Saturday, May 4, 2013

Unintentional Hiatus Playing Golf with Vampires

To all of my (nonexistent) fans out there, here goes sorry #10. It seems like out of 11 posts, I've had to apologise 10 times, mostly because I have the ability of a five year old on meth to a) remember that I have a blog; b) actually stop studying long enough to enjoy my life and write something (even for people who probably don't exist); and c) recall that this is not academic or legal writing so I can drop all the curse words I want to (shit, bugger, fuck, for those of you who have seen and enjoy The King's Speech) and actually write about things that don't make me want to shiv someone or throw something at a wall.

As of the past week, my life has turned into a caffeine-fueled hell. This is because...finals are here. Ah, yes, that time in every student's life where they turn into a tyrant whose parents tell them not to call until at least one of their finals are done, a narcoleptic who has food in the apartment but is too stressed and exhausted to take the time to make it and usually ends up ordering in, and a maniac who shouts at Wal-Mart employees when they ask if she really needs three types of chips. (To be fair, I did apologise profusely once I actually heard what I had said). Although in answer to the Wal-Mart employee's question, yes, yes, I really did need three types of chips. I hadn't eaten in two days and it was chips or die. Ok, die is being a little extreme but you know what I mean! This is the reason Heath can't be too far away when I live alone and don't have roomies to remind me that food is good. I forget to eat and then all sorts of crazy-eyes things happen.

Heath is what has kept me from not going insane this weekend. He has sent me pictures of our babies, Gizmo and Dexter, sitting on his chest. He has helped me study by video call...and ps, listening to me babbling about a Assignee Landlord's Duty to the Assignee Tenant and whether that duty includes paying back a security deposit that another tenant made to a different landlord should be on everybody's bucket list of things to never do before they die (ps- it doesn't. Unless that answer is wrong, and then, well, shit, I just got 1 out 10 questions incorrect on my exam- awesomesauce). He is quite literally the best man ever and is totally wonderful even though I can be a wee bit crazy, a lot bit quirky, and a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes. Luckily I have found the only man in existence who finds that a charming and endearingly odd, rather than a terrifying, combination. He is the best part of my day and makes me smile and laugh and just outright happy even when things suck and I'm fairly certain that I've failed out of law school. Don't know how I could have done this without him.

On a brighter side, I have a job for the summer that I'm unbelievably excited about and I get to spend the entire summer in the same city (hell, in the same house!) as Heath. I will be working with Texas City Mental Health Public Defender's Office, a job that coincidentally and wonderfully falls right into my field. It's lucky that nobody can see my victory/happy dance because...well, because I look stupid when I do it, that's why.

Changing the subject completely, I have been spending a lot of time with 30 Rock recently because it's one of the best things for me to have on in the background while I study. Mostly because I have seen each season about eight times and so don't have to watch it carefully to enjoy it. For those of you who haven't seen it...for the love of god, watch it. It's so much fun and, believe me, if you are a food-loving, slightly awkward nerd, you will identify with Liz Lemon. If you have watched it and didn't enjoy it...well, everyone's entitled to their opinion, I guess. I do, however, think that it's one of the best things since Tastykake Butterscotch Krimpets. (Also if you are a 30 Rock-er and didn't get the Tracy Jordan reference in the title of this post, then dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow! Dishonor! Dishonor on your whole family!...just kidding!)

The reason that 30 Rock resonates with me so much is not because I'm a lonely 30-something woman. It's because Liz Lemon represents the everyday woman. I mean, with the exception of the fact that she has a multi-millionaire friend named Jack Donaghey (who is played by Alec Baldwin, y'all, can we just talk about how amazing that is for a second?) and works as a writer for a TV show. I mean, besides that.

Now that I have returned from that tangent, Liz Lemon is like all of us simply because she's not superhuman gorgeous (she's pretty, but she doesn't make me want to freak out in a jealous rage that she's prettier than I am), has an unhealthy obsession with food, and one of the quirkiest senses of humour that I've ever seen. She's just a lovable nerd like all of us who has "nerd rages" and tends to flip tables and threaten people when they take her food.

And then she has a lovable group of self-proclaimed nerds who work for her, including my much-loved Pete Hornberger, Frank Rossitano, John Lutz, and Toofer (also known as James Spurlock). Pete Hornberger has a long-standing title as my one balding crush, simply because he has one of the most adorable personalities on TV. He also lied to his wife about getting a vasectomy, has four (?) children, three of whom like to hang off of him as the fourth attempts to bludgeon him with a clarinet, and may have joined a fight club to feel alive. And apparently he and his wife have some freaky thing going on involving the rubbing of Poptarts upon various areas of their bodies. It's odd. All in all, he is completely absurd and I adore him for it.

Then there's Frank, Lutz, and Toofer, who are just one of the better supporting casts of all time. Frank has a new hat everyday and a penchant for heavy, way older women. He spends most of his time mocking Lutz and Toofer. Lutz mostly because he is a unbelievably awkward guy. He has a creeper crush on Cerie, their very scantily dress secretary who believes that bras are unnecessary when you have naturally perky breasts, but also has a tendency to try and hold Frank's hand. On top of that, he's just...doughy. It's not that he's overweight (which he may be, I'm not really sure), it's just that he reminds me of the Pillsbury Doughboy, as terrible as that sounds. Like if you poked him in the stomach, he might giggle. And then there's Toofer. Toofer kind of irritated me because he's kind of pretentious. The episode he won my heart was when he was analysing a Quidditch match during a hockey game. His exact words, and I quote, were, "But my biggest problem with Quidditch is, if the Snitch is 150 points, why does anyone bother with the Quaffle?" How can you not just simply adore him after that? Also, he is quite handsome.

And then on top of the crazy that is the writers, there are Jenna Maroney and Tracy Jordan who are actors that are just damn crazy. There is no pretty way to put it. Jenna Maroney believes the answer to most things is to kill it or ply it with alcohol. To be fair, that has been my response to most things in the past few weeks. Except instead of alcohol, I ply myself with cake. She and Liz were best friends before they started TGS (at that point called The Girlie Show) and she drove Liz nuts with her way theatrical antics. It's also not unheard of for her to soak her tampons in vodka or use vodka in her humidifier. To add to her crazy (and paranoia, because of course, he's trying to take her job...yeah, that's right) is Tracy Jordan. Tracy is a special guy with some very special mental health issues. When we first meet him in the pilot, we discover that he has run down crowded highways in his underwear waving a light saber, slept on Ted Danson's roof, and bitten Dakota Fanning on the face. Later, we discover that he tried to stab Conan O'Brien while on the air, sees a little blue furry thing when he's having one of his episodes, and tries to emulate Spiderman when his meds are interacting oddly. He's fun and quirky and has a really sad background that for 20ish years, he just shoved down. When he reacquainted himself with his past, he earned an Oscar. Then tried to go crazy again so that he could enjoy his life. Also, he gave the best, potentially most nonsensical advice of all time which was "to live like every week is shark week." Together, these actors make Liz Lemon and Pete Hornberger's life hell.

And I saved the two best for last. Andromakennethamblesorten Ellen Parcell, or just plain Kenneth, and Jack Donaghey. Kenneth is an ever-cheerful page who is a slave to both Jenna and Tracy who just loves TV so much and doesn't want to let the "peacock" (NBC) down. He's taken for granted but when he's gone pretty much everything at TGS kind of falls apart because absolutely nobody is organized. He's a downhome boy from a tiny, terrifyingly hick part of Georgia that never re-became part of the Union (I'm sure there's a real word for that, but it's late and I'm tired and I can't remember what it is). He's part of a church that is run by a pastor who is heavily implied to be a pedophile. He also has some really ass-backwards ideas about what women should be doing in the world (ps- his no-no words list for TV include quite a few words that are all about 30 Rock) and is pretty convinced that women go to dog heaven (which is actually women hell). We're also pretty sure he's ageless and has been alive since 1789. He's a special boy.

But not nearly so special as Jack Donaghey. Jack Donaghey has programming experience, business savvy, and the piercing blue eyes of a Siberian Husky. And even though he is extremely conservative, he's attractive, confident, and a multi-millionaire. Definitely wouldn't say no to him based just on his political agenda. He's is the head of NBC who dreams of being the CEO of General Electric. He's snarky, chauvinistic, and a bit arrogant. But he's a good friend and his mentorship to Liz, which blooms into a long lasting, epic-ly open, loving friendship, is one of my most beloved friendships on television between a man and a woman. They're even each other's emergency contact. And even though I am ecstatic that Liz fell for a nice (hot!) guy, there is a little piece of me that seriously loved Jack and Liz together. They were the best friends that you just desperately wanted to get together in that tiny, deep down part of your soul. However, the 30 Rock gods knew better than I and did not do something stupid like marry them to each other. That would have been ill advised.

This is my ringing endorsement for 30 Rock. Sure, it's a little crass and sometimes they use black face and make off-colour jokes. For the past seven years, though, I've watched it and absolutely adored it for its wit and, if not class, then just outright snark and cleverness. It's fun and quirky.

For now, though, it is time to close and figure out what my next "procrastinatory" post shall be on. In the meantime, have fun and enjoy the sunlight (world) and lack of law books (exams) in your life for me! Harley Quinn out!

Tuesday, April 2, 2013


Well, this has been a one hell of a month. I have had two glorious weeks with Heath (1.5 for spring break, 3.5 for Easter, also known as Bunny Day) and enjoyed every single freaking moment of it. Now, all I have to do is force myself to learn the Rule Against Perpetuities (first, let's make sure that I can actually spell it!) that has so far eluded mental capture/understanding and also to care about finals. Which so far I have been completely unable to do. Quite literally all I want to do at the moment is bonfire all of my legal books (which I would never do because you could feed a large village in Africa for what those books cost...and don't think I don't feel overwhelming guilt every time I think about that) and drive home to Heath where I could live the life of a steampunk goth chick psych grad student and open up a bakery. At least that's how that fantasy plays out in my head. In reality, I would probably score horrendously low on the GRE and get rejected from the program I would want to go into, the bakery would never get off the ground and then, if it did, I would probably be fined mucho dinero or shut down within a month by the Clean Health Place People (yeah, being super technical tonight, I know) because I really don't understand why I can't just randomly run a clean finger through batter, lick it, and then clean it again, and then we'd probably end up living under a bridge like trolls while we both worked like three jobs and Heath went to school. To be fair, that might be a tad exaggerated...ok, a lot exaggerated, but whatever. In the meantime, I am closing out my 1L year and hoping that now that I can make my own schedule and pick my own classes and hopefully do an externship for a semester at home with Heath, I will actually enjoy law school. At the moment, not so much. But they keep telling us it gets better. Or at least that you just stop caring after 1L. Different people give different reports and somehow I foresee myself falling into the latter group. In the meantime, I feel less crazy eyes by talking to Chris and self-soothe by eating my feelings and watching many TV shows, one of which is the focus of my discussion for tonight!

When I about 10, I was exposed to the glory that was Frasier. Little did I know at the time, but that would later become one of my long-lasting favourite shows (for others, see Criminal Minds, which I feel is an academic study too since it's in my field and everything, but I digress...). The first episode I saw was an episode which I haven't seen since that night (although, holy god, I have absolutely tried to find it), where Frasier and Niles are fighting per usual and Marty tells them a story about how they would always fight as kids and, to bribe/chivvy them out of their terrible fight, he would buy them ice cream. Yes, it sounds mundane. Yes, it sounds like 1,000 other sitcoms out there. Yes, it might not be the stuff of epics. I mean, I'm sure Homer wasn't chilling around the fire fighting with his probably non-existent brother only to have his father come in, saying, "I'll take you to get baklava if you two, please, for the love of Zeus, stop fighting," at which point Homer shouted, "Eureka (or something to this effect), from this shall arise my great epic that students in liberal arts core curricula shall read for millenia!" In fact, I'm pretty sure that Fraiser will not inspire anybody to that level (although what do I know, I'm just a humble law/psychology student; Frasier could very well be your muse)...but what it does do is entertain. That it does in spades.

Frasier is the spin-off of Cheers, starring Kelsey Grammar as everybody's favourite former Cheers bar patron (where everybody knows your name) who has decided to move back to his hometown of Seattle after a truly wretched divorce with his ice-queen wife, Lilith. After six months back in Seattle, he is the host of a Dr. Phil-like radio show, has to move his former police officer father, Marty, into his home because he is getting up there in age and Frasier would feel guilty about putting him in a nursing home, or that place where "we take care of them so you don't have to." He invites the wee bit psychic British physical therapist, Daphne Moon, to live with them to provide 24/7 support for his invalid father and also has to deal with the madcap hijinks of his neurotic brother, Dr. Niles Crane, and his never-seen, potentially psychotic, heavily medicated wife, Maris. That is a brief summary of the 11 season run of Frasier.

I don't know what always brings me back to this show. It's not the morbid voyeurism and outright ostentatiousness of Arrested Development (also, another post for another night). It's not the parental-like quality of The Nanny (who actually, for the first ten years of my life, was my nanny, but, alas, also another story for another night). There's just something very clever about it that brings me back time and again to re-watch it. And I never get tired of it. I would love to say that this is an intellectual show. And, in some ways, maybe it is, just because the lead character and his brother (played by everyone's favourite, David Hyde Pierce) are both purported intellectuals, interested in the finer things in life. They love wine and the opera and are both heavy handed Euro-philes (I know that there is a real word for this but I'm having difficulty thinking of it off the top of my head and  I'm just too lazy to take the time to look it up on this lovely Google thing people keep telling me about). And while Frasier and Niles are some of the most pretentious prigs I've ever seen in my life, to the point where you want to smack them in the head with a racketball racket (that's a real thing, right?), there's just something so lovable about them that you can't help but chortle. And then there's Marty, Eddie, Daphne, and Roz.

Marty and Eddie are definitely an inseparable pair. Marty (played by the beloved, very recognisable John Mahoney) is a crotchety former police officer who was shot in the hip during a robbery who, after falling in his bathroom and not being able to get up, is forced to move in with his newly returned son who, although not trying to kill his father with a machete while dressed in a clown suit, does not exactly roll out a friendly mat. Marty does come as a package deal though...his best friend is a Jack Russell terrier named Eddie (who has a tendency to stare interminably at Frasier) and an absolutely comfy looking, but hideous, chair seemingly held together only by duct tape, polyester, and a vibrating butt pad, which Fraiser wants nothing more than to set it on fire and shove it off of the balcony. Marty is quite a bit earthier than his sons who he claims "take after their mother." Niles claims that the only thing they got from their father was their "well-defined calf muscles." Marty's lot in life is to bear with his son's pretentiousness and foppishness with good grace and, although he theorized that there had been some sort of mix-up at the hospital, once Niles arrived, that theory was shot half to hell. Niles and Frasier's lot in life is to wonder why their father takes a bath with his dog and loves a steak, even though it costs less than $40.

Their wee bit psychic, British physical therapist is Daphne Moon. The first time you meet Daphne is at her interview for the position of Marty's pt, where she has her hand down her shirt and proceeds to tell them that she's a wee bit more psychic around her time of the month. Marty hires her in a second. Frasier has quite a few reservations, not the first of which is that he thinks she's out of her damn mind, although he decides to "find it charming." Niles also has the world's biggest, most inappropriate crush on Daphne, which usually involves smelling her hair, making mis-statements with which Freud would have a field day, and generally being an all-around creeper. She's the world's largest artichoke, constantly producing little nuggets of wisdom, like men use sex to get what they want and that there'll be no naps in hell. Seriously, you just can't make this stuff up...Although the writer of Frasier did, I guess. Ah, well.

Rounding off the cast is Roz Doyle (Peri Gilpin), the producer of Frasier's radio show. When you first meet her, she's...well, she's a wee bit of a...well, I don't think loose would be an improper way to describe her. This is the woman who believes that the best way to end a bad date is to go home and that, when the jewelry and the sex aren't that good, it's time to bail. She is able to battle quite well with the pompous Dr. Cranes (both of them!) and give absolutely as good as she gets.

Although I am aware that I just spent eons babbling about the characters of Frasier, there is just something so family-like about this show. It's absurd and, while I'm pretty sure no one has ever found my puns as funny as the studio audience has the puns of Frasier, there is just something that makes you feel like this is family. When I watched the series finales when it first aired, hell, when I watch the series finale now, it feels like I'm losing a friend. After 11 seasons, these characters become your friends with their barbed witticisms and perfectly delivered lines. In addition, the pièce du résistance is the timing of this show. It's absolutely perfect. One of my favourite examples of this absolutely impeccable comedic timing is when Frasier, whose last name is Crane, mind you, is doing some PR stunt to drum up some publicity and, during his speech, says, "Is there nothing more majestic than a crane's majestic call?" at which point Marty Crane runs screaming past everybody after being attacked by a bird. I guess it's one of those things you have to see?

For those of you who feel inspired to watch this now, it's on Netflix and Lifetime at 12 CMT/1 EST. If you don't feel inspired to watch it and really just want to hunt me down in Law School City and beat me to death with a tire iron for posting this nonsensical drivel, I strongly discourage you from that avenue and encourage you to seek watching Frasier! No, seriously, if you have homicidal urges, I'm pretty sure that can't be solved by Frasier. For those of you who are on the fence, give it a chance. Within one, maybe two episodes, you'll be hooked. And then you'll meet Satan Incarnate, Bebe Glazer, Frasier's unscrupulous agent who has been know to murder an endangered crane because it gave Frasier bad press and disregard handicap (and bathroom) signs. Bebe is without parallel and one of my favourite characters of the series.

After way more paragraphs than needed to be said about Frasier, I'm going to go chillaxe by, what do you know!, watching Frasier and talking to Heath. For now, though, good night or morning to those of you in Europe, and always remember that sitting alone in your apartment while rocking back and forth hugging your knees is not an unusual way to pass an evening, especially when you're in law school and missing your fiancé. Also, that most of us don't know what to do with those tossed salads and scrambled eggs when they're calling again. Good night, all!

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Thank You to the Academy...

So apparently following other more awesome bloggers is inspiring me to be a better blogger myself. Nah, actually, I am totally just kidding! I mean, what would my probably nonexistent fans do if I started putting out way more posts per week/month? I think you might actually just drop dead of shock. To be honest, I might drop dead of shock and then...well, your daily entertaining blogger (I'm being optimistic here, don't laugh) wouldn't be around to amuse/irritate/other emotion inserted here anymore so that would be...counterproductive. In the meantime, in the battle between myself and law school, law school is, as I so colourfully told my sister-from-another-mother (also known as my god/facebook sister, totally legit and maybe legal?), is beating me down and then blending me into a healthy smoothie made of my tears and dreams and eating me. I am definitely not winning that death match. I did, however, get a wonderful 1.5 weeks with Heath over spring break which was exactly what I needed. Upon return to Law School City, though, I have no inclination to really do anything. At all. Mostly, all I want to do is go home to Heath and phone in law school. And, also, possibly, open my own bakery called FOOLS Bakery (acronym for Failed Out of Law School) and sell all types of wonderful baked goods. Because we all know that I would be a way better baker than I would be a lawyer. I also signed myself up for way too much (once again) by going in to Moot Court. I have told my partner that we are going to do 100% mediocre so that I am not forced to present an argument for a case that I a) really don't care about; and 2) will edge into my long easter weekend with Heath. Uh-uh. No way.

What really inspired me to write was that I was nominated by my super lovely god/facebook sister over at for a Liebster Award. Because this post was definitely supposed to be dedicated to the upcoming RockStar Mayhem Festival. I believe, however, that an award trumps that in importance. Plus, if I don't respond to it now, I will forget all about it and then, in, like, a year, I'll realise that was one of those things I should have responded to/addressed.

If you're like me, you have no idea what a Liebster Award is. About five minutes, a reading of "I Liebe You," and a quick Google search later, I finally understand. Huzzah. It's given to cool, funky bloggers- I may be adding a couple of spontaneous adjectives there, but artistic license is freaky awesome- who have less than 200 dedicated followers. I am a cool, funky blogger. I have less than 200 followers. My syllogism dictates that, provided I have a wonderful, lovely sister (You're awesome, Leen, super shout out to you!) who nominates me, I am deserving of a Liebster nomination. Sorry, I just learned how to make syllogisms, thank you, Marbury v. Madison, and plus, syllogism is such a fun word. I mean, seriously, say it and it just makes you laugh. Or is that just me? Oh, well...

But the requirements of the Liebster are that:
      1. I tell you 11 random facts about myself.
      2. I answer the questions that have been laid out for me.
      3. I nominate other super cool bloggers. I've heard 11 and 20 tossed around as magic numbers,  
          however, I shall nominate the number of blogs that I actually know. Which is not many.

So...11 random things about me, preferably things you don't already know.

1. Criminal Minds is my favourite tv show. I feel like it's actually working because it's in my academic field,
area of interest, and future work. So, generally, I can make up any and every excuse to watch it/buy the DVDs for obscene prices (or beg Heath into buying them) from Best Buy. Or Wal-Mart. Or Ebay. Or really anywhere for that matter. Also, my father knows somebody who knows somebody who knows Joe Mantegna so I have a signed Criminal Minds photo.

2. My very favourite animals are polar bears and leopards. I don't know why. But they are like the bestest, cutest things ever. And I want one. (Un)fortunately, saner minds, i.e. Heath, prevail and we are not in possession of either. Heath does, however, pick me up leopard and polar bear paraphernalia whenever he sees something he knows I would love.

3. I am engaged to the love of my life, Heath, who puts up with my ridiculousness, eccentricities, and makes me laugh even when all I want to do is swear violently, punch things, or cry.

4. When I was little, my ballet teacher kicked me out of her ballet class, telling my mother that she couldn't do anything with me because I had all the grace of a baby elephant. I have now developed the grace of a rhinoceros with an equilibrium problem. I feel that this is an improvement.

5. My dream car is a red Mini Cooper with black roof + moon/sun roof. Originally, I wanted the classic, rally looking Mini. Then I saw the Mini Coupe and the Paceman and decided that I might want one of those two. Mostly because they're super cute. It appears, however, that once Wolfie the Rabbit ten toes ups it, I will be getting a Mini Cooper Countryman with its four doors and stocky, long body because it's practical. And no, I'm not the one who used that's definitely at the top of my least favourite words of all time list.

6. I have the memory of a very absent-minded goldfish. Be it keys, a blog, directions, groceries, I will forget it. I also have an issue with placing down books in random places around houses. Fortunately, most people find this habit endearing, rather than annoying.

7. I hate snow when I have to drive in it. Like, hate it with a fiery burning passion deep down inside my soul. Also, the ice. Basically, if it's precipitation that comes from the sky in any other form than rain, it is on my dislike list. I do, however, love snow days.

8. My top five favourite bands are Evanescence, Korn, Nightwish, Rammstein, Slipknot. All of these bands are on my "to see before I die" concert list. As of this moment, I have seen all but Slipknot...Guess I need to start seeing them again!

9. A few of my fave writers are Lauren Willig (she of the Pink Carnation series wonderfulness),Lewis Carroll, the before-her-time Jane Austen, J.K. Rowling, Dan Brown, Maddy Hunter, J.R. Ward and Kresley Cole.

10. I have a very inappropriate love for Robert Carlyle (in anything at any age. At all.), Top Gear's Richard "Hamster" Hammond, Heath Ledger (who actually looks a wee bit like my Heath), and Stuart Townsend. I want to meet all of them, but embarrassing fangirl-ing would ensue.

11. My idea of a perfect vacation would be going with Heath to Paris, Venice, Dublin, and New Orleans and getting to spend like a month in each place...maybe someday when we're billionaires?

Now that I've given you all my super lengthy facts about myself, I shall answer the questions that I've been given.

1. What's your favourite movie of all time?
    Well, this one is just super unfair. I have, like, ten favourite movies. I shall, however, contrive to limit myself to...five. Five seems fair. Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas, The Phantom of the Opera (with Gerard Butler, Emmy Rossum, and Patrick Wilson, not the 1920's one), House of 1000 Corpses, Braveheart. Moulin Rouge and Across the Universe are tied for fifth place.

2. What do you do as soon as you walk in the door from work?
    I usually open my laptop and log into Skype.

3. Do you put your toothbrush in a drawer or toothbrush holder?
    A toothbrush holder designed to look like a Parisian home.

4. Which veggies do you love/hate?
     Love: brocolli, cauliflower, asparagus (with way too much butter), celery, carrot.
     Hate: tomatoes (allergic to them), any sort of allium-based vegetables (also allergic to them), mushrooms, spinach, and green beans.

5. What is your favourite go-to outfit for a Saturday?
     Comfy stuff. If I'm staying in, usually I'm in yoga pants or sweat pants and a tank top. If I'm going out, typically jeans, a cute shirt if one happens to be available, and sandals.

6. What's your favourite workout?
    Ha! That's really cute, you think I work out? I do zumba on, like, an every other month basis so...zumba, I guess?

7. What does your Tupperware cabinet look like?
     I have Tupperware?

8. If you had to choose one thing you couldn't live without, what would it be?
    As far as things, caffeine. But my books run a really, really close second.

9. What's your favourite thing to order when eating out?
     Typically, cheese pizza with light to no sauce- you know, the whole evil allergy thing. I also love orange chicken, General Tsao's and teriyaki beef.

10. What's the temperature outside when you're happiest?
       If I'm staying in with Heath, my favourite weather is snow and like 32 degrees. If I'm going out, a day with less sun and about 50.

11. If you could pick anywhere in the world to be right now, where would you be?
      So long as I was with Heath, I really absolutely would not care.

Wow, that is...a lot of information about myself. If you actually read all of that and you're not Heath, family, or one of my friends, then thanks. You made typing all of this madness up worth it.

Now, for my nominees. If I nominate somebody who's rocking their blogosphere and doesn't really need help, sorry! But here's some Liebester-love (redundant, but not I'm just being finnicky) for y'all! And since I'm kind of new to the blogging scene, I only know of a few of you, but those that I do know are totally worthy of a Liebster.

Now, after all of that, I finally say au revoir. We will be back to our regularly scheduled programming...eventually. Y'know, when I decide I need to actually blog again. Which could be tomorrow, next week, or two months from now. You never know. Either way, Harley Quinn, over and out!

Friday, March 15, 2013

La Belle Nouvelle Orleans

Well, hello, all! Alas, my inability to actually remember to blog came and bit me has been two months since I last blogged for all of my (probably nonexistent) lovelies. I would like to say that this stems from a very good reason like I was working or I was actually devoting my time to law school or something along those lines. That would, however, be a...lie (insert dramatic music here).

My absence is mostly a result of my extreme absentmindedness and complete inability to remember stuff. You know, little things like I have a blog. When one has guinea pigs, one should not buy rabbit food instead. If you leave food in the fridge for longer than a certain period of time, it will be doing creepy, crazy, potentially toxic things. Little things like that just slip my mind pretty regularly. Oh and also where keys are. I don't know what crazy voodoo happens each day, but my keys just vanish with the regularity of Dane Cook dropping the f-bomb in his stand up routine.

My realisation that I am a truly atrocious blogger steams from my sister-from-another-mother's starting of her own blog (and here I put in a plug for her blog- read's funny and she loves fennec foxes- She started it yesterday and already has two posts. In two days. Hell, it took me two months to get two posts. See, terrible blogger. But when I do blog, it's like reading Jane Austin and Dracula and all of the greats just smushed into one. PS- I know that is an untruth, but just let me have it.

So I was trying to figure out what to blog on for this post and am having difficulty coming up with stuff. I super baked for the people I bribed to witness for mock trial, but that was two weeks ago and, terrible blogger/foodie that I am, I did not take photos. I have the recipes but that seems less interesting than giving you beautiful photographs of White Russian Cupcakes with Kahlua and Vodka Buttercream, and Reese's Brownies, and Cookies and Cream Brownies...the next time I bake, I shall take photos of every beautiful moment of the baking process I swear. And while I did create two Chocolate Pudding Pies last night (for Heath and his father), the process to create one of those super-chocolate-y bad boys is way too easy to merit the attention of an entire blog post.

So what this is actually going to turn into is a travel blog post. Mostly because I have been on a super-binge of all things New Orleans and so, until Heath and I can visit (ps- his parents are going for four days in April and I am super jealous), I live vicariously through photos on the internet and descriptions of food.

One of my dreams has been to stay in the French Quarter. Yes, I know that it's tourist-y and loud and full of people, people, everywhere, but it's le Vieux Carré. The old square. How can you pass up something like that? Rhetorical question because the answer to that can't ever.

There are three things that I desperately want to do while in New Orleans. The first is, you guessed it, the French Market. One of my favourite things while I was living in Rome and France were the open air markets. They're just some of the coolest things around because you never know what you might find. It's not like with a mall where you know exactly which stores you're going to get and, with some room for error, exactly what that store might sell. At open air markets, it's anybody's guess. You might know exactly who the next vendor might be but their product will always be new and spunky and different. It's like a Renaissance Faire that's been time-warped to modern industry.

The French Market has been in operation since 1791 (I'm not so great at the maths, but that's more than two centuries, and how awesome is that?). It's open seven days a week, from essentially nine to six every day. It's a combination farmers market, retail sellers, flea market, and dining car. There're candy factories (anybody else hoping they're not manned by little people called oompa-loompas who have a hankering for some cacao beans and like to remove naughty children from their candy shoppe?), art exhibits of New Orleans based artists, home accessories, and apparel of every sort. And that's just the retail side of things. You'll also find delicious food, from beignets and coffee at the Café du Monde to gumbo and étouffée at World's Famous N'Awlins Cafe and Spice Emporium, the oldest spice emporium in the French Market (which segues quite nicely into the second thing that I want to do in New Orleans).

The next thing that I desperately want to experience in New Orleans is the food. The mind-boggling, super tasty food that seems to leave everyone who wants to try it wanting more. Although I am what some might call (indeed, have called, if I'm being entirely honest here) allergic to onions and garlic, tomatoes, oranges, and other citric acid-heavy food, it would be amazing to experience the food of New Orleans. The place that stands out most to me and I've want to try for the majority of my natural life is Café du Monde. Growing up, beignets always had a special place in my heart. I don't know if it was because 'beignet' sounds far more elegant than 'donut,' because they were a family tradition, or because they're just so likeable (it is impossible to eat a piece of fried dough smothered in powdered sugar without laughing because you have managed to make your entirely black outfit a work of white art). I remember eating these in Paris and trying to remain calm and dignified as powdered sugar flaked off onto my carefully chose outfit. I failed. Miserably. And pairing beignets with coffee or hot cocoa with whipped cream is one of the most delicious experiences that you will ever have. It's just breathtaking how amazing they are. Once you go beignet, you never go back? Wait, that's not right... Although for those of you who aren't able to 
get away to NOLA immediately for some delicious 
beignets and café au lait (read: Heath and myself), they do have Café du Monde products at World Market. They do require work and, unfortunately, do not come with a chef to make them for you and a waiter to serve them to you, but they are delicious and work well to tide you over until you can make the trek to New Orleans. Then, for all of you foodies out there, there is Emeril's NOLA restaurant in the French Quarter or the New Orleans restaurant in the Warehouse District. What most sucks me in on both menus is the crème brulée trio and the vanilla bean crème brulée, respectively. Sounds super delicious. Then, for those of you who actually want a full meal and can't exist solely on dessert, there is Jacques Imo's. Yes, it's a wee bit expensive, but, from what I've read, it's a brilliant, tasty treat with great ambiance. Just looking at the menu, you'll see foods that are at once foreign and intriguing. Such is the shrimp and alligator cheesecake. There are also Cajun/Creole classics, such as shrimp creole, shrimp étouffée, the Cajun bouillabaisse, the crabmeat stuffed shrimp, amonst delicious others, all of which look like they would make your mouth and stomach very happy.

We have finally reached the third, and final, of my "desperately hope to see" destinations of New Orleans. And this is the purported tomb of Marie Laveau. Also known as the Voodoo Queen. I know, I know. It's a tourist trap, may not even be her tomb. But still. This is something that I've also wanted to see since I was young and wrote a report on Marie Laveau. I still have the primary biography that I used somewhere around here. Basically, Marie Laveau was a strong independent woman who just happened to, y'know, be a voodoo priestess. One of her daughters (of the same name) would hold elaborate public voodoo rituals, although many believe that, of the two, Mommy Laveau was the more powerful. Because it would probably be boring (for you) if I gave all of you my geeky rendition of Marie Laveau's life, I refer you to A New Orleans Voudou Priestess: The Legend and Reality of Marie Laveau by Carolyn Morrow Long ( or The Mysterious Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau (, which, I swear to you, when I read it was a real book. Her alleged mausoleum (a few naysayers have claimed it's not actually hers) is located in St. Louis Cemetery, #1. Visitors go to see it and sometimes request the Voodoo Queen's good wishes and blessings by writing on it. I don't want her good wishes and blessings; mostly, I just want to accomplish a long seated geek dream of mine by being able to see it.

And now, after much ado, many pictures, my top three "wants to see" in Nola, and much pining for the chance to see la belle Nouvelle Orleans with Heath, I feel it would only be humane to finally be quiet. Harley Quinn, saying bonne journée et bonne chance!

Friday, January 4, 2013

Inspirational, and a little bit scandalous, women

So, alas, I took about a month long break (okay, fine, a month-and-a-half, you caught me) to attempt to pass classes, spend some much needed time with Heath, his parents, my parents, and the rest of my family. I am slightly bitter that I only know half of my grades at this point...because, of course, it does take a professor a full month to grade four short answer questions. Oh, wait, it doesn't? Then why is it taking my $190,000-per-year making professor a month to grade it. Also, tangent-ing here, is that not an absolutely obscene figure for a man teaching two classes over the course of a semester? Heath and I had tenured, Ph.D'ed professors at our alma mater that read and graded 55-68 page theses in a week and made less than some cashiers. Oh, and they commented on them too. Good comments. I'm sorry but I fail to see why a man who receives massive incentive to grade in a timely manner can't take less than a month to post grades. It's just ridiculous. However, aside from the nonsense of waiting for grades to decide whether going back to that law school city is even worth it (only slightly kidding on that one), the vacation has been not only relaxing but absolutely wonderful. I've gotten to spend three weeks solid with Heath and a week-and-a-half with my parents and family. Heath even got to make his way down to spend a few days with my family before we made our way back home where we're spending some time with his family. The holiday has consisted of fudge, various breakfast cakes, marzipan...oh, and my Grandmother's lengthy stay at the hospital and surgery for her freshly broken femur. That definitely threw a wrench in the holiday plans. Fortunately, though, she is doing well, in spite of the break. She's just as stubborn and talkative as ever and I'm sure she'll raise hell for people at rehab. Also, I find it quite amusing to say that my...older grandmother is in rehab (can't say her age...even though she doesn't know her way around a computer, probably couldn't even turn it on if you did it for her, if word got out, she would skin me alive). But, sadly, winter break is coming to a swift end, spring semester is about to set in, and life is about to go back to overstressed and missing Heath...awesome. Plus side though? One-sixth of the way through law school, actually retaining information, and I get to take criminal law this semester. Super cool to all three of those things.

However, enough of my life. I'm sure anybody who might be reading this has something way better to do than listen to me gripe, be positive, gripe some more, and then ramble on about something completely nonsensical. But, if you have made it this far and are at least a little entertained, I thank you for making my shoutings out into the internet world at least a little bit reasonable and valid. The book for today is Scandalous Women: The Lives and Loves of History's Most Notorious Women, penned by one Elizabeth Kerri Mahon, also known as the blogger of the wondrous blog, (a small plug for you there, Ms. Mahon, because you are freaking awesome). I received this book as a stocking stuffer from my future mother-in-law either as an insult (you are not suitably scandalous), a compliment (you will become/already are scandalous), both, or just because it's interesting. I could definitely be reading way too much into this gift but I No harm, no foul, and I haven't yet figured out what or whether she was trying to say anything. Regardless of any hidden meaning on the part of Heath's mother, I'm thrilled that she gave me this book.

It is basically an accounting of thirty-five women who changed the course of history, as well as women's place in history, by way of adventure, misbehaviour, misconduct, strategic maneuvering (which was frequently called manipulation in earlier days), and making a general ruckus as Ms. Mahon calls it. It is an inspirational telling of how one woman can change behaviour by flouting societal norms and conventions in what the men of those days would call misbehaving. In it, there are mini-biographies ranging from Cleopatra to Mata Hari to Amelia Earhart to Mary Wollstonecraft to Calamity Jane to Frida Kahlo (to name but a few). To be frank, when I first opened the wrapping paper, all I could think was, "It's a book! But, oh god, it's a history book. I hate history books. I might be a book lover but, oh god, I hate history books. But I have to read it or I might hurt Heath's mom's feelings. No..." This inner monologue did not stop me from smiling and giving Heath's mom a hug and thank you but I did dawdle quite a bit in starting it, even though the cover does have a woman's extended leg with a garter on it- that has to be at least a little bit interesting, based on the cover art. However, I have been let down by many a book with a cool looking cover. I put off reading it as long as I could (all of a week...I can never say no to a book) but, within pages, I was hooked. I couldn't put it down. Ms. Mahon makes history interesting by speaking of interesting women, most of whom reasonable women nowadays would aspire to be like, interesting events, and not making it boring! I can't emphasize that enough. She has a fun, quirky way of writing that gives life to women who already had more than enough character, gumption, and much-ness. Hell, in Joan of Arc's mini-bio, Ms. Mahon paraphrases that not the top of the cool-board right there? It can't be easy to merge a medieval French warrior teenager who allegedly heard saint's voices and Journey. And yet...she does it. And she does similar things with many of the other women in the book. The incredible thing about it is that it's not shoehorned in or awkward sounding. It feels like a fresh retelling of history that isn't the same old thing that sounds the same old way as it did when your centuries old, decrepit, male history professor who actually must have survived the Hundred Years War said it. To those who might be reading who had young professors or female history professors who are are obviously excluded from the decrepit history prof description and you just skyrocketed in brownie cool points with me (which are not made all).

For those of you who, like me, are spunky females who have a strong desire to leave their mark on history or just want to do something that changes things, either now or for women to come, you should read this book. It's such an enlightening and fun read and it has a little something for everybody. If you're the woman who wants to inspire a man in his writing or art or what have you, there's a section for you where you will hobnob with Zelda Fitzgerald and others.

If you want to be that strong woman who changed history by way of actions (their own) and conquered kingdoms by way of war and strategy as well as men's hearts, there's a spot for you where you can rule with Cleopatra. Even for those of you who want to be adventurers who travel the world and conquer it, either one record at a time (first woman to fly solo around the Atlantic) or seeing all the sights and recording them for future generations, you will be in good company with Ms. Amelia Earheart...although I do hope that your journey goes a wee bit more successfully than hers did.

Artists, fear are not shunned in this book. Frida Kahlo welcomes you into the group of artists. And for those of you who aren't sure how you want to change the world...well, then, you're right at home here too because none of these women knew how drastically they would alter things when they started out on their road, either. Regardless of who you are or where you are in life, you should read this book. It is an excellent tribute to women of the past and a good inspiration of what we ourselves can do in the future.

And I now (finally) come to a close. Hope you enjoyed. Harley Quinn, out.