Friday, October 10, 2008

out of my hands

I think I am relieved. All of my law school applications are submitted (having met my artificial deadline with the help of way too much soda, cookies, and pizza, and way too little sleep). Quite a few of my applications have even gone "complete" already (which is apparently important). But best of all, my Northwestern interview is behind me. The interview went well enough, I think, though I totally came across as the crazy seal lady. I just couldn't stop myself.

"Tell me about a challenge you've faced." - Seal story.

"Tell me about a project you've managed." - Seal story.

"What do you with you spare time?" - Seal stories.

"I mean, besides seals?" - More seal stories.

Um, did I completely forget that I ran a print shop and used to be a normal person with a very demanding job? Indeed. And could I have clutched my hands together any more actively? Probly not. It's funny to notice how rusty I am, having not had any sort of interview for years. Whatever. Really, I know I didn't bomb it and I should get in on numbers alone, so I have to let it go.

Letting go is not so easy for a control freak like me. So now I think I'll start helping my brother fill out his applications (since I learned so much about the particular pitfalls of each school during my three day push...) - but first he has to give me his work history and so far he won't even give me the time of day.

Anyway, I've got other things to think about as I am smack dab in the middle of birthday season.

For Erik's birthday we got pillows - which we needed after Ratty Catty peed on our old ones while we were out of town for the Northwestern interview. I know, it was foolish to trust him, but he'd been in two nights before and hadn't peed on anything... and we set up armaments around the bed (empty laundry baskets, piles of blankets)... but really, we should've moved the pillows into protective custody. Whatever. Stinking Ratty Catty. I will say he is doing much better with his lap snuggling (once he even seemed genuinely relaxed) and he also survived his first encounter with pill swallowing (that was not fun, and did involve pee, but the pill stayed in and the tapeworms died - so hooray). Now his biggest issue is OC, who has decided to hate the little Rat Fink. And OC learned how to be a horrible roommate from the best of them... Poor Ratty...

Anyway, for my birthday we are getting steaks. I tried to get out of the Birthday Steaks tradition (many of my seal friends are Libras, so we've been hitting all the hot spots year by year) but there was no talking my way out of it. Erik's birthday buddy (and the gal I call my future self) is looking at getting gastric bypass in a couple months and so this is her last chance to enjoy big yummy chunks of cow flesh. (By the way, I am so not getting gastric bypass in the future... nor will I be a Republican... So I guess she isn't really my future self...) Anyway, besides, it's our last birthday season together since I'm all moving away to law school and such. So, having exhausted all the notable steak places in our county, we are headed south to Ruth's Chris in Santa Barbara. Yum.

If not for the cat pee and the poverty issue, we might even make a romantic overnight out of it. But, really, I wouldn't be able to enjoy it...

Though I will be able to enjoy one final expensive hotel room this month. Next Tuesday I get to stay in San Francisco's Huntington Hotel (on Nob Hill). I was invited (first by my seal group, then by a seal friend) to attend our annual fund raising Gala (to be held at the Ritz-Carlton). I was excited enough to be included (which was mostly just in theory, for if not for my friend, I'd be looking at going alone or paying a discounted amount - still big bucks - to drag Erik along with me) but then I was doubly super excited to find a great rate on the Huntington (half price).

The Huntington is the hotel Erik first took me to after researching the best pools of San Francisco. And the pool there is, indeed, divine. Later we went there to hide out after Fabian died. We haven't been back since. So I warned my friend that I might cry, and that she will have to see way more of my skin than anyone should (since we will so be in that pool and spa every moment that we can), and I cautioned her that we may end up sharing a bed (cuz it seems like every time I share a hotel room I end up sharing a bed - surely because I don't want to), but she's game. And she'll be hooked. I told her we'll want to leave the party to get back to the spa...

And perhaps best of all, I found a perfectly cute, if not slightly cheesy, fancy gold sweater dress to wear to the event - and it was 75% off. I wasn't looking forward to feeling totally under dressed and I didn't really want to spend a fortune on an outfit (having overshopped for interview clothes) - and now my problem is solved.

Life is good.

Oh, and life is also pretty good for my broken-hearted, admittedly rather violent niece. Sounds like her former friend has already dumped her former boyfriend. The friend is now allowed to stand around the group (though no one will talk to her) and the cheating-cheese-smelling-man-boob-having ex remains persona non grata. Except someone has talked to him enough to learn that while in Europe this summer he got himself a tattoo. Um, but it's not a cool tattoo. It's actually a tramp stamp, like for girls. Yeah. Now I actually feel sorry for him. He lost the best girlfriend ever, he smells of cheese, he has dandruff and man boobs, and he has a tramp stamp. Six pack abs only go so far.

Wednesday, October 01, 2008

living the dream, the sequel

Okay, so we all remember the story of my beautiful broken-hearted niecelet, whose no-good stupid-o boyfriend dumped her after two long years for no good reason and with very little finesse. There are details I haven't shared (ah, the awkward horrors of adolescence) - like how the break up actually started as "a break", and how he was inappropriately affectionate with his future girlfriend long before he was remotely single. Some among you may need to hear these details cuz otherwise you might begin to think my wonderful niecelet is maybe overdoing it a bit. Suffice it to say, she is so not overreacting. I swear. I know psycho when I see it. I have been there and done that. She is totally in the right.

As it turns out, the confrontation at the assembly was just a slappetizer.

More recently, she has received solid confirmation that her sleazy ex was messing around with her former friend before their break up. In front of all her friends. Who were then, of course, afraid to tell her. So she was wronged and publicly humiliated. And then she was dumped. Before prom. So the other day she pulled her ex aside to ask him just exactly what about her suspecting he was cheating qualified her as "a paranoid control freak" when, in fact, he was, you know, actually cheating. That's a rhetorical question, obviously. I don't know if he had time to answer anyway.

I do know my super strong brute of a softball whiz then socked him a good one right in the gut. After that she kicked him in the shins. (See? Not psycho. Psycho never goes for the shins. Psycho always goes for the nads...)

And then - this is my favorite part - she told him:
  1. he smells like cheese,
  2. he suffers from dandruff,
  3. and, oh yes, she told him he's got man boobs.

Man boobs. I know. I thought, how does one have man boobs and a six pack both? Apparently the man boobs are a recent development - a side effect of ditching the rowing team. Say goodbye to your abs, slimy cheater boy, cuz six packs cannot survive under the shadow of man boobs. It's a scientific fact.