October Musings

October once brought crisp weather (which brought an excuse for new sweaters), homecoming games, and the promise of colorful leaves. My graduation from my school years and into adulthood killed my homecoming spirit and marked my migration to a place where the season change is negligible. But, while some of my childhood obsessions remain - the costumes and the candy have evolved into smaller costumes and spiked cider - other signs of fall have developed from more adult concerns. You see, the dawn of autumn also signals the beginning of October and of Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
Almost exactly a year ago, I was drinking on a (still very warm) day with some friends at the pool and I randomly felt a large lump in my left breast. I pointed it out to my friends who did not shrug it off as I had hoped they would, but rather urged me to see a doctor immediately. It turns out that when you call a doctor about such things, they clear a spot for you in their schedule pretty quickly.
This first doctor's appointment put many in motion. Each time, I visited a different specialist for a different procedure, but every time, one thing remained the same: they always assured me it would be nothing, but always ended up being something. After awhile, I stopped being comforted by anyone's assurances.
You see, I was 27 years old and have no family history of breast cancer - or any kind of cancer, really, at all - and so my risk factors were low. But after a visit to my regular doctor, a mammogram, a sonogram, and an appointment with a surgeon, I learned that I did, in fact, have a tumor.
And, so, approximately four weeks after casually finding the lump over cocktails, I went into surgery.
To be clear, I was fortunate: the tumor was completely benign and they don't expect anything similar to return. I am, however, still thinking about all of this for a couple of different reasons this October.
First, it's October. Awareness is the reason for the season - and I want everyone, even those who don't believe they are at risk, to be aware of the steps they should be taking to prevent what they can prevent.
Second, we are on the eve (four days from now) of our group's Light the Night walk for Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. We are doing this for my friend Frank. When he was diagnosed with lymphoma, it was only a few months after my own surgery.
I will always think about how quickly it came on - how one day I found something weird and only four weeks later, someone was cutting me open. I will always think about how scary it was, sitting in a room full of women who were twice my age, some without hair, waiting to get a mammogram- and later watching a sonogram tech leave the room to find the doctor, to give me bad news. I remember that I couldn't even tell anyone what was going on, because the few times that I did, people reacted with such fear that it increased my own doubt.
And I was lucky.
One day, my friend Frank was making fun of me because I drank too much and did the worm at a drag show on my birthday, and then he had the flu... and then he was starting chemo. Now he is fighting for his life and the only thing I know how to do is try to raise as much money and show as much support as I can - to show Frank I care, to encourage him, and to help the other people that are in the same situation.
Cancer touches so many people, no matter what kind of cancer and no matter what month it is and no matter how old you are or how healthy you are. I urge everyone to do what they need to do to stay healthy and to contribute where they can to eradicate it altogether.
Love you FB.
　

Fifty Shades of Blushing...

Upon reading the first few salacious scenes in the first Fifty Shades novel, I couldn't help but recall those embarrassing yet exciting moments as a pre-teen (that's what we were called in the Judy Blume days; I believe the Bieber generation prefers the term "tween") when I managed to sneak a peek -or a read, as it were- of treasures in my mom's Danielle Steele collection.  Coincidentally, it was my mother who sent me the Fifty Shades book.  And, so it seems, puberty and personal growth experiences aside, reading these things as an adult still makes me blush... I will spare everyone the book report- but part of what made me blush was certainly the terrible writing.  I mean, THAT was embarrassing.  All of that aside (literature, smitature), I couldn't help but feel I had to hide the cover when I was in public.  EVERYONE seems to know that if you're opening that otherwise benign-looking gray-colored paperback, you are basically reading porn.  Or, worse, what an unsuspecting neighbor on the plane glances over your shoulder and catches the phrase, "I want your ass to be mine, Anastasia."????  Eeeeek. It appears that my shame may distinguish me as a prude.  Middle-aged women with totally wholesome, innocuous appearances all around me seem to have no problem sharing with the world that they are part of this strange sort of sexual revolution.  Two women in their forties - strangers to one another, from what I could tell- struck up a conversation on my flight a few days ago about their enthusiasm for Mr. Grey.  No qualms at all!   I feel I may be the only one (besides those who are a part of the rather unsurprising evangelical backlash) who wants to hide every single copy displayed proudly at the front of the bookstore (seeeeriously, what if a kid gets their hands on it???- they may continue reading, driven by curiosity like a young girl I once knew, who grew up to be embarrassed by all of this... oh....).  I have heard of book clubs, godforbid, that are reading the trilogy.  The thought of sitting around in a group of women and discussing this... oh gaaaaawd. Aside from the deep sense of oogly-googlyness I feel when I think about a gaggle of older women obsessing over this pervy nonsense, I did find myself considering why this trilogy is such a sensation (so poorly written and not entirely uniquely conceived, after all).  All hail to the goddess Ms. Steele, and never forgetting the images of a shirtless Fabio that many of us grew up catching covert peeks of, it isn't like this is the first explicitly sexual novel disguised as literature for women... Not even close. I definitely think part of it is the sex.  Although this is not a new genre, I think the phenomenon certainly lent some legitimacy to the whole concept for many women.  It's like hoards of women are liberated by the thought that it is now "okay" to read this stuff.  The truth is, it has always been ok (so far as I'm concerned), and I think this whole obsession will be short-lived.  Im sure married women will go back to their regular "headaches" soon enough...But, if this is what it takes to inspire a bunch of repressed women to get some, then, well, thats not so bad... But I also kept coming back to the story (which, obviously, is interesting and what really keeps people reading once the novelty of the BDSM stuff wears off...).  They call this genre "romance" which is interesting, since Ana isn't exactly swept off her feet by the man who showers her with gifts to control her and wants to violently punish her when she defies him due to his extreme intimacy issues... You know what IS romantic about that though?  That whole, fixer-upper thing...  You know, when a guy is soooo f-ed up (like, 50 shades of f-ed up, so the inspiration for the book goes...) that he is attractive, in this very I-want-to-nurture-you-and-love-you-and-then-fix-you-and-then-you-will-be-all-mine-and-you-will-always-love-me-because-you-need-me way.  It is vital to the plot that Grey has a sordid past, full of abuse and neglect and things that make him sympathetic- so we will all cheer for Ana to change him successfully. Uh, there is a good REASON he cant emotionally fulfill her soooo... It is sexy because it is wrong, but it is romantic because she is "different" than all the other girls he's been with (all of the "firsts" he has with her) and isn't that what we all want in some way? To be the girl who can change the bad guy - while still enjoying the exotic nature of his bad side, of course... Well, heres what: I am not ruining much by telling the 2 people who haven't read this that the first installment doesn't end well for the "couple".  Then again, it is a blatantly intentional cliff-hanger and I assume they rekindle something soon to fuel two more books...  And I am going to read them.  And if that story ends with those two together - if it dares to teach women that these mysterious, brooding, messed-up guys can really sustain healthy long-term relationships... Well, I'll be pissed.   There are people who believe these books are bad for society, or for women, because of the sex.  No offense, but that's dumb.  Our culture is already saturated by sex and I don't see this as anything new, shocking, or upsetting.  However, as a reformed fixer-upper of men, the lesson that these kinds of relationships - although I hesitate to call them that, as they are generally one-sided quests more than anything else - community service projects, as I used to say - are viable... THAT is the dangerous lesson. Anyway, it was killing me while I was on vacation to be too isolated from all to discuss this book while I was reading it.  Share your thoughts, please. And if you haven't read it (and are female), read it and get back to me.  You might as well at this point...

Dont Rain on My Parade

Ever since Oprah went off the air (yes, I do realize she didn't go off the air, so much as get her "OWN" network so that she could be on the air all the time, but it just isn't the same and so I don't watch it and so it doesn't count here), I have really stepped up my reality-tv-watching game (you're impressed, I know).  I used to learn a lot of lessons from the big O, like self-defense when car-jacked and/or kidnapped, or, just as important, how-to-say-no.  Also, she really provided those cathartic cry-for-no-real-reason-in-front-of-my-tv moments on at least a weekly basis.  So, a few years ago I was crying it out, solo, over a story about a woman who triumphed despite the tragedy of losing all three kids in a car accident (or learning important lessons from the woman who was so busy she left her baby in a hot car all day, yikes) - and these days, I'm having cry seshes over Emily falling in love on the Bachelorette. No biggie (as a side note: how pitiful is it that I'm insinuating here that one of these things is more admirable than the other. Life. Fail.).

So, yes, I do understand that to most people I know, I'm a bit of a joke for my, shall we say, overindulgence in bad tv... But, I will say, it has helped me.  For example, I have strong-to-severe social anxiety that totally melts if you put me in a room with quite-literally ANYONE who watches ANY Housewives program.  Give me any franchise, any day of the week,and we can go on for at least a solid 20 minutes without awkward pauses.... (ok, that, in and of itself is pretty awkward...) Judge me all you want, but I can honestly say that this juvenile, time-wasting obsession has really strengthened some of my relationships.

Anyway, there's a lot of lessons I gather from these shows and it would be less than genuine - or, shall we say, "real"- if I didn't let these valuable tidbits guide my random musings here.

Specifically, this week, I'll pull from RHNY.  If this acronym means nothing to you, all you need to know as background is: housewives, white girl problems, and taking sides.

So Ramona gets mad she isn't invited on Heather's trip to London.  This covers the housewives and white girl problems portion of catch-up.  Ramona then gets more mad that her BFF, Sonja, isn't taking her side in the matter, behind Heather's back.

Real life connection: what is worse than hating someone by yourself?  I mean, seriously, is there anything better than going out on a limb with some folks to air out your dirty laundry and getting back that they feel the same way and hate the same things, and more importantly, people, than you? (example 2: how excited is Ramona to hear basically everyone tell her that Heather is essentially just as annoying as she is? Win.)

I have always said I didn't trust people who were happy and positive all the time.  I would typically explain that by saying that I don't trust them, they're not genuine, no one is that happy, yada yada.  But, truth be told, the really annoying thing about the girl (or guy, for that matter) that loves everyone they meet is that they really can rain on your sh**-talking parade (and, not to mention, they are likely not the brightest bulb in the bunch either - most people aren't really that easy to like).  So, I really relate to Ramona here.

I remember when I used to, at my own peril, tell my mom about all of the female drama I had (and, by the way, writing this makes me realize how long it has really been since I've had that sort of thing happen in my life, which both makes me happy and feel more evolved than the Housewives, so, there's that) and she would always - uh, let's say, "play devil's advocate"(I saw this as taking their side. Tomato/tomahto).  Once I complained, she said, "do you want me to always tell me what you want to hear, or do you want me to help you?". 

Uh. Right.  So, now that I'm older and wiser, I thank my mom for bringing me to my senses - to a more mature place and time in the universe where I only vent to those who will tell me what I want to hear.

Cheers to that. I'm now going to go write an entry for a contest to try and win a spot at the bar in Andy Cohen's clubhouse. Will update soon.

Green with Facebook Envy

Facebook Envy - we all have a little bit of it, right? As for me, each perusal of my news feed reveals photos of travels to exotic countries, big moves to exciting new cities, jobs as fashion magazine editors and Hollywood actors - all of others that I, at least temporarily, wish i could be. Really, honestly, even the constant barrage of baby pictures and wedding date reminders makes me a little green... I haven't been writing in my blog for a little while because I think that, somewhere in the midst of my own life changes and these images of what a great life is "supposed" to be, I lost a little bit of me. I have no idea where I'm going, but even more frightening, no clue as to where I really want to be. The primary assumption behind Facebook jealousies must be that the exploits that our 1000 closest friends find themselves enjoying - and posting for the world to see - must be quite fulfilling - either that, or they are something that WE would appreciate, if only we had the chance... [insert reasons why your life can't be as cool as that girl spending a random week in Thailand... Does anyone have a job anymore???] Of course, then there are those with the constantly negative Facebook posts. You know, the person who always has a crisis. My cat is dying, my pants split, my job sucks, it is raining, and I lost a limb today... Yadayadayada. Boresville. But then, of course, these Facebook friends play the imperative role of making you feel so much better about your own life. This is exactly why I insist on watching the Real Housewives (or, more importantly, Tough Love : New Orleans) - I am SO organized and together, comparatively speaking. The truth is, the majority of us likely find ourselves somewhere in the middle. Life is never perfect, whether documenting our cruise around the Mediterranean or not (although I think it doesn't hurt) or posting about our lives as stay-at-home moms - there's always someone else to be jealous of (what? Someone already came up with that? The grass is greener? Huh....) In the last year, as my life has changed drastically - I think I told myself that I didn't have much interesting to say anymore. If I don't have crazy dating stories or incredibly strong opinions about politics and social issues to share... Well, what do I really have? The reality is, that I was likely never that interesting to begin with and anyone reading this is probably doing me a favor (which I appreciate, so thanks!). But I'm learning more than ever about myself and maybe those are the kinds of things I should share. So, that's it for tonight. I'm going to make a more concerted effort to update more and pressure myself less to come up with super witty and/or importantly intelligent posts. There are some major life changes in the works, but nothing that can be shared with my tens of readers yet... Xo.xo.

Heart-shaped Humiliation

Confession:

I let Valentine's Day get to me.


I've been a member of the Hallmark-holiday-blablabla team for as long as I can remember. (We might also be known as "bitter" - you might be familiar with our group.) I'm slowly starting to realize that for my entire adult life, I might have been that girl that was (rather proudly, I might add), anti-everything. I never wanted to get married. Kids? No thanks. So, uh - Valentine's Day??? Clearly for ignorant, insecure consumers who mishandle their disposable incomes. (So, maybe I've been more more of a "superiorist" than "anti-everything", while I'm making up words. )

I know - it's pretty transparent. It's always the single people who hate love.

Yes, but you see - I predicted this argument and responded by remaining consistently anti-everything when in relationships as well. Ok... and maybe I did a little bit of semi-intentionally/semi-subconsciously dating the kind of guys that wouldn't have married me/celebrated Valentines with me/[intentionally]procreated with me. Something like a self-fulfilling prophecy, or something.

So - now that we've briefly psychoanalyzed my past destructive behaviors, we will fast-forward to today - Valentine's Day 2012. I've relinquished my hold on almost all of my anti-establishment beliefs (as it turns out, I just needed the right, super establishment-esque dude to get to this point) and am pretty much ready to be barefoot, pregnant, in a kitchen, and happy about it. So you can see why it was pretty important this year to hold on to my anti-valentine beliefs. It is, after all, the only thing I have left.

But, this is how it went down:

Two months ago, I "warned" Ben that I didn't tolerate Valentine's celebrations (yes, I posed it as a warning, pretending to brace myself for protests, allthewhile knowing/hoping he would later brag to his friends that I was the most awesome girl ever). Six-ish weeks of The Bachelor and Kay-diamond-real-life-engagement-story-commercials later... and I casually decided we would do dinner. Low-key, at home... but you know, together- and sort of more special than our other dinners. Many-hours-of-contemplation later and I had developed a menu, about three weeks in advance, and about four courses deep - no biggie. Somewhere along the lines, I informed him we were doing cards - but just cards - and before you know it, I've basically mandated my own love letter to myself. Finally, it reached the point of, maybe-you-should-just-put-flowers-in-my-office... or something.

I am actually really truly embarrassed by this behavior. When I came into my office this morning and saw my Valentines "surprise" - I realized how silly I had been. First of all, surprises aren't really that great - or, by definition, really surprises at all - if you demand them. Gifts and grand gestures aren't really that grand at all if there is an unspoken expectation that they will be done (or else...). Not to discount the good work of Ben - but he actually asked me if I was surprised... but why would I be? I told him he had to do it. He really had no other choice. And, seriously, the chocolates and card are really nothing in comparison to the times he has dutifully done the dishes without me asking. People say that but they aren't lying.

We all say the same things about Valentine's Day - it's a made-up day, intended to make single people feel bad and/or to make un-single people spend money. All of these things are essentially true - but you know what's really bad? I realized today that it is a holiday that is maybe unintentionally designed to make us all take for granted what we already have - whether it's a fabulous [single] life, or a really great [but maybe not most creative/great at surprises] significant other.

And I fell into the trap. For shame.

Speaking of Valentine traps -

I told my dad on the phone yesterday that I heard the average man spends $150 on Valentines Day. He called bs (while I may officially be the first lawyer in the family, our argumentative nature, I suspect, goes back several generations) and I looked into it. This "study" was done by the National Retail Federation - soooo scientifically unbiased! As it turns out, the National Restaurant Association claims that 46% of the men they surveyed just prefer a meal for Valentines Day.

:-)

I wish all of my friends, loved ones, and the couple of blog followers I have the best Valentine's Day possible - whether you're being drowned in diamonds/chocolate/roses, or drowning yourself in vodka - remember that as far as I'm concerned, all holidays are fun - but that it's important to stay grounded and remember the true meaning of the day (which is meant to be funny, as there is no strong consensus as to the actual origin of this day). The only real meaning is the meaning you give it. And I say so. And it's my blog.

<3

Sh** People Say to PD's

My Facebook feed has recently been flooded with a lot of videos about a lot of sh** that a lot of people say. So, I'm calling this a blog-ette... and it's called "Sh** People Say to Public Defenders". The first series is about things that people say at cocktail/parties/bars and, generally, upon first meeting you, in a way that, frankly, is super inappropriate. The second is about things clients say to us. Even after four years of this occupation, I have more sympathy for the latter. Nonetheless, theres nothing like going to school for 19 years and wading through a mortgage's-worth of student debt, topped off with a test you have to spend a full two months studying for- only to be asked these things every other day. :-)

"Do you ever represent like, guilty people?"

"Do you have to like, go IN the jail?"

"Are there any clients you wont represent because of their crimes?"

"How do you sleep at night?"

"Do people ever tell you that they're guilty?"

"I could never do what you do."

"So you're just doing this for experience, right? So you can get a real job later?"

"Could you not get a job at a law firm?"


"I want a bar/paid/real attorney."

"Do you want to go to law school someday?"

"You're good at this. You should be a real lawyer."

"Have you ever had a trial before?"

"What is your win percentage?"

"I know you have too many cases, but I need you to do something for me."

"I know you work for the State."

"You aren't fighting for me."


I invite you to add more.

Wait, babies come from WHERE?!

When I first heard about Alabama politician Bill Johnson and the sort of strange infidelity he had in his marriage, I thought it was another predictable example of hypocritical social conservatism.  Bla bla bla - a Repulican politician from the South impregnated lesbians in Australia, despite his public stance against gay marriage... sounds strange, but whatever.  A Republican senator could be found gagged and naked with two male midget hookers and I'd barely look twice at the headline. 
          ****as a hopefully-unnecessary side note, I do not think the only politicians engaging in sexual indiscretions are conservatives.  I did, after all, essentially learn about blow jobs from President Clinton.  The politicians who try to legislate in the bedrooms of others are the ones more fun to judge.  Also, as a double side note, Mr. Johnson gave a full statement about the misdeeds of his... well... Johnson... yet the only thing he refused to comment on was the fact that he donated sperm to lesbians.

Anyway, this all brings me back to my last post- weird sexual practices and 20/20.  Remember how I said I had considered selling my eggs in college for cash?  Of course everyone knows that men low on cash can drop by their local sperm bank for a quick dollar.  But, apparently, there is a whole black market for sperm.  Actually, black market is probably the wrong term since loads of men (sorry, couldn't help it) are apparently giving theirs away- for FREE- on the Internet.  Yes, I know - at first this seems obvious.  After all, men have been pretty openly willing to part with their sperm for free... actually, they've traditionally been willing to PAY to get someone to take it off their hands... But, despite the behavior and/or the result, typically the goal of these types of casual encounters would not ideally be a child.  

No, the men featured on this show were different.  Very, very different.  It featured two of the most stereotypically nerdy-looking dudes, both stereotypically computer engineers, who, not so stereotypically, donate their sperm- regularly- to random women on the Internet... for insemination.  

The first story was about a married couple who can't conceive- so they pick out an engineer dude, meet him in a cheap hotel room, give him a sterile cup and some alone time and - boom!  - five minutes later, they return, he leaves, and the next camera shot is one of the woman with her legs elevated on some icky Motel 6 pillows.  You can fill in the rest of the blanks.  She said it was important to her that her husband be present when she conceived.

The motivation for the women to take this route was primarily financial.  Can't beat free sperm.  Also, there was the idea that "fresh" sperm was better than the frozen kind you find in the banks.  Then again, sperm banks freeze sperm to maintain its quality while they test it- for diseases... sort of a perk you may not want to forego...  But, aside from the practical considerations, I also have to imagine that anonymity is a benefit of the traditional methods as well.  Visitation and parental rights aside, I'm just not sure that I'd want my most vivid memories of conception to begin and end with some gross-looking dude holding a cup of his own sperm in a cheap hotel bathroom.  Ugh.

This brings us to the next fine young gent.  The other geeky lad was a bit more of a professional.  In fact, he actually takes pride in his virility- to the point that he drinks a "fertility shake" every day.  Made up of a bunch of random strange ingredients, the only proof of its effectiveness lies in his claim that tests prove him four times more fertile than the average man (and 65% of the time, it works every time). Women can be seen coming from miles to his trailer (yes, seriously) to collect a little bit of his... well, you know... success.

The rather obvious question at this point is- why?  For the women, the motives seem pretty obvious.  But what about the donors?  Is it something about the masculine need to procreate?  Does a higher sperm count translate to a higher male self-esteem?  Or could it be a sign of some kind of sexual deviance?  One of the dudes featured was outed on 20/20 as being involved in some shady-sounding underground porn world.  Or, is it really truly just a form of community service, done with purely altruistic intentions?

One thing I'm quite certain is not a selfless act of service to one's community is the dude at the end of the show.  He's a subscriber to the "natural method".  Yes, it is exactly what you think it is.  Dudes who will have sex with random women, for free, out of the kindness of their hearts, to intentionally impregnate them.  The featured man- who was in disguise, due to his fear that his wife was too close-minded to appreciate his service to others- had impregnated six women that he knew of, "naturally".

Interestingly, then government is trying to get involved - specifically, the FDA.  Apparently, even when your sperm is free, it is subject to some regulations.  Granted, it is important to screen for diseases and to protect the public from the potential danger these kinds of "trades" can present... Then again, everyone in these situations seemed to know exactly what they were getting into- and risking.  And, I mean, really - is the FDA going to start regulating all of the drunk people who go home from bars together and share diseases?  

Mr. Johnson, the politician mentioned at the beginning, said in an interview that he had an urge to have children of his own.  Although he had raised several step-children, his wife had a hysterectomy prior to their marriage that made it impossible for them to have their own.  So, naturally he got involved in the Australian sperm trade.  All of these guys make it sounds like there is an inherent male urge to procreate - an idea I think science would support.  It also seems important to them to get across the idea that they're just trying to help... I guess this means that a few of Maury's regular guests may be up for some sort of Nobel prize soon....