Happy Election Day!

First, some gripes I have:

The space bar on my laptop is sticking and it is making me CRAZY. DoyoumindifIjusttypelikethisfortherestofthepost? Because at this point, that is NEARLY A NECESSITY. Also, as I am posting in commercial law, the fact that I have to keep awkwardly banging the crap out of my space bar is a little strangetastic.

Also, why does the calendar flipping to November mean it is suddenly polar bear weather? I was out campaigning this morning (woo, election day!) and I feel like I may have been doing more harm than good, as I was holding out cards to voters and shaking like an alcoholic missing her morning glass of vino and saying, "G-g-g-good m-m-m-morning, c-c-can I give you s-s-some information?" So attractive.

Now, on to the more positive things:

You may remember that Halloween is my favorite holiday of the year. Not sure why, but it always has been. Maybe that was because when I was in elementary school at Crazypants Christian (not that all Christian schools are crazypants, but mine sure was) - I could dramatically declare that my favorite holiday was Halloween and elicit all sorts of gasps and judgy looks. Because I like the devil's holiday more than the baby Jesus' birthday!

Seriously though, I love Christmas too, but Christmas is a pressure-filled holiday. I always end up running up my credit card because I try too hard to be a good gift-giver, I engage in marathon eating for a week and gain a ton of winter polar bear weight, and then there's the terrible post-holiday-undecorating phase. Halloween is low pressure. No family members to upset if you don't spend enough time with them, no ugly/ill-fitting/impractical gifts to deal with, and of course - free candy! Just because you asked!

This year though, I wasn't all that into Halloween. Normally, I decorate the house to the nines, I plan my costume and activities to which to wear said costume months in advance, and I play "Monster Mash" ad nauseam. This year, I lazed around and debated even doing anything at all until the very last minute. I didn't plan a costume, so when I did dec

ide to go out, I did the old "pull random shiz out of the closet and call it a costume" routine.

Perhaps is because I was sans-PB, because he has recently attained the world's most terrible job which requires him to work at every waking second that one might want to do something fun, or really, anytime I'm not at work or law school. Ohhh what I would give to have him back in a 9-5 job. We love it. Can you tell?

But anywho, whining aside, here's how my "costume" turned out:

I was a "cowgirl"...which I achieve by just pulling junk out of the closet. Quite frankly, it kind of scares me that I can pull out stuff I would actually wear and make a costume out of it. Probably that says something about my style.

I know you also like my fix for not being enough of an adult to own a full-length mirror. Pull back shower curtain, perch precariously on bathtub (exponentially more difficult depending on the footwear the outfit requires), contort self slightly so as to see full self in mirror. Normally it's not quite so difficult because the outfit doesn't require a hat that also needs to be evaluated.

But that was the start of Halloween. I walked up the street to a party, which seemed like a good idea in order to avoid running down trick-or-treaters, but which I was starting regret about 1/4 mile in. It was about a half mile away, I wasn't wearing the most comfortable cowboy boots in the world, and I was also carrying a leaky cooler with ice and two bottles of wine. (Yes, I packed two bottles of wine, for myself, for one party. In my defense, it was indecision, not alcoholism.) Basically, I was the big creeper trolling the sidewalks with a cooler bag and no pants while kids and parents gave me strange looks. It's a good role to play on Halloween.

I had an excellent time at the party, however. How could I not, what with the bonfire in the front yard, candelabras everywhere, some awesome costumes, and frito pie? Frito pie is DELICIOUS.

allowing myself to inundate you with some wedding squee!

I have been specifically trying to keep y'all clear of the nausea-inducing wedding posts that I could be doing. You like how I do that by just not posting? I know, I know. It's genius.

Well today, children, will be an exception. Today is going to be a list of Meredith's Favorite Wedding Things. Things that just make you go "SQUEEE!"

First, you should know that I have picked the all-important Colors of the Wedding. Teal and raspberry. And YES, I am obnoxiously referring to it as raspberry.

The color of those roses? LOVE. Combined with something like this:

Not so much a fan of the chocolate brown here, but I love the teal. See, I'm in this quandary because we're getting married September 10. Yes, 9/10/11. So to me, September 10th feels like summer is on the way out, and fall is on the way in, even if it will be 900 degrees the day we get married.

But I hate, hate, HATE the harvest hoedown wedding theme. No mini pumpkins, no burgundy dresses, and for the love of Jesus, no sunflowers. No sunflowers anywhere. Those do not belong in one's wedding. Unless perhaps one's wedding is at a quaint, picturesque barn. Maybe the one on Martha Stewart's property. And Martha Herself would have to arrange the flowers in a way that didn't scream "These won first prize in the 4-H contest at the county fair!"

So I wanted to do something other than super bright summery colors or springy pastel colors. But NO SUNFLOWERS. And no harvest hoedown. Hence, the teal/raspberry theme. Lots of satin, lots of jewel tones, and pink shoes. At least for me.

I have yet to find a pair of high heeled pink shoes that don't make me want to punch a baby within five minutes of putting them on though. Those poor folks at Zappo's have sent me not one, not two, but three pairs now. I keep putting them on and wearing them around the house and subsequently thinking about all the different ways I could and would probably commit a homicide whilst wearing them. So the poor folks at Zappo's are probably going to be getting all three pairs of those back.

DSW has sent me a pair of hot pink flip flops. They have not yet arrived, but I'm expecting them to look like this:

I'm hoping that they are a) actually cute, b) comfortable, and c) not going to make it overly obvious that I am an oompa loompa and PB is a wildebeest.

Fingers crossed.

since everyone loves twilight, you should all love my post about blood sucking just as much

I may have posted about this before, because for some reason, when I give blood, I seem to ALWAYS get the person who is not the best at their job. It always turns out to be some sort of cray situation where I either a) nearly pass out or b) actually pass out or c) am unable to tolerate the arterial stick that Skippy the Blood Boy just gave me and subsequently pass out, throw up and have a 3 month bruise.

Thank goodness, no arterial stick today. Which is great because that junk sucks, yo. But I did give blood and it was fun as usual. First, it was on the bloodmobile, which freaks me out a little, first because it's called the bloodmobile and second because it's never still. It seems to be constantly slightly moving due to people walking, door opening and closing, etc. This frightens me because dear Lord, we do not any other movement variables added into this question.

My friendly technician today was Mike. I imagine that Mike's job must be incredibly claustrophobic, because he works on the bloodmobile (which is really the blood motor home) and Mike is roughly the size of an industrial refrigerator.

So Mike starts digging on my arm with the needle and at about stick #4 I'm starting to think that Mike is running out of chances and if he digs in there one more time, I might have to pop him, refrigerator sized or not. Lucky for both me and Mike, he finally has a win on attempt numero cinco and I feel like I can relax.

I sit there, sipping on my water, trying to distract myself with my iPhone, just chillin yo. But then I start to get that dear-sweet-baby-Jesus-I-am-going-to-pass-out feeling. You know that feeling, when the blood motor home starts to feel like it is 462 degrees and that you might barf all over Mike and anyone else in your general vicinity.

About that time, a woman later identified as Lisa, and also as el jefe of the blood motor home, storms onto the bus. Because of the way I was positioned, my butt laid out on the chair/bed/whatever thing is the first thing you see upon entering the blood motor home. Upon viewing me, Lisa starts hollering at Mike.

"MIKE, look at her!" [Goes to look at my bag of blood.] "Why do you have her turned up to 42? SHE CAN'T HANDLE 42."

Lisa, as you may be now understanding, is kind of the blood Nazi. Her hollering startles Mike, who starts getting jumpy and making sudden movements around my arm and jerking on the lines, which in turn makes me real nervous and feel a lot more like I might pass out and/or throw up.

Then Lisa turns her attention to me. She starts turning the blood motor home air vents toward me, gets an ice pack and militantly demands that I put it behind my neck. She gets one of those tiny nursing-home-sized Pepsis out of the cooler, gives me a straw and tells me to swish the Pepsi.

Confused, as no one has ever told me to "swish the Pepsi" before I swallow it, I sort of sip slowly and hold it in my for a second before I gulp it down. This is not what Lisa wanted.

"I said SWISH IT. Like MOUTHWASH. Don't you use mouthwash?"

Ummm.

So I attempt to better follow Lisa's directions. Surprisingly, this seems to work. I'm no longer feeling like I might pass out/throw up. I'm beginning to feel like Lisa has done the voodoo on me. How could swishing Pepsi like MOUTHWASH (as Lisa directed) fix me? Very strange. According to Lisa, it "gets the sugar all over your mouth," which raises your blood pressure. I think Lisa needs to come up with a better explanation for her voodoo witch magic. I am just so not convinced.

The entire moral of this story, I suppose, is that if you start to feel like you are going to die/throw up/pass out/walk toward the light, you just need a tiny can of Pepsi and you need to SWISH IT. Like MOUTHWASH. Trust the voodoo magic, y'all.

i make silly handmade things

You might have gathered by now that I am an old lady. I bake, I am the crazy cat lady, and I knit. As of late, I have started stockpiling my knitted things to sell on Etsy and in fact have listed said things on Etsy. But I swear, I am not selling a darn thing. Not even when I get Etsy showcases, not when I spend $5 on facebook ads, nothing.

I can't decide why that is. Perhaps my stuff costs too much. But here's the thing - yarn is expensive and knitting takes TIME. I mean really I am probably making like $2 an hour on my stuff after you subtract out the yarn costs. And further, I am always stalking the knitting section and let me tell you, people are selling some stuff on there that looks like it was made by a drunken baboon for like $150.

So what is the DEAL, man? I've signed up for the Etsy Holiday Boot Camp, which is supposed to indoctrinate me into this mess and tell me how it is that I'm supposed to be like some little woman in a hut in Mongolia, making my living from my knitting.

If you're feeling a little chilly (not likely around here since it's like 95 degrees still) - go grab a scarf! Got a bebe or a friend with one? Buy a blankie! Okay, shameless plug. But seriously - Pretty in Purls - go there, you know you need some hand-knitted items.

I'm baaaaaaaack.

I know, you're so excited. I have been busy with stuff, y'all, stuff that has not involved the hours of being chained to my computer like law school requires. So let's have a mini-update, shall we?

First, me and PB got ENGAGED! Woo! That involved a really fun trip to Savannah in August. Specifically, we got engaged on 8-9-10. Naturally, that would mean we're getting married on 9-10-11. So I have been maniacally trying to plan a wedding before I get sucked in by terrible things like law school and the evil bar exam next summer. So let me say, this will not become a wedding planning blog, I swear. Mainly because if I were to do all of it and then write about it ad nauseam, I'd probably go crazy. Also because I've already done all the big major crazy stuff.

I guess there really is no second. I'm back in the throes of law school, except it's 3L year, which means if I ever gave a crap before (let's be honest, I don't think I ever really have) I sure don't now. In fact, I was talking to Lia earlier and explained my feelings about graduation. Basically, I don't have any interest in going. I feel like law school is sort of like a bad relationship, and when I get out, it will be a big sigh of relief. We'll part ways, we won't see each other anymore, it'll be a little awkward when we meet in passing, but it will be over. I feel like graduation is sort of the big screaming fight in the high school parking lot that leads up to that point. And I'd rather not, thanks. I'd rather just roll quietly into the next phase of our relationship.

Oh well, probably the whole family will put the brakes on that crap and I'll have to go anyway. We'll see!

Expect to hear from me more since I'm glued to the computer more now. There's no more keeping the laptop in its little hidey hole and being outside, being at the beach, sitting on the porch, drinking lots of wine. Okay maybe there's still drinking lots of wine. But now that happens while I do homework. With the computer. Which = blogging! Woo!

don't shoot

Here's something you might not know about me. I like being a little kindergarten tattletale on occasion. And so, on my way home from my inordinately late and long sentencing law class this evening, I noticed the car in front of me weaving all over the place, turning a right turn signal and a left turn signal in rapid succession and then not turning anywhere, nearly cutting in front of a tractor trailer and causing imminent death and peril for everyone. And good lord, he just generally cannot keep junk in the lines. So, I pick up my handy little phone and I call the po-pos. Because shit man, I would have done a traffic stop on him in a skinny minute. No sense wasting perfectly good traffic stop opportunities. Stopportunities, if you will.

Well there is absolutely nothing the police in my little town love like taking a drunkface in, so what I think is going to be an easy little recitation of a license plate number turns into Giant Crazypantsfest 2010, in which the operator has me giving her a play by play of where I am. "Okay, tell me as soon as the light turns green. Where are you now? What about now? How far have you gone?" So then she really blows me away with, "Just pull in behind the officer and stay in your car when he does the traffic stop."

First of all, I did not sign up for some bad episode of Walker, Texas Ranger. Can't I just give you my phone number and you call me if you need me to back you up on that reasonable suspicion? But fine, whatever, I started this mess, so I pull in behind the traffic stop in which FOUR POLICE CARS are involved. Jesus guys, I didn't say he was Osama bin Laden, I said I thought he was effed up a little. Not the same.

So, I sit there waiting on Officer Skippy to come over and set me free, amongst the police cars which seem to be multiplying by the second. He comes over to the car, says he "needs to get my information." And he needs my license for this. Okay, sure, check me for warrants, I know that's what you're doing. Whatevs. I'm clean, yo. Well, just to be nice, I decide I am going to comply with all laws, and I tell Officer Skippy, "Just so you know, I have a concealed weapon permit and I do have a gun in the car."

Well OH MY GOD, call the SWAT team, because the girl with the cupcake taker in the passenger seat at 9:30 on a Wednesday night clearly dreamed up this whole plan to pop a cap in somebody. Also, this whole time, I am thinking that Officer Skippy looks like one of those Woolly Willie toys, because he is entirely bald but has eyebrows the size of caterpillars. This makes it hard to take it seriously when he starts backing away, shining the light in my face and clutching at his gun.

At this point, Officer Skippy has a look of panic on his face. Seriously, am I that terrifying? This is great. And he's all "Where exactly is the gun?" whilst he looks panicked and shines his flashlight around the car. So I inform him of The Ominous Gun's whereabouts. Then I realize that I am probably going to give him a coronary because my wallet (and thus my license) is in my giant law school bag behind my seat. It's seriously the biggest tote bag Lands' End makes, and I know that a) reaching behind the seat and b) fumbling in my giant lawyer bag are collectively going to send Skippy into such a fit that he just shoots me.

So this whole time, I am trying to use my best soothing voice, kind of like what your dentist does when he's explaining what she's going to do, and you both know it's going to suck, and that this whole sitch is real awkward. "Okay, nowwwww I'm going to reach behind the seat. Nowwwww I'm going to look in here for my license. Could you pleaseeee shine your flashlight in the bag so I can see? [and also so you can see there is nothing with which I can shoot you]" So finally, I give Skippy the license, all the while he has one hand on his gun and one on his flashlight, looking all poised to shoot me at the first move.

AFTER ALL THAT, another cop comes back and goes "Eh, I don't smell it on him, I don't think that's enough to get him out of the car." WHAT? Sure, maybe he isn't drunk but jeez guys, you have a witness who just told you a 10 minute story about this dude's shenanigans on the highway. You have at least enough to get him out of the car.

Well, finally about the twelfth police car shows up, pulls alongside me and I realize it's an old family friend of ours, who, thank God, recognizes me. So at this showing of trust, Skippy at least backs off from the car and seems to be breathing normally again, though boy howdy, that hand is still planted firmly on that gun. At this point I'm thinking, oh goodness it is 10pm, I am starving, and JUST SHOOT ME ALREADY.

The moral of the story is, I a) tried to be a good, concerned citizen (okay so I also like it if someone gets busted) and b) I tried to be a good little concealed weapon owner and follow all of the gosh darn rules and regulations by telling Officer Skippy about it and c) I am treated as if I might entirely go cray cray on anyone at any moment and d) no potential drunkfaces even get pulled OUT OF THE CAR. BAHHH.

Also I am too tired to make wine slushies, so I have no report for you all on how that went. But, perhaps tomorrow since I have no class, I will have loads of time to sit around, watch SVU, and make/drink wine slushies. Sounds like a plan to me.

somebody fetch me a wine slushie

Can we talk about how pleased I am that exams are over? Okay, let's talk. I'M PLEASED. The feeling of "I may have failed almost all of them" has somewhat worn off, to be replaced by the "screw it, I'll just take it again if I actually failed" feeling, accompanied by the "what the heck, let's make wine slushies" feeling.

No, seriously, I am totally making wine slushies. At the first feasible opportunity. Maybe tomorrow night, since I have sentencing law class until 9pm or some other ungodly time. Though I actually like sentencing law class because dear sweet Jesus, it's just about filling out the forms right. And there might be case law about it, but the whole point is, none of that really matters. You just FILL OUT THE FORM.

And as I was previously a sentencing form monkey for the entirety of last summer, I can FILL OUT YO FORM. Seriously, I have few talents, but besides standing on my head, rolling my tongue in a vile yet fascinating manner, and drawing a real pretty palm tree when I'm bored, I can figure out your prior record level lickety split. It is refreshing to finally be the one person in a law school class who actually knows what's going on. Let me tell you, I usually don't know what's going on in law school classes unless it involves crap I want to buy on etsy, how to make a delicious appetizer (or wine slushie) or what Mariska Hargitay wore last time she was out and about (because I completely want to be her.)

Let's now turn our attention to something else (disjointed alert.) I really, really hate thunderstorm warnings. Not so much the thunderstorm warning itself, but the warnings that come on tv. Why must they always sound so ominous? Like for example, ruining my viewing of The Good Wife is a thunderstorm warning scrolling across the screen in all caps, telling me: A SEVERE THUNDERSTORM WARNING IS IN EFFECT FOR THE FOLLOWING COUNTIES...UNTIL TUES 11:15 PM. EXTREME CAUTION SHOULD BE EXERCISED IN THE VICINITY OF THUNDERSTORMS. STAY INDOORS, AWAY FROM WINDOWS AND CONSIDER POSTPONING TRAVEL UNTIL THE THUNDERSTORM PASSES.

But you know what's even worse? When the awful emergency alert noise and the creepy computer voice come on. Boy, that is enough to get me taking shots in the kitchen. I just cannot help but picture my obviously imminent path to being interviewed by a tv news person following the horrible carnage of the storm. I will somehow find myself in a mangled front yard, bra-less in a wifebeater, having somehow lost the majority of my teeth, saying "It sounded just like a freight train a-comin'."

Also, the newscaster is wearing a blue suit. A light blue suit. Is it wrong if I say I want a light blue suit? Seriously, I do. Y'all tell me where I can find one that doesn't look like it came from the Alfred Dunner line.

And with that, it's reading one more case, then up at the ungodly hour of 6am for class. If you see me on the road tomorrow, I'll probably growl at you.