They say the devil's water it aint's so sweet

There are so many topics that come to mind for this particular blog! It's a complete 180 from the last few weeks. Hallelujah! (and, yes, this heathen did use dictionary.com to look up the spelling of that word. Much to my surprise, I spelled it correctly).

Two weeks ago, the class had to give group projects. One group had the brilliant idea to hand out mini magic 8-balls as prizes for not falling asleep during their presentation (and I am not referring to 1/8 ounce of H, coke or tina). The idea was brilliant, because that is exactly what I was needing, since I have the acumen of a thumb tack. Now I can rely on the trusted magic 8-ball to make guide my life decisions. From my magic 8-ball I have divined that I will, in fact, pass the Bar exam on the first try; I will not be sued for malpractice; I will eventually find a job in San Francisco; I will once again be able to afford my own apartment, and I will eventually travel the entire world. The magic 8 ball was unclear as to whether I would eventually meet a rich paramour to fund my travels and eccentricities (or at least my shopping sprees at Anthropologie). I carry my magic 8 ball around with me, as though it has the same "essential" status as my keys, wallet and bus pass. What I failed to ask the magic 8 ball, and which could have saved me on some anxiety, was whether I have any cavities.

I am an arms dealer, fitting you with weapons in the form of words

I told you this title was going to make multiple appearances, and so it has. My blogmanship skills have been subpar at best as of late. There were two events that would have been the subjects of blogs under ordinary circumstances, and those didn't even make it on to my new colorful blog. Is it laziness? lack of focus and motivation? submission to apathy? These are all possibilities. Or, maybe they all fall under general depressive behavior. Well, here is my meager attempt to restore my status as a true dedicated blogger.

A few weeks ago, San Francisco was hit with torrential rains. Sick of being indoors, I prompted Ms. Smith to go with me to Flax - a neverending art supply store on Market. Ms. Smith arrived decked out in full rain regalia with jeans tucked into rain boots, while I was (as usual) inappropriately dressed. I had closed toed shoes on, and I did have my umbrealla, but otherwise I was unprepared for the onslaught of water. While we were crossing Market to reach the stop for the F-Market car I commented that Market Street had turned into a river. We stood there perched on the minimally raised platform waiting for muni when WOOSH - a car drove through the river that became Market Street and splashed us. My response "oh my god!" We inched towards the other side of the platform when WOOSH - a car on that side drives by and splashes us followed by an even louder "OH MY GOD!!" Realizing that there was no place for us to go, we were left standing there while we got splashed again followed by an even more vehement "OHHH MYYY GODDD!" We stood there looking like helpless drowned rats, or at least I did. Susan's boots got wet, but who cares about wet boots? My pants were soaked through. At the first break in traffic I ran to the sidewalk, where I realized other passengers had been waiting. Two guys came out from an antique store and asked if we were ok, and we started laughing uncontrollably.

Last weekend, Susan and I made a Target run. While there we both became acutely aware that we were starving, so stopped by In and Out on the way back. I had never been before to actually eat something, so I pulled up to the awkward little dude who waits outside to take your orders. Because he came up to the car, I couldn't see the menu. I asked if they had anything vegetarian to which he quickly responded "we have a veggie burger." Let me repeat that. He responded, "we have a veggie burger." I delightfully responded, "great! I'll have that but with no onions or tomato." We get our good, and I look at my supposed veggie burger. There is a bun. There is lettuce in the bun. There is some thousand-island looking sauce on one side of the bun. I look harder only to find that there is no patty. To make sure I'm not delusional, I show it to Ms. Smith and she assures me that, in fact, there is no veggie patty. So, back to the drive-through line we go. I show the little minion my bun sans veggie patty. His response: "did you want, like, a veggie burger?" Flabbergasted, confused, and still starving, I responded with a resounding "yeah," which lacked the force with which I would now like to say it. It always happens that after an event, I think of all the ways I could have and should have responded. These include, but are not limited to, throwing the bun at him, yelling "yes! I want what you told me you had!" and demanding my money back. I could have at least asked him what sense he thought it made for someone to order a lettuce and bun, since I had said for them to hold the tomato and onion. Instead of one of the cool scenarios I have in my head where I come out the victor, he just told me that they don't actually have veggie burgers.

I know if destiny's kind, I've got the rest of my mind

Today’s topic: the drugstore. Whether it be Rite-Aid, Long’s or Walgreen’s, I love the drugstore, and I always have. My long term affection began around 6^th grade, when things like lotion, cosmetics, hair dye, and all things that go in the bathroom started to really appeal to me. I stood agape in front of the bountiful shelves stocked with lipstick, gloss, liner, mascara, pressed and loose powder, and nail polish. As a chubby and socially awkward kid, I looked, I tested on the back of my hand, and I wondered how to use these products. Most importantly, I imagined all the ways in which these products could change my life (and would once I learned how to use them and use them properly). I stocked up on lotions, bath salts, exfoliants so that I could give those familiar things a chance to work their magic. They never did. My affection for the drugstore was not so limited though. Not only did I marvel at all the things that could make my life just a little bit better, a trip to the drugstore gave me a glimpse at independence. During those 30 or so minutes, I had my own basket, I strolled around unsupervised, and I chose my purchases carefully. I was my own prepubescent boss. I imaged the day when I wouldn’t need my mom to drive me to the drugstore, and what bliss that thought gave me. I would move onto the vitamin and medication aisles, since it seemed most adults visited those aisles during their drugstore experience. I was always in such a hurry to grow up, that I imagined when I’d get to buy vitamins, medications, and other products I thought were adult-like.

My affection for the drugstore remains. I love going, and I also love buying things I don’t really need. For instance, I have 3 unopened boxes of toothpaste, one of which was recently purchased. I like having options should I grow tired of a certain kind. More importantly, needing options gives me reason to frequently visit the drugstore. Same with anti-perspirants. I still stroll through the cosmetic aisles looking at things I know I won’t buy. I like to keep up to date on the market and learn just how long, plump and dark mascara can really make my lashes. I've recently spent more money than usual at drugstores, namely one - Walgreens on Market. I walk by it on my way home from the gym. I go to the very same gym as I did before, but when I lived in Upper Haight I had to turn right to go home. Now I have to turn left and pass by the oh-so-inviting entrance of Walgreens. Just when I thought I didn't need any more cotton balls, q-tips, nail polish, I was wrong!

I am an arms dealer, fitting you with weapons in the form of words*

Tonight has been el sucko. First, the federal government prohibited me from purchasing 20 tablets of Claritin-D, which would greatly help me feel normal. Apparently, cracked-out punks can use it in their unstable homemade meth labs so that tweakers do not have to go without. Since I didn't want to carry my wallet, I only took my credit card. Without my driver's license or a picture i.d., the squirrely man behind the counter could not sell me anything to decongest my airways. I did manage to score some Ny-Quil, so not all hope is lost.

Second, because I am sick I feel entitled to eat the low-fat, chewy goodness that is a tootsie roll. In fact, I feel entitled to buy a bag of midgees sans guilt, and I feel justified ignoring that little voice in the back of my head that reminds me that I have plenty of weight to lose and that tootsie rolls only contribute to that goal in my self-created alternate universe - the one where I am also queen! I left the drug store with my bag of midgees only to discover when I got home that they are rock hard. What makes tootsie rolls so great is the combination of the fake-chocolate taste and the chewiness! My bag of midgees is only useful should I wish to pull out a filling or potentially crack a tooth.

*I think the lyrics to the new Fallout Boy song are heelarious! Expect the title of this blog to make many more appearances.

we'll get jacked up on some cheap champagne and let the good times all roll out

Reality is sort of sinking in for a change. If all goes well I'll be an actual attorney in the not too distant future, and that scares me. I do not feel prepared to be an attorney. To help myself along, I think I should start eliminating some words out of my vernacular. I should no longer say: "like, sweet, awesome, really?, fuck yeah, totally, SO, rock out with my cock out"

This is why:

Me: "I am SO going to file the motion today."

Judge: "Motion granted"
Me: "Sweet!"

Judge: "Motion denied"
Me: "Really?"

Co-worker: "don't you have an appearance today?"
Me: "fuck yeah! I am totally going to rock out with my cock out!!"

I can come up with too many examples for "like."

As Ms. Smith says, this could be like the Smurfs not saying "smurf," but I have to try if I am going to get and stay employed. Also, I need to work on not flashing devil horns as a way of saying "fuck yeah!" or "rock on!" I'm pretty sure that is not an acceptable way of getting one's point across.

Just nod if you can hear me, Is there anybody home?

I started moving things into my new home this morning. I started with the essentials - clothes, shoes, toilettries, and linens. Tomorrow is the big day. I meet movers at my storage unit at 8 a.m. and from then on it will be nothing but hauling, stair climbing, and unpacking fun. One of the few things that I like about moving is that it is the perfect time to purge my possessions of all unwanted, unnecessary and neglected things, which makes me feel a bit more organized. So far in the "get rid of" pile are clothes, shoes, school textbooks, magazines, and some furnishings for which I no longer have a need. Also, the more I get rid of, the less I have to move later.

The logistics: I am living in the Duboce Triangle, which is a pocket in between Lower Haight, The Castro, and The Mission. I am on a quiet tree-lined street, which is like a small haven from all the happenings of the surrounding areas. I am living with a 26 year-old guy, who just moved up from Santa Barbara. He seems very nice, and I am excited!

Because I am not really on top of things yet, I thought I had another 2 weeks of vacation. Not so! I start classes next Thursday, but there is little room for complaint. I have Fridays off, and the following Monday is a holiday. I also only have one 2-hour class on Thursdays.

With a great new home, a great new roommate, and a manageable class schedule, it seems as though my last semester will be GREAT!

if music is the victim, then so am I

It's January 2nd, which I think qualifies as the dead of winter. I stepped outside to get something from my car and immediately noticed that it felt like early springtime. The temperature was 68F (20C), and it was still light out at 5:30 p.m. My mom was working in the garden, and I was wearing flip-flops, which maybe isn't as abnormal for Northern California as it seems. Instead, I think I am still using Copenhagen as my frame of reference.

To regress for a minute, New Year's Eve is a night like no other, and I'm not referring to the extravagance and over indulgence that marks the night. Instead, it's a night where people feel hopeful and have a sense of renewal. In the spirit of it being the first day of January 2007, I am coming up with some resolutions. Mind you, these are not New Year's resolutions, which I think are trite and (usually) lack sincerity. Instead, I usually make a list at the beginning of each month of things I would like to accomplish or work towards. These goals range from the cliche, like lose weight, to the more earnest. My more earnest resolution for January is to squelch my inner-consumer. I will remind myself that things such as the latest cell phone, ipod, laptop, and other suck gizmos do not define me or my worth. Instead, I am going to increase my donation amount to Oxfam!