About Me


Things that just aren’t happening in fifi-ville, installment 1:

I am on facebook and I see that the boyfriend’s sister has changed her last name, post wedding. Which is totally her prerogative to do, of course. I do have lots of friends who have changed their names post-marriage, and, really, if that’s what you want to do, more power to you. But seeing this, for whatever reason, just made me realize that this is something I will never, ever, ever be doing. I might hyphenate. But I am not giving up my name.

Note: This has actually come up with the boyfriend and it is a massive sore spot with him because he is of the opinion that wives should ALWAYS take their husbands’ last names. Again, he is entitled to his opinion. But it’s not happening.

in haiku form

move those fingers from 

our (shared) appetizer

I will eat them all

Considering that I’ve complained about the boyfriend and told you about his phobia of having swimsuit pictures of him posted on facebook, I probably ought to formally introduce you to him.

We met a little over 5 years ago in DC when we were both working part-time for a test prep company. I was finishing up my junior year of college and had just gotten back from studying abroad in Italy during fall semester. The boyfriend, having just quit his job in Big Banking in New York was temping at a law firm and teaching at night in preparation for starting law school at UVA in the fall. I first met him at a teaching training. He was friends with the owner so he waltzed in late and then he and the owner traded sarcastic and witty one liners (I heart sarcasm) throughout the whole training. He was hard to miss. He also looked older which automatically made him more interesting. He likes to point out that he was actually six months younger then than I am now which must make me old now since there was so much discussion of how old he was back then (and, to be honest, there still is. With love, of course. Example: When I turned 25, he was all “you’re old now,” to which I responded, “yes, but you’re going to be thirty in six months.” I win). Old as I may be now, I still get carded everywhere and often mistaken for being in the 18-20 range which I guarantee has not happened to him in quite awhile 🙂

I digress. Anyway, so we had a work party shortly thereafter and he and I got to talking at the bar. And talked for awhile. And I liked him. However, when he invited me back to his place for a “party,” I declined, thinking he was moving a little too fast for my taste (note that at these parties the alcohol flowed like water, so I may have been a wee bit tipsy), but did give him my number. Turned out afterwards that the “party” was actually a PARTY that all of my coworkers attended and that is now legendary for the amount of alcohol, craziness, and fun that was had. Oops. 

Moving on, I go home and a week or two passes. Another wrinkle here is that I am definitely not in a relationship place. Shortly before this, I have been dumped for weed by my boyfriend of six months (our second breakup, actually, and both were equally lovely. This is a story that deserves its own post because it is only the.best.breakup.story.ever so we’ll come back to that at some point) and have kind of rebounded with someone I dated freshman year and am realizing that it was a mistake and am trying to extricate myself. I will find out later that the boyfriend was in a very similar situation, so it is likely good I didn’t go to the PARTY. Who knows what would have happened then? 

So anyway, a week or so gets by and I wake up one Saturday morning to find three missed calls from a random 917 number, but no messages. I call the number back and it is the boyfriend. He explains who he is and tells me he accidentally must have hit my number in his phone. Three times. Right. (Hello drunk dial). We chat and he asks me out.

Note: This is the part where I am a huge bitch and obvs. must have been very cute/charming for the boyfriend to keep pursuing me

We keep setting dates and I keep breaking them. I have finals, I have to pack to move out for the summer, I have to deal with the semi-ex/semi-not boyfriend, etc. Finally, the second to last night before I leave to move home to the summer, he offers to meet me at the Tombs (quintessential Georgetown bar) for a drink. I have finally finished dealing with the previously listed things and agree, but just for 1 drink because I have other things which must get done in the morning. Of course, 1 drink turns into several and we end up sitting in a booth in the Tombs until close, trading stories and laughing and just really clicking.

Of course, then we both went our separate ways – him to a one-last-hurrah road trip around the United States (although I won’t always admit this, frankly, sometimes the boyfriend is more interesting than me), me to a summer of bartending and interning in Senator V.oinovich’s office. We emailed occasionally over the summer and apparently he texted me many times, but (because this was back in the Stone Ages of cell phone technology), my phone was not text-capable and did not become so until then end of the summer, when we started texting back and forth several times a day. 

Interestingly enough, I randomly dreamt that summer that we were getting married. I have not had a dream since about marriage, nor had I had one before. We shall see all see together if this means anything, since you all are now invited along for our journey. 

Of course, we’d only spent time in person together twice prior to this and hadn’t really talked, just texted, but once I got back to school in August, I invited him to come to DC for a weekend for a big Senior Week party at a local bar. He agreed to come under the pretense of also seeing some friends in DC (actually the first time I met the infamous Q as well). In typical college fashion, drinks were had, tequila shots drunk, dancing on the bar ensued (fine, that was just me), and we kissed that night. And it was good. 

The next weekend I drove to UVA to help him celebrate his birthday (the big 26! How long ago that seems!). We were supposed to go out to dinner, but the Yankees were playing, so we ended up ordering a pizza, drinking beer, and watching the game. Which is very fitting because that’s pretty much how we roll now as well. Shortly thereafter he asked me if I was his girlfriend (clearly yes) and shortly thereafter that, he told me he loved me.

And the rest is history. For better/worse, we’ve been plugging along ever since.

This is where I start to introduce you to everyone you are likely to meet on the blog and give you all a little more background on myself in the process. First up: my family.

You’ve already met the Madre. The Madre is a generally awesomely supportive mother who puts the Bro and me above all else. If you mess with us, she will cut you. Seriously. She’s also incredibly formidable – she graduated from law school at the ripe old age of 23 and is very smart, so she’s something of a tough act to follow. She is a professor at a school back home. We get along extremely well except when we don’t. 

The Dad is also awesomely supportive, although he doesn’t push the Bro and me quite as hard as the Madre. While the Madre always thinks we can do better, Dad is pretty happy with us just the way we are * Dad is just a genuinely all-around nice guy. He’s in finance so the last few months have been a little rough, but he’s doing okay.

The Bro is my little brother. He’s 19 and just finished his first year of college playing D-2 lacrosse in Florida. We are like night and day and don’t always see eye-to-eye on things. I’m calling him the Bro on here not only because he is my brother (duh), but also because that kind of sums up his personality. If you know lacrosse players (at least like the ones I went to school with: laid back, lackadaisical, very much like stereotypical surfer dudes, smoke a lot of weed – although that has never been proven with the Bro and he denies it), then my brother is a stereotypical lacrosse player. Oh – and he fulfills that other lacrosse stereotype as well – he thinks he’s hot and is a bit of a slut :)** Anyway, his big thing right now is that he wants to transfer to another school. He wants to go to a big football school because he’s obviously watched too many movies and has a certain idea of what college should be, not because of  academics or anything like that. Watching OSU games on TV made him “physically ill” because his school doesn’t have a football team and he felt left out – Have I mentioned I think he’s a bit of an idiot sometimes? However, in the Bro’s typical fashion, he has not actually done anything about transferring. He can go to OSU because he got in last year and the admittance is good for a year or he could transfer to somewhere like Miami (of Ohio) that has extended its application deadline, but he “doesn’t know” what he wants to do. He is driving my parents nuts.

The Rest: My Aunt L is my dad’s sister. She’s married to my Uncle E and her son is my cousin, F. F is considerably older than me (he just turned 40) and is married to K. F&K thought they couldn’t have kids and had kind of given up (K just turned 45) and then…surprise! Along came T, who was born 2 weeks ago. I haven’t met her yet, but she seems cute (although F has developed a bad habit of only sharing pictures in which she is crying. She can’t be crying that much!). All of them live in Cleveland, so they’ll probably pop up on the blog more this summer since I will be moving back and living at home to study for the bar. There are some more peripheral ones that I’ll introduce as they come up, but these are the main relatives.

My Godson: Z. Z is a very advanced 1 1/2 year old (he was standing at 6 months! I am not exactly up on my child development, but I am told that makes him special 🙂 ). He is an absolute doll and I adore him, although I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like. His story is a little to complicated for this post, but I’ll get into it at some point later. 

*I know it sounds like the Madre is a hardass – and believe me she is – and my dad is perhaps the more reasonable parent, but sometimes installing a little drive is not a bad thing. For example, the Bro wanted to transfer to another university, namely UVA. UVA is tough to get into. When the Bro was getting B’s, my dad was telling him how great it was, whereas the Madre and I both knew that if he wanted to get into UVA, he needed better grades than that. So the point is, in his being supportive and proud of us, the Dad sometimes inadvertently encourages a little unhealthy delusion. 

**I know at a lot of schools the lacrosse guys are seen as entitled assholes, but that has not been my experience and I did go to a school with a top lax program.

Okay, so this is the big introduction post I’ve been promising. First off, why am I writing a blog? Three main reasons:  

1)  I have all these thoughts and opinions whirling around my head and you can only have the same conversation with real-life friends so many times before you gain a reputation as a crushing bore. I plan on writing about my life and what I’m thinking and doing at any given point at time, but I also want to write about things I like, from books to movies to purses to shoes to food. I want somewhere where I can go when I find a super-cute purse 75% off (True story from last week. Botkier. Love.) that I can write about it and why I love it and share it and hopefully someone out there will want to squeal with me about it (because most of my friends and the boyfriend? not the squealing types). Am I a little shallow? Certainly, but that’s part of my charm.

Even though I’m starting this blog with only a week or so left of law school, I have MANY thoughts about law school and the whole law school process which I am going to share through this blog. So this blog will be about a little bit of everything, but because of how I’ve spent the last three years and how I will be spending the foreseeable future, there will definitely be plenty law-related on here as well. 

2) I want to write. I was an English major undergrad, (I know, I know – who wasn’t? In my defense, I also majored in history -Middle East to be exact), but since then any skills I had have sadly atrophied. I need something to inspire me and also to force me to write, hopefully on a daily basis. 

3) I want a safe space where I can write about what I’m feeling in terms of my relationships with the boyfriend, my family, my friends, etc. I feel very up in the air about some things right now and I’m hoping that writing down my thoughts will help me to make sense of what I’m feeling. Or at least give me some perspective because in my head I can be a HUGE drama queen. I need to get out of my head a little. 

Now, about the blog format: Right now, for reasons primarily stated in reason 3 above, as well as the fact that I am starting a job in BigLaw in the fall (I know this may sound a little presumptuous given the state of the market, but my firm seems pretty stable so it seems like my start date is actually going to happen) and would like to be able to write things like: “OMG. Am SO tired. First Year + BigLaw=  long, crazy hours,” but would still like to keep my job, this blog is going to be pretty anonymous. Therefore, there will be no names and likely very few pictures. Which is disappointing because blogs with pictures are so much more fun to read. I’m going to play around with this and my comfort level, so we’ll see what happens. I did find a picture of the boyfriend and me that I am willing to share at this point:grenada-hike-phil-and-me-shadow

This is likely the best picture you are going to get of the boyfriend on here (he’s the one in the center). He requires veto power on any pictures I share on facebook (despite the fact that my privacy settings are pretty high) and let me say: he is just a wee bit picky. This can lead to some pretty entertaining negotiations. For example:

Me: So I want to post these pictures from our trip

the boyfriend: No to 3, 6, 8 (I look like a bear), 12 (I don’t like the way I look in a snorkeling mask), 17, 18 (no topless/bathing suit pictures! what if someone from work saw these!), 22, and 25.

Me: Okay, I’ll pull down 3, 8, 12, and 22. I don’t understand what the problem with 25 is. I think you look good in 6. And 18 is the only good picture of us together! We look so happy! And tan. 

the boyfriend: No. I’ll give you the picture of us from dinner where we’re dressed up. 

Me: No. I look stupid in that picture.

And so on. But anyway, the point is, since the boyfriend does not/will not know about the blog, I can’t get his approval of pictures. And if he knew I was putting pictures of him on the internet (particularly beach pictures!), it would not go over. Plus, he also works in BigLaw, so anonymity is the best approach for both of us. 

Also, one of my dear friends, D, upon finding out that a mutual friend has a blog, told me that she thinks blogs are masturbatory and I would hate for her to find out I succumbed. 

Oh, and the Madre teaches a privacy law class during which she basically expounds on the evils of facebook and the like and our willingness to put so much of ourselves out on the internet. So I would prefer that she never find out about this either. She already gets enough fodder for her classes from my brother and me as is (the bro has a particularly bad habit of posting pictures on facebook of him doing stupid things, like playing beer pong on my parents’ formal dining room table with his friends, even though he is friends with the madre on facebook (she is on facebook because of her class). As I pointed out to him, I’m not sure what she was more upset about: the underage drinking/party in her house or the fact that he was spilling beer all over her dining room).