Thank You In Advance

I keep telling the people I know that I am going to be crazy when I’m studying for the bar exam, and that, if they know what’s good for them, they will just stay away from me. People generally think I’m kidding, but I assure you, I am warning you for your own good. Because I care. My son’s no dummy; on my strong recommendation, he got a summer job three hours from here. But for those of you who are not fortunate enough to be far away from me during the months of May, June, and July, here are a few tips:


1. Don’t ever say to me, “Oh, you’re going to do great.” In fact, don’t say that to anyone who is studying for the bar. No one is guaranteed to do great. It’s a tough test. People study for it for months like it is their job. Oh, and if you’ve already passed the bar and say something like, “Meh, it’s no big deal,” I will never speak to you again. Sorry. I’m crazy.

2. Do not confuse me. About anything. I can only follow simple commands right now. Please do not give me instructions for something that’s going to happen three weeks from now if this certain event happens but not this event, and you really just want me to be aware or keep my eyes open, or whatever. Too much unnecessary information.

3. Whatever you do, do not give me candy. We all have addictions, and candy is my crack. When I get on a roll, I am literally eating candy from the minute I wake up until ten seconds before I brush my teeth at night. Nobody wants to see a strung out candy junkie. Alternately, if you have given me candy, expect me to growl at you until you go away, devour it all, and then call you, demanding more. I’m not even lying.

4. Don’t tell me stories about people you know who were stupid all during law school and passed the bar without studying. Those people are faking you out. I am guessing that a fair share of stupid people pass the bar, but nobody passes without studying. And trust me, I have grave concerns about being smart enough to pass WITH studying.

5. Further, don’t say, “Oh, if you flunk it, you can always take it again.” I am not taking this thing again.

6. Don’t ask me to pick you up from the airport. I will pick you up from the airport every day in August, but please do not call in any favors in May, June, or July. Seriously. Don’t ask me to watch your dog, come to your kid’s recital, participate in a quick online survey, read an article in the newspaper or respond to your text messages. I can’t be trusted. Look at me - I eat candy like crack. Do you really want me on the road?

7. Conversely, do not ever say, “Hmmm….I thought you were supposed to be studying” if you see me posting on Facebook, at the gym, watching baseball, or drinking at a bar. My study schedule is just like the plan in Oceans 11 – everything is timed to the minute. You can be damned sure that, if I am at a bar, it is because the schedule tells me to go there.

8. Do not tell me to relax. It is not going to happen. Not now, not after the bar, not ever.

9. Also, when I, in a very unrelaxed way, tell you that I’m probably going to flunk the bar, please do not say, “Oh, you’ll be fine.” I might have a stroke if you do. Instead, just say, “Wow, it sounds like you’re really worried,” and maybe pat me on the shoulder comfortingly or something.

10. Do not ask me about my future. My future is to take the bar exam. And then go drinking with my friend Emily. And then watch the Olympics.

11. Please do not decide that this is the time to confront me about that thing that you’ve always hated about me, tell me that I have a fatal disease, need extensive dental work, or that my real father was the washing-machine repair guy. Kindly wait until August to drop the bomb. Thank you.

Beautiful

A few weeks ago, there was a big hubbub about a woman named Samantha Brick, who wrote a blog where she complained that being attractive was a burden because, surprisingly, women were sometimes mean to attractive women.  That’s not the interesting part. 

The interesting part is that this sparked outrage – OUTRAGE – in people, not because Samantha Brick said it, but because she had the nerve to consider herself attractive.  Even Barbara Walters weighed in, saying, “She’s not that beautiful.” 

That’s not really the interesting part.  The REALLY interesting part is that Jeff Hogan and Angela An, who happen to be newscasters on LOCAL MORNING TELEVISION in COLUMBUS, OHIO had the effing gall to weigh in on the topic.  Now let me be clear about something.  I get up really early in the morning, so I am basically watching my morning news at 4:25 am, when there is no news except what happened last night and what the weather might do to poor civilians.  Being the early morning newscaster sucks.  But worse than that, Jeff Hogan and Angela An are awful.  They replaced my most beloved Chuck Strickler and poor, dead Heather Pick, and the job that these clowns do is basically the same as opening up Heather Pick’s grave, picking up her bones, shaking them back and forth, and then kicking her head off.  No joke.  Jeff Hogan, with his horrible frost and tip job and ridiculous spray tan is a dunce who thinks he is a nutrition expert because he packs fruit snacks, and all Angela An can do is say this: “Ha!” whenever Jeff makes one of his mildly misogynistic, classists comments.  I am not even certain that these people went to college.

Anyway….so poor, possibly-beautiful-but-possibly-not Samantha Brick had the nerve to write a blog that no one even considered for its substance; they were too busy looking at her and saying, “How dare she feel that she is beautiful.”  I mean, that was the bottom line: it didn’t matter if what this woman said was valid, invalid, important, unimportant, true, untrue – none of that mattered.  All that mattered was that this woman dared to have positive self-worth.  How is this so important that it has to be on the news?  Can you imagine the lead in to that story?  “Woman erroneously claims beauty.”  So what? 

Now, true confession: I didn’t read the blog. First of all, I can hardly read, and second of all, I know for a fact that when I see a beautiful woman, I am desperately envious.  So I am guessing that her blog was true, whether or not Samantha Brick is the epitome of beauty.  I would like to have great hair, great skin, a great body and, a perfect smile.  But when I look in the mirror, I am consumed by the grotesqueness of my thunder thighs, my pointy elbows, my stupid curly hair, most of my face, and my big square teeth.  Since a young age, I have been showered with messages that I will not be acceptable unless I have Heidi Klum’s body, Angelina Jolie’s face, and Jennifer Aniston’s hair.  And if I dare to think otherwise, well then, Jeff Hogan and Angela An will be there, on a crappy morning news program, to pass judgment on me.  Jeff Hogan is such a stupid fucker.

(And I know that, at this point, someone reading this blog has already thought to herself, “Well,   Angelina Jolie isn’t that pretty.”  C’mon.  She is really weird, but she is gorgeous.)

So the bottom line is this: I think we do hate beautiful women because we all feel like we’ll never measure up, and that beautiful woman might steal the affection of our boyfriend, boss, best friend, or someone else who makes us feel secure.  And I don’t know what the cure is for that, but it’s not very productive, and it’s not very nice.  I really wish that, when there is a rare woman who feels enough confidence to say, “I am beautiful,” that the world would just stand up and say, “Good on you.  Keep up the good work.” 

Dick

Wisconsin Senator Glenn Grothman was recently quoted saying that it was okay to pay women less than men because “Money is more important for men.” He went on to say, “I think a guy in their first job, maybe because they expect to be a breadwinner someday, may be a little more money-conscious,” and then basically said that women’s claims of workplace bias were really not that big of a deal.


One of my Facebook friends posted a link to this story, in justifiable disgust. Most of her friends posted comments like, “Gross!” and “Yuck!” and “Unbelievable.” Things that you would expect from such a clueless state of mind.

But then there was Dick. Now, I know Dick (not by choice), and I don’t have anything to say about him. Furthermore, there is no need for me to say anything about him, because his words stand for themselves. Here was his response, with parenthetical comments added for clarity, but otherwise all words were his:

”I kind of agree (that women should be paid less) just because we (meaning men) are 1) expected to provide for a family 2) it's not acceptable for us to just marry a rich woman and stay at home and spend our days shopping 3) we are expected to shower gifts upon girls in order to gain their trust and affection because girls 4) want security from their men. An attractive girl doesn't need money, she can just marry a rich man or be a stripper.”

So, I admit, I don’t know Dick that well, so I just thought, “Oh, this is an extremely deadpan joke. Because, seriously, what kind of moron would believe that sort of thing?” Later on, based on another comment he made, I surmised that is was no joke. So let’s just break down his statement, piece by piece, and allow me to directly respond:

1. I kind of agree. Well, dude, might as well go whole hog on this one. Kind of agreeing in a circumstance like this is like kind of agreeing that the Nazis had a point. Either you’re in or you’re out.

2. (Men are) expected to provide for a family – Oh my God, you are so right! That is why every man in this country pays child support! Right? That’s why nobody ever needs a paternity test – because men freely step up and provide. That’s why there are no men who are unemployed, and why every woman stays home and takes care of the children.

3. It’s not acceptable for us (meaning men) to just marry a rich woman and stay at home and spend our days shopping. Why the heck not? That sounds like a pretty sweet gig, Dick. Now, let’s just put aside the fact that most spouses who stay at home are not doing so to “go shopping,” and focus on the “not acceptable” part. Says who? You? Oh, it is you. Well, let’s evaluate the rest of your comments to see if you’re worth listening to.

4. We (meaning men) are expected to shower gifts upon girls in order to gain their trust and affection. Friend, let’s just lay it on the line here. You could do all the showering of gifts you want, and a “girl” is never going to trust you because you are awful. Also: I would like to meet some of these men who are expected to shower gifts and affection on me. I could use both. Please provide names and numbers.

5. Girls want security from their men. An attractive girl doesn’t need money, she can just marry a rich man or be a stripper. Okay, first, just a small point: there should have been a semicolon between “money” and “she.” Aside from that, however, I first am so curious about your continual use of “girls.” Stop talking about girls, Dick. You sound like a freaking pedophile. Second, it is possible that women want security from their men, just as men want security from their women, and lesbians and homosexuals want security from their men and women, too. People want security from each other, semicolon, it is not a gender thing. Third, attractive girls do, in fact, need money. Everyone needs money, Dick. Fourth, I think it’s a very sad situation in the world that Hilary Clinton was denied what should have been her destiny – to be a stripper – solely because she is not that attractive. I am sure that Hilary could have made a great contribution to the stripper world, if only she hadn’t been thwarted by her unfortunate lack of chin and heavy thighs. And really, Dick, I am THRILLED that you have given us “girls” two choices. Marry rich or be a stripper. Because you are right: women want to be strippers. You can tell when you go to strip clubs and see all the winners who work there. Furthermore, it is highly interesting that, in your eyes, an attractive girl can either be a whore (marrying a man just for his money) or a whore (paid to take off her clothes.) Sort of throwing all the attractive women in the whore basket, aren’t you?

I hope all of you will join me in wishing Dick the best of luck. Boy does he need it.

Running Favorites

Guess what?  I’m a runner.  And over the years, I have honed my special “Running Favorites” playlist on my iPod like a fine-edged sword.  This is what I pull out to get me through races, long runs, and workouts where I just don’t think I can make it.  Songs have come and gone from the list, but these twenty-nine have stood the test of time.  If you are looking for new songs for your running playlist, these ones will never let you down.  In alphabetical order by song with occasional random comments.  Enjoy.

Ain’t Nothing Wrong with That – Robert Randolph & the Family Band – I think the NFL uses this song for Monday Night Football or something. 

B.O.B. – OutKast
Back on the Chain Gang – The Pretenders – That’s what it feels like in the middle of a long run.
Boom Boom Pow – Black Eyed Peas
Born to Run – Bruce Springsteen – I wrote a whole post about this song. 
The Edge of Glory – Lady GaGa
Firework – Katy Perry
Free – Elliot Yamin – he was on American Idol
Girl Anachronism – The Dresden Dolls
Going On – Gnarls Barkley
Hallelujah – Vitamin String Quartet – beautiful song.  Love to start a run to this one.
Hazy Shade of Winter – The Bangles
Here It Goes Again – OK Go
I Gotta Feeling – Black Eyed Peas - this is a good song for passing other runners
Johnny Come Home – Fine Young Cannibals
Knock Me Down – Red Hot Chili Peppers
Little Bird – Annie Lennox – Annie Lennox could probably do anything I could do ten times better. 
Lonely in Your Nightmare – Duran Duran
Never Alone – Fame Soundtrack – put this song on repeat for the last three miles of my first half marathon
Our House – Madness
Proud – Richard Niles – aka, the song from Biggest Loser before they replaced it with that dumb Train song
Right Now – Van Halen – seriously, best song ever for running. 
Run (I’m a Natural Disaster) – Gnarls Barkley
Second to None – Styles of Beyond – I have no idea how this got on my iPod but I love it. 
Somewhere Only We Know – Keane
What Doesn’t Kill You (Stronger) – Kelly Clarkson – lady runner power anthem
White Knuckles – OK Go
Womanizer – Britney Spears – Britney is so awesome
You Gotta Be – Des’ree – everyone loves this song

               

Worst Birthday Ever

I have never been much of a birthday person.  I don’t like parties, and I don’t especially like attention for doing nothing (and, while being born was something, it wasn’t something that I had much to do with.)  But I think that birthdays are something that should be acknowledged.  It’s the one day of the year that belongs to that person alone.  Not Jesus, not Martin Luther King, not the Easter Bunny.  Oh, I mean Jesus. 

This year, I knew that something awful was brewing for my birthday when my longtime friend insisted on informing me that, if I had any kind of party in my honor, no one would come, as I have no friends.  This is something that this person loves to regularly tell me, as well as how nobody really likes me, that no man will ever love me, and that my personality is severely lacking.  This was on Tuesday. 

On Wednesday, my friend who had made plans for a fun birthday dinner told me that something more important had come up, and I didn’t mind rescheduling, did I?  I guess not. 

On Thursday, my shrink told me that I was doing it all wrong. 

On Friday, just before we went out for a work birthday lunch, my coworker informed my boss that I didn’t really want him joining us.  I hadn’t said that, but nonetheless, my boss was hurt, and it made for an awkward lunch.  I’m sure that made me look great. 

On the big day, I had class for 4.5 hours.  A man who sounded just like Grover lectured, via video, about the ins and outs of evidence.  And midway through, he got a frog in his throat that he refused to clear.  Just terrific.  Afterwards, I had to go grocery shopping, where the rest of the shoppers were clearly in the throes of March Madness.  They were acting terrible.  Fighting, giving dirty looks, refusing to move out of the cereal aisle…it was all I could do to get out of there with my sanity and oatmeal. 

My best friend of 16 years did not remember or acknowledge my birthday.  She was busy reading the Hunger Games, I deduced from her Facebook posts.  I decided right then that my best hope was to just shut it down for the day, go to bed, and take solace in my family party the next day.

My family party started with my sister the chef complaining almost the moment that I walked in the door that she “had” to cook the entire dinner.  Just to be clear: I didn’t ask her to cook the entire dinner.  In fact, the only request I made were vegetarian sauerkraut balls and a dessert, neither of which she cooked.  I requested nothing specific for dinner.  Literally.  Because I didn’t want to hear any complaining about my “demands.”  Nonetheless, I soldiered on, and put up with my mother sniping at my sister, both complaining about my dad like they would rather he just die, and then my other sister complaining about how she had to set the table, which is normally what I do at Sunday dinner.  My brother came in and when asked how he was doing, complained about how much income tax he has to pay.  Because he is so rich.  I am not joking about that.  And it is a huge sum that he has to pay, but that just goes to prove how rich he is.  While I thought that this First World problem only occurred in fake stories such as Diff’rent Strokes or Silver Spoons, it also happens on my birthday.  He was also disgusted by how early we were eating, because he eats at ten at night.  And God forbid he change his habits on one day for someone else. 

In the midst of that, dinner was ready, and it turns out that there were not enough places for everyone to sit at the table.  My mother invites the entire town to dinner, but makes no plans for how everyone is going to sit down.  My sister, the one who had insisted on being a martyr about a meal that no one had asked her to prepare, told my brother, the one who complained about the early hour at which we were eating, that he just couldn’t sit at the table.  Why she chose him is a mystery.  That didn’t seem like an appropriate solution, so I offered to squeeze in between my parents.  Then, the sister who had complained about the terrible burden of having to set the table announced that there were no more plates.  So to be clear, this was my birthday dinner, nobody had anything pleasant to say to anyone else, and I had no spot at the table, and no plate.  My sister, the complaining chef, said in her most sarcastic voice possible, “Well, we should all just relax.” 

So I decided to solve the problem myself.  Since no one could find it in their hearts to be genuinely nice to me on the one day that they were being asked to do that, I said, “That’s okay, I’ll leave.”  And I left.  No dinner, no cake, no “Happy birthday to you,” no statement that they anyone was glad that I was born, or that they were happy to celebrate with me.  In fact, it was the opposite.  Everyone wanted to make sure that I was VERY CLEAR on what a personal sacrifice it was for them to even show up, much less be pleasant and kind.  I figured I might as well just hang out by myself. 

So, the good news is that it can only go up from here.  The bad news is that this is my life.