Friday, May 30, 2008


Sci-fi. You love it, or you hate it. I personally am on the love/addiction/obsession side.

I was just cut off from Battlestar Galactica by the untimely occurrence of a thunderstorm. Vor has informed me that since all cable is out, it is likely not recording. Frak!

Whoops. Pardon my French. (If you don't get the joke, then you're just not cool like other BSG lovers).

Also, there is Stargate. Any and all versions, whether it is the movie, the two different T.V. series, or any other thing they want to come up with. That's fine with me. I even read Joe Mallozzi's blog, though I admit I just enjoy the pictures of the food and his dogs.

Of course, I approve of the Sci-Fi channel in general.

Star Wars. Oh, Star Wars. I was a fan before they released the episodes and it became cool again to be a fan. I could recite those movies to you. My mother once asked me what the fifth word of Empire Strikes Back was. It's "seven" in case you were wondering. (As in "Echo Three to Echo Seven. Han, old buddy, do you read me?") My nephew, aptly named Jedi on this blog, has taken after his Auntie Grace, has his room decked out in a space theme, and can recite all the Star Wars movies to you, including the Clone Wars video game. I can't wait until he's old enough to give him the Star Wars books.

I have Star Wars ornaments. Vor has Star Trek ornaments. We actually might need to get a Christmas tree just to put our sci-fi ornaments on.

If that isn't love/addiction, I don't know what is.

Blogging in the Rain

Currently, our street is a river.

No, not as a result of some global climate life altering earth changing event. Unless that's how you routinely define a massive thunderstorm with a side order of tornadoes.

I keep asking Vor if we should go into the basement, and he continues to think I'm nuts (he's right--we haven't had any evidence of tornado touch downs near us).

I am just ceaselessly impressed by the fact that our street has a current, and waves. Now its creeping up into the driveway, and soon it will make its way over the curb and into our front yard. To give you an idea of how impressive this really is, there are people parked on the street whose hubcaps are in the water, and it is rising.

And cable went out in the middle of my show. ACK!

This reminds me of the time well one of the man times, but certainly one of the more memorable times) that my parent's basement flooded. I wanted to go swimming in the basement, but my parents, with years of wisdom and experience, knew where that water had come from and refused. However, the dog forgot to ask my parents whether he could take a drink.

He made such a mess in the living room my mom had to call a professional cleaner.

Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Hey Mr. Postman!

Is there a message in your bag for---BANG! Jekyll the dog hits the door and barks at the mailman. The mailman freezes.

Hey, Mr. Postman! Seriously! I need that message in your bag for me. Don't run away!

I'm not kidding either. The mailman was poised on the verge of flight, having locked eyes with Jekyll. Never mind that Jekyll would hold a flashlight for a burglar. It's the fact that Jekyll has a deep, scary bark--it's what I like to call a "sub-woofer."

Ha, ha. I am hilarious. Anyways.

The mailman thought fast about running once I appeared in the door. Guess he didn't want to appear wimpy in the eyes of the female in the business suit. But, actually, his next move was pure genius--he pulled out a dog biscuit and slipped it through the mail slot. Jekyll picked it up and ate it.

Now, he can't wait for mailman to come. I can just hear him changing the lyrics of the song to, "Is there a biscuit in that bag for me?"


When's the last time you had a tetanus shot? Huh? Huh? 'Cause I bet I know my last two dates better than you.

Oh wait, that's because one of them was yesterday.

On lovely, sunny Memorial Day, I was blissfully cleaning the new house and doing some laundry. Sounds boring, but everything is fun when it takes place in a new house. Prior to moving in, Vor and I both swept the basement, to clear out any rusty nails or screws.

Guess I missed one. ::Looks down awkwardly::

Not only did I step on a screw, it landed in the softest, most vulnerable part of my foot. At that moment, the words that came out of my mouth would have made my Uncle Sub, a former sailor, proud. After Vor helped me upstairs and we determined that yes, it had broken the skin, you know what he said? "There's a reason why the bottoms of the feet are the subject of torture."

Thanks. I think I figured that out on my own.

The first thing I did after I could walk again was get a pair of slip on Crocs. They're sitting at the top of the basement stairs.

Monday, May 26, 2008

You want me to be...what?

Social? You want me to socialize?

Sheesh. You'd think I was entering the professional world, and that my husband to be was already in the same professional world. You'd think we have to network. To socialize.

Oh, wait. We are. And we do.

So that was this weekend. We decided to try mixing friend groups this weekend, and I had some of my friends over (Vintage and Velvet) and Vor had two of his friends over. That was fun. Our first experience at entertaining. Then we had a party that involved people from our professional spheres. That was fun as well. Then we had a party at his Mom's house. Great food, and again, fun.

How did I end up over-socialized if I was having fun?

Sometimes I feel like the little kid who gets over-stimulated and needs to go sit in a quiet room for awhile.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Caught Red Handed.

Devil Dog strikes again!

I called to Devil Dog this morning after Vor left, to let Devil Dog know I was still in the house. Shortly thereafter, I heard the faint tearing of paper, and I thought to myself, No. He wouldn't. Not while people are still in the house.

Yeah. He did. When I walked in the room, he look terrified. He knew he was a bad dog.

Vor has suggested to me that Devil Dog is not an appropriate name to give the precious pooch. It's true. Most of the time, our beloved animal is sweet, loving, and simply sleeps, curled up on our sun porch, though perhaps with one eye open to watch the world go by. It's just those moments where he acts like this--those moments are much for fun to write about. Vor thinks a better name would be Jekyll; you know, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Great guy most of the time, crazy psycho for a small bit. It's true. That is a better name.

Henceforth, Devil Dog shall be known as Jekyll.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Secret's Out

No one knew about this blog, until I 'fessed up.

Hi Vor. This is my journal. This is my rope over the writer's block wall.

Small Victories

If we don't measure the small ones, then there is rarely anything to measure.

Our house is almost set up, I am ready to start working, Vor is starting bar classes, and we are happy. There was a much needed clearing of the air between families members, I am excited for this weekend, and I have great friends.

When I look at these small victories, they seem like large ones.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Hurt Me

It really shouldn't come as a surprise that when you grow up, you enter the real world, and you have the work out and on the adult relationships in your life. And you have to deal with those pesky adult responsibilities. Yet, every once in a while, it hits me like a brick. This has been one of those weeks that sometimes you wish had never happened.

Issues of faith and religion are always going to be difficult, even when you were raised with the same ones, in the same family. No matter how much law and scripture your church hands out, there's always interpretation, and those infuriating independent thoughts that slip through the cracks. And this, this isn't even a matter of interpretation. This is just a plain determination to impose an interpretation.

Discussion is one thing; cruelty is another. Saying, I just can't talk about this right now, and we need to talk later is very different from hanging up the phone. Actually, the cruelty I can deal with. Not very well, because it's hurtful to hear it, but I can work through a moment of lapsed judgment, when those words just come right out.

I can't deal with the hanging up part. I don't live in Buffalo anymore. I live in Indianapolis. My relationship with my family is essentially a long distance relationship. Long distance relationship don't work if one of the people in it just hangs up on the other when things gets rough. Fortunately, for this past week, I've been in Buffalo, so I can go stand on someone's porch until they can't ignore me ringing the doorbell anymore. But those chances are few and far between.

I'm almost twenty four years old. I'm the baby of the family. And I'm tired of always taking the first steps towards making things better once again.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Time in a Bottle

Have you seen those allergy commercials? The ones that talk about time in a bottle?

They're true. They ARE NOT KIDDING. I personally don't think it matters what allergy medicine it is, it is time in a bottle. I just wish I hadn't fought the magic for so many years. I was all, "No, I don't even take Tylenol, what on Earth makes you think I would take a Claritin?" But I have awakened. I have seen the light, and brothers and sister, it is a beautiful day outside!

I know I sound ridiculous. But you don't understand. We first figured out that I had allergies when our dog died my freshman year of high school, and my persistent cough-runny nose-red eyes magically went away. Needless to say, we promptly got another dog.

Then I moved to Indiana. Oh. My. God. Corn fields, HARVESTING, pollen, it was like my own personal hell had descended to Earth and sat itself at my bistro table on the porch. Still I suffered in silence (well, sometimes not so silently). And then, miracle of miracles, this week, I am standing in my sister's kitchen, doing my wheezing thing, and she slams the damn allergy medicine down in front of me, and gives me the look that she has perfected. And I took one. And suddenly, I didn't have to search for tissues, or eye drops, or sneeze, or feel woozy, or have to go in and sleep because the powerful pollen was taking me over.

I am here to tell you, if you have allergies, take the damn pill.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Meet Grace.

Hi! ::waves madly::

No, my real name is not Grace. Sorry. Though, it is part of my name, and a nickname for me, used only by five people in my real-time life. I'm from Buffalo, the land of snow, ice, and chicken wings hot enough to melt the first two things. And if you're mentally translating chicken wings into "buffalo wings" then you're kidding yourself that you've ever had a chicken wing.

I knew I needed to leave Buffalo for law school when one of my college room mates looked at me and said, "NO WAY. I am not letting you go to U.B. (University of Buffalo) for law school." I love Buffalo, but I think it tends to suck you in. It's hard to leave, and easy to come back, so its much easier to just stay in the first place. Therefore, I left.

After various unsuccessful relationships (though some became very successful friendships) I found Vor through friends. After several entertaining scandals and more drama than I am used to, we started dating. And, so, we are poised to be married in about three months.

My sister and brother are both older than me--I was a bit of a surprise. My sister, Scrappy, is married to Prankster Dentist, or for short, PD. They have four fabulous children, Prada, Scout, Jeter, and Jedi. My brother, Pilot, is married to Tuscon, with Blossom, Brick, and bringing up the end of the niece and nephew train, Squeaker. My mom told me that she wants three grandchildren out of me, that way she could have an even ten. Vor told her that we could have one, and she would have an even eight. I'm not sure she thought this was funny.

I love rowing, volleyball, swimming, and walking. If I could, I would do all of these with my nose in a book.

This is probably the most specific thing I will tell you. I am (was--but am, this is something you never really give up) a synchronized swimmer. Yeah, go ahead and laugh. I can drown you and keep you company underwater while I do it. Over the years, I have competed on national and collegiate D-1 levels, with some truly amazing people. Competitiveness is in my blood; in my family, we are pretty sure it is a gene. Even my oldest niece, Prada, who claims to have no inclination towards sports, is the most competitive shopper I have ever seen. Although I'm not swimming anymore, it has touched my life just as profoundly as merely being born has. Ask anyone who is a competitive synchronized swimmer. It creates, molds, and defines you, long after you leave the glitter and chlorine behind.

Truth be told, I went to law school because it was either that, grad school, or back to the retail shop I had worked at for four years. Grad school was out, because I had no interest in being a professor. I was pretty sure that if I stayed at the retail store one more moment, a regular customer was going to be missing a limb. (I was in a mechanic type business with repeat customers. Try being a girl in a mechanic business.) So, law school it was. As soon as I entered law school, I felt out of place, but my first summer helped me find a purpose--public interest and child advocacy. And I'm decent at it. And I love my job.

I love to cook, but I am a feminist. I am a feminist, but not in bra-burning extremist way. I love wine, but I don't like drinking. I love dancing with my friends, but I'm not a fan of clubs or loud music. What I'm trying to say is that I know the value of compromising.

Enough. Seeing so much of me on "paper" make me want to hit the delete key, so I better post this before I change my mind.

Sunday, May 11, 2008


P.S.--Prior to the Granola Bar Incident with Devil Dog, we had already learned that he needed to eat eight pounds of chocolate before he was in any trouble.


Meet Devil Dog.

I know it is strange to introduce you to Devil Dog before I introduce you to Vor, my fiancee and very soon to be husband, but there are some overlaps. (I love you dear, and Devil Dog is a wonderful puppy).

Devil Dog is an eleven year old Golden Retriever who has anxiety attacks, obsessive compulsive disorder, and attachment/dependency issues. Goldens are the best adapted parasite ever--any other being, human, animal, or otherwise, would have been kicked out the door long ago, but Devil Dog is so damn cute.

Devil Dog is the neutered son of Abby and Bubbah, Abby being Vor's family's dog. So Devil Dog has been in the family since birth, and believes himself to be somewhere far above all other dogs, and slightly below humans.

Now, I am not kidding about all of his disorders. One of them that I did not mention are Devil Dog's abandonment issues. When Vor leaves the house, Devil Dog gets very angry. VERY. In his half hour of rage (we're pretty sure he forgets after a half hour and just sleeps the rest of the time he is alone) if he does not have a chewie, only God knows what he will chew.

My personal favorite, and Vor's least favorite, incident is the Granola Bar Incident. Our friends came to visit us, and left several boxes of granola bars on the ground, in a bag, in another bag. Devil Dog, upon being left, proceeded to eat all the chocolate covered granola bars, which numbered twenty-four (24, people, 24 chocolate covered granola bars!). Then he moved onto the Nature's Valley granola bars, which are more healthy.

He ate one. That's a grand total of twenty-five granola bars.

When we came home, his tummy was bulging out on either side of him. I would like to think he regretted his decision, but that would imply that he remembered making the decision, and not just, "Wow, my tummy hurts. I hope Vor gets home soon. Where is he! I'm angry he's not here! I must chew something!"

We saw purple and foil Quaker Oats wrappers for days afterwards. I haven't eaten a granola bar for a year.

The Entry With No Title.

This is a blog entry on how I don't want to write one.

It's been a lazy Mother's Day, and I would like to continue to be lazy and law on the couch and watch movie with my mother. I just want tot take a shower and go to bed. Yet, that just will not do.

I need to write. Must. Keep. Going. Somehow, I will break through this two year slump and remember how much I enjoyed the writing, the release, the creativity.

Has anyone else noticed their profession ruining their enjoyment of TV shows? For example, if you're a med student, do you HATE Grey's Anatomy, though once you vaguely enjoyed it? I can't handle Law&Order anymore, and even watching movies with legal issues in them drives me bonkers. Weird.

I'm missing Vor. He's coming on Wednesday, complete with Devil Dog.

I have nothing else for you.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Takes Your Breath Away

I had to do a bunch of things for the wedding yesterday. I'm back in Buffalo, exams are done, and it is time to get serious about the biggest party of my life.

So I called the florist for an appointment, the priest, the reception hall, the photographer...oh wait, I still need to call him. I had a hair appointment to figure out how to deal with my mass of waves and curls, and miraculously, I found my shoes.

A moment for the shoes--I don't do heels. I am a sneakers and flip flops kind of gal. So this process of finding shoes has been painful (literally). I pull out flats, and my mom/sister/niece/friend rolls her eyes. I pull out white Sketchers sneakers, and they take them away from me (I bought those anyways). Everything I tried on was too high, too small, or had no back. And then I found these--amazingly, by a designer called Grace, how appropriate--and they were comfy and only fifteen dollars. Perfect. The Battle for the Shoes was over.

So I bebopped home, dragged my mom out of the garden, and tried on my dress with my shoes and my earrings. And my mom starting crying.

"What?" I asked anxiously. "Is it the shoes? I can take them back. Or I can get a different hairstyle. It's okay!" My mom sniffed some more. "No," she said, "you just take my breath away."

I was such a sweet moment that I didn't want to tell her the dress was literally taking my breath away. Exam time always packs more weight onto me, and so, it is time to shed the exam and stress pounds.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008


Yeah, that's me. I told you all about how I was keeping this blog to get back into writing. And then I left you for weeks. Except no one reads this! So it hardly matters... but these things happen when there is no accountability.

Is it wrong of me to say I can't write, and then post something I wrote? Is that contradictory? Actually, more importantly, if I post something I wrote, will someone rip it off and claim it as their own? I mean, I will have the scribbles from when my writing was being created, but how would I prove it?

And now that I think about it, that's pretty arrogant. That's all assuming anyone would think it was good enough to steal. So here goes:

Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, hypocrites are too.

Whoops! Meant to type out the other one. Maybe later.

My Friends Are Better Than Yours.

Sorry. That's just the way it is.

I had a horrible day. I had to drive an hour and a half as Vor drove back up to Michigan to finish our respective packing problems. I couldn't seem to keep my brain straight, and I forgot, in various stages, things I needed to do, and what I needed to have with me. Which really covers quite a bit of ground when you think about it.

After driving the hour and a half back up to our new house, I discover that the garbage cans, which Vor so diligently put out that morning, were left untouched by the garbage men. Apparently, even they did not want to try to life those. When I tried to drag them back into the drive way and behind the garage, I discovered three things.

1. I am not as strong as I used to be when I was a swimmer and rower. Yes, I still go to the gym, and yes, I lift the weights, but it really just doesn't compare to the intensity of college sports.
2. I was exhausted from effectively moving for three straight days. My back and my knees were at their limit.
3. The garbage men were right. These things were too damn heavy.

So I stood on the end of my driveway, conquered by the garbage cans, having a meltdown. The kind of meltdown that involves crocodile tears. Apparently, I have a kind neighbor named Bob, who helped me drag them back up the driveway.

Anyways. It was a bad day, and I was supposed to go out with my friends to celebrate the end of finals. I hemed and hawed, and finally made myself go.

When I was let into the apartment, they all jumped out--surprise!!! Bachelorette Party!

They went all out, ridiculous t-shirt, bedazzled cups, sash, cake, lingerie, and gift card. It really was too much, and it was wonderful. And so, we went out, like all good bachelorettes do.

Yes, this sounds run of the mill. But I have never been good at making friends, and keeping them. I'm sure it runs in line with other deep seated insecurities I have, but it's always been a problem. I can't count the number of time I made friends in undergrad, only to alienate them when I felt they were too close, or they knew too much about me. Finally, my junior year, I had done it yet again, and I saw the pattern. When I needed something to change in my life, I went about it in the most extreme way--I shed everything, including friends. Clearly, not the way to go.

I promised myself I wouldn't do this in lawschool. However, I know I certainly have tried that little trick of mine; I just can't stop myself. Now, I am blessed with friends who don't put up with that; who track me down and say "Avoiding me much?" And I laugh, and it's all better. For some reason, these friends know me on a level that no one else does. And I am blessed.

Vor was looking at the huge bedazzled margarita glass and jokingly said "Well, you cup certainly runth over." I just smiled, and said, "With my friends, it certainly does."