my little brother has had the same best friend since he was in pre-school.
they went to the same elementary school, the same middle school and the same high school. naturally, they're at the same university in philadelphia, pa.
yesterday, robby turned 20, and as a bona fide 20-something, this post is dedicated to him. welcome to the world of twenty-somethings, kiddo. it sucks.
robby has been part of our family since he was a kid; but robby has never been a kid.
once, when he was 4 or 5, we were watching martha stewart cook something on tv, when robby noted that "the quality of the coconuts is particularly good this year." (we have never let him live that one down.) he knows about botany and can talk at length about horticulture and saltwater aquariums -- and has been able to since he learned how to speak. robby is also an expert on mangos, mangroves and eggplants.
he used to come over to our house and raid the pantry. as one of the family, he would help himself to whatever looked interesting, and he would literally eat anything that had sugar in it. since no one in my family drinks a lot of soda, we keep them around for guests in a refrigerator in the garage -- the "outside fridge." after finishing off what usually amounted to some cookies, chips, candy and crackers, robby would help himself to a soda. but our house etiquette states that if you're going to get yourself a soda, you have to ask if anyone else wants one. inevitably, robby would never ask.
around the time robby and my brother hit 13, my mom put chimes on the pantry doors so she could at least monitor his raiding habits.
it didn't stop him.
... and we still have the chimes on the handle.
robby is also a thespian, and as such, sings and dances. and when my sister and i beg, he will sometimes perform "sppppppanish rose" from his 9th grade lead role in "bye-bye birdy." since robby was into drama, my brother also found his way into the theater; while robby tapped in the spotlight, my brother ran the lights and sound from the tech-booth filled with lots of cool buttons and switches. that about sums up their personalities.
at a recent inter-family function, robby poured himself a glass of wine, stuck his nose in it, inhaled deeply, and then held the glass up to the light, swirled the wine around, and pretended to analyze the color. the piece that makes this story funny is that robby's mom is very strict about keeping him away from all alcohol. she nearly had a heart attack; my mom didn't bat an eyelash. after some comment about the fruitiness, acidity and quality of grapes, my sister and i couldn't control ourselves. frankly, robby wouldn't know merlot from welch's grape juice.
robby's been in a band. he's very into his hair. he's always got the latest fashions. (he wears the collar up on his polo shirts.) he's the kid who walks around frat parties in college with a glass of wine (might be grape juice?) because he won't drink beer.
by no stretch of the imagination, robby is "that guy."
but we love him despite his quirks; we love him because of his quirks. and he watches out for our real little brother ... when our real little brother isn't watching out for him.
today, when he's home visiting from college, robby still raids the pantry and beelines for a soda in the outside fridge. except now, as he makes his way to the garage, his voice trails off "i'm gonna get a soda. anyone else want one?"
at least we raised him right.
happy birthday kid.
today's blog has been cancelled due to self-doubt and guilt.
do check back tomorrow.
that is all.
please drive thru.
9:00am: alarm went off
9:30: considered getting out of bed
10:00: feet touched the floor for the first time
11:00-2:00: headed to starbucks to work on pending book, flirted with sb manager, bantered with downstairs-amy for a couple hours over instant messenger
2:00: returned home
2:25: went to the pool
2:30: layed out exactly two beach towels over pool chair facing south-southwest. pumped up ipod. begin tanning regimen laying on back
3:15: dip in pool. flipped to stomach
4:00: dip in pool. flipped to back
4:20: flipped to stomach
4:40ish: went inside.
the rest of the day was just details. my tanning regimen was the pillar around which everything else was scheduled. afterall, if i'm applying to grad school as hispanic than at least i can boast the complexion to make it believable.
when i began my new job, frankly, working 9-5 really screwed up my regimen. slowly throughout the months of july and august, my gorgeous tan began to fade. bikini lines were still present to the untrained eye, but those who saw my golden complexion at its height were disappointed by my increasing office-space coloring.
with cheeks' wedding approaching, i was determined to spend the weekend poolside in order to appear next weekend not only skinnier but tannier.
it poured on friday.
the sun was no where to be seen on saturday.
uvs were MIA on sunday too.
so much for planning ahead.
stage left; enter the life size easy bake oven.
i have never been to a tanning place before, but as i was lying in a coffin shaped uv generator for 9.5 minutes yesterday, i realized that fake-bake tanning was a the ultimate dream for a type A personality: being able to do something that normally takes 4-5 hours in just 10 minutes.
can you imagine if the equivalent existed for grad school applications, the professional workday, studying for an exam, or say ... a thanksgiving turkey?
moreover, whoever came up with the concept of getting people to pay for something (tanning) that they can get for free (the sun) is a genius. it's equal to the respect i have for the people who came up with the ideas for bottled water and bagged ice. you can get both for free, and yet people will pay $4 for a dasani at a baseball game. fucking brilliant.
but, do not confuse my appeal towards these efficiency/business savvy concepts for an endorsement of fake baking. tanning is preposterous. not only is the intense uv exposure bad for you, but also it's highly addicting.
i have another appointment on wednesday.
but between you, me and the unlimited public who has access to my blog, my appointment on wednesday has less to do with my instant addiction to tanning beds as it has to do with a slight hiccup from my first easy-bake experience.
when i made the decision to tan, i asked my brother's girlfriend if she had any words of advice for a first timer (weird to ask advice about my first time from my lil' bro's girlfriend. anyhow...).
she told me that, if nothing else, to put the towel under my butt so that it didn't burn.
so i did.
now i have a nice bronze glow ... and a huge white square on my ass. hence the next appointment - an attempt to hide the slight misfortune of my first tanning experience. only debbie could mess up tanning. give her a hard crossword puzzle or a difficult lsat logic game; no problem. tell her to lie somewhere for 10 minutes and she screws it up.
at least i didn't have a panic attack like my older sister.
so i finally took the last grad school admission test i needed to complete before applying to the however many dozen who-the-hell-am-i-kidding schools on my list. (hence the short blog post yesterday; my nerves procluded me from doing anything overly creative or thought intensive). i've been studying for the gmats since february, so yesterday should have ended in relief and celebration ... in theory.
i broke the score i set out to beat.
and i cried anyway.
i should have scored higher. i know i could have.
for the people who have witnessed me in an academic environment, this sort of self-loathing doubt should come as no surprise. somehow, i always feel like i wind up lost in that space between doing-fine and doing-exceptional. i always just do ... "well." it's kind of like bad sex. it's ... good; i was just hoping for something ... more.
so i find myself in what my friends refer to as my snobbish academic conundrum. by any normal standards, i know i kicked ass. and yet, i don't feel like i did the best i could have. i should be happy, but something in my gut tells me that i didn't live up to expectations. here's the part where my friends roll their eyes and tell me to shut up.
the boyfriend pointed out that the expectations i always fall short of are my own unrealistic ones. i'm not unrealistic; i'm "lofty."
hi, my name is debbie. hi debbie.
and i'm an overachiever.
i have been an overachiever since i was in elementary school. i begged my first-grade teacher to let me retake a spelling test on which i misspelled "change" (i forgot the g), because it broke my year-long perfect spelling test record. i remember the exact word because ms. binder tried to make me feel better by saying "oh geeeeee, it's not big deal to forget a g sometimes." insert joke here about the one word i misspelled being the word "change."
if i admit to expecting too much, do i get to park in the expectant parking spots at shopping malls?
i suppose i could take the test again.
and i'll probably still apply to harvard. but like i said, i don't want to go there, even if they screwed up and accidentally accepted me. boston winters are too cold for me anyway.
From: charliemiraglia@xxxxxxx.com
Date: August 16, 2005 7:38pm
Subject: HI
Just a little message to say high and see what has been going on. We still need to get together in the city one night for dinner. We should find out if there is a good night for Tomas & Delia. John should be in from Florida the second week of September and Kevin will be back from Ireland too.Talk to you soon.
Charlie
PS: When are going to go to the beach?
---------------------------------------
To: Debbie Rosenbaum
From: charliemiraglia@xxxxxxx.com
Date: August 20, 2005 2:02pm
Subject: beach?
Deb;
I think that I am going to try fir the beach next Saturday. Let me know if you and Leslie are interested.
Charlie
---------------------------------------
To: charliemiraglia@xxxxxxx.com
From: Debbie Rosenbaum
Date: August 25, 2005 9:05am
Subject: RE: beach?
dear charlie,
i don't know quite how to tell you this, but our romance is over. i think i first knew it when you asked us at the bbq if we minded our chicken "a little on the rare side." i'm sorry if when i told you i wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, i ever gave you the impression that i really meant it. i'm holding onto your ant colony though, as a memento of that weird rash you have on your inner thigh, but returning your e-mail to let you know that you have the wrong deb.
we actually don't know each other.
good luck in finding the deb you seek ... and with the rash.
-debbie r.-
it's 9:30am. i'm completely alone in the office. and i have come to a conclusion.
august should be a national holiday.
the executive director of my job never takes a day off. literally. she's here the friday after thanksgiving and christmas eve day too (i heard a rumor that she's jewish, but i have yet to confirm that. she didn't give me the secret i-am-jew-too handshake when we met. for the non-jewish readers, i'm just kidding; no secret handshake exists ... that i know of). she even works on national holidays, albeit, from home.
and still, she takes off the entire month of august.
congress isn't in session. the media is dead. the government is essentially shut down. retail has a revenue drop. most bankers and lawyers take off.
the president of the united states takes off the month of august.
(okay. maybe that's not a good example. he's taken off more vacation time than any other president in recent history -- or ever?)
nevertheless.
extending daylight-savings time was a good first move. but let's get serious here.
august sucks. it's hot. it's boring. it's the last month that pools are open in the north (a phenomenon that is new to this miami native). it wasn't even a month at all until some ego-maniac augustus named it after himself.
granted, if i had been a roman emperor, you can bet that christmas would fall in debemcer.
why should we lock ourselves up in offices and classrooms pretending to do work/homework when really, most of us aren't doing anything because the movers and shakers of this country are off? well, i don't know that "most" of us aren't doing anything; i just know that i haven't done any real work since last thursday.
conclusion:
i propose that august be taken off by the entire country in order to travel, enjoy the last weeks of summer, and rest up for the vigorous months ahead.
evidence:
august 2nd is "national pretty is as pretty does day"
august 18th is "bad poetry day"
august 22th is "national punctuation day"
august 26th is "cherry popsicle day" and "toilet paper day"
august 29th is "lemon juice day"
august 31st is "love ligitigating lawyers day"
... commmmmmon. this is the best we can do? don't get me wrong: no need to get rid of august all together. but why the hell am i working on the zoroastrian new year (august 20th)?
i mean, g-d said we could rest on the seventh day each week. what's the harm in resting the 8th month of each year too?
the coolest thing about dc isn't the free museums. or the monuments. or the impeccably cut grass around downtown. or the clean metro. or the interns both in and out of the oval office. or the motorcades carrying important dignitaries (although those are a close second).
the coolest thing about dc might be that it might be the only true cross-regional city that twenty-somethings flock to after college.
(new york is a close second, but i think dc wins on this one).
my proposal, albeit with the help of a few accessory collaborators, is that every region in the u.s. has a big city that many bright-eyed and eager graduates move to upon entering the "real world," hoping to find fame, fortune and/or a fuc... fiancé.
the west has los angeles. the midwest has chicago. the south has dallas. the southeast has hotlanta. the northeast has new york city.
but the amazing thing about dc is that graduates from everywhere find their way here ... only to work for very little money and pay (or have their parents pay) for over-inflated apartments. but hey, who doesn't love a city where the biggest monument is a large phallic symbol?
after taking a practice gmat last night, i met up with a handful of recent graduates who all just recently began their dc journeys. upon discussing my "dc-as-a-cross-regional-city" concept, we went around the table and realized that all 11 of us were from completely different u.s. cities. it was a proud moment for my theory ... and an even better advertisement for wash u since we were all recent alumni. because if they are going to graduate 11 not-so-diverse-white-jewish kids who meet up in dc, at the very least, they can all be from different states, right?
dc has politics. dc has nonprofits. dc has big corporations. dc has lots of sex scandals and twenty-somethings willing to do anything to get ahead. although the latter two are not mutually exclusive.
dc also has attitude. whereas my license plate has two dinky oranges and promotes "the sunshine state," dc license plates say "taxation without representation" -- a serious protest by residents who feel slighted by the lack of full representation in the u.s. congress. see what happens when you piss of the dmv?
dc not only attracts twenty-somethings from around the country, but it also produces some of the top news makers. george who?
the wonkette, the washingtonienne, the bush twins, monica lewinsky. all fine young ladies just trying to get a piece ... of the dc fame, that is.
...i want a piece too. who does a girl have to sleep with around here to get a book published?
much has already been written about how humans show affection. there's the obvious gestures: kissing, smiles, hugging, touching, third base, etc. but what has struck me is how interactions and signs of affection differ between cultures and gender.
growing up in miami, the influence of hispanic culture has made it customary to greet someone with a mutual kiss on the cheek, whether meeting for first time or greeting a long lost friend. latinos are also an extremely tactile bunch: touching the other person on the shoulder, arm, hip ... or butt is a gesture of casual conversation. the gestures aren't signs of romantic affection; they're just meant to say, "hombre, you listening to me?"
the fact that these gestures are not indicative of romantic feelings apparently ends when you leave miami and was a culture shock for me when i hit the midwest for college. in st. louis, i learned that the caucasian social norm for meeting someone is a phenomenon that folklore history says was the easiest and most recognizable way to show someone that the other person wasn't holding a weapon. nope, not the "let me grab your genitals" check.
the handshake.
but no need to split hairs about wording.
freshman year of college, it took me quite some time to break the kiss-and-greet ways of my upbringing. i returned home the following summer, regressing back into the corrupt kiss-and-greet. the following fall semester is when the culture discrepancy became most apparent to me. buying books for my sophomore classes, i ran into a guy from my freshman english composition class. he waved and came over to say hello. i greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and asked how his summer was. end of scene.
i thought nothing of the brief interaction, until he called the next day. and the next. i was ... washing my hair... so my roommate took a message, and i naturally never returned the phone call. ben called nearly every day until my roommate answered the phone with: she has a boyfriend.
he never called back.
i never meant to lead him on. (that just happens naturally.) but i am extremely cognizant of the habit to this day: the kiss-and-greet isn't understood as platonic by the vast majority of america -- for the rest of this country, cheek kissing means "i want to get in your pants." in miami, it only means that when you slip the other person some tongue.
so i've been thinking about this phenomenon a lot recently, when it occurred to me last night while watching hbo that affection isn't just a consequence of culture; it's also a result of gender. almost as vast as the terms "you're fired" or "show me the money," entourage, hbo's new "sex and the city," has coined a new phrase.
"hug it out."
mark my word: "hug it out" will become, if it hasn't already, one of the taglines of the twenty-something generation for the next few years.
except that "hug it out" is far more applicable than any of its other predecessors. used to express happiness, anger, gratitude, frustration, salutations or farewells depending on situation and tone, "hug it out" is all encompassing.
efficiency, friends. a hallmark of twenty-somethings.
except here's my gripe: "hug it out" doesn't really work between females. it's a male reconciliation affection thing. when girls argue, they yell at each other, pull hair, hold grudges, and ultimately want to talk about it (and in an occasional fantasy, continue with a pillow fight or jello). guys on the other hand, grunt, sweep it under the rug, and slap each others' backs.
guys know how to "hug it out." girls want to "talk it out." blech.
so the "man hug" is a compromise between the i-like-you-more-than-just-shaking-your-hand and the cultural disapproval for males to show affection towards one another. but the one thing that guys do have and girls don't, besides the obvious, is the handshake.
fortunately for me, being social raised by a pack of wolves ... i mean guys ... they took it upon themselves to teach me how to shake someone's hand appropriately. none of that limp, sweaty, lack of confidence handshake that you get from most girls.
grab the hand firmly. shake with conviction. never squeeze harder than your recipient, but always give him/her the aura of assurance. close in on the elbow with the left hand if appropriate.
this gripping has proved valuable in many facets of my social life.
too bad no one has yet coined the term "shake it out" for girls. it would make the non-hispanic meet-and-greet so much less awkward.
... some of their boyfriends might benefit too.
erica, my older sister came out of the womb knowing she was going to be a doctor, and she has never veered from that direction. "the proud child" -- the child the parents are most proud of -- was serious about her studies, serious about her friends, and serious about every decision she has made between 1st grade and today. for instance, to this day she's serious about not wearing red on test days because she failed a spelling test in kindergarten wearing a red shirt.
erica did a funny thing, though, when she hit her second year of medical school: she found the rebelliousness she lacked during her adolescence. she started aggressively highlighting her hair, she got her bellybutton pierced, and she began dating a kid quite a few years her minor who drank, smoked, gambled, didn't finish college, and was recently indicted for a dui. at the age of 28, she has since grown out of the phase -- and is dating a nice jewish boy too. although she did regress once when she called me from the chair of a tattoo parlor to make sure the jewish cemetery would overlook the half-inch pink heart she was getting engraved into her hip. still, erica remains the "pride" of the children -- carrying on the only profession that is considered acceptable to the rosenbaums.
she's also the card carrier of "most tiffany's jewelry," "most likely to worry," "most anxious," "biggest collector of crap" and "most high maintenance."
i was labeled "the smart child," after doing reasonably well on my sat's, breezing through high school taking time to study only when friends required me to help them pass a test, and graduating cum laude with membership to mu alpha theta and national honor society.
i was pleased with my title, writing my sister's personal statement to get into medical school (although i still can't write one for myself) and proving to her that there was really only one spelling of "second." being "second" in line, not "secound," was the same as the "second" in a minute ... although she's still convinced otherwise.
i proudly carried the title until my younger brother, josh, beat my sat score and graduated with more academic trophies and certificates than the handful i had accumulated. stripping me of my title, my brother was also the only one to go "ivy league" and although he has fought to maintain "the stupid child" label, he knows he's stuck as "the smart child." but he can keep "messiest chef," "weirdest hobbies," and "least likely of all the rosenbaum children to watch a football game."
[by the way, that's the real reason i'm going to business school and law school. a dual degree is the only way to recapture "the smart child" title.]
somewhere along the way, i think have been given "we-know-she's-going-to-succeed-we-just-have-no-idea-how," "she-just-graduated-phi-beat-kappa-suma-cum-laude-from-a-top-10-university-and-will-go-back-to-grad-school-in-a-year-so-we-have-really-no-idea-what-work-she's-doing-now-because-we-can't-remember-what-she-told-us," and "most-willing-to-put-up-with-family-bullshit." i'm also the "higher authority of jewish law" in my family. just because i don't eat pork or shellfish, they're convinced that i have g-d on speed dial. faulty logic.
to be honest, the only superlatives i ever earned outside my family were in youth group when i was donned "biggest flirt" and "biggest pervert" -- i'm not sure the two are mutually exclusive.
... at the very least, in my family, i'll always be "the favorite child."
either way.
spi and i met first semester freshman year of college. my first memory of spi actually involves gabe, which i suppose isn't much of a surprise.
i was sitting around a table the first week in st. louis eating dinner with a dozen people, 5 of whom who would ultimately become my college posse. gabe decided to play "the animal game," assigning each person at the table an animal that he/she looked like. could there be a worse nightmare for a college freshman who was looking to fit in and feel cool? after telling aviva that she looked like droopy the dog, jamie that she looked like snoopy the dog, spi that he looked like a mouse, and ilana, an apparent gecko, to go lick her eye, i cringed.
i never got assigned an animal that night, but i did go back to my dorm room and cry. a lot.
that night was also the first time i watched spi stumble around drunk and loud though his freshman dorm hallways, ultimately throwing up after hooking up with some girl on the floor. like i said, that was the first time i saw spi stumble around drunk and loud; he's has a few repeat performances since.
going home for thanksgiving break that year, spi was sitting comfortably on the plane when realized he left his cell phone/palm pilot back at airport security. upon running up the jet-way, he tripped and broke his ankle.
spi didn't make that flight. but he did make it to the hospital.
i took spi to my sorority formal that spring. after the dancing was done, we were required to stay in the hotel where the formal was held. even though we were sharing a room with another friend couple, spi refused to sleep in the same bed as me, afraid his long distance girlfriend would get mad. i told him to shut up and get in; he called her at 2am to make sure it was okay. it was.
afterall, that was the long distance girlfriend for whom i spent hours making their one year anniversary present.
one evening in october sophomore year, i had had a little too much to drink and found myself convulsing on the floor of his room in his fraternity house. i told him to take my pulse, afraid i was having a seizure. he put his hand on my wrist and told me i was fine. the next morning, when i asked him how fast my pulse was the previous evening, he told me he didn't know how to take a pulse.
i've had short term memory problems since that night.
spi and i only took a few classes together. the competition between us was too much for either of us to handle. our grades tied exactly in both intro to psychology and abnormal psychology. i'm pretty sure i beat him in psychology of behavior. but the professor liked him more. guess it's a wash.
[update 10:20pm: actual conversation between Spi and this professor]
Spi: "Professor, are you expecting us to write more than usual on the final?"
Professor Green: "Aaron, I've known you for the last few months and have come to expect very little from you."
and despite the fact that i hate my birthday and choose to never celebrate it, spi is also the only person to coordinate a surprise birthday scavenger hunt at midnight that ended in a surprise party with all my friends. i hated him for it.
but one morning senior year, i woke up to find my car had been broken into. glass was everywhere, the inside had been ransacked and stuff had been stolen. it was a sunday at 8:30am. i was really upset. i called the first person i could think of. all i had to say was, "i need you." he didn't ask why. he didn't need to. he knew something was wrong.
spi was there in less than 4 minutes.
and that's why he's one of my best friends.
happy birthday, punk.
"Like"
(c) 2004 Mike McGee (www.MikeMcGee.net)
I like you the way I like my wonton packed full of shrimp
Like too much syrup on my pancakes (and in my beard)
Like Mr. Furly enjoyed eavesdropping through kitchen doors
Like blue whales like to say, "Hrrrreeeeeewhuuuuuuhhhwwoooaaauuuhh."
I like you a whole bunch of a lot
You're a pocket full of awesome
I like you not unlike Aaron Neville likes his mole
Like Texans like Texas
Like fat kids like cake
Like two likes three and four likes six (five has issues)
Like tuna sandwiches like teeth
Like cherry flavored Slurpees like to wash down convenience store nachos
Like La-Z-Boys like Sunday afternoon asses
I like you whole bunch of a lot and a little bit more
You're a bottomless basket of extra crispy French fries covered in awesome sauce
I like you similar to the way pirates and frat boys like booty
Like newlyweds like Holiday Inns
Like bohemians, yuppies and Japanese like sushi
Like David Copperfield likes performing grand scale, yet, lame-assfeats of illusion
Like the U.S. Government likes performing grand scale, yet, lame-assfeats of illusion
Like testicles and homeboys like to hang
Like homeless people and breakdancers like cardboard
Like Americans like ranch dressing
Like Muppets like fisting
I like you a whole bunch of a lot a whole lot more times infinity
Maybe that's starting to dip into equation of love
Nevertheless, I got a thing for you like magnets got it for refrigerators
I'm stuck on you and I like it
I like you an official metric fuckload
I think you're a body full of soul and I hope you like me back
Even if it's like dust likes furniture, at least you're all over me
I'm making a "pledge" because I guess I'm tired of meeting people
who define themselves by what they don't like
I just don't like that
However, I do like holding you
The way your pillow holds your head when you sleep
The way gay, lesbian, transgender, transsexual, Irish and Mexican people hold parades
The way PBS holds fundraisers
The way the Earth holds the moon and the sun holds the Earth and how they'll constantly spin around each other forever…and even though thatmetaphor doesn't really make sense with regard to this poem becausethat would imply that there were three of us
(which would also be awesome!)
You get the idea
In my book you rock, and I like rocks
and just because I spent an hour
or so writing this down doesn't mean you have to like me back,
but dammit,
I would really like that
bad news: ... narrowed the list by two and then added one.
good news: i thought of a topic on which to write my law school personal statement.
bad news: ... my college advisor told me it was the worst idea ever.
good news: stetson university of deland, fl has a great jd/mba program and a thriving population.
bad news: ... the thriving population includes large numbers of the ku klux klan.
good news: i've been receiving some great feedback from people who seem to be getting a kick out of this blog.
bad news: ... i got chewed out today by some friends who hate it.
good news: i was super productive at work today and sent out all the e-mails that i've been putting off.
bad news: ... just found out that the e-mail server is down and has been since yesterday.
good news: i decided to wear a really cute white skirt today.
bad news/good news (?): ... it's pouring outside.
good news: dcist.com just rated tom tom (a bar in dc where eric, the boyfriend, and i "hung out" in for the first time) as the best pick-up spot, "there are a lot of things you can pick-up at tom tom."
bad news: ... it also wrote, "we're not sure a lasting relationship is one of them."
good news: i got my new victoria's secret catalogue in the mail yesterday.
bad news: ... i got my credit card bill too.
good news: i was just offered a raise for teaching LSAT class.
bad news: ... only if i'm willing to teach class 4 nights a week and maybe take private instruction students too.
bad news: i'm working full time and have a part time job.
worse news: ... and taking the GMATs.
worser news: ... and applying to 14 law schools.
worserer news: ... and 14 business schools.
worst news: ... and all the applications are due soon.
whoever said that being twenty-something is the best time in your life was LYING.
... quickly flying somewhere (mostly home) for the weekend to escape dc and take care of business ... whatever business that might be.
a few different forces pulled me to new york this weekend: i have a bunch of good friends living there (some living more extravagantly than others). a friend got engaged (okay, well that was a surprise, but i was happy to celebrate). i wanted to feel out the city (prospective student at large). but really, i was having the biggest yen for a good corned beef sandwich.
i ate the entire thing; mission accomplished.
it amazes me when i think about the various and distinct stages of life at which my twenty-something friends are. some have been working for years; others are still in school and have never worked a day. some are ready to get married; others are avoiding serious relationships at all costs. some can't wait for the sun to go down and the partying to begin; others are like 55 year-olds in 20-something bodies. some live without worrying about how much dinner costs; others count every penny. and somehow, i still relate to most of them, albeit in very different ways.
warning: there is an outbreak of the marriage plague.
advisory: please stand clear of the moving walkway. keep arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times. take precautions as necessary. you could be next.
friends getting married in the next twelve months counter: 006
the twenty-something experience is dynamic because as we're all on different platforms, it's hard to know where any of us stand. or sit. or lounge. the year we graduated and/or our age really don't matter anymore: we can all drink. we can all vote. although only some of us can rent cars. c'est la vie.
this weekend also reminded me that certain friends are like riding a bike. no matter how long you don't do them for, it's easy to get back on. sans the "doing," for spi and me anyway, the ridiculousness picked up right where we left off a year ago. he starts law school today. beware columbia university: you just commenced a marathon all-nighter student.
how many law students does it take to change a lightbulb?
two. one to change it and announce "when i'm around the rulebook gets defenestrated!" and the other to complain about the hippopotomonstroses end of his friend's last remark.
how many spi's does it take to change a lightbulb?
one. don't worry about him; he'll do it all by himself the night before it's due.
someone else, on the other hand, could not wait to get rid of me. my friendship with he-who-wishes-to-never-be-named-on-this-blog is kind of like hockey: when we're apart, we miss each other; but when we're together, it's really not that good anyway. after being at each other's throats by sunday, some divine force thought it would be funny if my flight got cancelled, and i had to spend another night in the city that never sleeps. with a 6am flight, i sure as hell didn't sleep.
and by the way, fuck delta airlines.
some of us do it at our desks at work.
some of us do it riding public transportation.
some of us do it in the car.
i, personally, do it best when i'm in the shower.
i'm referring, of course, to the act of thinking.
last week, brian j. told me that for him, all the trials and tribulations of being twenty-something stare him in the face as he lies/lays down at night to fall asleep. i have been putting off writing about the i-can't-fall-asleep-because-i'm-thinking-about-a-million-other-things-that-are-screwing-up-my-life syndrome because, frankly, it's not funny. also, i trained myself in college to fall asleep without letting myself get worked up with the shit i didn't get done that day (i'm also not a night person, but for that matter, i'm not a morning person either. i'm a sleeping person). for me, those thoughts attack me when i'm at my most vulnerable -- naked.
you know how your singing voice sounds better in the shower? maybe it's the steam that clears my head or maybe it's the funky herbal scent from the conditioner i've been using since i was 12, but for me, my thoughts sound better in the shower too. i've prepared for in-class presentations in the shower. i've had entire fights with friends in the shower (sans the friend in foe). i've written speeches in the shower. i've studied for tests in the shower. occasionally, i'll come up with solutions to world peace in the shower too. (the law school personal statement still eludes me; more shower time scheduled).
but my biggest fears face me in the shower too: what if i never feel ready to get married? what if i don't get into any law schools or business schools? what if i don't make enough money? what if i'm not smart enough or skinny enough? what if i fart in LSAT class in front of my students? what if i drop the ball at work? what if i don't score high enough on the gmat? what if i never find a job that i love?
i don't care what they say about how hard it is to be a teenager. sure, there's acne, embarrassing situations and bad sexual encounters of the third base. but you don't have to worry about where you're going to live (with parental units), whether the bills are paid or not (they are), or what you're going to have for dinner (take out on the table at 7:15). and societal norms have the next stage of your life already planned out: either you're going to be a freshman in college, you're going to do some interim program, or you're going to work.
but being a teenager is easy compared to being 20-something. we have to figure out what we're going to do with the rest of ours lives, who we're going to spend the rest of our lives with and how we're going to get there. nevermind finding a place to live, paying the bills, foraging for food and occasionally entertaining ourselves too.
brian wrote, "and its not that we lay there thinking about how we're gonna put our kids through college or fund our retirement. instead it's thoughts of relationships, questions of what's next, job stresses, family conflicts, and problems that may never come to be but we worry about anyway...i'm not sure what you see each night, but then again, that's why you're the writer and i'm just a kid who rambles."
nope brian, we're all just rambling.
... some of the supercilious ones just feel the need to ramble on a blog.
i have finally come to a conclusion:
no one has any fucking clue what they're talking about.
(gmat sentence correction: no one has any fucking clue what HE/SHE is talking about.)
well maybe that's not completely true, but everyone thinks they know what schools are "looking for" -- and yet everyone says something completely different.
"you have to talk about law school."
"writing about law school is a mistake. write about anything personal and meaningful; they just want to see who you are as a person."
"write about something that defines you -- like your all your jewish involvement crap."
"under absolutely no circumstance should you talk about jewish stuff in your personal statement. you never know who's reading your application -- don't underestimate anti-semitism."
"business schools aren't looking for do-gooders."
"beef up your non-profit experience. business schools will love it; it'll make you unique."
and my personal favorite:
"pursuing a dual law and business degree is the best move of your life."
"doing a jd/mba is the second biggest mistake of your life.”
the thing about law school and business school applications is that they're asking me to be much more self-reflective than i'm comfortable with. so, in a time of emergency, mass confusion, hysteria, and desperation, i did what debbie does best: i starting making a list.
here's what i've learned so far:
i'm dynamic. i'm an academic. i'm a leader. i'm an overachiever. i like abnormal psychology. i like business management. i like organizational behavior. i like legal issues. i like money. i like the non-profit world. i like solving social justice issues. i like jewish organizations. i like to teach. i like to be creative. i like to write. i like to ask a lot of questions. i like to be in control. i like blow jobs too.
it's not that i'm inconsistent; it's just that i have a lot of ... layers. but i have no idea how to tell schools that i have a lot of interests and didn't come out of the womb knowing what i want to do for the rest of my life and thus have only done things that involve law/business since i was 2.
i've wanted to be a judge. i've wanted to be a doctor. i've wanted to be a teacher. i've wanted to be a CEO. i've want to be a database designer. i've wanted to be secretary of state. i've wanted to be a journalist. i've wanted to be the mayor of pinecrest (i still do). i've wanted to be a psychology professor. i've wanted to be the next dr. ruth. i've never really wanted to be a nuclear physicist or prostitute, much to the relief of my parents.
i think my flexibility and adaptability is what makes me interesting and capable of being successful at more than one thing "for the rest of my life." damnit, all i want is the education and lots of letters after my name:
The Honorable Dr. debbie rosenschmutzsteinberg, j.d./m.b.a./m.p.a./m.p.p/m.d./ph.d/g.c.
(has a nice ring to it, no?)
i've got direction -- i know i have to keep moving forward. i just don't know which way forward is.
your reply [to my previous email] was faster than ... well faster than something really fast. use your imagination. now i can see how you have time to have a blog ... also dont tease me about my hobbies i don't tease you about being an asshole. will be back in DC next thursday-ish. -- JI
(someone still hasn't forgiven me for "enlisting" -- if you will -- both his senior year roomates over him. oops, wrong josh. sorry darling, second chance?)
e-mail #2 from 8.10.05 at 3:27pm
dear debbie,
i just want you to know that i get really upset when you dont update your blog.
there, i've said it.
luv, ruthie
(ruthie and i interned together in dc 3 summers ago. our friendship was solidified by ... a mutual enemy -- hey, i told you i don't make female friends easily. there was this one stuck up political operative who thought he was way cooler than he actually is. feeling like he needed a formal introduction whenever he spoke, a female intern, one from his cadre of 25, introduced him as "the man who, in his office, magic is made!" ::coughigivehimblowjobscough:: ruthie and i returned to our respective internships and formed "the ministry of magic" - a partnership dedicated solely to making fun of this guy. let that be a lesson to all of you; i have no problem establishing an entire organization dedicated to laughing at your expense.)
... one last note. if you want me to blog more, then help me quit my job, i mean, email me with your twenty-something experience. see note about dedication to humor at someone else's expense ...
if you can figure out how to apply to law school, then i think you should automatically be given a degree.
this past weekend, i began to compile my list of schools-i-can't-get-into, and i am for the first time in years, completely overwhelmed to the point of immobility. (hence the lack of blogging.)
for those of you who were once privy to my anal retentiveness, you'll appreciate that instead of working on applications, i bought a notebook and designated exactly 5 pages for each school i'm planning on applying to. each school is then marked by a post-it note tab that is color-coded by "low reach school," "mid-reach school," and "who-the-fuck-am-i-kidding? school." i then printed out each school's application process for its jd/mba program and highlighted the important details. then i took notes on all application deadlines, number of letters of recommendation accepted, accepted length for personal statement, and contact information in case i have questions.
when i had finished that, i decided that i would just whip out a personal statement while i was at it.
i then proceeded to have a meltdown.
law schools want to hear what i plan to do with a jd, but in future projections, i have no ambition to actually practice law. business schools want to hear what i plan to do with an mba, and although i'm imbued with a sense of entrepreneurship (probably a mix of my father's genes and the 5+ years of my ex-boyfriend's rants), i can't predict how i'm going to get my fingers into business.
plan b. write about what i want to do with my life. as per evidence of this blog, i have no fucking clue.
plan c. write about what i've done and how that has helped me decide to pursue these degrees. how the hell am i going to convince law schools and business schools to accept me into the most ball-busting program that produces the biggest corporate ball-busters when all i've done my whole life has been in the feel-good non-profit world? i can't tell them that i want a prestigious dual degree that produces corporate counsels and CEOs so i can go plan some israel programs for some non-profit organization.
plan d. write about significant experiences that have shaped my identity and why i'm unique. i'm a white, jewish (hispanic) girl. i grew up in an affluent neighborhood. i attended a private day school, a private middle school, a private high school, and a private college. growing up, my concept of struggle was how i was going to get to three bar mitzvahs on the same night. my sense of poverty and world hunger came from doing projects once a year on my synagogues "mitzvah day" (for the non-jews, that's a day when the synagogue sets up a bunch of social justice projects for their congregants to attend ... if they feel like it). i know i'm a kick-ass student who would love the 4 years of education boot camp, and i know i'm a good person, but given my experiences, no one would believe me.
plan e. make up some bullshit. learn the "grad school acceptance" prayer.
and they don't stick around too long when i do.
maybe it's because i tire quickly of pettiness and cattiness, or maybe it's because the smell of competing estrogen rubs me the wrong way. all i know is that i can count the truly good female friends i've made in this life on one hand.
as a side note while we're discussing females ... just for the record gentlemen: it's not you. it's us. we're all a little crazy (albeit, some of us less than others). and we absolutely expect you to read our minds. by the way, the correct answer to "does this make me look fat?" is "no sweetheart. you look more beautiful in that than i've ever seen you look before." practice it.
anyway. despite my best intentions of trying to never make any more female friends, one broke into my safety zone here in dc. she's quirky. she's smart. AND she blogs.
and now, amy is leaving dc to get some fresh air from a stale situation and more importantly, to begin a better job in boston. of course i would make friends with someone who is going to leave.
in honor of the beer commercials:
so today, we salute you a.stice. (background singers: real woman of genius).
most writers leave their wonky wisdom in a book, you leave yours in a blog. (fieldworks wants you back)
you do what lesser man can only dream about. you smash great big things into little bitty pieces. (totally awesome)
you stand like a sentry outside the grounds of our national pastime, offering us your salty nuts. (nice and salty)
women wait their whole lives for a man to say, "i do." in your case i do... (let's talk annulment)
dedicating yourself to a craft others might pou pou, you can pass every single man on the street and say with pride, "you there, you're wearing my underpants, and no, i don't want them back." (change em every day)
so crack open an ice cold brewish-american beer ms. a.stice, thanks to you i know it's perfectly alright to honk if i'm horny. (honk honk beep honk)
deion's actual name is aaron, but in high school he decided his white, 5'3, unathletic, jewish ass was so good at football that he picked the nickname deion, after deion sanders, for himself. (deion's note: "unathletic is untrue. i was an mvp in hockey and played on a traveling team that finished 3rd in the country in one tourney. and i am a terrific baseball player. i'm deceptively unathletic.")
anyway. deion is going to pittsburgh in just a few weeks to begin law school. one of the over-achievers put together a listserv of all the incoming first-years so that they could begin communicating. but what does someone say to 150 people he's never met and that he'll be competing with vigorously for the next 3 years? probably something along the lines of:
"Hi! I'm in section B and living on Alder St. in Shadyside as of August 14th. Looking forward to meeting everyone soon. Have a relaxing end to the summer!"
or
"I'm in section C3. I still don't know when I'll be in Pittsburgh though."
But not deion. here is the e-mail that deion wrote to 150 incoming law students:
I'm Aaron from Miami. (Hi Aaron from Miami!) First off, shout out to Mike for putting this list together which has made us all seem more popular then we actually are by the massive size our e-mailboxes have increased over the past week. I for one am excited when I open my e-mail box and it's something other then an offer for a lower mortgage, or cheap online porn (people pay for online porn? I know I don't). I know a I've contacted a few of you about starting a fantasy football league for us first years. Mike thought it might be a good idea to float the idea. I think it could provide us with an excuse to avoid studying on Sunday so that we can spend all day watching football and it would add competition to those who decide that law school just isn't competitive enough in itself (I mean, I know I heard law school was totally not competitive) and need more of that in their life. If anyone is interested in starting this up, send me an e-mail. And for those of us who have let the Madden Football Series on PS2 or XBox sabotage more then one relationship in their life, I'm thinking of throwing a Madden Bowl party at my apartment before school starts. Alcohol of course will be prominently involved. Anyway, it's getting close to 12am in Miami on a Tuesday night, the parties are about to start (I'm so in for a culture shock) and I've rambled long enough. Hit me up.
- Aaron
P.S. the online porn line was a joke (no guys enjoy porn, seriously)
when deion showed the email to me, my first thought was: "oh deion -- on a listserv of probably some of the stuffiest and least funny twenty-somethings in america, you admitted to loving porn and play station." i assumed he had just committed social suicide.
i couldn't have been more wrong.
turns out that he received somewhere between 20-30 individual responses (all positive, by the way). guess who's gonna be the most popular kid in law school?
what deion didn't write is that he's actually looking for an entourage to go to class and take his exams for him too.
year-end evaluation with my former boss:
"i don't tell you you're stupid everyday."
"well, you make me feel stupid everyday," i replied.
he grinned. "it's a special talent of mine," he said.
i like to tell people that in high school i was socially raised by a group of guys. a band of brothers. the 6 matts. the jew crew mafia. a pack of wolves. ... which i guess would make me a wolf in chic clothing.
(pack of wolves)
to this day, The Boys (capitalized) have a way of being over-protective while constantly reminding me that i'll never really be "one of the guys." i'm doomed if i try to marry "outside the family," but fairly sizeable circumstances thwart any possibility for me to date any of them. i'm definitely not invited to any bachelor parties either.
during my last few escapes home, i have found that my individual relationships with the boys have grown in different ways. i graduated college with some of them; and some of them i never even went to high school with. i rarely interact with some of them; and some of them i once hooked up with. i can hold sophisticated political or religious conversations with some of them; and with some of them i stick to talking about boobies and booties. but as a whole, when we're together, the more things change, the more they stay the same.
in our adult years, we're no longer supposed to stand in parking lots trying to figure out what we want to do with our weekend nights. we're not supposed to be "fake" with our best friends. we're not supposed to care about popularity. we're definitely not supposed to run around trying to hide a memory card from a digital camera with incriminating pictures taken when we've hypothetically caught a friend in the shower with three drunk topless girls so we can upload the pictures to a hypothetical blog such as this one.
i mean, we've grown out of the "shower party" scandal. who points out "the outline" anyway? does anyone really still suck his thumb? who has time to put post-it notes or sanitary pads all over someone's car?
(yep, those are pads)
(and yes. that's our friend sucking his thumb)
that is sooooo high school. right?
maybe being twenty-something isn't really all about being a grown up. maybe it's about happy hours as much as it is about the hours in middle of the night. maybe it's about networking as much as it is about not working. maybe it's as much about LSATs and GMATs and GREs as it is about ABCs. maybe it's as much about professional jobs as it is about blow jobs. maybe it's as much about paying the rent as it is about hanging out with your 'rents. maybe it's as much about finding mr./mrs. right as it is about having sex with mr./mrs. rightnow.
(guess which one of The Boys is the first to get married? yes. thats a whole zebra snackcake in his mouth.)
maybe maturing is as much about growing up as it is about growing down.
anyway. it was 5:15 one evening last week, and i was trying to get to dupont to teach lsat class. once i could finally board a very full train about 17 other people insisted on squeezing in too. when it was clear that the train could hold no more, a guy, THAT GUY, insisted on squeezing in when there as clearly not enough room for the latter half of his body.
metro pet peeve #1: people who insist on squeezing through closing doors when a) there is clearly not enough room to accommodate another body or b) the doors are halfway closed and someone uses his body to pry open the doors, forcing the metro driver to announce, "please stand clear of the f**king doors."
only after three attempts was the metro driver finally able to get the doors closed and pull away. in order to accommodate THAT GUY, i was stood on one leg with my workbag on my head like a water jug. so i'm standing there, when something distracts my attention from my hypochondria-induced-claustrophobic-hyperventilation. THAT GUY's pelvis was firmly pushing against my ass. thinking i was overreacting, i shuffled a bit to the right, hoping to at least misalign the "tension" between us. his pelvis alignment followed mine, and no matter where i was able to shuffle, i was made quite aware of how excited he was to finally be heading home. i scrambled off the train at the next stop and noticed that he also got off (so to speak). fortunately, i weaved through the crowd, a talent i learned growing up in miami, and lost him.
i have been thinking lately about really annoying things that people do on the metro, including, but not limited to accidental (or intentional) touching of other people' body parts.
metro pet peeve #2: having to stand under someone's armpit who chooses to hold onto the railings attached to the ceiling of the car instead of something more laterally available.
metro pet peeve #3: should you be fortunately enough to get a seat, the person who hovers over you just enough to qualify as an invasion of personal space. if you want that air space so badly, you can sit there.
metro pet peeve #4: the people who stand in front of the turnstiles rummaging through their pockets for their metro pass or smartcard. find it before you get there; i'm in a hurry and you're in my way.
metro pet peeve #5: the person who reads in lieu of holding on (good recommendation by a.stice). it's really not okay to sway freely with the motion of the metro.
last thursday, i boarded a very full train and reached for my ipod to make the ride pass more quickly. an older gentleman, watching me struggle to find the musical diversion somewhere at the bottom of my bag, chuckled as i pulled it out. "an ipod sock?" he asked rhetorically. "i didn't know they needed to be kept warm!" he laughed heartedly, pleased with his own joke.
"i couldn't afford a case," i began, hoping to make him feel stupid. "so it's good way to keep my ipod protected," i rebutted matter-of-factly.
"but you still paid for the novelty sock," he replied with a big grin. i put in the earphones, gave him a dirty look, and moved to another train at the next stop.
the metro is a wondrous place for those of us who grew up without public transportation. while one should never judge a book by its cover, i must admit that the metro is a great place to judge other people by the covers of their books. it's also apparently a good place to touch your first breast.
