Wednesday, September 30, 2009


This *@#$ dog.

I took Telly for a walk. Right before this walk, I was thinking kind, warm, lovely thoughts about him. I was even thinking, you know, I should tell people to get dogs. The housebreaking horror ends quickly, and then they are fun and sweet.

I walked Telly to the park two blocks away, left the lead on, and threw a tennis ball a few feet away for him to go fetch. I could easily grab the leash; it was never far from my feet. This went swimmingly for a few times, until Telly grabbed the ball, faked right, dodged left, and WOOSH, went flying by me, ball in mouth.

A runner in the park tried to catch as I booked after him, but even sprinting, neither of us could get there. The dog is like lightning now! My stupid dog ran the two blocks home, ears flapping, ball in mouth, me screaming "Bad! Dog!" the whole way.

I arrived at my house 45 seconds after Telly did. He was sitting on the front porch, looking at me like look what I found! I found the house! Aren't you proud of me? NO! I AM NOT PROUD OF YOU! Well, if you crazy people would stop leaving the house and making me come with you, I wouldn't have to keep finding the house for you, would I?

Sigh. I am not thinking warm thoughts right now.

Yeah, NOW he's tired.

Not That *I* Would Want to be a Priest

I've been thinking about posting this, not because it outs me to anyone, but because it outs me to myself more than anything else.

My crisis of faith has gone on for years.

It started when I was fairly young, because of something, O Great Internet, I won't be telling you about. It continued on because I was an inquisitive, questioning child, and most of the nuns who taught me just told me not to ask such questions. It meant I wasn't a good Christian for questioning things. That's not something you should a curious kid! I went through a time where I didn't believe in God, and hen I thought I did, but I wasn't Christian, and now I've moseyed back around. I'm a Christian. I believe in God.

But am I Catholic?

That's a scary question for a cradle Catholic to ask. I was steeped, brewed in a culture where if you weren't Catholic, you were an outsider. Other. Not Us. I didn't know any people who weren't Catholics until I joined my synchronized swimming club team. My family freaked out when they realized I was going to marry Vor because he isn't Catholic. (Holy argument city, that one. That's a breach that sometimes has yet to heal)

So since I've started asking myself that question, I've been praying, still going to church (though not necessarily a Catholic one), and dragging my mind through the problems I had. One of the first on the list was women as priests. Most of the time I've heard an argument against this, it's been along the lines of "Because we said so!" See above to learn how an inquisitive person deals with that. There's a nice little post over here that handles the argument against women priests, logically. The post is a good one, and long, and my time is limited as Telly is starting to approach the witching hour where he goes from calm puppy to crazed animal, so I'm only spitting out my thoughts at you.

I really have never felt the tradition argument. There is the argument that Jesus choose only men, the 12 apostles continued that tradition, and the Church follows that tradition today. I've always thought, of course He didn't! Look at the time frame He existed in! Anytime I've said that, I've had people respond that Jesus was counter cultural, so if women were meant to be chosen, He would have done it. I'm not so sure. The sociocultural pattern has to be considered. (Now bear with me, I'm pulling some of this stuff from memory as far as proper citations go, and the rest from google books). It's entirely too possible that making a choice like this would have destroyed his work from the beginning. There comes a point where revolutionary is too revolutionary, and the good gets lost. (O'Collins, "Ordination of Women,") God would know what His people could handle.

Jesus may have treated women much better than those men around Him, but the fact remains that society was not great for women at the time. 'If Jesus had lived in a society in which the cultural status of the two sexes had differed from that of his own time, would he not have made a different choice? A choice that was already beginning to show itself in the completely new approach which he adopted toward women in a patriarchal society?' H. M. LEGRAND, 'Views on the Ordination of Women,' Origins, Jan. 6 1977.

In the end, we only have the fact that Jesus didn't choose any women. It's up to us to discern why. I think it's far more likely that Jesus did this because only men could assume these toles at the time, and His message needed to be taught. In the end, I think that the issue of women priests was a pragmatic issue, not an eternal truth.

If I think that, then the tradition argument crumbles on itself, at least for me. It used to be tradition to discrimiante, to have slaves, etc., but it isn't anymore. The same follows. The tradition argument always reminds me of a conversation from great West Wing Episode, Midterms:
BARTLET: I like your show. I like how you call homosexuality an

JENNA JACOBS: I don't say homosexuality is an abomination,
Mr. President. The Bible does.

BARTLET: Yes, it does. Leviticus.


BARTLET: Chapter and verse. I wanted to ask you a couple of
questions while I had you here. I'm interested in selling my
youngest daughter into slavery as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7.
(small chuckles from the guests) She's a Georgetown sophomore,
speaks fluent Italian, and always clears the table when it was
her turn. What would a good price for her be? While thinking
about that, can I ask another? My Chief of Staff, Leo McGarry,
insists on working on the Sabbath, Exodus 35:2,clearly says he
should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him
myself or is it okay to call the police? Here's one that's
really important, 'cause we've got a lot of sports fans in
this town. Touching the skin of a dead pig makes us unclean,
Leviticus 11:7. If they promise to wear gloves, can the
Washington Redskins still play football? Can Notre Dame? Can
West Point? Does the whole town really have to be together to
stone my brother, John, for planting different crops side by
side? Can I burn my mother in a small family gathering
for wearing garments made from two different threads?

(all this compliments of a west wing transcript)
Tradition would suck if it still held, wouldn't it?

Oh, I can hear you now. Slippery Slope! I can just hear my dad
screaming it. But refer yourself to where we have come from
already. I don't feel like I am at the bottom of a slippery slope
from where my great grandparents were. I like being able to vote,
not be in the kitchen all day, have an opinion, live by myself, hold
a job, be valued for more than just my ability to reproduce. I feel
like someone rolled me inside a boulder up to the top of the hill,
then let me out.

Well. I guess this means that I don't buy this argument against
women as priests.

Yes, there are more arguments. There is the argument that priests
act as Christ, and Christ was a man, so priests must be men.
There's also the idea that priests are married to the Church, so
the Church is female and priests must then be male. I'll drag
this blog through those later, I think.

I'm not proofreading right now. I'll do it later. Maybe I'll even
refine this, because I feel like I'm nearing the end of my journey
through crisis, and I'm ready to emerge again, just as full of
faith as I always will be of questions. Questions fuel faith for me.

Telly is staring me down, and I think he wants a walk. He keeps
putting his head across my laptop keyboard. I'm a bad mother.

I Don't Have Words Strong Enough

Of course Woody Allen is defending a man who drugged and raped a child.

Why are you surprised?

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Rub a Dub Dub

Dirty dog in the tub.

He doesn't look too pleased, does he?

We think he's lost his water wings already. We couldn't teach him how to swim this year, because he needed all his shots, and now that he has them, it's really cold outside. So, he'll just have to learn next year!

Monday, September 28, 2009

Pack Rat

Oh, and because we are starting the moving and the packing, packing tips are appreciated.

Seriously. I know I've moved a million times, but, help. Dishes, glasses, pots, pans, frames, clocks, forks, books. Come people, I know you've perfected this. It's time to pass on your wisdom!

I Won't Grow Up

We're closing on our house today. Kinda crazy.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

The Sweeeeeeper

There is a long history to why I hate vacuum cleaners.

My siblings are both older than I am (14 and almost 17 years). When it got to the point where I could walk and even run, they thought it was hilarious (HILARIOUS) to chase me around the house with a vacuum cleaner. It was even better when they could plug it in, corner me, and chase me down with the vacuum cleaner on. This delightful exercise was always accompanied with a battle cry of, "Grace is afraid of the sweeeeeeeeeeeper!"

It's no surprise that I hated vacuum cleaners.

One Christmas, my brother, Pilot, asked my mom what he should get me. He must have been about sixteen that year, and my mom--gotta love her--said, "Why don't you get one of those cute vacuum cleaners for kids!" You know, the kind with the cute colorful plastic beads that shot around when you moved it? So Pilot did. I unwrapped that sucker on Christmas day and ran screaming into the closest closet sobbing hysterically that I was afraid of the sweeeeeeper!!! My brother rolled his eyes at my mom and said, "Thanks, Mom."

At some point, I know I got over this, and played with that toy fairly often. This the beauty of having older siblings; if I can't recall a particular thing, they tell it to me so often I feel like I must be able to remember it.

Yesterday, we vacuumed the dog for the first time. No, not laid him out on the floor and vacuumed him, we did it with a hose attachment. He was none too pleased, but put up with it, presumably for the sake of my allergies (or because I kept feeding him pupperoni the whole time).

In order to get him more accustomed to the noise, Vor penned him in his crate when he ran the vacuum cleaner this morning. All throughout, I could Vor saying, "Good Telly. What a good boy!" Finally, the cleaner is shut off, and I ask, "How was he?" Of course, the answer is, "He totally freaked out."

He must take after me.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Paper Bag

I really think I might hyperventilate myself into unconsciousness thinking about the bar results.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Puppy Prison

Here's your daily serving of cute. Keel over from The Cute.

We used to have this:

And it grew into this:

And here's some in between:



Is it really only nine (9) (8+1) (10-1) (neuf) (nueve) (yhdeksän) days until I find out about the bar?

Can I somehow either speed up the time and know I passed, or if I failed, make eternity pass until I find out? Can I take the BLE's office by storm with other potential lawyers and chant, re-sults! re-sults! over and over until it begins to sound like we are saying sultsre?

Anyone want to take bets on how much longer I can hold off pointless clicking the link and checking the empty webpage for results that don't exist yet?

Yeah, I wouldn't want to take that bet either.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

I'd Prefer A Bad Excuse

No news is...what? I don't know. But the casseroles are baked.

While I was running errands yesterday before I went to the grocery store, my car experienced a cataclysmic event and died as I was about to drive into one of the busiest intersections of this city. I would bitch about this more, but God has a way of helping out sometimes--three guys jumped out of their car and immediately rolled me into a gas station, and even though my car is officially out of warranty, this *expensive* (EXPENSIVE!) part was miraculously covered by a different warranty. So, I really have nothing to complain about.


Telly broke a lamp yesterday. He just walked over to a cord, looked right at me as I said no, and pulled. Shatter, shards. Today, I was getting my dance on while I was packing, and I was rewarded with a look that clearly said, lady, you can't dance. Though, in all fairness, it might have been, lady, you crazy. You real crazy.

I know when we move to a new house, there will be housebreaking incidents. But I am almost prepared to declare mission accomplished with respect to housebreaking. Almost. Now, when he wakes up at an ungodly hour of the night or day, he will just go back to sleep after we let him out. This is a massive improvement on the whining/barking/whimpering/whatever that sound is he makes that sounds like we are killing him.

So whenever he does something bad, I just have to remind myself how far he has come, and that he is still just a puppy. He looks at me after wards, his favorite excuse written all over his face: wasn't me.

See? Completely what he's saying.

Hey, I prefer a bad excuse to no news. (Lonestar)

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Oh, Baby

I'm heading to the grocery store, so that I can start baking two casseroles.

We've had a bad year as far our friends and pregnancies go (this is related to the sentence above, I swear). We've had miscarriages, loss of a twin, stillbirths, and now, the latest and the saddest. Our friends have known for awhile that they are going to give birth to a baby sometime in the next few days, and that their baby won't live long.

Do you remember the fairytale you were told when you were younger? That being pregnant was easy, that childbirth was wonderful, and that those things were rare, and anyways, never happened to you, always to other people. Except we're older now, and every time someone tells the fairy tale, we know people who whisper otherwise. It isn't easy, isn't wonderful, isn't rare, and it does happen to you, and your friends.

Casseroles. It seems so inadequate, but I know it's hard to cook with a new baby around, and it's even harder to think when you're grieving. We don't know how long Baby H will live; it could be minutes, it could be weeks. I've never lost a baby, so I can't empathize, but I can sympathize. But how do you show it?

So, there it is. I'm heading to the grocery store, to make some casseroles. Because, really, what else can I do?

Monday, September 21, 2009

Run Me Around

So. Buttons. (Get it? You sew buttons? I'm pretty sure that little joke of mine drives Vor crazy every time he says so, but he makes me nuts too; whenever I say well... he replies with it's a deep subject. There can be no doubt that we are good together.)

I am supposed to walk Telly to the vet's office, since it is right around the corner. It's pouring outside. Driving the car two blocks seems absolutely ridiculous...but so does getting drenched.

Also, we are closing next Monday. Crazy! We have a house that is almost ours, and we're going to be moving in soon. Really soon. Like, I should stop typing and keep packing soon.

And now, for the real thing. I mentioned that Vor and I were canceling our gym memberships and that I bought running shoes. Well, I did, and I've been running. There's only one slight problem.

I am NOT a runner. I was a swimmer, a volleyball player, and a rower. Now, sometimes these things involved running for training, and you bet your sweet behinds out there that I did everything in my power to get out of running. I offered to do more circuit training, lift more weights, swim more laps, erg more minutes, bikes more miles, anything to get out of running. And then there was the law school knee blowout and months of PT. That was fun too.

So, now I am running. Slowly, with lots of brisk walking in between. What I am saying is, does anyone out there run? Any advice? Helpful websites for beginners? I mean, I am an athlete, so I know all about my limits, stretching, water, eating. But I don't know about workouts. Or times, or distance, or even really great songs to put on my iPod while I run. How about stretches that are best? What are problem signs? What are normal pains? Why does my achilles tendon start to hurt and feel like it is going to snap after a while?

Want to help me run my life? Ha. Ha. So punny.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

By The Way

...did I mention that when I got out of the shower the other day, I saw a line of toilet paper going out of the bathroom, around the corner, down the hall, and into our bedroom?

And that there was a small, cute, mischievous golden puppy at the end of it, looking at me like, Look at this! This is sooooo cool!

Oh. Well, now I mentioned it.

Thursday, September 17, 2009


When are we forgiven? I mean in the criminal justice way, not in the religious way.

I have a new case on my docket that is horrifying in a chills your bones, make sure no one is following you, thank God for secure facilities kind of way. The kind that had me praying for strength to do the right thing.

But as I dragged myself through the history of this case, I began to wonder. When are we forgiven? Is it twenty years for a sex offender? Ten years for an attempted murder? Five years for a robbery? Three years for a forged check?

When do I look at these criminal records, sometimes as long as I am tall, and say,"That, right there--that is too long ago to worry about." Forgiven.

Since when did it become my responsibility to determine this kind of stuff? It scares the crap out of me. This entire case frightened me so much that on my way to deal with part of it, I stopped at a church for five minutes and said a little prayer. Give me the wisdom to do what is right, the courage to ask the questions that hold the key, and the compassion to understand. In other words, HELP ME.

I think the answer is forgiven, but not forgotten; rehabilitated, but not cured. History can heal, but not be erased. This is all well and fine from a philosophical point of view, but I am standing in the muddy trench where I have to determine if there is rehabilitation, or if there is another murder waiting around the corner.

How can I tell if this is all genuine contrition, real work towards setting all things right, or just... an act?

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Fall-ing For You

I have a confession. I'm all about the fall weather.

I know. I'm from the land of snow and ice, blizzards and snow drifts, driving bans and snow mobiles. I should be pleased to be somewhere that summer lasts longer.

Well, I'm not. Don't get me wrong, for the most part, I appreciate that the winters are milder (read: slushier, and with roads that are never plowed because for some reason, people here think they are part of the South and are surprised every year when it snows).

But lately, I'm enjoying the cool weather. The crispy leaves, the slight breeze, the pumpkins all around, the pies, the apples, the peaches, the colors.

The closer fall comes, the happier I get.

Also, the dog is lying at my feet, snoring. Loudly.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Gift Card Hell

I am irrationally angry right now. Well, maybe it isn't irrational.

I am packing stuff up, and I found all the wedding cards. And of course, I found an unused gift card in one of them. And of all the places the gift card had to be to, it was to Linens-n-Things.

Which is bankrupt, out of business, end of story.

But wait! you say. There's a new LNT that exists online only.

People, I already know this. They don't accept the old LNT gift cards.

This is the gift card saga that Vor and I have found ourselves in. We had two hundred and fifty dollars worth of gift cards to Lowe's. We were ready to buy a grill. We were really excited for that grill. Do we have a grill? No, because we LOST the TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS worth of gift cards. Only God Himself knows how we did it.


Sunday, September 13, 2009

Sunday Blog Salad IV

As a side beginning note, I HATE that clocks with roman numeral faces use IIII instead of IV. There, I said it. Now, for my Sunday mish-mash.

Lettuce. The dog still wins the prize as the most time consuming thing going on around here. In some ways, it's worse than a baby--at least the baby can pee in her diaper. The dog requires me to let it out at all hours of the day, which means removing myself from my very important tasks (read: from the couch where I've been watching Pride and Prejudice)(okay, that was only once, I swear). He's, uh, well, BIG. And his face is all wrinkly, which lets me know that he is going to be a huge monster. A Telly Monster. Though, he is getting better. He's becoming quite a good little dog.

Vegetables. Moving. Packing, sorting, throwing out, keeping, collecting. Dusting, sneezing, wrapping, screaming (at spiders), breaking, crying. Discovering, re-discovering, laughing. All these tiring "ings" are part of moving. And you know what? I have moved at least six times in the last seven years. I don't want to move anymore.

Croutons/Cranberries/Almonds. Um. The fact I get to go to Hobby Lobby tomorrow and pick out frames with my gift card? The fact we bought a couch last week for our new house? The fact Vor picked out a lovely frame for my J.D. diploma? Or my new running shoes, which I am going to test out for the first time tomorrow morning? Lots of little sweet spots.

Salad Dressing. Setting the tone with Rrrrrrrrranch! (Get it? Like Telly growling with his "shake 'em up" toy?) Tangy, yet smooth.

Saturday, September 12, 2009


There was no wet crate when I came home from work yesterday, and the chewing and nipping seems to have lessened. He comes better when called, and sits very nicely. Though...he is a will work for food dog.

I've lost some needed to be lost weight, but then stalled. I hate going to the gym. I hate the Weight Watchers website. I can fix one of those--I'm canceling my gym membership today and buying a really nice pair of running shoes. We're going to do this the old fashioned way.

I didn't get a headache at work yesterday, which is usually a persistent problem with me. I think I've managed to identify both sources and correct both.

I started packing--the china is packed, the glasses will be finished today, and then the books can be started.

Progress. It's sweet.

Friday, September 11, 2009


So that last entry seems rambling and horribly disjointed, but, oh well.

I don't know where eight years have gone, but they went. Sometimes, the actual memory what where I was, what I was thinking, what I was doing, what I was wearing seems dimmer. The heart at my knees, lungs in stomach, gut sick feeling however is very easy to recall.

It's also easy to recall that I was sitting on top of my desk in AP Government, appropriately talking about current events. It was actually our class who realized what was happened, and a girl ran to tell the principal to turn on the classroom TV's. I'll always remember my AP Gov teacher, who I never really liked, tossing me a quarter when he saw the color drain from my face, and telling me to call my parents to see where my brother was. He was safe, but close friends at the Pentagon weren't. They were dead.

The gut sick feeling came from when the second tower collapsed, along with the girl standing next to me. She knew her father was in that tower, and she knew she had just watched him die.

I was driving my dad's car, with Army National Guard plates. People were beeping and waving at me the whole way home, rolling their windows down to wish me and mine luck and safety. I passed it all on to my military family members.

It's funny what things trigger these feelings and memories now; a quarter gliding through the air; an airport; an airplane overhead; license plates; any mention of high school.

Remembering; thinking; praying.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

If You Don't Want To Hear About Guilt, Move On

This part time thing is fun. I'm home on the floor with the dog, and soon, I'll return to writing my article, drinking tea, and packing. So it's fun, except when it isn't, which is most of the time. Huh? Okay. I never thought I was social person, but I don't. do. well. when left alone all day. The dog is only good for so much company, you know? I like work. There's people. Anyways.

There's a related subject here, one my friend Vintage and I were talking about. Catholic guilt, something that she and I look at each other and smile knowingly about (though really, her dad is a deacon, and was in training to be a priest, and her mom was in a convent, so I think she has me topped). I'm pretty sure it's something we as cradle Catholics drink in our mother's breastmilk, because I've had several convert friends look quizzically at me when I mention guilt. In fact, it happened at work last week; my co-worker just shrugged and said, "Convert, not cradle."

What is this thing, that leaves me feeling guilty, whether or not I should be? Where does it come from?

Well, there's the dark side of it all, a side I can only mention in a vague way. Let's just say that sometimes, after a very damaging and horrifying event, the worst damage is not done by the event itself, but by the cruel words and treatment afterwards from someone you think you can trust, and someone whose duty to you fails. Telling a victim she is at fault, by a priest, by a nun, when she is very young leaves a lasting impression. Understanding later that it was a human failing stitches up the wound instead of healing it, leaving a scar called guilt.

On the light side, there's the sometimes amusing Catholic culture. I mean, dragging in a first grader who is about six? seven? and making them confess their sins? I made stuff up. I couldn't remember what I'd done yesterday, let alone all my sins to confess. Praying every morning and afternoon in school to have our sins forgiven, even as preschoolers? As you grow older, and you can remember the sins to confess, and you like saying the prayers, then there are the constant lectures, about what is bad, very wrong, sinful, evil, and very little about what you did that was good, right, and kind.

I make this sound awful, and for the most part, it wasn't. It just lends itself to a constant sense of guilt.

Maybe mine is more finely tuned because I am the oddball of my family, a family where the women always stay home with the kids and the men have careers. If you are walking the path laid out for you by everyone else, do you feel the guilt as much?

So that's Catholic guilt. Over time, it becomes a part of Catholic culture, that you can accept and smile at. Most don't remember what guilt was like when they were young. I do.


Vor: Be a good wife and...

(short pause)

Me: You want to think very carefully about the next words out of your mouth.

Vor: Love you!

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Who Knew The Devil Was Cute?

He thinks he has a friend, named Yllet.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Another Lawyer Joke

I have this case.

Doesn't every good lawyer story start out like that? Note, I said story, not joke; jokes start like this: A lawyer walks into a bar, or There's a lawyer, an engineer, and a doctor... Anyways.

This case is ALL MINE. I am the lead "attorney" on it, with my supervising attorney watching me, to make sure I don't mess up and lose her license for her before I even get mine. It's a pretty sad case, with lots of kids involved. Although I am only representing one child in there, I have a feeling it won't be too long before all the other kids are taken away, too.

Sounds depressing, right? This is why I love my job. This is a volatile, tangible situation where I can walk in and make something, anything better.

I was thinking while I was cleaning today about a a conversation that I had with a priest back in my hometown. It couldn't have been that long ago, because I knew I was going to be working at this organization. He hadn't seen me around much, and asked why; I told him I had moved and gone to law school.

The look on his face was really hard to define. He just stared at me for a few beats, and then--the side of lip curled up, just a bit. That look is forever frozen in my brain. He said, Just what we need, another lawyer. Out loud. Where everyone could hear him. I stared back at him for what felt like forever. I know his story--he was a big shot corporate guy who entered the priesthood around the age of forty. I respect that, and I never thought that it would make him respect me less.

I don't remember what I said back. Maybe it was something along the lines of, Yeah you do need another lawyer like me, or maybe it was just a simple explanation of what I do. His face went blank, and there was another round of staring. Then I turned on my heel and left. He didn't call after me. He certainly didn't apologize or say, hey, that is good work. He never said a word to my mother, who is very involved in the church and in fact, trains his dog. He's never said anything to me since, anytime I see him.

I don't know what to think. Maybe there are some people who have the evil lawyer mentality so drilled into them they cannot give it up? Maybe the good lawyers do just can't outweigh the public opinion? There's a line that I've had quoted at me more often than not--First thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers. (Shakespeare, you know?) You know what that line really means? Shakespeare was acknowledging that the first thing any potential tyrant has to do in order to get rid of freedom is to kill the lawyers.

Yeah, we do need more lawyers. They need to do things that I'm doing, and more that I can't think of.

Go ahead, try to make a joke out of that.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

My Guilt Is Entirely Catholic

I was going to tell you that Telly and I both survived my first day at work, but we didn't. He peed in his crate.

Yes, I have a dog walker. Yes, I still feel like a bad mom. Yes, I still want to give the dog back, though now it's motivated by guilt instead of sheer hatred.

No, I will never give the dog up, because he is cute and he was Vor's birthday present.

God, it felt good to go to work and use my brain. I love it. I love it so much that I don't feel guilty even when my sister launched into a litany of why mothers that work while they have young children are bad mothers. I just don't care. Although it's extrapolating, I'm pretty sure I won't feel guilty when it's a real kid.

At least, not guilty in the sense that I can pin this anxious feel on something specific. I swear, the guilt that is lingering around me is the leftovers, bred into all cradle Catholics. Gotta love it.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Repeat Repeat Repeat

I start work tomorrow. Thus ends my month off.

Now, I'm only working part time, because my organization made a rational choice--i.e., what would we do with a litigator who cannot litigate? Nothing! So I am part time, training and writing my article until I (cross your fingers) pass the bar and get sworn in.

I'm nervous about this, nervous about leaving the dog, nervous that I'll show up and they'll say go home, nervous, nervous, ninny.

Now here's something about me you don't know: I have a stutter.

I can just imagine Vor reading this; he'll go, no you don't. Well, actually, I do. It was very bad in grade and high school, but I mastered it by never talking. It's not the classic stutter; when it happens, I repeat the entire word over and over. The only way for me to deal with it is to speak very slowly (okay, slowly for my quick talking family) and see the words before they come out of my mouth.

Now imagine me in court, trying to make a quick thinking objection and explain my reasoning on the fly.

Yeah. Not exactly great for visualizing the words coming out of my mouth. Though, interestingly, lately when this has been happening, I haven't been repeating the words as much as I have been switching the words around (green frog becomes freen grog). The repeating is still happening though.

This is truly what is making me nervous. Maybe if I joined Toastmasters? Maybe I'll get used to it?

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Dear Sellers

There are some things in your life you never want to try. So, to make this painfully clear, I'm going to write a short little letter (this is how I manage to not bottle up rage and anger, so don't think I'm like this in person. I'm actually nice. Honest.)

Dear Sellers,

I understand that you took a loss on your house. Probably everyone else selling right now has too. Whatever your reasons are for moving, they are not my problem. I have too many of my own concerns to deal with to take up a cross that is not mine.

That being said, seriously? There are some things in life you don't want to try. The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well known is this (Princess Bride. Go watch. Now.): Don't try to weasel your way out of a contract where the other contracting parties are two lawyers. One of whom just took the bar, so has all that fabulous knowledge about real estate and contracts and SPECIFIC PERFORMANCE still crammed in her brain.

It's in the contract. We all signed it. You have to do it, or we (and note, this is not because we are lawyers, anyone could do this) can and will sue you to get this house. Fair's fair. Grow up. Pony up.

Sincerely, Grace