It's About a Boy Who Shoots a Puppy

I would have just put this on Facebook, but it really needs the space my blog provides it. This is Beckett at his best.

Picture it: Earlier this afternoon. My parent's living room. Beckett has decided he needs something to listen to so we can "have that party" (it's a dance party, by the way). While rifling through the CDs by the stereo in the living room, he knocks them all on the floor, bends over to pick them up, but returns with only a tape in his hands. He starts trying to put it in the tape player because we just have to listen to the tape. What's on this tape, you ask? Are you ready? According to Beckett, on this tape is "a story about a boy who shoots a puppy."

I'm gonna let that sink in. It took about 3 seconds for it to register at the time. When it did, my dad and I looked at each other quizzically, and the burst out into laughter.

"That sounds really great, Beckett," said my dad, trying his hardest to speak through the laughter.

"Heartwarming," I said through tears because I was crying from laughing so hard.


We continue to laugh, Beckett continues to look confused. He gives up his quest to have us listen to the timeless and loving story of the boy who shoots his dog. He walks out of the room, leaving all the CDs in a pile on the floor. He can't get any respect in this house.

I walked over to the corner to pick up the mess B had made and while stacking all the CDs  and the cases, I come across this:

This is the case that Beckett's tape came out of. And, yep, that is a picture of someone holding a gun to that dog's head. "Ooooohhhhhh," I said as I started to giggle. I turned the case to my dad. "Well," he replies, "that is a dog getting shot." We continued laughing.

"I'm just glad he didn't come up with shooting a dog out of his own little brain," I tell my dad, relieved that my child is not a sociopath.

Two hours later we were still laughing about it. I'm still laughing about it now.

Come On Over

First post on the new blog is up. You can read it and follow me here. This blog will still be active for stories about Beckett and what not. Speaking of B, he started kindergarten a week ago.  It's cliched to say, but I really can't believe that he's 5 and had started "real" school. He informed me that he is part of the class of 2024 and I almost died. 2024?!? I have a sneaking suspicion it will be here before I know it.

Put in a Good Word for Me

After yesterday's foray into burdens of proof and the worthiness of our justice system, maybe it's time I get back to something a little lighter. Since law school ended, I have had an inordinate amount of time to read. And not read about copyrights or wrongful birth or adoptions or anything else that someone else has decided I should read about. I started with Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.  I have had this book on the shelf for almost a year. It waited patiently for me to decide I actually wanted to read it. I never knew how much I really wanted to read that book.


So many things struck me about this book, but perhaps this most of all:


Giulio said, "Maybe you and Rome just have different words."
"What do you mean?"
He said, "Don't you know the secret to understanding a city and its people is to learn - what is the word of the street?"
Then he went on to explain . . . that every city has a single word that defines it, that identifies most of the people who live there. Whatever the majority thought might be - that is the word of the city. And if your personal word does not match the word of the city, you really don't belong there.
"What is Rome's word?" I asked.
"SEX," he announced.


Giulio was already on to the next and most obvious question: "What's your word?" (103-104)


When I read a book for pleasure, I still read like a student. I have a pencil in hand. I underline important passages. I write notes in the margins. I use an index card as a bookmark and write longer notes or things I'd like to look up or words I want to know or anything I feel needs further research. My index card for Eat Pray Love reads something like this:


108
Bali: caste system
Snakes
It's not like tying the cat to the pole
How do I define pleasure?
What is my WORD?
Rumi
Hafiz
Buddha
St. Teresa
Sufi mystics
Kabir
Sanskrit texts on yoga
Upanishads
Fred B. Eiseman


In trying to momentarily escape from my own mixed-up universe, I create more work for myself. This makes me think my word is MASOCHIST. Or maybe that makes my word CURIOUS. After all, George does have a friend named Betsy. But I haven't landed on one word yet.


Gilbert discusses a million things in this book: love, divorce, religion, God, friendship, soul mates, writing, meditation, soul searching - the list goes on. Gilbert put into words what I had been trying to articulate for years - a comforting thing in a book. I tend to get sucked into the world of a book very quickly and whole-heartedly (see this post for an example). I think it's my favorite part of reading. Gilbert made me want to go to Italy, India, and Indonesia without passing "GO" and without a second thought.  Maybe that makes my word IMPRESSIONABLE.

Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. -E. Gilbert, Eat Pray Love (260).

A Murder Most Foul

As I was awaiting the jury's verdict in the Casey Anthony trial today, I couldn't help but think back to the fall of 1995. Sixteen years ago, the country was waiting on the verdict in the O.J. Simpson trial. These two situations are so strikingly similar, but the audience - me - so markedly different. Then, I was a wide-eyed 11 year old, a girl who thought that if you were charged with murder, you must certainly be guilty. Today, I am a 27 year old and the proud owner of one law degree and 16 years of life experience. Then, it was easy to see things as black or white. Today, I know that life sometimes is lived out in the grey area between the two. I still remember the utter helplessness and disbelief upon hearing "not guilty" 16 years ago - and, to an extent, I relived that same disbelief today.

But therein lies the difference between an 11 year old school girl and a 27 year old with a law degree. The funny thing about life is that some lessons can't be unlearned. Some concepts can't be unheard. An overwhelming majority of this country believes Casey Anthony murdered her daughter - and you can count me as part of that majority. I say I only relived that feeling "to an extent" because of what I know now. Then, beyond a reasonable doubt was nothing more than a string of words, an abstract concept, something the actors playing lawyers said on television.  Today, beyond a reasonable doubt is something I know, something I was tested on, asked about, expected to be able to explain.  And one thing I know about it is that it is the highest burden that one can be asked to prove -higher than clear and convincing evidence and higher than a preponderance of the evidence.  This standard requires that the prosecution prove that  no other logical explanation can be derived from the facts, except that the defendant committed the crime, thereby overcoming the presumption that one is innocent until proven guilty.

A lot of people want to blame our justice system for this seeming miscarriage of justice. I suppose when angered, it is easy to point fingers and lay blame. And what bears the brunt of this blame is the system. I, however, believe in the system. Maybe it's because I went to law school, maybe it's because I am unfailingly idealistic, maybe it's because I'm naive -- but maybe, just maybe, it's because the system works. We have a justice system that presumes innocence, that provides for the rights of all who come before it, that strives for fairness in light of the immense burden placed upon it. But it is a system run by people. And we are, after all, just people. People capable of making sound and independent decisions, but also capable of falling under the influence and opinion of others. People committed to justice and reason, but people who are not impervious to passion and emotion. We are also people who want to believe, but are quick to mistrust. So it is with the general perception of the justice system.  I think people find disturbing and frightening the possibility that the guilty will go free, allowed to walk among us, as if their crime did not occur.  But are people as righteously indignant at the possibility that the innocent will be locked away, restricted in every way, for something they did not do?

But I digress. I think the point of this blog is to remember, if only momentarily, what it was like to watch the outcome of a trial with no knowledge of who was who, what was what, or what anything actually meant. I was taken back to a time when "not guilty" meant "innocent," if only to me. When I started law school just shy of 3 years ago, I really had no idea what I was getting myself into. I don't think it ever dawned on me that I would no longer be a simple spectator to anything in a courtroom.  For weeks, we have been watching the trial, discussing the questions asked of the witnesses, critiquing the theories of both sides, and speculating as to what the jurors might be thinking.  Without a law degree, I might have been able to express my outrage at the outcome of this trial a little louder, with a little more shock, and a lot more emphasis. But this is no longer then case. I must admit, about 5 minutes before the verdict was read, I felt in my gut that the jury would file back in and, in unanimous agreement, find Casey Anthony "not guilty." But I'm old enough, and wise enough, now to know that means anything but "innocent."

Murder most foul, as in the best it is,/ But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
-W. Shakespeare, Hamlet, I.v.28-29

Come Live With Me and Be My Love

Part of the blog challenge I was doing was to write a letter to someone that you would never send. This isn't really something I wanted to do, seeing as how it seemed quite personal, but I think I've got it figured out. I'm going to write Jon Krakauer a love letter.  I just finished reading Into Thin Air by Krakauer, and another of his books, Into the Wild, has been one of my favorite books for years. Into Thin Air (read the Times review here), is Krakauer's personal account of the disaster on Mt. Everest in May 1996. There is something about the way that Krakauer writes that makes me want to do the most insane things -- yesterday, I thought, well, maybe I could climb Everest. And after I read Into the Wild 7 years ago, burning all of my money and hitchhiking to Alaska sounded like an amazing time, even if the experience might end with me frozen to death in an abandoned van.

I grew up with an ambition and determination without which,  I would have been a good deal happier. I thought a lot and developed the far-away look of a dreamer, for it was always the distant heights which fascinated me and drew me to them in spirit. I was not sure what could be accomplished by means of tenacity and little else, but the target was set high and each rebuff only saw me more determined to see at least one major dream through to its fulfillment.
                                   -Earl Denman, Alone to Everest, quoted by Krakauer in Into the Wild

But I don't just love Krakauer for the crazy ideas he puts in my mind, I love him for his vocabulary. Into Thin Air is 374 pages long. Contained in those pages were 51 words that I did not know the definition of. Well, I knew the definition to some of them, but not the exact definition.  I could figure out the meaning of the rest because of the context and not knowing the exact definition did not hinder my reading in any way.  But this is not good enough for me. I have a sick fascination with words, with the written word, and with the people who get to string them together for a living. I looked up the proper definition of all 51 words, typed them into a Word document, folded this paper in half and placed it inside the book for the next reader.  While I already knew generally what loquacious, ebullient, and vertiginous mean, I needed to know Mr. Webster's idea of what those words mean.  In addition to the words I knew, I learned a handful of new words to work into my vocabulary -- peripatetic, mellifluous, parvenus, crepuscular, prevarication, carapace, and mirabile visu, to name a few. Sometimes it's nice to be reminded that I don't know nearly as much as I think I do.

I guess I never got around to actually writing a letter, but I think you get the point.

Is it not a joy to learn? And to practice and share what you have learned? -Kung Fu-tze

On a related note, I want this book.

Happy Father's Day!

"There are 3 stages in a man's life: First, he believes in Santa; then, he doesn't believe in Santa; and finally, he becomes Santa."

Happy Father's Day to my Santa Claus (and Beckett's, too!)

If I know anything about cars, it's because of you. I think we both know my knowledge is limited, but I do know Chevy is better than Ford.

I own and love The Outlaw Josey Wales because it's your favorite. And I have a special place in my heart for all things Clint Eastwood because you love all of his movies (except The Unforgiven, which I have never seen).

I can't go to any antique mall, thrift store, or other store where there is furniture without thinking of almost every piece, "It's nice, but why would I pay for it when my Dad could make it better?"

I love my Auburn Tigers, but I have a soft spot for the Georgia Bulldogs. That's all your fault.

I know every word to every Garth Brooks song. You guessed it: you did that, too.

And if I have every been described as outgoing, talkative, or funny (my favorite things about me), it's because I get those things from you.

Thanks, Dad.

A Sadness in My Heart Like Stone

Those of you who know me even the slighest bit know that I love to read.  I just finished Diary by Chuck Palahniuk (which was not my favorite of his) and am in the middle of Beloved by Toni Morrison (good, but I think I liked The Bluest Eye better) and Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Also, I am rereading The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros (who I love, especially Loose Woman). 

On other fronts, the move to Newnan (for me at least) has been very slow. I just brought another car load of my things to the new apartment and there are probably two car loads left to bring.  I spent the better part of today hanging pictures and putting books on shelves -- basically making my room my home.  It may sound materialistic, but I like my things. I mean, really like my things. Or maybe what my things mean.  I found hundreds of old pictures, my first drivers license, cards, wedding invitations, and a myriad of other things I've collected in 27 years.  I found a scrapbook my best friend made for me when I moved from Dothan to Montgomery when I was 13, my senior yearbook, the ticket from the Dave Matthews concert we went to the summer we were 18, my Auburn student ID, and a bunch of Beckett's baby pictures.  Recently, I've been feeling, well, out of it. I wouldn't say depressed, just maybe not like myself.  These things were a great reminder of what a great life I've had.  It's a reminder I desparately needed and welcomed whole-heartedly.  A reminder of 27 years of people who have loved me, and more importantly, who I have loved.  You all know who you are, from high school to college to law school.  I have been a tremendously lucky girl.  If I had a scanner near me, I would post some of the pictures here, for they contain the most wonderfully hilarious memories (maybe that will happen soon). 

Now, onward to that blog challenge I have so gracefully avoided...

Day Twelve: A Picture of Something You Dislike

I got a lot of problems with a lot of things, and now you have to hear about them. Or read about them.

First and foremost, I am big on table manners. They are very important to me and I will not hesitate to judge you if your mama didn't teach them to you. Or if you weren't smart enough to figure them out for yourself.

And then there's the issue of grammar.  I have no idea why the difference between your and you're, or there, their, and they're is so difficult to master, but apparently it is.  I also take issue with the use of the following abbreviations: Ur, plz, cuz, etc. But I'm the girl who punctuates and capitalizes text messages, so what do I know?

There are, I'm sure, a million other things that I dislike. But in an effort to get me out of whatever funk I've been in lately, I'm not going to dwell on the negative any longer.  Those are two things I dislike without having to think about it, and that will suffice for today.

I think I've posted this poem before, but I love it so much.  It's by Sandra Cisneros and appears in Loose Woman, which was given to me by one of my favorite women (and oldest friends), Hillary Ballant Ryan, who you can find here.

There's a poem in my head

like too many cups of coffee.
A pea under twenty eiderdowns.
A sadness in my heart like stone.
A telephone. And always my
Night madness that outs like bats
across this Texas sky.

I'm the crazy lady they warned you about.
The she of rumor talked about -
and worse, who talks.

It's no secret.
I'm here. Under a circle of light.
The light always on, resisting a glass,
an easy cigar. The kind

who reels the twilight sky.
Swoop circling.
I'm witch woman high
on tobacco and holy water.

I'm a woman delighted with her disasters.
They give me something to do.
A profession of sorts.
Keeps me industrious
And of some servicable use.

In dreams the origami of the brain
Opens like a fist, a pomegranate,
an expensive geometry.

Not true.
I haven't a clue
Why I'm rumpled tonight.

Choose your weapon.
Mine--the telephone, my tongue.
Both black as a gun.

I have the magic of words,
the power to charm and kill at will.
To kill myself or to aim haphazardly.
And kill you.

All Over But the Bloggin'

Before I get to today's blog challenge blog, I must mention that it's finally over. Law school, that is. After three years that have tested me in ways I have never thought possible, it's over. Wearing-the-robe, choked-by-the-hood, walk-across-the-stage, Betsi-Nelson-J.D. OVER.

Day Eleven: A Story About a Past Relationship

One of the reasons I've been slacking in the blog department is this topic. It has become a tiny road block. And not because I couldn't think of a story about a past relationship, but because there are so many. I have spent time thinking of a thousand happy moments, a thousand heartbreaking moments, and a thousand moments that lie somewhere between the two.

First dates, first kisses, and that first break-up. Relationships that were calm and some that were explosive. Those with conversations that started at sunset and didn't end until sunrise and those with fights that started and ended the same way. There were some relationships that ran their course and ended long after they were through. And there has been at least one that ended abruptly and left everything unfinished.  There have been relationships where, in learning about someone else, I learned about myself. There have been relationships where everything made sense. And some where, no matter how hard I tried, they couldn't be figured out. There has been love shared, tears shared, secrets shared.

Zora Neale Hurston says that there are years that ask questions and years that answer. Relationships, certainly, work the same way.

"Passion is something you don't really miss, after it has cooled. It is like looking at an empty bottle on the side of the road and thinking, 'Boy, I wish I had a Coke.'  The loves you miss are the ones that go away when they are still warm, even hot, to the touch." -Rick Bragg, All Over But the Shoutin'

Don't Tell Mama What You Know

Day Eight: A Picture of Someone/Something That Has the Biggest Impact on You

Last Thanksgiving, I changed my Facebook status to this: "This year, I am thankful for my friends, without whom law school would not be bearable; my family, without whom law school would not be possible; and Beckett, without whom law school would not be worth it." I stand by this. Since graduation is a mere 2 weeks away, perhaps it is more appropriate than ever before.

My grandmother has this poem framed in her home. I think I've had it memorized since I was six. I'm going to post it, and maybe it will help explain why picking just one person who has had an impact on me would be nearly impossible.

Bits and Pieces

Bits and pieces, bits and pieces. People. People important to you, People unimportant to you cross your life, touch it with love and move on. There are people who leave you and you breathe a sigh of relief and wonder why you ever came into contact with them. There are people who leave you, and you breathe a sigh of remorse and wonder why they had to go and leave such a gaping hole. Children leave parents, friends leave friends. Acquaintances move on. People change homes. People grow apart. Enemies hate and move on. Friends love and move on. You think of the many people who have moved in and out of your hazy memory. You look at those present and wonder. I believe in God's master plan in lives. He moves people in and out of each other's lives, and each leaves his mark on the other. You find you are made up of bits and pieces of all who have ever touched your life. You are more because of them, and would be less if they had not touched you. Pray that you accept the bits and pieces in humility and wonder, and never question and never regret. Bits and pieces, bits and pieces.



-Anonymous

But, I suppose I could try to elaborate.

Beckett, My Slobbering Little Superman: You would have had the biggest impact on me, no matter how you turned out, due to the nature of your arrival. Surprise doesn't even begin to describe it! You have, obviously, changed and impacted my life in a million different ways. Not that I always accepted these changes. We managed to grow up together. And while things have been unimaginably altered by your mere presence, the most obvious of these changes is this: In two weeks, I will have a law degree. And that, puddin' pop, is all because of you.

My Friends: To try to say something about each of you individually would take the rest of the afternoon, so I'll simply say this: "I get by with a little help from my friends." I have said for years that I'm one of the luckiest girls in the world. I have an army of people I consider best friends. You know who you are and I hope you know you are treasured, adored, appreciated, and loved.

There is another group of people that need to be mentioned as having had a great impact on my life, and one in particular. St. James School alums, feel free to make fun, but I have an English degree (which I could not love or enjoy more) because of one person: Dr. Browning, my senior Engligh teacher.  I have to give him (at least some) credit for this because of this story:  One day after lunch, I was leaving the Fine Arts Building to head to class. I was walking across the quad and who do I see, but Dr. Browning waving at me, trying to get my attention. He made a beeline for me and stopped me to tell me he had just read my personal narrative I had turned in 2 days earlier. And then he told me 2 things that pretty much changed everything: I was smart. And I was funny.  While I'm thanking one English teacher, I should probably thank a few more: Dr. Sterling, Dr. Kaufman, and Dr. Silverstein. And for good measure, Professor Baker (you taught me Law and Lit, which after 2 years of law school, helped me remember how much I love studying literature!).

Since today is Mother's Day, here's this:

                                                    My Mom, B, and me, Easter, 2007

Mom, our relationship has been, well, contentious for years. I think this is part of the complex mother/daughter relationship. I know that you think I try everything in my power to be nothing like you, and generally, we are very different. But then there's this:

I sit on the bathroom counter to put on my make-up in the mornings because that's how you do it.

My sophomore year of college, I bought the iron I bought because it's the one that you have.

I cook with a dish towel over my shoulder because that's how you cook.

If I love to read, it's because I watched you read voraciously my whole life.  (We do, however, have vastly divergent taste).

I have stacks of books everywhere, each with a pencil for a bookmark, because I grew up watching you read multiple books at once.

I'm particular about the way that t-shirts and towels are folded. They have to be folded the way you taught me how to fold them.

If I have a strong work ethic, it's because I watched you pour your heart and soul into your job, even when you thought no one would care that you cared.

I love dogs, but think they belong outside, because that's how you see it.

And I have an address book that, even though everyone's addresses and phone numbers are written neatly inside, every envelope with an address on it I have ever gotten is stuck inside in an delightfully unorganized, yet organized way. That's the way that you do it.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Howard Roark Laughed.

Day Seven: A Hobby That You Have

Since I suppose that gossiping and gin and tonics would not be an appropriate hobby to discuss here, I will find something else to write about.

Well, there's always reading. If you were to walk into my bedroom right now, you would find a biography of Alexander Hamilton, Beloved by Toni Morrison, and a collection of Pablo Neruda's poetry and my bedside table, all with pencils serving as bookmarks. I am reading all of these, and more. Schindler's List was put back on the shelf yesterday (I'll get back to it one day). I am always rereading Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead and various Shakespeare plays. Basically, I read. A lot.

I also really enjoy painting. Now, I know you must be asking yourself, "Paint? Really?" And to respond, I am not claiming that I am good at it. But I love it.

Is blogging a hobby? Eh, I imagine I don't get around to actually doing it enough to consider it a hobby. But writing. Oh, writing. I love to write. Nothing super important and nothing for anyone but myself, but I love to write. And while some of what I write is cringe-inducing when read again years later, I have the privilege of reliving moments and remembering who I was all those years ago. It's depressing and amazing and thought provoking.

And there's always gossip and gin and tonics.

Other updates:
This week, I have decided to attempt to be vegan. This is decision has drawn a plethora of "what the hell are you thinking," "cheese is awesome", and "meat is delicious. Have you lost your mind?" Allow me to explain. I am not doing this permanently. It's simply something I thought I would see if I could do and I'm using this as sort of a detox period to kick off a healthier lifestyle in general. This week has been relatively successful. I started Monday. Well, maybe "started" is not the right word. I was going to start Monday, but Brandi and I went to watch a trial on Monday and went to lunch with the DA's office for lunch that day. Their pick for lunch? Mexican. Vegan at the mexican restaurant? Nearly impossible. So I guess we can say I started after lunch on Monday. But the rest of the week, I have managed to stick to a non-animal product diet. Right down to the Hot Garlic with tofu I had for dinner tonight at Thai Heaven. I'm not sure how much longer this will last, but I will admit that I am most likely taking a day off tomorrow. We are having a Derby party at the apartment, complete with Hot Browns, bourbon cupcakes, and black-eyed pea salad. Not a vegan day, to say the least.


Because I talked about reading as one of my hobbies, here's a quote from my favorite book:

“I often think that he’s the only one of us who’s achieved immortality. I don’t mean in the sense of fame and I don’t mean that he won’t die some day. But he’s living it. I think he is what the conception really means. You know how people long to be eternal. But they die with every day that passes. When you meet them, they’re not what you met last. In any given hour, they kill some part of themselves. They change, they deny, they contradict–and they call it growth. At the end there’s nothing left, nothing unrevered or unbetrayed; as if there had never been any entity, only a succession of adjectives fading in and out on an unformed mass. How do they expect a permanence which they have never held for a single moment? But Howard–one can imagine him existing forever.”
-Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead

You Can Go Your Own Way

Hola, faithful blog readers!

Well, 30 days of blogging in a row has proven a difficult task indeed. I have been without the internet for a few days though, so I'll use that inconvenience as a convenient excuse for my absense. Now, where was I?

Day Six: A Picture of a Place You Have Been

Savannah, Georgia: The place I have been most recently. And not only that, the place I was born.  We went to Savannah for Spring Break and had an amazing time celebrating St. Patrick's Day!

So, day six: success!

With nothing to do for the next few days, I did a lot of reading this afternoon. Some of my favorites:

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.
-Pablo Neruda

Well, one of my favorites.

On one last, super happy, note, Glee is doing Fleetwood Mac songs tonight. LOVE.

It's Sevens Ev'ry Roll

Let's say blogging is that proverbial wagon you fall off.
Let's also say that wagon is on the Oregon Trail.
Well, yesterday, I broke my arm. But no worries, I paid a fellow traveler $25 dollars to help me, took one day of rest, and awoke today, ready to hit the trail again. I am, however, a day behind, so I'll have to double time it to make it to Oregon before winter.

Day Four: A Habit I Wish I Didn't Have

-I correct people's grammar. All the time. It's a sick compulsion. I should really stop. But there are few things that assault my ears like the misuse of "me" and "I" (think: Brandi and I went to movies or Would you like to go to the movies with Brandi and me?). This extends to Facebook and texts (there, their, they're; your, you're and shorthand such as u, thx, ur welcome, plz, etc.)
**Also, Hillary and I are always sending each other examples of people making words up (What exactly is a "worldwind?"). I suppose, though, that is a habit I like because stupid people, while infuriating, are hilarious.

I feel certain there are plenty other habits I should get rid of, so feel free to leave me a constructive comment should the mood strike you.

Oh, wow, the reason I'm writing this blog: I procrastinate.
This is my general attitude toward deadlines: "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." -Douglas Adams

Day Five: 15 Songs That are the Soundtrack of Your Life

I have such a RANDOM taste in music. And I in no way profess to be one of those people who is cool enough to like random indy bands. My Pandora stations include Cabaret, Cher, Ray LaMontagne, and Miles Davis. Here is my paper-writing Grooveshark playlist:

(1)  Don't You Want to Stay -- Jason Aldean and Kelly Clarkson
(2) Wilkommen -- Cabaret
(3) Forget About the Boy -- Thoroughly Modern Millie
(4) Club Can't Even Handle Me Right Now -- Flo Rida
(5) Start Me Up/Livin' On a Prayer -- Glee Cast
(6) Valerie -- Amy Winehouse
(7) Poker Face -- Lea Michele and Idina Menzel
(8) Time Warp -- Rocky Horror Picture Show
(9) Sweet Transvestite -- RHPS
(10) I Can Make You a Man -- RHPS
(11) Hot Patootie -- RHPS
(12) 'Long As I'm Here With You -- Thoroughly Modern Millie
(13) Candles -- Hey Monday
(14) Jolene -- Ray LaMontagne
(15) Raise You Glass -- Pink

And one bonus:
(16) Rollin' in the Deep -- Adele

See? It's not great taste, but it's my taste. So get over it.

Day Three: In which the blog challenge gets the Easter treatment

* I realized that while I made a sarcastic comment about the meaning of my blog title in yesterday's blog, I did not address the quote underneath the title. In the spirit of doing this challenge right, here goes. I have a love/hate relationship with F. Scott Fitzgerald -- LOVE Tender is the Night; HATE The Great Gatsby (this may entail some residual hate for the movie). The quote is from the book I love. I think I have to love it because I still don't know what I want to "be" when I grow up. I mean, obviously, I'm going to be a lawyer (or do something law-related. Those loans do NOT pay themselves back). But I think I like the idea that maybe, just maybe, I'll just constantly be becoming something, constantly changing. Yeah, I like that idea a lot.



Onward...


Day Three: A Picture of Something You Can't Live Without

This could get complicated.

First, somebunny I can't live without:

Beckett's first Easter, 2006 (3 weeks old)

Easter, 2007 (My favorite Easter pic of all time)

As far as things I can't live without? Hmm....

Coffee

Stilettos

Dirty Martinis

Books

I'm sure there are a few other things, but if asked with a gun to my head, those are the (person) and things I can't live without.

Happy Easter, blog world!

"Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed." -John 20:29

What's In a Name?

Blog Challenge: Day Two
What is the meaning of your blog title?

Due to the incredibly transparent nature of my blog title (it's my name and my son's name...see how I did that?), I'll take a moment to wish Shakespeare a happy birthday!

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself."

-Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, II.ii.45-51.

A Year Isn't That Long, Is It?

Talk about a blog hiatus. In order to get myself back on the blog bandwagon, I'm going to try out a 30 day blog challenge I found on another blog. I don't believe I've ever blogged for 30 days straight, so this will, indeed, be a challenge. Here's what I will be blogging about for the next 30 days:

Day One: Introduction, a recent photo of yourself, and 15 interesting facts about yourself.

Day Two: The meaning behind your blog title.

Day Three: A picture of something you cannot live without.

Day Four: A habit you wish you didn't have.

Day Five: 15 songs that represent your life's soundtrack.

Day Six: A picture of somewhere you've been.

Day Seven: A hobby you have.

Day Eight: A picture of someone/something that has the biggest impact on you.

Day Nine: Short term goals for this month and why.

Day Ten: Something/someone you're proud of.

Day Eleven: A story about a past relationship.

Day Twelve: A picture of something you dislike.

Day Thirteen: Share a secret.

Day Foruteen: Write a letter to someone telling them something you could never tell them.

Day Fifteen: A picture of something you ate and 10 confessions.

Day Sixteen: Put your iPod on shuffle and post the first 10 songs that play.

Day Seventeen: Something you could live without.

Day Eighteen: Someone you would want to switch lives with and why.

Day Nineteen: Plans/dreams/goals you have.

Day Twenty: Nicknames you have and how or why you have them.

Day Twenty-One: If you had 3 wishes, what would they be?

Day Twenty-Two: Share a picture from your day.

Day Twenty-Three: What makes you different from everybody else?

Day Twenty-Four: What is something you crave?

Day Twenty-Five: What would I find in your purse?

Day Twenty-Six: Places you want to visit before you die.

Day Twenty-Seven: Why are you doing this 30 day challenge?

Day Twenty-Eight: A picture of you last year and a picture of you now - how have you changed?Day Twenty-Nine: In the past month, what have you learned?

Day Thirty: A picture of you today and 20 goals you wish to accomplish.

Here we go:

Day One: Introduction, a recent photo of yourself, and 15 interesting facts.

If you need more introduction, you're in the wrong place. See above.

Also see above for a recent photo.

15 Interesting Facts (Well, interesting to me):

(1) I am on the downhill slide of my last year of law school, and by "downhill slide," I mean I had my LAST class yesterday. Graduation is May 21st. I can honestly say that going to law school was NEVER the direction that I thought my life would take, and yet, here I am -- a mere 29 days away from my J.D.

(2) Literature means more to me than I am really able to express. Someone once told me that there was no point in reading fiction because those things never happened. I couldn't believe it.

(3) I have a beautiful, hilarious, and brilliant 5 year old son, Beckett. Biased? Sure. But anyone who knows him knows that I am really not exaggerating that much :)

(4) Speaking of B, those of you that know me really well know that this past calendar year has been the hardest of my life. I'm not going to get into any details, but let's call it "Betsi's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year." That about sums it up.

(5) I have recently learned that I am the kind of person who is (relatively) quick to forgive. I like this about myself.

(6) That being said, there is a line you can cross and karma is a bitch.

(7) I can quote Shakespeare and Dumb and Dumber.

(8) Much like Ross on Friends, I will correct your grammar while we are having a conversation. I'm sorry. I know it's annoying, but I really can't stop.

(9) I am a daydreamer. A bad daydreamer. Well, maybe that's a good thing.

(10) Starting May 1st, I'd like to be more vigilant about my health.

(11) It has to be May 1st because we are living between two apartments right now and everything is a little chaotic.

(12) I'm moving!

(13) I believe that a good, I mean really good, dirty martini is sometimes all you need.

(14) I believe I will start writing letters again. Who doesn't love to get mail?

(15) I believe I will starting writing again in general. I have missed it so much.