that. I'm not going to fucking cry about it.

But it was just this situation where I knew I wasn't in the wrong and I felt wronged, yet I'm a subordinate. I can't talk back or get angry or defensive or even offensive. That's how I felt. Like a schmuck and a fucking legal bitch. So I cried. What else is there?

Than I left work and my car wouldn't start and I had to be at school for class.

And it was hail/snow/rain/sleeting out. These days. It's always these days. Upset and snowy, wet socks and pants, hands tucked into a jacket that isn't warm enough, wanting to just get the fuck away from it all.

I felt all down and out like only a little entitled white girl can.

BUT, this thing happened. I'm reading this book, "Small Miracles" about the everyday coincidences that happen in life that mean something more-like the universe is directing you to the right places when you are open and free-or whatever. I'm usually pretty skeptical to that shit-but I'm into it enough to read about it.

Anyway, yesterday I'm reading it-trying to get comfortable with laying in between my husband's clunky legs;a big boxer dog snoring in the crook of my arm, and I'm on this this story about the lady that really wrote Ann Landers. It wasn't Ann Landers (I guess I kind-of knew this in the back of my mind). It was this other woman. Who lived in Chicago. She wanted to write the column, but kept getting refused when she tried to get the job. She eventually wrote her way onto the newspaper in a blind contest-even after being repeatedly rejected. They told her she wasn't going to last after she won. She wrote for decades.

Well, great. Nice random story about real Ann Landers and coincidence and perseverance and achieving against all odds and stuff.

Then today in class which I was totally running late for since my OTHER boss had to give me a ride to school (lame! I'm a loser). I'm sitting there zoning and mostly checking out Jezebel.

My prof. is talking about a sport's car and why it's worth more to this dude because it was owned by Tiger Woods. He goes on to say that the problem in the book used to say the car was owned by Ann Landers, but they had to change it because not enough students knew who she was.

My ears perked up a bit. Strange, Ann Landers. I never hear her referenced-there isn't even a column anymore- and all of a sudden I read about her (as in the real) Ann Landers and hear about her in UCC Sales of all things. He goes on to say, "Did you know that Ann Landers didn't write her column. I lived next door to the REAL Ann Landers in Chicago-this lady that wrote the column used to get boxes and boxes of mail delivered to her house. Bet you didn't know that."

So here I am-all pissed about my day, depressed about my memo, sick of law school, wanting to give up.

And here on I am. Not just reading about Ann Landers or hearing my Prof. mention Ann Landers-

No, I'm reading about this obscure (relatively) lady who wrote an advice column under a pseudonym in a book about meaningful coincidence and than the NEXT day hear her mentioned-not just Ann Landers-but the lady behind Ann Landers who I had just been reading about the day before.

I'm reading a book about coincidences and one of the stories in the book leads to my own coincidence.

Even though today sucked in a way-I'm taking my coincidence that occurred due to me reading about meaningful coincidence as a sign-or something-that I am on the right path and that I am going to keep moving forward.

I guess that's all it took. Thanks Eppie Lederer. You helped bring it all together for me today.

Even though it started with tears-it ended with a smile.

March 10th is National Day of Appreciation for Abortion Providers! Do your part.

Hey, Abortions. No one really wants to talk about them. But if you're like me-you have and know those-who have benefited from having one. People may accuse you of being selfish-they may want you to feel guilty-but you know what...no one, NO MAN, NO WOMAN, NO GOVERNMENT can stand in the way of women exerting their fucking right to.

But you know what does. NO providers. It's a job that's getting harder and harder to do.

SO

Thank you to all of those that stand on the front lines of protecting women's rights, women's bodies, and ultimately women's freedom.

Here's a link to a group that helps low income women get access to emergency contraception and abortions.

It's a good thing.

5 Things on My Mind: March Edition

1. Legal memos.  Writing them.  Totally freaks me out.  It's like-the partner reading them knows how well you can (or cannot) reason and distill information-I feel so vulnerable and stupid.  It's like I'd rather walk into their office and let them examine my cellulite ass before picking over my memo.  And this particular partner was a journalism major and EDITOR of the newspaper at freaking Madison.  I got my first piece of writing back from her covered in red ink.  BLARGH!  I have to write it anyway.  At the very least, it's an interesting topic area, there was a ton of information available, and it shouldn't take me too long to piece together something that is at least fairly cognizant.  Blast!  

2. Stirring the turd.  I like to do it.  Riling shit up.  Picking at the drama scab.  Just a little.  It's a bad habit.   BUT sometimes I think it's good to remind a woman that there's still enough interest and connection for her to get jealous.  I did that yesterday.  Just left a little comment for someone other than who the comment was for to see.   Fucked up, but effective.  It keeps my life interesting and their lives interesting.  Although it's not my place and I have boundary issues, but I backed off pretty fast and completely.  I know people have done that shit to me.  It's fun sometimes.  

3. Wine country USA here I come.  I've decided that after graduation my BIG celebratory vacation will be to California-all Sideways style-to visit vineyards and drink wine.  I kept on feeling pressure to like go to a beach in some tropical land and force my husband through drugs and emotional blackmail to get on a plane.  Then I was like-wait a minute.  I can't sit in the sun due to my skin that's just asking for cancer burn-in fact I don't really like sitting in the sun.  I get kind-of bored.  I don't like the heat all that much.  I mean-who isn't awe inspired my the ocean-but I don't need it out my window.  What I do like: 1. Drinking wine, 2. Dining al fresco and eating really, really well made food, 3. Going for walks at dusk when it's just starting to cool down, 4. Making love in pretty places. 

Voila-California.  Never been.  Can do all of the above. And we can drive there.  Case Closed.  I'm taking two weeks to explore a part of the country I've never seen and drink wine.  WHY didn't I think of this sooner?!

4. Extracurricular activities.  I'm constantly reading about very cool things to do in the cities, but we rarely do.  We don't go go movies, shows, art exhibits. Nada.  I do that stuff with my girlfriends, but not my husband.  Why?  Partly because we're such HUGE homebodies, partly because we're broke, and partly because we're lazy.  I think it's also partly because all my husband really wants to do is pick up a guitar and watch Netflix movies and I'm not stopping him.  Also, he's all fucking responsible now.  Like-we can't spend money, we have to pay the bills, we can get food at the grocery store, blah, blah, blah.  FUCK! I thought I married a musician/artist not a fucking PAPA in training.  I can't believe he's on the fence about kids sometimes-he's already making dad jokes and driving around an efficient SUV just asking for a car seat to be put in the back.  I want to get my kicks in while we're young.  Well, while I'm young.   Since he's hit 30 he wants to be close to home in case the sudden urge for a nap hits. 

5. School.  It really should be on my mind-but isn't which is slightly worrisome.  It's like I'm on mile 23 of a marathon and am like-FUCK this, I'm going to go get a beer and a burger. I need to get back on the horse, back in the saddle, back in the game, back into anywhere.  But it's so hard and I feel so whiny about it.  Can't I just read blogs and watch LOST.  LOST is another thing on my mind, but it's so deeply nerdy and overwhelmingly boring (even more so than the rest of this post) to anyone that doesn't watch I won't talk about it here.  I'll leave that discussion for the message boards.  Anyway, it's March.  It's daylight savings.  And I have a whole semester ahead of me to not screw up.  What else is new?  

Vibrators (and etc.).

I've quite a collection if I do say so myself. Ever since a girlfriend introduced me to their beauty my freshmen year of college.
And mom-if you're reading this-JESUS read no further. SISTER-You too!

I remember getting my first vibe like it was yesterday. My girlfriend and I were at Perkins-weren't we all always at Perkins before bars?-and somehow the topic of orgasms and toys came up. I was a pretty naive little girl I guess-but I had never even thought to own a vibrator before she mentioned it. She was shocked that I had been so deprived through my masturbatory youth-and she was so excited about the idea and I was so excited about her excitement that we immediately shot up from the table and ran out on both our bill and my ice cream sundae and 10th cup of coffee. I totally broke the law just to get a sex toy.

We went to Sex World which was garish and dangerous and gross and exciting. My first vibrator was pink, cheap, and covered in some kind of bizarre rubbery thing which the salesman told me was edible, but he was fat and sweaty and probably just got off the idea of girls gnawing through their first sex toys. In fact, this thing was so novice that it should have had a My Little Pony on the package with the words "Girl's First Vibrator" written underneath in rainbow colors.

It sort of looked like this:


Except-decidedly not ribbed for her pleasure. It was more like, encased in rubber jelly which meant that it was always sticky and covered in hair and lint from being hastily shoved under my pillow.

I didn't realize at the time that that pink jelly was actually toxic and melting poison into my little v-jay-and I'm sure I wouldn't have cared. Using that toy was like seeing the face of God the first time-like WHAT-I can have a quickie with myself and barely do any work?

Over the years I bought more toys here and there-even buying one when I lived in Spain and bringing it home in my carry on. I don't know what I was thinking-like I could join the solo mile high club?

When I started dating my husband I realized he was a lady in the streets, but a freak in the bed-and once we had gone through several break-ups and decided it was just you and me always and forever we amped up the sex life. While, it had been amped, but we decided to throw it all in (pun intended-and achieved) My husband isn't one of those dude's that's all intimated by a lady's best friend-in fact he has gotten me two beautiful (and expensive) vibes as gifts-something I prefer over flowers and chocolate any day.

I mean-as long as you're all committed to one person and you're not into open relationship shit-I thought why not try sex in every possible way and with as much accoutrement as we could afford. I went from not knowing that a vibrator is something a real girl could own to practically having my own sex toy store in the closet.

Not that I pull out a trunk o' tricks every time we do it. But it definitely comes in handy for the nights every few weeks when we both have the next day off, the house to ourselves, whiskey, and hours to get nice and warm and buzzed and I get my just rewards for taking care of everything else in our lives, by him taking care of me. Being a woman is so cool sometimes.

And Smitten Kitten has allowed us to really push the boundaries and explore in a way that isn't giving us private part cancer or making me feel all awkward in a cum covered sex shop for men.

BUT

Here's what sucks. I keep breaking all of my fancy vibrators. The cheapo ones seem to go on forever. But the nice toys we have-at least those that require battery power-are shot. I'm so disappointed. I don't know if it's me and my overuse-or the fact that the toys aren't meant to be used-they are so pretty perhaps I am supposed to put them in a glass case and display them like a bunch of knick knacks.  Maybe they are just not meant to last forever and I totally put in my mileage on them really fast.  

Regardless-I've learned that one of the worst things in life is that slow whurr, whurr, whurr, sound right before your vibrator bites the big one (and right before you have the big one).

I have decided that I need to take the next step.

Vibrators that plug into the wall. Oh, that's right. I'm finally ready for the big guns:



The Hitachi Magic Wand-The King of All Vibrators-or at least Traci thinks so. She has me convinced.  

Through my history of buying vibrators, breaking vibrators, and using vibrators in the bedroom with my "try anything once" hubby-I'm totally ready to go old school on this shit and plug in a super powered machine that won't die on me right in the middle.  

Speaking of Traci-she's shown me that you never know how many different ways you can use the magic wand.  Skip to 1:48 if you don't have time for the lesson.  

On the topic of lessons and vagina This link is seriously not safe for work, but it provides some solid info. for dudes about the vagina and making it happy. Click on the link for Nina Hartley and learn even more with video!  Even my husband-who thinks he has nothing to learn just because he's brought me to tears-learned something-and I was thankful he did.  The new tricks were a welcome surprise.  Almost as welcome a surprise as a new Hitachi Magic Wand for my birthday (I hope he's reading this).