Yep. I'm 40. Just happened the other day. 40. Years. Old.
I sure don't feel 40. For a lot of reasons. Here are some of them in no particular order.
I don't feel 40 because I went to law school in my 30's, and a lot of my law school friends are on average 8 years or so younger than me.
I don't feel 40 because because I just got married 2 years ago. Wasn't I supposed to do that 10 years ago or so?
I don't feel 40 because I still go commando, like, most of the time.
I don't feel 40 because I don't look 40.
I don't feel 40 because all the moms around me at the toddler playgrounds are 30ish.
I don't feel 40 because I DON'T HAVE MY SHIT TOGETHER AND 40 YEAR OLDS HAVE THEIR SHIT TOGETHER!!!!!!!!!!!!
I don't feel 40 because I still like ramen noodles. A lot.
I don't feel 40 because I swear a lot.
i feel forty because my back hurts a lot sometimes for no good reason
i feel forty because i worry about dying
i feel forty because i can't day drink anymore
i feel forty because sometimes when i try on clothes i ask myself if it looks like i'm "trying too hard" to look twenty
i feel forty because the most expenisve product i have is anti-wrinkle cream
i feel forty because i don't know who the fuck anyone is in people magazine anymore
My husband asked what I wanted for my birthday this year. I said a flash mob. He said no. He did throw me a very nice surprise party, though, took me to the theatre, and gave me a pretty blue box, containing pretty fancy jewelry. All in all a pretty spectacular weekend.
I try to get past the whole number thing. I really do. And to everyone who says, "It's just a number", well that's true. It is just a number, but it's a number with weight.
And back fat.
Hello Blog! It's nice to see you! I can't believe it's been a year and a half! I've actually been back to read you a lot lately. I've gone over a lot of old things that I've written here, and I have to say, I was pretty fucking funny at times. I choose to re-read those a lot more than the ones where I was boring and stupid.
I really don't know how people keep up with writing when they have babies and jobs and stuff. It really is a discipline, and, I of course am not disciplined at all. But I do like writing. And I miss it.
I guess a small life update is in order. My little guy G is doing really well. Not gonna lie, he can be quite a dick. He's 2 and a half, and he can be a boundary pushing asshat. He walked up to me the other day and said "Sorry mommy I throw your phone in the potty." He also loves to dump over cups with liquid in them. But other than that, which I've been told is fairly normal, he's really amazing. He loves trucks. Like, a real real lot.
Work is awesome, but very different than it was a couple of years ago. Just recently I got promoted to a new assignment, and it's fascinating, and freaky, and dramatic, and sad, and thrilling. The hours are crazy and long, and I regularly have to talk to people who are covered in blood. Sometimes their blood, sometimes someone else's. It makes me fucking NUTS that I can't write about it. One of the benefits is every once in a while I have a couple of days off in the middle of the week, where G is at school, and Husband is at work, and I have the whole house to myself. Like today. I'd like to say I've used that time really productively, but that would be a huge lie. Lots of coverage of the Jodi Arias trial, Dance Moms, and Law and Order marathons. I also eat ramen noodles for breakfast a lot on days like today. Don't know why. Oh yeah I do. Because they are delicious.
But it did get me thinking about writing on this blog again. We'll see how it goes. I do have some stories to share...
It's back! Stolen Lines is being hosted by the always lovely and clever Daisy.
The line is: After hanging up the phone, I stood for awhile looking out my window and wondering if I should have told him no. End your post with “I stole this line from page 220 of Rules of Civility by Amor Towles”
You know who you are. You are the only anonymous commenter who commented on my post before last, with the always creative critique "Yawwwwwn"
Dude! At first I just rolled my eyes, thinking, well, big shock... Mr. (or Ms.) Anonymous never really quits. And that was that.
But then actually, I got annoyed. At MYSELF! Anonymous, you are right! I've definitely been having a rough time coming up with something to write about. And it is kinda sad. And I have been a little boring...But what can I say? I'm stuck.
So, Anonymous... tell me... What do YOU want me to write about? Give me a topic. I'll write about anything you say as long as it's something I know something about. If I'm so fucking boring, give me a clue. HELP ME HELP YOU BE ENTERTAINED. The one thing I won't write about is work, and I won't reveal my real identity. I like my job more than I like this blog. But anything else? You name it, I'll write about it.
Ok. Go... And I won't hold my breath waiting for a response.
PS. What the hell, this invitation is open to anyone. Not just bitchy anonymous commenters.
I'm not really ready to start writing again, but I was looking for an old blog that I used to write on, and it was just gone. Like, it disappeared, and I was told that if you don't write, then Blogger just throws your blog away like a cheap hooker. And I would be really disappointed if that happened to this blog. Also I feel like if I am writing while watching "Dance Moms" then it's sorta like I'm not really watching "Dance Moms." At least I can't be held accountable for it. Like, if my husband comes home and asks why the fuck I'm watching "Dance Moms" I can act all horrified, and be all "oh my god, i can't even believe THAT'S on! I was blogging and totally not paying attention. 'Dance Moms?' Eww!!!!"
And yes. I said husband. I'm a married lady. My husband is awesome. We got married in April in a beautiful place surrounded by beautiful people who love us. Literally the best day of my entire life. Here are some pictures of some of it...
Afterwards, there was this...
Playa Mujeres. Un-fucking-believable.
And of course, the only pictures that really matter...
Tonight, I'm home alone. The baby is asleep. I'm on the couch watching Big Love. I am supposed to be planning a wedding right now. But, alas... I am not that girl who finds wedding planning fun. I think it kind of blows, actually. Don't get me wrong, I am very much looking forward to the wedding, and the honeymoon! I just can't get all worked up about the fucking flowers and runners, and blah blah blah... I'm just not that girl. It's really fucking boring.
My little dude is already 7 months old. He's really awesome. He sits up by himself, and smiles all the time. And he has two cute little teeth.
Hoping I'll post more stuff later. I miss blogging, but of course... I've been saying that for a year. Maybe I'll just start by posting baby pictures, and see what happens from there...
By the way, to the anonymous blogger who called me a slut in my last post? Go fuck your cat.
Hi to the two people who are still checking in on my blog! It's been a long time!
So everything is good. Baby G is ridiculously awesome, and my maternity leave is ending soon. As such, I thought I'd try to start writing again. I might, and I might not.
But assuming I do continue writing, I definitely think my blog is in need of a fresh new look. So I'm working on that.
Obviously, a lot has changed in the last year of my life. Like my boobs. Speaking of my boobs, I was admiring them in the shower today, and shot myself in the eye with breast milk. They sort of lost their allure to me after that.
Besides my boobs, everything else has changed, too. Profound huge awesome crazy kick ass overwhelming changes.
The problem with writing about it is I always try to write about the forest of the last year of my life, rather than each awesome tree.
I'm going to try and figure it out though, because there are definitely some stories I want to tell. But, alas... the glorious little one is crying, so I must go for now.
They are all born on the day that (HOPEFULLY) our son will make his late appearance.
Today is my last day (HOPEFULLY) being pregnant. They are inducing labor tomorrow morning bright and early. I suppose there's a chance that this could stretch out until the third of July. After all, nothing else about this pregnancy has been exactly timely.
I really didn't want to have him induced, but after the doctors looked at the ultrasound, they decided that it would probably be in his best interest to do it. I didn't initially plan on publicizing his ultrasound pictures, but this one is just too good, so if you want to see it, here it is...
Anyway, my doctor also told me that based on the positioning of the baby, and my own body, there's a good possibility we're going to be in for a very long ride. Whatever. I'm not scared.
The hospital does have wi-fi so maybe I'll update, but I make no promises. I have decided that even though I remain anonymous, I'll probably post a picture of the little one. Just because all babies pretty much look the same.
So have a great 4th of July weekend! Don't get drunk and drive a car.
I took a moment to look at my Sitemeter, and sure as shit, I was reminded that the bar exam is approaching. Here you go...please...listen to me.
Dear All Bar Exam Takers Everywhere,
Calm the FUCK DOWN.
Did you hear me? I'll say it again.
Calm the FUCK DOWN.
And maybe one final time... CALM THE FUCK DOWN.
Ok? Here's how I know a decent number of you are freaking out. In case you don't know, Sitemeter is this little tool that tells me who comes to my blog, and how they find my blog. Here are some of the searches that have led people to me:
"Bar Exam" & "Freaking out" "Bar Exam Tips" "I'm going to fail the bar exam" "Bar Exam" & "want to die" "Bar Exam" & "I'm a loser" "Bar Exam" & "want to set myself on fire" "Advice to those who failed the bar exam" "Bar exam" & "can't stop crying"
Ok. Seriously. You need to chill out. I know that's totally unfair of me to say, because when I was studying for the bar, I asked my friend to hit me with his car, not hard enough to kill me, but just hard enough that I wouldn't have to take the bar exam. And I actually thought this was a reasonable request. So I get it. But he told me to calm the fuck down, and I did. And it helped.
I am in no position to offer actual tips on how to pass the bar, because quite frankly, I have no idea how I did it.
Here are just a few things I want to remind you of, even though I know you probably already know this.
Just because someone has all their barbri books tabbed and color coded, organized perfectly, with correlating colored flash cards, does not mean they are in a better position to pass the bar. This is not a method of learning. It's a method of feeling in control. It may not be your way. That's fine.
Most of you will pass.
Everyone feels the exact same way as you do.
Stop feeling guilty every time you catch yourself not studying. You need to take a break.
While I appreciate you reading my blog, YOU WILL FIND NO NEW INFORMATION ABOUT THE BAR BY GOOGLING "BAR EXAM" & "FREAKING OUT"
Right now, walk away from the computer. Take a breath. Take a walk. Have a drink. Have a smoke. Go have sex. Do something ELSE. The fact that you are googling the things you are googling to bring you to my blog is clearly a sign that you need to calm the FUCK DOWN, and take a break.
Yep. Still pregnant. My baby is officially a mope. Please note, I have graduated from watermelon to pumpkin.
And I am so fucking bored. And the phone starts ringing at about 8:30 every morning with people asking if there's any news. WELL, THERE'S NOT.
On my Facebook page, all these people have listed their own little tips for having the little guy show up. They include:
Going to see a bad movie Pineapple listening to loud music Kentucky Fried Chicken Walking Black Cohosh Tea (whatever the fuck that is) Taking a bath Drinking some wine Being patient Spicy Foods Sex Eggplant Parmesan Beets
If the baby doesn't come today, tomorrow, I shall do them ALL. I'll let you know how it goes.
Oh, and Scott Rose?? I got my iphone after I dropped my Blackberry in the bathtub while texting. Are you turned on???
Although I promised myself I would not be the person to offer unwanted advice to pregnant people, if you're Googling my blog and got to this page, you were likely Googling "pregnancy advice", anyway. And if you were just visiting my blog, because that's what you sometimes do, this won't affect your life anyway. Either way, YOU came to ME so it's hardly like the random woman in the elevator who told me about shitting myself while in labor, or the male attorney extolling the virtues of perineal massage*.
I can't offer a lot. Because I don't know a lot, but I figured I'd write down a couple of things that I found helpful. I'll do this every once in a while as I remember them. So here are my first two tidbits:
1. Don't look at the scale when you get weighed at the doctor's office. Why? It's just going to make you feel bad, even though logically you know you shouldn't be bothered. If you're a young American woman, any time the scale goes up for ANY reason, it's going to fuck with your head. So why do that to yourself? Your doctor WILL tell you if your weight is a problem. So let it go.
2. Stop eating asparagus around week 36. You have to give WAY too many urine samples. It's just rude.
*It's the taint, ok? I don't want to discuss this any further ever again.
This is the month I become a parent. I wish I had more to report, but really that's all that's been going on.
I've had two baby showers. A third is scheduled for this weekend. Quite frankly, one would have been enough. But whatever. There was our actual friends and family shower, my work shower, and my fiance's (yes I said fiance) work shower.
We now have a crap load of baby stuff. And it really is all pretty cute.
Oddly, I'm not really that scared. I think I'm going to pretty good at this. And I know the fiance will be awesome.
I am scared of a few things regarding labor and delivery, though. Oh, and by the way I'm not scared of grossing anyone out, so if you're easily grossed out, feel free to stop reading right here.
It seems like an obvious thing, but whether or not you're actually in labor is not always that clear cut. It's not like in the movies, where you hear a big splash, look down to see a bucket worth of water on the ground, and that's your clue to to get your ass to the hospital. But then, how DO you know? Well, there a couple of ways. One, you start having contractions, I guess. But only the CORRECT kind of contractions. How do you know if they're the correct kind of contractions? I, of course, asked that question. My doctor looked at me like I'm the dumbest bitch with a uterus and said, "Oh, you'll know." Well. THANK you and fuck you. They clearly don't know what a dumbass I am. Maybe I won't know.
This is what brought me to Google, which my doctor had previously banned me from using for all pregnancy related topics. Well, fuck her, if she can't tell me how I'm gonna know if I'm going into labor, I need someone to do it. And google taught me the two most disgusting phrases in the English language. Are you ready?
The problem with waiting for so long to write, is then there's so much to say, and it's hard to pick just one thing. Not to mention, according to the Artful Blogger, I've lost my edge. Whatever. He's sorta right.
ANYWAY, in less than 2 months, I'm having a baby. That's a pretty crazy reality. I'm totally not ready for it, but that doesn't really freak me out. I also have no idea how to handle a newborn. Sometimes that doesn't freak me out. Today it doesn't freak me out. Today I am too busy being freaked out by other things.
15 years ago this week, a dude by the name of Timothy McVeigh blew up the Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City. He killed something like 160 people, which was, until 9/11/01, the largest act of domestic terrorism the US had ever seen. He was a real asshole.
11 years ago this week, two dudes, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, walked into Columbine High School, where they were both seniors, and shot a bunch of people, wounding 20 something people and killing 13. They complained that they were bullied and unpopular. So they killed people. Also, huge assholes.
As I annually like to point out, April is National Sexual Assault Awareness Month. A whole month dedicated to the awareness of sexual assault is necessary because the fact is, a lot of sexual assaults happen every year. And every last one of them? Committed by assholes.
April is also National Poetry Month. Who writes poetry? You guessed it. Assholes.
Naturally, now I turn the point of this post back to myself. Or, more specifically, my unborn son.
What if HE'S an asshole? I'm not kidding. My brother is an asshole. My sister is an asshole. I'm sort of an asshole, although charming in my own right. We're not criminals by any means, but it's not completely unfathomable to think there's a possibility that my son could be an asshole!
Now, before you all say, "Oh Grace, you'll teach him right from wrong! You'll look for the signs that he is building bombs in the bathroom! You'll teach him to respect women! You'll explain to him what writing sonnets will do to his soul! You will teach by example" Well, of course I will. I will do all those things a million times over, but we can't just assume that will be enough to guarantee our children won't be rapists, murderers or poets. I'm sure the Harris, Klebold and McVeigh families didn't condone violence. I'm sure that lots of mothers and fathers taught their sons the horrors of sexual assault, and the need to learn to respect women, only to visit their son in Statesville Correctional Facility for rape.
That's kinda terrifying. How the fuck do the rest of you deal with that? I really want to know.
In case I haven't mentioned it before, my knockers are OUT OF THIS WORLD.
I'm 24 weeks, as of yesterday. You would THINK that means that I am 6 months pregnant, wouldn't you? Well, guess what? IT DOESN'T! And apparently, the fact that I rely on a little thing called math, makes me the stupidest pregnant lady in the history of life. I am actually due on June 23. Which means that I am clearly LESS than 24 weeks. I'm actually only a little more than 5 months pregnant. How very scientific and mathy of the pregnancy people! So here's a question to the people who have previously been pregnant:
When people ask me how far along I am, which number do I give them? The real number that my lawyer mind came up with using basic third grade math, OR THE LIE PERPETUATED BY THE DOCTOR?
For the most part, pregnancy has been easy. Both physically and mentally. With the exception of two fits of crying, it's actually been pretty good. Pregnancy has been like a big fat happy pill. Probably why I haven't been writing that much. I don't know how to write happy thoughts. And quite frankly, they don't really interest me. Don't get me wrong, living a happy life interests me, but writing about one takes some getting used to. It's like it's someone else's voice.
I DEFINITELY look pregnant.
Every once in a while, I have a glass of wine. Like, maybe once a week or so. But just one. I don't care how this sounds, but I CANNOT WAIT to have like 4 martinis. And seriously. I do not care AT ALL how that sounds. 4 extra dirty vodka martinis with blue cheese stuffed olives.
Obviously, I work with a lot of police officers. I put them on the witness stand or interview them nearly every single day. Well it seems like ALL of the male officer's wives are pregnant too. So I find myself with these huge buff men in uniforms and guns, getting advice on nipple chafing. It's sort of surreal and funny and uncomfortable.
Ditto with judges. And other attorneys. And even defendants! In fact, it seems like being pregnant gives anyone and everyone a license to be wildly inappropriate with their opinions, and comments regarding baby names, my size, what I am eating/drinking, the gross things that happen during labor, etc...
We're moving into our new condo in 3 weeks. And I AM DYING to tell you all who we bought the condo from, because if you have been following my blog for a LONG time, you would find it amusing. ANYWAY, the house is already set up with a beautiful nursery for a baby boy, and it's just all around a gorgeous place.
Last weekend, we went to Babies R Us to register for baby stuff. We clearly weren't ready for such a venture. We were there for a couple of hours, and managed to register for $5.oo worth of hangers for baby clothes. That's all. So again, previously pregnant people, anything you would add to your registry? Let's try to avoid overuse of the word nipple in any descriptions of things you'd suggest in the breastfeeding equipment department, shall we?
"You're a MILP now, biotch." -Butterflyfish. For those of you not in the know, Butterflyfish is a fantastic blog, from a fantastic writer, lawyer, and Mom. Actually, I don't really know how she is as a lawyer or a mother. For all I know, she could have ARDC complaints up the hoohaa, and DCFS on her ass, but I kinda doubt it. And I do love her writing. Anyway, according to her, I'm a MILP now. As in Mothers in Law Practice. I think technically I am a Pre-Milp, but whatevs. She called me biotch. So I do what she says. Maybe I should consider writing something legally related. Yeah. I've actually been meaning to do that for some time.
A big thanks to all for the name suggestions. I don't want to say which name it is, but we've narrowed it down to three names, and one of them was suggested by a reader, so... we'll see.
Ok, I am off to watch Survivor: Heroes v, Villains. Don't judge me.