Or, alternatively, BACK OFF BITCH.

So I have this former roommate from college. We were roommates our freshman and sophomore years and besties for awhile (not to overly promote myself or anything, but I made her and her now-husband happen. And later encouraged him to just wait it out when she broke up with him after graduation. Because I am a nice person.) until she sat by and let our other two roommates pull some serious mean girls shit on me (apparently I deserved it because I did evil things like drink non-diet soda and, you know, EAT real food and I had boys who liked me. Bad fifi! Also, although interestingly enough this was never thrown in my face like the other stuff, I was/am a bit bossy. No one is perfect.) and then, at the end of the day, she picked the mean girls over me (I mean, it’s worked out for them-they were in her wedding) and, at the time, I was deeply upset and sad, but let it go because we had been besties. However, as time when by, and she made what I see in retrospect to be very half-assed and fake overtures of continuing friendship, I eventually got to the end of my rope when she told me she could give me 10 minutes when she was in DC for a week and broke things off. And we have not talked since. However, we do still have mutual acquaintances and I hear things. And we are still face.book friends because unfriending someone, deserved as it may be, seems awfully spiteful to me and I just don’t really care that much.

As such, occasionally I log into fb and see things about her. And occasionally such things are enough to make me blow up Jill on gchat all: can you believe what horseface did now?!? (I’m a bitch. I get that. But she does also have a very narrow face…). Because she is FOR REALZ copying my life.

Granted I only have two incidents of this, but it’s enough. Exhibit A: of all the law firms in all the world, she summered at MY law firm. MINE. In the Chicago office, but still MINE. Which means we may have to cross paths sometime in the future. Of course, I don’t know if she’ll actually end up working there, but given the economy, I can’t imagine she won’t be on the list of new lawyers come fall. SIGH.

So then, (Exhibit B), I log into fb today and see that she has posted honeymoon pictures. And even though they are the wee little thumbnail pictures, I think, “hmmm those look AWFULLY familiar.”

That’s because they stayed at the exact same random (but very nice)hotel in Costa Rica that the Boyfriend and I stayed in when we went two years ago.

Yes, yes. I realize I sound crazy. The Boyfriend says I should be happy because we were trendsetters (we stayed there right after it opened). I say: MINE.

Sigh.

Twice in the past two days I have purchased alcohol (no judgment). And both times, I’ve had pretty much the exact same thing go down. I take my preferred beverage to the front (last night it was beer from the bodega across the street, this afternoon it was wine from the wine shop down the street) and give it to the guy. He rings it up, runs my credit card and then asks: “How old are you?” I respond “27”, the guy’s jaw drops and he says something like “I would have thought you were under 21.” I offer to show my id and the guy declines.

I find this so odd. I mean, a) wouldn’t it make more sense to just ask for my id instead of asking how old I am? This eliminates all confusion. And, b), if you really thought I was under 21, wouldn’t you ask before running my credit card? I can’t decide if I think this is some elaborate trap they set for the under-21 crowd in NYC or, if these sellers really could care less and just want to make the sale, but “check” just to halfway cover their own asses. Considering the fact that both times the sellers declined to actually see my id even when I attempted to give it to them, I’m leaning towards the second option. Which is really just EXCELLENT news for all the NYU students in the area.

I said I wasn’t going to do this, but I find myself with some time to kill and fingers that are not entirely cramped up from spending the past few hours furiously blackberry-ing away. This whole getting stranded in Philly thing has kind of been the way my whole 2009 has been. Fine. Okay. I know some people for whom this was the most wonderful and bestest year ever, but I have to hope I have better years. Not that anything truly bad happened, but I would prefer more joy in my life if I am allowed to ask for such things. This year was not great, not horrible, just fine. I mean, back to the whole airport example, the getting stranded was annoying, but if it had to happen on a leg of the trip, this was the leg for it to happen on. And I am on the plane now, so WOOT. It evens out.

There were obviously some very good things in 2009 – namely, I graduated from law school and I passed the bar, two things which I am extremely proud of. I also started this blog, which is a big step for me since I’ve talked about doing so for awhile, but never actually got up the motivation to do. I started my job and started getting nice regular paychecks AND I generally like what I do, even if it is stressful sometimes. Work is a little frustrating because there’s not a ton of it in what I want to do to go around. A close friend of mine got lucky and got staffed to the hot project of the year and as a result, she is absolutely a rising star and going places. I’m very happy for her, of course, but it also makes me worry that I’m not a rising star and just worry about work generally, even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s not that my friend is not incredibly awesome, because she is and she totally deserves this, but this was also a case of her being in the exact right place at the right time and even though I know she is the only one of us out of fifty with these things happening, I still stress about not being that awesome and by extension my future at work. I know everyone in the legal industry is stressed about work and hours right now and part of that is the economy. I’m also lucky enough to be at a firm that is, while not doing great-none of them are-is doing okay and better by far than most. Still, though, I worry. And worrying about things I really can’t control was not a great way to close out the decade.

Moving on, I moved to New York this year, which is exciting, but I have some mixed feelings about and I also got to live at home for four months which was awesome and helped me realize that eventually I want to go home and live there because being ten hours from my family is not really doing it for me anymore. But for right now, it is fun to be in the city.

2009 was also the year where the boyfriend and I started to question whether or not this thing we’re doing is going to work long term. We’ve been in a holding pattern for awhile right now and, if things continue the way they are, I don’t know that this is still going to be what we both want. I guess that is for 2010 to determine. We shall see…

2009 was long, and parts of it were hard, and frankly, it made me tired. It was kind of like this: while at the airport, I noticed that the knee of a pair of my favorite jeans wore through. Annoying, but it can be fixed and, ultimately, it will be fine. Fine years are, of course, better than not-fine years and I will take them anytime, given the alternative. That said, I do hope for good in 2010 and good for the next decade. Now we just have to wait and see what happens next.

A couple of days ago, I had my picture taken for my bio. I anticipated an experience something like either one of my official graduation pictures: go in, stand on the mark, smile big, SNAP SNAP SNAP, look at pictures on camera, and either say great or ask if you can have one more try. The whole thing takes ten minutes or so.

The pictures on the website are generally quite good, so I had high hopes this would not be like my senior yearbook picture experience. (Why yes, I am still a wee bit bitter about this, so you do get to hear the whole story.) Unlike other schools that let you submit a headshot of your choice, so long as it meets certain requirements, my school treated these pictures like driver’s license photos: stand in front of a white backdrop and SNAP you’re done. One shot.* This was less formal than the normal school pictures and there were no retakes. As a result, in my official senior yearbook picture I have deer-in-headlights bug eyes and have my neck arched forward at an extremely awkward angle. I look like I’m about to fall over or something. It is not good.**

Anyway, before picture day, they sent around a memo to all of us telling us what to wear (medium colored suits, preferably gray; no white shirts; no patterns) and suggested women might wear pearls. Remember that because it’s important later.

The first thing that suggested to be that this was not your typical mass picture experience was the cool jazz welcoming me to the conference room that the photographers had commandeered. Apparently mood music was in order. Also not expected: the fact that the room was totally dark except for the photo lights (again, setting the mood?) and the fact that the photographer did not work alone. He came with an assistant. An assistant whose job was to prep us for our photos. Who knew just throwing on the lip gloss and checking my teeth wouldn’t suffice? After powdering my face (I told you this was hardcore), she attacked my hair. I had brushed it in preparation for the photo and thought it was looking pretty nice, but, horror of all horrors, she SAW FLYAWAYS. And that’s when the gel came out.

Now what you have to understand about my hair is that although I have a lot of it, it is fine. And it’s also wavy. Which means that if you touch it and put lots of crap in it, it not only gets limp and stringy real quick, but it also starts to frizz up. So not only did I have that going for me, but the woman tried to give me gel strands.*** (Apparently she also tried this on my office mate as well). NOT the look I was going for for my official bio shot.

After I escaped the clutches of the gel-crazed assistant with my dignity and hair more or less intact, I got to meet the photographer. His first comment: “hmmmmm…your neck is looking a little bare. I’m not reallu feeling that.” (Bare on purpose! I didn’t wear a necklace because I generally don’t wear necklaces). He then proceeding to explain that he travels with a strand of freshwater pearls and that he REALLY thought it would greatly improve the picture if I wore them. Said as his assistant was putting them around my neck. So yes, Jill, if you’re reading this and have put it all together, I am in fact wearing a pearl necklace in my official picture. Now go ahead and crack up because I know how much that phrase makes you laugh 🙂

The shoot itself was pretty much what I imagine a Glamour Shots shoot to be like, all head one way, body the other, tilt your head, chin up, more tilt, etc. etc. It was… interesting, particularly as I was definitely not anticipating a full out twenty shot photo shoot. I think some of Tyra’s wannabe models get that for some challenges. ANTM, here I come.

Or not. There were some good pictures and some not so good ones (see above re: deer in headlights). Luckily the one I liked best was also the one in which the photographer saw his vision best fulfilled so there was no disagreement there. After the pearl thing, I have a sense he might have steamrolled me to get his way.

And thus ends fifi’s posing days for the time being.

*This whole post is making me wonder if the whole school picture procedure has changed now with techology and if everyone from kindergarten on up gets to preapprove their pictures. Is it possible that we now live in a world with no retake day?

**I hold a rather large grudge towards that yearbook in general though. I know, I know – it’s been almost nine years. But I still have to wonder why it was necessary to put a full page picture of me speaking at senior government day (student council pres right here) when I had two massive black eyes and a brace on my nose from breaking my nose (another story for another day). If it was necessary for the yearbook timeline/story they could have used more of a distance shot. I would have been okay with that. It just didn’t have to be a closeup of my face, is all I’m saying!

***you know when you see girls with their hair done up for prom or other formals and it looks beautiful except for the random stringy pieces of hair hanging down? Those are gel strands. And I hate them.

I cancelled my Vogue subscription last month because, frankly, it no longer interests me. The articles and the fashion are just same old, same old every month and, without jeffrey steingarten writing something every month, I don’t think it’s worth sacrificing the trees. While I could never afford anything in Vogue, I used to get fashion inspirations from it, but there’s really nothing inspiring about Vogue these days (although I hear the lady gaga spread this month is pretty cool, models jumping month in and month out is BOR-ING).

Anyway, so I cancalled the subscription. And now Vogue is stalking me with these “your subscription is about to expire so renew with our super special deal” (which is really not so great truth be told) notices.

To which I say: stop trying to break up with me Vogue. I got there first and it is OVER.

I know what true magazine love is and it is Vanity Fair thankyouverymuch.

Or, the Snarky Verizon Guy‘s Revenge*

As I have mentioned previously, when I started work, I got a Black.Berry for work. And I got a phone plan because I am trying my best to keep my personal life personal and am willing to carry around both a Berry and a phone to do so. The Berry phone number is the only number work has and no one else in my life has that number.

So Verizon gives me a new number. Great. However, today the Berry starts blowing up with texts from people who don’t know or forget that the person with this number before changed his number.

And these texts? All congratulations texts. Why congratulations? Because dude-who-used-to-have-this-number just got engaged.

Somewhere, someone in the universe is laughing right now.**

* Of course, this actually has nothing to do with him. But still.
** I will concede, Well Played Universe, Well Played.

God, I don’t want to be here. I want to be home.

Shit is about to hit the fan and I am too tired to deal with it.