The Law School Application Process

So I got my LSAT score back: 151. Good, certainly better than average, but not great. So now with my 3.4 GPA and my 151 LSAT, the next step in my application process is to get really good letters of recommendation and write an awesome personal statement. I couldn't be happier with the choices I made in people to write the letters, so now my main concern is the personal statement. Certain schools have requirements for what they want you to write so it is good to do one for each school. Right now, I am working on the one for my first choice school. Once that is submitted, I can start working on #2 and #3. All of the schools I selected are Tier 1 Top 100 schools within 32 miles of my home. Though I am crossing my fingers for my first choice school, at this point if any of them take me I will be happy. I just want to go to a good law school. This whole process is fun, but exhausting at the same time. I will be glad when it is done.

The Second Most Important Exam I Will Ever Take

I am told that the Law School Admissions Test is one of the hardest exams in the country. I am told that it is in fact so intense that some people get up and walk out during the break midway through the test and don't come back. I am told that a good enough score will get me into any law school I want. I dream of getting that acceptance letter from a prestigious law school, and that corner office in a big name law firm, with floor to ceiling glass windows and a view of downtown, in a high rise building somewhere in Los Angeles. I remember going to work with my Mother as a small child, wandering the mahogany covered hallways, peering into libraries stacked with law books and conference rooms with long hand-carved wood tables and leather chairs, basking in the silent hum that permeates out of the offices and into the halls while people prep for court, and feeling a sense of great belonging and purpose, as if some unseen force was welcoming me home to a place I couldn't remember. I think of all the work I've done and all I have yet to accomplish and I tell myself that I cannot fail.
The exam itself is Saturday, but my ordeal started last Saturday. I began to familiarize myself with the different portions of the exam, starting with the Logic Games portion. Some of the questions are easy, but some of them are time consuming, which is a problem when you consider that the test is given in 25 question increments and that you only have 35 minutes to do each increment. There are 4 25 question portions and a timed writing exercise. On top of that, they give you an additional 25 question portion called the "experimental" portion, which doesn't even count towards your score. Of course, they don't tell you which portion is the experimental portion because they don't want you to exhale at all during the 4 hour exam.
I am not TOO worried, but the magnitude of this is not lost on me. My performance on this exam translates directly into which school accepts me. The school that I get accepted to translates directly into the caliber of law firm that will hire me. The caliber of law firm that will hire me translates into the kind of work I will be doing for the remainder of my career. There are people who get jobs and prestigious firms straight out of law school who spend the rest of their careers climbing the ladder within that same firm, helping to build up their own skills and reputation as well as enhancing the firm's. I know it's a lofty goal.
I close my eyes and see the Sun glinting off the glass window in my office. A large L-shaped desk sits facing the window, and I sit at it reviewing a deposition. In my lap sits a little girl, wearing the special dress and buckle shoes that she picked out for "Take Your Kids To Work Day," reading a Dr. Seues book with the same purpose and intensity as her mother, stopping only occasionally to study my face as I read and ask when it is time to go out to lunch.
"Soon my Little. I'm on the last page. Then we can go."

Monkey Prozac

So it's no secret my cat is something of a problem child. Many of my friends, especially those who have lived under the same roof as Lucky, have described him as "evil" and "the devil." I have always said "Animals are just like people: some of them are just jerks, but jerks deserve love too."
Three weeks ago, I was relaxing in the living room of our new condo. I had the front door open and the back door open with the screens shut. It was early evening and there was a nice breeze coming through. I was sitting on my "chair and a half" (that's what it said on the tag when I bought it - too big to be a chair, but a smidge too small to be a loveseat - but to everyone who comes over, it's their favorite chair) watching television and Lucky was sitting in front of the screen, looking out onto the street.
Out of nowhere, Lucky begins to howl, loud and very aggressively. Instinctively, I get up from my seat and turn towards the front door to see what all the noise is for. Apparently, another cat had come right up to the screen. When I got up to investigate, I spooked him and he ran away. That was when it all went horribly wrong.
Angry that I had frightened away the intruder without allowing him the chance to show how big and bad he was, Lucky flew into a state of pissed off that I rarely see him in. He turned, as if to attack the intruding cat, and attacked me instead.
Now, I've been scratched by Lucky more times in my life than I can count. My arms are covered in scars from him. I'm sure people who don't know the cat situation think I cut myself. Oh well. I say this only to stress the fact that him scratching me is not a rare and alarming occurrence, but on this particular occasion, he messed me up BADLY.
After I dislodged him from my legs, I counted 13 points between both legs were he had drawn blood. There were claw marks from at least 3 paws on both calves as well as teeth marks above my knee. I apparently screamed because my roommate Mike came running out of his room to investigate.
This has to stop. I have to always be on guard, not to mention that when people come over, most of the time he has to be locked up in my room so he won't try to eat them. There is a very short list of people that he tolerates, much less actually likes. And what happens when I have children someday?
I took Lucky the Monkey Cat to the vet a few days later. The vet wanted to have a look at him and see how he behaved in order to determine if he was a candidate for medication or not.
While in the waiting room to see the vet, Lucky was in his little cardboard PetCo carrier. A dog got too close to me and Lucky wigged. It looked and sounded like a firecracker had gone off in the box. The whole carrier jumped in a loud, sudden jolt and Lucky growled and hissed like a wild animal. I was so embarrassed, but Lucky was just getting started.
We get into the exam room. I have the box open, but Lucky is still inside. I am petting his head and talking to him while he looks in bewilderment at his strange new surroundings. The vet and a vet assistant enter and the vet asks me to let Lucky out to run around the exam room while we talk. I begrudgingly agree.
At first, Lucky does not want out of the box, but the vet gently tips it over and dumps Lucky on the floor. Lucky walks past the vet assistant, who says hello to Lucky and drops down to let Lucky sniff him. Lucky looks up at the vet assistant and hisses as if to say "F*** you." I kinda giggle and try to scold Lucky, but the vet says to leave him be.
As I am talking to the vet about our options, I am watching Lucky out of the corner of my eye. He sniffs his way around the room then settles near my feet. Then the vet tells me he wants to examine Lucky. He tells me he is going to get a towel to wrap around him so he can take a look at his paws and his head.
After some effort and much growling, the vet assistant scoops up Lucky, loosely wrapped in a towel. While the vet assistant leans over Lucky to hold him down, the vet attempts to look in Lucky's mouth and look at his front paws. Lucky is not having it, at all. When the vet attempts to look at Lucky's back legs, he begins to growl and howl and spray, covering the exam table with cat urine and shooting it almost across the room, nearly missing me. At this point, Lucky breaks free. And here is where it all goes wrong.
After calling for backup, it takes the vet and 2 vet assistants no less than 40 minutes to apprehend an agile and highly aggressive Lucky in a 6X8 exam room. My poor scared little Monkey Cat was finally subdued and placed in his carrier, which was then duct taped shut.
Once I got him home, it took me an hour of coaxing and 2 cans of tuna to get him to stop panting. He is so fat and so aggravated I was worried he was going to have some kind of cardiac event.
Two days later, Lucky's Vanilla Flavored Liquid Prozac arrived at the vet. Why it is Vanilla Flavored, instead of something a cat would eat, is beyond me. It being liquid means filling a plunger rig to .05 every night and holding him down and shooting it in his mouth. I have only recently perfected the right positioning and angle. For the first week and a half, every night was a crap shoot. Sometimes I needed another person's help, sometimes I could manage it by myself.
The other night a stray cat came to the door again and though Lucky yowled and postured, he didn't attack me. Nonetheless, he was still sent to his room and got a cup of cold water on his head.
The vet says it will be at least a month before I notice any real changes. I have 2 months worth of the Prozac, so we'll see where he is at before I refill it. I hope it helps.

A Fresh Start

Wednesday I'll be leaving the house that I share with Mike and Jeff and moving back to my hometown of La Verne after being gone for 12 years. I'm getting a 2 bedroom condo on Bixby and I'm really excited about it. For now at least it will just be me, but that will most likely change. The very next day after I move marks the start of the 30 day countdown to my birthday, known to the rest of you as the month of July (my birthday is the 31st).
To celebrate my newly found space and to help countdown to my 30th birthday, I've decided to do 2 things during the 30 days: eat only what I cook and exercise for an hour a day. Then we'll see where I'm at when my birthday comes. Oh yeah, did I mention that it's the "30 Days to 30" countdown? Yep, I'm officially becoming a "30 something" along with a lot of my other friends from school this year.
I've got a Wii Console (in black) and a Wii Fit Plus bundle of my own and money set aside for groceries, so now it's up to me. It will be nice to be able to work out and cook in my own house instead of always being at Trina and Gregg's. It will be nice to have THEM over to MY house for a change to eat and work out.
It's not just getting to cook and work out. I've been wanting to move back to La Verne for a long time. I have this idea in my head that moving back to the town I grew up in is going to somehow be significant for me. To be honest, when I was younger, I used to call La Verne "Mayberry" and complain that "nothing ever happens here" but then when I left at 17 to start living on my own I really missed "Mayberry" and the peace and quiet that comes from "nothing ever happening." Maybe I was just unable to appreciate it at the time.

I used to look like that?

I was at my Mom's work on Friday using the fax machine and visiting for a bit. I don't like to stay too long because a law office is typically a busy place, but being Friday things were a bit more relaxed than normal. I took a minute to look around my Mom's office to see what embarrassing photos of me she had hanging up. I used my cell phone camera to get shots of a few of them to share with you, though they are kinda blurry. Some of you knew me back when these photos were taken. The first shot is my Dad and I at the St. Lucy's Freshman Father Daughter dance, early Fall 1994. I was really into silver back then, and instead of wearing a traditional corsage, I opted instead for a wreath made of white baby roses, silver ribbon and baby's breath.
I'd also like to point out that even though I was not allowed to wear my silver Doc Martens with it because it would have been "inappropriate", I was permitted to leave the house in a thin, satin, spaghetti strapped dress without a size 36C strapless bra on. Since I had finally grown out my perm and my bangs and wanted to start fresh, I also had super short hair here. In fact, at the time, the back of my head was shaved underneath my over-gelled bob haircut, which, ironically enough, meant that I had to keep my hair this length for a while until the shaved part caught up enough for me to grow my hair out. It took about a year and a half for it to get to the length shown next.
The second shot is towards the end of my sophomore year at Bonita, so I'd say Spring of 1996.
By this time, I think I had learned to wear bras with formal dresses, only I didn't care if the straps showed. Much to my dismay, I was a D cup here, so going bra-less was not an option anymore. My hair covered the straps, so it was OK. I convinced my Mom to buy me this dress because I told her I would wear it to Prom, even though I was only a sophomore. I had no intention of going, I just wanted the dress, which was black velvet and went down to my feet and had a slit to just above my knee down one side. This showed off the fishnets and black Doc Martens I wore underneath it. By now my Mom had stopped fighting with me about my clothes and decided to let me wear them as I saw fit, since we had spent so much money on them anyway. This pose, shoulders rolled forward, arms folded over my chest and stomach, and a sullen, jaded stare, was typical of me most of the time back then, whether posing for a photo or just standing around. Body language experts would have all kinds of fun with that photo. Back then, between the mostly black clothes, the ankh necklace I never took off, and the "how come they don't make anything paler?" foundation I wore, I was in the early stages of goth. It got worse over the Summer before I started going to Citrus College. That's when I started buying pants and bikinis made of pleather and go-go boots and dresses made of shiny black vinyl and all sorts of other things that I would never let my 15 or 16 year old wear. When I started working at Hot Topic at 17, it got ridiculous.
These next 2 are from Hawaii, Summer 1996, during a day spent at one of my favorite places: The Kualoa Ranch, about 2 hours by private bus from Waikiki on the island of Oahu.
Yes, that is a cigarette next to the toy gun in my left hand. By then, my parents knew I smoked. I was a high school graduate, so I guess that was OK with them. I think I was trying to look like an outlaw here. The periwinkle shirt kills it though, doesn't it? I had on a black pleather bikini underneath it but my Mom refused to let me take my shirt off for the picture. Funny, considering she let me buy the bikini.
This horse was so old. The only way to get it to move was to keep a switch in it's peripheral vision. My posture in the saddle here is awful (slouched forward as always), but at least I'm holding my reigns correctly. The really sad part about this horse is when I went back to the ranch 8 years later while on my honeymoon, this horse was still there. Thankfully, I didn't get stuck with it that time.
You never realize you're getting older until you see pictures of you when you were younger. I was between 14 and 16 in these photos, and in July I'll be 30. Crazy.

Kratos: The Knargle of War

Trina told me the other day that they were offered the chance to adopt another cat. With Atreyu, Storm, Luna (aka The Knargle) and Harlequin, this would make Cat #5, which I reminded her officially qualifies them for Crazy Cat People status. Yvonn brought the kitten over today during Amber's birthday party (by the way HAPPY 7th BIRTHDAY RUNT!) and the minute Trina, Gregg and I saw him, we knew he'd be staying. He is the TINIEST thing, mostly white, with a half a dozen spots on him like Luna, only the spots are gray (Luna is a Calico with red and black spots). Trina remarked how he had gray Knargle spots, so they now had a boy Knargle. But what to name him?
Trina named Atreyu, Amber named Storm, Raven named Luna (though we all call her The Knargle, after the invisible creatures described by her namesake in the Harry Potter books) and Gregg named Harlequin, plus Raven and Gregg named the Bearded Dragons (Jasper and Alice) and the Mexican King Snake (Toothless). Normally my suggestions for names for the pets are considered, but never used, but this time I finally picked one that got used.
Raven's friend Melanie suggested Hercules. Though immediately dismissed, it reminded me, as I'm sure it did the rest of the family, of when Gregg beat Hercules in the last God of War video game. Trina, Raven, Amber and I would watch Gregg play God of War III on the PS3 for hours at a time, before he beat the game after about 5 days. As I sat there thinking of this, holding the kitten with the ashy gray Knargle spots, it hit me. I looked at Trina, Raven and Amber and, after struggling to remember the hero's name from the video game, I blurted out "Kratos! We can name him Kratos!"
Now if there is one thing my best friend Trina and I do with some regularity, it's disagree. Not argue or fight, just disagree. Though we enjoy a lot of the same things and share some of the same beliefs, when it comes to matters of personal taste, we couldn't be more different. Though we never get angry, it annoys the hell out of anyone within earshot. She likes blue, I like red. I think the cashier at Costco is cute, she thinks he is not. She thinks "Minority Report" is a good movie, I think it was awful. She likes NCIS, I like Law and Order. It's just the way we are. So when I made my suggestion, I was fully prepared for a veto from her, and the look on her face ALMOST looked like she was going to, but then she paused for a second and said "Yeah, we could do that." With Gregg's, Amber's and Raven's approval, the kitten was named "Kratos: The Knargle of War"

OCD in Action

This is truly pathetic but I really don't care.
Sometimes the people I know think I am strange because I associate certain songs, TV shows or movies with certain people, places or holidays. This is usually because I have memories that link them together.
If it is New Years Eve, I have to hear Prince's "1999" because one year on New Year's Eve I heard it while I was out dancing and thought it was really appropriate. If it is Halloween I have to hear 'Thriller" because they would always show that video on MTV around Halloween, and I would watch it while I was putting on my costume and getting ready to go out. The movie "An Officer and a Gentlemen" will forever remind me of Munich because when I was there Jodie and I watched it translated into German. "Es tut meir leid, nein kinder..."
In this case, if it is a 3 or 4 day weekend, I have to watch The Twilight Zone because when I was little, every time there was a 3 or 4 day weekend (Labor Day, Thanksgiving, 4th of July, Memorial Day, New Years, etc.) either Channel 5 or Channel 11 would have a Twilight Zone marathon and my Dad and I would watch it together. Between the two of us, my Dad and I have probably seen every single Twilight Zone ever made, all 156 episodes. They never run all of them during the marathons, usually about 40 or 50 of the most popular ones. It's sad, even when I had plans on these particular holidays, I would check the program guide to see which ones were playing at what time so I could plan my day and not miss my favorites. It was not uncommon to hear me say "I have to be home by 9pm. The Hitch-Hiker is coming on" or "I didn't get to bed last night til 3am because they showed The Howling Man at 2:30am." If I'm not at my Dad's I've even called him up and said things like "Dad! Put it on Channel 5 in 10 minutes! They're gonna show It's A Good Life."
I told you, pathetic, right? Well, it gets better.
So I said they USED to show Twilight Zone marathons on all the holidays. Well, now they only show them on the 4th of July. What's a girl to do?
A couple of years ago I discovered that a lot of the episodes are on YouTube so if I wanted to hunt them down (usually an episode is uploaded into 3 parts) I could. Today I figured out how to make a playlist on YouTube, so no more hunting. I now have my very own Twilight Zone Marathon playlist, with 25 episodes (and growing), all queued up and ready to watch whenever I need a fix. That's over 12 hours, and I'm not done adding episodes yet.

"It's just a piece of paper..."

Last Friday I was over at Danny's house so that we could go to Party City and get one of those air horns for his CSUF Commencement Ceremony on Sunday along with some stuff to make a big, obnoxious sign for me to hold up. While I was there, he told me that while he was over at his friend's house, his friend's older brother and he were talking, during which Danny mentioned that he was graduating with his Bachelor's degree on Sunday, to which the guy replied "It's just a piece of paper..."
Knowing Danny as well as I do, and being a student in pursuit of a Bachelor's degree myself, I knew that this thoughtless statement was getting to him, despite the fact that the person who said it is a loser. I know if someone had said that to me, after all the work I've done over the last 3 and a half years, I'd be livid. As much as his Mom and I told him to consider the source and let it go, we could tell it was still bothering him.
Saturday while Danny was out running errands, I picked up his Mom to go shopping. We went to Macy's and got him 5 thoughtfully selected shirts as a graduation present, then we went to Party City and got some banners and balloons to hang up at the house to surprise Danny with. The plan was to sneak back to the house Sunday after the celebratory lunch and hang the balloons and banners while we had the other guests stall him at the restaurant. We picked up a "Congrats Grad" hanging banner, 6 assorted Mylar balloons, and a special customizable sign. Jan and I knew just what to put on that one.
The ceremony at CSUF started at 8:00am Sunday morning. I made sure to get there before Danny did so he didn't see the balloons or other stuff in my car. He loved the sign I made and I got a lot of pictures of him, just like he wanted. We even used the crappy air horn, but it didn't really work that well. After the ceremony we all headed back to West Covina to have lunch at Applebee's. After his Mom paid the check, we made a hurried exit, but insisted that everyone else stay and enjoy themselves a bit longer. I told Art and Chris to keep him at the restaurant for another 15 minutes. It worked out perfectly, as he rolled up seconds after I tied the last balloon to the front of the house. He got out of his car and looked at all the balloons and banners, and when he read the customized banner we made him, his face lit up and he laughed. There, in big letters for all the neighbors to see, were the words "Not Just A Piece Of Paper!" After standing outside for several minutes admiring mine and his Mom's efforts, we dragged him inside to open his gifts. He actually liked all the shirts we picked out, which is amazing because he usually ends up exchanging at least one thing when you buy him clothes. We spent the rest of the afternoon uploading photos and working on a submission for the school's website that he was asked to do and just catching up and visiting. After 12 hours I finally went home. I was very proud of my friend, and he was very grateful for all that his Mom and I had done to make his day special. Next year it will be my turn and I can't wait.

If you aren't really asleep, are you dreaming?

My General Education classes are piling on the homework lately. My law classes are building up to finals, so the workload isn't quite there, yet. I've been working out fairly consistently with Trina on the Wii Fit. The animals in my house are shedding and trying to hump the throw pillows, so the house gets dirtier faster. In short, I'm under a lot of stress (not all of it bad, but stress nonetheless). I'm tired most of the time, but I am not sleeping that well.
At some point during the middle of the day I find myself sleepy, but when I lay down to take a nap, I'm not completely asleep. I can still hear most things and I toss. Then, in the middle of the night, I will wake up suddenly and lay around like this for a few hours.
In this "not quite asleep, but not really awake" state, I have these dreams, or what I am starting to think are hallucinations with my eyes shut. I have the same ones over and over again. Or rather, the same one over and over again.
My mind will be off doing whatever, thinking, dreaming, then as I am laying there, I'll hear a little girl say my name. The first time it happened a few days ago it kinda freaked me out and I woke up. It was so real. Sometimes I can see the top of her head. She's either a large toddler or a small child because the top of her head came just over my Dad's super high pillowtop mattress. Her hair is somewhere between blond and red, like strawberry blond maybe, but light. The other day when I was taking a nap at my Dad's I swore I could see her standing there for a split second when I awoke. Sometimes she touches my arm, but she always says the same thing, never urgent, never more than sweet but persistent, in a little girl's voice: "Holly...Holly...Holly..."
Sometimes I grumble at her and wake myself up: "I'm sleeping." or "What?" Sometimes it cuts into some other dream that I am having and it will startle me awake just from the interruption. I have yet to yell at her, but I know at some point I will out of frustration. I only hope I don't embarrass myself by waking up my roommates or alerting my Dad and my Brother by yelling in my sleep.
That's why I think I may be hallucinating while I am half asleep, because who else gets woken up all the time by imaginary children?
I know its the endorphins from working out more and the serotonin from an over-active brain who has too much homework and is frustrated by a house in need of almost constant maintenance. A body that wants to keep moving and a brain that is always planning, pondering and processing must surely be the cause of this. Maybe in a few weeks when the semester is over, she'll let me sleep, or maybe she'll tell me what she wants so I can get her to stop waking me.

Well, there's always next year...

Well, this will be yet another year where I won't see a Triple Crown winner. Bob Baffert switched jockeys and ended up winning the Preakness with Lookin' At Lucky (the horse I had picked for the Derby). Oh well. Still had fun watching the race and I'm still looking forward to the Belmont.

Derby Day

Some people might think my family has weird priorities. On my Dad's side of the family, we don't celebrate Easter in April, but on the first Saturday in May, we celebrate the running of the Kentucky Derby. Dad makes corned beef and puts out munchies and Brian and I are expected to attend. Sometimes my Aunt and Uncle come out, but not always. If I am not there at least 2 hours before post time, my phone is ringing. The week before my Dad will start reminding me, so that I don't make plans, as if I could forget. This same ritual takes place for the Preakness and the Belmont, but since the Derby is the first race of the Triple Crown, it is special. This is the race where we get behind a horse to win the Triple Crown, hopefully. If someone in our immediate family won the Lottery, it wouldn't even be a question or a discussion, I would be online booking our plane tickets and hotel accommodations to Kentucky, Maryland and New York for next year's races. I would be getting an extra ticket for Maryland to bring Jonie of course. Every since I was little, that was a dream for me: to wear a sundress and a great big hat to the Derby, to visit Ruffian's grave at Pimlico and leave her a single rose, to be in the stands for the singing of "New York, New York" before the final race.
We start looking at horses and making Derby predictions about a month or two in advance, usually after watching the Santa Anita Derby and a couple of other pre-Derby races around the country. Our betting styles are unique. My Dad bets odds and jockeys, never picks a dead-on favorite (called a "chalky") and usually doesn't care what the horse is named, and usually just bets one horse to win or place. My Brother likes long shots because if one hits, they pay big, and he will usually bet a trifecta or an exacta, mixed with chalkies and long shots. I pick one horse to win or place: that perfect combination of odds (2nd or 3rd favorite), jockey, starting position, name (picking the horse whose name I liked worked great for me at the track as a kid and I got a lot of Toys R Us money out of it), trainer, and if I have watched them run before or not that may also be a factor in my choice.
This year for the Derby, just like last year, the first horse I was looking at ended up not running. A local horse out of Santa Anita named after my cat with a jockey I know (talented, but a jerk whom I have met and can't stand) and a winning trainer who went off as the morning line co-favorite ended up being my pick this year. I had seen him race before, but I was a little unsure about him because of the jockey. The other favorite was being ridden by a jockey whom I admire and came from a trainer who had never won a Derby, but being me, I have to pick a horse and stay with it, though I secretly wanted this horse to win.
In my lifetime, I have never seen a Triple Crown winner (a horse that has won the Derby, the Preakness and the Belmont) and every year I hope for 2 things: 1. That no one gets hurt (the last few years of the Triple Crown have been marred by the tragic injuries and subsequent deaths of horses like Barbaro and Eight Belles) and 2. That someone wins the Triple Crown. Last year Mine That Bird and Rachael Alexandra ran AMAZING races, but both canceled the others chances. If only Rachael Alexandra had run in the Derby instead of the Oaks, I might have seen a Triple Crown winner, but oh well.
The horse I picked came in 5th, thanks in part to my hated jockey. But Calvin Borrell, on Super Saver (the horse I mentioned before that I secretly wanted to win) ran away with first place and now I am excited to see him run the Preakness and the Belmont. Maybe I will get my Triple Crown winner this year. In 6 short weeks, I'll know.

Sometimes eating your words tastes like soap

For the last 13 years, I've been a Stepmommy. Not just any Stepmommy. My official title is "Stepmommy, Guardian of the Universe." Even divorcing my ex husband couldn't strip me of that, according to my Stepdaughter. She gave me the title and only she can take it away.
Normally, I am a very proud Stepmommy, even though I am not perfect. Throughout the years, growing up around me, Raven has picked up some of my mannerisms and she shares some of my tastes in music, the arts and food. I have tried to be a good influence on her. I do not always succeed.
I have tried to curb my swearing around Raven all of her life. When she was little, I trained her to smack my hand if she ever heard me cuss. Even though I know her friends swear, she has always been really careful about not swearing, or at least around us.
Today, we were watching TV and there was this woman on there swinging a bat around, doing a gag, pretending to try to hit things that were flying at her. Then Raven, my Sprout, my Little, my Honor Student, busts out with this little gem of an observation:
"That woman swings like a pu$$y."
I'm not sure what I just heard, so I ask her "What did you say?"
She repeats herself, "That woman swings like a pu$$y."
This time, Trina hears it too.
In disbelief, we tell her that she does not use that word, that its a cuss word and to go get the soap. We explain that using that word is like using the word "d*ck" and that neither are appropriate. We can't believe we have to tell her this at 13 years old.
Then, as she is getting the soap, I tell her to bring it out to the living room and give me some too. Irregardless of where she first heard it or how she got the idea that it was OK to use, I know that at some point in her life she has probably heard me say it. I'm ashamed of being a bad example, but I also don't want to be a hypocrite. So I also take a squirt of Dial Anti-Bacterial Foaming Hand Soap and sit with it as long as I can possibly stand it then spit it out and tell Raven she can spit hers out too. The stuff tastes awful.
I'm disappointed in myself moreso than her. I own this too. I suppose it could be worse, but now I know I need to try harder.

A Visit to Urgent Care

Yesterday started off rather uneventful. I had agreed to take Trina to the Welfare Office so she could get an issue with Amber's MediCal fixed. We were there about an hour, stopped on the way back to get Jack In The Box tacos and came home and watched The Daily Show. About an hour before I am planning on going to my Dad's to do some homework that I had slacked on (I had too much fun stuff to do on Sunday) my left arm starts to hurt.
At first, it felt like when you get a flu shot in your bicep, like it hurt and it bugged but not enough to really pay attention to. As the hour passes, it starts to hurt worse. Eventually, it is quite uncomfortable. I put my hand over my arm and I can feel something in my arm pulse back at me, like a heartbeat, only irregular. The throbbing makes the pain feel like a shooting pain. It now feels like there is something actually INSIDE my arm, and its stuck, and it hurts. I have Trina put her hand over my arm and she feels the weirdness too. She suggests I go to the doctor. I decide to call the 24 hour nurses hotline on my Kaiser card.
They ask a lot of questions. Do I have shortness of breath? (No.) Can you stand up? (Hold on a second...yeah I can.) Do you have swelling? (Hold on...Trina, does this arm look bigger than the other?...Yeah, a little) Is your hand colder than the other one? (Hold on...Trina hold my hands and tell me if this one is colder...Not really.) Are you on any medication? (Yaz Birth Control)
Then I remember something my Gynocerous said Friday, that she wanted to take me off Yaz because of the risk of blood clots. Holy crap, do I have a blood clot?
The nurse determines that I'm not having a heart attack (um DUH) but says I still need to go see a doctor. They can't get me a same day appointment but they will put a note in my file and they tell me to go to Urgent Care.
Trina has an appointment to get to for the kids, so I go to my Dad's and ask him to take me to Urgent Care. I'm still not sure I even want to go, and I hate asking my Dad to go with me, but I'm too big of a baby to go by myself. On the way to my Dad's I call Sherry, since she's a nurse and one of my best friends. I run down my symptoms to her and she says "Um, yeah dude, go see a doctor. If its a clot and it becomes dislodged and goes to your brain, you'll become a veggie."
At this point, the pain has also started to show up in the inside of my elbow, the outside of my wrist and the top of my knuckles. I can't move my arm now at all without some kind of pain. I have no idea what is wrong with me and it is starting to freak me out a little, not to mention the pain is getting worse.
The doctor asks me if I have done anything strenuous or repetitive with my arm lately. I tell him that I haven't worked out in over a week, save for an hour on the treadmill last week and some housework, because I've been having issues with digestion and my ulcer. He moves my arm around, which hurts like hell, and then has me breathe while he moves the stethoscope all over my chest, back and stomach, listening for whatever.
He asks me what I do and I tell him I'm a student. He asks about my field of study and my units and I tell him I'm a Pre-Law major taking 15 units. He asks if I have been under a lot of stress lately and I have to say yes. He asks about what and I lie and say school. I was too embarrassed to say the real reason. I'm taking more than a full load of a difficult field of study, so school could be a plausible answer.
"You have tendinitis," he says.
"How the hell did I get tendinitis?"
"Stress. Stress can cause it," he says.
"What?"
Now, I know that stress can do all sorts of weird crap to you. It can make it so everything you eat comes shooting violently and only partially digested out of one of your orifices for days at a time, it can give you an ulcer and make you have blood in your bile secretions, it can give you gray hair, acne, bags under your eyes, cause insomnia, migraines, panic attacks, even my Gramma got shingles from stress once, but tendinitis? Really?
The doctor, even though it hurts, wants me to use this arm to do basic stuff, but nothing too heavy or strenuous. I'm not even allowed to carry my purse on that arm, and my purse isn't even that big (Leigh's purse is WAY bigger.) Even typing kinda hurts. The truth is, everything hurts, but he says if I don't use my arm at all, it will get stiff and swollen. (Insert dirty joke here) Getting dressed, washing my hair, even putting it up in a hair clip, all hurt me today. The doctor gave me Flexerol (a muscle relaxer) to take at night since it makes you loopy and some anti-inflammatories for day time. I only take about a third of the daytime stuff because it irritates my stomach, and right now I don't need anything else to irritate it. I also have some of my Dad's Lidocane patches. I had 2 on my arm last night. I looked like a burn victim LOL
I'm glad it wasn't a clot or something serious, but it kinda sucks that now I have something that will never really go away (I'll have flares for the rest of my life), and I got it from something I didn't expect. I know stress can kill you, but I didn't think it could cause you physical pain like this. You learn something new every day.

A Trip to the Gynocerous

All of my women readers will be able to relate to this. Hopefully my male readers find this informative and funny and maybe walk away with a little more sympathy for us girls.
For those who didn't get the joke, a "Gynocerous" is the Dorkanese word for an OB/GYN (Obstetrics/Gynecologist) or, in plain English, "the girl doctor." You know, the doctor that specializes in women's health issues and where we go to get our "special exams."
Today was my 6 month visit. If all goes well, I get to go back to going once a year. About 2 years ago I was diagnosed with a pre-cancerous condition known as Cervical Interepethelial Neoplaisia, which operates in various stages depending on the level of severity. Stage 4 is Cervical Cancer, which killed my Aunt a few months ago. But CIN is not a death sentence, and it clears up if it doesn't progress into the next stage. I was diagnosed with Stage 1 which hasn't progressed at all in the last 2 years and this visit was to make sure it had cleared up, as my last few visits looked promising. I'll know in 2 weeks.
So anyway, I'm used to checking in at the Women's Center in the Medical Office Building at Kaiser in Baldwin Park, then heading upstairs and waiting in a tiny, windowless waiting room near Pediatrics. I always used to think the walk past Pediatrics was funny in a morbid sort of way, as each visit would tell me whether or not my reproductive organs were going to kill me or not, or whether they would someday render me barren. I used to say to myself "Why not just walk me past Oncology?"
Normally I miss the Baldwin Park Boulevard exit off the 10 freeway and end up getting lost on the way there and having to turn around. Today the exit on the westbound side of the freeway was just flat out closed, so I still had to get off and turn around just as if I had gotten lost. I find a parking spot WAY in the back (I've learned to not even mess with the parking structure) and I rush over to where I am used to checking in.
Kaiser Card, ID and Debit Card in hand I approach the counter. She takes my info and then tells me that I NOW have to go across the courtyard to the Hospital Building, go up to the 3rd floor and go to Module 1 instead. Grrrr...fine. Off I go.
The Hospital Building is shaped wonky. There's a round lobby area with arms that come off it. One arm goes to the ER, one to some elevators that lead up to the different hospital floors, one goes to Radiology and then some other arms go who knows where. I only know the parts that I have been to, so I know where the ER, Radiology and Urgent Care are and that's about it. In the lobby there are these water features that look like white walls with water running down then and someone is blasting bad, lounge-style piano music over the sound system. I am not in the mood today.
After standing in the lobby looking at the different signs above the hallway arm entrances and thinking that the music from "The Legend of Zelda" would be more appropriate for this puzzling layout, I finally find one that says "Hospital Elevators." This must be it.
While riding up the elevator and staring at the floor I notice the hospital employee in the elevator with me has on my "court heels." We get into a quick convo about shoes and I ask her where Module 1 is. She tells me to follow her and I do. While I am following her, I realize that again, someone up there is laughing at me. Guess what else is on the 3rd floor? "Labor and Delivery"
Now scurrying along at a much faster pace (I am late for my appointment and trying to flee the irony of my floor assignment) I get to Module 1 after turning a few corners and going down a few hallways. I walk in and there is a sign up that says "For Check-In please use Module 2." GRRRR...
Further down the same hallway is Module 2. Kaiser Card, ID and Debit Card in hand I approach the counter again. I always forget I have a $25 copay and I always cringe when I have to pay it. I take my paperwork back up the hallway to Module 1, put my paperwork in the box by the door like they want you to and I sit and wait. I have no cell reception and the TV in the waiting room is tuned to Divorce Court. Grrrr...not today please.
A skinny middle-aged nurse with an Indian accent calls my name and I follow her around the internal maze of exam rooms to a nurse's station. She is kind but abrupt. "Put your stuff down and get on the scale." Yay, my favorite part. Today wasn't so bad because between my stomach issues and my general lack of appetite of late, I knew I had lost weight recently and this scale said the same thing the Wii Fit had told me 2 days before. She asked me how I was doing today and, not really knowing how to answer the question, I say "Could be better." She asks why and I tell her I just broke up with my boyfriend the day before. She says "You will find someone else, or the same person." Whatever. I think to myself why can't she please keep her advice to herself. I'm not here for therapy or predictions about my love life.
As she was taking my blood pressure, which was remarkably low, she asked me all of the usual questions: when was my last period, am I allergic to any medication, am I on any medication, stuff like that. But THEN she asks me if I exercise. I know where this is going and I am REALLY not in the mood today.
"Yes," I smile and say to her, hoping she will drop it. She doesn't. "How many times a week?" I grit my teeth and continue to smile as I say "Four or five." She still doesn't quit. "How long do you exercise each time?" "At least 30 minutes each time," I tell her. I add in "I weighed 30 pounds more than this a year ago and I weighed 4 pounds more than this on Friday, so it's coming down."
In my head I'm thinking "You skinny old bitch! I just told you I broke up with my boyfriend yesterday and you wanna get on my case about my weight?! F*ck you!" But I keep this to myself and just give her the eye. She takes me to an exam room and tells me to undress from the waist down and cover myself with the sheet, then leaves. I know the drill.
The exam room has an exam bench with a patch of paper on the lower half and a paper covered pillow in the upper half. Attached to the front of the bench are metal stirrups. The idea is you lay your naked butt on the edge of the exam bench, so that your butt is right on the edge, put your feet in the stirrups and put the sheet over the top of your lower body. Your bent knees under the sheet look like a little tent and you are almost flat on your back, as the pillow is too far above where your head needs to be. From this position, I can't see anything but my boobs, but that's probably a good thing. What's about to take place is something I would rather distance myself from as much as possible. No amount of meditation will take me far enough away from this to make it any less uncomfortable and intolerable. After all, I'm about to be raped by salad tongs, or at least that is what it always feels like.
My Gyno NP Alicia comes in, asks how I'm doing and after telling her about some issues I had been having with my periods she suggests that after the exam we do, get this, a pregnancy test. GRRR... just what I need right now.
I always feel like a little sissy during this part. The plastic salad tongs, called a speculum, that she uses to open me up so she can look around and take samples, always feel like they are cutting me and they are too damn wide and too damn long. She tells me to breathe through it and I am doing my best but I can barely stand it. THEN she opens them up FURTHER and I wince in pain. Breathing and "going to your happy place" won't save you now. The instruments she uses to take samples are a giant cotton swab and something that resembles a miniature toilet brush. The swab gives me the feeling of being poked by something hard, tiny and dry, hence very uncomfortable, and the brush feels like I'm being scratched on the inside, as well as poked. This adds another level of misery to the salad tong raping. She tells me I am extra-sensitive today and I wonder to myself how many women are numb to blunt objects being stuck up them.
Then she tells me to get dressed and meet her in the hallway to do the pregnancy test. By the time I get dressed, she is not outside the door anymore. The walls all look the same. I wander around and find the evil skinny nurse who hands me a urine sample cup and an alcohol prep pad. The pad MUST be so I can sanitize the cup when I close it, because there is no way that pad is going anywhere on me, especially there. No thank you.
I'm so jealous of men at this moment. More of it gets on my hand then in the cup. Now I know what the pad is for, because no amount of soap is psychologically sufficient enough when you get pee on your hands. I do my best to clean the outside of the cup after I seal it and scour the hell outta my hands with soap and hot water. I think to myself I must be a little dehydrated as I take the cup back to the evil nurse. I want to smile and say "I have a present for you" but I decide against it.
Instead of taking the cup and sending it to the lab, right there in the hallway she makes me open the cup so she can put this eyedropper thing in it and take just enough to drop it onto this little box thing. I wanna die of embarrassment and puke at the same time. This is more pee contact then I was really in the mood for. Then she tells me to go dump the rest in the toilet and throw the cup away, as if I couldn't figure that out for myself. She leaves me alone at the nurse's station with the test while it does whatever it does for 4 minutes while she gets my exit paperwork ready. I still have no cell phone reception. Four minutes is a long time, even when you know what the test is gonna say.
"Well, here is your paperwork and it looks like you aren't pregnant," the evil nurse says to me. I grab my paperwork and head for the elevators. I have cell phone reception again. I have 3 missed calls, all Sherry, who is, ironically enough, a nurse herself. I race down the hall, past Labor and Delivery to the elevators. I then power-walk past the water features and the bad piano music into the harsh light of day to my car. The nurse calls my cell phone and says she forgot to send me downstairs to pay the copay for my lab work and asks if I am still in the building. At this point I am just getting into my car, so I tell her no and ask her to bill me. I just want to get the hell outta there and call my friend and whine to her about my doctor's visit while I drive back to my Dad's.

The Return of Movie Night

Leigh, Jonie and I hardly get to hang out much all together because of our schedules. Over the winter semester, I had a Family Law class with Jonie (Leigh had already taken it) and now in the Spring semester, I have a Litigation class with Leigh (Jonie already has a Bachelor's degree so she is not attending ULV with us), but other than that we hardly have seen each other all year. SO today we did another one of our movie nights. It was long overdue.
Leigh had a birthday over a month ago, so I let her pick the movies this time. The first one she brought that we watched was Dodgeball. Jonie and I had never seen it, but after we started watching it and noticed that the actors that played Milton and Bill Lumburgh were in it AND that Leigh didn't know who Milton or Bill Lumburgh were, I insisted we watch Office Space after we finished Dodgeball. After Office Space we watched Gross Pointe Blank (with a cute, young Jon Cusack in it) and after I recognized a lot of the streets featured in the background, I had to jump online and confirm that part of the movie was shot in downtown Monrovia. (I used to work in Monrovia, near downtown.) After the movie was over, we sat around and talked, like we used to do before class last Fall.
If you've read any of my previous movie night postings, you'll remember that I usually do the whole "hors de'ovres and sparkling non-alcoholic beverage spread" from Trader Joes, but times have gotten tough, so today, I made spaghetti, Leigh made Cesar Salad and Jonie brought drinks. Much yummier and much cheaper.
I had an awesome time hanging out with 2 of my closest friends and I hope we get to do this more often.

Random, Brief, Happy Dreams

"I talk of dreams, which are the product of an idle brain." - Mercutio from William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet"

So I've blogged before about weird dreams or bad dreams. Last week I had a happy dream I want to share.

First let me say that this is one of those dreams where you are watching the action sometimes from the first person perspective and sometimes from the third person perspective. Also, like looking out a shower door covered with steam except for the spot you just wiped with your hand, it is bright, a little blurry and I can't see everything in the picture, just what's in the middle. It went something like this:

I'm in a store, looking at stuff on the rack near the door that exits to an indoor space, probably the mall. I hear a man's voice somewhere to my right.
"Oop, there he goes."
I turn around and glance over my left shoulder and see a little toddler in a blue and white shirt who is waddling away from me towards the exit, giggling as he tries to make a wobbly escape. I can't see what else he has on because of the whole "looking through the hole you wiped in the steamy shower door" effect. The shirt says something on it but I can't read it because it is blurry.
"Hey," I say to him in a gentle voice, "get back here you little fugitive."
Since I'm closer to him than the voice I heard off to my right, I turn to chase him, though I sense someone is following behind me. I think to myself that I should have bought one of those "monkey backpack child leash" thingies like I always said I would and wonder why I haven't yet. I don't know why I am thinking this, but I am nonetheless.
The toddler turns his head and giggles. He has short blond curls, like I did when I was 2 or 3, deep-set brown eyes and a charming but mischievous little smile with some baby teeth on top. He looks similar to pictures of me as a toddler, only the eyes aren't quite like mine (mine are brown and deep-set but something about his eyes looks different) and his smile isn't mine, and he is, of course, a boy, but I recognize him from somewhere and he looks at me as if he knows me. The look on his face says "Chase me."
In a few quick, big steps I have caught up to him. After all, he is just a toddler, plus he stopped to turn around and giggle at me. He wanted me to catch him. The only reason he ran was because I turned my attention away from him for a few seconds. He always knows how to get my attention. He does this a lot. I don't know how I know this, but I do.
Now the view switches to third person. I can see myself, from about the waist up, scoop the child up. Both of us are giggling and smiling. As I pick up and bring the toddler to my chest, which obscures whatever shirt I am wearing from full view, another arm comes across mine, as if someone was coming up behind me, and tickles the little boy's tummy. Again, because of the "shower door effect" all I can see of this person is their forearm, larger than mine and with dark arm hair, presumably a man's. I feel a sense of comfort, happiness and normality. Everything is OK. Life is simple and wonderful and I am so happy. Even thinking about it makes me happy.
I doesn't sound like much but everything in the dream happened in sorta slow motion, so what would normally take a few seconds in reality took a few minutes in the dream.

Good dreams tend to be like that for me. I see flashes of seemingly mundane things that would normally only take a few seconds in reality, but play out in this bright, blurry around the edges, slow motion view. And I always wake up feeling like everything is OK and what little details I can see I always remember, and remembering them makes me happy for some reason.

So what was it? Who was the little boy? Who was the man? What does it mean? I've come to find out that whether my dreams end up meaning something later or are just a manifestation of thoughts that I already have dancing around my subconscious or are just random collages of the things I see during my waking hours, it's better not to think on their meaning too much and just enjoy them.

Ever hear of deja vu? I always have it during random, stupid moments, like I'll see a particular thing and hear a particular thing at the same time, and I get the feeling I have heard and seen these two things together before. I often wonder if the reason I feel as if I have been there before, but can't remember when or where, is because of these random little happy dreams about nothing in particular. Who knows?

Please try to understand

It is against every instinct for privacy that I share this. Usually, when I'm like this, I try not to have important conversations, make important decisions, or do anything that might impact my life for longer than a few hours. In fact I tend to isolate when I feel this way, but I've come to discover that being alone with myself in this situation is bad. Instead, I seek the comfort and stability of a sympathetic friend or loved one, who tolerates me when I'm like this and tries to keep me as close to sane and standing as I can be.
I have Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. For those of you who haven't heard of it, or who don't know what it is, here's a little excerpt from WebMD:

Premenstrual dysphoric disorder, or PMDD, is a severe form of premenstrual syndrome (PMS). The symptoms of PMDD are similar to those of PMS, but are severe enough to interfere with work, social activities, and relationships.

How Common Is PMDD?

PMDD occurs in 2% to 10% of menstruating women. Women with a personal or family history of depression or postpartum depression are at greater risk for developing PMDD.

What Causes PMDD?

As with PMS, the exact cause of PMDD is not known. Most researchers, however, believe PMDD is brought about by the hormonal changes related to the menstrual cycle. Recent studies have shown a connection between PMDD and low levels of serotonin, a chemical in the brain that helps transmit nerve signals. Certain brain cells that use serotonin as a messenger are involved in controlling mood, attention, sleep, and pain. Therefore, chronic changes in serotonin levels can lead to PMDD symptoms.

What Are the Symptoms of PMDD?

The symptoms of PMDD can include any of the following:

• Mood swings
• Depressed mood or feelings of hopelessness
• Marked anger, increased interpersonal conflicts
• Tension and anxiety
• Irritability
• Decreased interest in usual activities
• Difficulty concentrating
• Fatigue
• Change in appetite
• Feeling out of control or overwhelmed
• Sleep problems
• Physical problems, such as bloating

Short of going on anti-depressants (none of which have been proven to actually help) the only other ways to treat PMDD are certain kinds of birth control pills (such as the kind I take) and diet and exercise, which as you all know, I do my best at. I'm not perfect, but I like to think that I exercise regularly and I try to eat well most of the time. In short, I'm trying my best. Today it isn't working.
Some studies have show links between low levels of serotonin and PMDD, which doesn't surprise me, seeing as serotonin is your body's own "happy hormone." I am NOT a clinically depressed person. I can say that emphatically. I am normally quite a happy person. I have a lot in my life to be thankful for and a lot of people in my life who love me and bring me joy. But right as I type this, for no reason whatsoever, I want to cry, faint, scream, puke, sleep and just generally not feel a thing. I hurt physically and mentally. I also feel embarrassingly stupid. I can here a simple instruction or sentence and in between my ears and my brain, it gets messed up. Or someone can say something to me and I can hear the words but just not get it. I can't concentrate long enough to tie my shoes. Even now, I'm rambling. Struggling to just be heard. My thoughts are manic and unorganized and I am sure when I go back to read this I will think I sound like a nut job.
I am so tired, but I lay in bed for hours not being able to sleep. Last night for example, I got in bed around midnight, but probably didn't get to sleep until 3am. I woke up at just before 7 and just laid in bed for 2 hours after that trying to sleep. Then I ate, exercised a bit, and basically felt like crap the rest of the day. Poor Trina puts up with me, and I adore her and Gregg so much for it. She had to carry a box of cat litter for me today in Target. I felt like such a wimp but I was near fainting. She said I sounded like I was in pain. This has been my life the past few days.
My body hurts in random places. My nipples, my stomach, my back, the side of my head, something is always in pain. And even if I stay in bed for 13 hours, I am tired almost all the time.
The mood swings are the worst. Sure, given the proper distraction MOST of the time, I can focus on something and even look and act normal for a few hours, provided I don't have to speak much. I can sit there and look normal, just maybe a little quieter, dim and distracted. In my head I am struggling with myself:
"Smile, relax, pay attention, cheer up..."
But when I can't manage this, I feel powerless. I feel afraid. I feel overwhelmed and out of control. I feel like this without cause or provocation and I feel it so intensely I want to collapse. Petty, stupid things that I would normally not even consider become the center of my thought process. I struggle against them and try to tell myself that it will be ok and that it is not a big deal. I have to invalidate my feelings, because I know they are not my own, but the product of hormones. I don't always win this battle. And when I lose, I take it out on the people that deserve it the least. How many times can I apologize and blame "that time of the month" before I permanently push someone away? I can feel the insanity escaping my lips and a voice in my head screaming "Shut up you fool! You don't know what you're saying!"
I struggle with my fears and my inadequacies and I take them out on the people I need the most to calm them. Its kind of a Catch 22: "Please save yourself, but don't leave me, I need you."
Every month, I wonder if by some miracle I am pregnant, despite my birth control pills, because of everything my body goes through. "No one can be this fat, this tired, this nauseated, this achy...something is wrong" but I know its the PMDD.
I know many people, including me, think "Please, its just some really bad PMS. Take a Midol and get over yourself, you lazy, whiny, wimpy, self-indulgent, self-pity having"...you get the idea.
I may read this tomorrow and take it down. Its hard to talk about. But sometimes I just wish people really understood how hard this is for me and people like me.
Imagine your mind and your body rebelling against you for 7-9 days a month and how it would affect your life and your relationships.

For the Guys: What to Get Her for Valentine's Day (even if you're broke or clueless)

Every year, at least 1 of my guy friends will call me in panic over what to do on Valentine's Day. I don't blame them. Advertisers are merciless on men for this holiday. Flower and jewelry adds flood the airwaves, even the Superbowl add time, convincing men that nothing less than expensive flowers or diamonds will do. My Mom was of this school of thought when I was growing up. Every year on Valentine's Day, my Dad was on the hook for a card, dinner, chocolates, jewelry, flowers and perfume, in some combination, if not in mass. Looking back, I don't think she ever gave him anything in return, but rest assured, if the card wasn't Hallmark, if those flowers died to quickly, if the chocolates weren't See's, if the perfume wasn't Givenchy, if the dinner tasted bad and the jewelry wasn't overpriced, she'd let him know. I think its a generational thing. Some women really think Valentine's Day is all about the woman. I disagree.

Ok, now that I'm done scaring you, I will say that the woman you are dating is most likely not as self-centered as my Mom was (and if she is, RUN) and that you won't have it so hard. Don't believe what the adds tell you. Valentine's doesn't have to cost a lot to be good. Remember, its about celebrating your relationship, not going broke. So I'm including some suggestions based on 2 things: what kind of girl she is and how much you have to spend. I promise to be gentle.

To Bling or Not to Bling:
Ah, jewelry. Most women (and I include myself in this statement) love a little sparkle. I will never say no to diamonds, but in the last 2 years, they've gone up in price considerably. Consider the star-shaped diamond pendant I've been eyeing on The Jewelry Exchanges' website for the last few years. In that amount of time, it has tripled in price, causing me to gladly wait until diamond prices fall again to pursue this shiny little bauble. So too should you.
Guys, unless you plan on proposing to her, or you AND your girl have the money to spend, stay out of the jewelry store for Valentine's. It isn't necessary. Besides, how are we girls supposed to come close to that? Short of buying you a video game console (sorry honey, maybe for your birthday) or some really expensive power tools, we can't rise to the level that your gift of jewelry sets the bar at. SO, unless you and your girlfriend are both able and willing to spend a few hundred dollars on a gift, don't feel like you have to buy jewelry. Incidentally, proposing on Valentine's has become a cliche, so save the rock for another day when you will catch her off guard. (No offense to anyone who has gotten engaged on V-Day, as I'm sure lots of people have, which proves my point.)

Stop and Smell the Roses:
Does your girlfriend stop to look at the flowers in the refridgerated section at Vons, or near the entrance at Trader Joe's? Does she tell you when a friend or coworker receives them from their man? Then she, like me, is probably trying to tell you that she would appreciate flowers as a gift. I'll let you in on a little secret: Those flowers they sell at grocery stores are just as appreciated as the flowers you order online, but cost about a third of the price. A rose is a rose you guys. The primary reason we like having flowers delivered to us is so that we can have them on our desks at work, stop and smell them and think about you, and make the other women in the office stop and say "Those are pretty, who sent them to you?" so that we can smile and gloat and say "My guy sent them to me." If your girl works someplace where she has a desk, and if you have the $50 to blow, this is a sure fire winner.
But what if your girlfriend is unemployed, or works someplace where she doesn't have her own workspace? Or, like this year, what if Valentine's isn't on a weekday? Then consider yourselves completely off the hook for flower delivery. After all, where are we supposed to put them?
This doesn't completely absolve you from getting us flowers, just from having to pay for them to be delivered in a pretty vase. Nope, instead, get your butt down to Trader Joe's, Vons, Stater Bros. or some other grocery store that sells flowers and got buy us a $12 rose bouquet and then bring them to us at home. We answer the door, you have flowers in hand, we swoon, you're the best boyfriend ever, done and done. And for under $20.
Also, this technique is also highly effective at getting us to stop being mad at you when you accidentally do or say something thoughtless.

OK, so now that we've dispelled the jewelry and flowers myths, here's some other gift ideas that may be suitable for your girl.

All the better to smell you with:
Does your girl always smell like something? Does she refuse to leave the house without spraying herself with something smelly? Is there a spot in her home covered in little glass bottles of perfume? Does her hand soap, body wash, hand sanitizer, body lotion and body spray all have to be the same smell or she won't use them? If you answered yes to any of these, keep reading.
If you have the $40 to $80 to spend, you may try getting her some perfume. There are 2 schools of thought on how to select one. The first is to pick something that YOU like. And not just the first one you find that doesn't make you flinch, I mean one that you find and say "Wow, that smells really good." Most perfume counters in department stores have women who will gladly help you select a scent based on what you think smells good (I should know, I used to work at a perfume counter). If you really like it, we want to try it. We want you to think we smell yummy.
The other school of thought on this is to select a scent that SHE would like. This can be tricky. To do this, you need to be a little sneaky. Go look at her perfume collection. Write down the names on some of the emptier looking bottles (these are the ones she uses the most) and take the list with you to the department store perfume counter. Any competant perfume counter employee will be able to take this list and find the common element (floral notes, spice notes, clean notes, a particular undertone such as vanilla, etc.) in each perfume and select a new scent that your girl will probably like too based on that criteria.
Don't have $40 to $80 to spend? No worries. Go look at our body wash, body lotion, scented hand soaps or hand sanitizers or scented candles if we have any. I bet you will find they are all the same scent, or that there is a lot of the same kind of scent in each. Find a store such as the Body Shop or Bath and Body Works and for about $25 you can usually get us 4 or 5 things in our favorite smell. Even if we already have this stuff, trust me, we will run out of it and your gift will help replenish it. For even less money, you can usually go to Target or Walmart and find their "knock off" scented body products near where they sell makeup. You can usually get away with spending under $20 if you go this route.

Sweets for the Sweet:
We women are funny. Many of us complain about how fat we are, but then lust after chocolate or some other sweet treat, especially when the hormones start to mess with us. You just have to laugh.
The heart-shaped box of candy at the grocery store is nice, but most of the time, we pick out the ones we like and chuck the rest. Plus, again, the heart-shaped box can get a little old and tired. Hopefully you've been paying attention when we get our sugar fixes on, and if so, read on.
If you wanna go the pricey route (or at least pricey by chocolate standards) go to See's or Godiva or Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory and do a "custom box." Its like picking your 12 donuts in a dozen, only they do it with chocolates. Are we allergic to nuts? Then stay away from the "nut and chew" chocolates. Do we like chocolate and fruit together? Then get the cream filled, fruit filled or truffle chocolates. Do we like chocolate covered strawberries? Then get those. OR, if you can't remember, get us a gift card so we can come back and make our own box. This will run you about $25.
Is she more of an ice cream girl? Cold Stone, Ben & Jerry's, Baskin Robbins, even Thrifty's all sell gift cards. Figure each treat will cost $5 and get her a gift card based on your budget.
Does she always grab the same candy at the movies or at the grocery store? Will she hurt you if you eat all the red Jolly Ranchers?Is she like me and addicted to Swedish Fish? Don't be afraid to get her a big bag or box of her favorite regular candy. She will appreciate the fact that you pay attention to the little stuff she likes, plus it won't cost you a whole lot either.

Dinner for Two:
We've all got to eat, and we all have our favorite restaurants, but have you ever tried to get a table, or even a reservation, at even the crappiest restaurant on Valentine's Day? Everywhere you go to eat, even Denny's, is gonna be crowded. If you insist on taking your girl out on one of the busiest dining days of the year, make your reservation, um, yesterday. Seriously, places begin to book up about 2 weeks in advance, and you do NOT want to just walk in and wait. It will get old fast. Make a reservation or stay home. Seriously.
In order to avoid the crowds and the waiting, in the past I myself have cooked a full meal and even made a guy's favorite dessert for Valentine's Day. It's cheaper than going out, fun and best of all, you don't have to leave a tip. If you know how to cook, or are willing to try, read on.
Ok, so maybe you still burn toast once in a while, or maybe you are a grill master, you're reading this aren't you? That means you can look up recipes on the internet. A lot of them even let you search for recipes by ingredient. Keep it simple. A meat, a veggie and a starch are just fine. Feel free to go buy dessert if you aren't up to baking us something. You can even show off your grill mastery and whip up a steak for us. Either way, we will appreciate the effort and think you are so fricken' thoughtful and cute for it. Don't forget to go to the dollar store and get some cheap little UNSCENTED candles to light the room up with and set the mood. Its supposed to be romantic, remember? Also, remember to check with her, as she may be planning on cooking for you as a gift.

She's a Super Freak:
Does your girl have an undie fetish? Do her bra and panties always have to match? Do her pajamas look like really skimpy silk dresses? Has she ever put on anything for you and made you admire it before removing it? If yes, then read on.
Congratulations. Your girl wants to be your private, personal pin-up girl. She feels empowered playing the part of the sex kitten and loves the look on your face when she reveals her newest lacey purchase. Ah, but the dangerous part about buying lingerie for us is knowing what size to buy. Again, here you will have to be sneaky. Check the laundry or her lingerie drawer and look at the tags on some of her things. Make sure it is something you have seen her in recently so you know it is the size she currently wears. Check at least 1 bra and 1 pair of panties that look like they fit her and that you have seen her in lately and write down the sizes. Take those with you to your local Frederick's of Hollywood or Victoria's Secret, then prepare to spend anywhere from $20 to $100, depending on what you want to get her. A good bra will cost you around $40, sexy panties are anywhere from $5 to $20, a corset or bustier set is anywhere from $20 to $60, thigh highs are around $10, cami and short sets are around $30 and a nightie can be anywhere from $15 to $40. Black is always a safe choice for colors, but her favorite color, or yours, are good bets too.
Sound a bit too expensive? Check the clearance rack of these stores. You can very often find something cute for about half of what it is normally priced at. If you are still feeling sticker shock, take your list to Target or Walmart instead. Though I myself have invested a lot of money into my lingerie collection, a good number of my favorite pieces actually came from these 2 stores. You really can't tell the difference. And, as always, if Freddy's or Vicki's is a bit too intimidating for you, get us a gift card. Be warned though, if you are dating an undercover pinup, chances are she already went out and bought something to wear for you on Valentine's, so a gift card may be a safer option all together.

They're Playing Our Song:
Is your girl surgically attached to her MP3 player? Does her iTunes collection look like a phone book? Does she get mad when she scans the radio stations and can't find a song she likes? Does she get email alerts from Ticket Master? If so, keep reading.
If you want to spoil your little music junkie this year, get her concert tickets to her favorite band or music festival. The concert may be months in the future, but the gift will be appreciated nonetheless. If nothing she would like to see is on sale, get her a Ticket Master or Live Nation gift card. The cost of 2 concert tickets, plus surcharges and fees, can run about $100.
Too rich for your blood? An iTunes or Amazon Music gift card will be just as appreciated. Now she can fill up her computer with even MORE songs that remind her of you.
Are you a software pirate? Do you have a Limewire account? Of course you don't. Downloading music for free is illegal. No one does that. :-) If you are really broke and you happen to know how to download free music, find 8-12 songs that remind you of her and burn them to a CD for her. Bonus points if you make a cool label for the CD with her name on it or a picture of the 2 of you.

Finally, guys, get us a card. They even have cards now that play music when you open them. They are about $5, but if you can find one with a song she likes on it, or something funny, its worth it. You won't be the only dude in the card section looking for a card for your girlfriend, so no worries. Just be sure to actually sign the card before sealing up the envelope. Bonus points for you if you write us something mushy in it. Give it to us with our gift or mail it to us, just get it to us by Valentine's Day.

We love you and we understand you are not rich. Neither are we. Happy Valentine's Day and Good Luck.

Catching up (after being without a laptop for a few weeks)

Right after I got back from South Carolina, I found out my Aunt Nita was coming down from Priest River, Idaho for a visit. I was so excited. I hadn't seen her since right before I got married in January 2004.
Growing up, I used to fantasize that my Aunt was my real Mom, and that someday the family would tell me the truth. Nita and I have always been close. My Grandma always calls her Holly and me Nita. I like to think that I get my courage, my outspokenness, my straight-forwardness and my willingness to try something people tell you girls shouldn't do from her. My Aunt ran away from home at 15 to join a traveling carnival company and just basically get the hell out of here. She didn't come from a very loving family. In fact, she had it pretty rough. Throughout her life, she did things like pump concrete, tend bar, ran with bikers and generally did what she needed to do to get by, but she never treated the world like it owed her anything. She still showed the people close to her love and kindness. When I was little, she taught me how to use a bull whip. When I was a preteen, I used to bum smokes off of her. When I was a teenager, and running with my own bad crowd and struggling with my own demons, she gave me some sage-like advice, because she knew I was gonna do what I was gonna do, she just wanted me to be aware of my surroundings, so to speak. She, like many people, including myself, had a period in her life where she struggled with her own vices, but she pulled herself together long enough to rejoin society and live a mostly normal life, surrounded by friends in a beautiful little town in northern Idaho.
I soon found out the reason for my Aunt's unexpected and unannounced return. She had been diagnosed a year ago with cervical cancer (the same cancer they made me get a biopsy for a year ago) and that it had spread to her lungs and liver. Her friends had pooled their resources to get her a flight down here for a few days so she could visit with my Mom, my Grandmother and myself. When I first found out, I was in shock. Here she was, the woman I always wanted to be my Mom, back in my immediate reach and she's gonna die. It was one of those moments where you can almost feel something, like the snapping of a twig, in your chest, as you feel a piece of your heart break.
Between school and Mock Trial practice, I never seem to have any free time anymore, but I carved out as much of it as I could over the 4 days she was here. She, my Grandma and I went to Red Lobster one day for lunch. The other days I would come over after school at night and we would talk. I could always confide in my Aunt and talk to her about anything, so I took some time to do that. I volunteered to take her back to the airport that Saturday. She made me promise I would fly up there at the end of the semester to visit. I told her I would.
The morning of January 22nd was my Aunt's 52nd birthday and I had planned on printing out some photos, sending them to her along with a card and calling her and telling her Happy Birthday. Earlier in the week, Grandma had said that Nita was in the hospital. Nita had told me before she left that she was going in to have some procedure done, so I wasn't TOO worried. I got to my Dad's that morning to print the photos on his computer. I had just sat down with my cereal when my Dad said to me "Your Aunt Nita passed last night. We didn't want to tell you because you were at school and we didn't want you to be upset when you drove home. I'm so sorry My Girl."
Even as I type this the tears won't stop. It still feels like hearing it over again for the first time. Words can't express how that hurt. It hurt like nothing else that had ever hurt me before, like a whole new hurt. I wasn't really sure how to process it. I'm still not sure.
I knew my Grandma would need me at that moment. I called her and then later went over and watched my Grandma cry for the first time in my life. Nita was her youngest and this day would have been her birthday.
The next few days were a blur. I vacillated between sorrow, anger, fear, resentment, duty, guilt, denial, acceptance, for days. Nita would have wanted me to say "F*** it" and just keep going on with my life, because when her life got hard, as it often did, that's what she did. She sucked it up and dealt with it, even when she got cancer. I can still hear her voice. "Sweetie, you just have to play the cards you are dealt. There's nothing else you can do."
When I needed to cry, I cried. When I needed to be distracted, I had people in my life to distract me, to make me laugh, instead of asking me to talk about how I felt all the time.
As if that wasn't messed up enough, my laptop catches a virus then my cell phone decides to stop holding a charge, so for 2 days I had no cell phone while my warranty replacement phone was in transit. The laptop took a bit longer, since I had to drop it off to my friend Greg to fix and it took several hours of work to do so, but is back up and running in time for me to start my online classes next term.
So that's been my January and the first part of my February. I'm glad its over. Moving forward, I have my first Mock Trial Competition and my return visit to South Carolina at the end of the month to look forward to, so, I guess the old saying is true. "Life goes on..."