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.