tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62258839741377397402024-03-13T15:04:48.895-04:00bring a torchPowered by Righteous IndignationBring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-35415662422103473632014-12-02T11:05:00.002-05:002014-12-02T11:05:59.066-05:00Signs you might be older than you used to be: <span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Spontaneous, earnest, non-ironic utterance of "when I was your age." (Bonus level: No one under 18 resides in your household.) (Triple word score: this having happened often enough that it's no longer cringe-inducing.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Getting carded is a big, honking deal, brightening your whole week. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Running out of sympathy cards. (Bonus level: using a coupon when you restock them.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Feeling out-of-sorts when Collective Soul is played by the "classic rock" or "oldies" station. (Bonus level: knowing who originally coined the phrase.) (Triple word score: pronouncing her name correctly.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Knowing what "TPMS" stands for, because the got-dang light has come on so many times.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A certain awareness of one's...fiber consumption. (Bonus level: discussion with a parental unit about theirs.) (Triple word score: this having happened often enough that it's no longer cringe-inducing.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No longer having to Google how to plunge the toilet. (Bonus level: Having to plunge is literally no sweat.) (Triple word score: You have achieved unclogging in ten seconds or less.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Somebody else has commented on your fluency with medical terms. (Bonus level: Knowing which cholesterol is the good kind.) (Triple word score: Knowing which blood pressure number points to your level of chronic stress.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Getting excited when a doctor hands you one of those cards that help pay for the new drug they've just prescribed. (Bonus level: You have enough of those cards to necessitate their own section in your coupon file.) (Triple word score: You know what your deductible is.) (Quintuple mega super word score: You know because somebody met it this year.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gray hair that you treat with chemicals, or have a professional treat with chemicals. (Bonus level: Gray hair ornery enough to require multiple chemical processes.) (Triple word score: You've quit it with the nasty, smelly chemicals, because there's just no point anymore.) </span><br />
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Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-18287705677805359732013-06-23T10:37:00.001-04:002013-06-23T10:38:26.334-04:00There are seventeen bullet points in this post. Thursday night I had a lovely dinner out with my mom and brother. There was much drama in the planning but none whatsoever in the execution. (Unless you count the gi-normous blister on one of my toes, which I should have left the hell alone.)<br />
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Friday...I'm not sure how to characterize it. I don't think it would meet the clinical definition of a panic attack, but it was way, way past an ordinary lousy mood. I think it was basically a clusterfuck of self-loathing and decision-making: <br />
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<li>where to take the car for maintenance, since there is a very scary light on the dashboard and I need an oil change anyway</li>
<li>have I voided various warranties by being slack about oil changes (almost certainly not, but still)</li>
<li>should I reactivate my law license or not (running smack into an expensive continuing-ed obligation if I do)</li>
<li>should I pay my church pledge all at once or stretch it out monthly, since it's due at the same time as bar fees</li>
<li>do we really have to get new primary care doctors, or have the billing issues of the last month just been a glitch (sure, the new doctor sounds great, but we adore current ones and have been with them for years; on the other hand, they don't seem to like our insurance anymore)</li>
<li>what if new doctor says something critical about my age, weight, lack of babies, or all three</li>
<li>should I get my Depo shot next time</li>
<li>what if it takes 2-3 years for my periods to start up again</li>
<li>what the hell do we use in the interim (waiting to have 3 regular periods), during which I'm still not supposed to get pregnant</li>
<li>am I seriously thinking about futzing with my crazy meds?!</li>
<li>should I go to the play tonight, technically by myself, even though I will definitely know people there</li>
<li>should I go to Pride on Saturday, even though I might overheat, because it's important to me and I'll regret missing it</li>
<li>will I ever like my hair again, because its texture has morphed into something one could sell for scrubbing pots, and the gray is back with reinforcements after 3 weeks</li>
<li>am I going to end up bald instead, because I seem to have traded biting my nails and cuticles for yanking out hairs that I deem "weird" </li>
<li>should I address, with loppers, <strike>my hair</strike> the towering lavender bush that makes it difficult to see when backing out of the driveway and is fully occupied by loud, fuzzy bees</li>
<li>this new squishy keyboard can go in the dishwasher if I spill something on it but my God, shifting is a nightmare, and I NEED my capitals and exclamation points!!!!!</li>
<li>etc., etc. </li>
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So, in retrospect, that is quite a lot of shit to put oneself through all in one fell swoop, and also, pelting my husband with most of it as soon as he walked in from work was not exactly the healthiest way to deal, either. On the other hand, bonus points should be awarded because I refrained from phoning him up. <br />
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I ended up staying home from both the play and Pride, which kind of sucks. But if I was flipping out that much about going, maybe not going was the better option. Walking the parade route with church is highly uplifting but both times has resulted in rushing myself home to Gatorade and a cold shower. So I will take a shift tabling, under a tent, next year. And the play is something that will probably be restaged soon. <br />
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Then I woke up before 8 this morning and realized, contrary to recollections of careful planning, that I threw out two empty prescription bottles, apparently without calling in or picking up the refills. This is not a crisis and shoulding all over myself is not going to help, and if anything, the short pick-up trip has donuts on the way, and according to the manual, may even result in the stupid dashboard light righting itself. </div>
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Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-30423367206966559002013-06-12T15:54:00.001-04:002013-06-12T15:54:10.843-04:00Visualize this!So...for a while there I was trying to teach pre-K. I ran away from that in January and am much the better for it. The long, sordid story will probably come out in bits and pieces here. Meanwhile, I am basically a kept woman, the antithesis of what I was raised to be, which is probably why it bugs me so damn much.<br />
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I have no idea what to do next. The thought of getting back on the rejection hamster wheel that was applying to lawyer jobs is terrifying. The thought of trying to write professionally--hopping onto another such wheel--is about equally scary. I have had so damn much I've wanted to say that the idea of coming back here to type in this little box got overwhelming. But one has to start somewhere. <br />
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I have been trying to make (readying finger quotes) a vision board--Lord knows I have mountains of magazines to mine. Some of the little scraps of paper I've been hanging onto for years. It is bound to be somewhat vague as far as certain Life Goals, because I really don't know what I want exactly. Of course there will be various enouragements re kicking butt and taking names, but nothing so specific as a picture of, say, a briefcase. I'm not about to put a picture of a baby on there because of the harsh reality that it might not work out that way. There will be cats, however. Of that I am certain.<br />
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So I've been going through my piles and piles of magazines. As gifts from my mother and grandmother, I am subscribed to <i>Southern Living</i>, <i>Better Homes & Gardens</i>, <i>Bon Appetit</i>, and <i>O</i>[prah's mag]. Mom also passes along the occasional <i>Real Simple</i>, <i>Garden & Gun</i> (which can be great despite its frightening title), and <i>Every Day with Rachael Ray</i>, which is SO! very! busy!, and full of exclamation points!!!, but which also discusses food I might actually eat, as opposed to <i>BA</i>, which is full of things like fish sauce (not only no, but Hell No). <i>BA</i> and <i>O</i> have both been full of pseudoscience lately (white sugar bad! juice fast good!), but <i>BA</i> recently redeemed itself partway, by putting Mel Brooks on its back page. <br />
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Anyway, one of the volumes advised checking the reliability of one's oven thermostat, because they are notoriously screwy, and since I had to bake for church today anyway, I put the oven thermometer in there and checked it after 6 minutes, which is when the oven beeps to tell me, ostensibly, that it is fully pre-heated and ready to accept cargo. In reality, it was over 200 degrees short of 350. So if you are like me, and turn on the oven when you start baking, only to fret about wasted heat as your creation takes forever to come together: I wouldn't fret quite so much. Which is good advice for life, really, and just the kind of thing one might affix to a piece of posterboard.<br />
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Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-4637739762425408212012-08-26T14:24:00.001-04:002012-08-26T14:24:23.213-04:00The pee in the fridgeIn addition to all the regular stress of a new school year, I have been flipping out about kids, whether we really want them, whether we should have them, whether or not I will deeply regret my decision either way, etc. etc. My primary care guy said I should see an OB-GYN specialist before we got serious about it, and I'd heard it can take a while to get into a new practice, so I went looking and to my surprise got in for the following week.<br />
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I was there for more than three hours. I was told about amnio and the likelihood of Down's. I gave them as much family medical history as I could. I was given a giant jug to fill with 24 hours' worth of pee, which I had to store in my fridge, behind the milk. I was told that "high-risk" is just a word, that 35 is still young, that we'd have to futz with all or nearly all of my meds, that everything will go better the more weight I can lose before I get pregnant. I was told that after waiting for the Depo to wear off, I'd want to have 3 regular cycles before we started really trying. I was told the Depo should wear off in 3-6 months, and that was a relief, because I'd read it would take longer.<br />
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There are a number of looming questions. One is that my husband and I are really happy together and I don't want to fuck that up. Another is we are barely holding it together, household-management wise, and we'd have to seriously step it up in order to create a child-SAFE environment, let alone a child-friendly one. Another is that we should really move somewhere else so we have a place to put the baby, unless we want it to sleep in a dresser drawer. Another: we always thought we'd have cats first (forbidden under our lease; see above re eventually needing to move). Another: Teaching has really made me re-think the whole kids thing, period. Another: Assuming I could get my head around NOT having them, will my mom be able to respect that? <br />
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Another: While I put it off for so long, waiting to be gainfully employed and "ready," wanting it to be planned, others around me have neither planned nor waited, and it makes me furious. So do I really want kids, or am I just angry that so many less prudent others get to have them? Do I really want kids, or will I just be angry if it turns out I can't? <br />
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What if we try and it doesn't work? <br />
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What about the fact that when I came home from the damn doctor, flipping out and sobbing, my husband said, "You can't really plan for a baby! It just happens!"?<br />
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I came to the conclusion weeks ago that in order for us to do this both of us would have to change how we live. An awful lot. And I'm not sure he gets that or is really willing to do that. <br />
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The doctor said she didn't think we were ready, and that for now I should stay on the Depo, so I went for my shot. I'm covered for three more months. I'll see her again right after Labor Day and she'll tell me about my pee. <br />
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<br />Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-56795700754820928402012-06-14T16:04:00.003-04:002012-06-14T16:04:54.914-04:00Where the hell I've beenUhh. I spent last summer in a training program, part of a new alternate route to teacher certification. It was challenging but I really liked working with the kids, who were at the older end of the elementary range.<br />
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Then I had the extraordinary luck of getting a position, teaching the very youngest elementary students. In what is really a very good school. And it was rough. There were wonderful moments, and the first year of teaching is supposed to be very difficult. But still. Rough. Nonetheless, I got through the year. All signs indicated I would be earning my certification and moving on to my second year of teaching with that boulder lifted. <br />
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Summer started and it took me a while to get used to it. You spend the last two months of the year going 90 miles an hour, and then BOOM--you hit the wall, turn in your keys, and go home, and all that adrenaline has nowhere to go. During the year I didn't enjoy time off. I was so resentful of the massive amount of shit I had to do that I would refuse to do it until the last minute, and so tired and grumpy that I didn't do anything really satisfying instead. The summer began much the same way: having assigned myself 50 million zillion "projects," I immediately began procrastinating and feeling bad about those. But after a couple weeks, I had gotten a little bit accomplished, and I was starting to feel grateful for the time, and even a tiny bit excited about next year. <i>It would be different,</i> I kept telling myself. I went to TarJAY for the first time in ages and bought myself a nice folder to keep my projects in, some Sesame Street stickers, a Bert and Ernie pirate book for next year (because I love Bert and Ernie, and the kids love pirates). I took a somewhat credible online quiz that told me I'm a right-brainer, which I took to mean that the law thing probably wouldn't have worked out anyway and that I was really <i>meant</i> to be a teacher. Things were looking up, in other words.<br />
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And then I got the bad news, which is really not all that big a deal: I'm just not done. I still have my job, I'm just not certified yet, so I'll still be in the program next year. There's no point in speculating or disaster-cising about what it will be like, because we haven't been told anything. I know it will cost still more money, and I'll have busywork to do, and multiple layers of observation, evaluation, "next steps," and follow-up. Even so, it probably won't be as big a pain in the ass as it was this year. <br />
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And instead of getting on with my life, I've been hardcore moping since I got the stupid email. I've been reliving every bad thing about teaching, every uncomfortable moment of training. I've been thinking about how much I hated it, about spamming law firms with my resume, about how next year is going to be even more uncomfortable than before because they've already decided I suck. I messed up with someone very important on the very last day of school and it keeps replaying over and over again. I apologized and she was extremely gracious about it but I can't believe it. I'm convinced that I'm doomed and that the only reason my principal didn't just fire me outright was because it must be a bigger pain in the ass to do that than deal with me again.<br />
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To put it concisely, I already felt like I failed at law. Now it feels like I've failed at teaching, too. Neither of those things are true, but that's how it feels, and given how much debt I went into to become a lawyer, and what I've endured becoming a teacher, it just HURTS. <br />
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I take this career crap especially hard. Sometimes I think I left the best job I will ever have to go to law school, and since then I have struggled hard to even hold onto work, let alone do well at it. Also, both my parents did something that is impossible nowadays: they got good jobs and stayed at the same employers for more than thirty years. Their jobs came first because that was how they took care of us. If the cars broke down, it was a very big deal because that's how they got to work. <br />
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And that's what I thought work was. I thought that you are nothing if you don't have the sort of work that consumes you. So when I've struggled, I've thought the very worst. If I go on an interview and don't get hired, I must have said the wrong thing. If I get bad feedback about anything at work--and this year, that was pretty much daily--I assume it's time to pack my things. <br />
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I no longer think there is any one career that we are "meant" to do. It just happens that you fall into doing something you enjoy and are good at. Or, more likely, you don't, and then work is what you do, but not what you love. And maybe that's healthier.<br />
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<br />Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-7786581654013618012011-08-08T22:17:00.003-04:002011-08-08T22:28:36.506-04:00I had no idea there were that many types of blocks.Updating just for a moment to say that I did get through the summer program, and it was an adventure. We finished on a Friday. By the end of Monday, I had zapped my resume to every elementary school principal in the county. And by the end of Tuesday, I had an offer.
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<br />I'm teaching pre-K which starts later than the rest of the grades. This reflects severe state budget cuts but to me it is a huge help, because my LORD, people, my classroom is a mess. There is so much stuff and so many surfaces and everything needs to be thoroughly attacked with antibacterial wipes. I do not know how they used to fit eighteen small people and two adult-size people in there, and am similarly perplexed as to how <i>I</i> am going to fit twenty-two small people and two adult-size people in there.
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<br />I will have an aide--the second adult-size person--but s/he hasn't been hired yet. I hope to heck I have some sort of curriculum to follow, too. (I do have a bunch of state standards, but as far as parceling them out over the year, in a way that gets them all taught? I have no idea.)
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<br />I am trying to figure out how to regularly blog again without getting myself into trouble. Another worry for another day.
<br />Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-51886362309142340302011-06-02T10:03:00.012-04:002011-06-02T15:56:08.821-04:00The Fluxing Capacitor (with thanks to Mir and Ellen)I should begin by saying that Spouse's job sitch worked out exactly like <a href="http://bringatorch.blogspot.com/2010/11/dreamin-is-free.html?showComment=1289563086088#c7482833585913204438">Swistle</a> predicted on my last entry, and not long after I wrote it, either. He is really a ton happier.<br /><br />Things are fixin' to change in a big way for me, as well. Since August 2008, I have applied to lawyer or lawyer-appropriate jobs whenever I've learned of opportunities, and gone on a number of interviews, and even gone on a couple of second interviews. My outlook on life has depended on where I was in the waiting game at any given moment. Recently, after one more turn on the hamster wheel that didn't work out, I decided I was done.<br /><br />That same week, I'd found out about a new alternative teacher certification program. I'd looked into teaching before, but this was a new thing, only recruiting for high-need subjects in high-need schools. So I went to the info night, and found out that I could take tests and qualify to teach special ed. A field in which the law degree, that $160,000 albatross, would actually come in handy. That just blew my mind.<br /><br />So I wrote my application essays, sent them off, and was invited to interview for the program. Prior to the interview, as requested, I signed up to take three state certification tests. The interview day went really well--my five-minute lesson was definitely one of the better ones in my small group, and I was absolutely sure I would get into the program. So positive, in fact, that I went inactive with the state bar, which is easily reversible, and really not that big a deal procedure-wise, but my Lord, did it hurt. (I was only <span style="font-style: italic;">mostly</span> done.)<br /><br />Fast forward to the night before the first test: I got an email saying I was wait-listed. OUCH. I dwelled about this for weeks. I felt like I had been rejected yet again, and like I was being punished for something. Really, though, it meant that I got some sleep, instead of staying up all night trying to teach myself electromagnetism via Wikipedia. (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capacitance">Capacitance</a> is a real thing; <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flux">flux</a> is a real thing; <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DeLorean_time_machine">flux capacitors</a> remain theoretical, but I couldn't tell you why.) I would have kept going, because I'm just that goofy, but once I had that news, I felt ok to eat pizza with Spouse and go to bed.<br /><br />Eventually I got word that I passed that test, and not long after, that I had gotten into the program. Then I passed another test. Then I did a school visit and was blown away by how skilled the teachers were, how deftly they handled everything the kids threw at them. I've had homework to do, too--a big guidebook to read, a bunch of essays to write about my school visit.<br /><br />I've been procrastinating, in part because that's what I do, and in part because of ambivalence. This is going to be hard. (On the other hand, it cannot possibly be as hard as the bar exam. Or law school. Or the aforementioned hamster dance.) Historically, I used to bolt when things get hard. (On the other hand: since then, I have become tenacious as all hell.) I still have to actually get a teaching job, which will involve more interviews (but there will be help with that; I won't be completely on my own and isolated like I have been with the law stuff). Communication from the program has not been as instantaneous or as detailed as I would like. (But I can be a tad obsessive: see, for example, having pecked at this all day.)<br /><br />Summer training starts tomorrow, and until yesterday I'd been feeling disconnected and put-upon and <span style="font-style: italic;">meh</span> about it. I got a very lucky break yesterday, when I read <a href="http://wouldashoulda.com/2011/06/01/doubt-always/">Mir's entry</a> about whether or not public school is right for her son, who has Aspberger's. She was indirectly advised, by a very well-known person on the spectrum, to pull him out ASAP. Strangely, even with teaching stuff all over my desk, I didn't make the connection until I read <a href="http://wouldashoulda.com/2011/06/01/doubt-always/#comment-151758">this comment</a>. A teacher named <a href="http://www.thehistoryofellen.com/">Ellen</a> wrote, <blockquote>At my school, we are getting ready to say goodbye to a girl who came in 6th grade totally lost. I am not saying we’d do a great job with Monkey, but [...] It is possible to have success in a public, diverse middle school.</blockquote>And the light bulb went off: Hey! That's where I'm gonna be this summer!<br /><br />And: Holy crap! I <span style="font-style: italic;">could</span> do a great job with Monkey! (Eventually, I mean.)<br /><br />And then I felt a LOT more invested and connected and hopeful.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I have this pernicious tendency to over-believe the negative. I told myself during this whole process that I would end up feeling really silly about all the turmoil re the waiting list if it all worked out in the end. And, well, I've got to got figure out what to wear tomorrow, because it did work out. So my goal for this summer is to focus on the positive, regardless of whatever crap hits the fan. I have no idea where I'm going, only that I'm going somewhere else, and that is HUGE.<br /></div>Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-86228111006407544022010-11-11T18:18:00.004-05:002010-11-11T21:13:14.891-05:00Dreamin' is freeMy husband, who has been keeping us afloat financially for the 3 years we've been married, lost his job early last week. He's only told a couple of friends. He hasn't said anything about it on Facebook and asked that I wait to mention it until he does. My mom and a couple other people I haven't been able to avoid know, but otherwise I've been keeping radio silence. It's been just over a week now. Hence me typing in this box. <br /><br />We'd both been eagerly contemplating both of us having Real Jobs. He had been talking a lot about how great it was that we had built up our savings again. In fact, he'd been talking about it so much that it was making me nervous. For my part, I'd been spending hours writing in this box about how part of me still badly wanted to have kids but another part, a surprisingly loud, anxious part, did not want to go back to worrying about money so soon. I didn't post any of this for fear of sounding materialistic, or like I wasn't sincere about having a baby.<br /><br />He'd left that morning at about 8:45, and I'd stayed in bed and conked out again immediately. Then I heard him come back in and I thought he had forgotten his inhaler or something, not realizing I'd been asleep for half an hour. So I murmured something like "What happened?" into my pillow and wasn't even looking at him when he told me. My loyal, supportive, loving response was "Are you fucking kidding me?!"<br /><br />I've been on an emo roller coaster ever since. He said he almost replied "thank you" when they told him, because he had been abso-freaking-miserable there. I knew he wasn't happy--a week or two earlier, he'd politely but firmly told me I wasn't allowed to ask him about work--but I had no idea how miserable it was making him. So in the first minute or so, I was happy, even excited. I didn't cry until I remembered all the prescription bottles in our bathroom. But at the end of the day I felt all right. I went to meditation that night and on the way home I left a message for my therapist saying that this was the worst possible thing that could happen, I'd thought, and it wasn't really all that bad.<br /><br />My thoughts have changed slightly since then. We still don't know what COBRA might cost. I've been on it before, and it was exorbitant. I was excited about the 65% subsidy until I read that it was allowed to lapse by Congress. By <span style="font-weight: bold;">Democrats</span> in Congress. On one hand the premiums were still so high that relatively few families were taking advantage of the subsidy. On the other hand I feel like my team deserved to lose if it is that completely incompetent, and in a weird, circular way, that makes me feel less horrible about the elections. <br /><br />Spouse was looking forward to taking a little break and was hoping we could get by on unemployment. Unfortunately we live in a lousy backwards Southern state. Even if he gets the maximum level of benefits, Spouse will receive less than half of what he'd been earning. I successfully represented clients in unemployment hearings in another state as a law student. This summer during my internship I did research for a couple of unemployment appeals. In other words, I am supposed to know something about unemployment. Yet I was blindsided by the fact that the benefits are capped in my state, and at a ridiculously low sum. Of course it's better than nothing. A lot better. It's not enough to live on for very long without exhausting our savings, but at least we have savings to exhaust. <br /><br />I am STILL supposed to have an second interview at the place that hosted me this summer. I got that confirmed today and am waiting to hear about scheduling. This is a good thing. When you've gotten used to having zero prospects, you can get a ton of mileage out of having one. <br /><br />I am studiously avoiding Christmas and will be doing well if I can get our Thanksgiving scheduled without crying. That would be a new thing for me. Three houses to hit + plans coming together at the last minute + one of the houses being 45 minutes away + baking for Dad's birthday + stuffing, at minimum, for Mom's house + Mom's having surgery the week before + Spouse's delicate tummy + my various neuroses = an overly complicated Turkey Day situation. <br /><br />Spouse has just suggested we host something HERE, since we both have some time on our hands, and I just told him he might as well go to a certain part of town that has a number of pawn shops and buy himself a shotgun. Because Oh MY <span style="font-weight: bold;">GOD</span>.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-46659945841703413572010-10-11T14:23:00.002-04:002010-10-11T14:52:46.257-04:00WaitingMy internship has ended. There is a job opening there and I am anxiously waiting to hear when my second interview will be. This would be life-changing on a million levels.<br /><br />My worry meter is running hot, and I feel pretty lost during the day. I need to get on a regular schedule and leave the house a lot more often. There is a litany of tasks I could be doing now that I won't have time to do later. Spouse is home sick today, which always throws me off, and I'm not sure why.<br /><br />Once I pick up my reserves that have come in from around the state, I will have something like 30 library books on my living room floor. I've blazed through all the fluffy stuff (lots of celebrity memoirs, see Twitter for reviews!) and am now trying to avoid the more imposing tomes. There needs to be a word for the type of procrastination that involves putting off things you actually want to do. I wish I could figure out why I do this!Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-13589163316732993862010-06-20T15:13:00.002-04:002010-06-20T15:35:38.128-04:00Quick changeI have an internship, at my dream employer in the small city where I live. I got it because a busy professional, who was volunteering anyway, took extra steps to make it happen. Must write her a thank-you note. I start tomorrow morning. I'll be wearing a suit. And a teeny weeny bit of makeup. And possibly, some adorable gold ballet flats. While it's just a summer job, I'm trying really hard to focus on the next ten weeks and not on what happens after that. <br /><br />Off to put the kitchen back together and to deal with an untenable laundry situation.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-58145505864067861682010-05-18T22:42:00.003-04:002010-05-19T00:08:09.465-04:00Heavy on the prepositional phrasesOur financial situation has improved since I started my little job, and having rebuilt our savings, we recently invested in a Hugh <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Mungous</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">flatscreen</span> TV. Spouse had been looking for months, nay, years--whenever we were in a store that sold <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">flatscreens</span>, even if we'd gone in for potato chips, he'd end up in the electronics section--and found a good deal online. So we got the thing, and it now sits on the dresser in our bedroom. I stayed home to meet the delivery man, and when it got here I called Spouse and gaily announced, "It's a boy!" <br /><br />I should explain that when we moved into the townhouse we rent, we had no kitchen table. We also had no couch. We did have a hodgepodge of other furnishings our parents didn't want anymore, including the aforementioned dresser. Also, before we ever slept in the new place, we went to Sam's and got a king-size mattress and box spring, and I was oddly comforted when I read on the labeling that it had been manufactured right here in our fair city. We also got an extremely basic bed frame. Since there was nothing else to sit on other than a lawn chair, we'd sit on said bed to eat dinner and watch TV or a movie, on the laptop, on the dresser.<br /><br />I should also explain that Spouse has to be watching something when he eats a meal. When he was a kid, TV during family dinners was an ordinary, regular experience. (My mom is a retired reading teacher, and when we were little kids, TV was as poisonous as sugar and Liquid <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Plumr</span>.) Granted, if I'm alone and eating anything that takes more than a minute to chew, I've gotta be reading something, or listening to the radio, or I feel ridiculous. But when I have company during a meal, I would just as soon have a conversation as watch <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">MythBusters</span>. </em><br /><em></em><br />The embarrassing fact I'm getting at is: despite having eventually acquired both a dining room table and a comfy couch, we still eat dinner in our bed, which is why the TV is perched on our bedroom dresser, where the mirror should be, and not on the living room wall, opposite said couch. This is mostly my fault, not just because I failed to put my marital foot down, but because the table is perpetually covered in my junk. Hell, pretty much the entire dining quadrant of the living room is covered in my junk, including, Spouse informed me the other day, something like thirteen pairs of shoes. That area is my landing pad when I get home. It's where the mail gets tossed, and where the receipts and candy wrappers go when I clean out my purse, and where I sit if I'm looking through cookbooks or filling out bills. It's hot out now but there are still coats and jackets on the dining chairs. (Have I mentioned how rarely we have people over, and how if anything breaks or needs maintenance, such that the landlord has to visit, panic ensues?)<br /><br />Eventually this will have to change, because eventually (I hope) we will have offspring, who will probably be even messier eaters than we are. But for now, we eat dinner in bed, and late at night when whatever we've watched on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Netflix</span> ends and the giant screen glows red, I think, "Who needs a fireplace?" And if I get sleepy before the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">show's</span> over and take off my glasses, if I hear something interesting, I can look up and see it just fine.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-38722796810918575492010-05-18T11:30:00.005-04:002010-05-18T12:59:33.979-04:00Disaster browniesI think if I wait until I have Something Important or Something Upbeat to say, I will continue to not blog very often.<br /><br />So instead I will talk about the cookbook I recently threw out.<br /><br />Many years ago I got my mom a cookbook with a charming title about how sugar-filled and butter-packed its contents were. And recently it came back to me when Mom was cleaning out her cookbooks and gave me an overflowing bag of them. Many were utter <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">doozies</span> (fundraising collections, heavy on mayonnaise-based cuisine), but this one was funny to read and the baked goods sounded <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">delish</span>.<br /><br />So one evening last week I tried to make Congo Bars, basically a chocolate chip <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">blondie</span>, and they were a total disaster. There was a center portion that looked and tasted all right but it was surrounded by a moat of scary-looking goo that had to be chiseled out of the pan. You could see that the batter had bubbled to the very top of the pan and could easily have spilled over. My oven rack had not been centered, and I figured they must have gotten too hot.<br /><br />Not twelve hours later, with the rack properly adjusted, I opened the oven to find...exactly the same thing. I was chagrined. I asked Mom if she remembered the cookbook, and she said, "Um, I think there might have been a reason it was in the giveaway pile." As in, she probably hadn't had any luck either. So I dumped the cookbook in the kitchen trash, along with most of the contents of the brownie pan.<br /><br />Last night I got some Good Chocolate bars so I can make World Peace Cookies if I wanna.<br /><br />My yoga teacher and probably closest friend here is moving away, and I need to find something to do exercise-wise or my new clothes aren't going to fit. I suppose I could just walk around my neighborhood but depending on the time of day, I have to beware blistering sunlight or swarms of insects. It's hard to get a good pace going to NPR. I don't have an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">iPod</span>, so I wear one of those headphone radio contraptions, and as ridiculous as that probably looks, I'd feel even sillier lugging around a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Discman</span>. I might as well strap an Atari console to my back.<br /><br />What is really bothering me: A couple weeks ago I had an appointment to meet with an attorney, mostly to get advice about what to do for my pro <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">bono</span> client. This attorney works with my therapist, who had mentioned me to her and recommended that we meet.<br /><br />It was less than helpful. Mostly, she just did not have time to meet with me. She took a phone call right after we sat down, and then we spoke a bit, and then suddenly she urgently had to take her paralegals out to lunch. I'm sure she didn't mean to be dismissive or discouraging. Honestly, it's the same problem I bump into over and over again: Almost nobody, particularly practicing lawyers, can get their brain around an unemployed lawyer. People just cannot believe it. My existence messes with their heads. This is precisely why I don't go to local bar meetings. I have not found a way to describe my situation--faraway law school, extended struggle with bar exam, finally licensed, can't find job--in a way that makes people understand it and react with any sort of warmth or empathy. People react with utter incredulity and I have no idea how to respond.<br /><br />If anything, meeting this lady--who just happens to look like a dang supermodel--made me feel even more awkward and incompetent, and even less equipped to deal. I'd spent the previous week applying for an internship in public-interest law, for law students and licensed attorneys, and had written all these essays about my much-vaunted experience, and how I'd gone to law school to Help People, and was finally feeling sorta motivated again...and now I'm back to wondering why I bothered applying, because I haven't heard anything yet and I'm not sure they're even going to consider me.<br /><br />My part-time job, at the Day Spa for Overly Entitled Women and Occasionally Their Spouses, is...probably best not discussed here. Sigh.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-72070440598510001042010-04-26T09:32:00.004-04:002010-04-26T10:44:46.154-04:00Channing who?So...did anyone else assume Channing Tatum was a girl? <br /><br />Let me back up a bit. I used to be somewhat up on my celebrity news, at least what I could read in a daily paper. However, the daily paper in the town where I live is full of typos and its editorial slant ranges from slightly rightward to full-on nutjob. Between the cost and what it would do to my blood pressure, I have never subscribed. I was getting <em>Radar</em> magazine for a while, and then when it folded I received a few issues of <em>The Star</em>, which was a hoot. But other than that, my celebrity news is decidedly limited to what I can skim at the hair salon or doctor's office, or what I happen upon online. I continue to enjoy <a href="http://gofugyourself.celebuzz.com/">Go Fug Yourself</a>, but honestly, I don't know who half the people being skewered are anymore.<br /><br />And somewhere along the way I picked up the name Channing Tatum, and I just assumed that it was some new music video or TV starlet with implants, a made-up name, and a somewhat quaint affection for pop culture. Carol Channing's a girl, Stockard Channing's a girl, Tatum O'Neal's a girl, ergo Channing Tatum must be female. So when I read <a href="http://http//nymag.com/daily/entertainment/2010/04/fug_girls_slideshow.html">this</a> from the Fug Girls last night, I felt rather sheepish.<br /><br />I should say that I do not know how to dress myself at all. If I am ever complimented on anything I'm wearing, inevitably my mom or grandmother found it for me. I wore my "good" pants Easter Sunday and they declared that a Shopping Day was overdue, because said pants were falling off. So we went last weekend, and it was an adventure. Everything I tried on felt too tight, and they had to reassure me that I did not look like a sausage and just needed to get used to clothes that actually fit. <br /><br />I was hopeful that shopping would be different, having lost 36 pounds in the last, I dunno, year or so. But I am still decidedly 3X up top, and down below, my underbelly is so outsized compared to the rest that it was still a pain to find pants. At least we stayed at one department store and avoided both Catherine's and Lane Bryant. In that respect, it was a lot better. <br /><br />Oh, and I'm SHORT! At 5'6", I might add! In grade school I was one of the tall girls and now I'm "petite." Plus-size petite. Jesus. It almost makes me want to try wearing heels, except I know better. Short and fat beats short, fat, and in a cast any day of the week.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-5999251261160232792010-04-12T18:10:00.002-04:002010-04-12T18:14:10.249-04:00twit twit oh twitter twitJust a quick note to mention that I've started <a href="http://twitter.com/bringatweet">tweeting</a>. Well, actually, I haven't tweeted yet, but I did start an account, mostly so I could keep up with friends and bloggers who have protected accounts. If I'm not following you yet, let me know your moniker on Twitter!Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-29920490337804937642010-03-22T20:06:00.006-04:002010-03-27T14:00:27.976-04:00Yawning in Technicolor (GROSS ALERT)So...not last Saturday night, but the one before that, I got very, very sick. I went in the bathroom and came out several hours later, and then tried to sleep, but like clockwork, every freaking twenty to thirty minutes, my stomach would hurt and I'd have to go again.<br /><br /><br />Early the following afternoon, after I'd finally gotten a little sleep, my belly still hurt but I was pretty sure I was all done, on the grounds that there couldn't possibly be anything left to eject. So I tried to take my pills. On an ordinary day I take seven pills of various sizes, for various ailments, and I nearly always do them all in one gulp, no biggie. But not that day. No, that day will go down in history in our household as The Day I Barfed All Over Everything.<br /><br /><br />Immediately, the pills came up, along with great quantities of puke. My bedside trash receptacle was right there, only about half full and lined with a bag besides, but I thought I could make the three steps to the bathroom sink. I made it about half a step, and the unthinkable happened.<br /><br /><br />Casualties included my lampshade, my husband's ancient copy of <em>Ender's Game</em>, my <em>History of God</em> book, the gardening journal I spent months on, and various ointments and beauty treatments from the top of my nightstand. I am in the process of washing most of the clothing I own, because my clean laundry piles were in the splashdown range. Luckily I had finished <em>LOTR</em>, and actually put it away, and for once I didn't have any library books out, or I'd have had a grim phone call to make. If nothing else, I am unlikely to pile that much junk at my bedside ever again. Spouse was just horrified--he got what he could, and stripped the bed, but puke makes him puke and he had to get out of the room. It wasn't until last Sunday, when I was picking crud out of my clock radio, that I realized just how awful a tableau it must have been.<br /><br /><br />Spouse took good care of me--he got me to the doctor, made numerous trips to the pharmacy, and called to check on me from work, and made me the few foods I could think about eating, like instant mashed potatoes.<br /><br /><br />I'm not trying to be dramatic, but I have never, ever, EVER been in that much pain. Granted, I don't have much to compare it to--I've never had a baby, and I've only ever had a couple of surgeries, and the last one was in junior high. I'm very lucky to not have to deal with anything hurty on a regular basis like so many folks do. But this was almost a spiritual experience. When things stopped hurting so acutely, I found myself in this weird state of bliss and gratitude. (I should point out that I was pretty out of it once the Phernagan kicked in.) <br /><br />Another strange thing: I SAW the phone ringing. I mean, I heard it, too, but this was freaky. I'd be lying there trying to read <em>Bloom County</em> cartoons, and instantly everything on the page would be distorted, like the panels had been printed on a layer of glass that suddenly shattered. I'd have the visual disturbance, and then I'd realize the phone was ringing. It went away immediately, but I've never had anything like that happen before. <br /><br />I worked this week, though, without any problem. A couple people pointed out that my face had cleared up. I don't know if it was the not eating for a couple days, or the sweating, or what. I have a number of friends who will periodically go on "cleanses," eschewing food for a dubious cocktail of lemon juice, cayenne pepper, and honey or agave nectar. They'll do this for more than a week, which seems insane to me, and yet I can't help but wonder if maybe it's not completely nuts. I do know that my portions veer too large--especially when we're eating fast food or take-out--and that Twizzlers and I need to have a serious talk. Or maybe I'm allergic to milk or something. I don't know.<br /><br />Things are mostly back to normal, although the other receptionist at work has been out with her own stomach troubles, and I'd feel terrible if she got them from me. Also the brown felted cardigan sweater I wore several times a week during the winter is still lurking in the laundry pile, possibly tainted. It's too nice to throw in the machine, so I have been assiduously avoiding it.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-51382274685777369902010-02-17T21:11:00.002-05:002010-02-17T22:17:13.458-05:00Yeah, go ahead and think I'm smiling at youSpouse and I spend a lot of time watching movies, and currently we are viewing <em>Alien</em> and its spawn. We watch a lot of "action" films and thrillers, because that's largely what my husband owns. I am largely prejudiced against "action" films, being that I have "taste," and I am just too jumpy for thrillers. Frequently I interrupt movies at particularly gross or scary moments to proclaim, "If this gives me nightmares, I'm waking you up!"<br /><br />But I really just came here to recount what we just saw over dinner, in <em>Alien Cubed</em>. (And yeah, as you may suspect, this series is pretty much Thumbs Down as far as dining viewing. Yaaack.) Sigourney Weaver, sporting a crew cut, bursts into a large room, where the Evil Warden of the all-male Prison Planet is hectoring the captives. Other than the last line, nothing is an actual movie quote. <br /><br /><em>Sigourney </em>[panting]: Holy crap! The aliens are here! They're disgusting! We have to do something!<br /><br /><em>E.W.P.P.</em>: Shut up! You are completely bonkers. You stupid woman. Ima gonna come over there an--<br /><br /><em>Alien </em>[crawling onto E.W.P.P. from above]: Om nom nom.<br /><br /><em>Onlooking Prisoner</em>: F--k!<br /><br />People frequently react to my animated self-expression by dismissing me outright, telling me to calm down, saying that it's cute, or otherwise displaying condescension, and I suspect that's partly why I like this scene so much, but I'd probably like it anyway.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-65240312705873608582010-01-27T11:50:00.003-05:002010-01-27T12:24:43.014-05:00Short-form resolutionsThis will probably sound odd, but sometimes what keeps me from blogging is having too much to say. Stuff will happen that I'll want to write about and I'm not at a point yet where I just come to this space and type. Now granted, I observe LOADS of interesting content at work (boy howdy) but literally trying to blog about it right then would be impossible.<br /><br />So instead I wait until I'm "ready" to blog, and...hardly ever blog. Phooey.<br /><br />And then I read about people who actually write for a living, getting sponsored by X or Y corporation, inking development deals with TV networks, etc. etc. and get very angry at myself for not writing.<br /><br />So. Here are my ten New Year's resolutions in abbreviated form. I had this all written up as a handwritten entry but it didn't have an ending (I always have trouble with that). Also I don't know that it would have been legible. And Spouse would have probably fussed at me for privacy reasons. Anyway, here is my shortened list, with comments where appropriate.<br /><br />Thing One: Read the Lord of the Rings, all 3 books. I've had a very nice hardcover edition since, um, 2003, that Spouse (then-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">LDPP</span>, Long Distance Partner Person) gave me for Christmas. This Christmas we watched the movies again (all three in long-form director's cut editions, which makes for something like a week of viewing), and I think we might make that an annual holiday thing.<br /><br />Thing Two: Read <em>A History of God</em> by Karen Armstrong. This will be worth it. I need to either underline or highlight as I read, or take notes, because I keep having to start all over again.<br /><br />Thing Three: Read some Richard <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Dawkins</span>. We went to see him speak at a nearby university a few months ago, and it was a Huge Deal, both going out and doing something with Spouse, and driving the hour-plus to get there. The very first cell phone picture I ever took is of Spouse getting his book signed, and it trips me out every time I see it.<br /><br />Thing Four: Get back to doing yoga regularly. I have the options of reasonably priced classes that take place upstairs at my workplace, or of playing a DVD at home, and have taken advantage of neither.<br /><br />Thing Five: Get involved in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">UU</span> church. If I can't make the services (Sundays, 11 a.m., less than 2 miles away), join one of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">umpty</span>-million committees. They even have a Committee Committee, I shit you not (although they call it the "Committee Council," which I think is a Committee Cop-Out.)<br /><br />Thing Six: Learn how to roast a chicken. (We get rotisserie chickens rather often, and I want to see if I can do it better, or as well.)<br /><br />Thing Seven: Do some <em>pro <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">bono</span></em> legal work. (Oh the drama! This will be like pulling teeth but it HAS to be done if I ever want to get a job as a lawyer. Which is not a question I can answer quickly or without crying.)<br /><br />Thing Eight: Blog more regularly. Consider Tweeting, if only so I can respond to the people I read.<br /><br />Thing Nine: Learn to deal with money anxiety. (Translation: learn to deal with, and not procrastinate on, student loan paperwork. See <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">parethenses</span> after Thing Seven.)<br /><br />Thing Ten: Learn how to speak honestly and not freak out about whether people will like me afterwards. Unless I am talking to Spouse, a close family member, or a friend I feel truly safe with (this rarely happens, and is not so much a commentary on my friends as on my hangups), I repress. A LOT. (Spouse would pipe up here and say, "And then you come home and bitch at me about it!" Which is true.)<br /><br />See, there have been a few occasions lately where I have spoken up, or been assertive, or at least not been a marshmallow, and it seems to inevitably Bite Me in the Ass, Hard. And I'm not sure what message I'm supposed to learn from that. One might think it would be about Thinking Before I Speak, or even <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Shhhhh</span>, but I <em>so</em> rarely say what I'm really feeling, outside a therapeutic context (and even <em>inside </em>one sometimes, I'm ashamed to admit), and my self-worth is so desperately low, and has been for years and years, that I cannot believe that the takeaway is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">STFU</span>. That would be nuts. I think maybe the takeaway is, "People are going to flip out no matter how carefully you phrase your truth, so you might as well JUST SAY IT and develop some self-protective behaviors so you don't flip out when they do." Or something like that.<br /><br />I can't fret about this ending, because FUDGE, I have to leave for work in 20 minutes, and today's a shampoo day. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Aieeee</span>.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-33033171604178302652009-12-30T11:41:00.005-05:002009-12-30T13:35:04.694-05:00And so I rise*begin angry rant*<br /><br />Hey world! Guess what I had for breakfast? Toast, with actual carbs! And <em>butter!</em> Gorsh, I must be deeply unhappy with the world and my place in it. And the fact that the toast came from a loaf I actually baked? Aieeee, no wonder I'm morbidly obese! I have Issues with Flour! Somebody call somebody!<br /><br />Please, Internet, tell me all the reasons I should hate myself and my body! Because I don't know how awful I look in clothes! Or how many<em> years</em> I'm taking off my life! Or all the Big Scary diseases I'm sure to develop! This is exactly the information I need to get motivated about Lifestyle Changes! I'm gonna go get one of those "30 Day Shred" DVDs RIGHT NOW, because you cared enough to tell me you don't want to sit next to me on an airplane! Thanks for caring about my "health," as you so euphemistically put it!<br /><br />*shaking head* *end rant*<br /><br />I should add that said toast was also garnished with honey, from a jar I received from my dearest friend, who was visiting from northern California and is a beekeeper in his spare time. The honey is incredibly complex in flavor; it's definitely sweet, but there are other notes in there as well. I'll have to work on describing it. It'd be great in savory applications, I bet.<br /><br />This Christmas I actually got most of the baking done that I wanted to do, or at least all of the baking that was on deadline, for our families and a couple friends. Between last year (when I didn't do <em>any</em> baking, because I sliced a major finger open), and this year's Thanksgiving (when, at 2:00 in the morning, half of Dad's apple Bundt cake elected to stay in the pan), I guess some sort of vindication was in order.<br /><br />*ahem* There were six kinds of cookies and two different breads. I made double batches of chewy chocolate chip, white chocolate-macadamia nut, and World Peace cookies. Most of the World Peace cookies (a.k.a. PMS Cookies, a.k.a. Chocolate Salty Balls) were eaten by me, since they came out looking like "cow pies," as one observer put it. Even if they were pretty I doubt many would have made it out of the house. (Issues!)<br /><br />I made a pan of raspberry bars, mostly because with <a href="http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/raspberry-shortbread-bars">this recipe</a>*, they are very satisfying to make: you take the shortbread dough and chill it in logs, and once they are good and cold, you shred the logs into the pan, using the big holes of a grater. So the dough ends up looking exactly like mozzarella cheese. Then you spoon out a jar of raspberry preserves, and then another layer of dough. Trying to even out brownie batter with a spatula makes me nuts, so I really love this approach. It's the kind of "Shred" I can actually accomplish. (Seriously, I'm done. Promise.)<br /><br />I made a regular batch of oatmeal raisin with golden raisins, because my regular raisins were in brick form. And I finally busted out the pizzelle maker I got from Dad last year, which was actually kind of fun. Pizzelles are Italian cookies made on a device similar to a waffle iron. They actually taste a lot like waffle ice cream cones, and could conceiveably be rolled into cones themselves, but I haven't had the nerve to try that yet. My Italian grandmother was known for mailing out huge, insured packages of pizzelles and other goodies several times a year, and one summer when we were visiting I got to help her make them.<br /><br />There were also 3 challah braids and two loaves of wheat bread. The wheat bread came out really well. I started it at 8 one evening so it didn't come out of the oven until (sensing a pattern here) 2:00 a.m., but the house smelled insanely good. ("Worth it!" she declared triumphantly, with BBC news on the radio and dough stuck in her hair.) I need to make bread more often, as Spouse loves the challah but all 3 were spoken for, and I really do like making it. My braids always look lumpy and frumpy at first but then they rise for another hour and even themselves out.<br /><br />________________________________________<br />*Please note that mine do NOT come out perfectly distributed, like the ones pictured. Sheesh.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-22443878222400864382009-12-17T14:17:00.005-05:002009-12-17T14:57:09.821-05:00Why am I surprised that I already have a category for that?<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Wheeeee</span>! What else can I do to procrastinate on Christmas Cheer? I know, I'll <em>blog</em> something!<br /><br />I have printed out one million recipes and have to go through and make lists of what absolutely has to get made, what will have to wait for later, and what will be tossed altogether on account of being too fussy. <br /><br />And blah blah blah, I know I will feel so much better if I Just Get Started. I hate this aspect of myself. This is what I always do when I feel overwhelmed by too many things on my list: wait until the last minute. Then it doesn't matter if the cookies (or the take-home exam, in a past life, or the student loan paperwork, or the house chores) aren't done absolutely perfectly--it simply matters that they get done. <br /><br />Work continues to be dysfunctional, full of petty hurts and whispered conversations and other paper cuts, and yet: me working, just part-time, not for any major bucks, has rather transformed our marriage. It's kind of freaky, and it makes me cling to the job that much harder despite the psychodrama. But nowadays, when we both come home more nights than not exhausted and brain-dead, for some reason, we get along so much better--so much so that if it comes down to it and I find myself having to find some other not-law job, I will do it, in a heartbeat. <br /><br />Or maybe I will start doing the schmoozing, volunteering, mass resume mailing, and other things one has to do to get networked in the legal community here. That's the real answer. I keep waiting for my dream job to land in my lap and that's not going to happen without legwork on my part. Well, it's more head-work than anything else: getting over the last several years, or if not getting over 'em, getting to a point where I can discuss my "career," such as it is, without needing to cry afterward (or during).<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Arrgh</span>. But! I can procrastinate on Career Crap by NOT procrastinating on Christmas <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Cra</span>--er, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">y'know</span>, <em>Cheer</em>, Christmas Cheer. Well then! Off to deal with my kitchen!Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-35122890238939350632009-11-23T22:53:00.004-05:002009-11-23T23:54:06.560-05:00Stuff it[Ed. note: Thanks to Swistle for the encouragement that got me back here.]<br /><br />I am in a bit of a tailspin about several things, some more serious than others.<br /><br />-A friend got me a part-time temporary gig doing reception. It has done me a world of good to spend more time out of the house and to earn a bit of pocket money. However, the adjustment was a lot harder than I thought it would be, and it remains surprisingly stressful. Spouse was overjoyed when I began coming home in a zombie-like state, frequently holding out a bag of fast food ("Chicken fingerrrrrrs!"), because it drives him nuts when he comes home exhausted and I'm all boingy and hyper and eager to talk to a person instead of the radio.<br /><br />-A few months ago I joined the local Unitarian Universalist church, which has been really great. Through there I got to be friends with a bunch of people who are into paganism, a religion I was sort of interested in. I have since figured out that paganism, at least in the community I fell into, involves a shit-ton of attendant drama, not to mention stigma in the wider world, and for me it's just not worth it. I am trying to figure out how to continue to spend time with the folks I really like, without roping myself into a potluck dinner every other week, without endangering my employability, and without feeling bad for lacking props and costumes.<br /><br />-I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with my law degree. I came across a ten-question quiz in a book I was reading about alternative careers for lawyers. Those answering even one question in the affirmative are advised to "seriously reconsider using your degree to actually practice law." I answered EVERY SINGLE QUESTION in the affirmative. Ordinarily I'd go off on this at length but I spent most of the weekend crying about it. Besides:<br /><br />-It's freaking Thanksgiving! Tomorrow after work I will do a major shopping run and buy baking potatoes, trimmings for said potatoes, "stuff for salad," and whatever I need for whatever Bundt cake I decide to make for Dad's birthday. My brother will be doing steaks. That will be Wednesday night.<br /><br />In preparation for Thursday, I will also get stuffing stuff, and if I get really crazy, cornbread stuff, since I actually have the requisite skillet now.<br /><br />We still have to decide whether to go to my mom's house or to his sister's house. Both families know that I agonize about this every year, and have told us not to worry if we can't make it to both.<br /><br />Hearing that, Spouse suggested we get takeout Peking duck and eat at our house, by ourselves, with neither family being the wiser. I'm seriously considering it.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-1227354349283894642009-06-30T11:10:00.004-04:002009-06-30T11:50:53.139-04:00technical difficulties, some with sub-partsVarious <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">problemos</span> of the last little while:<br /><br />1. Sunday afternoon, Monday evening, and this morning have all featured a special guest appearance by...a roach. (Not the same one, mind you, unless reincarnation works incredibly quickly. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Yeeesh</span>.) This wouldn't be that big a deal except a) it freaks Spouse the heck out, b) the bug guy just came for his quarterly visit three weeks ago, and c) it necessitates major housecleaning.<br /><br />2. In dermatological news, Spouse had an actual scary infection on his chest, where he'd had a mole removed. He seems to be on the mend and has a follow-up Wednesday. I went in yesterday and had two thingies removed, one big bumpy mole I've had my whole life, and a weird bump on the top of my left foot. I was very careful not to watch, and couldn't feel anything because I was nicely numbed, but the foot thing seemed to require some serious, uh, yanking. Both thingies are on their way to a lab to be tested; I'm actually not worried about it, but who knows. <br /><br />3. Our money situation suddenly became Not a Crisis, But Not Good Either. I never heard anything from the Other Public Defender Office, and it especially sucks for that reason. I seriously have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing, career-wise, but we're at the point where I need to expand my search beyond lawyer jobs. Not to fast food necessarily, but to something. <br /><br />4. Under the heading of getting involved in social stuff, I ramped up my involvement in a couple of things and have said yes to too much. I've gone from having a really open schedule and very few responsibilities to what feels like Way Too Much, and it's freaking me out. One of the responsibilities involves actual legal research and I can't get into the program my state bar membership is supposed to buy me (and that's freaking me out). All this will ease up in a huge way after Saturday, though. <br /><br />But there are happy things, too: I've lost 20 pounds over the last 6 months; Father's Day was really good; Saturday I had a very nice dinner out with Mom and my grandmother (during which I got slightly buzzed, remarking "Man, I need to drink wine more often, because I feel a heck of a lot better than I did this afternoon!"); and Spouse and I are getting along pretty darned well considering all of the above. As always I have tons to be grateful for. I am working hard at focusing on positive stuff, and on looking ahead as opposed to looking back. And when I remember to do it, it really helps a lot.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-48752043469461702072009-06-15T16:31:00.006-04:002009-06-15T22:44:34.848-04:00The Holy Grail of Pink and CuteOkay, this entry is all happy stuff! No sad trombones or horrible shootings here! [Ed. note:<em> Bring A. Torch had </em>another<em> job interview, at </em>another<em> public defender office, a couple weeks ago. She hasn't heard anything yet and is about to jump out of her skin. Please bear with her as she tries valiantly to cheer herself up.</em>]<br /><br />Spouse has been admirably sweet, and has given me three celebrity-related compliments lately. Let's review!<br /><ul><li>The first: After I got my hair done, in a bob that is pretty close to how I've always wanted it, he said approvingly, "You remind me of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Charlize</span> Theron in...something, I can't remember what," which turned out to be <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Aeon</span> Flux</em>. </li><li>The second: He and I were in our computer cave, him WOW-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ing</span> and me <s>playing cheesy Flash games</s> catching up on <em>The Economist</em>. I was streaming audio from an awesome alternative station and "Stupid Girl" by Garbage came on. I said, "Hey, I bet you'd like this band. They're kinda techno." That got no response, but this did: "They're fronted by this really hot redhead." Spouse requested evidence. After viewing the image search results: "You're way cuter." </li><li>The third was when I was <s>comparing myself to mega-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">mommybloggers</span>, when I am not a mommy and barely even a blogger</s> making droll observations about current events: He called me "Dave Barry in a skirt." I was floored. I still can't believe he said that. </li></ul><p>Last weekend I had me a project: putting together a care package, with the theme of PINK! and CUTE! This included a trip to Tuesday Morning, which is like Ross or T.J. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Maxx</span>, but primarily housewares as opposed to clothes. The pickings there can be excellent, rotten, or just plain <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sesame-Street-Super-Grover-Jack-in-the-Box/dp/B0006VMNV2">bizarre</a>. (I actually almost bought that thing for a mom friend, but something told me to test it, and Grover popped out looking mournful and like he might be about to hurl some Super chunks.) Frequently you find something that would be ideal for So-and-So, except there's a button missing, or a suspicious-looking stain, or the box looks like it's been run over by a truck. So it was completely amazing that right when my legs reminded me I'd been standing for too long, when I was desperately pawing through the stuffed animals, I found the Holy Grail of Pink and Cute: a Hello Kitty! I was bouncing off the walls when I got home. (Spouse: "Okay, you're DONE shopping now, right?")</p><p>I got so into it, I even did up the box--I cut out a star, a heart, and a kitty face out of shiny pink paper (75 cents, people!), and just covered the edges of everything with clear packing tape. (Kitty face = 2 up-pointing triangles for ears, 3 down-pointing ones for eyes and a nose, and then 6 long pointy whiskers. Spouse assured me that it was recognizably feline. I'm kicking myself for not having taken a picture, as it really turned out cool. (Too frequently my attempts at anything resembling home repair or craftiness involve frustrating results for whatever the project is, and first aid for me.) Even better, I checked today and saw the package made it there in 4 days, when the postal worker warned me it'd take 2 weeks. That made me happy.</p><p>This weekend's project was <a href="http://www.ehow.com/how_2121372_make-coffee-can-container-garden.html">painting two coffee cans</a>, so I can plant stuff in 'em. It has been really hard to spread the acrylic out evenly while still providing good coverage, but that may have something to do with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">cheapass</span> foam brushes I bought. I hope I have enough paint to finish up, as the expenditures are rapidly approaching what I would've spent just buying two <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">flippin</span>' more little pots. But they're bright blue and cheery and look surprisingly okay so far. HANDY SAFETY TIP: Carefully inspect the lip of each can for pointy spots before poking around inside; one of mine bit me when I was washing it out! Spouse did something with pliers to make it safe, and was also responsible for poking drainage holes, as I am not allowed to play with sharp objects while he's around. </p><p></p><p></p>Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-41250941556407640352009-05-22T23:15:00.004-04:002009-05-23T00:21:26.399-04:00And it was still hot<a href="http://weloveyouso.com/blog/">This</a> is a blog made by the people responsible for the film of <em>Where the Wild Things Are</em>, that I found when <a href="http://www.sweetjuniperinspiration.com/2009/05/grams-reaction.html">Juniper and Gram's dad</a> linked to it. And <a href="http://weloveyouso.com/2009/04/obama-loves-the-wild-rumpus/">here</a> is an absolute gem of a video of President Obama reading the book to a crowd, with his family looking on. <br /><br />Let me repeat that: The President of the United States, a black man, is shown reading from a beloved, subversive children's book, written and illustrated by a <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/10/arts/design/10sendak.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&sq=maurice%20sendak&st=cse&scp=2">gay man</a>, on what I assume is the White House lawn. This is amazing to me.<br /><br />Sometime during the 1992 campaign, there was a poll asking who folks would rather have watch their kids, George H. W. Bush or Bill Clinton. Then-Governor Clinton won by a healthy margin, if I recall correctly. I was reminded of that poll watching the President read with obvious facility, peering at the upside-down words from above, making faces and growls where called for with no hesitation at all. In other words: he has read this book to the girls, a LOT.<br /><br />This to me is more comforting than a pot of tea and a plate of gingersnaps.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-7566853505634338872009-04-14T13:36:00.002-04:002009-04-14T14:33:49.714-04:00I did not get the public defender job. And I sulked about it for weeks.<br /><br />On to new topics! Ahem! I've been wanting to try growing herbs for ages. I would like to cook more with fresh herbs but I hate buying them at the grocery store. So this is what I did: I went to our local college library, which amazingly I am allowed to borrow from since we gave a little bit to Spouse's alumni association, and picked out my limit of 5 books. And then I went online and found 6 books from all over the state, which came in via interlibrary loan. <br /><br />Now, garden writers are absolutely charming. I need to do some choice quotes next time I'm about. However, the problem with eleven different gardening books [and two University Extension Services, and Martha Stewart's web stuff] is that you end up with umpteen different voices squawking about, say, Greek vs. Italian oregano. Certainly there is some overlap, but there are just enough differences in the advice from source to source to drive me up the freaking wall. I am one of those people plagued by the notion that there is a "right" way to do everything. I even take it further and believe there is probably a "best" way to do everything, and I feel like a failure if I don't do it that way the first time. <br /><br />And by the time I finally decided that yes, I did want to start with teeny little seeds and babysit them into great big plants, it hadn't yet sunk in how LOOOOONG all this was going to take. Little sprouts might pop up right away for most herbs, but as far as actual plants you could transfer to your garden, or to pots in my case, it can take 7-10 WEEKS. Our development is beautifully manicured--more than I would have ever expected for a bunch of townhouses--and our little fenced-in area is covered in mulch, so I am, as they say, pot-bound. <br /><br />Anyway, I have probably waited too long to get started, such that by the time I have anything big enough to put in a real pot, it will be so hot and humid that the little guys would fizzle and croak outdoors. Which would be okay, I guess, because some herbs can do just fine indoors. The issue is just how much bigger and bushier they would be if they grew outside (see also: in the ground, vs. in a pot). We have a petunia that has been a houseplant since I brought it home, and it's more than just technically alive--in fact, it's really perked up lately, with lots of magenta blooms--but compared to the ones I saw outside at Lowe's on Saturday, it looks utterly peaked. <br /><br />So I'll try it and see what happens. I do have a couple seed packets to order (one from Monticello, as in Thomas Jefferson, holy cow), and if shipping isn't too exorbitant, I may be ordering one plant since I haven't been able to find seeds. But as far as basil, oregano, etc., I'm good to get started. <br /><br />The news around here is I'm not currently worrying about the job thing, because I have something else to fret about instead: Spouse is seriously sick. As soon as we had any information, I went straight to Dr. Google and instantly wished I hadn't, because I've been scared out of my mind since. He's undergone testing and should see a specialist this week. Much as I want to know what it really is, I'm a little afraid to know as well. If you happen to be into prayer, lighting candles, Reiki, or whatever, it would be much appreciated. I know in my heart that ultimately he'll be fine; I just need to convince my head of that and not panic.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6225883974137739740.post-79709953751048004542009-03-02T14:41:00.002-05:002009-03-02T15:12:39.632-05:00Pants panicI am having a cow over here.<br /><br />This morning I was out and about at a ridiculously early hour because I gave someone a ride to work, trying to be helpful. I ended up right by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Wal</span>-Mart and was pleasantly wandering about their gardening stuff when Spouse called. <br /><br />"I fucked up," he said. Well, not too badly: He sent a pen through the washer, and then through the dryer. "All my clothes are ruined," he said. Well, not really. <br /><br />He made it to work anyway. I surveyed the damage when I got home and it really wasn't that bad. To get at the ink, I started attacking the dryer with all kinds of chemicals. Unfortunately for fire safety, almost everything recommended to work on ink is highly flammable, so the first thing I had to do was unplug the thing. <br /><br />Hairspray was on the list and seemed to be making the most progress. The first ingredient in hairspray is denatured alcohol, which we happen to have, because the fondue pot that we have yet to use needs it for fuel. Denatured alcohol has all kinds of scary warnings on it, and is a pain in the ass to open, and Lord knows how many brain cells I lost to its powerful fumes, but the stains are now faded such that you'd only see them if you stuck a flashlight in there.<br /><br />Alas, I have the feeling that is exactly what's going to happen, because I pushed the drum in the wrong direction when I was trying to get at the ink, and it emitted this horrible crunching sound. After a break for ventilation (read: eating cookies and reading David <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sedaris</span>), I plugged the dryer back in and hit the button. It heated up but did not spin around. Oh crap.<br /><br />I think I fucked up worse than Spouse, but he says it's arguable. In <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">lawyerspeak</span>, the <em>actual</em> cause of the dryer not spinning was me pushing it around in ways it did not want to be pushed, but the <em>proximate </em>cause was Spouse leaving the danged pen in his pants pocket. <br /><br />This is causing a panic for two reasons. The not-so-big-a-deal panic is because Spouse's preferred pants suffered casualties, which means shopping has to happen, and neither of us is a cheerful shopper when it comes to clothes. The full-bore, Oh-My-Golly, sound-the-alarm panic is because the house is a wreck and needs some serious sanitation before the landlord can be called and her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">handyguy</span> can be dispatched. <br /><br />Oh, and tomorrow morning I am supposed to leave at oh-dark-thirty so I can make it to Megalopolis for mandatory how-to-be-a-lawyer training, which only the unemployed have to pay for and participate in, and it just makes me really mad. And sad.<br /><br />I have not heard back about the job I interviewed for, and I strongly suspect that this is what I am really panicking about. That and driving in downtown Megalopolis. Not so much the poor dryer.Bring A. Torchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04582790471462415763noreply@blogger.com2