Archive for August, 2013|Monthly archive page

Acceptance Rant

In and other uncomfortable topics, First World Problems, R[evol]ution, Somewhat disjointed rant... on August 28, 2013 at 5:23 pm

I’ve been on a kick to love myself more.  I’ve been through so many phases of this: the let me be chunky if I want to phase; the let’s eat clean phase; the no more bread phase; the Marilyn Monroe phase; the I’m not buying anymore clothes until I lose weight phase.

Now (surprise, surprise, surprise) I am at the RANT and pardon my french phase.

Firstly, I am bound and determined to accept my booty the way it is. Yeah, I have a few dimples and a little jiggle. It’s rounder at the bottom than it is at the top. I DON’T CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS….no amount of squatting is going to make my derriere look like the sizable assets of Deelishis or Jennifer Lopez. Why should I have to be Deelishis’s booty twin? Why can’t I just respect my booty and their respective booties? Every booty was not built the same. Google it, and I assure you that you will find millions of pictures of thousands of booties and each one will be a little different. Friends, I ask you: does every booty not deserve respect for what it is?

Secondly, cauliflower pizza is not pizza. Gedouddahere with that mess. When the battle is between the quality of my pizza versus my daily calorie intake my: either I choose not to eat crappy pizza (I assume that everyone understands that a pizza in which the crust and toppings are all cauliflower = crappy pizza) or my calorie intake gets the Fredo Corleone treatment.

Thirdly, I’m not a mom but when I become one: what’s so wrong with mommy hips and breasts? What’s with the recent rise of the anti-child birth body movement? Prince (or Duke or Viscount or Earl or whatever) George was literally TWENTY FOUR HOURS OLD and people were pointing out the fact that Duchess Kate’s tummy was protruding. She’d just pushed a cantaloupe through a garden hose….cut her some (royal) slack. Obviously, there is nothing wrong with getting into banging shape after you’ve had kids….but, what about those whose bodies literally change forever?

Fourthly, read my lips: I. DO. NOT. DRINK. A. MEAL. You know when I drink meals? When I had my wisdom teeth out. That’s about it. Do not believe the hype about these various shakes. Some of them are better than others, but NONE OF THEM taste as great as fresh and well-prepared food. Nom. Nom. Nom. That’s the sound of me chewing because I DON’T DRINK MY MEALS.

Fifthly, a walk around the block is exercise. So is a vigorous shopping trip. Screw anyone who says otherwise.

Sixthly, not everyone has a six pack. Yeah, yeah. I am saying this to make myself feel better. But, seriously. Even Dwayne Johnson (his resplendent excellence formerly known as The Rock) doesn’t in all of his tan glory have a six pack. Despite his lack of a six-pack, he seems to be doing ok for himself, what with the movies and the loveliness and all. Light bulb: maybe every belly–like every booty–is made a little differently. Get off my back about abs, Shape magazine.

Seventhly, what are raspberry ketones and whyyyyyyyyyy should I take them? Seriously, I can’t remember what all of these things are and what they do and how they help and what they hurt. Soy, for instance. Do you remember the soy craze of the ’90s and early ’00s? There was soy EVERYTHING: milk, chips, burgers, sausage, ground beef, smoothies, yogurt…. But, now, we find out that soy has estrogen (or releases estrogen or makes estrogen) and that messes up our hormones and something else that I can’t remember. Oh, ballz. I can’t remember.

Eighthly, pardon me while I walk down the block (exercise, FTW) and grab lunch (because I don’t drink meals).

Love-Peace-Booty Respect


Waiting for Autumn

In Thoughts on Christianity on August 27, 2013 at 3:11 am

The day after I said something sad, I was driving to work. It was a steamy August day in Georgia and I was wishing that the weather was cooler. As I wondered in dismay at the puny output of my car’s air conditioner, it hit me: WAIT FOR AUTUMN.

I could have said that the Lord spoke to me or I “felt something in my spirit” or that the scriptures opened up. But, to be honest…it wasn’t that fancy. I do believe God placed me in that situation to realize that one simple thing for a reason. But, don’t go picturing a burning bush and wheels within wheels.

WAIT FOR AUTUMN. Each season does what it is called upon to do. Summer in Georgia is called upon, apparently, to scorch. I don’t have to ask to be (unreasonably) hot in Summer. Things grow, even without encouragement, under the heat and rain. I have to be patient for the cooler weather–it comes even without encouragement (from me and the rest of Georgia). Oddly enough, I never question the coming of Autumn or think that it’s possibly not coming.

The growing season is not less important than the harvest season is not less important than the fallow season is not less important than the planting season. The work for each season must be done IN THAT SEASON or the next season won’t be as meaningful. Summer is all well and good for growing things, but if you didn’t plant anything during the Spring: farming fail.

And maybe my life is like the coming of Autumn. Right now, I absolutely feel sad about the current location of my spiritual journey. I keep asking WHEN AM I GOING TO GET OVER THIS? When will I move on? When will find a place that I fit?

The answer: that time will come, even without encouragement, at the proper time. But, right now I must do the work necessary for this moment.

Horatio and Penelope and Olivia

In Lawyer Problems, Somewhat disjointed rant... on August 26, 2013 at 3:51 am

I LOVE crime drama television shows. It seems counterintuitive, right? Bleeding heart liberal lawyer who believes in the importance of organizations like the Georgia Innocence Project DIGS seeing (fictitious) bad guys slammed into the hoods of police cruisers, cuffed, and read something loosely based on Miranda rights. Lots of lawyers like crime shows because…..

1. The ubiquitous minority and/or female assistant district attorney gets to do basically whatever the hell s/he wants. Wire tap? SURE. Fight the power by shouting at your douche bag racist/sexist/classist boss? SURE.

2. The bad guy or gal is ALWAYS in the list of suspects. ALWAYS. And, like, you know s/he did it because you saw him/her commit the crime right after the opening credits.

3. It’s totally ok if the bad guy/gal gets roughed up because you totally just saw him/her slash a lady’s lips off her face and make a necklace out of them. Punched in the face? Seems like nothing compared to the torture the (fictitious) victim endured.

4. There are no rules of evidence. During the (unusually long and elaborate fictitious) arraignment, after Jack jumps to his feet and screams “OBJEEEECTION,” the judge furrows her/his brows and says something like this: “I’ll allow it. But, you’re on a short leash, counselor.” Hearsay? More like WHO SAY? Show unreasonably gory crime scene photos to the jury? GO AHEAD. Badgering the witness?! Psshhhh….if the witness didn’t want to get badgered, s/he should have stayed at home.

5. Opposing counsel necessarily hate each other. I mean, they totally hate each other because they dated or they’re from different sides of the track or something like that. This means that any hearing is suuuuuuuuuuper entertaining because everyone objects to everything and chairs get thrown.

6. There is always, always, always a genius on the team. Every television law enforcement team has at least one human member who knows EVERYTHING: the capitol of Montana; the square footage of Hawaii; when the gas station down the street closes; how to calculate the gravitational pull of a magnet on a paperclip (or whatever….). Along that line, every law enforcement team ROLLS DEEP. There are at least four people working every case and they are all well-rested even though they work about 16 hours a day. And, OMG….THE LAB. The lab responds back with analysis reports within about 24 hours.

7. Everyone, everyone is pretty cooperative. Witnesses sing like blue jays on a fresh spring morning (usually because the witness has committed some type of minor crime….).

8. There is always a way to get around (obvious) violations of due process! Yay! Everything is in plain sight, every one felt threatened, everything is a public danger,

9. Physical evidence ABOUNDS. Dude, there are the victim’s fingerprints made with blood that does not belong to the victim! O.M.G. I bet that blood belongs to the killer. Yes! I BET that this killer is already in some database, and we will have his/her name instantly.

10. The bad guy/gal gets it in the end. S/he’s totally off the streets and no longer slicing off lips to make jewelry. FOR THE WIN. Justice. Served. This. This is the part I like. Getting the perpetrator of the crime off the streets. And, in TV world it doesn’t matter how s/he ends up in jail because we all know s/he is guilty as all outdoors. It doesn’t matter if s/he was beaten to a pulp or did not receive Miranda rights. In TV world (and ONLY in TV world), the end justifies the means.

I said something sad today….

In and other uncomfortable topics, R[evol]ution, Thoughts on Christianity on August 22, 2013 at 1:17 am

My boyfriend was driving me home after work. We passed a very large church that is familiar to both of us. I’ve been a church refugee for nearly three years. But, at this point, perhaps church delinquent or church truant or church runaway are better terms. I looked over at the church and said, “Maybe we can visit there some time.” He replied, “We should.” Then, less than a half beat later and without thinking, I blurted out: I don’t know if I want to go back to church.

And, that made me sad. Mostly because it was at least partially true.

I don’t know if I want to re-enmesh myself with another large group of people who aren’t lawyers. Law school was the last time that I jumped into a new group of people with whom I shared space on a regular basis and who saw me at my worst and at my best. As an introvert…the thought of doing it again is exhausting. I don’t know if I want to open myself to the possible hurt that can follow the end of a close friendship. I don’t know if I want to make the opposite choice of purposely guarding myself to protect from heartbreak.

I don’t know if I want to expose my sometimes eccentric and idiosyncratic beliefs about sexuality, gender, race, class, education, and the Lord to the possibly homogenizing force that can be the Christian church. I don’t know if I want to make the opposite choice of pretending that my beliefs are more mainstream than they really are.

I don’t know if I want to again make an endless stream of visits to different churches as if I was visiting colleges.

I don’t know if I can again open my heart to trust another person to pour spiritual teaching into me as I listen.

I don’t know if I can do the debates and the meetings and the disagreements and the schisms and the commuting and the crying and the leaving and the loving and the teaching and the volunteering….but, that’s crap because I know that I can and I know that I should and I know that I must.



Words with Friends

In and other uncomfortable topics, Lawyer Problems, Race, Somewhat disjointed rant... on August 19, 2013 at 1:43 am

My apologies to everyone with whom I play Words with Friends, What’s the Phrase, and Ruzzle.  I just tried to “calm myself” by playing Ruzzle and found 12 words. That’s bad. Very bad. Particularly for a (to be) lawyer.

I’ve written before about being Black. Today, I realized (after reading an excellent post on Black Girl Dangerous by Mia McKenzie) that I usually preface my posts about race with a little wind-up. A little bit of a running start that says “yes, I’m Black, but I’m not overly pissed off about it and I don’t feel that I’m generally treated unfairly and I’m not trying to be scary and I’m not trying to make you feel like you are racist and, if you are Black, I’m not trying to make you feel like we have to agree and I totally voted for POTUS Obama but not just because he’s Black and I’m smart and well educated and my family was working class and I wear my hair natural except for the times when I don’t and I just wanted to write this post and I felt kind of like I needed a preface and here is the rest of post.”

I’m angry with myself because I have not, in 31-almost-32-years, found a way to be comfortable with being Black and being a Woman and having the opinions that I have.  I always feel like I should explain how I grew up and where I grew up and how I look and how I sound and who my friends are and what my politics are and what my religion is and how all that fits together.

I’m angry with myself because I’M ANGRY. I’m angry that I am angry about being angry–that is to say: I am uncomfortable with my own anger. I’m angry that I code-switch. I used to do it almost instinctively without a thought–and thought I was doing myself and everyone else a favor. I’m now more cognizant of it and more careful about it.  and it hurts me more when I do it. I can feel my mouth slowing down and my “-ing”s getting crisper and my vowels shortening and my body language contracting.

I’m angry that, at times when I force myself NOT to code switch, I feel like I am being a caricature and I feel like I stick out like a rose in concrete.

I’m angry that, at times when I DO code switch, I feel like a traitor. Does anyone else feel like that? I don’t know. No one talks about it. And, that makes me angry. In my suit with my pumps and my briefcase and my clutch bag, sporting my fancy grammar and SAT vocabulary: I still feel like a caricature. You know what a caricature is, right? Sharp lines, exaggerated features, almost realistic but just not quite.

I’m angry that I even have to think about code switching. I’m angry and frustrated and annoyed that I have to evaluate my neck movements, my eyebrow movements, my hand movements, my tone, my inflections, my clothes, my hair to figure out what it all means to the observer.

The observer. Not me.

Rant on Rants

In and other uncomfortable topics, Somewhat disjointed rant... on August 13, 2013 at 10:07 pm


An organized, expository essay on a topic is NOT NOT NOT NOT a rant. Rants have CAPITAL LETTERS in INAPPROPRIATE PLACES and chains of letters meant to express ANGERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR and ANNNNNNNNNOYYYYYYANCE.

Come with me, and I will show you a ranter’s thought patterns.

1. Upon looking at the people listed in one of my many social media friends lists: GETTTTTTT OFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF MY FRIENDS LIST. Why are you on my friends list? You HAAAAAAAATE ME and I know it. I mean, the fact that I see you there is tempting me to ask you: WHAT THE BALLLLLLS IS YOUR PROBLEM? WHY ARE YOU A SKA-DOUCHE-KA-BAG-KA? Let’s cut through the middle men and just simultaneously delete each other, ok? On the count of THREE. 1-2-3.

2. After reading a bunch of stuff: WHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY are you telling me the words I am reading do not mean what I know them to mean? ONE OF US IS A BONOBO DRESSED UP IN A SUIT. And, I don’t have on a suit.

3. Upon entering a bathroom: WHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEERE is the soap? Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr……HULK SMASH.


(And, finally, the piece de resistance of RANTS)

5. UGH!

#Fitspo Rant

In and other uncomfortable topics, First World Problems, Somewhat disjointed rant... on August 12, 2013 at 3:53 am


It’s all over Instagram and Twitter. It’s short for fitspiration, which in turn is short for fitness inspiration. It’s all about being healthy and physically fit.

Or, so I thought.

I’m nearly 5’10” and I weigh 173 pounds today. My weight hovers between 170 and 180 pounds. I’m not a small woman.  Through my mid-twenties, I was very thin. Not because I exercised, merely a result of a high-stress and hyper personality. Then, I got up to 200 pounds when I turned 25 and stayed there for a year or so. A combination of a very controlled diet, plenty of cardio exercise, a high stress working environment, and a hyper profession that didn’t allow any time for random snacking saw me drop down to 120 pounds by the time I was 27.

Thaaaaat’s not healthy. Just ain’t. May sound nice. You may think it’s nice. But, it wasn’t. My skin was dull, my hair was falling out….you get the picture. But, since the time I lost all that weight, I have been concerned about my weight and size in a way that I never was before. During this summer, I made the decision to make healthier eating choices and to pursue a more active lifestyle.

Buuuuuuuut, it’s soooooooo hard (in a first world problems kind of way). I need #fitspo! I signed up for Instagram where #fitspo and #fitspiration abound! Pictures of lovely bodies. Pictures of healthy meals with abbreviated recipes in the comments. Videos and pictures of various workout moves. I even watch the occasional radical weight loss reality show!

But, I can’t. I literally just cannot deal. Is #fitspo motivation or judgment? #Fitspo is the latest example of something promising starting to go wrong.

1. What the bloody blazes is a cheat meal? I look at some of these pictures of cheat meals and think……wait, that’s my HEALTHY meal! Since when is a SMOOTHIE a cheat meal? Since when is salsa a cheat meal? Salsa is made of vegetables and good feelings and unicorn tears.  I seriously ate salsa with cut up cucumbers (instead of pita chips) last night and thought, this is a good cheat snack. I realized last night that I have a problem.

2. Let me tell you something….that thigh gap I had when I was 12? It ain’t coming back. It’s gone. My thighs are roommates. Even when I weighed 120 pounds, I HAD NO THIGH GAP. Shut up about the thigh gap. Not everyone is built to have a thigh gap. Furthermore, no one is pushing pics of dudes with thigh gaps, and men have more of a reason to have a thigh gap.

3. I ENJOY the taste of wine. I ENJOY the bright spiciness of beef salad. I ENJOY lemon mint water. I ENJOY chocolate soy smoothies. I ENJOY bonding with friends over a delicious, healthy meal. I do NOT enjoy panicking about what I am going to eat every time some one invites me out to eat.

4. Fit looks different on every body. How did I come to the conclusion that I wasn’t fit? Walking up multiple flights of stairs was difficult. Moving around in the increasing heat of summer was more troublesome than it was last year. My clothes were “shrinking.” I was tired all of the time.

I am clearly in a fitspo funk. Sigh.

Novel: Caught up in the mundane

In Novel on August 4, 2013 at 3:58 am

Here is a link to the novel that I write one page at a time.

There’s so many mundane actions that I do every day that have a great deal of meaning. For instance, I usually check my purse for my car keys before I leave the house or any store. That’s an incredibly meaningful action. Without those keys, I can’t get in my car and run the countless errands that life involves. But, IT’S BORING.

How much of these actions do my characters need to be walked through? Is it imperative that I describe how Leslie picks up the garage opener before going for gas? Will my readers wonder how the heck she got back in her house? Or, am I trying to hard to make Leslie seem like an everyday woman.