My Life, As Told Between (Baby Cakes') Naps

I realize you all are expecting a post about Cabo, but I’m going to hold off on that for a bit because it requires more thinking and judicious editing skills then I’m currently capable of.  Part of the fun was that the weekend was mostly full of silly moments, with flashes of insanity, stupidity, and fear.  (You know those scenes out of a horror movie where you’re thinking, “Those girls are idiots and deserve to die?”)  It’s hard to describe without putting everything in context.  Telling you that we thought it was hilarious to say “grill, grill, grill, grill, grill” at sporadic intervals throughout the weekend means nothing without the entire backstory.  And the entire backstory isn’t nearly as funny unless you are drinking obscene amounts of alcohol as you read it.  So instead, I’m writing about nicknames, a subject that came up often this weekend and a post I’ve alluded to on a couple of occasions.

I love nicknames and am fortunate enough to have creative friends who excel at giving them (a talent that I unfortunately lack).  I collect them as one would souvenirs and look back on them as snapshots of the past.  I have individual nicknames that just apply to me and group nicknames that speak to friendships formed during certain periods of my life.  I have nicknames that run the gamut from cute (Koala) to nonsensical (Lord Alfred), with some extraordinarily appropriate (Napper), no longer so appropriate (Lush), and slightly nauseating (Sweetpea) ones thrown into the mix.  I have several others, but posting about them may reveal my top secret identity.  =) 

I love nicknames because they’re an indication that the people in your life understand you and appreciate you for all your idiosyncrasies and peccadillos (such as a predeliction for pretentious prose).  Nicknames are pieces of who you are and who you used to be.  So, as my public service annoucement of the week, I encourage you to embrace your nicknames for all that they represent.  And to my friends who have gifted me with pieces of myself over the years  – thank you.  A special thank you to the Babydolls and Giggles for making me remember the importance of friendship, fun and following the frog this weekend.  And Angels, I’ll see you next weekend! 

I’m off to Cabo tomorrow so you won’t be hearing from me for the next few days.  See you next week with stories from the trip!  =)  Look for it as part of the new Competitive Posts series since Frog and Wombat are going too. 

Oh, and if anyone was curious about the results of the first contest, we decided not to actually judge the entries, opting to just say something nice about each others’ posts instead.  Because we’re girls and that’s what girls do.  I know it’s been said, but really, we should be running the world. 

I have a horrible tendency to get lost.  It doesn’t matter where I’m going, how easy it is to get there, or how often I’ve been there.  Chances are pretty high that I’ll get lost along the way. 

On Friday, I drove from downtown LA to Westwood.  Those of you who are familiar with LA will recognize that this is a fairly simple route.  Those of you who remember I went to UCLA will realize that I actually lived in Westwood for several years.  Those of you who know me well will not be surprised that I ended up hopelessly lost anyways.  I only called for directions when I accidentally hit Venice Beach.  Ordinarily, I’m content to wander the roads of LA, confident that I will eventually find my way to my destination, but when I hit the ocean, that’s a pretty good sign I’m going to need help.  Luckily, I have very patient people in my life who are willing to act as my personal GPS systems. 

On Saturday, I went from a barbeque to a magic show (sidenote:  wore a cocktail dress to the barbeque because the magic show venue required formal attire, ended up smelling like barbeque at the magic show because, well, I was at a barbeque).  Six miles and ninety minutes (!) later, my friend and I finally arrive at the magic show.  Thanks to my impeccable sense of direction, we made a wrong turn every single time a turn was required.  Thanks to the Alicia Keys concert at the Hollywood Bowl and the fact that it’s LA, every mistaken turn took an addition 20 minutes to rectify.  

On Sunday, I went shopping.  Oddly enough, I did not get lost.  I did however (*gulp*) buy more shoes.  I blame this particular purchase on one of my shopping buddies, aka The Enabler.  They’re really, really cute though and only kind of impractical and painful.     

P.S. Notice that I didn’t mention doing any work this weekend.  Yay!!

Which is my way of saying no, this blog is not dead.  I’ve just been too busy to write much of anything lately.  Now, usually even when I’m busy I find plenty of time to waste (I firmly believe wasting time is actually a valuable endeavor), but lately it’s been the kind of busy where things have to get out the door quickly.  Don’t think I’ve managed to have this thing people refer to as “lunch,” even at my desk, in the last two weeks.  I also think I may be developing an ulcer.  Of course, I’m somewhat of a hypochondriac and am convinced my microwave is giving me skin cancer and my cell phone is slowly causing a brain tumor to develop, despite the fact that there is absolutely no evidence or symptoms of any of the above happening.  (Note that despite my belief that modern day conveniences are slowly killing me, I am making no attempt to decrease their usage.  Because that would be actual work and therefore anathema to my deeply held belief that the easiest route is the best route.) 

Stay tuned for upcoming posts.  Future possible topics include:  nonsensical nicknames, my perplexing ability to get lost driving even the most familiar of routes, why women love shoes, future travel plans, the trauma that is swimsuit season, more office stories, and maybe even what I had for lunch (when this lunch thing starts happening again). 

Do you have a kid I can borrow?  (Preferably one shorter then I am?)  It can be a son, sister, cousin, nephew, etc.  I’m not picky.  It’s just that I’m horribly addicted to all things animation and the DreamWorks movie Madagascar is coming out soon.  I hear there are cute scene-stealing penguins involved.  Scene-stealing penguins, people!  Clearly, I have to see this movie.  I’m one of those people who hate going to children’s movies without a child in tow though, and my younger sisters are both in their early twenties and will no longer cut it, especially now that they’re both taller I am.  Even the bibs and pacifiers don’t seem to be fooling anyone anymore.  Sigh.  Anyways, I promise to return your child as soon as the movie’s over.  Or as soon as it gets fussy.  Whichever comes first.

Despite the fairly high monthly rent, my apartment doesn’t actually seem to meet the warrant of habitability. (For non-lawyers, the warrant of habitability is basically the landlord’s implied obligation to keep the the rental property in a livable condition by providing electricity, heating, plumbing, workable elevators, etc. Or something to that effect.) As I’ve already shared, the electricity is prone to going out, which effects the heating, hot water, etc. The plumbing’s always shaky (I was going to make a joke about how it’s a crap shoot, but am more mature then that). I’ve been told by previous tenants they believe there were termites, although I haven’t seen evidence of that yet. The elevator, when it’s working, jerks before it starts descending. Every morning, I ponder whether it’s worth my life to avoid taking six flights of stairs. And when the electricity’s out, the elevators don’t work at all and the stairs are plunged into stygian darkness. I wonder then if it’s worth my life to get up to my apartment. After all, the lobby is about as inhabitable as my apartment.

On the other hand, moving’s a hassle and I’m lazy.
I wonder which will give first. My ability to tolerate virtually inhumane conditions or my abject laziness?

I had dinner with a good friend of mine this weekend. Normally, she’s a brilliant, poised, accomplished woman. On Friday, I saw her turn into a giggling twelve-year old girl in front of my eyes. It was really quite astonishing. One minute we were discussing the state of the world (or something equally meaningful, I’m sure). The next, a boy she likes happened into the restaurant with a couple of his friends as we were getting ready to leave. After a short conversation (they were being seated, the restaurant was crowded and we were all in the way), we exited the restaurant and ducked into a nearby Rite Aid, where I watch my brilliant, poised, accomplished friend fall apart. Within minutes, she’s transformed into a shaking, excited (but still cute) mess, and we’re scheming like two pre-teens on how to meet up with them after their dinner. Being a good friend, and with less to lose, I bravely ventured forth into the restaurant we had just vacated and brazenly asked them to join us for drinks after dinner. They did, and a fun evening was had by all. I rock (*pat on the back*).

Also, I was supposed to go hiking this weekend, but at the merest suggestion of rain, I bailed. I am so not hardcore. Sigh. LA has softened me considerably. D*mn you LA!

Let me first set the record straight by noting that I am, by no means, obsessed with sheep (see proceeding post).  Despite the fact that I’ve now created three posts about my non-obsession.  The reason for this particular post is because I’ve recently discovered a statistics feature on this site that lets me see what “referers” are linking people to this site.  For non-bloggers out there, that means essentially what searches people run that brings up this site as a hit which then leads people to click on it (er, or something of the sort, I’m not a particularly sophisticated blogger so I may be wrong).  In any case, oddly enough, the most popular searches that brings up this site are searches for “cartoon sheep.”  I had no idea there were that many people out there interested in cartoon sheep.  Enough to do frequent web searches for them. This site has also been frequented by nameless individuals interested in “smiting God,” “diet buddies,” “evil blackberry” (I know, that one has me puzzled too) and “nap sleep.”  Fascinating.  Well, not really, but it’s been a slow day/week/year/sum of my existence. 

(I’ve no doubt now made this the first site that shows up the next time someone does a search for “cartoon sheep”!  I just hope they’re not too disappointed.) 

Summer’s approaching and I’m getting antsy.  Something’s been bothering me for the last couple of weeks and it’s slowly dawning on me that what’s bothering me is the fact that it’s almost May and I don’t have plans to move anytime soon.  This is it.  I’m here permanently.  At least for the foreseeable future. 

Over the last eight years, I’ve lived in a succession of dorm rooms and apartments, spanning six different cities, covering both coasts and one other country.  Towards the end of law school, I was getting tired of the constant upheaval and uprooting (even though it was self-imposed) and slowly coming to regret accepting my job offer in New York.  Aside from the horrendous stories I had heard about being a New York big firm lawyer, I knew that I wouldn’t be there for long.  California would always be home for me.  I spent much of my third year shivering and plotting ways to get back to California (well, thinking about it anyways – “plotting” may be too proactive a word).  As luck would have it, there was an unexpected opening in the LA office of my firm and I was thrilled to get the call last summer to make the switch (unfortunately, this also reinforced my belief that if I do nothing, things will work out).  Now, after having been back in California for almost a year, my wanderlust is starting to act up again and I’m pondering what cities I want to try out next.  It’s funny, I’ve always known I was going to settle down in California, and thought I was ready for that after I finished law school, but now I’m not so sure.  Even if I were to settle in California, it wouldn’t be in LA.  At the same time, I love the people I work with and am getting so much mentorship and training, I’d be an idiot to leave anytime soon.  I guess I have to start being an adult at some point, right?     

Behold, I’ve brought you sheep.  Not to be too much of a girl about this, but I’ve found the flock of sheep I’ve been looking for, and they are adorable.  I’m sharing with you all so you can spread the joy.

And, in yet another sign of how LA is slowly turning me into a (much more) materialistic person (because I’m sure the fact that I have a real source of income for the first time in my life couldn’t have anything to do with it), I’m coming to love this site and am drooling over these shoes (which would be so cute with jeans, a white shirt, and a certain red purse – ML, I think you know which purse I’m talking about).  If you ever actually see me tottering on these 3.5 inch, $300 heels though, please shoot me.  The world would probably be better off for it… 

…although a small part of me is firmly convinced that these shoes will somehow make me a happier, more fulfilled person (at least until I get bored of them).  I’m such a horrible consumer.  Tell me what I should want and I’ll want it.  Sigh.  Well, they say the first step is admitting you have a problem.  I don’t know who they are or what the second step is, but I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be taking it in $300 shoes. 

Allegedly there is a site out there that will allow me to download cute floating sheep for use as IM icons.  If anyone out there knows of the existence of such a site, please email me.

In other news, there is no other news.  I’ve just been working a lot this week.  But at least I’m really appreciated.  The senior partner called my office the other day at 10:30am.  When I answered, her response was a disapproving, “I knew you’d already be in!”  When I reasonably pointed out that it was ten thirty in the morning, she replied, “Yes, but you were there when I left last night too [at 10:30pm].  You work too hard.  I’m going to keep an eye on you to make sure you’re not stretching yourself too thin.”  I love my senior partner. 

Actually, I love all the partners.  One of the junior partners explained a court rule to me a couple of days ago which he dubbed “the 45 day rule.”  When I asked him a question today, he said, “Well, according to the 45 day rule, you can only do X.”  Noticing my puzzled look, he gently inquired, “Do you remember the 45 day rule?”  Here’s how the rest of the conversation went:

Me:  (*Silence, crickets chirping*)  “Ummm.  Yes?”   

Him:  “What’s the 45 day rule?”

Me:  (*Damn*)  “It’s, umm, that you can only do X after 45 days?”

Him:  “You don’t really remember the 45 day rule, do you?”

Me:  “No.”

Him:  “It’s okay.  [Explains rule again]”

Me:  “Okay.”

Him:  “You’re not going to remember that, are you?”

Me:  “Probably not.”

Him:  (*Shrugs*)  “Okay.”  

Sorry (again) for the lack of updates.  Am having a rather Bleh week.  Too much to do, not enough time or energy to do it.  Damn you Daylight Savings Time!  You’ve robbed me of a precious hour this week!  (*shakes fist in anger*)  Apparently I can set all my clocks forward by an hour (well, except for the one in my car – it’s tricky) and tell myself that it’s 6:30am all I want, but my body stubbornly refuses to believe me when I try to force it out of bed to go running every morning.  It’s still firmly entrenched in the notion that it’s 5:30, despite what any foolish clock says, and realizes that only an insane person would force herself out of bed at 5:30 when not forced to at gunpoint.  The fact that the owls are still hooting at that time doesn’t help.  I’m hoping it really is “mind over matter” and that sooner or later, my body will see things my way.  Until then, I’m letting it get some much needed sleep.   

Also, this NY Times article made me sad.  I need to stop reading about the elderly.

My little sister, BN, recently bought a kitten.  Now, I absolutely adore my little sister, but she’s not a good pet owner.   I’ve told her this on numerous occasions (usually after the death of some poor, neglected pet).  She adamantly refuses to believe me.  So far she’s only inadvertantly killed pets occupying the bottom rungs of the cuteness ladder (goldfish, turtles, etc.), but she’s taken it up a notch with her most recent pet purchase.

Her problem is that she has a tendancy to lavish attention on things when she first gets them but then quickly loses interest.  We all hoped she would grow out of it when she turned five, but she didn’t (she’s twenty-three now).  Apparently, as independent and solitary as cats may be, even they need more attention then she’s able to provide.  Ophelia, her kitten, has the gall to still demand attention (even though BN has had her for three whole weeks now!) and has taken to pouncing on my little sister at random intervals when she’s studying or reading.  My sister thinks it has something to do with her cat’s need to stalk prey – Ophelia watches BN silently and pounces at any sign of movement.  She (the cat, not my sister) does the same to bugs and any moving objects in the apartment.  Unfortunately for Ophelia, it’s a relatively bug-free and motionless environment, hence not many stalking opportunities, and she’s too young to be let out into the Real World (I wish someone would decide I’m too young to be let out into the Real World!).  Tired of being pounced upon, my little sis is toying with the idea of BUYING A LIVE MOUSE AND RELEASING IT IN THE APARTMENT so that Ophelia will have something to chase and will leave her alone.  No.  Seriously. 

I only hope it’s a fast and asexual mouse.  I don’t think my sister has quite thought through all of the ramifications of her idea just yet.

I can’t even fake a title or a direction for this post.  I’m only posting because all my friends with blogs (and yes, that’s the kind of cool crowd I run with.  Do the kids still say that nowadays?  “Run with”?) posted something today and I feel pressured to do the same.  I realize I lead my life under weird pressures.  I feel pressured to post some inanity because all my friends have posted, but I don’t feel particularly pressured to finish this important project I’m working on, even though it’s 5pm and I have a work dinner to go to today. 

Eh.  What are you going to do?

So something that has come up this week, on several occasions, is the fact that I don’t post any really personal information on this site.  My response was along the lines of, “Well, duh.”  Most of my friends know this already, but I’m actually a rather private person (this public forum aside – I’m an enigma like that).  Somone recently commented that if this law thing doesn’t work out, I should consider a Sex in the City type column.  But without the Sex.  And while it was flattering, considering that the only parts of the City I really see are the inside of my apartment and the inside of the office, there probably wouldn’t be much City either.  I’m going to venture a guess that it wouldn’t be a terribly exciting column all around.  Somewhat like this post probably. 

Maybe I should just stop now. 

Went out in Hermosa Beach last night with a big group of people to listen to this band.  What band you ask?  I have no idea.  I don’t remember much about the actual band as I spent most of the night obsessing about (a) the fact that I had somehow lost my driver’s license on the trek between the front door and the restroom and then (b) the fact that I had somehow found my license and would be spared the ordeal of going to the LA DMV.   I oftentimes have a one track mind (see numerous posts about my hair); this borders on being obsessive compulsive when I’m drinking.  As the night progressed, my friends noticeably winced when they saw me start to say something, wisely and correctly reasoning that it would, in all likelihood, have something to do with my license.  They started ducking out of sight when possible.  Did I mention I lost and then found my license?  =) 

Speaking of my hair (you know you were waiting for it), one of my friends requested I post about The Mullet Months.  Many of you have already heard this tale of woe.  Please feel free to skip ahead.*  About two months ago, I went with a friend to see her hair stylist.  As it turns out, his English wasn’t the best and my Mandarin is nonexistant, so I gave him too much discretion and not enough direction.  No one told me that his de facto haircut, unless specifically told otherwise, is a mullet.  Yes, for the first two months of this year, I sported a mullet.  (*hangs head in shame*)  Children would laugh and point and adults averted their eyes from the disaster atop my head.  I’m only sharing this because I realized last night that I’ve finally shed all traces of the mullet.  It was a cathartic moment.  In an effort to put the painful incident behind me, I’m writing this post and forever closing the door on The Mullet Months.     

*There’s nothing ahead.  Sorry.  The mullet’s all I’ve got at the moment.  Check back in a few days.  Stop harassing me already.  I can’t write under this kind of pressure.  Ack! 

As evident from the title of the post, I dropped by Home Depot on the way home from work last night to buy a filter for my shower, in furtherance of my plan to fix my hair (I will wrap up this topic soon.  I promise!).  Despite the title of the post however, it was actually not at all an adventure (but now that I’ve lured you in, you’re stuck).  It just happened to be the first time I’ve ever been to Home Depot on my own.  It’s a huge and very intimidating space.  And I am very small (well, I’m short anyways) and the opposite of intimidating.  Gadgets of all sorts covered the entire surface of the huge warehouse from floor to ceiling.  Most jarring of all was that utility took precedent over aesthetics, which is not the case in any other space I occupy.  In fact, as a female, I’m trained to put aesthetics above almost everything else, most especially utility.  (How else do you explain high heels?)  You will all be relieved to know though that I only did the paralyzed doe caught in the headlights thing for a few minutes.  After a few deep breaths and a little internal pep talk, I eventually recovered and even managed to wade through the murky waters of my local Home Depot, clinging to a helpful store clerk the entire way, to triumphantly retrieve the filter.  Even if the shower filter doesn’t work, I’m hoping my hair will be grateful I went through the effort and will stop acting up as a show of appreciation. 

My hair has been broken since I’ve moved to LA.  I don’t know if it’s the air, water, or some mysterious hair-destroying agent lurking in the food I’ve been consuming, but my hair has been increasingly ick (I think that’s the scientific term, please correct me if I’m wrong) since September.  I think I may have fixed it though, thanks to a line of shampoos and conditioners a friend recommended. 

Update:  My brilliant molecular biologist, and apparent hair expert, friend has informed me that it is indeed the water.  It’s good to know the real culprit behind my increasingly horrendous hair, but I’m a little disappoint now that she’s dashed my grand delusions involving secret spies intent on giving me bad hair by injecting my food with hair-altering chemicals. 

(Yes, I thought this was blog-worthy.)

I’ve noticed a disturbing trend of food-related posts recently, but am opting to ignore it and add yet another food-related post. 

An award winning friend of mine has recently started a blog of her own and has now publicly taken exception to my advocacy of Ambrosia apples.  She prefers the disturbingly tart Granny Smiths.  I’ve actually gotten quite a few comments (some even from real live people that I occasionally interact with when not tied to my computer) about the beauty of Granny Smith apples.  I just don’t understand.  They’re so tart, they’re virtually non-apples.  I try not to judge, but I’m only human.  I think Granny Smith apples are awful.  Unless in the form of a baked good.  Then they’re okay.  =)  There, I’ve said it.   

On a non-food-related note, if you have a minute, watch this video.  It’s funny.  If you scrounge up another minute, please tell me what you think of it; I’m interested in finding out if my friend’s hypothesis is true.  The hypothesis involves the extent to which racial differences affect one’s take on the clip.  Don’t expect anything profound however.   

It’s cloudy and rainy today.  I have to drive to Redondo Beach tonight and attempt to have a life, which will hopefully make up for the fact that I may spend part of the weekend in the office.  This fits in nowhere.  I just wanted to complain a bit. 

So you know those days when you want to bury your head in the sand and stay there until someone tells you it’s okay to join the world again?  It’s been one of those weeks.  I’m giving some thought to purchasing my own plot of sand since renting one every day is getting expensive. 

On the plus side, I had some excellent sweet potato fries at lunch today! =)

Sorry I’ve been lax with updates.  It’s partly because I’ve been busy at work, partly because nothing of note has happened recently (although this doesn’t usually prevent me from posting), and partly because I’m now a member of a secret, cult-like group blog recently started by a brilliant and hilarious friend of mine (in fact, I’ve probably divulged too much information already).  Unfortunately, I only have enough creativity/energy/material to post on one blog at a time.  Don’t worry though, I’m back now.  I apologize for straying, but the allure of a new blog proved too hard to resist.  I’m weak.

Besides, I’m a busy, important person…who spends entirely too much time reading any random article people bring to her attention (well, the second part of the statement is true at least).  This week alone, I’ve read about [WARNING:  some of these links are disturbing, click at your own risk] a two headed child, idiotic frat boys from Texas, a freakishly large lobster, and vicious chimpanzees. 

On a more mundane front: a friend of mine started her own blog today, which I’m really excited about, partly because she was inspired by this one (it’s been a blog-filled week); I’m going home to San Jose this weekend for some work and to celebrate both a friend and my little sister’s birthdays; I made it to the gym this morning for the first time in ages; and I’ve discovered the best tasting apples, ever.  These apples are like crack. 

[Update:  There’s been a new development.  These sonya apples may give the ambrosias a run for their money.]