LAS VEGAS!!!

I have never been to Las Vegas before, so I was pretty darn excited about going with my kickball team for the national championship fun games. Given the fact that I am who I am, everyone was extremely worried about my ability to stay alive in Vegas, the place where even virgin choir girls from Iowa go insane. Survival suggestions included wearing a "blackout helmet camera" to record my performances, tattooing my name, insurance and hotel information on my arm, memorizing the number of a bail bondsman, avoiding trees and not getting married. One person even prayed to God on my behalf. Naturally, this made me even more determined to behave myself and show them all who wears the big-girl pants. (That and getting arrested/ dying would pretty much terminate my legal aspirations...)

I arrived at 9:15pm on Friday, ready to join my mates in Sin City. Then I saw the taxi queue. I was forced to join a Guinness World Record worthy human centipede of a line, sandwiched betwinxt two smokers in the warm Nevada night. So vexed was I that when the ditz to my rear puffed some smoke from her cigarette at me, I blew it right back into her face, eliciting a startled gasp and a pissed off glare as she took a final drag and snuffed it out. I was warily reminded that Vegas is like another country, in that smoking ANYWHERE is permissible. 35 minutes later, I was finally on my way. Driving down the strip looked just like the views on CSI, so I didn't experience any genuine awestruckness. Upon arriving at our hotel, the MGM Grand, however, I was struck by the number of people who didn't appear to be in club attire--another myth I seem to have fabricated about Vegas. Needless to say, as the wardrobe I'd packed for the weekend consisted entirely of the fashion extremes of kickball clothes and flashy dresses, I felt a little self-conscious and a whole lot hookerish headed off to rendezvous with the others at a place called Bill's Salon and Casino in an shiny, cheetah print tube dress. Though I was glad my club foot prevented me from wearing anything that even vaguely resembled a high heel, because there was a lot of walking to be done.

At Bill's I found my teammates at the craps tables. I watched a few rounds before I decided to stop standing there like a dumb call-girl and play. (I am not one for gambling, readily admitting defeat when I lose and considering myself a winner when I break even.) The dealers were fun and the cocktail waitresses kept the shamefully watered down drinks coming. Despite setting a 1am curfew, Hanley, our captain, was up and overloaded on serotonin from his winnings, so we kept playing. There were highs and there were lows, there were desperate buy-ins and curses to the dice rollers on other side of the table that Fortune was not smiling on. There was even a drunk bitch who hurled green Appletini all over her hands/ some guy's shoe/ the casino floor, as her friend tried to drag her towards the bathroom. At 4am, everyone had pretty much broken even or close enough that the smart thing to do was cash out and leave.

Hanley then warned us not to go eat, promising that we'd regret the lack of sleep in the morning. Of course our room group took this as a direct challenge to do just that. Inspired by talk of a $5 steak breakfast, Martin and I abandoned the pack. After some failed attempts, we saw a sign for a $5.99 Rib-eye Steak and Eggs breakfast in bright lights. We were told we had to wait 20 minutes. Sleep was starting to sound like a real good idea, but we powered through. Martin ordered his medium-rare and to his thinly veiled disgust, I ordered mine well-done. To my amusement, both our steaks were cooked the same, probably warmed up in the microwave, the cooks well aware that the taste buds of people dining at near 5am in Vegas are likely barely functioning.

The next morning, all fitted in our snazzy, walking Adidas ad uniforms, we were the first team on the bus. I was starting to think that the fun games were imaginary until we saw the other teams start to trickle out. Suddenly we were surrounded by beer coolers, Mardi Gras beads, leopard face paint, booty shorts and noise. The ride to games featured a host of Asian massage parlors and run down strip malls. Viva Las Vegas indeed... By the time we got to the fields, we realized how hot it was going to be and were sorry we didn't have a tent. (While everyone else was busy warding off cancer and applying sunblock, Martin and I started our customary "Who's darker?" contest. So tired of arbitrarily being judged the loser, I almost went to go search for baby oil to lather myself in put a final stop to this nonsense.) We won our first game 11 -3, the other team getting the ref kicked out for not understanding the strike zone, then inviting us to do jello shots with them. With over an hour to kill before our on slot of afternoon games, we got beer at the store, ate, and watched the actual serious kickball championships, amazed at how the games basically boiled down to the speed and abilities of the pitcher, catcher and shortstop.

2:30pm found the weather at a barely tolerable temperature, and us playing a team from Phoenix. They were good and we were a little shaken up initially, but we pulled through, Martin managing to bring in the tying run. We then all sat in a 12 foot amoeba of shade, watching a Prius hit a truck directly in front of it as two teams, one dressed as state pageants, the other as pink tacos, played each other. We beat the Bad News Bears and were starting to feel loopy from the beer and the relentless sun and the lack of food and the continuous kickball. Our final game was against a team who had qualified for the real championships. They were really good and it didn't help that our ref was drunk, even stopping play to take a knee and chug when he got "iced" by the other team. We ended up losing on some bullshit rule about ball deflection off a player only being grounds for one base advancement, even if it was intentional. Defeated, tired and sore, we left, trying to get into party mode for the night, even though our bodies were exhausted and the lure of free libations and debauchery wasn't enough to make sleep sound completely blasphemous.

After managing to shower and dress ourselves in club appropriate attire, we ate and took off for the free kickball after-after party at Lavo, some club run by the Tao group. It was as to be expected--cool enough decor, offensively priced cocktails, bottle girls in minimal clothing, flashing lights, loud top 40 music, etc. The boys started dropping like flies, not willing to shell out enough money on drinks that would enable them to tolerate pretending to enjoy dancing. By 1:15am, I felt like an old cripple, my foot and knee having a contentious civil war with the rest of my body. We left the club, ears ringing, heads pounding.


As it was our last night in Vegas, and me and Brittany's first time, we tried to see what else was going on. We met up with some of the guys at Bill's again, but were not in the mood to for another epic night of craps. We hit up the penny slots, I balling out by playing a entire $1, but Britt was losing and some 21 year old was trying to chat us up, so we left. That's how I wound up back in the hotel and asleep by 2:30am, too wiped out from all-day kickball and clubbing on 2 hours of sleep from the night before to be ashamed of my non-existent Vegas sea-legs.

Everyone else left at THE ass crack of dawn on Sunday. Martin and I didn't leave until that evening, so we took our sweet time packing up, then checked out and went in search of brunch. We were determined to eat our $25 worth of the buffet, but as we were full after plate one, even spite couldn't help us polish off more than 2 plates apiece. We were amused by the number of wedding parties we saw. Let it be known to all that I will NEVER get married in Vegas or Disneyland. Period. We decided to leave the stale, depressing air of the casino, fueled by the broken dreams of washed up strippers and club promoters turned double-chinned card dealers and the sad, chain-smoking, aesthetically, financially, mentally, physically fucked masses of middle America gambling away their life savings, to go get some sunshine!

The strip was not much better, as I limped along annoyed by being among the throngs of tourists, Martin grumbling when I insisted on taking the escalators instead of hobbling up the stairs to appease his imagined sense of pride. We walked into the mall of the Wynn Encore and were assaulted by unnecessarily expensive brand names. We role played that I was a spoiled, young gold-digger and he was my sugar daddy, which consisted of me pouting at every window containing a gaudy, high profile item until he conceded and agreed to buy me two of everything. (He was eerily adept at handling such senseless vapidity, negotiating and placating like a pro. Me thinks he's had quite a bit of practice in dealing with barely-legal, brain-dead girls....)

We couldn't take the heat anymore and returned to the hotel where we saw two lackluster lions lying in their display, undoubtedly artificially docile from high doses of tranquilizers. Luckily, we ran into Jen who was on her way to the airport with Hanley, so we jumped at the chance to leave. Martin was kind enough to drag my bag though the airport, so I introduced him to the 21st century and showed him how be environmentally correct by using only his phone to check in. Still unable to stomach alcohol, we just sat down outside of a sports bar and chatted for a while, he impishly contaminating my water by plopping candy into it. We continued our Dave Chappelle style hate by judging all the people walking by, deciding the middle aged women trying to "live it up" in Vegas were the saddest, because no one wanted them (save shows like the Chippendale's and The Thunder from Down Under which surely rely HEAVILY on their patronage...). We were on the same flight, but the gods were cruel, upgrading his seat to a bulkhead while me and my mutinying joints were relegated to the cramped back of the plane.

Upon arriving back home, I was not sure I have any desire to return to Vegas again, save making it to the real kickball championships or strictly for business. I was even a little sad to realize how old I am and how unappealing the idea of clubbing and being hungover ALL WEEKEND LONG is, but also glad that I am past the age where that is a life goal. All said and done, I did enjoy myself and the people I went with, which, in the end, is all that matters :)

Fail

Sooo, I started this blog because this kid was aspiring to a conquer a list of 101 goals in 1001 days, inspired to an extent by his man-crush Ernest Hemingway. Then he QUIT. I hung in for a little while, more out of a defiant will to beat him than an actual desire to accomplish a complete list, and now I am officially resigning.


I'm converting this blog more into a spotty and incomplete journal that chronicles the glorious triumphs and unfortunate follies of my traipse through life. Though as I sit here with a club foot, in a plastic/velcro back harness, reflecting on how a guy asked for my number to hang out because we were both cripples on crutches, how a a mentally disabled man-child in a wheelchair grinned at me shyly and excitedly when he saw the breast plate of my brace, how little children follow me around the store loudly whispering to their mothers "what happened to her?", I realize that the content will likely contain a disproportionate amount of folly.

Attend a live jazz performance

Perhaps my favorite yearly event in San Francisco is the Fillmore Jazz Festival. Fillmore street is roped off, temporarily transformed into open jazz stages where you can promenade the sidewalks, eating, drinking, looking at the vendor wares, people watching and, of course, listening to FREE live jazz. When you tire of ambulating, you simply take a seat in the middle of the street and let your ears be rhapsodized by the vibrant sounds emanating from the stage before you. This year I went with a bunch of kids from law school. I had a pretty good spam sandwich, a sample of tequila ice cream, and browsed some ridiculously priced art, slowly strolling up and down the festival. The music wasn't as great as in years past, but the ambiance and company were worthy compensations. And that was pretty much the end of the disciplined and graceful part...

*******GRAPHIC PICTURES, NOT FOR FAINT OF HEART******

I have been indulging too much in the joie de vivre part of things this summer, not having bothered finding a job, pretty much spending the days hiking or hanging out with my mom. As all good things must come to an end, after the music was over, we stopped at a park and a giant tree became my kryptonite. Being headstrong and determined to triumph in competitions were there really are no winners, I climbed up the tree with reckless abandon. The other two participants, in tune with their substance intake, preceded much more cautiously. I made it about 20 feet when I made the mistake of looking up while stepping down onto a branch that had no intention of aiding my ascent. Consequently, I went from first place to last in record time, crashing to the ground. The pressure from "landing" on my foot caused it to split open and I punished my back like it stole something. Leave it to me to break my first bones at 26. Falling out of a tree. At a JAZZ festival.





I landed myself in the hospital at SF General for a week. (NEVER make the mistake of getting involved in a trauma on a holiday weekend! You must contend with gun shot wounds and crackheads who try to smoke rock in their trachea airway-holes, all of whom take precedent over your tree fall. All the real doctors are gone, likely swimming with the dolphins in Greece and drinking mimosas, while you are left to the questionable ability and mercy of their fill-ins. The fill-ins often act PARALYZED and are loathe to make any decisions without someone more senor's approval.) I was roomed with a 21 year old who'd been to jail, has a 6 year old, and lost most of her fingers being pushed through a window by a jealous ex-boyfriend on account of something he saw on her Facebook. From 6am to 3am, she watched all kinds of quality tv programs such as Murray, all manner of court tv shows, Jesus sermons, Cops, Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader, etc., stayed on the phone at least 10 hours a day, and her pain level was always at a 9 or 10. She was also missing a front tooth.

One day the nurse "accidentally" dressed me in a gown for the morbidly obese. As I lay there on my back, uncleared to do anything else save eat from a tub of Red Vines my friends had brought and listen to the cacophony of my neighbor screaming at her son on the phone while awaiting the paternity results for the misguided souls on the Murray show, I felt I had a better understanding of rock bottom. Luckily, the ball got rolling the next day and I was fitted for the snazzy little plastic and velcro back harness that will accessorize my boot for the next 6-8 weeks.



SEXY. (Adding insult the injury, the specs the guy took when measuring the contraption included designating my breast size as an A-.) And here's what my foot looks like now:



SUPER SEXY!! My lovely mother now calls me Scar Baby. Not sure what the moral of this story is, other than who falls out of trees at 26??? I mean really.

Meet with 1L Professors

In college, I always regretted not getting to know my professors better. (Not gonna lie that this is primarily because a better relationship with them = a better recommendation...) In law school, I decided to try and bite the bullet and go see them. They pee and poo too, so there is no reason for me to fear them, right? This turned out to actually be true. Our Criminal Law professor was probably the most intimidating in class, but much less sweat and fear inducing in person. I had lunch with our Contracts professor and learned all kinds of interesting tidbits, including about some kid who thought an appropriate graduation speech topic would be about how he almost got arrest for being a pedophile. (Apparently, his DAUGHTER walked in on him in the bathroom one day and wanted to help him hold his penis and he OBLIGED!!! Naturally, when the girl went to a sleepover at a friend's house and tried to help that dad out, ALARM BELLS went off and set into motion quite the fiasco. Graduation speech material???! I mean, really.)

The only professor I didn't go see in person was Criminal Procedure, but that class was INSUFFERABLE. I set in the back between two people who eventually dropped out and another kid whose ADHD was the reason Adderol was invented--clear recipe for fail. She essentially spent 2 hours squawking and mumbling about flashbacks from 40 years ago when she was a spring chicken. Me and ADHD kid would tune out immediately, playing games like tic-tac-toe, name all the state capitals and postal abbreviations, scribbling mean comments about other classmates on each others "notes," etc. Needless to say, I saw no point to enduring office hours, especially since she'd probably say "Oh, you're one of the people in the back row who is NEVER paying attention." And heaven forbid she launch into another rambling tale of her "rebel" good old days...

Goodbye, Martin

A few months ago, Ted invited Martin and me on a Search and Rescue night hike and mentioned climbing Pyramid's Peak in Tahoe via snowshoe. He said it was a 3 mile trip to the top and that we'd have to start on it early in the day. My mind immediately thought: Pssshh, little hike with snowshoes, no big deal. 4 hours tops. WRONG. So very wrong.

We had to find a date that was convenient for Martin, because the world revolves around his schedule of deserting his San Franciscan comrades for the sunkissed girls, Ed Hardy tees and endless traffic of L.A. We picked the day after Martin's goodbye party to embark, Ted smartly planning an afternoon departure to allow Martin some recovery from the debauchery and mayhem. Ted picked everyone up and we were off in his sweet Jeep, making decent time on the way up there, stopping for gas and snacks, and indulging in delusions about winning the lottery. Ted would quit his job and throw an "I'm Rich and You're Not" party for all his pals, I would pay off any debts and travel, and Martin wanted a be-diamonded ice axe. So delirious with our imaginary millions were we that we accidentally ventured into another state.

Upon arrival at Jen and Hanley's cabin, disrupting one of their roommates who surely wasn't expecting us to ruin the peacefulness of her wine and puppy cuddling, we dropped off our stuff, went "off-roading" and headed to Muha's cabin for some yummy grilled food, relaxing hot tubbing and Catch Phrase. After getting back, we organized our packs for the next day's adventure, then Ted and I reviewed logistics while Martin slept in the spider-riddled attic. I still had no idea what I was in for, even with Ted going over the topographical maps with me.

After McDonald's and the boys insisting on getting themselves Subway sandwiches, we were off. 9:40am we were all geared up and on our way, altitude around 5,500 ft. The starting leg was a scramble straight up a creek. I led the way for the first and only part of the trip. I stripped down to my tanktop within 15 minutes of starting--sad barometer of my physical condition that I was sweating so profusely I needed to be half-naked in the snow...

After strapping on our snowshoes, Ted noticed my hopeless incompetence at walking in them and took the lead. Martin followed and I brought up the rear, eternally thankful that the weight of two men ahead of me helped make a nice, already carved path. I lagged behind a good 30 feet, sneaking in breaks whenever I could. Martin stopped every 5 to 10 minutes to "take pictures" so I could catch up/ he could pretend he was waiting for me to catch up and get in a break himself. Ted patiently waited for us, like a parent watching a couple of hapless toddlers. The mountain kept going on and on, and was a vertical ascent as far as I was concerned. I learned to stop asking Ted our altitude because what seemed like 45 minutes would go by and he'd respond we'd covered all of a paltry 100 feet in elevation. Disheartened, limbs ready to mutiny for not having been prepared for such a trek, I'd lower my head and march on wondering when the misery would end.

The view was the only thing making the climb bearable. The higher we got, the more we could see. Distant snow covered mountain peaks rising majestically in the winter silence, punctuated only by our determined push through the snow. When we reached the final stretch and could actually see the peak, the elements turned against us. About 200 yards past the tree-line, the wind pursued us with a vengeance and the snow turned to ice. The only other sign of life were these creepy little flies, what sustained them was a mystery. Instead of continuing with our switchback pattern, we decided to face the mountain head-on and summit in a direct path. Never have I felt like the entire world was against me. The wind increased its relentless hounding of us, allowing 2 or 3 steps before you had to stop, brace and find hidden reserves of steel strength continue. I managed to get ahead of the boys for a little while, but my victory was short-lived, as Ted was determined not to let the slacker get to the top first. Every time I thought we were almost there, another peak would appear and I would cry a little to myself, convinced we had actually been transported to some cruel, barren part of the arctic or banished to Siberia. Ted and Martin jubilantly celebrated having mounted the peak while I was trying desperately to restore feeling to my blue fingers. Martin had inhaled his sandwich before Ted and I could even open our bags. Martin's bourbon provided a nice little warm spot in the belly and Ted's Coors was surprisingly refreshing. I happily enjoyed my lollipop, amazed with the stunning view and thinking proudly "Look what I did!" 9,897 feet. We were truly on top of the world!

The descent was mercifully less painstaking. Halfway down, the boys stopped to play with their ice axes, while I gladly welcomed the rest. For every 100 times Martin and I fell, Ted maybe slipped. I frequently gave up and slid down on my romp whenever possible. We finally made it back to the car, 9.5 hours later, sore, tired and quite pleased with ourselves. We stopped for snacks and Martin was kind enough to pick up some DayQuil for us all, as the two of us had developed some nasty, hacking cough and Ted had just gotten over one. We stopped in Davis for burritos and to let some of the traffic thin out. I reviewed what constitutes consent with them on the way back--their moms would be proud that they know the difference!

All in all, it was a great trip. Ted and Martin are definitely good people that I am delighted to call my friends. We're gonna miss Martin being here in San Francisco, but I'm sure the future will have many more such adventures in store.

Attend a yoga class

On Sunday, I went to a free yoga class at the Presidio Sports Basement. Luckily Michelle called me and I managed to drag my ass out of bed in time. She and Brian were already there and ready. The class was largely women--no surprise there. In yoga, you are supposed to concentrate on your breathing to the point of controlling where in your body you inhale the air. You use the breathing to to focus your attention away from the mental aspect of holding poses for an extended period of time. It leads to a heightened state of calmness/awareness. (Or dizziness if you are me and didn't have breakfast and can't remember to inhale/exhale at the correct times. Sometimes, I am convinced there is little difference between nirvana and low blood sugar/oxygen levels....)
We went through all kinds of positions--the dog, the cat, rocking the baby, the warrior, the kitchen table--there seriously seems to be a yoga pose for pretty much any object you can think of. Some of the stretches hurt so good. Others were easy and some made me inwardly scream their name. After a certain point, awash in tranquility, we started doing pelvic stretches. Between that and the deep breathing all I could think about was tantric sex and how I'm not having any. At all. Le sigh. (Though you best believe I made a mental note that this is a "girly" activity to drag a guy along to that we could both appreciate and, ahem, "thank" each other for later...)
At the end of the hour I felt more relaxed and limber. Then little kiddies started filing in for their class and it was back to reality, more recharged and slightly less skeptical of connecting with the "temple" that is my body.

Angel Island Trail Race

In an attempt to kick off a healthier year and knock out #44, I signed myself up for a 16k trail race with a mild 1,036' elevation. Then I promptly stopped training. (Not that I ever really started...) In typical Clara fashion, I figured a few 3.5 mile jogs and having run a marathon about 3 months ago would suffice. To my surprise and amazement, it actually did! I finished in 1:53:24. While nothing to write home about, it's under 2 hours, and thus exceeded my expectations.

The weather was perfect--cool and slightly foggy. At the start of the race some little miss cunt fellow runner told me I wasn't allowed to wear a headset on single trail races. I looked around, incredulously noting at least seven other runners in our proximity with theirs already in. Instead of punching her in the face, I civilly pocketed my nano, vowing to put it in as soon as we got away from the start line. (I did continue to get disapproving looks from some other runners throughout the race. Their elitism made me glad I was there, polluting the "purity" of their "sport.") The altitude got high really quickly, but the long, fast downhills saved me. Some points along the trail were so foggy it looked like if you stepped off, you'd fall into the clouds. The views of the city line were pretty sweet and would've been truly amazing had the day not been as overcast. Here is one from the summer version of this run:



My strategy was basically to walk the steep parts (I walk quickly though!) and run all the easy descending ones. The last 2 miles my knee cap became furious with me and my right hip joined the protest. Apparently they don't appreciate being forced to participate in such under prepared physical endeavors. I can still hear them cracking, clicking and plotting to make a cripple of me before 30 if I keep it up... Mercifully, Rupa's music kept up my pace long enough to sprint the finish, even passing some people!

We had lunch at Sam's afterwards and then I crashed for 5+ hours. Barring rain, this weekend I am definitely going hiking in Pacifica and next month for the Super Bowl maybe crashing the Kaiser half around Golden Gate Park if Brian and Lindsay are down, mixing delinquency with exercise and saving myself $50 at the same time. Win!

New Year's Eve 2010

I have not been in the mood for festivities this past month. Christmas Day might as well have been May 3rd for all I cared. I had bought a dress for NYE-- a short, tight black little number with just enough class to spare me from utter Skankdom. It had been staring at me from its perch on my door for the past week, losing desirability with each passing day. Gone was my energy to get dolled up and shitfaced. I then came up with the half-assed plan to go night hiking instead.

While a great idea, my impetuousness and last minuteness almost always guarantee solo pursuits, because people always seem to need proper notice of such undertakings. I thought I had secured some partners in crime, but one couple bailed and the remaining two can't keep their hands off of each other. That and they have an insatiable addiction to chain-smoking cigarettes, which ABSOLUTELY RUINS nature (and, well, EVERYTHING) for me. I weighed the pros and cons of pretending to tolerate their PDA and carcinogens; company v. aloneness, playing nice with others v. freedom, safety in numbers v. rape and dismemberment, etc . Given my not-so-great day and consequent surly evening attitude, I decided perhaps keeping myself away from others the best bet.

I took a 2 hour nap and managed to drag myself out of bed by 11:15pm, annoyed, but determined not to let my indolence cause me to sleep through the final minutes of 2009. I pushed $62 and my ID into one pocket, loaded a head lamp, my phone, ipod, camera, a small umbrella, and a small paring knife, just in case, into my jacket pockets and set out toward Lands End.

On foot, it took me less than 30 minutes to reach a good vantage point on the Coastal Trail to ring in the new year. The Golden Gate Bridge glowed against the sultry fog of the clear night sky. The moon shone brilliantly, soothingly, illuminating the surprisingly warm night. For the first NYE in years, I saw the fire works erupting from Aquatic Park. Happy 2010 world.

Having abandoned attempts to take pictures in the dark, I continued along the trail, hyper alert and suspicious of distant shadows, but after a while, chilled out. I re-pocketed the headlamp, as my eyes had adjusted to the ample moonlight and the light from the headlamp was reminding me of the Blair Witch Project. (I'd also become convinced I'd see a spider drop down before my eyes causing me to scream and lurch myself off a cliff.)

The walk was very serene and rejuvenating, the seratonin flooding my brain allowing me to welcome 2010 with optimism. At one point I stopped and convened with the moon, convinced it was directing me to sit in the stone bench it was irradiating and state aloud my resolutions. I wondered on accompanied by the sound of the serf and the sight of white waves riding the edges of distant rocks in the sea, drinking in the coastal skyline. Company would've been nice, but I have learned that I can fully appreciate solo activities. (Pretty sure that remark is going to ruefully catapult me into spinsterhood one day...)

Once back on surface streets, I put on my ipod and let Kid Cudi, Kanye, Weezer, Miles Davis and Coldplay take me home.

New Year, New Page

Goodbye 2009, Hello 2010. This isn't a new chapter in my life, so much as it is a chance to turn the page and focus with renewed zeal.

My main goal this year is to lose 15 lbs. The weigh in: 148. I figure setting a 2 lb/month goal is a good starting point. In addition, cooking more, adding in the dreaded weight training, mixing up the fitness routine more, drinking more than 1.5 liters of water per day and sucking it up and buying those pre-cut/sliced fruits and veggies so I stop gravitating to the 10 for $10 Haagen-Dazs ice cream and 2 for $5 cookie sales... This is going to be a sad year for my inner fat kid.

I am going to start writing more, because I need a constructive way to digest the last decade and the next few years which promise to have high highs and very low lows. I have started a blog to to help accomplish this.

I am also really going to work on not giving people such a hard time. Ironically, I mainly only do this to people I like, and for the most part they understand this, but I need to let up more so that they know I really do appreciate them. It's not going to be easy. Perhaps I'll compromise by only making subtle remarks--a sting instead of a bite. This will help me seem less combative and force me to do a better job filtering what I say, practices that are vital to good lawyering anyway. Besides, I am not in college anymore--wit is more admirable and age appropriate.

I don't really have any other super interesting or pressing goals, but life isn't always about thrill--consistency is a necessity, so I will concentrate staying in the present and practice honing my brown belt skillz in the art of patience through moderation.

Attend every class of three first semester law courses

This was one of those minor, tedious but necessary goals. 1Ls have five courses each semester, so staying on top of things is crucial to surviving the first year of law school. I'm sure my grades will be disappointments, but upside, now I know exactly what I need to do for the remaining semesters. Between the other two courses I only missed 3 classes. My attendance rate hasn't been this high since my parents were in charge of taking me to school! I'll take it as a sign I'm starting to get all growed up :)