Put That in Your Instant Queue and Shove It

I have been responding to a tornado that hit North Minneapolis for 4 days now.*  The stories are heartbreaking, the work is grueling, and I am physically and emotionally exhausted.  Tonight I got home to watch a movie to unwind a little and Netflix suggested I watch Twister.

Twister? Twister?!

Fuck you, Netflix.  I want to cancel.

*I am not terribly comfortable expanding on the tornado given the heartbreaking stories and the fact that once something hits the internet, it never dies. 

A Literal Boatload of Lawyers

I am sure you have been checking back on my blog every day for the last nearly-month and imagined all the wondrous and amazing things that were keeping me away from the keyboard.  Did you think mountain climbing? Drinking sangria in the south of Spain? Breaking the world record in Olympic hurdles?

Well, you were close. But even more fabulous than all those things, I have been attending fresh-lawyer parties*!

Ingredients for a Fresh-Lawyer Party

8-60 Fresh Lawyers**

1-5 Unsuspecting Victims Girlfriends

54 High Fives

5 Discussions about Bar Prep Courses

22 Toasts boasting "Dude! We're done!"

Alcohol in quantities unmeasurable

Optional Ingredients

Paddleboat

A Sidewalk chalk drawing of Martin Van Buren

A deck of cards with, um... 'clothing optional' ladies

A half-naked Wisconsinite fresh-lawyer arguing the constitutionality of the Amish
Mashed potatoes served in a martini glass***

Throw all that in your martini shaker, add a dash of admiralty law, and top of your Martini Glass Mash with some broccoli and you are ready to... party! talk about the law.  Well, maybe it is more accurately a mix of both and it is surprisingly fun in a way only fresh-lawyer parties can be.  In fact, in legal speak, I could not be unaware of the amount of fun I had at all these parties that kept me from you.

Also, there is a lesser-known benefit of being a semi-regular attendee of fresh-lawyer parties: you yourself can win your very own fresh-lawyer!

*A "fresh-lawyer" is an individual who has just completed three grueling years of law school and has had (or is about to have) the degree of Juris Doctor conferred upon them.  They are easy to spot in the wild, as they often refer to themselves as "Dr. Talking About Myself in the Third Person." 

** A ripe fresh-lawyer is pale in color (from weeks in the library) and slightly soft when squeezed (grad school is rough on anyone's diet).  
*** I am serious.  And these were professional caterers that served a mashed potato bar in martini glasses.  And perhaps rightfully so.  What else says "legal professional" like a plastic martini glass overflowing with mashed potatoes and broccoli cheese topping? Nothing, that's what. 

One (or One Hundred) Day(s) At a Time

I love the feeling I get when I am anticipating something.  At first I hated admitting that because, reading between the lines I thought it really said "I am always waiting for something better."  But I don't think that's true.  I genuinely enjoy the little shiver of excitement that runs up my spine and makes my shoulders quiver and hearing my voice get an octave higher and my speech adopt a hurried cadence when I talk about all the things I am looking forward to. 

There is no better way to build anticipation than a solid, reliable countdown.  Lately, there has been so much going on, I have had several things to be excited about at once (this is lovely).  I was struggling, however, with knowing how excited I could/should be in general and, in turn, how excited I could/should be about a single event.  So I invented the Master Countdown! It. Is. Awesome.*

2 days until I join Mom on her very first 5K run (which will go fabulous, so stop worrying, Mom)

2 days until Minneapolis Outdoor Farmers Markets open (and I think St. Paul too!) I love farmers markets.  I love the fresh produce, I can't wait to buy big beautiful boquets of flowers for 5 dollars, I long for a delicious cup of coffee and a full bag of potatoes with bits of the earth still clinging to their rounded edges. 

3 days to getting keys to independence my new apartment.

9 days until I move into my new place (and then get to go on a Surly Brewery Tour!)

15 days until the only dentist I will ever like gets her degree.  It has been fun to be a friend and roommate to her while she has worked so diligently at a dream she first had when she was no more than 8 years old.

17 days until my longest time friend finishes her law degree.  This will (hopefully) be a sweet sweet finish to a very arduous but well-fought journey for this girl.  She deserves to be so very proud of herself.

19 days until the Twin Cities American Red Cross Heroes Award.  I love almost everything about the Red Cross: blood donation, disaster relief, lifesaving skills education.  All of it.  Also, getting to work there for 6 months was incredible.  So, anytime I can support them, I will.  All the sweeter that last year my very own dad won the Community Hero award.

22 days until this guy that I am kind of dating head over heels for finishes his law degree. Thankfully this will not be the end of discussions on the CISG.**  Phew!

29 days until I make a willing trip to visit the state of Iowa?! I know...

39 days until my 3rd running of the Buffalo Triathlon.  Year 1 I was panicked/frightened.  Year 2 I was unprepared and overwhelmed in life in general.  Year 3? So ready, baby.

59 days until Mom, Kim, and I see Guys and Dolls at the Ordway for Mother's Day/Kim's birthday.  PS: I think the seats we got are awesome.  And thus the daughter/kid sister that picked them is probably also awesome... just sayin'.

88 days until I officially hit the quarter-century mark.  So far, my 25th year has been challenging/beautiful/busy/expensive.

94 days until a great college friend's wedding to a beautiful young woman.  What I can't figure out is why, if he lives in Medford, Oregon, he is getting married in Dickinson, North Dakota.  It makes no sense to me.

157 days until I die trying to run a marathon.  I am running (?) the 30th annual Twin Cities Marathon.  You should come cheer me on.  I would plan on cheering someplace between the Start and Mile 10... I don't know if I will make it any further than that.


*And of course, it is outdated by tomorrow. 
**Convention of International Sale of Goods.  Or maybe the Convention on the Contracts of International Sale of Goods? Well, no... that would be the CCISG or the hipper C2ISG (or even 2CISG).

Committing Fungicide

Remember when I said I would try mushrooms in 2011? I did it tonight with pizza from Savoy's with my parents.  And guess what?!

[Sorry, this isn't a fairy tale where I tell you I have been wrong about mushrooms all along and "oh gosh aren't they delicious?!"]

No. They are still a fungus and they taste like slimy feet.

Luckily, the pizza was saved with my delicate lobotomy skills, carefully disentangling the fungal infidels from the delicious melted cheese.

Casualties #4 and #5: The Hip Bone's Connected to the Leg Bone

Casualty #4: My left hip.
Hard to know if this is truly an issue with my actual hip, or the excruciating pain in my hip socket (for example, it feels like someone's fist is wedged between the head of my femur and the socket that is supposed to be gently cradling it) is a symptom of something else.  Preferably, something fairly easy to fix.  Which I think/hope it is.  Which brings us to...

Casualty #5: My dream shoes. 
I believe the pain in my hip (and sometimes calves and knees) is caused by something easy to fix, but simultaneously slightly heartbreaking.  It is time for the Nikes to be retired.  My dream shoes.  That I designed.  With my name embroidered near the heel.  Generally, serious runners put no more than approximately 300 miles on a pair of shoes.  While I have not always tracked mileage, I know I have run over 100 miles in 2011 alone, so I am guessing that shoes that first hit the pavement over 20 months ago have seen closer to 400 miles.  Luckily, Groupon had a coupon for the Running Room a few weeks ago and at the very least I can get a discount.

The next depressing part of the New Soles for my Soul saga? If I really stick to this marathon training thing, I will have racked up so many miles that I will have to buy ANOTHER pair of shoes before race day.  I hope Ramen is on the pre-race diet. . .

F*#% the Fitted Sheet

Scene 1: Fitted sheet (not belonging to me) left in the dryer. Attempt to nest the corners and fold.  Unfold and reattempt. Lose patience. Try one more time. Grab something resembling a corner in each hand and spin arms around one another real fast, making tight ball of sheet. Look at ball of wrinkled fabric.  As folded as it gets.  Done.

Scene 2: New sheets! Yay! Bring them home and put them on the bed.  In removal of current sheet, one corner permanently attached to mattress corner.  Tug until corner loosens and elastic of the fitted sheets whaps! me in the face. Awesome. While putting on new sheets, corners 1, 2, and 3 go on without hassle.  Get to corner 4 to discover sheet cannot possibly be big enough.  Sideways? Remove sheet and reaffix to mattress.  Success with only corners 1 and 2.  This orientation is more wrong than the first.  Reattempt original orientation.  Corners 1, 2, and 3 successful! Borrow Jaws of Life from local fire department to affix corner 4.  Corner 4 success, until... pop! from corner 1.  Shit.  Tug on corner 1... almost there... pop! from corner 3. Guh.  Go around bed, tug on corner 3... pop! from ol' corner number 4. Repeat for ten minutes until you promise your first born son to the 200 Thread Count Gods and all corners stay put.

Scene 3: Sleeping in new sheets and pop! from corner 4. Unreal.

Scene 4: Look up on YouTube how to fold a fitted sheet.  Women in the video is IRONING the sheet. Decide she is batshit crazy and life is too short to fold fitted sheets.  Repeat folding method used in Scene 1.  

Casualty #3: The Epic Battle Between Pants and Runner's Thighs

You know what happens when most people run?  They get slim, lean bodies with flab-to-fab bellies, chiseled legs and arms. 

You know what happens to me when I run? Thighs.  Thighs all over.  I slimmed a tiny bit (only to toss it all back on by eating my weight in seafood on vacation and then subsequently discovering a co-worker's chocolate cache).  But mostly I have just added epic mass to my thighs. Granted, it's clear that the big bulge over my knee is many-miles-earned muscle rather than many-muffins-eaten fat.  My pants, however, do no know the difference and are staging a coup against me.  Everything is now too tight in the thighs.  Fitting, and even loose in the middle and over my non-existent tookus (aren't runners supposed to have great butts?  I would settle for just having a butt...), but the fabric of my pants is stretched to the limit over the Thundering Thighs of the Tubby Trotter. 

TGISS. (Thank Goodness It's Skirt Season).

Reverb 11: April

What's blossoming?

It's hard to think of anything blossoming in the literal sense while Minnesota impatiently awaits Spring's arrival (for example, I had to use an ice scraper this morning. In April. Unreal).

But many other things are blossoming this time of year and I have been awaiting them with as much anticipation as the warmer sun, breezy skies, and vivid landscapes of earth painted by the blooming perennials. 

Blossoming independence.  Figuring life out after grad school isn't always pleasant, and having a temporary, grant-funded position without benefits doesn't exactly help one feel any more secure in their future.  Instead, I made like a barnacle and affixed to anything and anyone I could.  Including my sister's basement, where I have been living at a reduced cost since August.  It's been good, really.  I've saved some cash, figured out my tops from bottoms, successfully navigated the student loan repayment system, and so on.  So on May 7, I am stretching my independence stride a little further and I am moving into my own apartment (you may or may not have noticed the theme of recent blog posts being somewhat entirely about said new place).  It's nothing terribly fancy, but it has that wonderful 'old, renovated building' charm.  It's small (perhaps tiny) at 500 square feet, but those will be my 500 square feet. With my stuff. And probably by May 10, my huge mess.  But! I don't have to feel guilty about my mess in my space.  Lovely. With this will come some other independences I have been meaning to do for a while, like no longer claiming my childhood home as my permanent address. 

I believe the phrase my dad used on the phone during a conversation was "putting on my big girl panties."

Blossoming opportunities.  When my current position was extended in December, I was told that the duration of the job was limited by the available funds.  This never means: "If we spend wisely we might be able to keep you for a long time."  It always means: "Every penny not spent by or on July 31 is returned to the funder and your position ceases to exist.  Forever.  Without opportunity for resurrection.  We'd love to keep you but cannot, please do not let the door hit you on the way out."  So, I was quite positive that August would find me unemployed and unable to find work and thus all of the effort I had put into my blossoming independence (see above) would fail to matter and I would once again be stalled.  But it turns out tomorrow I have a job interview with a metro county and my boss is feverishly working to see if a position can be created in our current department.  Whoa.  Now, realistically I might not be the right candidate for either position, but at least I know there is some hope. 

Blossoming creativity.  In case working, looking for new jobs, and moving weren't quite enough for me, I am also hanging my first art show in June at the UCare Minneapolis Skyway Senior Center.  So, I have been/will be working at a semi-frantic pace to complete as many paintings as possible before then which means I have had to creative with subject matter. I simply cannot hang 12 Spoonbridge and Cherry paintings in one show...

Blossoming drive and athleticism.  This is one of those tempermental blooms that are so hard to tend to.  Too much water? Unhealthy yellowing of the leaves. Not enough sun? Wilty. But while I had neglected my duties to hammer out some miles for a couple of weeks, I am back on track (I think) and the goals I have set for myself seem challenging, but potentially obtainable.  It's a tough balance to find the time to work out, and it is especially hard to tell someone that you can't make plans or have to make abbreviated plans in order to fit in a workout.  To me, it sounds like I am telling them that 45 minutes by myself on a dreadmill is more important, which isn't the case at all.  It's a means to an end, and really, that end is pretty important to me.  Whether or not it is a marathon (although I think it still is), I still have triathlons and other races to participate in and I want to do so knowing I gave the preparation everything I had.

Blossoming romance relationship whatever it is you call that feeling when someone gives you the butterflies all the time and you like to talk to them about matters of absolutely no consequence just because it's fun and you miss them when they're gone, but you're sort of over impressing them but not because you don't want to but because you're finally pretty comfortable that this is something good.  Yeah, whatever that is called, it's good.

National Public Health Week

Public Health.  It's what I do, it's what I love and I can't imagine working in any other field.  So I am so excited to share with you that it is National Public Health Week!



High five someone who is working to reduce obesity, someone who advocates for affordable and accessible healthy foods and safe opportunities to be active. High five someone who is working to reduce smoking rates and create environments that reduce everyone's risk from secondhand smoke. High five someone who continues the fight to provide comprehensive, evidence-based sex ed to adolescents so they can make healthy choices. High five someone who works tirelessly to advocate for the creation of laws that promote a healthy population. And give a fist bump to someone who is working to prevent the spread of infectious disease through education, vaccination, personal hygiene, and clean environments. Every one of us benefits from the public health nurses, educators, researchers, program developers, advocates, and champions.

An Interview with a Mugwump

I have this somewhat bad habit/compulsion that when I enter someone's home for the first time, I like to look at all of their stuff.  Well, not like digging through their undies or anything especially creepy, but I like to look at every travel souvenir, every family photo, each tchotchke on the shelf above the sink, every piece of art.  You can learn a lot about what people value and their tastes by looking at what they put in their home.  

Turns out, about two months ago I purchased the conversational equivalent of reading the spine of every book on someone's shelf.  A book of questions!  Which was a genius invention for people like me, who could did spend an hour 'interviewing' someone about their favorite foods and activities at the Minnesota State Fair.  We brought the book along on our trip to Florida and I learned some really neat things about people I have known for 10 years.  

So, because blogging seems more fun than packing right now and there isn't anyone here to interview, I figured you (I?) would enjoy an interview with a Mugwump.  Particularly because I know there are some new followers-- thanks!-- and I haven't done any 'About Me' list-like things in quite a while.  And because I don't want to pack.

What are things you once believed that more knowledge proved different?

I once believed my parents knew everything.  I mean, they could make a math problem out of a restaurant napkin!  They knew about all of these things that happened in the 1970s! Do you know how long ago that seemed for a Kindergartner in the early 90s?  Of course, things have changed since age 5 and  I don't believe that my parents know everything.  I know they know everything.

Are you good at answering trivia questions?

I cannot remember what I ate for breakfast, where my shoes/keys/cup of coffee went, or remember to accomplish many things without a list.  That's because my brain space is filled with trivia, particularly on current events, art, and pop culture history.  My trivia weakness is film history. I cannot identify famous people in a line up and I have seen an embarrassingly low number of films. 

Do you want an open seat next to you on an airplane? 

This question had me torn.  My first reaction was to answer as follows: An open seat?! I'd settle for more than 3 ounces of beverage and 2 peanuts, I'd be thrilled if the lady behind me would stop mining for precious gems in the seat back pocket, and I'd love if Mr. Snores-Too-Much in front of me did not lean his face back all the way into my lap.  

But that's really not a problem at all.  Would I like an open seat? Sure, it makes air travel a little more comfortable.  What I really want is for everyone on my flight to remain healthy. I want my plane to take off and land safely. In the event of an emergency, I want my chair cushion to actually float or for my oxygen mask be free of any kinks that prevent the flow of air. After that, an open seat is just a bonus.

Do you stand or walk on escalators?

Yes.  I rarely sit, squat, or dance a jig on the escalator.  I find that standing or walking, while a bit bland, is the most socially acceptable.  Also, imagine getting your bum caught between the joining stairs at the end of the ride! Ouch!

In what order do you put on your clothes? 

Undies last! (When I am feeling Superheroic)

What would you name your yacht?

This question came up in Florida, and I am still struggling.  If it were a river-traversing vessel, I would call it "Mudflat Mugwump" but this is not a very classy, elegant name.  A sea-faring vessel needs something a little more regal.  Perhaps I would name her "Lady Gray." I have no idea where that comes from, other than I am pretty sure it is a type of tea. . . Also, I would like "Yellow Submarine" but I imagine this is probably trademarked and I would prefer my hypothetical yacht not act like a submarine.  

Do you prefer summer or winter?

This question is being asked of a non-skiing Minnesotan who had their spring rudely interrupted by a rain/sleet/snow/ice-stravaganza that made traffic a nightmare and is contributing to the rampant flooding that is about to befall our beloved state.  As far as I am concerned blistering sunburns, swimsuits, fancy cocktails over ice, and rooftop or patio bars cannot happen soon enough.  Summer.