Slice of Pink

High on Life

I'm the only sober person in this photo.

I signed up to be the designated driver for Mary's birthday party in Downtown Sacramento on Friday night (Mary being second from the right). I took my job extremely seriously and did not have a single alcoholic beverage in the three hours we were at the bar.

I've never really had to be a designated driver. When I lived in Santa Barbara, there were plenty of bars within walking distance, not to mention a bus that would deliver people straight from Isla Vista to the downtown bars. In Washington DC, I didn't have a car anyway, so all travel, drunk or not, was via metro, cab, or foot. And, now in Davis, there are plenty of bars a short bike ride away.

But, on Friday night I was the DD. And, you know? It's not so bad.

First, the bartender made me free fancy fruit juice cocktails.

Second, Katie shared a heaping plate of nachos with me.

Third, the restaurant gave me free coffee.

Finally, Michelle ordered me blueberry french toast sticks.

I spent the whole night out at a fantastic bar for zero dollars. ZERO!*

*Well, maybe the price of a little bit of gasoline, but Will takes care of that so it's almost like that money doesn't actually exist and, anyway, it has certainly got to be way less than the cocktails, the nachos, the coffee, and the french toast I would have had to buy for myself. Plus, alcohol.

I'm now totally down to be the designated driver. It's quite an incredible bargain and completely hangover-free.

Funny thing is: when I called Shannon and told her that I would drive, she responded most enthusiastically by offering to buy me my first glass of wine.

Cocky

It's Saturday night at the high school prom and Will and I are standing at the top of the stairs in the lobby of a nice downtown hotel. We're on chaperone duty, poised between the hotel bar and the lobby, with the task of keeping high schoolers from entering the bar area and drunk bar-goers from entering the prom area.

Not much is going on and Will and I are chatting away, when Will's eyes suddenly go wide and his jaw drops to the floor. I turn to look and, I can barely believe what I am seeing, but there is a man in the bar with his penis out. He's got his belt undone, his fly unzipped, and his penis is just chillin' there next to his glass of beer.

Now, I don't know what you would do if you saw a penis out at a bar, but we were responsible for 600 teenagers and, somehow, kids + alcohol + bar + penis did not add up to equal the kind of thing that sounded like a particularly good calculation.

After a few seconds the guy put his penis away and zipped his pants back up and the problem was resolved. Temporarily. Five minutes later, he is standing up and undoing his belt again, presumably to bring his penis back to the party. I'm thinking we should tell security or something, but before I can suggest that plan, Will has entered the bar and is hovering over the guy in what Will later reports he wished would have resulted in a bigger confrontation. Maybe involving a punch, what with Will being larger and sober and all.

Instead, the conversation goes like this, except with more much graphic language and a lot of in-your-face finger pointing by Will.

Will: You better not take your cock out again.

Guy: (mumbling) I was just joking around.

Will: There are 600 16 and 17 year-olds right over there...

Guy: I didn't take my cock out over there!

Will: No, you took it out here, right in that chair.

Guy: No I didn't!

Will: Yes, you did. And then you touched that girl right there.

Guy: Well, uh--

Will: Don't do it again. If you do, it will involve the police and jail.

Guy: Okay, okay, we're cool. High five, man.

Will: Get your hand away from me. You just had it down your pants, dude.

The penis, no longer welcome at the bar, stayed put for a good ten minutes, until the guy removed his shirt, put his hand down his pants, and promptly passed out on a Sheraton sofa.

At which point, I informed security.

At which point, the guy and his penis were escorted from the hotel.

At which point, his girlfriend, laughing until this point, also had to leave.

At which point, his girlfriend became distraught because they had to leave behind the large group of wedding-goers they were partying with.

At which point I wonder which is tackier: having your penis out an upscale hotel bar or having a girlfriend who thinks that is hilarious.

Penis police on patrol, protecting prom partygoers since 2008.

We the People

I just want to let you know that I have not been out having fun, exploring the world, experiencing post-worthy things. Oh no. I have been sitting and learning Constitutional Law and, perhaps more importantly, trying to squeeze as much information as possible on the one sheet of notes we are allowed to bring into the final exam tomorrow. Three words: six point font.

Oh! Don't worry. We didn't read the whole book. We just read to page 1043. That's all. No biggie.

Who is the What is the Where?

I'm frantically studying for Constitutional law, the next final on the calendar, and I swear to gumdrops, I found this very profound sentence in my notes:

plus, who was for the what?

Somehow, I don't think that this will earn me any points on the exam.

I'm Fine!

I still have deciding to do and photos to post and things to tell you, but I have a final tomorrow, so I am going to go ahead and study a little bit and get back to you tomorrow. Wish me luck!

{Photos from Jean Jullien via Swiss Miss}

P.S. Quick! Tell me what you know about Property Law!

Hey Little Sister

Dear April Ann,

Today you turn 18, that magical age when you can stop off at the 7-11 to buy cigarettes, lottery tickets, and porn or, if you prefer, you can drive over to an Indian casino and play video poker. I chose the latter on my 18th birthday, but honestly? Gambling is kind of dull unless it involves large amounts of free alcohol (clearly, I'm not our mother's daughter).

It's been fun watching you grow up and, since I was 10 when you were born, I can more or less remember the whole shebang. You were so tiny and cute and, more importantly, I got to stay home from school all day waiting for your arrival. You didn't get home until well after school would have been let out anyway, so I might as well have gone to class, but I got to sleep in and then spend the day on the couch watching reruns of the Brady Bunch. Your birth will always be firmly implanted in my memory right alongside the time Marcia got Davey Jones to sing at the prom.

At age five, you were constantly in my stuff--in my room, in my clothes, in my drawers--and I'll never forget the time you stuck all my stickers all over every envelope in my stationery box. Seems so trivial now, but then? Hoo-weeeeee, was I ever mad.

You collected rocks--lots of them straight from the yard, all lined up on your dresser--and you also collected roly-poly bugs (also known as Woodlouse). You kept them in a box in your nightstand and fed them leaves. When mom discovered the little habitat, you had a whole family of them. And, by family, I mean a great big Texas compound-sized family.

Alas, the years have passed and now you're all grown up. And I sure do like you. I've loved you with all my heart since the day you were born, of course, but now that you stay out of my stuff and let me borrow your shirts and no longer keep bugs in your nightstand, my love is just bursting at the seams. Yep, you turned out alright.

You brought this poem home from elementary school one day for me. It is written in pencil and each line is numbered in the margin, presumably to remind you which lines to rhyme. I've kept it all these year in a file folder and your 18th birthday seems like the perfect time to publish it right here on the Internet.

Poem Friday

I made a party just for you
I bought a cow that says I love you
and it is true
I hope you love me to

birthdays are very fun
we will have a party
we will invite pinke panthers they will bring a ton
hope they won't be tarty

I really want them to go to your party
I planned it out so well
Ya they aren't tarty
I promised mom I would not tell

I have letters to send
so that is the end

Wishing you tons of non-tarty pinke panthers and much, much more. Happy birthday, baby sister!

Requires Memorization

My husband's order at Starbucks?

Grande iced decaf sugar-free hazelnut nonfat latte.

He's that guy.

I'd Pair it with Leggings and Six Inch Stilettos

Being a blogger can sometimes put you in awkward situations. Like, say for instance, when you are having a lovely outdoor dinner with a lovely group of people and suddenly you just have to pull your camera out of your purse to take a photograph of a random man wearing a pink cow print shirt. (Or is it leopard? Cow or leopard? Clearly, I am not very knowledgeable in the area of spotted animals.)

Because letting the awesomeness of that shirt go undocumented would be so very wrong.

Decidering, Part 10

My law school friend, Mary, would like to know whether she should join Law Review.

I decide: Yes! Absolutely Yes!

The reason I decide Yes! (and so enthusiastically, I might add) is that I don't want to be the reason that Mary does not get the Top 100, starting at $165,000/year, crazy over-the-top major law firm job. So, yes. Definitely, yes.

That being said, I am not joining the law review. Law review is a great big deal. I get it. It's everything we ever hoped for when we signed up for law school--lots of prestige, long hours, extra work, boredom. (Am I really saying this on the Internet right now? Hello future employers reading through my archives!)

I have these rules for my life. They go like this:
1. If I really want to do something, I do it. And I follow through on it, no matter how badly it ends up sucking.
2. But, if I don't want to do something, I don't. Sometimes there are consequences for the not doing and I accept that.

Sometimes people say that you have to live for today, in case you die tomorrow. Thing is, I don't care if I live to be 120, I don't want to waste a year banging my head against a wall. You know? So that what? I can do it for another 20 years? Awesome. (Dudes! I am going to have to password protect this post. I am so never getting hired.)

So, last week? We had this paper due and my closet? Went from tidy to this:

I can't be on law review because, people, I have laundry to do.

(Actually, Will does all the laundry but I have to move my dirty items to the laundry basket on top of the dryer and that takes time.)

(Mom, it's okay. No, you don't need to drive to Davis. I cleaned the toilet yesterday. I swear.)

Anyway, point being: I'm not looking for a crazy 2200 billable hour job making $165,000 to start. I'm just looking for something decent with some time for taking photos and drinking wine and sitting in a summer dress on a Saturday in the park. Despite the word in the hallways at school, we're all gonna be okay. Law review or not (seriously, 30 people make law review. Do 170 people end up on the street? Okay, then.)

We're all gonna be okay. Even Professor Hills says so.

So, yes! If you want to be highly competitive in the job market and make lots of cash, then yes! But, if not, then we can ride downtown and enjoy some wine and sunshine.

Readers! Law review? What is law review anyway, right? Put your vote in regardless because look! I got a fancy new poll taking thing whereby you can cast your vote for Mary.

On Writing an Appellate Brief

Will (while placing frozen fish sticks on a cookie sheet): Would you eat a fish stick for a B, right now, on that appellate brief?

Me: Yes, I think so.

Will: Would you eat five fish sticks for an A?

Me: Ew. No way. An A is so not worth having to puke up a hunk of breaded Alaskan Pollock.