Sunday, June 26, 2005


I may be a little lazy with the posting over the next 10 days. I'm on vacation, visiting my boyfriend's parents in Holland, testing out my measly Dutch-skills, soaking up the time to relax in a place where the sun doesn't set until 11 o'clock. Tot ziens!

Wednesday, June 22, 2005


On Sunday, while I was enjoying the sun and daydreaming of the fun week to come (celebrations marking S. taking the Boards, my final day at my current job, packing for a trip to Holland where all manner of spoiling has been promised, an evening out with the best girl friends ever), I noticed a little scratch in the back of my throat. I summed it up to lack of sleep and potential allergens floating around. On Sunday night I didn't sleep very well, but chalked that up to too much time in the sun doing nothing. On Monday, the tickle had turned into a sore throat. On Monday night I figured if I got to bed early, it would go away. I popped extra vitamin C and tried to drift off. Only a noose seemed to be closing with every swallow. My tongue felt thick and I didn't get a wink of sleep. I stayed home yesterday, sleeping, eating toast with honey, and drinking lots of tea. When my boyfriend returned triumphantly after having finished the big test, his first words were, "Boy you're really not feeling well. Have you moved at all today?". I mustered a high-five, a shower, and accompanied him to a post-test celebratory dinner, but I quit the evening at 9 pm in favor of sleep. I've cancelled my date with the girls, and have nixed any ideas about celebrating liberation from my 9-5'er for the moment, all for the sake of warding off this thing before my ears are subjected to pressurized cabins for eight hours.

I take this as another good reminder that even the best laid plans can and will be upset by things beyond my control. (Though before the next string of highly anticipated fun, I may invest in and use copious amounts of some anti-bacterial hand gel).

Saturday, June 18, 2005

Splash...Another Post on Southern Living

Last week I experienced HOT. Not as in Paris Hilton hot, but as in I can't move an inch without sweat seeping out of every orifice on my body. However, because of the noticeably higher temperatures experienced here in the south, buildings with pools are more plentiful. Here, you don't have to be extraordinary to have an apartment with access to a roof top pool, ie: our new place is equipped with this amenity. And what an amenity it is!

Today, for the first time, I exploited the roof top in all of its sunny glory. Granted, the pool is only slightly larger than the turtle-decorated one I splashed about in when I was three, but none the less, it was splendid. I read, I people watched, I glimpsed other roof top enclaves, I sipped iced tea, and I cooled off in the pool.

I had nowhere to be. Nothing I _had_ to do. No one I should have been calling or caring for. I can't imagine that life will ever be this simple again, and I'm soaking it up with the rays while I can.


So I re-read my last post, perhaps a mistake. What was I thinking being so smug and confident that a life of domestic bliss awaits? It's all very interesting how things become intertwined, snaked together so that sometimes heads and tails are confused. What I should have said in my previous post, what I want to say, is that I feel infinitely lucky to have found someone that I want to spend my life with. I'm happy and myself when I'm around him. He compliments the worst parts of me with goodness, and makes me laugh. A lot. I love him.

Sunday, June 12, 2005


It's been a weekend of nesting. Friday night it was unpacking a few of the lingering boxes in the new apartment. Saturday I was off to a garage sale in Maryland sponsored by my aunt and uncle. Present were two cousins who are getting married within the next 12 months. Then onto homewares outlets in Virginia, ending up at the townhouse my cousin and her fiance are currently furnishing. Sunday I was out in the Maryland 'burbs again, this time to make invitations to the bachelorette weekend I'm hosting for my friend getting married in August.

Spending time with all of these young couples, throwing around lots of wedding and life planning talk, my weekend was full of enthusiasm and optimism. People choosing to take on life and dry wall together. Perhaps the best part about it, or what allowed me to enjoy it so much, is knowing that this is in my future. Not this year, not next year, but at some point. And this weekend, there was no need to rush.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005


Coming home this evening around 10 pm, I stepped into the elevator behind a woman wearing the distinct X of a baby snuggly across her back. "Aw, I thought to myself, she's got a newborn all snuggled up in there. Must be a boy, she's got a blue blanket dangling from one side."

You probably know where this is going...

She turned to face me in the elevator. No baby. A dog. I've seen this before, the dog in the front-packs made to carry human offspring. But then I witnessed something particularly strange.

The woman was licking what appeared to be a milk chocolate Dove Bar.

You probably know where this is going...

As she blathered about the rotten smell in the elevator, she lowered the bar from her mouth, right to the level of the dog's mouth. Before I could say anything the dog's little pink tongue began licking the bar. When she noticed that her mini-poodle was lapping at her ice cream she, without taking the bar away, said, "No, no baby, just the ice cream, not the chocolate." Continuing to talk to me, she raised the ice cream to her mouth once again and took some licks herself.

It was like watching some sort of sick porn - the really awful ones where food and animals are involved. At which point I was unable to carry on any more elevator banter, so mesmirized I was by this woman's utterly twisted relationship with her pet.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

So here’s the thing. While I’ve been posting about test drives, and nostalgia, I’ve also been fretting about getting admitted to law school, and about making the decision to go to law school as well. I’ve been admitted to all the mid-level schools I applied to (Boston College, Boston University, George Mason, American, and George Washington) and, no surprise, I’ve been rejected from the ivies I applied to (U Penn and Harvard). But I’m still waiting to hear from Georgetown. It’s not even a top-ten, and I’m on their “preferred wait list”. (That’s really the name of the wait list, which is completely ridiculous, though admissions assures me that the “preferred” prefix actually has merit and it’s not just another admissions ploy in an effort to lessen the ego bruise of rejection). I applied to a limited selection of schools based on a number of factors, including that I want to live in the same city as my boyfriend (two years of long-distance is plenty) until he finishes medical school. The good news is, I’ve gotten into plenty of DC schools that will allow me to do that. The bad news is, I’m not in at the top school this city has to offer. And that bothers me, and it’s bothering me more and more everyday that I wait for a final answer. It’s no fun. I was supposed to have an answer in May, but in May they told me I could expect one in June. Well, it’s June and I’m still waiting, which means I’m basically bent at the waist, twiddling my thumbs, passing the time until they stick it to me: the final rejection.

All the blood rushing to my head while I continue to wait only adds to my discomfort. Scheherazade has been writing recently about shame. I'm feeling a good dose of it right now. That gap between what I think my potential is, and what I’ve not achieved. I’ve done my best to resist this since the fall when I started applying. I didn’t put 100% into the application process, I put in what I felt was commensurate with how committed I was/am to going to law school, probably about 95%. So I knew I couldn't expect 100% acceptances. But still, knowing that I could excel at anyone of these schools, but also realizing that you’ll have to take my word for it because I’m not going to have the chance to prove it is difficult.

The ridiculous part about all of this, of course, is that I’ve let myself get caught up in the wrong things. Georgetown does have the superior clinical program, which is one of the things I’m most looking forward to participating in wherever I go, but I’ve also heard that professors aren’t very accessible. My alternative school, GW, seems to be a dynamic place with a lot to offer. Most importantly, I’ve heard from current students that the professors are great teachers. But dammit, rejection stinks – even when its rejection from something you’re not entirely sure that you want to be a part of (read: a school that has a reputation for being snotty and completely absorbed with prestige --- though judging from this post, I’d probably fit right in, ugh).

Friday, June 03, 2005


Last night I went on what I hope will be a final test-drive. My boyfriend needs a car this summer, when he'll start making rounds at area hospitals, so we've been renting Zip Cars (which are great btw) and getting a sense of what the dealerships have to offer.

Since he's now studying for the most heinous test in the world (otherwise known as the Step 1 Boards), I went to scout one final car last night.

We've come a long way from our first experience, where we jumped in the car and exchanged Bonnie and Clyde smirks, thinking about diving into the sunset…before the salesman hopped in the back.

As the salseman clambered into the passanger seat last night, he breezily asked me if I was married - since single girls must never show up and buy cars on their own. I said I had a boyfriend. Then, in his thick Cayman Island accent, he asked me if I was from Europe. I said I was from Maine, but that my boyfriend spends a lot of time in Holland.

When we got back from our test drive loop, I thanked him and pre-empted any need to sit down and discuss deals (as we've found, I seem to have a knack for being curt and getting us out of there before they pull out their slick salesman stunts), by saying that I loved the car but that my boyfriend would have to come drive it, since it would be, after all, his car.

Before releasing me, the salesman wanted to introduce me to his boss. I stood in front of the two men while the salesman filled the boss in: "So she wants the car, but her fiancé needs to see it. He's flying in from Holland tonight." Turning to me with a wink, "Since they haven't seen each other for a long time, we know that they probably have better things to do tonight than look at this car. Heh heh heh. But, in case you want to come by, we'll be here until 9 pm."

Fiance. Lives in Holland. Wants to buy car. We'll be back before 9 pm. Keep on dreaming.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Oh Baby

I was pregnant, 20 weeks along and starting to show. Sometimes I remembered it (especially when I did things like try to bend over), and sometimes I forgot. But when I went to the doctor (by myself) and saw the heart beat on the sonogram, I knew it was for real. The doctor told me it was a boy – and I was really excited about that.

And then I started to Freak Out.

I had forgotten that I was going to law school: how was I going to have this kid and keep up with the reading?

For those of you who didn’t know, the dream Oscars were held this morning, and this dream won “best picture” for its ability to capture and neatly sum up my deeply imbedded anxiety. (It was generous to give me a normal baby, though, since I have been drinking all of that lead water).