boundaries

My mother called me at 2 pm while I was at work. I assumed that it must be something important, because why else would she call me when she knew I was working. In fact, she was calling me to remind me of two things: 1) that I need to moisturize, and 2) that I scrunch up my face when I talk and this can cause wrinkles.

I would sit her down to have a talk with her about boundaries, but I don't know how to say "boundaries" in Korean, and I suspect that is because it doesn't translate. After all, this is the woman who never understood why I got mad at her when she used to "clean" my room for me.

dilemma

They say you should love your body the way it is. But if you do, what if it stays that way???

socialize

The reason you have to hang out with other people even if you hate them is because otherwise, you will only be hanging out with yourself. It's best to aim your hatred outward.

the internet

I've had a lot of conversations with my friends lately about how to meet new people. Having graduated from law school less than a year ago, we have all been scattered across the country, transplanted to new places with only a handful of contacts to keep us grounded. Most of us have new jobs that work us long hours, limiting our weekday social interaction to our co-workers. So when we talk about how to branch out and find new friends in our respective new cities, everyone seems to come to the same conclusion: our best shot is the internet.

I'm sorry, but I refuse. I refuse to believe that the internet is the best forum for social interaction. It's certainly one of the *easiest* forums for social interaction, but I think people often mistake that convenience for something else. There is no doubt that the internet is great for communication, but the convenience of it also breeds cowardice. Instant messaging, texting, email, Blackberries--there is a cowardice to all of these forms of communication. I know this because I am a coward myself. I know how much more protected I feel when I communicate my thoughts from behind a screen.

That's not to say that you can't meet good people online. But when it comes down to it, I am not ready for technology to replace the tangible space of real life human encounters. It's one thing to use the internet to *organize* social interaction--it's another thing entirely to use it as a replacement.

It's not so much that I judge people for meeting people online--it's that I don't want to let go of this idea that we can still talk to each other face to face, knowing nothing about each other, and withstand the awkwardness of that first eye contact. It's about training yourself for the harshness of conversation. In real life, when you have nothing interesting to say, you can't leave for a few hours and start the conversation again later, after you have had enough time to come up with something witty. That silence is there in your face, in real time, commanding you to fill it.

So no thank you. I'd rather be lonely a little longer than resort to meeting people through the internet just yet. Maybe I'll learn my lesson when I am still friendless in a year, and I end up dying alone in my apartment, my body left undiscovered for three weeks.

time

I think I may spend more time thinking about things I have to do then I do actually doing them.

uncontrollable hunger

Is it still Lean Cuisine if I ate two of them in one sitting?

email undo button

Oh my god. Once again, Google proves that it is genius. I am one step closer to finding an undo button for life.

overwhelmed

How do people have time to work, feed themselves, clean their house, fold their laundry, pay their bills, and have a life? I can only do half of these things.

timeless

Once, my friends and I found a huge fisherman's net and spent 20 minutes taking ridiculous pictures of ourselves inside of it. Except we weren't 12--this was yesterday. It's funny how as we enter our late twenties and early thirties, we perceive ourselves as having come a long way from the children we used to be. But when it comes down to it, the things that we liked to do as children are still the things we like to do now. The only difference is, now we have to be extremely drunk to have an excuse to act that way.

It's like you spend your entire adult life making money just so you can afford the alcohol that will make it socially acceptable for you to shriek with laughter at armpit farts.

good start

This morning, on my way to work, I was stopped at a red light when a sea of elementary school children were scurrying across the street. The pedestrian signal started flashing the hand at them, and the teacher guiding the students across the street held his arm out to stop the rest of them from crossing. They all came to a screeching halt, bumping into each other one by one and bursting into giggles. That's when I knew it was going to be a good day.

plotting

I am plotting how to get around my apartment's dog policy. So far I have come up with the following:

- Buy the dog and tell the property manager I was mistaken, he is not 42 pounds, he is 24 pounds, and hope she doesn't notice that he is huge.

- Buy the dog and force the manager to evict me.

- Move out and break my lease so I can buy this dog.

- Buy the dog and keep it at work.

- Give up and cry every night for the next week.

Sigh.

"A" for effort

Listen, I am trying to be a less judgmental person, okay? I can't help it though that so many people are so incredibly stupid.

my almost dog

Everything comes down to a daddy issue. Mine is that when I was four, my father said I could get a puppy, and then he took it back. I remember that incident as my first heartbreak.

22 years later, I finally have the means to get a dog, and I find the perfect one. He's 2 years old, part beagle and part lab, ridiculously handsome, well-behaved, house-trained and friendly. He also hates prissy little dogs, just like I do. So I'm all set to adopt him, when my stupid property manager at my supposedly pet-friendly apartment slams me with a previously undisclosed weight-restriction--I can only have dogs 25 pounds and under. Which essentially means I can only have a prissy little dog.

First, I'm furious that they didn't tell me this before I moved in, when I told them I was planning on getting a dog. And second, pathetically, I am actually really sad. It feels like I'm four all over again and someone is telling me I can't have the dog they said I could have. Except this time, I'm paying that someone $1200 a month.

a message to the former vice president

Dear Dick Cheney,

Shut the fuck up.

- UB

survival skills

Every time you move to a new city, the cycle is the same. At first, there is all that excitement over being in a new place. Then the weary realization that you have to rebuild your social network sinks in, and you become starkly aware that, for now, you are the only person you can rely on. This may explain why I somehow ended up watching a video on how to change a tire. I feel like even the reflexive web-surfing that results from boredom has survival instincts. Now that I know how to change a flat tire, it's official--I can totally take care of myself. Except when I am crying over a traffic ticket. Or leaving something burning on the stove. Or running my car into a pole.

magic space pocket

I have always imagined that there are pockets in the time-space continuum that are responsible for the loss of many of my personal belongings. That is the only explanation for why stuff like my socks, my underwear, and my pens end up inexplicably disappearing all the time.

This week, I actually found one of those pockets. Apparently, there was a giant hole in the lining of one of my purses, resulting in multiple items being sucked in between the inner fabric and the outer leather of the purse. So for months, when I thought I was imagining that my pens were disappearing in my purse, they actually were. Inside the lining, I found 12 pens, my business cards, my business card holder, 3 highlighters, 4 pencils, a parking ticket, and 8 dollars.

No wonder my purse always felt mysteriously heavy.

surrender

Goddammit.

I want a fucking Kindle.

thanks

I would like to thank the 1L I involuntarily met tonight for reminding me why I would never in a million years date a law student.

felipe's

Today, as I was walking around with my friends in New Orleans, I spotted a burrito restaurant called felipe's in the distance. It took a second for the recognition to register, but then it finally hit me--it was the same felipe's that was located near my law school, where my friends and I used to eat away our hangovers. Now, it is true that I hated many things about Cambridge, namely the weather, but felipe's was one of the things I truly loved about it. The flour tortillas they use must have crack in them because I would find myself fantasizing about those burritos in the middle of class. Having no real reason to ever go back to Cambridge, I somberly assumed that I would never again be able to satisfy the dehydrated craving created after a night of drinking with a delicious felipe's burrito. So you can imagine how I felt when I saw that familiar green and red sign transplanted from Cambridge to New Orleans, miraculously appearing before me after my best friend's wedding, a night after which a hangover was simply pre-destined.

The sheer joy that I felt when I saw the restaurant was ridiculous. No person should feel that much happiness at seeing a restaurant chain, but I felt like I was going to fly off the Riverwalk. I dragged my friends inside, ordered my usual, and dove in. Sure enough, it tasted the same. Ironically, as we were eating, the two friends who had shared my felipe's addiction in law school called me randomly. I think they could sense my hunger for felipe's calling like a bat signal. And the best part was, I was sitting at felipe's in March in seventy degree weather. Unheard of in Cambridge, where you always had to avoid sitting near the door if you wanted to still have feeling in your fingers. Perfection improved--who knew it was possible?

policy

I have a strict policy that I don't blog about work, ever.

Too bad all I do is work.

professional parent wanted

For the past few days since coming back to real life, I have been sitting in my bed literally surrounded by all the bills I have been ignoring. Car loans, insurance, student loans, credit cards, furniture loans, utilities, rent, cell phone--all the companies that own my life. When you have all of your 18 bills spread out around you, there is just no denying it: corporations own you. Every two weeks, I get a paycheck, and that paycheck goes directly to my creditors. It's almost like I don't get paid at all.

Is this what they meant by growing up? Totally lame. I want a refund. And I want a professional mommy who will take care of this crap for me. Except that would just be another bill I'd have to pay. Sigh. If only my real mom were around. She used to do this stuff for free.

fat

Having sudden free time is kind of like suddenly losing a lot of weight--you have to remind yourself that you're not fat anymore, because in your head, you're still a fat girl.