Saturday, August 26, 2006

The Weekend News

I don't know how I did this to myself, but I seem to have scheduled every single second of this weekend, except for last night, when, after a week of getting five hours of sleep and working 14 hrs/day, I fell asleep at 9:30pm. Awesome.

At least it's somewhat split between the good and the bad - both mornings I'll be at work from 9-1, but this afternoon I'm meeting up with ten of my closest friends to imbibe and be belligerent inside a movie theater, which I haven't done since I was a teenager, then grab dinner, imbibe some more and be belligerent at a party, which I haven't done since, like, last week. Tomorrow, work, then Take Two at a trip to Udvar-Hazy to see the test space shuttle - so apropos, as a real shuttle will be taking off at 4:30pm tomorrow in Florida. I'm hoping the museum erupts in a loud ten-second countdown at 4:29:50, but Christopher thinks I shouldn't hold my breath.

I'm at work waiting for my two new temps to arrive, so I was just reading through the news and saw two things:

Headline I Thought I'd Never See: Hezbollah launches boy band to stardom

Is this the sign the apocalypse has finally arrived? I think it might be.

The second is from an article on full-body swimsuits designed to keep women ashamed of their bodies and, also, keep us from filling men with sexual desire, thus distracting them from their godly duties, as we are wont to do. The author, thank goodness, is hilariously tongue-in-cheek.
The company has found a following among older women who like to wear the suits for water aerobics, larger women who prefer more coverage poolside and women whose husbands like to act as fashion consultants.
I highly recommend the rest of the article, if only for the picture of the poor girl who's going to have a serious farmer's tan at the end of the summer.

Update: I just realized that swimsuit article is by Robin Givhan, the hack who gave away the ending of the Project Runway season premiere. Boo.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Now Legal in Two States*

Just when I thought this day was completely ruined by the loss of our dear Pluto, I came home and found this in the mail:

Esquire x 2

That's right, folks, I'm now licensed to practice law in two states one state and one District of Motherfucking Columbia bitches!

I was warned the waiver process took eight-nine months, and was figuring on even longer due to the fact I changed employers the day, literally, that I turned in my waiver application (without, obviously, this information). They contacted me two months later and asked for my updated employer info, so really I was expecting notice around Thanksgiving time. Five sweet months later, I'm an Esquire times two. (That's how it works, right? "Heather G, Esq. Esq."?)

Of course, I have no idea what this really means for me, except that I get to pay two bar fees every year and attend (and pay for) an obnoxious number of CLE classes for two states*. I already got my pay raise when I turned in my app (not that I won't ask for another one), so...yay?

*The District of Columbia, it turns out, is not actually a state. Yet.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Sure, I'll tell you my secret. C'mere.

-I don't understand why deodorant is suddenly synonymous with female empowerment.


Don't you feel closer now? Let's go get manicures!

Monday, August 21, 2006

Summer Lessons

Yesterday, as Joe, Christopher and I were grilling out on a lazy Sunday (after I spent four hours at work, ugh), I realized that this summer is almost everything I was hoping it would be. Last summer I spent ten hours a day in bar review classes, making and reviewing (and reviewing and reviewing) flashcards, and generally mourning my quickly passing youth.

When we moved in this house, the first thing I did was go to Home Depot and buy a grill, even though summer was waning and, too soon, it was covered in snow. When spring bloomed I got my garden on and furnished the boys with grilling utensils, because I was Determined to spend the season outside, getting my natural highlights back, and eating delicious piles of cooked meats. As the end of August approaches, I say we've achieved success. In fact, at this very moment I am stuffed with a burger that was perfectly grilled in bbq sauce, covered in homemade pico de gallo and homemade guacamole. Mmmmm.

On our way home from work Christopher and I briefly discussed throwing a party, since it's been quite awhile, but we agreed we've been enjoying our semi-weekly bar-b-que gatherings much better than any kegger we could throw. I've actually become better friends in the past three months with people I've known all throughout law school.

Though, seriously, it's all about the food. My garden obsession, like the summer humidity, has started to grow old. If I had a spigot in the backyard, I'd probably still be gushing about my flowers on the blog all the time, but these days, just the thought of dragging that damn water pail inside the kitchen 7, 8, 9 times to refill it keeps me from even starting. Also, my tomato plants took an ugly turn mid-July. I think it was because I hadn't pruned them properly, and the energy it took the plant to feed its grossly extended limbs and its gaggle of baby tomatoes was too much for the plants to produce. They started to die from all corners so I took the clippers to them. With only their bare trunks left, they looked awfully pathetic and to my dismay, refused to recover. I thought they were goners until I noticed this week that they've begun to creep back to life. I doubt I'll get any more fruit from them, but frankly, I'm happy with what they've given me so far:

Bruschetta
Fresh Tomato Sauce

My jalapeno plant won't quit, but during the rat-escapades last week I was afraid to go out back, and it looks like he was dining in with the peppers for awhile. Yuck. I should take a photo of my basil bush, because it's a Big. Freaking. Bush. I bought ingredients and plan to make a huge batch of pesto to freeze for winter. It's true, I'm turning into my mother. Any other good ideas about what I can make with basil that will keep?

Oh, we also got a new roommate:
Praying Mantis

He's very polite and keeps to the begonias. Whenever I water them he pops up and hangs out on top, watching me with his beady little eyes, moving his alien head to watch me move around the garden, and, of course, praying.

Boarding All Rows

Boy, I feel like the last person on earth to see SoaP. Today C and I even happened to catch a rerun of the Daily Show where SLJ was the guest, doing his best DANCE MOTHERFUCKER DANCE for the crowd. But! We've got the folks lined up. We already had to reschedule once due to a certain housewarming party being thrown next Saturday, but the "hell yes!" and the "I can't believe you're spending your hard-earned American dollars on that" responses have gone around, and the roommates and I managed to create a group appropriately big enough to brown bag it to the semi-early Saturday showing, followed by intense philosophical discussions in Adrian's artsy studio, at which time, all will be right with the world.

Of course, I manage to retain my excitement despite the movie being ruined (ruined!) by certain DCist editors who gave away key parts involving urinating and "snake vision," thus turning an otherwise delightful brunch into panic-show of me covering my ears and yelling "LA LA LA LA!" Don't tell me how it ends, guys, I want to be surprised! Still, I'm encouraged by Kyle's proclaimation, "It's like porn: they get right to the action." Sweet.

Also, the first great 9/11 movie? You mean they'll be more?! Sequel!

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Everyone knows that episode

I had a lovely evening last night. It seems that anytime I take in a meal with my friend Steph, it ends with free champagne. Last time I went out with her, we went to some club that her ex-boyfriend manages, who brought us literally bottle after bottle of champagne to celebrate her birthday. That's not a bad way to spend a night out. This time, Steph, Sylvie and I went to Vidalia for a little Restaurant Week outing. Who knew, but Steph had made her presence known in this place, too, which we discovered when the manager came out to greet us with a plate of fromage and graced our desert course with - what? Some flutes of champagne.

I've never been to Vidalia before, but I've been out during Restaurant Week and am familiar with the all-too-often complaint of terrible service. You know, for all the plebs out to play bouge with the discount grub. My experience has always been fantastic food, that you had to wait hours over the course of the three course meal just to get someone to pay attention to you. At Vidalia, it was the exact opposite. I wasn't really wowed with the food. The fried green tomato starter was a bit tough and bland, and the catfish was good, but I've had better from my own kitchen.

However, the service was so great that we left the restaurant in high spirits saying, "Wow, that was wonderful meal!" In addition to all the attention from the manager, our waiter was a doll from start to finish. Hilariously, when he came over to check on us once and we were laughing our asses off, and Sylvie tried to explain, "They're telling me about some Flava Flav thing," he remarked, "Oh, the poo episode?" And then duly teased me when I ordered the Midnight Torte that happened to resemble two turds on a plate. Ah, classy dining.

Despite the somewhat average food, I can't say I wouldn't go there again. Actually, they have a fantastic happy hour I'd like to check out, with twenty wines under seven dollars and complementary apps. If their mac n' cheese is one of those, I'm so in.

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