Reflections...Again

Vermont is a good place to think. It's quiet and peaceful. On snowy days, like those we've had the past week, it's easy to become enveloped in the silent blanket of white that falls for hours. Over glasses of wine, wrapped in a balnket on the couch after everyone has gone to bed, in the days just before the current year wraps its way to a close, the time is ripe for contemplation.

Most recently I've found my mind wandering back to Somalia. For those who may not have stumbled upon this humble blog until recently, it began as a journal of my days in a refugee camp on the border of Somalia--merely a way to keep people informed about my whereabouts, thoughts, struggles and successes of the work that I did while I was there. Now, almost 18 months later, I find myself wandering back to that experience and thinking about the country that left such a profound impact on me, even without stepping foot within its borders.

Somalia has been called recently the "other Darfur" by Time magazine. Somalia topped their list of 2007's most unreported newstories. Am I surprised? No. I would have been blown off my seat if, after 17+ years, Somalia had suddenly shot to the top of the list. But what's been interesting has been the slowly creeping importance of Somalia in the outer pages of the news we read most--stories topping the Washington Post and NYT's Africa sections dealing with Somalia, a story recognizing a region of Somalia, Somaliland, as a possibly independent government, and a fucntioning one at that by the Pentagon. Recognition of the refugee crisis that is ensconcing villages, towns, cities, generations of this country's people. The reminder in November of this year of the United States' failed campaign there in 1993 when 2 Ethiopian soldiers were dragged through the streets, much in the same way American soldiers were more than a decade before.

Somalia is not easily forgotten, as it has never truly been recognized. We, being those outside of E. Africa, have easily ignored the vast refugee surge into Kenya that has created over 1 million refugees since 1991. Somalia has lacked a functioning government since the same time, yet has retained a seat in the UN regardless of the indecencies it has inflicted on its people since the conflict began. It is lawless and frightening, a breeding ground for the terrorists that the US, with GWB at its helm, has sought to combat.

And through all of this hopelessness, the country lingers at the forefront of my mind. In D.C., my life tends to be...a blur. A complex mix of classes, work, journal, friends, life, self searching while remaining fabulous STUFF that inhibits my ability to really think about the things that mean something to me. I listened to an interview with Huckabee this morning (God help all of us if he gains the Republican nomination) where he spoke about valuing ALL humans as equals, every life valued, regardless of race, religion, national origin etc equally. I could not help thinking what a maddening and audacious statement this was. I wondered if he had thought, before making this statement, about the people outside of the US who we have allowed to descend into a place of hopelessness and despair for the fundamental reason he declared we should value each and every person.

In two weeks I begin my last semester of law school. Typically the semester where 3Ls throw caution to the wind, take late day classes, celebrate for 4 months at night the culmination of their studies, and, for me, the semester where I get the chance to represent my first client: an asylum seeker who is looking to me to advocate their very last chance to remain in this country based on past and potentially future persecution in the country from which they came should they return. I necessarily think of the experience on the border of Somalia, the current state there, the people I met. And I hope, with extreme and unrestrained audacity, that others think of it too.

On my parent's porch in Vermont, sipping wine and watching the snow fall, this is what I'm thinking about. Maybe not the most uplifting way to ring in the New Year, but perhaps not the worst way either.

Relief

My semester has ended, finally, and I've made it to the land of milk and honey (or snow and salt, whichever the case may be). And I realized I have ONE MORE EXAM to take before I graduate. Which is kinda kick ass.

It's great to be home, and I am looking forward to 10 days of relaxing--I would like to read 2 full books while I'm home (any suggestions????), frolick in the snow with Phoebe the Dog, maybe go sledding in the 2 feet of snow we have, hang out with my entire family who will be home together in the first time since before I left for Mali in 2002 (and yes, I am once again the only single person. Sweet).

I think it's going to be great. Except for having to go to the dentist while I'm home for a tooth issue. Other than that, it's definitely going to be great.

Happy holidays everyone--I hope the warmth of the season finds everyone who reads this in the same wonderful way it has found me.

Dear Blog Friends...

Please write something on your blogs so I have something to read. It's v. lonely without scintillating stories I can procrastinate with (In my studying stupor that sounded kinda dirty. heh). But you know what I mean.

I'll be all of your best friend.

Love,
DLS

Ho Ho Ho

This is one of the greatest things this holiday season. I'll post the one of my sis and her hubby as an example. But go Elf someone you love at: www.elfyourself.com.

Had To Do It

Am I procrastinating from listening to the third hour of the corporations lecture? Yes.

Have a lot of people already seen this? Yes.

Is it still funny (at least to people who are still taking exams)? Yes.

Enjoy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O_RSQSYgGB4

The Small Things Make It All Better

So, exams suck. It goes without saying. And the thing that makes them a little more bearable are the flurry of emails that go around every now and then with some sort of amusing tidbit that acts as a distraction from the hell that we are all experiencing in solidarity.

One of the many ways that people review for exams, and one of the "aids" that law schools provide are review courses that are put on video through a company called BarBri. BarBri is also the company that most law students pay excessive amounts of money for upon graduation to use as their Bar review course, essentially teaching you all of law school in 7 weeks. Every day a video (or live professor, depending on the location/state bar you're taking) gives a 4-5 hour lecture on a certain subject. Corporations, Torts, Contracts, Civil Procedure, Tax, Securities Regulation and so many more are all covered. It's the same at the end of the semesters in law school. A schedule goes out showing where and which courses will be shown at law schools around the city, and anyone who's a member of BarBri can go and watch the video with a group of folks all taking the same class. The videos are general--since there are a bazillion different text books created for every class, the videos are meant to give you a skeletal outline of the major points of the course, regardless where you take it.

My first year a group of 5 of us went to most of these sessions--generally at Catholic Law school and sometimes at American--and we would role in with our coffees, hook up internet, get into a chat room for the next 8 hours and watch this video. There are a couple of gems out there--Professor Epstein teaching Contracts (I think) was one--the man looks like the crazy pelican from the Little Mermaid and consumed close to a 12 pack of Coca Cola over the 8 hour review video. He often lunged out of frame when he was trying to make a point, and occasionally colided with the plant in back of him. And the best part is, they film these videos in empty studios, decorated to make it look like they're in a classroom full of students, and the professors PRETEND there are students to whom they're lecturing, which adds to how hysterical these videos are. By the end of 1L year my video posse and I would go to the classes just to see which professor would win the prize for absolutely most hysterical (It was Epstein. Ep, as he's now lovingly referred to).

This week I'm studying for Corporations. My last exam, 4 hours, closed book. I mean, I'm taking it pass/fail, but we've been conditioned to freak out and cram regardless of whether we were taking these exams for a grade ever. I decided to do a search and see if there were any upcoming corporations BarBri reviews, knowing that if not, I could always go to their offices downtown and podcast any of the subjects. When I put "BarBri" into Google THIS popped up, and it is seriously one of the best spoofs I've seen in a long time. While I understand that some non-law/non-barbri folks might not appreciate the full hilariousness that this is, I assure you, the actual BarBri videos are, in fact, often this ridiculous.

This video almost made me laugh as much as the flashcards from last semester. It really is the small things that make all the difference....

Things to be Thankful For

I wrote a post last night that I have since removed, I thought it too personal about someone other than me. But my mama and sis read it, and I'm glad they did, because it was about my sister who I love more than any gal on earth and who I am more proud of than anyone--and her recent struggles as a mentor, teacher, humanitarian, savior and friend have made me think about the things we all can be thankful for.

This month has proved to be a challenging one for many people who I am closest to. My sister who is struggling with the decisions she makes about her students--what is right, what her role in their lives is, the power that she wields. And she has made nothing but the best, right and most difficult choices. My great and unwavering friend H, whose 34 year old boss has just been diagnosed with a cancer that is rare, and progressive. And terrifying. She has been thrust into a role at work that is overwhelming and often lonely. He has been thrust into a fight for his life that will change everything. And that will give all of us pause. And finally my great friend M, whose mama is battling another cancer, which is the greatest fear I think any child can imagine. And she faces it with honesty and pause and grace.

The three gals are three of the strongest I know. And I love them all, and know that my role in each of their individual struggles is, in it self, individual. But it has made me think of all the things, this holiday season, I am thankful for. I am thankful for the fact I have these relationships and that they mean so much to all of us. And that we all have shoulders to lean on. I am more grateful than anything about the family in which I was raised, that has allowed the development of strength and hope in the person that I am. And I love that I can look at my friends and see the amazing women they are--cultivated through family, love, hardship, and friendship.

Storms rage around us on a daily basis. I am thankful that within the eye of the worst, there are refuges for all of us. And I hope, more than anything, that I can act as a small one for my closest folks. There is joy in the air, amidst the struggle. And that is what we need to inhale deeply while pushing through the rest.

"I Mean, I Only Pyschoanalyzed Her a Little, Not Extensively, But This is What I've Decided"

I've been chastised by EA for not posting anything on here since it snowed. There's no more snow in DC. Apparently that means it's been a while.

But to be honest, I don't have much to say smack in the middle of exams. I get up, trek to school, sit in the same place for 13-15 hours, trek home, sit on the couch and continue to study while the food network is on (Unless it's Rachael Ray. Or Giada _____. They both smile so much they kinda look like they're on drugs. Ok, in reality, I only like the Iron Chef. But I've only just started getting into the food network, so I have a lot to learn) and then I go to bed. And repeat. Sometimes an exam breaks up the sitting in the same place.

God, that last paragraph kind of bored ME! Go watch this--my posse in the journal office and I have been watching it continuously since it's just so amusing.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=we9_CdNPuJg

I'll try to be back this weekend when I have some time to, I don't know, rediscover the outside world.

Slip Sliding Away

As it did for much of the Northeast this week, the weather turned on our fair Capitol yesterday and delivered 12 straight hours of light snow. 12 hours of snow anywhere else would most likely result in at least...7 or so inches. Not so in DC. We only had about 2 inches, but it was lovely nonetheless.

I love snowy days, and I especially love them in the city. A normally loud and crowded area becomes peacefully quiet, where people move more slowly and everything takes on a more welcoming feel with the buildings and cars and trees and parks enveloped in this new blanket. Even though it snows every single winter in DC, at least a couple of times, no one knows how to deal with the snow any better each time it falls, city authorities being the worst. So people just stay close to home, which is nice.

I went for a walk around 8:15pm last night--the snow had slowed and the flakes that were falling were the billowy large flakes. Not many people were around, no sidewalks had been shoveled. Walking down past the row houses with the Christmas trees all lit up and the snow falling and the quiet was a lovely way to wind down a busy day holed up studying for exams.

When I left the house this morning I was reminded of why snow in DC is nice during the period of time that it is falling, and that's about it--there are no city wide mechanisms for clearing snow. In Vermont, you can go to bed with snow falling to beat the band and by morning a foot or more of snow has been plowed off most major (and not so major) roads, sidewalks, driveways etc. In DC, the snow sits there and freezes into an ice skating rink the size of...well...the city. I walked to the metro this morning, normally a brisk 8-10 minute walk--it took about 25 today. As I teetered in my snow/ice-inappropriate Pumas calculating each step while watching cars slide and skid to stops at lights and stop signs the only thing I could think was "omgomgomg please don't let me fall and break my laptop!!!! It's almost EXAMS". Having had a hard drive crash 2x now in exam periods, I am highly protective of my little machine. 4x in about 7 blocks a foot went out from under me, but using my cat-like (HA!) reflexes I saved myself each time.

I think I might deposit a shovel and bag of ice on each of my neighbor's doorsteps for the holidays with an instructional note on how easy it is to clear the paths in front of their homes...or maybe I'll just get a better pair of shoes...I'm thinking crampons..

Random Bouts of Being a Moron

Law exams have the tendency to make people a little crazy. Add to exam time the "thrill" of trying to get an issue of Journal to the presses and crazy turns into downright...insane.

For example: My editor-in-chief (EIC) and I have spent countless days and nights at the office working on the final proofs to the articles being sent to the printer. Being our first issue, the last month or so has been an exercise in patience working with the authors, editors and 2Ls who are all integral to finalizing and perfecting the articles that are going to print. EIC and I have tweaked things somewhat from last year's process. For example, by the time article come to us, there is a certain expectation that there will be minimal errors since each article has gone through multiple edits, has been seen by NUMEROUS people, and has been read and re-read (theoretically) by people at least 4 times. Changes should be minimal. This year, EIC and I have decided that if the work that has been done below is incorrect/incomplete, we will send it back down to the 2Ls/editors to fix within 24 hours. That's worked well. What we did not expect was for articles to come to us in a state of such disrepair that we would be spending multiple hours re-bluebooking the citations, highlighting the sources, and editing/adding footnotes to the text. As a result of this, EIC and I have gone a little nutty and now have the "who has found the most egregious mistake" game that keeps us amused for hours. So far, I'm ahead, having found a citation within the text that had been overlooked by at least 4 sets of eyes, and a short form of the citation as that (I recognize this is not going to make sense to most readers. But trust me, it's bad). What used to be annoyance on EIC's part and mine has now turned to absolute hilarity scaring editors and 2Ls in the office whenever we come across one of these...slip-ups.

Another fun result of exam time is the pervasive feeling of being pulled in 67 directions at once (and with all the journal fun from above, it's more like 89 directions), while trying to make sure that everything is being paid on time, studied completely, noted diligently, and generally taken care of. I had the lovely reminder that this is not as easy as I would like to believe when I emailed my landlord this afternoon making sure my rent check had arrived safely--I was concerned since it has not been deposited as of this afternoon. Here's our exchange:

Hi L, I wanted to touch base and make sure you received my rent that was sent on Friday, November 30, 2007 since I had not seen it deposited. Hope you had a great Thanksgiving, DLS.

Response: Hi DLS--I did receive the check (Oops!!! Sorry for not letting you know!!!) but have not deposited it yet because you neglected to sign it.

Right. Awesome. My new morning checklist will now go something like this:
Laptop, check. Power cord, check. Keys, wallet, cellphone, check. Ability to fill out 4 lines on a check that is no larger than 3x7 inches so I can continue to inhabit my lovely apartment? Let's f*cking hope so.

At least the Starbucks folks have started giving me my free daily exam-time coffee to help counteract my moments of idiocy...I'll let you know if it helps..

Things That Make Me Smile

Everyone says that the third year of law school is supposed to be a breeze: a lot of people have jobs (thankfully I do--but I'm now working part time at The Firm over the semester), you're winding down on the resume building activities (I should have remembered to do that before deciding to accept the position of managing editor of my journal), you can take the fluffy law classes since most of the bar classes would have been taken 2L year (oops..I did that the other way around. No wonder I enjoyed last year so much..). Anyway, point being, I generally have just enough time/inclination in the morning when I'm getting ready to leave the house to grab a pair of yoga pants and tennis shoes and run out of the house. I wear a shirt too, equally as whatever. To make my appearance even MORE attractive, while I was reading an article in my Self mag that J gets me a subscription to every year (and I put it to really good use: browsing through the exercises I think 'huh, those look like they would work' just before putting it down to continue reading Con Law) I came across this article on how you know if you need a new hairstyle: answer 5 questions. If you answer 3 or more "Yes", then it's time for a new haristyle. I answered all 5 of them Yes. My favorite being:

"Do you throw your hair into a bun or ponytail every morning before leaving the house even if you're not going to the grocery store/yoga class/gym?".

Ummmm.

Anyway, as sad as it might make some folks (mom), I put very little effort into how I look on a day to day law school existence basis (but I know she loves me any way I look!). I'm ok with that. I am sure the man of my dreams will like me equally as well in yoga pants as all dolled up. I hope.

So a couple of Saturdays ago when A's wedding rolled around, H and I decided it might be fun to make ourselves pretty (and by "make" I mean pay someone to do it for us). Pedicure for the first time since August (I know! Blasphemous!): check! Haircut/blowout for the first time since....April (?): check! Pretty new dresses and shoes and accessories: check! We figured it would be a long long time until either of us got to attend another wedding at the National Cathedral, so we could justify the splurge (not that we generally need that much justification).

H looked AMAZING in a floor length gown with her hair completely straight (anyone who knows her knows just how curly her hair is. I looked, I thought, fairly passable (we're all our own greatest critics). As we were standing on the side of the road trying to hail a cab at 3:15pm dressed like this, I assumed that we probably stuck out a little bit. And then my phone rang. It was my friend Ian who had passed us and just wanted to say that he thought "we looked absolutely stunning". Aww. Ian can always be counted on for a remarkably kind word for his ladies.

The wedding came and went, it was fantastic. Today, sitting at work, hair in a bun, wearing no make up (only the best for The Firm! At least I'm not in yoga pants...) one of my favorite associates was walking by. AO is a 7th year associate, he's remarkably put together, fills rooms with his presence. He's an Immigration attorney so I've gotten to know him well this fall sitting across from most the Immigration folks in my cube. He stopped when he got to my desk and did the following:

"Ms. DLS--where do you live"
"Umm. 17th and T. Why?"
"Well, a couple of Saturdays ago I was right on 17th and U walking to a hair cut and I could have sworn I saw you--but I don't know if it was you since you didn't say anything to me"
"Well, AO, did you say anything to ME?"
" No honey, I didn't. And let me tell you why" (AO is slightly...flamboyant. Which I love). " You were standing there, and I know it's you now for sure looking at your eyes right now, but you were standing there trying to hail a cab, dressed to the nines with those EYES. I don't know what you did to them, but you should do that more often!" (Note: it's called makeup).
" Aww, thanks AO--I was headed to a wedding"
"Well, you looked incredible! So striking so striking" (this part was said as he zipped away from my desk).

The exchange was hilarious (to me) but one of those super fun, unexpected, exchanges that kinda made me smile. While I may look like sh*t 97% of time, it's nice to know I can still pull it off when it counts, or at least some people think so. ;)

**Clarification**

My post about Scalia, and how great it was to have him come to speak to us is not the following:

"Now that DLS has been graced with a S.C. Justice's presence in a class means that DLS agrees with everything Scalia says, thinks and does from the bench or from the podium in the front of the classroom".

No no, dear readers. It is simply a recitation and recognition from a lowly law student that it's admittedly kinda cool to have one of The Nine chatting with us.

I retain my liberal, sometimes irrational, always present views on many things and while the 75 minute visit was fantastic, it did not send me running across the aisle into the arms of the conservative viewpoints.

Carry on...

I've done it...

Thanks to GT's post and my DC friends browbeating me into it...I've joined facebook...

AND I'M ADDICTED. No one can hide from me!

The Greatest 75 Minutes of Law School

One of the great things about the law school that I attend is that it's less than a mile from the Supreme Court. A lot of the Justices visit the law school regularly--last year as I was waiting for a friend outside of the international law building the doors opened and out walked Kennedy, Souter and Ginsberg--and when you see the black sedans and SUVs parked in the spaces around the buildings it's often because one of them is on campus for one reason or another.

But it's a rare opportunity when a Justice visits a class to chat. A question and answer period where no question is off limits, and the Justice can opt to not respond, but the floor is shared between the students and him for over an hour. I had that opportunity this afternoon.

When I began law school, coming from my liberal Peace Corps and Vermont background, I did not like Scalia. It was an irrational dislike, as I had never actually read an opinion by him, but it was what he stood for--anti-homosexual, pro-life etc. My first semester as I was sitting in Constitutional Law 1 which focused on the federal system, I found myself highly confused for the better part of the first few months. In many cases I would finish reading an opinion (or a dissent, as the case may be) and be completely persuaded that the opinion was rational and correct. And then I would look at the author and BAM! Justice Scalia. Granted, there were plenty that I read of his and thought good god, I can never agree with that. By the end of the semester my confusion turned to a feeling of scholarly-ness, realizing that this was what law school forced people to do--think rationally about the LAW outside of the confines of our own moral and personal ideas in the context of the Constitution.

This semester it's Constitutional Law II--the version of Con Law where we DO get to the personal rights and liberties, the 1st and 14th Amendments mostly, the idea of "liberty" in the bill of rights and how that word has evolved (if you're of the mindset that it should evolve since the framers wrote the Constitution). We've talked about discrimination, free speech, pornography, due process, abortion and much more. We've traced the case law as it's changed through the years, or as it's been created. In this version of Con Law, Justice Scalia and I do not see eye to eye nearly as often as we did 2 years ago.

We've known about his visit since the beginning of the semester. My professor was a clerk for Justice Marshall in the '70s and has remained close to the Court, and her friendships with the current Justices has evolved as a result. While she and Justice Scalia also do not agree on most Con Law issues, they are good friends, and he graciously accepts her invitation to come and talk to her students each year, without being paid. Today was the day he came to our class.

My professor has spoken about the personalities of the Justices--how their demeanor in opinions and during oral arguments does not resemble their personalities off the bench. She says, for example, the Justice Thomas is one of the warmest, kindest men she's ever met and that his laughter fills rooms in social settings. Justice Thomas is the one Justice I have never ever agreed with or found any bit of rationale that I could relate to in opinions. 8 Justices are from earth, Thomas hails from Mars. I was excited to see how J. Scalia interacted with us, his demeanor, his reasoning.

He is not a tall man. And he has a large head. I had seen him wandering around the grounds over the past couple of years, but seeing him up close standing in front of us was a little different. His background is immense and impressive. He's worked in nearly every facet of law--moving from a firm to teaching to government (where he argued before the Court), back to teaching (both at my school and Chicago), on to different courts until finally being tapped in '82 by Reagan for the Supreme Court. He began with a short discussion, not of the living v. the dead Constitution as we had all assumed he would begin with, but by talking about the core importance, the backbone of the Constitution being the structure, not the bill of rights. The bill of rights, he said, is something that every country in the world has. It's the first thing leaders think up. He used the former USSR--their bill of rights was immense. It included detail that Americans would salivate over. But it did nothing. It's not what is important. And then he took questions.

Scalia has a personality. He's hysterical, quite frankly. In 75 minutes he broke into 3 different languages, banged his fists on his chest, told stories, had the entire room in stitches on more than one occasion. But he also candidly discussed his jurisprudence--his reasons for believing that the Constitution is not alive and growing, that it is dead and why he believes in an Originalist interpretation of the Constitution. He spoke about his acceptance of stare decisis in most cases, and his unwillingness to accept it in others. He was very difficult to disagree with because he is so rational.

He believes in orginalism because he does not understand how anyone can come up with any other criteria by which to decide cases and read the constitution. Allowing for a "living Constitution" allows for decision making that is not grounded in the words that the framers wrote, but in individual interpretation of words. He does not believe that Roe was decided correctly--the main reason is because he does not think that it is an issue to be taken up by 9 lawyers creating an umbrella law for the country in this area--he is uncomfortable with the notion that his three years of Harvard Law has somehow prepared him or any of the other 8 men and woman sitting on the Court to decide what an 'undue burden on the woman's right to choose' is every time a new dimension of abortion cases is presented. We have state legislatures for a reason. We have Congress for a reason. Those are the places where these battles need to be fought. Not in 30 minute oral arguments that will create or destroy state laws.

He was asked how his often harsh critiques of other Justice's opinion have affected his relationships with those people on and off the bench. He paused with this question. He said "first of all, I never personally attack anyone. I don't agree with some of the people on the Court. And they don't agree with me. Do I think their reasoning is often flawed, silly and wrong? Yes. Do I say that, sometimes in the form of calling it ridiculous or unbelievable (among other things)? Yes. But...my best friend of the Court is Ruth Ginsberg. Our families have been spending New Years eve together for the past 25 years. We do not agree with each other for the majority of opinions. I think that answers the question". He went on to say that writing a dissent is purely "for you guys--I mean hell, law students need something to talk about in class, right?". He also talked about why is such a vocal member of the Court in oral arguments--questions from the bench make a good lawyer great.

He talked about much more--why "substantive due process" is one of the most "completely irrational and totally insane" ideas he has ever heard (and made a great case for it, as well! As he said--close your eyes and THINK about the term substantive process. It makes no sense. It's would be the equivalent of saying procedural substance which is equally as stupid (his words, not mine)). He refused to answer questions on the D.C. gun laws (saying Ha HA! you cannot fool me, I know you're just trying to get me to have to force myself to recuse when this case is accepted!) or wire tapping for the same reasons. He talked about the 8th Amendment and the term "cruel and unusual". He spoke about whatever we wanted him to address and it was fantastic.

It was the best 75 minutes of my 3 years in law school. Of the 7 or so people who actually read this blog, I imagine the vast majority of you are not Scalia fans. But sitting in a room with a man who will most likely go down as one of the greatest legal minds, certainly of our time if not ever, was thrilling. I don't agree with him on a lot of issues, but I have an immense amount of respect and awe for him. An opportunity like the one I had this afternoon makes everything else in law school a little more...worth struggling through.

**Correction**

It has come to my attention that I claimed that this would be my 7th exam period while in law school. While it certainly feels like that at times, I've proven once again why there is no math in law school. 3 years, 2 semesters each. I am, it turns out, beginning preparation for exam period #5. Not 7.

Anyone wanna hire me to be their accountant when I graduate?

It's Starting...

I love the holidays, particularly after spending so many of them away from home in the past 5 years. I spent Thanksgiving in North Carolina with my sister and her husband, the first guests in their new house and town. H and I drove down together--leaving late on Tuesday night to miss traffic. It worked. We made it to Richmond in less than 2 hours and to J's house in less than 4.5.

We had a lovely 4 days in the south--it was fantastic to be able to hang out with the newlyweds and Lola the Dog--we cooked and drank wine, enjoyed the gorgeous Thanksgiving weather, and had a girls day out on Friday. Coming back to DC felt good since it's always good to be home, but I realized in less than 18 hours since arriving home what the next month brings.

In one month, I will be finished with my 7th semester of law school. I will have one left. In one month, I will have my first issue of the Journal for which I am managing editor at the printer on the way to distribution. I will be preparing to represent my first client on their last effort to gain asylum in the United States. I will be home in Vermont, sitting with my entire family in front of the fire, celebrating Christmas.

This is that time of the semester where the last few months start to feel like they are crushing in around you, when the folks at Starbucks learn my name and favorite drink and often give me my third soy Americano with an extra shot free in the evening, when going to the gym for an hour is the absolute highlight of the day because you can mindlessly watch tv and clear your brain and not feel badly about it, when I do my 20 hours on, 4 hours off schedule that I like to call bootcamp, and when I dream about Securities Regulations, Con Law II and Corporations at night and going home for Christmas during the day.

But let me tell ya, going through it all makes the holidays so much sweeter, so bring in on!

**Did I mention it also kind of makes you insane? Yeah, 7 exam periods later I might be permanently scarred.

On Celebrations

It' amazing to watch as my friends from years and years ago grow up--it's a reminder of how far we've all come, and the joys in life that should be celebrated as the family we've become.

A and I met our first day of our first year of college. We were both recruited to row at UVA--she as a lightweight in her 5'10 slender body and me as a shorter than average power house that could just wail not only on the oar, but also on the ergs. Every morning at 5am A would come and pick me up in her green Jeep and we would drive out to the boathouse to be on the water by 5:30am. For a long time she was seat seven, I was seat 6. We spent countless hours moving across the water in a boat of 8, cross training in the afternoon, crying over blisters on our hands and exhaustion. I stayed with her at her parent's house in northern Virginia before most vacations from school when I would fly from DC to Vermont. We were sisters not only on the team, but away from our homes and sisters who were related to us by blood.

And then life intervened in ways not worthy of discussion on this amazing day. But we moved farther apart for a number of reasons--A transferred to GW, life encompassed both of us in our individual environments. I left for Africa, A started law school and I rarely spoke to her for a few years. I moved back to DC to find that by gal H had reunited with A--they lived only a couple of blocks from one another and their friendship was fast and lasting. I got updates from H on how A was doing, and saw her occasionally--A finishing law school and I having started did not leave a lot of time for catching up.

This past year I had the great fortune to catch up with A and to start rebuilding a friendship that never ended in a bad way, but fizzled for a number of years. Seeing the woman and friend that she has become--a pillar of strength, someone who is truly inspiring and has shown me that no matter how many times we get knocked down there is never a time when it's too hard to pull yourself back up--has made me feel truly lucky to have had the second chance to have her as a friend.

Today, A is getting married to a lovely and wonderful and perfect man for her. I could not be more overwhelmed with joy for the two of them, for her especially. There is no one on earth, I don't think, who has a larger heart of pure gold, who is selfless and kind, and who has done more for herself than any person could imagine.

I saw this poem on another site and it made me think of A and her fiance and their relationship. And I think it's perfect for them

Congratulations, A.

"Oh, the comfort,
The inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person,
having neither to to weight thoughts or measure words,
but pouring them all out.
just as they are,
chaff and grain together,
certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them,
keep what is worth keeping
and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away."

--G. Eliot

Stumbling Upon Family You Never Knew You Had

This past weekend I went on a quest to find wedding attire for the marriage of a great friend taking place this weekend at the National Cathedral. DC shopping is abysmal, so I went to the only metro accessible place that had somewhat of an option in clothing: Pentagon f*^#ing City. On a Saturday. At 2pm. Imagine a Whole Foods the size of a mall on a Sunday afternoon. It still makes me kind of wince.

Earlier in the weekend, on Friday afternoon, a freight train carrying tons and tons of coal plunged into the Anacostia River--no one was hurt, but as the Yellow Line metro train made its way across the impossibly narrow subway bridge over the Potomac the next day carrying moi, I burrowed down into my coat and turned my ipod up, trying not to look out the window for fear of catching a glimpse of the fallen train. One of my favorite songs, "The Coast" by Paul Simon (but only the live version--not the studio one) was gliding through my ipod and I suddenly felt an intense wave of nostalgia for Mali--for one moment of my 27 months there.

We had been in country for about 2 weeks. All 56 of us in training, being carted through the streets of Bamako, to and from our training center, Tubaniso. The first few weeks were overwhelming and exhausting. It was hot, we were dirty, everything was new and hard. We were forced best friends but all still strangers event to each other. One afternoon, our massive white peace corps bus was taking us back to Tubaniso. It was close to dusk, we had been out all day for one reason or another. The training center was about 15km outside of the city--a trip that would take anyone in the U.S. 10 minutes to make, but from the Peace Corps bureau in the heart of Bamako generally took an hour or more for us. Crammed in, 5 to a row, we all kind of quietly rode thinking about anything other than where we were. Until the bus started sputtering and came to a halt on the side of the road--too far from either the bureau or the training center to walk back to one or on to the other.

Ah, Malian transportation. I don't know if there is anything less reliable on earth. We all piled out--grumpy. Our driver assured us it "would only be a minute, that it was a small small problem". It was early enough in our time in country that I think we actually believed him. As we looked around we realized that we had stopped next to a large courtyard where there was some sort of party going on. Upon seeing a group of 50 young, predominately white non-Malian people, the folks throwing the party coaxed us into the courtyard to join them in the festivities. Music was playing, everyone was dancing. We were shy--the kind of shy like small children at a party who don't want to let go of their mother's dress and shrink away from attention that is given to them. But one by one we all started to wander out, or get pulled out, into the circle of dancing, until we realized that every one of us was now in the middle. The sun set, the bus continued to be fixed, and we continued to dance.

I found myself opening my eyes at the stop for the Pentagon with a smile on my face and an ache of nostalgia in my heart. Eventually, our bus was fixed and we boarded it, somewhat changed--it was that first moment where you begin to absorb the country and the people who ended up absorbing us for the remainder of the time we all had left. The Coast ended as we pulled up to the Pentagon City stop and I quickly hit replay and joined the throngs of people in the corridors, my good mood quickly melting in the crowdedness of retail.

I walked into Nordstrom thinking it would be the best place to start the quest for the dresses for this weekend. I wandered through the racks, grabbing things left and right, arming myself with as many options as possible under the reasoning that if I had 20 things for the dressing room, there was a greater probability that something would work on the first try than if I had been choosier and grabbed only..5. A petite black woman with an accent came up to me and gathered the pile in my hands so she could go set up a dressing room for me while I continued to browse. When I finally made my way into my dressing room, this same young woman continuously checked in--was everything fitting? Did I need a tailor? Did I like the colors? Do I need shoes to try on with those dresses?

"Miss Emily", she kept saying, "you just let me know what you need". I whittled the original pile down to three dresses and a few other things, and went back out to make round number two of the racks, to make sure I did not miss anything. "Miss Emily!" "Ma'am, please, just call me Emily" "Emily--I will put this on hold for you, you just take your time" she said. So I went in and out of the rooms, with this woman always ready to stow away the keepers and dispose of those garments I did not want. After about 2 hours of this (yes, it seems egregious, but it takes a while to shop!) I found her in the racks and we went over to the pile that had become my "hold" pile. She and I went through as I decided on the true keepers (3 dresses, 2 pairs of pants and 3 shirts). One of the dresses I was buying to consider for the wedding and would return if one of the others was chosen instead, was missing a small piece of thread that held the sash in place. Knowing that Nordstrom had on-site tailors I asked my sales lady if I could purchase the clothes, but leave them at the counter while the garment was fixed and come back in an hour. She said of course, she would make sure it was less than an hour--I assured her that based on the sheer number of people in the mall I would most likely not be able to walk from one end and and back in LESS than an hour. She laughed while she wrote her name down on a card for me.

"Emily", she said, "My name is Binta. When you come back if you don't see me, just ask for me".

Binta. Huh. That's a familiar name.

"Binta--where are you from?"

"Guinea, West Africa", she replied. I looked down at the card she gave me: "Binta Diallo" was her full name.

In West Africa, and I assume other regions of the continent, you can tell what ethnic group someone is from based on their last name. Diallo is a Fulani name, I lived in a predominantly Fulani region of Mali, even though my village was Dogon. For the first three months in Mali, while in training, I had a Fulani last name--Cisse.

"Eh, Binta--are you Fulani?" I could hear myself get back into the West African speech patterns. She looked up at me like she had just won the lottery. "I lived in Mali, for 2.5 years", I explained. Immediately, she broke into French. "Emily, Emily, enchante, enchante", she kept saying. She gave me the West African combination between hand slap and hand shake and laughed and laughed. We chatted and little bit, and I told her I would be back in an hour.

I felt lighter--I felt good. I wandered through the mall quizzing myself on all the Fulani phrases I still remembered, almost three years TO THE DAY since I had arrived home. When I went back to the store, I saw Binta standing by a rack chatting with another sales lady.

"Giddo am--jam hiiri" I said. (My friend, I hope the afternoon has come peacefully--is the general translation and customary greeting for that time of day). As she turned around I thought she was going to burst into tears. We went through the extensive Fulani greetings and she continued to chatter away in the language. I finally had to say 'Binta, mido hali fulfulde seda seda tan" (Binta, I only speak a little Fulfulde).

"Emily, you are my family. You are my family". She said it over and over again. "W'ahhalai, allah, you are my family". She grabbed other women and pointed to me, in all my red haired and blue eyed glory, and declared, "This is my family, don't you understand--she's one of my people".

We chatted for a little while longer. It was getting late. I gathered my purchases and asked her if this was the department she always worked in. She said that it was and I assured her I would be back to see her soon. "Emily", she said, "you don't know what this means to me". I assured her I did--I thought back to that afternoon in Mali--surrounded by strangers, dancing as the sun set, feeling like a part of a group of people for the first time since arriving. Or arriving home to my village, my family, after being away and being greeted in the same manner that any family would greet each other.

I miss the family I had in Mali, and I look forward to going back next August. But until then, I'm thrilled to know that I have family in some of the most unlikely places, and it's so easy to feel like I'm right back at home at the most unlikely times.

Random!

Keeping with the totally random posts--check this blog out. It's so strange. Don't ask how I stumbled upon it.

Calling All Decorators

So, *sigh*, I'm in this great new apartment and I have zero decorating prowess. I don't even know how to use an electric drill. I'm feeling uninspired. I need help. Please come help me, but only if you promise not to judge me for my lack of vision almost 2 months in. I'll buy nice things for you and tell you witty jokes and funny stories while you're here. I'm desperate. Seriously.

In other news, SH and I are hosting a kickass barbeque this weekend. It's a kickball fest too, just 'cause. I think it will be a good way to kick out all the crappy that's been hanging around. I might bake a cake. And that's that.

Is There Something In the Air?

I have a lot to say and I'm not sure how to put it all down. So here's what I'm thinking about right now in bullet point style and maybe I'll pull my thoughts together to throw down a real post at some point soon:

• The changing of seasons in DC and how it seems that this somewhat lethargic movement from Summer to Fall has proved to be remarkably evocative in its ability to force feelings to emerge that I think some of my best gals would rather like to have remain buried;
• The way people justify their treatment of the people who they've considered friends for years. FYI everyone: allowing ostensibly a good friend to find out about your engagement 2 weeks later from the 87th person who knew about it before her is kind of a kick in the balls to that friendship;
• Why people (aka: some very dense boys) don't seem to see what I see in my gals;
• O Canada Girls by Dar Williams;
• Why boys we loved deeply and still love in many ways more privately have the ability to tug at our hearts. And maybe even have the ability to make us choke back tears when hearing the words "he forgives you" muttered on the metro after a long day;
  
• Why I was a blathering idiot, reminscent of first semester first year, when called on in Securities Regulation today;
  
• The Long Way Around by the Dixie Chicks;
  
• The knowledge that, even at our weakest, we are all fabulous girls with fabulous lives, futures, pasts and presents--regardless of what our low points try to whisper to the contrary;
• How wonderful thanksgiving will be in NC with my sister, bro-in-law, cousin and best gal pal HB;
  
• Hope springing eternal.
  

Things I Learned in My Apartment This Week

I am procrastinating going through my outline for my final tomorrow, so instead I'll impart some wisdom on everyone tonight:

Clean the lint filter out in your dryer frequently.

In my old apartment, I was the lint filter nazi. I even taped a note on the dryer to remind my roommates to do the same. The fear of the dryer catching on fire due to one layer of lint left in the lint trap was instilled in my at an early age by my mother. She continues to remind me that I will burn in a firey hell of lint and damp laundry if I don't.

This apartment has a different washer and dryer than the ones I am used to. They're new and kinda European-esque. They stack and are digital. They're super quiet (except for the spin cycle on the washer, which makes it feel like an earthquake that would register at about a 7 on the Richter scale is happening in my apartment). But I've noticed in the past...oh...2 weeks that the dryer takes a really astoundingly long time to dry clothes. I polled my friends to see if they had any suggestions. SG suggested it was an energy saver. OOHH. Ok, I could live with that.

Until it took me 3 friggin' hours to dry a load of laundry. I stared at my dryer. STARED. What is wrong with you, dryer? I considered calling Armo who has kidnapped the washer/dryer instructions to have her read them to me aloud over the phone.

And then it dawned on me: the lint trap. WHERE THE F%$K IS THE LINT TRAP???!! it took me, I shit you not, about 10 minutes to locate. They hide those suckers sleekly, the Europeans do. When I found it, the poor thing was packed and I gazed at all the layers and retraced my laundry doing ways over the past month in the colors stacked upon each other.

Oh my mother will be disappointed....

I sheepishly put my wet load of laundry in, spun the digital dial to "normal dry" and checked it when it softly beeped at the end of the cycle. Secretly hoping that the load, like the others the past few weeks, would still be damp, I reached in and shoved my hand in.

Nope. Bone Dry. Whoops.

Lesson learned. And, I might add, this is an actual lesson, not the bullshit one that was thrust on GT this evening, it seems. The gall of some people!

Would you like a side of global warming with that Chai?

DC is gross right now. It feels more like mid-August than mid-October. It's seriously affecting my inner-self as it gets dark by 7pm (latest) but it's still 90 degrees and humid out. Eeew.

However--I'm laying down a secret plan, and have been for some time, to try to get it to cool off. While I never EVER drink hot beverages in the hot summer months unless a) I am traveling, b) I am sick or c) it's soup other than gazpacho, I have started ordering warm drinks once again. It's not done much, up until now, other than make sweatier than I would have been by just walking outside, but it's my own way of willing the season to actually change. I just ordered my favorite fall/winter drink, in fact, a nice, extra hot soy chai latte from (strike me down and light me on fire) Starbucks.

And wouldn't you know it--I just checked the weather and tomorrow is supposed to in the mid-60s! While I generally would not rejoice at a solid 30 degree temperature change this quickly, I gotta say, I'm looking forward to a brisk walk to the metro tomorrow morning (wake me up before my exam!) versus the walk that makes me feel like I need a shower..again.

Anyone up for some apple picking in this (hopefully) seasonably appropriate weather we're about to get??!!

Multiple Personality Disorder

I've been having this strange experience the past few months here in the nation's capitol--I've felt, on a number of occasions since May, like I have been morphing into a person who is a stranger to the person I've always been. I don't think it's permanent, and it certainly only comes out on specific occasions, but it's unsettling because it's what I've said (and still feel) that I never want to become.

The summer experiences I've had while in law school have been diverse--from working in a refugee camp in a forgotten area of the world to working in the world's largest international law firm, I have spanned not only continents, but socio-economic, religious and law related spectrums. I left the refugee camp with the solid and sure sense that the experience would be one of many working with refugees in less savory parts of the world. I left with a deeper perspective about people, faith, suffering, desperation and joy. This past summer was also a learning experience, a perspective enhancing lesson in corporate America and world and presented struggles, like the refugee camp, that I had never confronted previously.

I've always maintained that I would step into corporate law for the amount of time it would take me to pay off loans and get some cushion in the bank--then I would waltz out and pursue a life that I would find fulfilling. But I have to say--being in this corporate, money soaked environment is like having a hook in you that isn't always noticeable, but that allows you to be dragged back in at a moments notice. And sometimes that world is alarmingly fun.

I felt myself being yanked back, most recently, this past Friday. A good friend and very senior associate at the firm and I had planned to get a drink that evening, most likely later in the night. Friday was one of those perfect full days--errands run, groceries purchased, banking done, house cleaning/laundry taken care of while a pot of Moroccan lentil soup simmered on the stove. My dear friend SG called after having a harried day and I invited her over for some soup and wine to unwind after being immersed in the gritty city. A little while later another good gal friend called. Soup's on the stove, wine's on the counter, come on over! Later CB, HB, and LH all made their way up 17th to my little apartment, all bearing wine, all wanting the company of friends and to just relax. At one point, as I opened my fridge and scoured for more cheese and crackers for this impromptu get together, I paused and was just kind of surveying the scene--it filled me with such great joy to have a home where people wanted to gather, to get away, to have some home cooked lovin' and just be comfortable. I, in my yoga pants and baggy t-shirt, was equally at home and it was just one of those good moments.

Having planned to meet up with the firm guy around 10:30, I hopped in the shower (leaving everyone in the living room), and transformed from yoga pants/t-shirt to high end city night life wear in less than 20 minutes. I gave SG my extra set of keys, put out some more cheese, gave kisses on cheeks and headed out of my apartment full of friends. This is where the transition begins.

Out of my warm, homey, friend filled apartment to a high end bar/lounge restaurant where everyone knows my friend the bill is never too high. 200 dollar bottles of wine, 60 dollar steak, the special duck pate (which is one of the places I had to draw the line) and just more and more and more. I realized, at the sight of the town car waiting for us outside, we would not be returning to my sanctuary anytime soon.

And I was right. The town car diligently waited outside the venues the firm friend took us to. When we left the first place, not having finished the second egregiously expensive wine, we simply emptied the decanter into our glasses, popped outside and into the hired car and drank it on the way. At each stop we would return to the car to have cold water waiting between the seats. It was one place after another until there wasn't anywhere else to go, and then the night was over.

The next day, as I stared at the blisters from the hot little shoes and nursed my hangover, I starting thinking about the decadence and frivolity that comes with the lifestyle I am walking into, at least temporarily. I find myself torn between having the ability to shake it off and balance the new with the old, and feeling like my ability to enjoy this extravagance has allowed me to misplace some of the conviction and perspective that I have held onto so strongly until now. I wonder if I should feel guilty about 500 dollar bar tabs never paid for by me, VIP rooms and table service at clubs. I'm definitely not looking for the answer here--It's just been on my mind.

Update on Crushing *Sigh*

So. In typical DLS life fashion my crush ended far too quickly after beginning. But it's totally not my fault. It's his.

I looked cute on Wednesday night (if I do say so myself) and thanks to a nice sale in Ann Taylor that I stumbled upon that afternoon after a MAJOR clothes crisis hit at school, I snapped up two pairs of delightful shoes (both of which were super cute) and a couple of pairs of pants. JB had sent the bat signal out to him so I was totally hopeful an appearance would be made.

The event was great--tons of people, some major surprises of people who I had not seen for ages and was thrilled to reconnect with. And i kept glancing around for CICB. Until JB came over and told me she had just gotten a text from him and that he had his "own" "Intelligence Ctte" event that night.

Didn't he know I was there? That I looked super cute? I was disappointed for, about, .6 seconds and then got over it. People to mingle with and wine to be drunk!

Later that evening after the event and in the cab on the way to Poste with CB and the former Good Press Secretary, I got some more intel on CICB. Apparently, the man is SUPER flirty with everyone and has, *gasp*, commitment issues. OH! And, the gf I thought he had been dating for a few months, it turns out they've been together over a year!

So I'm over it. Crushes are fun while they last, but it's never fun to fall for the unavailable men (though I'm beginning to think they're ALL unavailable) with commitment problems. Oh well, I guess the game of world domination will stay packed up on my shelf a little bit longer.

Crushing

*WARNING (mom): This post is a little more scandalous than others. Proceed with caution*

This week I've felt like a young 18 year old again, walking on cloud nine (or maybe my head has been more on cloud nine than usual, who knows), picking virtual daisies and singing (to myself, rest assured) show tunes as I stroll down the street.

Why? Well. It's been a long time since DLS had a "crush". Noo, I don't mean the "crush" that sometimes develops on the cute coffee guy (I swear he gives me extra shots every time I go in!) or like the one some people get on the UPS dude, or the person across the street you see every day when you're not wearing your glasses but he appears to be of the male persuasion so hell, let's have a crush on him too, just for good measure.

No, this is the kind when you meet someone and it's like an instantaneous connection. You become wittier, hotter, classier, and the most interesting person in the room immediately. I've had versions of those over the last year--but they've all kind of stopped before starting for various reasons (and by all I mean, like, 2. Ok maybe one. But let's say 2). But this past Thursday it happened again. And alas, there is, of course, a story. So let me paint the picture.

There was an event at the Good Senator's office to say good-bye to the Good Press Secretary for his committee. I always love going to these events as I get to catch up with folks who I rarely see and pretend I'm reliving my old days roaming the halls of Dirksen and Russell and Hart. It's great. My wing-gal LP had shown up, and we were making our rounds from the bar to the cheese plate back to the bar (you get the idea) interrupted only to say hello to people (including the Good Senator--on a side note--I did not realize just how busty my new cute shirt was until he casually glanced down. Whoops). Finally, our friend JB arrived. JB still works for the Good Senator and has a very important job, so it's normal that LP and I arrive first, but we hate that, because we like to travel in JB's pack since she knows way more people than we do (and it's guaranteed to be way more fun that way. In honesty, we try to sequester JB to a corner near the bar with us so the three of us can just stand around and catch up and drink cocktails, but that only works for about 13 minutes, tops, generally). Anyway. As LP and I strolled up to JB we noticed (ok, "we" means "I" since LP is recently and happily married) she was talking to a young man we had never met. We made small talk with JB until finally she introduced us.

*Cue Fireworks*

Cute Intelligence Committee Boy (CICB) and I immediate hit it off. It was like a ray of light had started shining on the two of us and we just chatted and laughed and I was super witty and hilarious. Now, here's the thing. I'm a dork. I own it, I live it (occassionaly) but it's hard to hide when my guard is down and I'm beginning to gush. CICB works behind, what JB refers to as, the frosty glass doors next door to where JB adn I used to share an office. It's very clandestine (In fact, I think I made that exact comment last week to CICB) and just adds to the sexiness of the person. I went into full flirt mode and I think it was going really well. Until I did the following:

CICB and DLS: lots of witty and fun conversation. DLS might have asked for a tour of the space behind the frosty glass doors. CICB might have said (verbatim) "I think that can be arranged" (but it sounded super hot when he said it). The DLS did the following (and should be shot for it):

DLS: OMG! Since you work in Intelligence, and you work behind the frosty glass doors where everything's clandestine, I have to ask: Do you play Risk? You must love risk! That's clandestine too!

Let's all just stop and pause at the statement above. WHO SAYS THAT? ME! I do. And the thing is, it didn't stop there.

CICB: Oh yeah, I like Risk.

DLS: You DO??? Ok, well, how about Castle Risk, I mean, come ON, that one is way better than regular Risk.

JB and LP: Oh holy Jesus. What is DLS doing.

CICB: You have Castle Risk? Wow, that is totally old School

DLS: Oh, I know (being as modest as usual)--I actually have the 1992 version off E-bay with Risk on one side and Castle Risk on the other. It's awesome!!!!

So you all get the picture. I am an idiot. As the party wound down in the committee room, we started making plans for the after party event (which staffers from the Good Senator's office are famous for). CICB had to go finish some stuff up, but said he'd meet us there. The minute he left I went mining for details. JB and the Good Press Secretary were the first to break the news: he has a girl friend.

I refused to believe it. How could there be SO much palpable chemistry if he has a girlfirend. I mean, throw me a freaking bone here! I convinced myself over the next hour it was all a lie. And then I met her. Frankly, she's not very nice. I'm way nicer. And funnier. And then the kicker happened. She latched onto me and decided, since we live in the same neighborhood, that we should be new BFFs and hang out together.

We exchanged numbers. The GF and I. Not CICB and I. But here's the problem: I don't want to hang out with HER. I want to hang out with CICB!!! I was advised it would be of poor moral character (Thanks EA!!) to hang out with her to get to him to break them up so I could marry him and live happily ever after (yes, that went through my mind. Breifly. Fine, I might burn in hell, but whatevs, I lived through hot season in the Sahara--it can't be worse than that).

So tonight is another Good Senator event. JB has been my diligent co-conspirator on the inside trying to ensure CICB would be there. I did my hair this morning and wore cute clothes. While I am hopeful that he arrives, sees me, and falls madly in love, I doubt that will happen.

So instead, I think I might invite him over for a game of World Domination (Risk) and see just who gets dominated in the end ;)

Dear Depressed Law Student....

Dear Depressed Law Student sitting next to me at Steam Cafe:

I can't help but overhear your conversation with your (possible but improbable) girlfriend since the tables here are 4 inches apart from each other. Let me start by telling you this: I sympathize. We all do (ok, not the psychos who love every single aspect of 3 years on a law campus, but most of us).

I understand those first few minutes, seeing a good friend to "catch up", sitting there making awkward small talk. Glancing at the menu. Shuffling around nervously. And I understand the dam the size of Hoover that is waiting to burst at the first question of: And how are you really.

I could not help but smile into my Con law II reading on soft and hard originalism as you discussed the "exciting" aspect that you just received approval to teach an 8 week boxing class at the gym on campus, only to then spiral downward to reveal your true levels of depression as you exclaim how it WOULD be great, but they decided to charge for the class. They being, as you further explain, the state of the art gym that is being financed by thousands of student dollars that are masked in our tuition. And to top it off, charging means most likely no one will come.

Ah ha. YOU too, Depressed Law Student, go to my frugal law center. Now I can sympathize even more with your self professed "deep depression. Kind of like a mid life crisis".

Depressed Law Student (Funny, we share the same acronym), let me assure you: it will get better. Even though you state that "you know, my grades aren't that good" and reiterate "I'm just really depressed", believe me--some day you'll be walking down the street and that feeling of deep seeded depression will give way to blanket acceptance of the next decade or so of your life and what you'll be doing.

And trust me, Depressed Law Student, if you think law school is bad, just wait till you get to a firm.

Hugs and Kisses (and look into our discounted, though still inferior, therapy included in our really remarkably poor health care plan),

DLS

Observations

So my fabulous world of 17th and T continues to give me more topics to ruminate over as water for pasta boils and the newest episode of the Sopranos waits (eagerly for me!) on pause. As a student, I have spent the last three years recognizing that my schedule is much, much different from most of the folks around me. My first year was consumed by part time work, evening classes, lots of time in the gym, mid-day naps now and then and strolls through the city at 2:30pm when most people were hunkered down for the rest of the long afternoon at work. Living on the Hill, I would occasionally see the housewives walking their babies and dogs but it was pretty quiet mid-day. Nothing was crowded. There was no bustle.

17th and T and all the areas surrounding me are not like this at all. In the last two years I have changed my schedule quite a bit as well--I rarely sleep in or nap, and I aim to get to school around 9am regardless of when I have class during the day. I don't generally leave school until the evening, having realized my productivity increases dramatically the more I am away from my comfy apartment (and the lure of Netflix).

But last Wednesday was a little out of the ordinary. I had errands to run so I took my time getting up and getting to campus and as I strolled down 17th St, I realized something seemed very extraordinary--the sheer number of people wandering around doing the same thing I was. Now, I know this is a very popular area of the city for young folks right now (as evidenced by the rent and difficulty in finding apartments) but good God! Doesn't anyone in this neighborhood work? Ever? During the day? I mean, I felt like I was walking around mid-day on a Saturday. Shorts. T-shirts. Flip flops. Dogs. It was very striking. What does everyone in my neighborhood DO? Could it be that we can all afford the rent because we're all students living on borrowed money? Noooo. I simply don't believe it.

Another observation I've had over the past few months has to do with this city and men. I don't normally discuss men on this, so turn back now should you not want to read my (possibly belligerent) rant...

So I have this group of fabulous single girlfriends here in D.C. And I mean we're really fantastic. Some of us are in law school having had amazing careers and continuing to have amazing careers. Some of us continue to work on the Hill, have played concert piano in one of the most prestigious venues in the United States before reaching puberty, have multiple advanced degrees and hold high level positions for current presidential candidates. We have lived overseas, volunteered in our communities and are all around fantastic individuals. And the group, by and large, is composed of very attractive women. But in this fair city, it proves impossible time and again for us to find lasting or sustainable relationships. It is mind boggling and has become a fairly constant topic of discussion within the group. Often over wine. Lots of wine.

Don't get me wrong--we also see, what CB and I lovingly refer to as the "epidemic", many of our friends settling into lasting relationships ending in marriage. And that's great. But we all wonder whether this phenomenon for us is a curse of the city in which we dwell or something more. There's a great scene in Sex and the City (I know, I kill myself referencing this show as well--how 2002) where one of the characters makes a revelation based on a famous scene from 'The Way We Were"--there are two types of women in the world--there are the boring girls, who, of course, Hubell ends up with, and there are the Katie girls--the ones who are a little bit larger than life, an little harder to tame. On more than one occasion while sipping mimosas on sidewalk cafes here in D.C. on lazy Sunday mornings, we have wondered if this stereotype is indeed true. Are we the Katie girls that are destined to be passed over for the easier and more controlled women? And if we are, should we change?

I believe the answer to the last question is a resounding Hell No! One of the things I adore and admire about my girlfriends is our drive and passion. Our strength of character and depth of emotion that makes it possible to constantly live a life filled with unrestrained laughter and a sense of independence that, well, some women lack. The same self assuredness that allows us to raise our hands, challenge a professor who has a lifetime of legal prestige behind him/her gives us the ability to walk into a crowded room alone and appear completely at ease, or stand up for ourselves eloquently in a professional environment. We don't hide our independence. It's something we celebrate as friends.

I would never change a thing about my girlfriends. Their strength, neuroses, brilliance and power is what draws me to them. I just wonder if it is the same thing that drives potential mates away. I love the sappy moments in television shows where the characters ponder the idea of soulmates. Eh, who knows. The other great thing about my gals that I have failed to mention until now--we're all happy. REALLY happy. With who we are and what we have, regardless of relationship status. But now YOU know that some stereotypes of female brunch conversation actually takes place. For whatever that's worth.

Rant over. Carry on..

The Eagle Has Landed

My apartment is finally coming together, after a short three weeks since moving in--it's a good feeling and definitely nice to come home to at least one complete room versus just a lot of stuff and not a lot of places to put it all.

It was an interesting weekend, full of lots of humor and revelations about where I currently exist. And it was all positive. I had a startling, yet timely, realization that it was time to let people go who had been nothing but judgmental and unsupportive for too long, and it was also a weekend of realizing the great people who remained to keep me balanced.

One of my favorite people in D.C. (and in my life), CB, woke up early with me on Saturday morning to head out to Ikea as it opened to try to find this elusive dresser that has kept my bedroom in a seriously un-zen state for 22 days. We hauled ourselves up there, coffee in hand, and made our way through the maze that is Ikea, College Park. They force you to walk through the ENTIRE store causing people to believe they need far more than they actually do. I was a victim of it, as was C, but it was wholly successful and the afternoon was full of promise as we pulled back into the District.

An interesting thing has happened in the last few weeks. Everyone I know seems to be doing some sort of home improvement/restoration. It's fun to have a posse of people who are all thinking about the same kinds of things--color schemes, furniture placement, curtains and bedding. CB was no exception. Having bought a new fabulous bed and all the fixings that go with that, she, too, was in the market for some accents and new goodies. Most notably a rug. Now, here's the first downfall of shopping with good friends--we persuade each other that what sits before us is really what you absolutely need right now no matter the price!!!!! Thus CB walked out of the rug department with a beautiful Gebbe rug far more expensive than the ones she envisioned purchasing before we arrived. (But it looks great, girlfriend!).

Strolling through the aisles and maze of "rooms" Ikea sets up inspired both of us, but after I located the dresser I wanted, we headed down stairs to the abyss of $hit you have to walk through to first get to the aisles where the boxes of furniture sit, and eventually to the checkout. I call this area the abyss of $hit because it includes everything you never EVER knew you needed, but HAVE to have. Case in point: The Jello Shot Trays.

Let me paint the picture: CB and I, weary after making it this far through the store, walk through the kitchen area of the abyss, stunned by all the shiny things they have. OOOHH a Wok! (I hate stir fry, and I was tempted to buy it). OOOHHH new plates! (I just bought a brand new set before moving in here). OOOHHH a weird grilling thing that has a bendy handle that moves and causes me to think I broke the damn thing just by picking it up (I don't even know on which kitchen surface I would use this). So you get the point. Just when we think we're in the clear, the two of us strolled past a bin filled with rubber trays with cut outs--stars, puzzle pieces, hearts, (beer) bottles. A large sign was advertising "Ice cube trays, $1.99!!!!". The two of us stopped dead in our tracks. If one of us had had a Sharpie I think we would have taken the sign, crossed out "Ice Cube Trays" and penciled in "Jello Shot Trays" since that's what we both exclaimed at precisely the same time we saw them. Clearly, we were purchasing a few of these and of course, we would throw a dresser warming party that night and try them out.

An hour later we were in the car back to the city, a Saturday morning well spent.

One of the things I hate about Ikea is the self assembly required for all their furniture. CB had assured me she "loved" putting Ikea furniture together and was a "pro" at it, so I happily dragged her back to my apartment and put her to work on the dresser, while she sent me away to get lunch. Now let's be clear: this was not one of the three drawer Ikea specials you see in most college dorm rooms: it's a large (and pretty) 8 chest bureau. I don't know if CB really took that into consideration as she pronounces her love of furniture assembly. As she steadily worked on the dresser, employing me as needed, I put together some bathroom fixtures and ran out to get the necessary ingredients of Jello shots (Vodka. Seriously. It's the only necessary ingredient. Oh, and Jello is helpful) and sent out the email to the gals about the impromptu party being held that evening.

3.5 hours later the dresser was put together, the Jello shots were firming in the refrigerator and CB and I were lounging in the living room having a celebratory vodka soda. It dawned on us, somewhere between the first and third ounce of vodka, that this is one of those boy afternoons where you kind of don't realize what missing until you need someone power tool inclined and wicked strong. But we also realized that girlfriends can make a pretty good team and stand in for the boy (we exclaimed as we gave each other high fives!) and we settled back in to our drinks comforted knowing that we could be each other's boyfriends as the opportunity presented itself.

The gathering, impromptu and small, was a great event. IG, our local male captain of the Pink Team graced us with his presence, was charming and complimentary as an captain should be, and fed us all jello shots out of a spoon. (Note to those rushing out the door to hit Ikea and get the Jello Shot Molds after reading this post: The actual formed alcohol infused jello is quite tricky to get out of the mold. Proceed with caution). It was just the end as great a day as anyone could have asked for, and I got to show off my new bedroom and fabulous dresser in the "preview" to my housewarming party (which might take place in December, based on the rate things are coming together!).

I love the times when the negative is canceled and buried by the positive and you're left with only the good and a bit of a lighter step. Cheers to that!

Experiments

The past few weeks have been an adjustment living alone. I love it, I love having my own space (even without a dresser and the apartment still largely packed) and the knowledge that the entire area is mine. But I'm social and I'm used to being around people a lot of the time, so sometimes it gets lonely. I don't have a TV right now, so when I'm looking to relax, unwind, have some mindless distraction, I have been reliant on my little Mac and the world wide web. I have cruised through most online shows offered for free on ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX, FX, CW, and MTV. I have even downloaded (for $1.99) and episode of Top Chef since Bravo doesn't give shows away for free. I have sampled most of iTunes's free TV shows (and have gotten hooked on a few: Gossip Girl, to name one) and have been loving my Netflix subscription.

My current obsession (since there were only three seasons of Arrested Development. Robbery!) is The Sopranos. Yes, I am one of the few 20-30 somethings in the free world who has not ever seen this show. But people talked enough about it for the last 6 years I decided I, too, would see what all the fuss was about.

I love it. I'm totally into the whole "sensitive conflicted mobster who goes to therapy and then blows people's faces in" thing. Love it. I mean, I have thought for a long time that everyone could use an hour a week of talking to an unbiased listener about everything happening with them. I can't wait to start working at the Firm so I can get quality medical insurance that will let me have a therapist of my own! But I digress. There is only so many Sopranos episodes one can watch consecutively. I just finished the first season this weekend and realized I had an unrelenting craving for Italian food.

Every episode revolves around food and therapy. And the food always looks GOOD. So today, after a little law school reading I decided to enjoy the gorgeous weekend weather and take a stroll to the grocery store. Along the way I passed Blockbuster...ooh the temptation of another disk of the Sopranos. It was too much. I couldn't resist. And then I thought OOHH Meatballs! So my plan for Sunday evening materialized.

Moving into my new place did inspire me to actually use my kitchen. After all, it would be largely wasted space if I just let it sit there for show, right? But I've never been a good cook. Or a cook at all. So anytime I take on a cooking endeavor it's never clear what direction it's going to go. I'm not good at "following directions" or "using cookbooks" or "knowing what kitchen terminology means". So when I went home and found a recipe online for what one online guru deemed "the best meatballs EVER" I scanned the recipe and hit the streets again.

It seemed easy enough. Meat, eggs, breadcrumbs, cheese. This recipe used a combination of veal, beef and pork. A fancy endeavor indeed. I imagined, as I walked to Whole Paycheck, my upcoming meatball glory. Making them and having the other apartment dwellers in my building knocking down my door by the end because the aroma was just so overwelmingly intoxicating. I was inspiring myself!

And then I got to the store. Note to D.C. dwellers: Do not attempt Whole Foods on a Sunday at 4:45pm. It's hell. My plan, to save money, was to get the meat at the expensive store and then stop at our Soviet Safeway on the way back up for the basics--eggs, breadcrumbs etc. I got to the first place and almost threw in the towel altogether. It was a zoo. I dodged couples and baby strollers for 10 minutes and decided that braving two city grocery stores in one weekend day would be too much--I would suck it up and buy everything I needed at the expensive place. 3 kinds of meat (all free range), one pound each. Check. Cage free eggs. Check. Parmesean cheese. Check. Now where the hell are the breadcrumbs? I thought FOR SURE Whole Foods would have 17 different kinds to choose from. Up and down aisle after all aisle. Not a bread crumb to be found. And this is from a store that stocks 27 different kinds of wheat flour.

Tap Tap Tap. Excuse me, sir. Hi. Can you tell me where a breadcrumb might be? What? You're kidding. Are you telling me there is not ONE breadcrumb in the entire store? Huh? Oh, what's this. Hmm. Wait, this looks like some sort of Japanese thing. Are you SURE this is a breadcrumb? I'm making meatballs and I really don't want them to suck. No, I see that it says "Italian flavored" right on there, but it just doesn't seem too breadcrumby. Ok, I'll try it. Thanks!

Seriously. That was an interaction with a kind Whole Foods employee. Suddenly my illusions of meatball greatness started to fade. After 20 minutes in the "express" line and 60 dollars later I headed home to try my hand at the meatball. I mean, at this point there was no turning back. I had 3+ pounds of meat that I had no other plans for. I turned my computer back on and brought the recipe back up. Reading it more carefully this time, I noticed something interesting: In the ingredients section it said "One pound combined ground pork, beef and veal. Not one pound each. Damnit. What the hell am I going to do with all this meat! Well, how many meatballs can one pound of meat REALLY make? Hmm. 20-25. Wow. I'm going to have *a lot* of meatballs by the end of the night.

Knowing that I couldn't possibly make 75 freaking meatballs, I decided to make some tonight and save part of the meat (without having ANY clue what to do with the rest of it. Suggestions??). So I kind of added about 2/3 of the meat to a bowl and decided I would "eyeball" the rest of the ingredients until they seemed right. You know, from all my meatball making experience from the past.

I added an egg to the recipe. Decided to just dump some of the suspect breadcrumbs until it seemed right. Used the entire thing of cheese I bought. 4 cloves of garlic rather than one. I did follow the directions to mix it all with my hands (icky poo) and thought the mixture seemed a little dry. Hmm. I really didn't want to add another egg because of the ick factor of mushing it around in the meat mixture (for all those vegetarians, hang in there, it gets better) and had a stroke of genius (I thought) while gazing around my kitchen for other options. Wine! I mean, when doesn't booze make something better? I dumped a little Fat Bastard Shiraz into the pot and gleefully mushed it in, enjoying the purple tinge the mixture took on.

The recipe called for putting the meatballs on the rack over a cookie sheet, but who the hell has this kind of rack contraption in their kitchen? Seriously. So I threw those suckers (far larger than called for, but I didn't want to be making meatballs ALL night) right on the cookie sheet and threw them in the oven. I had no idea how long they would actually need to cook, so I used my killer cooking instinct as well and gave them 5 extra minutes after I was sure they had to be done.

The result? PERFECTION. I'm not kidding. I could open a meatball store and have customers lined up down the street. I was so thrilled with the result I wanted to call everyone I know. I mean, I feel a sense of redemption from cooking gone wrong so many times in my life, like the now infamous pumpkin pie incident of 2001 (so fine, I tripled the recipe accidentally and made enough pie filling for 9 pies instead of three. Who doesn't love pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving?) I'm hoping my meatballs will redeem me this Thanksgiving and get me off of napkin and tablecloth ironing duty. And silver polishing duty. And "anything we can do to keep DLS out of the kitchen" duty. My prize winning meatballs deserve better than that....

Reflections

I often forget that I have been out of college for almost 7 years and that my age is more than just a number, but a reflection of time that has passed and events that have occurred. I was thinking about that this past week, with the passing of the sixth anniversary of the World Trade Center attacks. I was startled at the realization that it had been six years since that day--one that is surely indelible in most adult American minds. It was jarring not only because the day passed with barely a mention of the attack, but because it caused me to have this jolt of thinking about the highlights of the last six years.

And it made me remember, as the day normally does, where I was and what I was doing. We all have the epic moments--where were you when Kennedy was assassinated (no, I was not alive), or when the Challenger exploded or the Berlin wall came down. The Bush v. Gore decision. September 11. Some events resonate more clearly in our minds than others, some more permanent and alive, like a photograph gazed at for so long that you memorize not only the features of it, but the feeling encapsulated in that day--that moment.

The Senate was a heady place for a 22 year old, my dad used to say. And he was right. And the funny thing is, it remained this elevated, kind of sexy place before, during and after the attacks. We were at the center. We were the speculated 4th destination. We worked for the Boss who ran back into Russell "because he had staff in there!" We were stoic, in some senses, in our place on the hill. We were united, not only in the cause and the legislative tasks at hand, but in some sort of unspoken fear. I remember the days and weeks after the attacks as clearly as the day of. I remember after the attacks, after the anthrax letters, the phone call. At work. From my father. "DLS. Your mother would like you to come home now".

I left DC the weekend after the attacks. I went to Charlottesville on a Greyhound to feel something familiar and more removed. I got on the bus at Union Station and wanted to sink into my chair as we pulled out, onto 395. I was seated next to an older black woman who seemed friendly enough. I have never been one to be overly friendly to strangers. I would have sat the entire 2 hours reading my book and exchanging the most occasional pleasantries when necessary with her. But it's D.C., and everyone is curious about what everyone else does. She started a conversation and was asking me where I was going. I had graduated from UVA in May, I said. Going down to see some friends for the weekend. No, it wasn't really planned before this week, but I wanted a little break. Oh, what do I do? I work for the Chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee.

Pause.

We looked over to see the Pentagon, still smoking, with the rest of the bus crowding to their windows, taking pictures. I wanted to throw up. She took my hand and looked at me and said: "Child, you are doing something wonderful. The eyes of the nation are on you and your bosses and the rest of the angels who are keeping this government working in the aftermath of all that has happened. You are a leader and you are doing a remarkable thing."

I wanted to cry. I certainly did not think anything that I was doing was remarkable. Certainly not merely showing up to work in the morning. The following weeks, particularly post anthrax letter (I answered mail, for God's sake! it was unnerving), I would get on the metro at Dupont Circle and arrive at Union Station and more times than once, would consider staying on and not getting off. I mean, it would have been easy enough. But I never did. We just kept doing our jobs, one day at a time, with more security posted and less of a sense of being secure.

And six years later we look back to see the other tragedies that have amassed in that time. Katrina. The Tsunami. Virginia Tech. Myriad volcanoes and earth quakes. War. Life and death. I don't think that every year there needs to be a great pause every time we hit an anniversary of ones of these occurrences. Some events mean more to people in the fabric of their lives than do others. This one struck me this year because I remember the reflections I had on the first anniversary, when I was in Mali, not even a month into my 27 month odyssey. That morning, like the day itself is clear: Standing in open aired mud latrine with a bucket of warm water to take a bath, watching the night sky fade, listening to prayer call being chanted from the Muslim mosque down the path from my host family's house. Thinking of how far I had come and how peaceful this new place was. And about how much that day a year before had affected me.

I guess it's the same as the feelings I had at the end of last summer. It's always good to have things that keep you grounded with a strong sense of perspective. This reflection is one of those for me.

Jumping Back In

I realized a few days ago that I had become a little out of touch on here--I did not realize how long it had been since I posted anything! I've started a couple of posts over the past month, but they didn't ever feel quite right for some reason. So I'm trying afresh.

The month of August lived up to everything I had hoped--it was a solid incredible month--getting an offer, finishing work, attending my good friend's wedding, roadtripping to Vermont and spending one of the best weekends I could imagine on the Lake, heading home to my family, going to Maine, and moving into my own place. It amazes me how quickly it all went--but it was perfect. I spent a lot of hours up north considering what my next professional move would be. DC? Chicago? The Firm? It was unsettling a lot of the time, but it was a necessary process for me to go through in my own mind and with those closest to me in order to be sure I would make the right decision. Maine was a large time of inner debate--the Firm, the past 365 days, the decisions made and that would be ahead. I read books and chatted with my parents. I thought a lot of about the former Boy who had occupied my room in the cottage the previous summer with me and the space that has kind of been left behind since the end of the relationship. It was good to have some quiet and to be able to sit on my private porch and watch the ocean and breathe clean air. I felt like myself. I began to feel balanced again--a feeling that was so welcome after a summer that largely left me teetering around trying to remain somewhat close to my zen spot.

So here I am. I'm on my old couch in my new apartment. For a week I have padded around boxes and bags that remain packed until I buy a dresser and tables. But I don't mind, because it's my own place and my own space. I wander around in my undies, and sit in my living room without a tv and listen to the hum of the refrigerator, largely because I CAN. I walk to Whole Foods and Safeway and local coffee shops and pubs. There have been times where I've felt like I was in an entirely new city, even though I have lived here for years.

I've started my final year of law school. The beginning of the lasts. The last first day back, the last painfully high loan application for school (hooray!). It feels good to be back on campus with friends and academic stimulation. It's jarring to realize how quickly the time has passed, but it seems to be that way with everything as of late.

I looked out my window the other day and realized the days have gotten a lot shorter than the last time I had noticed. I always have a slightly nostalgic feeling as one season fades and another emerges. It's like the lyrics from that great song by Dar: "Summer ends and we wonder where we are, and there you go my friends with your boxes in your car". The feeling of change, movement, re-evaluation. It's never a bad thing, but it does sometimes cause one to pause.

So things in the nation's capital are good right now, and life remains pleasant.

Here We Go!

This is number one on the playlist for the next 10 days. It's going to be a glorious trip!

Wedding Day
Rosie Thomas

i've got my car all packed with cassette tapes
and sweaters and loose change and cheap cigarettes
i'm gonna drive through the hills
with my hand out the window
and sing 'til i run out of words
i'm gonna stop at every truck stop
make small talk with waiters and truck driving men
i'm gonna fall asleep in the back seat
with no one around but me and my friends

it's gonna be so grand
it's gonna be just like my wedding day

i've had enough of love
it feels good to give up
so good to be good to myself
i'm gonna get on the highway with no destination
and plenty of vision in mind
and i'm gonna drive to the ocean
go skinny dipping
blow kisses to venus and mars
i'm gonna stop at every bar
and flirt with the cowboys in front their girlfriends

it's gonna be so grand
it's gonna be just like my wedding day

so much for love
i guess i've been wrong
but it's all right cuz i'm moving on
i'm gonna drive over hills
over mountains and canyons
and boys that keep bringin me down
i'm gonna drive under skyline and sunshine
drink good wine in vineyards
and get asked to dance
i'm gonna be carefree and let nothing pass me by
never ever again

it's gonna be so grand
it's gonna be just like my wedding day

Wide Open Spaces

I forgot what it feels like to have expanses of days with no obligations. Having finished my job on Friday, not having any schoolwork and having an offer (and a sweet one at that) in my back pocket, I have taken the past few days and have been able to really enjoy them.

Tomorrow I leave for my road trip to the cabin on the lake in Vermont with J and C and 8 of C's closest friends. I cannot wait. Lounging in the lake, drinking wine, grilling various meats (and fine, vegetarian fare of C) seems like the perfect mid-August weekend to kick off 10 days in the great NorthEast. I head south on Sunday to my parent's house to hang out and mull over all of the information I have regarding my offer, cities, moving, and my next big step.

Then it's off to the beach on Wednesday. 4 days in Maine, in the sun, on the coast with mountains of books and not much else.

So that's where I'll be for the next ten days. yippee!

Here's Looking At You, Kid....

There are things I love about DC that I would never want to change. Tonight was one of them.

Picture this: The National Mall--dusk. The Capitol to my front, the Monument to my back. Sun setting over the great city. Blankets laid out with 5000 people waiting for the movie to play. 2 girlfriends, on blankets, wine cheese and a breeze that would make you feel like you were anywhere but here. Casablanca, the movie, ahead of us.

We take a lot for granted. No one can deny that. But moments like this night are those you cannot. DC is a great place for a lot of reasons, none so grand as what is given to all of us. I sat tonight, on my Dogon wedding blanket, three girls who I adore on hand, and laughed and drank and ate cheese and bread amongst so many other people. We talked about our happenings: One who is still with the Good Senator, who is making these amazing decisions and choices and calls, who has the bravery of no one else I know; One who is with me in law school, in firm life, in that crazy place we call normal; One who works for the Presidential Candidate, while in law school, while juggling the rest of the world. And we sit, on the National Mall, watching an old movie that has never lost its grace, and I see that we are the same.

I can struggle. And I can call out. But with the girls I have, the girls we all have, we will never lose our grace. It was a great evening. Looking at J, talking to her about our good friend's fiance who is now on tap for war, and questioning what has changed between 1943 and now.

So much. So much has changed. And that's what makes things great. And it's what makes things comforting. We live our lives ensconced in those of others. And there is an added richness in that. I am thrilled and blessed with those who grace mine.

Here's looking at you, Kid. And it's a gorgeous picture I see.