Congrats to the bar survivors!
That's what I did, and let me tell you, Puerto Rico -- the sun, the fun, the rum -- was a great diversion from mentally counting down the minutes until the results would be online.
Labels: something legal
C'est un blague.
Labels: something legal
Monday's report singles out the department's former White House liaison, Monica Goodling, for violating federal law and Justice Department policy by discriminating against job applicants who weren't Republican or conservative loyalists.And it looks like Goodling may be disbarred as a result. Of course, she won't face (administrative) charges because she no longer works at Justice. And I doubt there are any criminal charges associated with her malfeasance.
Labels: me me me
And sorta doesn't.
5. Hillary Rodham Clinton
4. Joe Biden
3. Kathleen Sebelius
2. Evan Bayh
1. Tim Kaine.
As I've stated, I don't think Obama will pick a woman. Joe Biden is an excellent idea. The other two were on my final four list. We'll see.
(Of particular amusement, one of the commenters to The Fix column advocated for Senator Dodd. He urged us to think of the bumpersticker: Vote for Obama! Dodd is my co-pilot. Ba-ha-ha-ha!)
The blogosphere is an interesting place. The rules are different here than in the real world. We can become "friends" without ever knowing each other's real names or faces or personalities. In real life, we exchange names, personal details and contact information instantly. Notsomuch online. We reveal only what we want to. And who knows if we're playing our real cards or bluffing? It's a whole new dance in the blogosphere.
I have only met in person two bloggers that I've "gotten to know" in the four years of this blog. Denise and TI, both of whom are exactly as you would expect them to be based on their blogs -- fabulous people. I have plans to meet two more when they come to DC this summer -- Scooter and Resipsacrap. I'm looking forward to putting their online personalities together with their in person personalities. I have also sought the advice and counsel from a few here in DC too, but never met them. And I admit that I've "stealthed" a few folks -- meaning either that I found a blog of someone I know but haven't told them that I'm reading or that I've figured out who some of my blogger pals are in real life but not admitted it to them because I don't want them to mistakenly think I'm stalking them. To me, it was just a game to see if I could answer the question of "who is...". (If you think you may fit in that category and want me to tell you, just email me. I'm not trying to be secretive.)
On that latter point, I started to wonder how easy it would be to figure out who I am.
It's actually pretty easy. And if you were so inclined, it wouldn't take much to find me. Oh well. But that's okay (I hope) because anyone starting from my blog and taking all the info here to figure out who I am is probably not as problematic as someone starting with my name and trying to find more info about me online. The second search, the one that starts elsewhere and leads to this blog, the search that employers would make, well, that could leave me with lots of 'splaining to do.
Of course, that isn't to say that I want to challenge anyone out there to figure out who I am and search me out. If I did, then my real name would be on the blog. But I do think I'm still googlenonymous, and I intend to stay that way for the time being.
That being said, anyone who writes a blog and expects to remain anonymous is naive to the point dangerous stupidity. You can't beat the technology. You can ask that you aren't outed or rely on the fact that most people don't care who you are, but if someone is so inclined to track you down, it's not hard to do.
Ever. I get my anger out, and it's done and over. No residual anything.
But not this time with the work stuff. It's still there, like a cancer. Coming into the office every day is like ripping off any small scab that may have started the healing process. As I was walking from the metro to the work, I felt the anger churning in my gut.
This is not like me. Clearly, this is more serious that other stuff in the past that has pissed me off.
At least I've started to be productive about it. I sent out all sorts of emails, canvassing my well-connected friends for leads for jobs. I am getting my paperwork in order. I am looking at listings.
It's not a new job -- not yet -- but it's progress in the right direction. And I need something to focus on to distract me.
Towards that end, SM and I saw SATC last night. Finally! I swear, I thought we were the only people left in DC who hadn't seen it.
Turns out, we weren't. But I do think SM might have been the only straight guy in the theater.
We both enjoyed the movie. I found it more emotionally fraught that I thought it would be. I expected more fluff without any substance. But I give SJP credit for that. Her acting revved it up. That scene on the street after they've left the library is just horrifying.
But I have one major complaint -- all of the commentary about women over 40 getting married, how they beat the odds, etc.... well, sh*t. Thanks a lot. What a load of crap. I know that the movie was trying to show that even women who are as successful as these characters feel the societal pressure of getting hitched, but how could Carrie succumb to the insecurities being foisted on her? Wasn't the show all about independent women who take on NYC and men and relationships on their own terms? And are all the happier for it? So making Carrie a bridezilla was... well, it was a good plot point. But it didn't ring true. (And for those of you who have seen the movie, yes, I know that Carrie is only truly happy when she's true to herself -- a lesson she learned in the end.)
But the commentary was still annoying. I ain't no Carrie Bradshaw or anything, but just because I ain't all that, I also ain't no loser that somehow beat the odds to capture the ultimate prize of an engagement ring either.
So let me say for the record: I chose to wait this long to get hitched. Being a 40 year-old bride was my decision. It isn't because I couldn't get myself a man. I had other stuff going on and did not want to get hitched before now. I deliberately chose to wait this long. I'm not to be pitied. My decisions are to be celebrated -- the ones that took me around the world to 44 countries, that got me two advanced degrees, that has me owning two properties. All of them, including the one that will have me in a fancy dress in front of loved ones next month.
(Notice how I managed to distract myself? At least that little rant took the edge off of my earlier anger.)
Now I need to get some coffee.
I am angry. No, seething. If I were a cartoon character, my face would be blood red and puffy and steam would be pouring out of my ears, scalding anyone within a two mile radius.
I am that pissed off. Oh yes I am.
Don't worry. It's not SM. He couldn't be more supportive. I marvel at how lucky I am that he has my back. Sadly, all of his sympathy and empathy and attempts to make me feel better cannot resolve this situation. They serve to distract me, but it's only temporary. The anger returns.
And I am generally not an angry person. Truly.
It's work. I can't go into any details for obvious reasons, but you know the saying, "the straw that broke the camel's back"? In my case, it's a cinder block. Or even something bigger. Something completely and utterly destructive.
But because this is a work thing, I have to keep it all bottled up inside while I'm at the office. All day. This makes me tense. It's hard to hold up the pretense of "all is well" when you want to smack something. Hard.
I am just so grateful that I won't be in the office for most of next week. And I can probably hide out for the remainder of this week. That doesn't help assuage the anger though. In fact, there isn't much that I can do to suppress this now. That's why I am venting wherever I can.
My old habit of dealing with this level of angst, frustration, seething, etc. would be either to eat (yup, my coping mechanism of choice -- which has gotten me into a great deal of trouble) or to shop (also not exactly productive). I have steeled myself against doing either. And it's hard. If I were an exerciser, which we all know I am not, I would go for a run or just physically exhaust myself so I didn't have the energy to be angry. But, that's not an outlet for me. I think what would really help is to direct my energy into something productive. In the past, doing pottery was really good for this because it does take a lot of hand strength to work the clay and throw a pot. And it helps work out the frustration. I need to find that equivalent now. I don't have it.
I need to send this anger somewhere. I'd like to convert it to something productive rather than let it be a destructive force. I need an outlet.
Yes, I really am that angry. Because I have to come to the office and have it all in my face every day, fresh again. Bitch slapped over and over and over. And that's tough to ignore. And that also makes it tough to get past. What to do, what to do...?
From applying for a "marriage" license. Fortunately for me, I literally work across the street from the courthouse -- and know the less popular public entrance so I don't have to wait in line with all of those folks who are there for jury duty (the line runs out the door and down to the curb in the morning).
It was very straight-forward. Not much wait at all, and the clerk was atypically friendly. I guess it would be a happy place to work, the office which issues the licenses for couples to get legally hitched... always dealing with folks who are probably very excited and happy and optimistically anticipatory. I'm guessing the divorce office is a bummer. Not-so-happy clients walking in the door (or, alternatively, some might be ecstatic).
Anyway, I did the paperwork, paid the fee and will have to go back on Monday to pick up the actual license. Yay. Done in one morning and $85 later (for the bloodwork x 2 and the license).
And I managed to do this errand on a quick break. Sadly, however, my stealth activities are not likely to remain so if I continue to drop the receipts for our bloodwork in the hall of the office such that a co-worker has to return them to me.
Like I did on my way back.
I didn't even realize I was missing them. But now, co-worker R knows that I had a blood test this morning. I don't know if he figured out why though (he may have; the wedding isn't exactly a secret)...
I have nothing to report as to the pudge part. I "forgot" to get on the scale this morning. Not actually intentionally, but I may have been blocking it from my memory subconsciously. Yes, it's been that kind of a week.
In other news... SM and I had to get up and out early today to get stabbed for -- get this -- a syphilis test for a "marriage" license in DC (in quotes, 'cuz you know why...).
How freakin' arcane is that? I don't know if any other jurisdiction requires a syphilis test. And, what do they do if it comes back positive? Disallow the license? Tsk, tsk and shake a finger at you?
Whatever. Just another bureaucratic hurdle courtesy of our nation's capital.
We were told that it's easier if we go to a clinic that does the test and provides the results on the DC DHS required forms. So we went to this storefront clinic on Georgia Ave. Walking from the metro to the "clinic" (and I use that term loosely), we definitely stuck out. Partially because it was 6:30 in the morning, and the street was empty so everyone stuck out. Partially because, yes, we aren't the demographic of the neighborhood. But mostly because SM was wearing a suit, and this isn't a suit-type neighborhood.
We got to the clinic, and it was a clapboard-front shop that looked like it was plucked from some developing nation. I have to admit that I was, well, not nervous, but concerned. But not concerned in a truly rational way, just an irrational concern that the place was sterile. Let's just say that the clinic isn't the type of medical facility I'm used to. And I'm not trying to be elitist or anything. Maybe I am being elitist, but I am admitting that I wasn't terribly comfortable.
Okay, there's no way the place was sterile. I just needed the needle to be.
And I'm comfortable that it was.
Even if the guy who stuck me didn't wear gloves. But, other than that, the technician was fine. Did a great job and was very friendly. And we got the results within a few minutes.
And the clinic was a damned sight cheaper than the $100 the fancy travel clinic in the "lobbyist" part of town was going to charge us for the same exact procedure.
Now I've got to go over to the courthouse to apply for the actual license. Let's hope that bit of DC bureaucracy isn't too hairy.
Labels: DC living
Labels: the pudge report