Dear Professors, You Suck.

It's a new semester: my last year of law school (praise Jesus in heaven and all the saints). My first semester of law school, way back in 2009 (yes I've been in law school forever) it was amateur hour and I bought all of my books brand new.  $700 and many tears later, I resolved that I would not be a fool again and that I would get all my book used.  The next year, I only spent $150 on books for fall semester and the strategy served me well for my 2L and 3L years.  

Now I'm in my 4th year.  I'm a seasoned, bitter, veteran and generally, at least when it comes to law school, I know what I'm doing.  So, the other day, I go to the bookstore to check out what books my profs are requiring, see if any of them are cheap there, otherwise I would turn to the internet.  It turns out this semester all four of my professors are in a conspiracy to rape my wallet since they all ordered new editions of the books.  In three of the four classes, the books are $200 a pop.  My fourth class is a bargain at $100.  

Are you freaking kidding me?! Has the law really changed that much in the last few years that I have to spend $700 on books again!?  The only time I like spending $700 in one place is at Saks Fifth Avenue and it's on items I've convinced myself I'm going to use for the rest of my life.  I can guarantee my Entertainment Law book will only make an appearance for the next three months and then will be completely useless.  These books depreciate like new cars so it's not like I'm going to get my money back if I sell them.  It's insanity. 

Professors, there's a magical thing called the Internet where cases are available.  How about you tell me what parts of the cases to read and I'll just read them off Westlaw.  Same goes for articles.  There are also old editions of the books where the cases from 1912 that I have to read are unchanged, so hows about you assign those and let me save my money for new sunglasses for me...which I'll totally use for the rest of my life.  

Self-Checkout Lines...The Final Frontier

OSP: WELCOME TO OUR FIRST GUEST BLOGGER!!  Enjoy!

Hello everyone.  Long time reader, first time blogger here.  

As I was waiting in line today at CVS I realized I had something to add the internet complaint echo chamber.  Why is that?  Because I was waiting in line for the self-checkout counter.

I remember back when these were first introduced.  I was an undergrad at Michigan State and the Meijer put four in.  I was stoked.  The future was arriving in the form of touch screens and conveyor belts just like Soylent Green promised!  (This was a pre-iTouch world but anything seemed possible.)  My enthusiasm was quickly tempered by problems with the technology.  If there was an issue with the weight, the machine froze.  If I was buying booze (not really an if situation) I had to wait for an attendant to come and enter in my age.  If I was buying fresh produce it was just a huge pain in the ass.  Eventually I completely gave up on the whole idea.

Unfortunately, the CVS near my work has converted to one old-school checkout line and four self-operated ones.  My experience has only justified the switch in my mind.  Apparently, operating a self-checkout line is a skill on par with rocket science or raising a Quiverfull family.  The people ahead of me took my entire lunch break up just checking out.  None had more than five items: candy, soda, candy, chips, tylenol.  These people were bad at scanning, bagging, paying, and, given their aversion to the human check-out counter, human interaction.  Unbeknownst to me, people still pay for things with cash.  They also apparently carry their cash in crumpled wads of each pocket of every item of clothing they have on.  While I am sure this is effective anti-theft protection, it renders the cash useless to any automated cash reader.  Feed, spit, feed, spit.  I have seen babies hold things down better than these machines did.  

It took me 40 seconds, I timed it.  This really isn't hard folks.  If you can't use the machinery, please use the cashier line.  

Football Season and Fashion Sense

I don't know about you but I'm basically giddy with excitement for football season.  I freaking love the sport.  I want to be the creeper who watches a high school Friday night game, even though I've been out of high school for ten years now, then goes to my alma mater, THE Ohio State University to catch game day there on Saturday and then spend Sunday with friends watching football for 10 hours straight.  Throw in some Monday night football and Thursday night football and that's five out of seven days devoted to the game I love.  

Since I'm a diehard devotee of the Ohio State Buckeyes, I of course have a jersey that I'll wear if I'm lucky enough to snag a seat in the Horseshoe.  I totally get getting decked out for game day, even if you're just watching the game at a bar, or at a house party or tailgate.  Putting on the jersey is fun.  

What I don't get is people who wear jerseys on a random Tuesday as though that's appropriate attire for the day.  1) Those jerseys smell funny.  They're like some funky mix of plastic and wearable textile that smells like rubber gone bad.  You can wash them all you want, they're still smelly.  2) They're not all that comfortable.  This lady likes to wear cotton and cashmere, not unbreathable synthetic textiles.  3) They're hot as fuck.  I don't mean good looking, I mean just hot, which makes you sweat, which makes the jerseys that much stinkier.  So with the lethal trifecta of smelly, uncomfortable and hot I really don't understand why people wear them as teeshirts.  Just put on a teeshirt instead!

Unless you're suiting up for an actual game, or for entrance into a stadium or a party, let's leave the jerseys at home.  You're not kidding anyone by pretending to be an athlete while you wear it in a MacDonalds while you supersize your french fries.  

Here Comes Honey Boo-Mazing!

Next to Bravo, E, and Lifetime, TLC might just be my next favorite channel. After all, TLC has been responsible for such programming gems as 18/19/20/50 Thousand Kids and Counting (a reality show about a family that really needs to put a TV in their parents' bedroom) and Toddlers and Tiaras (a reality show about pageant children/aka my plans for my niece).

And now, in another stroke of creative genius, TLC brings us "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.". Honey Boo Boo first made her TV debut on Toddlers and Tiaras as Alana, the gloriously redneck pageant star. And now, Honey Boo Boo Child and her entire redneck family have their very own show. Complete with frequent belly-slapping and extreme couponing. Yes, TLC, yes.

In the most recent episode, the family brought in an etiquette coach to work on manners and poise with HBBC. The last time I saw that much giggling over gas passed at the dinner table.... Well, I've never seen that much. HBBC's momma: save the money you spent on that etiquette coach and buy a few fresh veggies.

Also in the most recent episode, HBBC was upset because she wasn't crowned at a natural beauty pageant. So, her parents got her a pig. A pig: the 'participation award' of the Deep South.

Ahh yes. rednecks, toddler pageants and pigs. The Quality Programming Trifecta.

Just Do What Everyone Else Is Doing, Please.

I know this is a reoccurring theme on this blog, but can we all please just take a look around us, see what everyone else is doing and then do the same thing?  There is really no need ever to be a weirdo.

Here's what's irked me recently.  One, I was at a lunch with a bunch of people.  It was a late lunch so naturally everyone was hungry.  The first six people ordered--they all ordered only a main course.  Then we come to Mr. Number Seven who has to order an appetizer, in addition to a main course.  This meant that six hungry people had to sit there, watch him eat his appetizer and wait even longer for our meals to come out because this was a fancy restaurant that actually times the food to come out course by course.  With every bite Mr. Number Seven took, all I could think was, "You have got to be effing kidding me here."  It's not hard to see no one else ordered an appetizer, we're all hungry, either order something for the entire table, or just ask for everything to come out at once!  Otherwise you're just being rude.

The other situation was that I was at a spa here in Germany.  I was a little bit frightened to go to said spa just because Germans love them some nudity.  When I lived in Munich, there were so many people in their birthday suits just lounging in a public park that it truly shocked my American sense of propriety.  However, when I got to the spa, everyone had bathing suits on and it was very nice and proper.  My sister-in-law and I were relaxing in a pretty small pool when in walk two ass naked women.  Old women.  Like holding their boobs up with their arms old.  And in they come into the swimming pool and just start swimming laps, stark naked.  I mean everyone else had suits on.  Why couldn't they suit up?!

So again, I beg of you, just follow the crowd.  It's what the cool kids do and what you should do too.

OMG EAT A BURGER

This weekend, in a refreshing break from weekends spent studying, I hit the gym.

I was working through a light weight circuit when I looked over and saw a skeleton doing weight assisted chin ups. I was so confused. How can a skeleton do chin ups? I thought skeletons just chilled out in closets, waiting to pop out at your most public moment. Was it Halloween? Had I been under a rock that long and this was some sick prank the gym was pulling on its members?

Then the skeleton moved, and I got rurl scurred. Skeletons don't move on their own! It was doing "push ups" on the floor before I realized it had skin and wasn't a skeleton at all but, without a doubt, the skinniest girl I have ever seen. And that includes Kate Moss.

This girl was moving through a workout, as though she had muscles to actually work out. The poor thing was nothing but bone and ligament. I hate to break it to her, but she wasn't fooling anyone with "Sexy Girl" written down the leg of her pants. There's nothing sexy about how I could count every bone in her spine.

Sugar, go grab a meal. Maybe then you'll actually have something to work out.

Ode to the Speedo

Oh hai sugars!  It's your old pal Kiki checking in from Germany.  There are a lot of things that I love about German culture--the work hard/play hard mindset, the food, the drinks, the architecture, small town living (seriously, you walk down the street with my mom in the morning and it's straight out of Beauty and the Beast with everyone saying "Guten Morgen" to each other).  Some things drive me a little crazy--stubbornness, formalism, the dirty looks I get when I'm being a loud American.  But one thing I'll never grow tired of: the speedo.  My first day here, my brother said let's go to the pool since he has two three-year-olds to entertain.  He asked if I wanted to come along and of course I said yes because I knew going to the pool in Germany meant one thing--speedos.

Germans love speedos.  EVERYBODY wears them.  You might think that young people maybe would get with the program and realize that not even Olympic swimmers wear them anymore and that they might want to give swim trunks a try, but you'd be wrong.  German men apparently want to show off the goods.  This of course turns me into a snickering, giggling idiot each time we go to the pool because I can't stop giggling over how SILLY men look in them!  There is this one regular at the pool--this guy must be in his late 60s, he's in retirement, he's about as bronze as the Tan Mom from New Jersey, and when he sunbathes, he turns his speedo into a thong.  Because apparently he wants to make me laugh and blush at the same time.

I can't wrap my mind around anyone thinking this look is ok especially considering there are nice, fashionable alternatives!  Yet the Germans, in their infinite stubbornness, still rock the speedos (and listen to David Hasselhoff).  God bless 'em.

Let's Make It a True Daily Double

Sugars, imma let you in on a little secret. The other week was the best week of my life. And no, it wasn't because Of the maj sale on cowboy boots I scored. It was Kids Week on Jeopardy, and it was glorious.

There is nothing, nothing more gratifying than Kids Week on Jeopardy. The questions/answers are ridiculously easy, making you feel like an intellectual genius ( hey, I just got an entire category right!!). Even better though, than dominating Jeopardy (for the one time in life) is getting to laugh at kids from the privacy of your own home when they say something ridiculously and completely illogical.

Don't judge. You know you do it too. When that little girl responded that Louis XIV's stomping ground ( to paraphrase) was the Louvre and not Versailles, it was simply amaze balls. And when a chunky kid responded that the "kids business headquartered at One Geoffrey Way" was Dunkin Donuts, and not Toys R Us (it's mascot being Geoffrey, the giraffe), I nearly snorted Riesling out my nose.

I got my come uppance the following week though. It was Masters Week on Jeopardy, and the contestants are answering the questions and onto the next before I'm even done reading the prompt. Whatever, nerds.

Michael Phelps is Great, Can I Hear About Something Else Now?

Maybe it's just that I have the attention span of a 5 year in the Times Square Toys R Us these days, but I'm a little tired of hearing how Michael Phelps is the most decorated Olympian of all time.

Look, I get it. The guy has a ton of medals, broke a record and that's crazy impressive. But last time I checked, NBC was supposed to be broadcasting the Olympics, not the "Michael Phelps Interview, Fawn, Dote and Adore Hour with opening acts by some other athletes that do stuff too."

Last night as I was watching a commentator interview the men's relay team, I was horrified as she asked one of MPhelps teammates about what Michael's legacy would. For real? The guy just won an Olympic medal himself and all you can ask him about is his teammate's legacy? Not, I don't know, the incredible teamwork that made that win possible? I would be pretty offended by a stunt like that (and not just because I have an ego the size of Texas).

I could use a little more coverage on Ryan Lochte (ladies, who doesn't want to see a little more prime time Lochte), or how about a nice one-on-one sit down with Gabby Douglas? How about the US womens' rowing 8? Maybe we could even snag someone in the less publicized sports and throw a little 15 minutes their way?

Look, we all know Michael Phelps is great and we probably have a slew of Subway commercials to look forward to. But right now, Michael Phelps coverage reminds me of Halloween, approximately 30 minutes after trick or treating. I've had my fill and I just want to go to bed.

I Don't Want To Be A Traitor To My Gender and All: Tunic Tops

Ladies, I can't believe we have to have this conversation, but here it goes.  Tunic tops are not dresses.  They're just long shirts.  They need pants to go with them.  Do I totally get the thrill of not wearing pants?  Yes.  My routine the past week when I've gotten home has been Olympics on, pants off.  But that's in the privacy of my own home!  Where I live alone! 

I am shocked at the number of girls I see in the metro at 7:30am who forgot to put their pants on!  Where are they going?  Hopefully to the pants store to get some pants!  I can't think of anywhere where going pantsless is an option, unless you're a stripper.  If you're a stripper heading to work at 7:30am, then my guess is you're not a very good one if you get stuck with that shift.  Even so, Team USA Gymnastics puts on pants as they go from event to event, so I feel like you could wear pants on your way to the strip club as well.  

I just don't understand how a person can put on a top, see that it barely covers one's ass, and think, "Yes.  This is my look for today, off I go."  You're not Lady Gaga!  If you're walking up the escalator in the metro and you have to use a newspaper to cover your rear end, as a girl a few days ago did in front of me, it's pretty clear to me you've forgotten your pants.

So ladies, repeat after me: If the shirt my ass doth bare, then pants I must wear. 

My Summer Olympic Games

In honor of Michael Phelps' officially becoming the most decorated Olympian of all time, I'd like to proffer the following proposed Olympic events for the IOC's consideration. I'm pretty sure I could quickly surpass Phelps' record in all these events:

Salsa Eating: It is obscene how much salsa I can take down. I've got the chip to salsa ratio down, so that I can maximize salsa intake while minimizing chip intake.

Napping: I've been known to tell my friends/roommates/husband that I'm just laying down for twenty minutes, only to wake up 3 hours later, twisted in the blankets and confused where I am. Beat that, Misty May Treanor.

Bravo Watching: I have logged an insane amount of hours watching Bravo TV. I remember RHOC when Jeana Keough was on, and RHONY when Bethenny and Jill were besties. Pretty sure Ryan Lochte can't say that.

Online Shopping: I have online shopping down to a fine art. In fact, I think it's safe to say I haven't been in a store just to browse in probably 8 months. I hit RueLaLa at 11, Gilt at 12 and browse the websites of my favorites stores whenever need be. All while in my yoga pants and on the couch - where my dog doesn't judge me.

J-Walkers...J-Makin Me Crazy!

If you've had the privilege of being near me on a public street, you've probably heard me muttering.  Yes I'm crazy anyway, but you all are doing something that is really pissing me off: you're jaywalking like morons. 

I'm a proud graduate of THE Ohio State University and I like to say that as a Buckeye, we all are double majors.  We major in whatever it is we're studying, and we're all forced to major in jaywalking.  We Buckeyes have it down to a science.  So let me drop some Scarlet and Gray knowledge on you.

If you are inclined to jaywalk, judge your decision to go based off of cars you see on the road, not other people crossing the road out of turn.  Those people, like me, have probably timed their walk to the on-coming cars, but that judgment happened about two seconds before you decided to go.  Guess what, those two seconds are the difference between crossing the street without bothering other drivers and being dead.  If you judge your jaywalk off of other people, you will die.  Or wish you were dead, because if it's me driving, I'm honking my horn at you and in all likelihood flipping you the bird.  I know if you see me jaywalk you probably want to follow, because hey it's me, I'd follow me, but spare us all some unpleasantness and just admire from afar. 

Also, before you jaywalk make sure there isn't something going on like a left-turn signal that you're walking in front of.  If you don't, then you could be taking away someone's golden opportunity to turn left in rush hour, which can sometimes be impossible, and that someone might then fantasize about barreling you over with her Jetta. 

Finally, if you are caught in a situation where you're face to bumper with a car, don't turn back, just keep going.  You turning around to from whence you came means that everyone's time has been wasted.  The driver's, yours and mine.  Just go. 

So please be conscious of your surroundings when you jaywalk because you're really making me insane. 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation: The VA Bar Exam, Vol. I

Legally Blonde was the single most misleading movie about the legal profession ever. Not only did NONE of my female professors frequent my nail salon, but graduation day was not the glorious celebration it was portrayed as (recall Elle's squeaky "we did it!").

Graduation day for me, and for most law students meant one thing. The Bar Exam was coming up Fast. And Furious.

Bar prep classes "officially" started just a few days after graduation. However, there were advance assignments to be done. And being the perpetually nervous law student I am (was? That's weird), I did them. After all, THAT COULD BE THE ONE PIECE OF INFORMATION I RETAIN ON THE BAR.

And so summer began, and my schedule ran as such: work all day in downtown DC, fight traffic out of the city to make a 6 pm lecture that would run anywhere from 3.5 to 4 hours on the regular. Home around 10:15 to pack my lunch and dinner for the next day ( which I affectionately began referring to as my feed bag) and to pass out. This went Monday to Friday. I spent Saturdays and Sundays in my apartment, diligently making neon colored flashcards and doing practice questions.

In sum, I did not see the sun. I look like a character out of Twilight, without the inexplicable body sparkle.

When I finally did take time off work to study, my days were marked with routine precision (up at the same time, review, practice questions, repeat, until I could take no more). I'm fairly certain I wore the same pair of yoga pants for 5 days in a row.

Sleep was a struggle, especially as the Big Two Days grew nearer. I woke myself up thinking about perfecting appeals, the elements of larceny (pleasant) and who prevails in a race notice jurisdiction.

Before I knew it, it was July 23rd. My suit was packed up and I was headed to Roanoke, VA.....

Bar Prep Has Taken Over

Hai Sugars,

Just wanted to let you know we haven't forgotten about you!  JanJan is in the final week of Bar Prep (so everyone wish her luck!) and Kiki is living the big law life for a few more weeks. 

We'll be back in August to discuss the following: J-walking, festival goers, Game of Thrones, people who stand too close, tourists, dating, weddings, tight clothing, shopping, and much much more. 

Xoxo,

Oh Sugar Please

AHEM! My Eyes Are Up Here

Ladies, I anticipate that many of you will be able to commiserate with me on this. It seems that no matter where I am - work, the grocery store, yoga class whatever - some man is staring at my chest.

Before you get the wrong idea, that I walk around alway with the ladies just hanging out for the world to see, let me reassure you. I don't. I make it point, whether because it was ingrained in me by my mother, the nuns at my Catholic girls' school, or both, to keep my chest covered. Understandably, there will be a few times when a little more cleavage is appropriate, necessary or unavoidable.

Still, it baffles me when I'll be wearing a button up oxford shirt, and the man I'm talking to periodically glances down at chest. I've racked my brain trying to think up explanations for this:

Maybe, he's like the kid from the movie Big. Even though he's in an adults body, he's really just a boy who is still just learning about these. Maybe I should check his briefcase for lunchables and send a PI to his apartment to see if it's filled with video games and a bunk bed, just to confirm.

Maybe, someone told him that boobs are like leprechauns in that they have magical powers and if you catch them doing their magic at just the right time, you get a pot of gold.

Maybe he's worried they'll disappear. After all, it is 2012. Armageddon is upon us and the world could open up at any moment and swallow all the boobs.

Whatever the reason you're looking at my chest, and everyone other woman's chest, guys - I'm pleading with you to stop. It's creepy.

Things I Don't Understand: Self-Serve Coffee

I'm a busy girl.  More often than not, when I'm getting ready in the morning, I don't have time to make my own coffee.  Yes I have both a regular coffee maker and a single-serve hot beverage system, but I would rather take the two minutes it would take to make one cup of coffee and either 1) sleep or 2) have a Britney Jean Spears Dance Party while I'm getting ready.  I also like buying coffee in the city on my way to work.  It makes me feel really cool and like a grown-up (a grown-up who thirty minutes prior danced around not fully dressed to Baby One More Time, but an adult nonetheless).

Here's where we get to the part I don't understand.  So a lot of places I frequent have self-serve coffee.  In theory, you get your coffee faster and you get to fill it just so, so you can make the perfect mix with milk (or half-and-half which I love) and sugar (which I don't add, but if you do, more power to you).  What I don't get is what takes people so flippin long to mix their effing coffee drinks!  It's three ingredients at most: coffee, milk and sugar.  Why are you standing there for five minutes stirring to perfection like some chemist whose concoction may explode if it's not done JUST. RIGHT.  It's coffee people.  Fill it up, mix the goods, and get on with your day.  It should take about 45 seconds.

Seriously people, you're crowding the coffee station, you're keeping me from my precious stay awake juice and you're annoying the crap out of me at 8am.  STOP IT.    

Sh*t We Didn't Care About This Week

Hai Sugars!  How you doin?  We hope everyone had as fantastic a week as we did.  Now let's get to the gossip!!

Prince William Turns 30
Kiki:  This really belongs under the shit we do care about category becuase this prince is some kind of wonderful.  Mmm hmm. 

JanJan: As a present to the future king, I'm going to send him a you-tube video of my best Marilyn Monroe 'Happy Birthday' rendition.  Kate won't mind.

Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis Breakup 
JanJan: She doesn't even marry the guy and she might get half his money?! Best Breakup EVER.

Kiki: First Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon break up, then Johnny and Vanessa.  It's almost like long-term relationships without real committment don't work!  I'm shocked!

Congress Holds AG Holder In Comtempt of Congress
Kiki: My favorite part of this is that an ATF operation was named after a shitty Vin Diesel movie that spawned 900 equally shitty sequels. 

JanJan: Pretty certain our AG needs a refresher on what 'separation of powers' means - specifically, not that the branches don't have to talk to each other.

Rielle Hunger Writes a Book
JanJan: She wants her child to know where she came from? An affair with a married man whose wife would later pass away from cancer? Let's all chip in for little hunter's therapy fund now.

Kiki: Rielle, NO ONE CARES if your love with "Johnny" was a true, spiritual, seventh plane of zen love.  Seriously.  No. one. cares. 

SCOTUS Doesn't Rule on Obamacare
Kiki: Yet another week went by where Prince Harry didn't fall in love with me...and that's just as newsworthy.  Call me when something happens.

JanJan: I'm pretty sure Roberts and the gang have the opinion written and are just giggling in their chambers because they can make people wait.

Keep cool sugars! 

It's Warm Outside? I Feel Shocked.

In case you haven't heard, it's hot outside.  Umm...so what?  Why is this all anyone can talk about?  Why are people surprised, IT'S EFFING SUMMER.  It's supposed to be hot in the summer!!  If it was snowing, THEN there would be something to talk about.  But heat?  Come on people.   

This is Washington, DC.  It is known* that DC is built on a swamp.  Now I'm no ecologist but my understanding, based almost primarily on the scene in the Fire Swamp in The Princess Bride, is that swamps are hot, sticky, unpleasant places with rodents of unusual size.  DC's swampiness is a staple of living here, just like tourists, douchebags and monuments.  I don't hear people express surprise at the fact that there are tourists roaming the city.  I don't hear people exclaim, "There are douchebags here?!"  On our morning commute, JanJan and I don't say, "Hey look!  The Washington Monument is out today."  So why is everyone in shock that it's hot?  

I remember from an anthropology class I took about seven years ago that humans as a species are adapted to warm weather.  The professor said, "If you had a choice between being in a frozen tundra for three days without supplies (or a jacket) or being in a hot climate for three days without supplies, which do you think you would survive?"  We'd survive the heat, because that's what our bodies are built for.  We'd get frostbite and die pretty quickly in the cold--much faster than we would in the heat.  My point is we should be excited it's this hot outside because that's what our bodies want!  It's evolution man!  

So please, can we all just cool down the heat talk, find a patio, drink some iced tea or lemonade or beer or whatever, have a popsicle and be grateful there isn't a 24" pile of snow outside?  Thanks.    

*Yes this is a Game of Thrones reference.  I'm a nerd.

Al Roker, NYC Dreamboat

Every morning, I have the Today Show on while I get dressed. So every morning, I get to listen to Ann, Matt, Savannah and Al discuss the must-know news of the day. On any given day this will involve some combination of Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, a small child 'beating the odds' and a politician behaving badly.

But this isn't all that NBC deems a critical part of its Today Show magic. No, equally important to the Today Show's luster, is the Today Show plaza where any number of screaming fans are just waiting for ....... Al Roker?

For those of you who may not be familiar with this, Al Roker is a bald, portly, middle aged man who does the weather for the Today Show. And every morning, people from towns with names like Two Horse, One Fish and Normal clamor after him like teenagers (or me) clamoring after Justin Bieber, just hoping that he'll ask them where they're from and why they're in New York on the air.

Look here, if I'm on vacation in NYC, you can bet your bottom dollar I'm not hauling myself out of bed at 6 am to grab a Starbucks and hope my poster has more glitter than the person's next to me so that I'll be on the Today Show for a nanosecond. And you can darn well believe that my posse will not be wearing matching shirts (I'm too scarred from that from family road trips) or any other paraphernalia to get 'recognized'. No, I'm going to do what vacations are for - sleeping, eating good food, drinking good cocktails and staying up past bedtime.

Calm The Eff Down, You're Not Cristiano Ronaldo

Recently I participated in a soccer tournament.  This was the first time I have put on soccer cleats since I was in, oh, fifth or sixth grade.  I did play some pick-up games when I was in Munich and after a few liters of beer, I thought I was pretty good, my complete lack of experience considered (and there is no way all that alcohol influenced my opinion of myself...no way...).  So when my work said they were recruiting players for a soccer team, I jumped on the chance.  They promised this was a fun tournament for charity and that it would be law firms v. businesses.  I guess I figured that the teams would be made up of out-of-shape people who spend their days chained to desks and were looking to have fun. 

Um...I was wrong.  I'm pretty sure these asshats we had to play against confused Germantown, Maryland for Poland or the Ukraine because they were acting like it was Euro 2012 up in there.  Some of the people were in great shape and were great soccer players and I give them all the credit in the world. 

My beef however is with the out-of-shape idiots who thought they were as good as proper soccer players.  There was a goalkeeper who kept attacking people with the ball inside the goal box, ultimately tripping them because he had no coordination.  Asshole thought he was Oli Kahn but I think I saw four people have penalty kicks *because of him*.  Get a grip dude.

Then there was the jerk who ran into me, stopped us from falling over by wrapping me in a bear hug, then apologizing to me while keeping his hand around my waist.  1)  Don't touch me.  2) Apology not accepted.  As I told him, "This is supposed to be for fun.  Relax." 3) DON'T BAD TOUCH ME!

My true venom though is saved for a particular wenus who couldn't keep his balance.  He kept falling all over the ball.  Then while running out of control, he knocked me over, then stomped on my ankle as I was falling, and then ran off without even waiting to see if I was ok.  Again, this tournament was for charity.  You probably should check to make sure the person you just injured is OK--you're not going to score the winning goal.  I screamed at the guy that he was the sort of gentleman who had conjugal relations with his mother then told him to to regain his balance before he attempted soccer again.  I of course used this language. 

Seriously mothereffers, you all need to calm down.  This was a tournament for fun, it was not the EuroCup.  Had it been the EuroCup I would have expected much more attractive men.   

Despite my words with all these idiots, my team ended up winning the sportsmanship award.  You can call me Miss Congeniality from now on. 

My Washington Tea Party

I'm a regular customer at the local Marvelous Market that is literally just around the corner from my office. I stop in every morning without fail for a large coffee and maybe a bottle of water, or some challah bread if I'm feeling crazy.

I like the Marvelous Market. Every morning, the same woman calls out a bright, cheery "Good Morning!" as I pop in and (nearly) every morning she asks me if I want a muffin or a pastry.

This morning, I shook it up a little. I didn't get coffee, I got tea. And a large tea at that. Naturally, I assumed that -as at Starbucks- the cost of two tea bags is built into the price of the large the large tea at MM.

NOT SO, my friends. When I got up to counter after browsing a little bit and deciding against an orange juice, the cashier - the SAME WOMAN who rings up my coffee EVERY MORNING- rang me up for a $4.74 tea.

Yes, my tea cost also as much as a footlong sub from Subway.

When I asked her why (knowing, as a frequent tea drinker that tea in a cardboard cup will usually only put you out about $2), she shrugged her shoulders as if she had no choice and said it was because of my extra tea bag.

You have got to be effing kidding me.

I am accustomed to store proprietors bending over backwards to keep good customers, even if it means letting a 10 cent tea bag go.

For a moment, I thought about dumping my tea all over the counter, Boston Tea Party-style. Now I know how our forefathers felt when those Brits tried to tax their tea! Seeing as I wasn't under cloak of night or wearing Native American garb to conceal myself, I didn't think it would have the same effect.

I paid for my tea and left. But I can still feel those revolutionary stirrings, churning within me with each sip of my overpriced tea.

Road Ragin

Spending more time driving, while giving me more time to listen to my favorites on the Kane Show (Hot 99.5) in the morning, has also given me more time to observe the driving habits of my fellow DC metro area-ers. One thing is for sure. We, as a people, are filled with rage. Take these examples:

Perfectly Acceptable Driving Manuever: Changing lanes in traffic to set up for you exit when you have enough room

Disproportionate Response: changing lanes to speed up, then slow down next to the driver who just changed in front of you solely so you can flick her off and honk your horn (arm waving optional)

Perfectly Acceptable "Driving" Manuever: crossing the crosswalk when you have the pedestrian sign (yes I know this isn't actually driving)

Disproportionate Response: making a left hand turn into the cross walk to block the sauntering pedestrians, then throwing your hands up in exasperation at how slow they are as you rant

Perfectly Acceptable Driving Manuever: driving the speed limit

Disproportionate Response: tailing the driver driving the speed limit, flashing your lights and honking your horn all while screaming at them to get their fat, hooptie civic driving a** out of the way

How do you disproportionately respond?

Why I Don't Love the 80s

Remember about ten years ago a little program premiered called I Love the 80s?  Remember how funny and original it was?  If you don't remember (or if you aren't American (though there was a British version so no excuses you Brits) or if you didn't have cable) I Love the 80s was a tv show where for an hour a year in the 1980s was profiled.  So for instance, for the year 1981, comedians, 1980s pop culture figures and others would crack jokes about things like Rick Springfield, the Royal Wedding, the DeLorean and Bosom Buddies.  

So I Love the 80s was funny and we all laughed and had a good time.  So naturally what came next? I Love the 90s because who doesn't want to reminisce about  NKOTB and MC Hammer and Ren and Stimpy?  Those things were hilarious. 

Oh wait what happened next?  Best Year Ever--an end of the year special making fun of all the silly trends and songs and movies we loved that year.  Because we can't just do this program once a year, Best Week Ever came into existence.  Because apparently this format of seeing clips of things that are funny then having no-named comedians and pop culture figures who can't find work anymore comment on them is a successful model.  I mean I Love the New Millennium premiered before the decade was up. 

In the meantime, every other channel decided to copy this formula.  Now you can't watch a countdown without a group of C, D, and E-listers commenting on it.  It's gotten so bad that you can't even watch a music countdown anymore without these asshat clowns making unfunny jokes.  I just want to watch the music videos.  Wouldn't that be cheaper for the network to produce?  I don't need the extraneous garbage. 

Can we please just simplify and let me watch a countdown of the best of 80s hair bands in peace?  We owe Bret Michaels that.

Are you good lookin?

I am one good lookin' son-of-a-gun. I mean it. Sometimes I catch myself checking myself out. Like, if I'm driving, I'll periodically flip down the visor just to admire how well my square framed sunglasses complement my cheekbones. On a sunny day, I like to admire how naturally multi-tonal my hair can be when it catches the light just so. Really, at any given moment with a mirror nearby, you might catch me checking out my hiney (depending on how slammin' it is on that particular day). Sometimes when I'm putting my makeup on (we all need a little help), I love how green my eyes can be with just the right eye liner/eye shadow/mascara combination.

By now, you're either gagging or you think I'm singularly the most vain person you've ever encountered (short of maybe, Kim Kardashian).

Am I vain? Maybe. I prefer to call it confident. And quite frankly, I wasn't always this confident (and even now, my confidence isn't running on all 8 cylinders all the time).

Look, we all have our down days. We all have those people in our lives who exist for no other reason than to do their best to make us feel bad about ourselves. There was one guy, a few years ago, right before I met my husband, who after I broke up with him decided that spending an evening with his besties going through my Facebook photos and commenting on exactly how much weight they thought I had gained would be good post break up therapy (Ladies: don't ever let guys tell you that we're the only catty people. They are just as catty as we are. Proof positive). This would have all been well and good (and normal, post-break up activity), had I never found out about it when I received a text message that DEFINITELY was not meant to be sent to me. I was embarrassed, outraged and hurt. And worst of all, my confidence was destroyed.

I had two options with this. I could either (1) let it eat me alive and totally wreck my whole persona or (2) move on, forget it and live my life. I chose option 2.

So maybe I'm vain. Or maybe, it's just my daily affirmations. My daily way of reminding myself that I'm beautiful. Does that hurt anyone? Not in my book.

I think everyone should have these daily affirmations. Find things that you like about yourself and focus on those, instead of focusing on what you hate about yourself (and believe me, there's plenty of that I could focus on if I wanted to). I think when you focus on what you like about yourself, you actually take better care of yourself overall because you're more inspired to keep what you like, well, there.

What's your daily affirmation?

Sh*t We Didn't Care About This Week

Hai Sugars!  It's been a beautiful week weather and gossip-wise so let's get to it!

Miley Cyrus Gets Engaged
JanJan: I give it 6 months.

Kiki: She didn't even get Thor, the good brother.  Basically she's marrying Loki.  (Nerd alert, I know)

Shawn Johnson Retires
Kiki: I'll start caring about Team USA gymnastics when the Olympics stars, I'll vaguely recall their names during the Olympics and as soon as China inevitably beats them, Imma forget.

JanJan:  She didn't retire already?

John Mayer Complains About Taylor Swift's Song "Dear John"
JanJan: A little late to the pity party buddy. That song came out eons ago.

Kiki:  You said Jessica Simpson was "sexual napalm" to the world but you're pissed that Taylor Swift wrote a song about you?  I just wrote a song about you, sung to the tune of Bitch by Meredith Brooks, called "Dick."

Wisconsin Recall Fail
Kiki:  Hey Wisconsin, take a page from the book of activism in the Great State of Ohio: you's gots to strike when the iron is hot.  This is further proof that Ohio is better than you.
 

JanJan:  Guess the Wisconsites weren't quite ready to "pack" Scott Walker up. ;-)

Have a good weekend now!

Why I Try Not to Sweat the Small Stuff

For a little change of pace, I'm writing a positive blog entry today (I know, try not to fall off your chair in shock). Of course, being me, it comes from being annoyed, but I promise if you stick with me, you'll get to the good part. 

Recently I've been exposed to people who sweat small stuff which annoys the shit out of me.  My philosophy is that life is serious and hard and complicated.  We don't need to make it more serious, hard or complicated through anxiety or making mountains out of molehills.  I've had a few life lessons that have contributed to that philosophy, but my greatest teacher in life so far has been this guy: 

 

This is my nephew.  My nephew is my hero, my inspiration, and the person who keeps a smile on my face no matter what is going on in my life.  When my sister-in-law was pregnant with this little man, she and my brother were told there was no chance he would survive gestation because he had no amniotic fluid.  Despite those odds, my brother and sister-in-law's faith sustained him and he survived.  He (and his twin sister, my darling niece) was born three months early and within his first few months he had blood transfusions, heart surgery, eye surgery, and foot surgery.  He had lung issues and was on oxygen for over a year.  He had two club feet, his hips were dislocated and he had hernias--all of which required surgery.  The mountains of problems this sweet little baby faced seemed insurmountable.

He faced each of these challenges with a smile on his face.  No matter how uncomfortable he must have been, or how much pain he probably was in, his spirit always soared.  Even now as he learns how to walk, speak and do all the things toddlers do, he always has a sweet smile on his face and a song to sing (ok maybe it's LMFAO, but it's a song and it counts!).   

Brynn teaches me every day that no challenge is too great to overcome, that no period is so dark that you can't be a little positive during it, and that all our petty differences with others, our frustrations with work or school, our little coughs and colds or whatever are no big deal.  Life is made up of serious situations, but life only becomes serious when we stop smiling and laughing.  He's taught me that feeling sorry for one's self is a learned behavior, it's not innate.  If we all had even a fraction of Brynn's spirit, we'd complain a lot less and have a lot more fun, despite life's challenges.  So let's give it our best, shall we?  

Hooker Heels and a Blazer Do Not an Attorney Make

Summer in Washington DC brings with it a flood of inexperienced interns, all set to trot their way around the city for a summer, set to waste people's time in their offices, go to happy hour and brag to their friends at home about they saw the President's motorcade.

Usually, the summer interns represent some of DC's worst dressed. Cocktail dresses and miniskirts on the ladies, boat shoes and wrinkled khakis on the gents. I didn't think anyone could surpass the summer intern inappropriate meter. Until, that is, I saw the soon to be attorney.

You see, I'm spending my summer studying for the bar exam which means that after work, I head out to school for the 6pm bar review lecture every night. Because other students from other schools are also studying at my location, i'm getting the opportunity to observe a whole new batch of people.

As I was walking into class the other night I saw a girl leaving the 2pm lecture (yes, it was 4 hours long) wearing hooker heels, a pencil skirt with a back slit up to her bottom and a blazer, none of which matched (not that that would've helped).

Honey, your cheap platform strappy heels, paired with everything else, make you look like a hooker and do nothing to convey an image of professionalism. If you want people to take you seriously as an attorney, you might not want them to think you're moonlighting ummm.......actually under the moonlight.

Buy some nice pumps, and a bigger skirt. Unless sleeping your way around the firm is on your bucket list.

You Might Be an AHole...

If you're a child of the 90s like me, you remember Jeff Foxworthy's bit "You Might Be A Redneck."  (If you think the last words to the Star Spangled Banner are "Gentlemen Start Your Engines"...you might be a redneck).  I'm inspired by that line of thinking and have decided to start a little segment here on this blog called "You Might Be an A-Hole." 

If you recline your seat on an airplane, bus, or train within 45 seconds of sitting down...you might be an ahole.  I rarely recline my seat because I don't feel the difference in the few inches you get when you lean the chair back.  I also find leaning back like that feels awkward on my back.  So I don't get why people recline the seats--it doesn't make a difference to the person sitting in the reclined chair.  But reclining your chair sure as shit makes a difference to the person sitting behind you.  I'm 5'9" and that's mostly legs.  If you take an inch away from me, that means my knees are directly in your lumbar and believe you me, I push back.  If I can tell that you're under 5'5", I start to kick like a four year old (shocking, I know).  You're short!  You don't need the extra space!  I do!!!  

Here's the thing--let's just all recognize that airplane, train and bus travel is going to be uncomfortable.  Deal with it unselfishly and don't lean back into me.  Because if you do, you get the Oh Sugar Please Ahole Stamp. 

What Your Cocktail Says About You

You may not realize it, but your drink choice sends a message to your fellow revelers. Choose wisely, my sugahs:

White Wine:
Ordered by a girl: I'm nut crazy about maintaining my personal appearance. Red wine will stain my teeth and beers/mixed drinks will add unwanted ounces/pounds. My fridge is stocked solely with celery and lean cuisines (for splurging).
Order by a guy: I'm trying to get into White Wine Girl's pants.

Dirty Martini
Ordered by a girl: I am one confident, take no prisoners, make it or break it powerwoman. Get in my way and I'll stab you with my stiletto.
Ordered by a guy: I'm trying to get into Dirty Martini's Girl's pants.

Lite Beer:
Ordered by a girl: OMG I AM FINALLY 21!
Ordered by a guy: OMG I AM FINALLY 21! Dang. Lite Beer girl is hot.

Margarita
Ordered by a girl: SPLURGE NIGHT with my BESTIES!! My pants won't fit tomorrow.
Ordered by a guy: I'm trying to get into Margarita Girl's pants.

Bourbon
Ordered by a girl: Where's my derby hat? What? You mean it's not Derby Day?
Ordered by a guy: I'm going to watch MadMen after I get into Bourbon Girl's pants.

Lager
Ordered by a girl: I can drink you under the table.
Ordered by a guy: I'm trying to get into Lager Girl's pants. Or Bourbon, Margarita, Lite Beer, Dirty Martini or White Wine Girl. Really, any girl will do.

Diet Coke:
Ordered by a girl: Cough, Cough i'm sick.
Ordered by a guy: Girls? Who needs girls? I've got my mother.

Doctors, Lawyers and Time Management, OH MY

Doctors and Lawyers have a lot in common. For example, to become a doctor or lawyer, you must endure tedious and sadistically grueling schooling as well as pass equally sadistic exams. Doctors and lawyers are both professionals who can be commit malpractice if they let their skills falter. And, let's face it, you don't consult doctors or lawyers when you're having your best day ever.

There's one thing doctors and lawyers really don't share. Time Management.

Allow me to elaborate. Yesterday morning I popped down to my doctor's office before work to get some paperwork done. I wisely chose the 8am appointment, thinking I would be out by 8:30, and into the city happily working away at my desk by 9.

I was wrong. I was so so wrong. I arrived on time for my appointment and was taken back right away. But my doctor? She didn't bother to put down her doughnut and latte and come sign my form until 8:45. 8:45!!!! Then she wanted to chitchat to makeup for her tardiness, not getting me out of her office and back in my car until 9:05.

I spent that time waiting in her exam room just pacing, stomach burning thinking about all I could be doing with this wasted time. You see, lawyers ( or at least, those who bill clients) have to account for their time to properly bill clients (and accordingly, to make money). And we usually do this in increments of 6 minutes. 12 minutes? That's .2 of my precious day.

Doctors aren't under a similar obligation to account for their time to make money. Heck, my doctor gets her money before she's even seen me! So maybe this is why we all end up spending hours in waiting rooms reading last year's Good Housekeeping. Sure, we don't want them rushing through someone's exam but I'm pretty sure the exams later in the day got time crunched because mine ran so late, for no apparent reason.

Should doctors bill like lawyers? God no, who only knows what would happen then. But should they effectively manage their day and schedule appointments so as not to waste my time? Ooooh I think we're onto something.

When it's all said and done, I love my doctor. She's totes adorbs and maybe it's the daily 5 hour energy coursing through my veins that makes me so impatient.

Things I Don't Understand: Prescription Drug Commercials

Something I've always wondered is where does a person have to be in his or her acting career to agree to do a prescription drug commercial?  I get that it's nationwide exposure and that's great for the actor, but for some, it's nationwide exposure for pretending to have erectile dysfunction. 

This question really started plaguing me when I saw a commercial for some prescription acne commercial.  It's a bunch of teenagers who have zits doodled all over their face.  How do you ever live that down?  "Yeah I'm an actor."  "Have I seen you in anything?"  "Yeah, a commercial for a raging case of acne."  Not exactly future oscar winners. 

Depression commercials?  I feel like all their friends hid the sharp objects in the house as soon as they saw them in the depression commercials where everything is gray and it's always raining outside. 

Even worse are the ones for lady part or man part issues.  For women, they all have to look smug and content to be struggling with a case of herpes or PMS.  For guys, apparently once their ED is taken care of, they regain the ability to go fishing and then take their wives out dancing.  Because ED prevents all that. 

What takes the cake for me recently though are then ones for what's known as "stool softeners."  Dear actor:  you're in a commercial about poo.  Congratulations, you've arrived! 

Seriously, I just don't get it. 

Motherhood's Get Out of Jail Free Card

For all of us non-mothers out there, I'm about to let you in on a huge secret that our friends who have entered motherhood have been keeping from us. Apparently, when you have a child, you get a special pass. And this pass exempts you from observing any basic social decency whatsoever.

Ok so maybe you don't ACTUALLY get a pass, but this is the only explanation I can surmise for what I saw the other day.

On Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, I attended the 9:00 am mass with my parents and husband. Given that this Mass is on a military post, it tends to cater to the older crowd. There's just not many children in this group.

Over to my right was a small family. Mom, Dad, two little girls an presumably one aunt. The youngest little girl, who looked to be about 3 months old or so, was impressively quiet in church. I thought, wow, this mother is teaching her children at a young age to behave in the Mass.

So imagine my shock and horror when I looked over midway through the homily to see the mother BREASTFEEDING her baby right there. In the pew. Surrounded by retired military personnel. She was using a shawl to cover herself, but really now. I'm pretty sure someone had to see more than they bargained for.

Look, I understand that she needs to feed her child. But would it really have been all that difficult to get up and quietly excuse herself to one of the more private areas in the chapel? There's plenty of rooms- she could take her pick!

There was a time when Catholic women were so concerned with modesty that they wore veils to Mass. Look, I'm not saying cover every inch of skin but maybe we can agree that pulling out your lady bosom to feed crosses a line. And really, this is a matter of simple decency. Get up, excuse yourself and walk twenty feet to the private room where you and your child can bond without being surrounded by dozens of people.

Sh*t We Didn't Care About This Week

Hey Sugars!  Are you looking forward to the long weekend as much as we are?  Let's hit the gossip so we can hit the pool!

The Queen's Underwear For Sale on Ebay
JanJan: I'm going to throw a pair of my panties up on Ebay and market them as Duchess Kate panties.  Moneymaking scheme.

Kiki: Isn't rule #1 of buying secondhand clothes that you never buy used underwear?  Unless it's Elvis.  I'd take all the money out of my IRA for a pair of those.

Facebook IPO Fail
Kiki: OMG people lie to make more money in the stock market!?  UNPOSSIBLE!!! 

JanJan: Because purchasing stock in a company whose success rests entirely in the hands of a man with no moral scruples is always a good idea. I saw the Social Network. I know things.

Reagan's Dried Blood Residue For Sale
JanJan: WHERE IS MY CREDIT CARD?

Kiki: OK, this vampire thing has officially gone too far.

Baby Put in Washing Machine During A Game of Peek-a-Boo
Kiki:  Maybe the kid sassed the babysitter and this is New Jersey's version of washing a mouth out with soap? 

JanJan: I can see the lawyers salivating now over who gets o draft Maytag's 'peekaboo' warning label that must now be adhered to every washer.

American Idol Finale
JanJan: People still watch that show?

Kiki: While I'm forever grateful to American Idol for Kelly Clarkson, I couldn't name the last five winners and any hits they've had.  Let's just all move on, shall we?

Jilted Fiancé Suing Ex Who Cancelled Wedding
Kiki: You stay classy.

JanJan: Nothing says 'I'm over you,' like a lawsuit.

HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND SUGARS!!!!  

Reply All Intervention

Ok sugars, I'm going to lay down a very simple rule for everyone.  Unless you know 90% of the names on a group email, message or text message, do NOT hit reply all!!  When I hear the tone of a new message on my phone, I'm like Pavlov's dog: I get really excited, my tail starts wagging, maybe I pant a little but when it's from a stranger, ngl, I get really upset and then annoyed. 

Recently a friend sent a message over Facebook about a party that is coming up and included a link to the evite with details about the party.  All of a sudden, I had messages from about 15 different people I don't know popping up on my phone from Facebook telling me all about what their plans are for the day of the party.  News flash: I don't care about you person I've never met!  Send a direct message, or better yet, reply to the gdamned Evite! 

I get even more annoyed about the group text message.  iPhones now have this group text message ability where if you send one text to a group, the replies go to the entire group.  I get a little freaked out when I get texts from numbers I don't know.  I'm immediately suspicious: WHO IS THIS AND HOW DID YOU GET THIS NUMBER.  Then I see, it's the group text message.  Enough.  If you don't know the other numbers, respond privately. 

Senders, you're just as guilty.  Use bcc, send emails in groups where people know the other people, send individual texts, god forbid pick up the phone, but do whatever you can to stop strangers from bothering me! 

Don't get me wrong, I love me some reply alls when I know everyone on the email chain and they're being funny.  But I hold fast to the lesson I learned from Kindergarten Cop: Don't Ever Talk to Strangers (...and stop whining...and don't eat other kid's lunches).  Let's do better with the reply alls, shall we?

We Have GOT to Stop Calling Each Other Sluts and Whores!

If you're like me, the movie Mean Girls represents a lot to you. Not only is it about the last thing Lindsey Lohan did before going off the deep end, but it also just about accurately depicted growing up and going to high school ( except not really so much my high school, as I went to an all-girls Catholic school, so minus the boys and weird clothes). Anyway, the personalities depicted were pretty spot on. And quite frankly, there's a little bit of Regina George in every one of us. I don't care who you are.

Towards the end of the movie, Tina Fey's character has the attention of all the girls in the junior class. They've been called into the auditorium to discuss the burn book. And Fey implores the girls that they have to stop calling each other sluts and whores.

Sure, there's some merit to teaching girls not to call each other sluts and whores. It's rude, insensitive and, at least according to Lifetime Movie Network, will result in countless deaths.

But there's another, dare I say more compelling, reason not to call each other sluts and whores. My friends, this reason is Slander Per Se.

Under the legal doctrine of Slander Per Se, injury to the person's reputation is presumed, without proof of damages, if whatever was said falls into one of four categories. One of those categories, sugars, is the unchasteness of a woman. Another category is loathsome disease.

Yes, it is automatically slander to call a woman a slut (notably, this is not the same for men). It's also automatically slander to say your bestie has chlamydia. You could double it up and say your bestie has chlamydia because she's a whore.

So why shouldn't you call your girlfriends sluts and whores? Well, because they'll sue you. And they'll win.

But certainly no one would sue for that you say. Oh but they would. This is America. And in America, when we're offended, we sue.

Are You As Mature as a Three Year Old?

I'm in my late twenties, I'm 3/4 of the way through law school, I've lived abroad several times, and I've survived some pretty crazy health stuff.  You would think that would make me a mature person.  It didn't. 

I have the same level of maturity as my three year old niece.  She's a very smart, but very typical toddler--she makes a lot of observations with no filter.  Unfortunately, so does her Auntie KK.  So here is what our conversations go like: Niece: You have crazy hair. Me: Well your hair is crazier.  Niece:  You're a bad singer.  Me: YOU'RE A BAD SINGER.  Niece: I don't get to wear dresses, I was in bed and out of bed and in bed and out of bed.  Me: Well I GET to wear a dress because I'm a good girl.  Niece: I put my puzzle together!  Me: I bet I can do it faster than you. 

Like seriously?! Why am I in competition with a toddler?  What is the matter with me?! 

This immature instinct isn't only applicable to my niece.  It's to all kids.  When I see kids running around the Smithsonians, my first instinct isn't go to approach their chaperone and ask them to control their kids.  No my first instinct is to trip them.  I get overly excited when it's the Jeopardy Teen Tournament because I get to be the world's biggest bully to my TV and shout like Adam Sandler in Billy Madison "WRONG!!!" when the kids answer the easy questions wrong.  A little girl was sitting on a plane alone next to me when I was flying home from a trip to Memphis.  She was having trouble opening her peanuts and so I offered to help.  I handed the opened bag back to her and she says, "Thank you.  I got the first one open."  I was mature enough to say, "Those bags are hard to open," but my inner monologue went, "WELL YOU COULDN'T OPEN THIS BAG." 

Seriously, it's pretty bad.  I hope as I get older that more and more of my smart-ass-ness becomes inner monologue otherwise my kids are going to be little a-holes.         

The 13 Types of Facebook Posts

Facebook posts can be categorized into different groups. We're all guilty of some combination of these. Admitting a problem is the first step to recovery. here's how I see them breaking down:

The New New Mom: Radio silence. She's elbow deep in dirty diaper and too tired to even reach for her iPhone.

The Not So New Mom: "OMG look at my amazing/cute/smart child," always accompanied by a picture of said child. I always wonder, what ARE your kids doing while you're on Facebook?

The Bride to Be: "67 days until I marry my best friend!!" this girl has a perpetual countdown calendar going, just to make sure everyone knows JUST how blissed out she is.

The Pet Parent: "fido sleeping!" "fido running" " fido at the park!!". This is a version of the not so new mom, except for people who treat their dogs like children. Dog children are more easily bribed with food than people children.

The WannaBe Politico: "I can't believe [ insert obscure politician here] believes he can actually achieve [insert obscure political issue here].". This person is gunning for a spot on Bloomberg. Clearly, Facebook will rocket them to fame.

The Eeyore: "Ugh [insert not that awful occurrence here]. The universe hates me!". If you just read an Eeyore's posts, you would think NOTHING good ever happens to them.

The Stressed Out Student: "OMG two finals, three papers and a presentation until freedom!" accompanied by a photo of Red Bull and a messy desk. Pretty sure screwing around on Facebook isn't getting any of that work done.

The Jetsetter: "here I am! In front of [insert landmark here]". Every week this person is off to a new place, often "relaxing". To that I say, when do you do laundry? And are you just relaxing from your frequent flights?

The Bandwagon Fan: it's playoffs for something and all of the sudden, this person has become THE BIGGEST FAN EVER. Expect nightly pictures at arenas and devastated posts at a loss.

The Liker: This person doesn't post a lot on their own, but just likes everything you - and everyone else - posts. Quite frankly, I love this person because they make me feel extra special.

The Melodramatic Song Lyric-er: This person has a song lyric to make their every rainy day mood, usually from a band you've never heard of. They'll post about 4 lines, in an effort to convey their deep emotions to the universe.

The Name Dropper: "me with [insert pseudo celebrity here]". This conversation name dropper is not unlike the Facebook name dropper. They want to make sure you know that at one time, they touched pseudo fame.

The Failed Networker: "anyone know a company looking for a [insert job description here]. I have a friend who....". Even though Facebook is a "social network" this does not constitute networking. Put in a little face time, friends.

Sh*t We Didn't Care About This Week

My week in review consists of looking after my eight year old puppy as he recovered from bladder stone surgery, but apparently other things went on in the world this week, so let's take a look! 

Kourtney Kardashian's Baby Shower
JanJan: Wait, Kris had sushi at Kourt's baby shower?  Pretty sure raw fish is a no-no for mamas to be. Clearly, this is a sham pregnancy to make money.

Kiki: How effing greedy are these people?!   This is her second child--you're not supposed to have a shower for your second child.  I get that this one is a girl and she only has boy things but this family just signed a $40 million dollar deal with E!.  Surely that can pay for a few pink onesies! 

Cellphones Allowed on Virgin Atlantic
Kiki: Calm down people.  The truth is if the Founding Fathers had cellphones, surely they would have included the right to text and Facebook from one's iPhone in the Bill of Rights.  We should be thanking Virgin Atlantic for being patriots!

JanJan: This means nothing to me unless calling Roche Salon to see if Chelsea is available for a cut and blow out constitutes an 'exceptional circumstance.'

JP Morgan Loses Billions of Dollars
JanJan: OMG THE MARKET IS RISKY?! WHY DIDN'T SOMEONE TELL ME?!

Kiki: And this is why I keep my money under my mattress.  Oh shoot secret's out...umm...don't rob me, ok?

Facebook IPO
Kiki: I still don't get how a bunch of status updates are worth so much.  Except for mine--that's solid gold comedy there.  I should get a cut of the profits.

JanJan: I totally picked the wrong field.

Have a good weekend sugars!  

The REAL 1%

In a city like DC, dealing with a pedestrians is a given. Everyone, everywhere, is walking somewhere- whether it's to lunch, work, brunch, brinner, the gym, coffee-networking dates or happy hour. And 99% percent of the time, everyone moves along just like they should.

But then there's always that 1%. Yes, my friends. The lollygagging pedestrians. They are the true 1%.

They always pop up among the rest of us and clearly, they have no place there. Take, for example, the exiting the metro in the morning pedestrian. Everyone is hustling booty to get to the coffee shop in time before their morning meeting. But then that 1% pops up, ruining things for the rest of us, acting like they don't have to be bothered by the fact that it's 8:28 am. No, no, they casually stroll to the escalator, blocking the way with their rolling laptop bag (god forbid they CARRY a bag).

Consider also the 1% street pedestrian. This pedestrian idly crosses the crosswalk when the numbers are flashing red and counting down in single digits. He's usually on his cell phone, but don't worry, he's using the headphone/mic to tell his bros he'll be late to happy hour and to save him the hottest skank. Guess what, a-hole, I'm trying to make a right hand turn on red and your man-sachtel is in my way.

So I say down with the 1%! The TRUE 1% that is. No longer should we be saddled with the idle, lazy on Sunday walkers. No longer should 99% if the sidewalk space be laden with slow-movers. Move it or move to Montana.

Ladies, What the Eff Are You Doing In the Restroom?

Sorry girls, I'm about to flip the lid on a secret we've been keeping.  That secret is how freaking messy we leave public bathrooms!  Men basically pee on the floor in their public bathrooms and yet I'm convinced theirs are cleaner than ours.  So girls, what the eff are you doing in the bathroom? 

Why is there pee on the seat?  I get that maybe you don't want to sit down and that's fine, but 1) cover the seat anyway and 2) clean up after yourself!  It's selfish and rude to leave your combination of water, urea, chloride, sodium, potassium creatinine and other ions on the seat for someone else to deal with.  Do you do that at home?  Is your seat at home covered in piss??  Are you not using toilet paper?  You could just get some extra TP and clean the seat.  It's fucking disgusting and needs to stop. 

Why is there toilet paper all over the floor?  Do we still think it's fun to throw it everywhere?  Here's the deal.  The bathroom stall is not someone's front yard and you're not trying to exact revenge or pull a prank on it.  Don't leave paper on the floor. 

Why does the sink look like the area around the tub does after my three year old niece has taken a bath?  We're adults, it's a public place, there is no need to play splashy splashy with our friends.  Keep the water in the sink and if you happen to spill some water um...clean it up!  That's what paper towels are for! 

So let's clean up our act.  Come on ladies, we're better than this.

Why My Brother Is Better Than Your Brother

Today, Sugars, is a great day. Today is my brother's 31st birthday! On this day 31 years ago, my brother began his journey to become the most ornery person in the world.

A word on my brother. He and I were the only children in an Army family. That means you kind of have to be friends, otherwise you'll be left talking only to your Barbies and be that weird kid at the new post that no one wants to hang out with. Fortunately, my brother was pretty cool, so this was a solid deal.

While my parents taught me all the important things in life like, getting an education, balancing a checkbook and hosting the perfect party, my brother taught me all the fun things. Where my parents instilled a rule in me, my brother taught me how to break it- without actually breaking it. While Mom and Dad taught me how to drive a car, my brother taught me how to beat the 'Expected Arrival Time' on GPS (or at that time, the mapquest expected travel time).

It was with my brother that I had my first sip of alcohol and that I went to my first ever concert. My brother's hockey playing inspired my own figure skating (i'm the better skater, in case you were wondering). And I'm pretty sure I learned every curse word from him.

Before you get the idea that we have some kind of weird Brady Brunch relationship, it was also my brother who accidentally kicked out my two front teeth and who pushed me in the pool (in a little tikes car at age 4 and in my clothes at my grad party at age 22). He teases me mercilessly, but don't worry. I always have the upper hand.

So Happy Birthday, Big Bro. You taught me a lot, but I'll always school you.

Props Won't Get You an A

It's a beautiful time of year for law students: end of semester exams are over and thank goodness because the way some law students take the exams is so ridiculous and annoying it's enough to make me want to go crazy in the exam room. 

Let me quickly explain how law school exams work--at least at my school.  In law school, your only exam for the class is at the end of the semester.  So you're tested on 15-ish weeks worth of material.  If the test is open book, you can bring in anything: your outlines, commercial outlines, the book, hornbooks, etc...  Some professors limit the materials you can bring in and some make the tests closed book.  The tests are around 2-3 hours long.  At my school, we are not allowed to use the internet or anything saved on our hard drives. 

I absolutely hate the completely open book exams.  People bring in libraries of material, as though they think they'll have time to look every thing up and they'll find the answer somewhere.  Guess what people--the professor is testing you on what he or she taught you during the semester, not what is on page 245 of the Examples and Explanations book.  It's a test of what you know, not a scavenger hunt.  I don't want to hear you frantically flipping through the books for the answer. 

Because people bring in about seventy thousand books and outlines for the exams, they also bring in ridiculous props.  For example, take a look at this picture my BooBear Joe took during one of his exams.  

The student sitting at this desk was away getting coffee, water and an energy drink.  Because that will help too...

 Someone felt the need to bring in a stand to prop up either a book or an outline during the exam.  Really??  It's an exam!  We don't need props!  I feel like all the lawyers who took their exams by hand and weren't allowed all these extra materials are just laughing at us. 

I'm about to drop some knowledge on you law students.  All the extra books, all the props, all the headphones/earphones/pencils/highlighting in different colors, etc... are not the key to doing well in law school.  That's not going to do the trick.  Here's a hint: do the reading, take notes, and go to class and amazingly enough, you'll have all the info you need for exams.  It's much easier than you think.

Sh*t We Didn't Care About This Week

Hey Sugars!  We hope you had as lovely a week as we did.  Let's get down to business, shall we?  

Tan Mom

JanJan: What a stupid mistake. Everyone knows a six year old ginger child can only take 4 minutes in the ultra light bed.

Kiki: I thought that now the Kentucky Derby was over, ole Rawhide would fade into obscurity, or at least until her tan hide would perhaps be needed again at the Preakness.  

Rihanna Tweets a Picture of Her IV

Kiki: Bitch tweeted a picture of herself doing drugs at Coachella and now Good Morning America does a piece on whether Rihanna needs rest to treat her "exhaustion" after tweeting the picture of the IV?  News Flash George Stephanopoulos: She needs to stop doing drugs! 

JanJan: I've had bigger IV's than that. So what?

Prince Harry Visits D.C.

JanJan:  So THAT's how you get I meet ol'Harry. Make up an award and have your organization give it to him. Well, Harry Dahling, I'd like to give you the Sandman Award. For keeping the demons and ghosties out my dreams.

Kiki: The only way this visit would have been real news is if he had met me, proposed to me and eloped with me this weekend (which is totally how his visit went in my mind).

Bristol Palin Expresses Her Views on Obama's Gay Marriage Stance

Kiki: Listen guys, Bristol knows a lot about the... sanctity..ahem...of....ha...marriage...omg I can't even get thru that sentence without cracking up.  Yes, let's let the teenager who got herself knocked up by Levi Johnston, got engaged and broke up with him twice, be the moral compass of our nation.  That sounds right.  

JanJan: Let's not brush this off so quickly. After all, Bristol knows first hand how inspiring Glee can be for teens. I'm pretty sure Quinn's season 1 unwed teen pregnancy inspired Bristol's own.

Mitt Romney Bullied Kids in Prep School

JanJan: OMG! A 17 YEAR OLD PLAYED A PRANK ON ANOTHER 17YEAR OLD? AND NOW, 40-SOME YEARS LATER ALL HIS NOW-DEMOCRAT FRIENDS (part of the prank themselves) FEEL BAD ABOUT IT? THIS. CHANGES. EVERYTHING.

Kiki: Why is this election being contested by 1960s Barack Obama and Mitt Romney?  Are we living in Quantum Leap?    

Alright...is it Happy Hour yet?? :-) Have a good weekend now Sugars! 

Be. Aware. Of. Your. Surroundings.

When I was a little kid, my parents always always told me to BE AWARE OF MY SURROUNDINGS. After all, I walked to elementary school from my house. And even though you could literally see the school from my kitchen, a lot could happen during that walk. When I went to middle school and high school in the city it was OMG BE SUPER AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS OMG OMG. College 500 miles away? Even more OMG BE AWARE!!!

I imagine that this is similar to what most parents instilled into their children. After all, no one wants their child being snatched or falling into an abandoned well ( a la Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins, Christian Bale era). Yet it seems that once people hit their mid twenties and are commuting to their daily grind, they've all but forgotten to BE AWARE.

Never was this more apparent to me than this morning. After my morning commute on the train (no headphones, just reading a book), I popped into Marvelous Market for a coffee on my way to work. The gentleman next to me at the coffee counter was milk/sugaring his coffee, but with massive, noise canceling headphones on. When he turned to leave, he had the WHOLE MILK hooked onto his headphone cord such that it swung the milk around, spilling it all over my marvelous market (I don't even touch whole milk at the grocery store. Imagine my terror in thinking it might actually come into contact with my skin or clothes)!! This terrible mess could've all been avoided had he just taken his headphones off and BEEN AWARE.

Friends, Romans, Sugars I too like to lose myself in the uplifting beats of One Direction once in awhile. But recognize when you have to BE AWARE.

Things I Don't Get About Airplane Travel

I've been very lucky in my life that I've been able to travel all over the world.  I also frequently fly between DC and the Great State of Ohio to visit my family.  The thing is I hate to fly.  Hate it.  And it's not because I'm scared of airplanes or flying (I do say about 9,000 Hail Mary's during take off but that's the only time I get nervous).  I just hate the other travelers.  I hate them at every stage of flying:

1) At the curb
Drivers turn into morons as they pull up to the curb to unload passengers and suitcases.  They block people in, they almost hit other cars, they almost hit passengers walking by--it is totally unnecessary insanity. 

2) At the Ticket Counter  
Thank God the airlines now let you print out your own boarding pass because back in the day, you used to have to stand in line to get your boarding pass.  I always wondered why the people up at the counter ahead of me were taking so long.  I feel like it never took me more than a minute or two to check in but others would like drape themselves across the counter and have in-depth conversations with the ticket agent.  Save the chat for your therapist.  Now airlines have computer kiosks to do the checking in for you.  I've never seen so many people struggle with a computer.  My nephew Brynn could navigate the computer faster than some of the people who I see pawing at the computer screen like untrained apes. 

3) Security
God help me six pound seven ounce baby Jesus.  I get that there are lots of rules at security, but we all know they exist so how about we plan?  First, let's only bring two items like the rules say.  Let's keep our liquids at the top of our purse or briefcase, so we're not digging through our clothes frantically trying to get the liquids out while annoying the charming, prepared girl standing behind us.  Let's dress appropriately--shoes that slip off easily, no belts, not too many layers.  And let's not hold up the line by saying on the other side of the metal detector/scanner, "Oh, was I supposed to take my liquids/computer out?"  REALLY?!  No, the signs that say you have to apply to everyone else, not you.  Idiot.

4) At the Gate
We all have seats assigned to us.  We're all getting on the plane.  Why oh why are you all in a fight to get on the plane first?  I do not understand the crowd of people who glob around the gate agent waiting for their zone to be called.  Relax, you're getting on the plane.  Grab a scone and a seat.  There isn't a prize for first on board. 

5) On the Plane
It's not very hard to put your luggage in the overhead bin and your one item under the seat in front of you.  The whole process should take roughly fifteen seconds.  Yet some people decide that thing that they have to get out of their luggage is so important it has to come out RIGHT NOW and the other hundred passengers can WAIT.  Asshole, wait until the flight is in air and people aren't trying to get on the plane before you go riffling through your luggage.

Once you're seated, act normally (a running theme of this blog)!  This girl across the aisle from me on my latest flight first of all was huge. If you're too big to fit in a seat, buy two.  (I didn't pay for my whole seat to share 1/3 of it with you.  There, I said it.)  She decided the best place to store her iPod was in her bra.  Just because your chest looks like a shelf, does not make it one.  During the course of the flight she also stored her kindle on her chest.  Then she braced herself against the seat in front of her.  Newsflash: When you grab the seat in front of you, the person sitting in that chair feels it because it moves.  Don't push and pull someone else's seat! 

Finally, recognize when people want to talk to you and when they don't.  Don't force friendship on the person next to you--it scares them. 

Until I am rich enough to fly in my private plane, I still have to fly with all the crazies, so do better people please, for my sake.  Smooches.