Step one: put on expensive work pants.
Step two: put on high heels
Step three: bend down to pick up Betty Rascal
Step four: listen to expensive work pants R-I-P in the lining.
How is it that I am dieting and working out, yet my butt is getting bigger? Can butts be pregnant? Because I think that mine is. Growing a little baby butt in case I get tired of the one I currently have. Remember a couple of years ago when avant garde fashion featured evening gowns and other apparel with "bumps" actually sewn in the garment in odd places? Well, I guess that is what my future holds. Except at the end of the evening, I can't take my bump off.
In other news, I got an offer from the interview where I had frizzy hair, spotted suit, and 50 year old pantyhose. Apparently, scatterbrained, absent minded grannies are just who they are looking for. Kidding. Since I still have some other interviews, I haven't made up my mind yet, but I really liked the people I met and I already have a friend working in the Memphis office, so we'll see..
Apparently, I am going to have to stop interviewing though, because every time I interview, something inevitably goes wrong. Case in point: Monday I was driving downtown to interview with another firm. I left 45 minutes early - more than enough time to get there safely. I'm cruising along - scoping out all the places I could stop at on my way back for a semi-healthy lunch and notice blue lights. In my rear view mirror. Behind me and a couple other cars. Now they were right behind me. Surely those blue lights weren't meant for me. Crap. They are.
I pull into the nearest parking lot and put the car in park. Without thinking, I automatically unclasp my seat belt and then realize "hello...police car. Probably would like to see you fastened up, dearie." So then I am faced with the conundrum. Do I just leave it off or do I covertly try to sneak it back on, possibly looking more guilty? I decided to sneak it back on. Sneaking successful. So far, so good. But what the heck am I being pulled over for?
The officer - older black man, trim and not completely unfortunate looking - taps on my window and tells me that I was going 48 in a 35. I think to myself "I was? But I wasn't even in a hurry! Thank goodness he didn't pull me over when I was in a rush!"
Anyway, I stammer out numerous apologies, new to the area, on my way to an interview, bundle of nerves, blah, blah, blah - verbal vomiting in full effect here, ladies and gentlemen. Had he given me more time I probably would have apologized for slavery ever existing in America and for zippered acid washed jeans in the early 90's. Don't ever leave any contraband in my car - I'm sure I would have handed that over as well. The whole time I am shaking like a leaf and trying to catch my breath. I have never been able to understand why I do this. I am probably one of the lamest people ever - the most criminal thing I have ever done (other than speeding, apparently) is steal a single piece of grape gum from the local gas station when I was a kid. As soon as I got in the car with my mom, she smelled the gum, realized what I had done, and made me go inside, apologize, and pay the 5 cents. Clearly, raising hell runs in my blood.
Anyway, I am Miss Bottle of Nervy Pants and the officer goes to his car to do his mysterious officeral duties. After who knows HOW long, he comes back and tells me he knocked the ticket down to 40 in a 35. I thank him graciously, apologize profusely for the 32nd time, and then almost hit him as I back out. I smile sheepishly, he waves me on with disdainful municipal authority, and I look down at my clock and realize that yes, in fact, I might actually be late, despite leaving so freaking early.
I get to the right building, find a parking space after going up about 18thousand stories of a parking deck, and somehow manage to find the proper elevator without too much assistance. The interview is on the 29th floor, but somehow, I manage to hit the 28 button. Unknowingly, of course.
I get off at the 28th floor, and wander around blindly - looking for some kind angel to just end this all and send me to meet my maker. Finally, a secretary (I assume that is what she was based on her attire. trust me, sometimes you can just tell.) walks nearby and I practically attack her, asking her where I can find Firm Such and Such. She gives me the once over, decides that I look desperate enough for an answer, and says coolly "Oh, that is on the 29th floor, this is the 28th." I'm sure she's hoping she never has to work for me.
I get there, and the interview goes OKAY. I say this tentatively, because I'm not really sure if it did. I was a nervous wreck, and when I get nervous and jittery, I tend to speak crazy talk. It is a language that you rational people do not understand. I really have been considering putting in on my resume as a language that I am fluent in, but for some reason career services advised against that. I really cannot even remember 1/5 of what came out of my mouth, but I assure you, it was not at all professional and smooth like I had hoped to be.
Anyway, I expect I'll have a couple more interviews before this job hunting thing is over with, so I'm sure there are more stories to come. As long as I have all my limbs and I'm conscious at the end, I'll be okay.
In other (and more positive) news, my orthodontist told me that I might be able to get my braces off at Christmas! I am so pumped. Looks like someone was on the nice list this year! While having braces hasn't been as horrible as I had imagined, the only benefit I had hoped for (weight loss) didn't work out so well, either. Evidently, I would prefer to suck on a milk shake rather than a carrot juice when my teeth hurt. Go figure.
So, I am excited about looking like a 20something again, rather than an unusually educated and somewhat wrinkly teenager.
Finally, I have to tell you about my "above me apartment" neighbors. Last night (or more correctly really early this a.m. at 3) the Knight, Betty, and I are awakened to the sounds of what I think sounds like a washing machine working overtime on some tennis shoes and bricks. After completely coming out of my REM cycle, I realize that no, that is not a washing machine, but a headboard, banging over and over against the wall. In a somewhat rhythmic pattern. And OH there are moans. And shrieks. You get my drift.
Betty is convinced that a militia is trying to break into our bedroom, and she is busy giving them a piece of her mind...by barking incessantly. The Knight is as pissed as I am, and we just lie there, listening to what sounds like a workout a Cirque de Soleil performer would be proud of. The darn show lasted for 45 unholy minutes. Although the female performer was quite vocal throughout her entire bedroom debut, we both glanced at each and sighed with relief when her male counterpart sounded in. Finally, silence. But wait. Now we hear them washing up, using the potty, and settling back in. Great. We even got to be a part of the mundane after noises.
The Knight informed me that this isn't the first time, but I just usually snorzzle right through it. He said that it happened the night before, and possibly even before that. His impression of the girl's noises is dead on - I guess he has had several opportunities to practice.
Anyway, we are faced with a slightly sticky issue (no pun intended...well, okay, maybe just a little one). :) How do you ask your neighbors to pipe it down? The noise wouldn't be so bad, it is the timing that makes this nightly rendezvous unbearable. The Knight works really early hours, and those 45 minutes to an hour are crucial for him to make sure airplanes don't crash into each other. I mean, who does it at 3 in the morning? Sure, maybe kids do in college when frat parties or those late nights at the club come to an end, but not typical couples with jobs. And I'm pretty sure this is a couple in a relationship. Those distinct noises aren't made by just every woman. Are they so overcome with passion that they set an alarm, just to make sure they get enough lovemaking in? It boggles the mind.
The Knight wants to say something tomorrow if it happens again tonight, but I'm afraid that if he says something, they'll get mad and/or embarrassed and do it more. and louder. Our sleep cannot handle that. Any advice?
Well, that's all for now. Tonight is Halloween Celebration Time (Happy Halloween BTW) and we are going to hang out with some friends. They have a little dog, and so even though we're not dressing up, our puppies are! I promise I'll post some pictures!
Step one: put on expensive work pants.
So says Artsy Fartsy at 31.10.07
So, this morning got off to a really rough start. I am in eastern time today. Which means that although it is, say, for example, 12:55 here, it is only 11:55 in middle Tennessee. Which normally isn't a big deal, except that today the bar results came out. At noon. Central time. So, while normally I would get up at 7:30, get to work by 9 and only have about 3 hours until the results would come, today, I would get up here at 7:30, which is only 6:30 in middle TN. Which means I have a one whole more righteous hour before I could find out anything. Suck.
Also, my hairdryer apparently got demolished in the plane (national security ?), so I had to air dry my hair. My hair dried without a hairdryer = 80's perm and frizz without the curls. Yeah. Yikes. Today I look like one of those people who can't seem to get over the fashions and styles of the year I graduated from high school. And it appears that I went to high school in 1989. Which I most certainly did not.
Then, I am pressing my suit, and notice all these spots on it. I just had my suit cleaned, so I have no idea where they came from. Each spot looked like a particle of brown gravy. It is quite a mystery how anyone can get brown gravy underneath their suit jacket collar. Especially when one can't remember the last time she ate anything remotely related to brown gravy. Not even Aunt Mashed Potatoes, twice removed. Anyway, it took quite a while rubbing all those spots out, and I still went to my interview feeling shabby.
Third, I put on my new pair of sheer black pantyhose. I slid them over my painted toes, got them over my ankles, around my calves, and then they stopped. Right at my knees. The crotch of the hose would stretch no higher than my knees. A cuss word starting with the letter "F" came to mind. And it wasn't fart. Unfortunately, my skirt does not go much past my knees, so there was really no way to wear them.
I began the great search for pantyhose. You might wonder why pantyhose are so important for the interview...it being 2007 and all. I like to think that while pantyhose may not be required any more, and going sans hose is quite acceptable, wearing pantyhose to an interview indicates that "hi, i know how to play the interview game. I am aware of social norms and will not embarrass you in front of clients and judges. please hire me because i am wearing pantyhose - an inconvenience and expense that is unnecessary, yet still noticed if absent. thanks." Also, they make me feel skinny. I tromped all over downtown Chattanooga before losing the tap to the left heel of my interview pumps. Great, now I am frizzy, spotted, and can be heard walking from a mile away. Tap. Step. Tap. Step. Another cuss word comes to mind - this one starting with S. I finally find a gift store in the Marriott which sold pantyhose. I paid 10.95 for a pair of hose that I'm quite certain are as old as my mother. But, they did fit, so okay. Whatever.
Then, I get to my interview with my frizzy hair, spotted suit, and 50 year old pantyhose. Waiting before and after me are two male interviewees who look like they belong on Gossip Girl or on Legally Blonde. Well dressed, perfectly groomed with names like Chase and Ingram. I mean seriously, how am I supposed to compete with them?
Thankfully, the interview was pretty lowkey. They asked me about why I was in Memphis, if I wanted to stay there, what I did for fun, and what I have learned so far while clerking. At the end of the interview, they said they were impressed with me, so I think it went fairly well. Of course, as soon as I left the room, I sure they conversed on the fact that "poor dear, needs a stylist, and possibly a new wardrobe." At least I didn't have to hear it!
So, then I went to this cute little place called Steamboat. They feel a little like Lenny's or Jersey Mike's, but just not a chain and not as commercial. I choked down a sandwich and a Coke, while looking at my watch. And looking at my watch. In case you had forgotten since the beginning of this redonk whining post, today is the day that I also learned about the bar exam. So, really, food, though a necessity, was not cooperating with my throat or stomach mechanisms.
Finally, at 12:30 (11:30 central time) I moseyed on over to the Starbucks to start an afternoon of "refreshing" until the bar exams came up. At one point, a sweet little lady came over to me to ask me if I was okay. Apparently, I was breathing so hard, she thought I was going to hyperventilate. I had no idea my anxiety was so apparent!
Finally, at 12:02 (central time), not eastern time, where I AM today, the results pop up. I take a big breath, swallow and click on the "R." And guess what? My name wasn't there.
I passed the bar, I passed the bar! I am so done with the TN bar exam!
I have to admit it is a little anti-climatic. I am sitting in Starbucks in Chattanooga typing this. As soon as I saw my name, I started to tear up and wanted to jump on the ottoman and announce to everyone that I, Artsy Fartsy, passed the TN bar exam! Instead, I called the Knight at work, and tried to quietly tell him that I was a sure thing. Then I called my mom, my dad, the Knight's mom and dad. And tons of other people who I am sure you care nothing about.
Anyway, this is SUCH a burden off of my shoulders. Now the Knight and I can go on our much-needed vacation all footloose, fancy-free, and feeling fabulous!
Thanks for everyone's encouragement! Now that I never have to look at them again, I have TN Bar Bri books for sale!
So says Artsy Fartsy at 19.10.07
It has been a rough week. The Knight is taking some major hard tests for his ATC stuff, I'm trying to scramble to get stuff done at work before I leave for vacation, and then, believe it or not, yesterday confirmed that being a grownup stinks. Sure, I like having a paycheck, drinking wine legally, and not worrying about being grounded for staying out too late, but sometimes? Sometimes I just want to crawl home, curl under the covers, and stay there until Mommy brings me some cookies and milk. Yesterday, I discovered that it was going to cost $980 plus tax to put new brakes, rotors, sensors, magical wizards, diamonds, and unicorns on my car. Mind you, this is the cheapest certified BMW place we could find. The dealership's estimate was roughly twice as much. When we got that estimate, the Knight just laughed and hung up. This month, the Knight and I have already put a full new set of brakes on his Jeep (not quite the fortune the BMW's brakes cost, but still, mucho dollaros), I got new eyeglasses and contacts, and we are going on vacation next week. Also, this month is my grandmother's 80th birthday, my father's birthday, and my best friend from high school's birthday. October apparently equals financial drain. AND I haven't even bought any candy corn, pumpkins, or an Ugly Betty costume for Little's Miss Rascal!
So, Friday is the big day for the bar results. Up until this morning, the bar examiner website still had the successful list from February posted. Starting last week, I would go to the site, click on the "R" section, and waving my fingers (all magically and spell-like) while reverently mumbling "Please have my name on Friday, Please have my name on Friday." Apparently, I am not the only one frequenting the site (and probably not the only one speaking spells and incantations at the computer screen), because now the website reads this:
We cannot promise an exact time, but not before noon.
Bollocks. We know that. That is why we are checking today. And yesterday. And last month. Because we are hopefuls, idealists, and optimists. We haven't been practicing long enough to know that anything law-related always comes later than promised, with typically sub par results. We're still naive enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, you will accidentally or intentionally share those precious results with us earlier than you promised. That you will "throw us a bone" so to speak, because most of us worked our little bums off, avoided doing anything fun or beneficial for the entire summer, and spent ungodly amounts of cash for a monopolized bar review course. So, really, it is unreasonable to think that we wouldn't hope to have these results a smidge, skosh, or tad early.
As a matter of fact, I know I'm not the only one considering going all Harry Potter on the TN bar examiners, b/c I was telling my cousin this (he too will get his results in the "R" section this Friday) and his response was:
"Here's hoping the spell works!" ???
Heee! I have always wanted a bag of eye of newt. I wonder if it comes in the frosted variety? Or perhaps with dried strawberries? Or if I can find that at Wild Oats?
Anyway, I am definitely going to be with the firm I am interviewing with for a good part of the afternoon. Since I will not have access to the results, and I don't really want to bring up the subject with anyone there, Judge's secretary is going to text me when the results are up. Actually, she is only going to text me if the results are positive. If, God forbid, I have to take that blasted bar again, she is going to call the Knight who will in turn text/call me. He has agreed to bear this burden b/c he's going to have to deal with the fallout anyway. So, that's the plan. Now, I'll just have to practice restrain from checking my phone every five minutes while I'm at lunch with the firm.
So, moving on to more pleasant things. Well, maybe not pleasant, but at least more entertaining and less personal. Jess(ica) and I were discussing whether we were more of Britney Spears or a Lindsey Lohan. We haven't reached a conclusion, but did come up with a Cosmo-esque type test. I rather enjoy reading it, although it does seem that, strangely, Lindsey comes out ahead. It is as follows:
Lindsey v. Britney - Who U B?
coke v. weed
only panties v. no panties
crazy parents v. crazy ex
constantly changing hair color v. no hair at all
drunk all the time v. drunk all the time (oh wait...)
girlish figure v. had two children and "spray tanned on my six pack at my most recent performance" figure
sings while she acts v. acts like she's singing
We also had one about rehab, but couldn't remember who had been in the most, and for what, so we nixed it.
So, who U B?
Speaking of who U B - How in the world am I every going to learn text speak? For a long time, I rebelled against text messages, but have now given in and come to love them. No more "hey how are you? Doing okay? Listen, I have a quick question to ask you...") Unfortunately, I am kind of stickler for proper grammar, which I know flies in the face of texting. So, at lunch I decided that it was time to get a textucation (like that?). I googled "text speak." I found this hilarious site that will translate English to "lingo" for you. Guarantees hours of fun for you and frustration for your text inept friends (like me!).
K, well TTYL. IDK wen I'll B PSTG NXT. Ill b @ d ~~~C___ NXT wk & IDK wen I'll post NXT.
Artsy Fartsy nEdz a DxtnRE 2 undRstNd her txt msgz.
So says Artsy Fartsy at 17.10.07
DID YOU KNOW...that if you eat grapes right after you brush your teeth, it kinda tastes like grapefruit?
It does. I discovered that this morning. Wondrous.
I also learned that the little old lady who lives above us has been afraid to go walking ever since we put out the "Beware of Dog" doormat.
The Knight ran into her a couple of days ago and told her how much we enjoy her flowers outside her door (the woman has her very own portable little garden right outside her apartment - it brightens my day, every day). Anywho, she asked him where we live, and when he told her, she told him that since we put that mat out, she hasn't been taking her daily walk because she was afraid of the dog. The Knight offered to introduce her to fierce Betty Rascal, and after several offers, she finally accepted. Now, we see her walking every morning - bravely daring our attack dog to come get her. Also, her name is Joyce, bless her little old lady heart. Joyce, we all have our excuses for not wanting to exercise, but yours takes the cake. Sorry we removed that one from your arsenal!
Have you noticed how web ads are using roaches, beetles, and spiders to catch your attention to 1) check your credit score, 2) refinance your house, or 3) apply for a credit card? I am getting sick of it. I have a fear of roaches that stems back to my preteen years, and I don't relish the idea of seeing them crawl across my computer screen...even if they are digital.
Also, whatever happened to advertising in a way that promotes positive and good feelings about your product? I know that they use those bugs to catch our attention, but once our attention is captured, the ad has only irritated or frightened us. It certainly doesn't make me want to use their products.
So, yesterday, I learned that I am going to fly across the state for a law firm interview next Friday. I am really excited about the interview, but also terrified because I get the bar results the same day as my interview. I can't imagine how awful I will feel if I am in the midst of all these people who I am trying to convince to hire me, and then discover that I am still not a "sure thing" when it comes to being licensed. I guess if that happens, I'll do my best to gracefully excuse myself and go jump from the building, but really, let's just hope I PASS.
Today I googled the question "did (my name) pass the Tennessee bar?" So far, the answer is inconclusive, but I'm getting ready to Ask Jeeves the same thing. I know the results aren't going to be posted for another week, but I just kind of secretly think I could accidentally stumble on some sort of TBA file that was inadvertently posted on the web revealing if we passed or failed.
Artsy Fartsy is stressing about the bar, the bugs, and the Betty Rascal.
So says Artsy Fartsy at 11.10.07
FRIDAY is here! The weather is gorgeous, I am alive, and many briefs are awaiting my review!
A lot has been happening the last few days here in my new home of Memphis, TN.
First of all, Memphis and the surrounding vicinity has been ranked as the #1 most violent place to live in America. This is not new news (I think it was published last week-ish), but of course all the news sources and politicos can't get enough of it. I told the Knight that we have perfect timing. We live here two months, and all of sudden Memphis the most violent. I have never thought that I would need more personal protection than a little can of pepper spray, but lately, I'm wondering if more drastic measures are necessary.
Second, Mayor Herenton was re-elected for the 5th time (click on his name for a video of his tasteless acceptance speech). I haven't lived here very long, but already he disgusts me. He takes no responsibility for his actions, this city, or the people of Memphis. I watched his acceptance speech on the news, and it was filled with "me, me, me" comments and all kinds of racially motivated and racially divisive statements. Yuck. I don't understand how people could vote for such a scumbag.
Third, Raiford's is reopening tonight! Now, maybe Raiford should run for mayor! That would certainly be interesting. I'm not sure if the Knight and I are going to go tonight; I fear that it would be really crowded. If not tonight, we will definitely head there very, very soon.
Fourth, this weekend, the Arkansas Blues and Heritage Festival (formerly King Biscuit Blues Festival) is the happening place to be in Helena, Arkansas. The Knight and I are going to go - his uncle and aunt live there and we can stay with them.
Speaking of the blues, these last few days I have been singing them, as I have been sending out resumes like crazy. I am so sad that already I have to start thinking about where I can work after this clerkship ends. I hate job searching (who doesn't?) and while I think my cover letters and resume are fine, it is so hard to be "me" on a ecru 8 x 11 inch piece of paper. Maybe I should send out resumes that are pink and scented to "give it something extra." Elle Woods - you are still my hero, especially that you are now on Broadway. :)
So says Artsy Fartsy at 5.10.07
See! I told you I would post. And for those of you who might be grumbling because your definition of "Promptly" envisions 1 day later, well go on with your grumbling, but please find a little time in betwixt grumbles to forgive and read!
I am dying to find some purple tweed shoes. If you know of any that are, oh say, under $100, please let me know. Promptly. And I'm okay with you telling me a day from now.
Speaking of shoes, have you seen the new Lela Rose shoes featured at Payless? Love them and need them. All. Probably going to order these by the end of the week, because I just can't stand not having them in my life any longer.
I kind of have a love/hate relationship with Payless (love the prices/ hate the blisters). But since they started featuring top designers (kind of like Target) I have been wooed back in. Last year Payless featured these amazing black and gold suede peep toe pumps with a stacked heel, and they are my favorite winter cocktail shoe. Still.
Yesterday, on my way home from work, I decided to make the dreaded trip to Super Wal-mart for the weekly groceries. I can't stand going to Wal-mart, but the prices are so much cheaper than every other grocery store around me, I really can't justify NOT going there. Anyway, I was wearing these terribly uncomfortable/ seriously cute round toe patent stilettos. The idea of shopping at Wal-mart while wearing these was enough to make me pull over, run into Payless, and pay $7 for some little Converse-inspired Mary Janes. I know, you are probably thinking, "why not just drive home, change shoes, and then go back to the grocery store." If I lived on any other street, I would probably agree with you. But if you have ever experienced traffic on Germantown Parkway during afternoon rush hour, you would understand that a trip home and then back to Wal-mart could easily take more than and hour and a half. Of course, I spent so much time trying on shoes at Payless, I probably could have gone home, let Betty out and been inside Wal-mart in the same amount of time. But then I wouldn't have a new pair of cute weekend tennies, now would I?
A couple of weekends ago, the Knight and I went to the MidSouth Airshow. I had never been to an airshow and didn't quite no what to expect besides tilting my head up staring at the sky for about 6 hours. But, I wanted to go, mainly because the experts always say that one of the secrets to having a happy marriage to is to share common interests, and since the Knight talks about airplanes in his sleep, I thought I could take one for the team. Surprisingly, I had a great time - plane watching, people watching, and spending unworldly amounts of money on charred burgers and bottled water. There were a ton of families there, and I couldn't help thinking how expensive this trip would be if we had kids. Tickets were $18 if you bought them in advance (we did), burgers were $4, a normal bag of chips $2, and a bottle of water $3. The stinky part was that you couldn't bring in your own coolers or anything, and the airshow lasts all day, so if you are trying to stay hydrated, you can easily spend $18 per person just on bottled water (6 hours x $3). Going by that calculation, a typical family of four would spend $72... just on water. Figure in 4 burgers, 4 bags of chips, and tickets for four, and you have spent $168 for tickets, water, and one meal. Sheesh. Chalk that up to one more reason why I DO NOT want to have kids. We would be in the po' house fo' sho'.
Oh. Here are some pictures of the airshow. Go crazy.
Speaking of babies...
One of the Knight's best friends just found out that his wife is pregnant. Apparently, they quit using the pill, and only two weeks later she got pregnant. I always thought that the pill reduced your fertility for at least a couple of months after you quit using it, especially if you had used the pill for a long time. Apparently not, in their situation at least. Either that, or she is one Fertile Myrtle.
Anyway, we are so excited for them, and now I get to spend even more time at the Pottery Barn Outlet purchasing lots of soft, cuddly, sweet baby things. Joy!
Up in the gym, jus' workin' on my fitness.
So, the Knight and I have become fatties. I don't know exactly what the catalyst was for our rapid weight gain, but it might have something to do with eating out more than should be legal and not exercising. Hmm...am I a health genius or what? Anyway, last week, it all came to a head when my butt could not squeeze into my fat jeans. MY FAT JEANS, people! It is one thing when you are feeling a little puffy and can't squeeze into the skinny jeans. And I can even tolerate those days when you pull on that old faithful pair of jeans that you have worn for years, and they seem to not recognize the uber blub formerly known as my hips and thighs. BUT. When you pull on the FAT JEANS and they don't fit. Well, then it is time to do some serious work.
After touring a couple of gyms in my area, I finally decided that we would join the French Riviera Spa. Nashville and Knoxville don't have those, and so for the longest time I thought they were just nail and spa places with ugly, gaudy signs. Apparently, they are gyms! Anyway, they are all over Memphis, and since we don't exactly know where we'll be living in Memphis once we move out of our apartment, I thought it was wisest.
So far, I am having a blast. I have gone every work night and taken some sort of class. I am severely out of shape, and even more out of breath, but I'm having fun and sore as the dickens. Last Thursday, I went to a class entitled "hip hop." It seemed harmless enough, and I've always been told I have pretty good rhythm, so I thought it would be a good fit for me. I was wrong. I want you to close your eyes and imagine someone painfully awkward...like Dwight Schrute from the Office. Or maybe, um, McLovin from SuperBad. Anyway, picture them in a room surrounded by beautiful blondes, brunettes, redheads women with perfectly toned bodies who are as graceful as gazelles and can move to rap beats better than any of those video vixens. Now, pretend that either Dwight or McLovin are a female version, and picture her trying to dance along.
Yes, now you know what I look like.
Even the instructor, who was so amazingly built, I wanted to take a picture of her and put her on the outside of all my food cabinets and fridge, kept smiling, giggling at me, and saying "That's alright, you'll get it next time!" "Don't worry, everyone has a hard time the first try!" Of course, I just wanted her to shut the heck up, and keep to her counting, but I was so out of breath, I don't think I could have muttered anything. So, I just kept nodding back, and trudging and tripping along.
The next night, I went to ZUMBA. For those of you who don't know what that is, the best way I can describe it is Latin, salsa, and current Hispanic rap mixed together with dance moves sponsored by Beyonce and Shakira. It was very fun, and the class was full of all kinds of people...men, women, fat, skinny, young, old. I felt much less awkward than the night before, everyone was encouraging one another, and at one point, this large Mo'Nique-esque woman who was standing behind me, yelled at me "Get it girl!"
I have learned that I am right cheeked. Meaning - I have a much harder time swerving my butt left than right. It is a very odd experience - trying so hard to make your hips go a certain way with little success on one side, and then having no problem on the other side. I guess I am not ambuttdextrous.
Trash to treasure.
Thanks to everyone for your compliments and support about my recent paintings and craftiness. I am currently working on another (I'm thinking abstract Nashville, but not sure) for Daisy who was recently a birthday girl! As soon as I am done, I'll make sure to post a picture.
Also, Halloween is right around the corner, and I have to get to getting on Betty Rascal's little costume. I think I already told y'all I'm going to make her an Ugly Betty costume, but lately her fro has been getting so big, it might be kind of fun to see if I can get her hair to curl. If I can, it would be so funny to make her a little 80's prom queen outfit. As for me and the Knight - I doubt we'll do anything this year. We don't have a lot of friends here, and I seriously doubt we'll be invited to any crazy dress-up parties. I am very sad about this, but at least I can drown my sorrows in a big orange bowl of candy corn. IF (and this is a very big if) we were to dress up, I think I would like to go as a piece of candy corn. I have been eyeing this costume for a couple of years, and think it is so cute.
Orange you glad you don't have to see me in a bikini?
The Knight and I recently learned that he is going to be able to take off a few days at the end of the month. This is HUGE for us, because based on what the air traffic control gods told us, we thought he wouldn't be able to take a vacation for about 3 years. It turns out that they weren't lying, but the three years starts after this next session of training.
Anywhooo, my Judge gave me the time off, too, and so, we have decided to go to Orange Beach/ Gulf Shores area. Memphis isn't exactly close to a good beach, so we are going to suck it up, and drive about 8 or so hours south. I don't think we are going to take Betty Rascal, and I am certain I will miss that little booger. I am pumped about catching up on all the books I ignored this summer (thanks a lot BarBri) and taking naps while listening to the waves crash. It might not be the best time of the year to go (October?) but considering the heat wave Memphis has been having, the weather might be just fine.
Can't Bar/Bri-eathe Easy.
So, we learn the results of the latest bar exam on the 19th. That is exactly 16 days from now. I can't tell you how many times I'll be going about my daily business and all of a sudden, a wave of nausea washes over me. The anxiousness and anticipation of those results is affecting my well-being during the day and especially at night. I try not to think about it, but sometimes, I just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how embarrassed I will be if I fail. All of my friends, family, and acquaintances will know. All of the people I sent resumes to will look and see that my name is not on the list. I will be the first clerk ever that has failed the bar. I will be the laughingstock of the state of Tennessee. I will disappoint my parents, the Knight, and all of my wonderful professors at UT. Gosh, I'm getting sick just writing about it. Sure, there are times when I think I did fine and feel like I may have passed, but the fact of the matter is, I just don't, can't, and won't know how I did until the 19th. And until then, sweaty palms, sleepless nights, and shortness of breath are my best friends
Well, with that, I think I'm going to go google jobs that require a law degree but not a license!
Artsy Fartsy is pretty sure that "Dry Clean Only" is discriminatory.
So says Artsy Fartsy at 3.10.07