Slice of Pink

Focal Points

Kathryn and Drew drove to Davis this week to celebrate Spring Break 2008 Davis style. This morning, we rode our bikes over to the university to check out the Eggheads, several public art sculptures scattered around campus. We even took some photos with the Eggheads.

Kathryn snapped a shot of me and Drew with Yin and Yang.

Then I took a photo of Kathryn and Drew with the heads.

Finally, Drew composed this shot of me and Kathryn.

Clearly, the egg is the focal point of this photograph, in case that wasn't clear.

Trivial Pursuit

My law schooling skillz came in handy this week when my mom sent me an email, asking me to do some research on a New Jersey law. I did the work and put together a responding email discussing the law briefly and then the specific effects of that law in New Jersey. At the end of the email, I asked my mom why she needed all that information on the law.

I got her response this morning: the New Jersey law had been the basis of a question on the television game show, Cash Cab, and she hadn't known the answer.

Should you ever be on that Millionaire game show and need to know about the New Jersey Blue Law, you can phone me with one of your lifelines.

Answering game show trivia questions: three years of law school--and $120,000--well spent.

No Animals Were Harmed in the Posting of this Blog

It's not that I haven't been updating since I started law school this week; it's just that I've been doing it elsewhere.

+ I was interviewed by the lovely and gorgeous Nicole at Tickled Pink.

+ My fridge was featured on Fridgewatcher. We even had vegetables--Brussel sprouts no less--in the crisper. Crazier still, we ate them. And they were good.

+ Our cat, Millie, was featured on Stuff on My Cat covered in a bunch of tinsel. According to the many people freaking out in the comments, tinsel is a major no-no around cats. In fact, Minky's Mom (this alone explains so very, very much) says it this way: "No tinsel near kitties!! Aaaaak!" Maryann (owner of nine cats) warns, "Oh my, that tinsel is dangerous to kitties." Lucky for us, Millie did not eat any of that tinsel, which was out of the package for about 14 minutes three years ago, and she continues to happily claw the furniture.

So, just wondering, should I take the knives and vodka away from her, too? Kitty parenting is so much harder than I expected.

08 is Great

I've spent New Year's Eve standing in Times Square, sleeping on Colorado Blvd. for the Rose Parade, running a 5k in Portland. This year I just stayed home--and warm--with some cheese, chocolate, and champagne.

And my best friends forever.

Happy 2008!

Scrooge

It went like this.

I finished finals, drank a bottle of champagne, and then got to the Christmas shoppping. I had to do all the shopping in two days and it turned out to be the two most stressful, most difficult days that I have experienced in a long, long time.

It's amazing really. I made it through law school finals with no tears at all. I was rock solid. Battle hardened. It was no big thing. But Christmas shopping? It broke me down. At one point, early on the first day, I was fighting back tears on the holiday candy aisle of Target, and that was just the beginning. I felt despair, pure and flawless, for two days. The desperation was palpable. I vowed to do all next year's shopping online.

The weeks leading up to Christmas are always this way for me. Usually the anxiety is strung out over a month, little lights of anxiety of it that twinkle intermittingly throughout December. This year was different, more like looking directly into a giant flashing strobe light. The stores closed on Christmas Eve and I wrapped up the gifts and, finally, I took a deep breath, the first in two days.

As most of you know, I could bypass the gift giving. I know people take this the wrong way, that they cannot understand why I don't care much about gifts. In part, it's because of the depression that I experience, the thick and tangible anxiety of finding the perfect gift for each of 40 people.

But mostly it's just that I feel that I have enough things, but not nearly enough time with the people I love. I'd give up all the gifts for another lunch out with an aunt, drinks with a cousin, a movie with my little sister. The best part of opening the gifts aren't the things in the boxes but the people sitting around the tree with glasses of wine and plates of cookies. Time with family, that's my favorite gift of all.

All that Wine, Still on Time

All Dressed Up

Just when I thought I was thoroughly out of things to write about, a package arrived in the mail from my mother-in-law. Inside the package was a fun little note and a dress for my wine.

That's right, a little pink dress for my wine to wear when she goes out at night.

The dress is quite versatile and, until the wine gets a night on the town, the Monin Caramel Syrup will be modeling the dress during morning coffee.

My mother-in-law and my wine, both fabulous.

Sweet 28

It's my best friend's birthday. In the grand list of people I love, few people rank as high as this beautiful girl. We've been friends for 16 years, and it has been a sweet, sweet 16.

Here's to 16 more. And 16 more after that.

Happy 28, Kathryn.

Epiphany

How to have a clean house: invite people to visit.

Anthony and Amanda came to stay this weekend and, after two months, we finally unpacked the last of the boxes, put a shower curtain up in the guest bathroom, organized the office into a livable space, and put some artwork on the walls.

And we celebrated by drinking beers as big as your head. Out. Because why dirty a glass when you finally got everything sparkling clean?

Actually, us ladies drank cheap red wine mixed with Pepsi. Because we were creative with the meager offerings of a pizza joint. Also, we are classy.

Happy 24th to Amanda! And thank you for forcing us to get it together and finally unpack the boxes that, for two solid months, occupied the guest room bathtub.

Watermelon Crawl

On Friday, we had our first test, a pretty easy introduction week multiple choice review. To celebrate the end of our first week of law school, the Law School Association organized an opportunity to drink beer and socialize at a local bar, The Graduate. The Law School Association had also organized events at bars on Monday night, Tuesday night, Wednesday night, and Thursday night, which is hopefully not an indication of the rest of the year. I do need to get some sleep.

Because we are all so, you know, smart and detail-oriented, many of us had researched The Graduate to see if there were any drink specials, find out what it would cost to get in to the joint, and when, if ever, we would need to arrive to avoid cover charges altogether. This research led to the unsettling information that Friday night at The Graduate was line dancing night.

I present: Friday, a Timeline

4:00: Take test.

4:30: Finish test.

4:35: Complain about test.

4:36: Complain about location of social event. Country line dancing at The Graduate sounds lame.

4:38: Someone suggests creating alternative plan.

4:44: No alternative plan reached.

4:50: Decide to meet at The Graduate at 9:00 and develop plan at that point, when all parties are present.

(Fast forward to 9:00pm)

9:00: Arrive at The Graduate.

9:05: Complain about country line dancing.

9:10: Beer.

9:11: Complain. Suggest moving to a different bar.

9:20: Socialize. Complain.

9:22: Beer.

9:25: Socialize. Complain.

9:27: Beer.

9:30: Socialize. Complain.

9:35: Talk crap regarding seriousness of line dancers.

9:40: Wait a second. Line dancing to Michael Jackson? Maybe not so bad?

9:50: Electric Slide. Well, we might as well do one dance.

10:10: Get kicked off dance floor for having drinks in hand.

10:11: Complain.

10:12: Consider going to another bar.

10:13: Discuss alternative plan.

10:14: Wait for someone to make decision regarding alternative plan.

10:13: No progress reached in alternative plan.

10:20: Fuck it.

10:25: Learn the line dances.

10:30: Attempt to line dance.

10:45: Line dance.

11:00: Line dance.

11:15: Line dance.

11:30: Dance.

11:45: Dance.

12:00: Dance.

Yeehaw, y'all! I learned the Tush Push.

Proposal

My brother-in-law, Anthony, called today to inform us that he is engaged to be married to his long-time girlfriend, Amanda. Will took the call and, although they spoke for 10 minutes or so, Will ended up with very little concrete information. As soon as they were off the phone, I began asking a million questions--obvious questions like when is the wedding? where will the wedding be held? how did he propose? what color scheme will they select? where will they register? who is throwing the engagement party?--but Will didn't have any answers. Will handed me the phone and made me call the newly engaged couple myself to get all my questions answered. Which I did. And which I will probably continue to do for the next four months.

Congratulations to the fabulous couple.

Sister Act

Happy 17th Birthday to my little sister!

In honor of April's birthday, visit The Spoon Sisters for lots of fun shopping.

Driving Miss Crazy

The weekend before we left for Philly, Will, Kiley, Benji and I took a quick trip to San Diego to attend a robotics tournament. We were going to scout out our competition for the upcoming trip to Atlanta. We never actually made it to the robotics competition.

First, we made a wrong turn and ended up in Palm Springs, which is marked with a pink star to the right of our route on the map below. We were chatting and laughing and paying absolutely no attention to the fact that we were on the completely wrong freeway until, hi, welcome to Palm Springs.

Then we went to Dick's Last Resort. With the intentionally rude waiters, the good beer, the inappropriate paper hats, and the even more inappropriate balloon animals, you can only go to Dick's if you have loose morals. Which we do.

Then there was this:

It came down to a choice between robots and margaritas. The margaritas won. All three days.

Something Fishy

Topanga the Fish (2006-2007) passed away at the age of 76 (fish years) in Lancaster, CA last night (or possibly sometime during the day). She was found at the bottom of her pink vase where she lived a longish happy life. She was an accomplished swimmer and preferred her food one pellet at a time.

Topanga is survived by Mr. and Mrs. So Pink, Millie the Cat, and (surprisingly) the Cacti Garden.

An investigation is currently open regarding cause of death. Although Topanga most likely died of natural causes, there is one suspect who possibly engaged in foul play.

RIP Topangy.

Birthday Girl

Happy, happy birthday to you!

Mama Said

My mom called this morning to ask how I was feeling after having my wisdom teeth removed yesterday. She went with me to the oral surgeon because part of the procedure included laughing gas and an IV, which made me feel, upon waking, that I had consumed one too many margaritas. According to my mom, I announced this fact to the nurse and then proceeded to hiccup loudly and uncontrollably while the nurse tried to describe the postoperative instructions. This really is not unlike the times when I actually have had too many margaritas, except bar hopping is usually not followed by intense pain localized where two teeth were ripped out of your mouth. Or maybe it is, but not typically for me.

In a few days, I am leaving for a weeklong conference in San Diego and my mom asked whether Will was going with me. I explained that he couldn't go because of work and that I was going alone, although there would be another teacher from my school at the conference and two of my cousins live in San Diego, as well. Nevertheless, she got all worried about me going alone as though I were a 22 year old flying across the country and not a 26 year old driving a mere 3 hours south.

I pointed out that as a 22 year old, I had flown across the country where I lived for 6 months while interning in the White House. Now that should have been cause for concern, not only because I was living in an apartment complex with a hundred or so college seniors, not only because our main hobby revolved around gin and tonic, but also because I could have become a Republican, or worse, started to wear navy blue suits with navy blue pumps.

My mom laughed and told me that, as my mother, it was her duty to worry and I agreed that it was nice yesterday when she took her worried head over to the grocery store to buy me chocolate pudding, orange and raspberry jello, mashed potatoes, soup, grape juice, and Gatorade so that I would not starve.

My doctor called last night to check up on me and, because I was so out of it, I forgot to ask him the most critical question of this whole experience, the question that has been on my mind since 20 minutes out of surgery: when can I eat pizza again?

I can't ask my mom; she doesn't think I should eat solid foods until I am at least 30.

Picture Perfect

Last night, my family met up in Santa Barbara for our annual dinner at Harry's restaurant, a tradition that has been carried on in the Johnson family for 30 years. After the traditional steak dinner and the traditional vodka gimlet, we always take the traditional photographs. First, let's get the women together:

Lovely! Note how all the ladies get together nicely and neatly. Okay, cousins! Get together now:

Perfect! We are so well trained. See how we line up so nicely! How we smile so pretty!

Okay, now the guys! Come on guys, get together. Closer! Scoot in! Ready? 1...2...3!

Um, that was okay. Maybe a little more enthusiasm?

More photos from Harry's here, but don't expect anything better from the boys.

Old School

Today Will and I were over at my mom's house looking for the front license plate to my car, the plate that was never attached to the front of my Saturn and which has been a non-issue since I bought the car in 1998. Will drove my car to the airport a few days ago where he was promptly pulled over and issued a fix-it ticket for the lack of a front plate.

I knew that the plate had to be in my old bedroom at my mom's and, as I was looking through boxes, Will and I were having a nice chat with my mom and her live-in boyfriend, Donnie.

My mom and Donnie are both retired and they watch a crap load of movies, so many movies that they should be members of Netflix, but my mom is afraid to put her credit card number on the internet because it could be stolen by some hacker kid in Iowa. She has no problem giving the 16-year-old pizza delivery kid her credit card number and signature, but the encrypted and protected code on the internet? You just can't trust that.

My mom and Donnie were highly recommending the new Pirates of Caribbean movie and, in case we didn't know, Donnie was giving us a description of the leading actor, the one who plays Jack Sparrow.

"He's the guy," Donnie explained, "who was Johnny Scissorfields in that one movie."

Bocce, A Photo Essay

On Saturday, Will and I attended a bocce ball birthday bash for two friends. The goal of bocce, if you have never played, is to throw a heavy little ball toward a smaller white ball. And that is all. Simple? Yes. But do you see the little white ball anywhere near my heavy red ball?

No. Despite my excellent form, I was quite horrible at the game. Who cares if you win as long as you look good playing:

It is no surprise that we ended up in the loser's bracket, also known as the weasel division:

Will does not like to lose:

The End. Unless you want to see more.

On the Road

Will spent the past week in Reno, NV, coaching a teen girl's volleyball team and staying out late gambling with the other coaches, a group of guys that he has been friends with for at least as long as I have known him.

Summer has always afforded us plenty of opportunity to travel and hang out with friends and go to baseball games and stay out late since, in one way or another, both of us have either been in school or teaching it and the summer has been at least partially free.

Tonight I got to thinking that this summer, once summer school ends and the official summer begins next week, will be my last real summer before I go back to school, real school, with real potential on the other side of it, but also the possibility of living inside a library for three long years. Or maybe not. My final decision about graduate work has not been made, and I have been known to change my mind at the drop of the hat so don't take anything as gospel, but be it law school or culinary school, I am shaking loose of this place. Or at least I am going to try. I made it out once before.

Thinking about this summer also got me thinking about past summers, particularly the deliciously cool year-round summer that is Santa Barbara and the humid and sticky summer that is Washington DC. I got to thinking about the friends I met those summers--the ones that help carry me through, academically, emotionally and even literally when I was too drunk to walk home after dancing at bars and drinking too many glasses of Dom Perignon, paid for with our college loans, credit cards, and, sometimes, our charm.

The room was thick with nostalgia when these words occured to me: Road Trip. I have friends in Sacramento and San Francisco and Los Gatos and San Luis Obispo and I think I might have to make my rounds this summer and sleep on a few couches. Maybe just for a few days, maybe just to catch up and laugh and maybe help carry a friend home from a bar after too many glasses of the house merlot. We ain't livin' on student loans anymore.

Berry Weird

I don't know about you, but when I eat a strawberry, I always discard a little bit of the berry--specifically the part that is surrounding the little green cap--and, of course, I discard the little green cap itself.

I bring up this topic because apparently not all people do this--discard parts of the berry--as I previously had assumed.

Last night I made a fruit dip, which I served with fresh strawberries, and I discovered the strangest thing about my friend, Benji. He eats the entire strawberry, little green cap and all; just pops the whole thing right into his mouth. What the hell? Do people do that?  Do you do that? Because it's kinda weird.

The fruit dip, if you were wondering, is made by mixing whipped cream cheese, powdered sugar, and a bit of almond extract and it is delicious. I don't have any measurements for the recipe, just enough of everything until it tastes sweet and good.  Another fruit dip I love is made by mixing one tub of whipped cream cheese with one jar of marshmallow fluff.

Either concoction is yummy with all types of fruit and especially with strawberries. Green caps optional.

There's the Beef

Since the class I teach is designed mainly for high school seniors, a majority of my students graduated last week and we have attended a couple of graduation parties. Tonight we attended a barbeque for one of my favorite and funniest former students, Justin, whose party invitation advertised "One word: Beef." Justin is not so much interested in vegetables and he informed me that there would be "tons of tri-tip and hamburgers at the party...and chicken for the vegetarians." Sure enough, there were big platters of delicious tri-tip and burgers and, in the end, even some fruit salad and veggie trays for our vegetarian, Benji.

The party was fantastic, some of the best and brightest graduates in attendance, and Will and I were enjoying a lovely conversation with Justin's parents when Justin asked for some wood to build a fire in the backyard fire pit. Before long, the graduates were enjoying the warm fire on a cool summer evening. Soon, however, we realized that the fire was growing awfully large and noticed that the kids were not just burning firewood, but their high school books as well. Pages upon pages of notes and text were going up in flames, literally.

I rescued two hilarious English journal entries from the flames to share with you here. I should keep the student anonymous, since these are from his English class journal, but he is a wonderful young man. This journal is proof, I think, of how confused men really can be about certain issues. Here you go, exactly as it was written:

Journal #3

I don't think that women today feel the same pressure to marry as the men do. I don't think that women and men are under an equal amount of pressure to marry. Both genders' ideas about marriage are different, but at the same time quite similar.

Women, I think, like to be in control. They're either wanting to be in control or wanting to be the one that follows the lead of someone else. I know more girls that want to be in control than anything else. For example, I have a close friend, who is a girl, that will not marry until they can live on their own. Maybe she doubts herself to the point where she's making herself believe that, or she truly wants it that way.

I also know someone who is eighteen and wants to marry a man in his late twenties or early thirties. She, I think, is just lazy.

I don't know about you, but I totally want to be in control. Except for the times when I want someone else who I can follow around. You know?

After the jump, Journal #8, this student's favorite drinks, where everything is going splendidly until the tenth item when it all goes to hell.

Don't Be Hatin'

Us Gauchos can't help it that we are smart and sexy.

The Associated Press--Wednesday, October 19, 2005

SANTA BARBARA, Calif. - The University of California campus here has worked hard to shed its party image.

Chancellor Henry T. Yang has cracked down on notorious Halloween bashes and publicized the five Nobel prizes the faculty have won during the last seven years.

Playboy magazine isn't exactly helping his efforts.

First, it designated UC Santa Barbara as one of the country's Top 10 Party Schools in its September issue. Now, the men's magazine is auditioning and photographing coeds for a feature called "Girls of the Top 10 Party Schools," which will run in its May 2006 issue.

"This is Playboy trading on an old reputation," Dean of Students Yonie Harris said Monday. "And I think it's an exploitative thing to do."

Playboy spokeswoman Theresa Hennessey defended the magazine's actions.

"We're not saying that just because a school is a party school doesn't mean it's not also a great place to get an education," she said.

About 30 bikini-clad girls auditioned Monday, and Hennessey said she expects 70 to 100 more were to be seen by Wednesday.

Jinxed (21 Points)

Not only am I the Half-Blood Prince (the last Harry Potter reference, I swear), I am also, and more importantly, the Scrabble Queen, a title passed on through generations of the Johnson family. We are crazy about the Scrabble. If you think I am kidding, understand this: there is a crown in my family that the Scrabble winner gets to wear. We take Scrabble to the beach. We have Travel Scrabble and Deluxe Scrabble and Super Scrabble and The Official Scrabble Dictionary and this is totally pointing out just how crazy we are, so I am going to go ahead and move on with the story now.

The other night I was talking to my friend Kathryn on the phone. She had been playing Scrabble with her husband the previous evening and had lost every game. I gave her some secrets, she broke out the board, and then proceeded to whoop her husband’s ass, thankyouverymuch.

Kathryn came over today so we played a nice, non-competitive game of Scrabble. By non-competitive I do not mean that we did not follow the rules (I am a little fanatical about the rules), I just mean that the game didn’t take 3 hours in typical Johnson fashion so that everyone can maximize their Bingo potential. A Bingo is when you use all 7 letters and earn a 50 point bonus. Yada Yada.

What this lengthy post is leading up to is this: Kathryn and I played an entire round of Scrabble on one half of the board. Totally and completely by accident.

We are the Half-Board Princesses. Because I can’t stop. I can’t stop with the Harry Potter cheesiness. I’ve been put under the Imperius Curse. I am out of control, or at least under someone else’s.

The Alpha and The Omega

When I married Mr. Slice of Pink, I got a lot of things. A new last name, for instance. A new social security card. A rice cooker. Also, a new family. A new family that has a site at MyFamily.com. I was invited to join the Wallace family website so I could view pictures of "Spanky in his Car" and vote on activities for the annual pre-Christmas sleepover (karaoke? I think so!).

So, I was checking out the member list at my new family’s site and I noticed that JESUS CHRIST is a member of the Wallace family. JESUS CHRIST, y'all! I mean, thank god I married into that family because if you're gonna have somebody influential in your family, it might as well be the savior himself.

According to his site profile, JESUS CHRIST, who evidently spells his name in all caps, lives at 777 Holy of the Holies, Heaven, Eternity. His hobby is carpentry, he likes all types of foods, and, apparently, he is married to my mother-in-law.

Some families have rich uncles with big trust funds. Some families have members in high-ranking political office. But the Wallace family? Y'all, we've got the Messiah. Also, Spanky.

I Talk Trash

Rated by Playboy magazine as one of the top 10 party towns in the nation, Isla Vista rocks. I visited my old stomping ground yesterday for my cousin Mike’s graduation and it hasn’t changed one bit. Adjacent to the University of California at Santa Barbara, Isla Vista is teeny tiny town (2 square miles) with an inordinate amount of people (about 18,000) crammed in like sardines. (I lived in a house with 11 girls. Sardines, I tell you.)

There is really no way to describe Isla Vista unless you’ve been there. And by been there I mean utterly sloshed, slopped-up, carrying a plastic keg cup, stumbling down Del Playa at two in the morning with 8,000 of your closest friends been there.

Yesterday, in addition to being graduation, it was move out day---the day when the leases are up and the students have to move out a year’s worth of secondhand furniture, empty vodka bottles, and unread textbooks. The streets become a giant garage sale. Whatever you can’t fit into the back of your Jetta, you leave on the curb. Whatever you leave on the curb probably gets burned because, despite having prestigious college educations, boys still think it is fun to light things on fire and watch them burn.

The yards and streets were littered with beer bottles, office chairs, George Foreman Grills, Woodstock pizza boxes, and the ashes of old couches that ended their long tenure in IV this weekend. Nobody gets a deposit back. Nobody. Nobody even tries. And, yet, despite the filth, Isla Vista is absolutely fabulous. It’s one of the few neighborhoods in America where you can put two kegs, a stripper pole, and a broken recliner on your front porch and be the most popular guy on the block.

Raise your glass (or Coors Light). Congrats to a fellow Gaucho!

Talkin' To My Homies

Two totally random and yet totally connected events took place today. Before I get to the events, however, I'm going to share some background information. In 2002, at the end of my Junior year at UCSB, I moved to Washington DC with a university program called UCDC. Basically, a bunch of University of California students moved to our nation's capitol where we worked long, unpaid hours as interns and got drunk on a nightly basis. It was absolutely fabulous, except for the unpaid part.

You've probably already met the awesome gal I lived with second quarter at Diary of a Transplant, but now I am going to introduce you to my lovely first quarter roomies:

Silvia, me, Gina, and Noa. We drank a lot of gin and tonic.

Now that you have been introduced, on to today's events:

Event 1: This morning I received an email from Gina. She is engaged! I am happy about this for three reasons--I am invited to the wedding, there will be an open bar, and Gina and James are probably the sweetest couple on the face of planet earth. It almost makes you puke how perfect they are.

Congratulations Gina and James!

Event #2: On the way to the post office today (to mail my hair to Locks of Love!) I drove past a little hotel and, y'all, check out who was staying the night:

That's right, the one and only Afroman.

My roommate Silvia was an exchange student from Italy. This was lovely because she baked fresh bread for us and used the word bella a lot. Silvia had one CD that someone had burned for her of "American" music and she played in on constant repeat. The first song on that album was Because I Got High by Afroman. She loved that song and I must have heard it, oh I don't know, three bazillion times while I was in DC. Everytime I hear Afroman I think of Silvia who would sing along in broken English, clearly not understanding half of the words, and certainly missing most of the message:

"La la la Afroman la la la East Palmdale. And la la la la la la smokin' la la bomb as hell. La la la la high. la la la high. lalalaa hiiigh."

Afroman, by the way, is from my hometown. Represent'n.

Two Reminders of The Good Times, Yo. The Good Times.

My Sister the Bag Lady

We celebrated my sister’s 15th Birthday today.

I love my sister and, as an added bonus, I actually like her, too.

April’s favorite restaurant is Taco Bell, which she announced matter of factly while we were eating dinner at the Olive Garden. She wears Abercrombie & Fitch jeans with zebra print shoes and big sunglasses. She painted her room bright lime green and turquoise. She is witty and clever and very easygoing. She loves pink flamingos. She has an inordinate amount of purses; so many in fact, that my mom refers to her as “the bag lady” and April takes it as a compliment. She tries to squeeze her entire math assignment onto one piece of paper, even if she has to write itty bitty. She has good hair.

She makes me laugh. She is fabulous.

Happy Birthday, baby sis!