Monday, August 23, 2010
Elle: This is what I have to become!!
Old Lady: What? Practically deformed?
Elle: NO! A law student!
I can't count the number of times I've seen Legally Blonde. More important, my dad probably beats me. Despite the 5th grade teacher who dubbed me "the little ankle biter" and told my parents to expect a lawyer in the family, despite the feeling of underachievement I've wrestled with prior to biting the bullet and applying to school, despite knowing that eventually, someday I'd be sitting in that first, terrifying day of classes.. I'm still shocked it happened today.
The reading list is massive, one professor said "you know that movie where 'there's no crying in baseball?' yeah, there's no passing my class", and some punk stole my sweet water bottle from under my desk between classes (really? we're that ghetto? you stole my water bottle and let the schmo sitting next to me keep his computer? dude.. i gets thirsty in three hours of class). BESIDES all that... I'm stoked. I am in nerdy, geeked out heaven. Please try to refrain from stuffing me into a locker for admitting this.
The thought of law school over the past few years has been an anxiety-inducing, stomach-wrenching, fear-filled nightmare. Current students told me not to go. Business-owners who hated practicing law tell me it was the worst mistake of their life. The debt is a pretty scary commitment. But c'mon. I have wanted to go to law school since I knew what a lawyer was. I have gone from fighting the injustice of eating all my peas in order to receive dessert, (still makes me shiver), to making reasoned arguments about the inequity of my little brother's curfew being more flexible than mine, (no, it's not 'different for girls'). I understand that those who've warned me have come from a good place, and I appreciate their forthcoming and honesty in trying to prevent me from making "the same mistake" as they have, but I am so glad that I have taken this step. A struggling job market, a lot of late nights, and some mean professors will inevitably make me miserable in the next few years, but it finally feels like I am acknowledging the nay-sayers without letting it prevent me from doing what I wanna do. And I'm gonna do a damn good job at this. Promise.
My last hurrah weekend was spent with two wonderful girls that I've met through work over the past two years, and we spent the days arguing politics, eating bagels and cheese, playing cranium, and being mutual geeks. As much as I am preemptively mourning my social life with the inception of law school, I'm so ready for a challenge, to go to bed at night feeling accomplished, in a way that work hasn't been able to provide for me. Being an over-achiever kid just gives you the feeling that without school, or a consistent challenge or goal to strive for that you're wasting time. And as a kid, I sort of expected that working hard and this consistent need to push myself would make for a dull existence. With the wonderful friends I've made in college and beyond, I've found confidantes, kindred hearts, and fellow nerds that enjoy the same dorky things I do. I just wish that I could go back and tell teen KK that somehow, someday being a nerd would actually be kind of fun.
Please enjoy this post of excessive optimism, as I'm sure in a few weeks I will be screaming a la Kevin in Home Alone after applying after shave.
Monday, July 5, 2010
The Maine comedian, Bob Marley, always used to say "people ask me where I get the material for my shows... I just tell them, you come up to the house sometime."
That being said, my grandmother has been a source of humor for the better part of my life. Bitter, angry, humor, admittedly, but classic material once I was old enough to take her with a grain of salt. There was the time she called me a bitch at the tart old age of ten, and went on to tell me that she knew I had a dirty mouth after I took the Lord's name in vain - thankfully, I've since abrev'd that infamous phrase to OMG. There was the period of time where she told me that all prominent business owners in our town smoked pot, or graphic graphic details about those days when she would go parking in the public park of our town, (I'll spare you as I don't know if I've been the same since). She once started a rumor that my older cousin, who later had her erratic thyroid removed, was anorexic. And, for some reason, she's always looked at me and said "you're just like me, Kaity... the others are different, but you are just like me". As one might imagine, this has been a source of many nightmares about aging.
Annnnyway, my list goes on, and on, and on. Much like that time that she told me that my grandfather used to turn her on, and on, and on.
Had to make sure that you caught the tone.
I give you this lead up to preface a classic old Mainer phrase, delivered this morning by my 92 year old grandmother. Much like something broken being "all stove up" or how everywhere you go, you're going upta or down, (as in "upta camp" meaning vacationing at your cabin on the lake or "down cellar" meaning you went into the basement). Maine practically has another language, which makes translation a recurring theme in my life.
Grammie looks at my poor little brother, after referring to both of us as handsome, and says "Ohhh, but I know you've been around. You've been touched more than the button on the shit house door".
Say whaaaaaaat? Did you just not only reference an outhouse, but compared the number of people touching my sweet little brother as more than those who use the bathroom?
I'm sharing that nauseous little thought in the hope of expunging it from my collective conscience. Ick.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Maybe it's the impending, looming doom of law school starting, but I've been reflecting on how we are in charge of our own destiny. While I'm absolutely petrified that this will make me miserable, tired, I won't get a job when I'm done (to list some of my minor concerns), I've wanted to go since I was 11 years old, when I spent so much time correcting mr ER teacher that he told ma and pops at a parent-teacher conference to prepare for a lawyer in the family. If I don't go... it'll be this big stumbling block that I was too scared to tackle. And c'mon. I'm not signing myself up for a life of "I wonder if" at 25.
A friend at work was posted on boston.com today with a love advice question - he met a new special guy who was moving away. They had two great dates, and realized that there was something there that neither one wanted to left unexplored. The new guy suggested that my friend hop in the car and do one leg of the cross-country journey - my friend's question was: is that totally crazy? And I can feel that - our generation is career-driven, and taught that taking risks and doing silly things for love is impractical; the things movies are made of. And, the generally snarky, tell-it-like-it-is boston.com love guru's response? Take a risk, child. Gas up the car. You're 25, you can afford to take some risks. How right she is, and what's the worst case scenario? You get in the car and realize that the new Mister Mister has terrible taste in music, sings off key, and you pray for the end of the ride? Chalk it up as a funny story. More likely, you have an adventure, get to know someone, and take a chance on meeting someone who can only help you grow and learn.
One of my favorite movies to quote is Can't Hardly Wait - with the "there is such a thing as fate, but it can only take you so far." I'd rather take the leap and fall than wonder. What's so great about a high without a low? And for some reason, I've been jamming out to airplanes by b.o.b.:
Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?
I could really use a wish right now, wish right now.
Heck yes you can, chick from paramore. I don't even care if you make up seeing the airplane. Figure out what you wish for, and do it to it.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Required Viewing for this post:
"The Art of Meeting Men."
Ahhh the timeless wisdom of the late eighties. The shoulder pads alone speak volumes about the foresight of these women. C'monnnn, is this how we really encouraged women to meet men? Just nod and lean in? Sometimes you should talk quietly so they have to get closer? As I've said many times to friends concerned with how they look when getting ready for a night on the town - "everywhere we go is dark". I have more conversations that involve yelling over a bumpin dj than these whispered intimate chats. Where were these 80's chicks hanging on Saturday night? The library?
Personal favorite quote - "I suggest you tell him that it really turns you on when a man talks about his feelings." Really? I'm a self professed romantic, one of my favorite phrases is "I love love!" and thinking about a guy that I just met on a park bench telling me about his feelings? Barf.
And let's be serious, my game involves a lot of red wine. The little nugget of wisdom that I should spill my drink and offer to pay for the dry cleaning? A few probs - 1.) the dry cleaning tab would be more than my bar tab, (I'm hanging on to that cab sauv, damn the cost!) 2.) what? am I going to strip a dude in the bar and pretend that I'm not going to lose his shirt on my way home? We're working on making sure my cell phone doesn't get run over by anymore cabs. and 3.) where are the millions of dudes who've spilled their drinks on me with the waiting dry cleaning offer? i don't think they're coming back, in fact, i think most of those who have spilled their drink on me were probably more concerned with the fact that their beer magically disappeared than that there was an angry midge stomping her foot at them.
It's a brave new world for today's singles, and I don't think dry cleaning's included.
Lovers and Friends,
I've been tossing around the idea of starting a blog for a long time; however, I belong to a group of friends who have been making fun of the middle school live-journal of a former classmate since 2004. No signs of relenting in the next decade, either. And, to be quite clear and fair, I am a major offender. While I am a firm believer in the no-mercy rule, and expect to receive as good as I get, I hesitated before going out on a limb and posting my thoughts for the world to see.
That being said, I've been told I tell a good story from time to time, and I often refer to my life as an open book. I think the reason 52% of the population (i.e.; all the girlies) related so much to shows like Sex and the City was because, duh, we love gossiping with a group of good girlfriends. As a college graduate who's gal pals landed all over the country and everywhere but here, I miss that! I have this silly little want to share the garish details of my life more often than those quarterly catch up calls.
So welcome to my life... the good, the bad, and the (hopefully rare) ugly. The names and locations may be changed to protect the innocent, although I think I have yet to cross paths with any dudes who deserve anonymity. Let's be serious, guys today should come with carfax. I promise nothing in the way of consistency, just honesty and brutality. Annnnnnd it's on.
Caffeine and chocolate,