Chipped Polish & Wornout Jeans

Blogging is hard; sometimes as badly as you’d like to write, you have nothing to say. And rambling about how your day sucked just doesn’t cut it. I honestly have had trouble coming up with things to write about lately. I hate to blab on and on about nothing, which is pretty much what is happening right now. I mean, I suppose I can give a brief update, but that’s about all I’ve got.

Halloween is Tomorrow: I’ve got two pumpkins and a ton of candy. I will carve the pumpkins some time tomorrow and hope that we get a few trick or treaters. There will probably be maybe ten I will have lots of leftover candy. Hopefully I’ll have pictures of the pumpkins.

NaNoWriMo Starts Monday: National Novel Writing Month! I am participating this year, and fingers are crossed that I actually pull this one off; I’m going to be working on Redemption.

I have a cooking blog: Check out my cooking adventures at The Sassy Southerner’s Kitchen.

I am such a terrible blogger; I haven't updated sufficiently in ages because that Peter Pan post totally does not count. Lagging to no internet connection and nothing interesting to write about leaves me little in the way of content. Anyway, I am sitting here now, with the internet working much better, feeling my shoulders tighten slightly. Yesterday Erica and I took her daughter, Kaylyn, to the lake to go swimming. Have I mentioned just how much I love that little girl? Technically I'd be considered a second cousin, but because she really doesn't have an aunt, I am Aunt Nic (well, Aunt Laura because that's my first name). There are no pictures because its impossible to take pictures when you are up to your neck in lake water and getting splashed by a one year-old. She loves the water, and we spent about an hour pushing her float around and letting her play. I didn't get much tanning in, just burned my shoulders a bit. By this weekend, my shoulders will be all brown though. Nothing else to report except that I now sell Mark. Cosmetics.

So yesterday was the day of first year oral arguments at the Hall of Justice, and I put on my suit and heels and argued my case. It was like getting back in the saddle again, really. It's been months since I was in the courtroom, and I missed it more than I thought. I felt awesome to put on my pearls, be certain that my hair and make-up looked good, put on a nice suit, and slip into my killer shoes. To stand in front of a judge and start off with "May it please the court...", to address the court and argue with conviction, even though the case was weak, it was thrilling. This may seem lame to my readers, but I live for those moments. All went well, except for the lost car situation (not discussed here because I don't feel like talking about my stupidity beyond saying I completely forgot where I parked because I don't belong in L-ville and don't belong in the big city). So lets us do a recap of being back in the saddle again, or oral arguments.

I arrived with plenty of time to swap my flats (which I drove in because my heels are high) for the killer heels pictured above, adjust my suit and take a deep breath to collect myself. Entering the Hall of Justice brought back memories of mock trial. I did my first regional as witness in those courtrooms, and I also did my first regional as both a captain and attorney there. I felt this surge of power and faith as I watched my things go through the metal detector and stepped through myself. Then I walked into the courtroom, placed my portfolio on the table, and I was alive. Yes, dear reader, I love the courtroom. I love being able to stand there and stand for something. Even if right now, the cases I argue, the people I represent, the job I perform isn't real yet. I love the idea that I can use my passion, my fire, my strength, my brains, to solve problems, to be able to, in some small way, affect the world, make it better. That is why I want to be an attorney so badly.

The argument went well. I wasn't nervous, but I was, as usual, concerned about my accent. It's gotten much stronger, and while I love it, the glorious, lyrical, and attractive Southern drawl can be a hindrance up here in the Northern city. When I worry about my accent it causes me to get tongue tied, but other than that issue I think I did just fine. I hope the judges' written comments were as good as the verbal comments I received. I got compliments on how passionate my argument was, how I argued with conviction even though I had the most difficult side of the case and probably didn't believe in it. Apparently was the only one who answered the question "Without the eyewitness testimony, were you a jury in this case, would you convict?" with a yes. I also got compliments on how well I handled difficult questions, answering them and deflecting them to make them seem much less damaging, and how I was able to use bad facts to my advantage, even though they were potentially extremely damaging to my side. Apparently, several people think that I will make an excellent advocate and a great attorney. So, dear readers, I was back in the saddle yesterday, and it was incredible.

I always think of the Yes, Virginia Editorial when people make a huge deal about how Santa isn't real. While you may not believe that he is a real person, the idea of Santa Claus is something that should be cherished, especially for kids. I mean Santa Claus is not about the gifts and cookies and milk and fat men in red suits. It's about love and faith and hope and generosity. I think that if you obsess over whether there really is a fat man in a red suit who comes down chimneys and eats milk and cookies and has flying reindeer, you are sort of missing the point. It is Christmas Eve I would like to share something with my readers that chokes me up every year. So here is the Yes, Virginia Editorial:

"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
"Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
"Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

"VIRGINIA O'HANLON.
"115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Taken from Yes, Virginia

I know that I will be too busy to blog tomorrow since I'm having a girl's day out with Mama during the day and then I'm going to be at MTSU judging mock trial tomorrow night. However, I really wanted to do this post because it is really important to me and I'm trying to make this blog worth what visits it gets. Tomorrow is To Write Love on Her Arms day, and if you don't know what that is click this link right here: TWLOHA. It's a movement about self love and the prevention of self injury and suicide; it's about fighting addiction and depression and  And it's personal for me for a reason I will get to in a moment. So tomorrow on the inside of my left wrist in small black letters you will find the word love; I'd do it a little bigger but there is a need for me to look at least semi-professional and presentable at the tournament.

I said that for me TWLOHA is personal. That's because when I was a sophomore in college, which seems so long ago, I lost a good friend to suicide; it's something that I will never really forget. That phone call from a friend who was like a brother, hearing his voice shake as he tried to tell me the news, the tears I could hear over the phone, they are as clear to me as that night I got the midnight message. I can still feel the shock, the pain, the confusion, and the loss like it happened yesterday. The scream in my head was that this was some sick joke, that it could never happen to one of us. We were invincible, all powerful, untouchable, blessed. Our diverse group had seen enough damage, emotional baggage, and hurt. But in the end that stuff just seemed so petty and minor. Who gave a damn about break ups, hang ups, and stupid fights? He was dead, and we couldn't bring him back. We'd broken the one thing we'd promised as people began graduating and moving. To always be there; to never let anything happen to us. I can still remember the funeral, the tears running down my cheeks, the sudden realization of my own mortality, the way the wind cut through my sweater as I stood beside my friends watching the casket lower into the ground, and the way we all tried not to fall to pieces. It was not the first time that I knew someone who had committed suicide, but it was the first time it was so close to me. I remember thinking: "God, why did You let this happen? Why take him from us? Why didn't You stop him? Why didn't You give us some kind of sign that he needed us?" And I remember blaming myself for not noticing, for letting our little group of friends fall apart just because we were no longer having lunch all together and meeting up as often, for being too wrapped up in the drama and insanity of my own life. I remember wondering most of all: Why he felt there was no other answer, why he thought that it was the only way, why he hadn't come to me or to any one of our group? Did he think we didn't care, that we wouldn't drop everything to save him, that we wouldn't listen, that we could not do anything? He was supposed to be the sane one, and he had been our rock when we needed him. He'd talked us through so many hard times. He'd kept us together. I remember feeling as though we'd failed him, though I knew that we hadn't really. We'd loved him, and we hadn't known he was in trouble. I still wonder what life would be like had we known something and been able to save him. Would our little group have stayed together instead of scattering to the winds? I don't know, but I do know that I will always miss him and always wish that something had saved him. I remember him because he was my friend, because he was my brother, and because I loved him like a brother.

So I write love on my arm for Nathan, who saw no other option, for the friends we've all lost, and the one's we will try to save. I write love on my arm and whisper a prayer for those who need help. I ask God to send an angel to those people who are lost and searching for an answer. I write love on my arm because my life matters and so does everyone else's. I write love on my arm because we are all in this together and because you never know when you will turn the corner and find someone in need. I write love on my arm in memory of those who have gone and those who are saved. I write love on my arm for everyone out there.

So I have always had a penchant for making stuff; I mean I've always been into making my own jewelry, costumes, food, and any number of things. I try not to spend a lot on things I really don't need like new books (though being a bibliophile makes almost a need), new music to put on my iPod, games for my DS (don't judge me, I like to play the ones that are a mental challenge), and other fun things that distract me from the reality that is law school. I decided a few weeks ago that I wanted to have some extra money because, after all, I want things and need money to get them. There are also other plans that I would like to save money for, but I won't get into them at this point. So I went to Michael's  in the Boro (a place that never ceases to rob me of my money every time I go in there) and bought beads and findings and pretty silver chain; those were added to my incredibly girly little jewelry making kit, which has wire cutters, round nose pliers for loops, and needle nose pliers for bending things. Then I went home, to the house belonging to the 'rents, and made some pretty earrings. Those are now on my etsy site (link to follow at the end of the post). I also gave like six pairs of earrings to my Nanny to take to work to sell; I need to get some red beads to make pieces in the WestSide School colors because they will sell like crazy. Mama is also into this whole make extra money thing and is selling Avon, which is cool; she promises to take some of my pieces to work with her as well and is even offering to buy me more beads.

This is one of my favorite pairs. I love the leaf beads, but they come ten to a string so if I want to make more of them I have to buy three or more strings. I'm slightly irritated by this because I have several ideas for some leaf inspired earrings. I'm also designing Christmas earrings, even though I know that's months away. What I need to do is come up with a banner for my shop and also a logo to stick on the pretty little boxes I will be using to ship the earrings and stuff. I'm hoping that after this weekend I will have a little extra time to come up with some designs for not only earrings but maybe a couple of necklaces. Hopefully when I go back to TN my Nanny will have sold what I gave her, and thus I will be able to buy more beads to make more jewelry in some new designs. Call me a freak, but I love this stuff. I'm also working on designs for a few presents for Christmas and birthdays; my Nanny also wants me to figure out a way to lengthen a necklace she bought at a flea market or yard sale or something like that. It's a pretty piece, but too heavy for my taste; I should be able to get some amber colored beads and make it work.

I also seem to be in need of a creative Halloween costume; the subject of today's entry is not Jake and I, but just so you know, our one year anniversary is next week and so we will hopefully be going out that weekend. Since at the moment he has that Friday off, it means that I will be at home in the Boro for Halloween and will need to be costumed. If there is a costume, I will try to get pictures, and I will definitely have pictures of the awesome pumpkins I know my dad will be carving. Halloween is fun in the R family household, and I look foward to the pumpkins and stuff every year. I'm thinking for my costume this year buying a red wig and digging out tights and a mini skirt for a version of Julia Roberts' Erin Brockovitch, but more than likely I will go a bit cheaper and do some thing with a witch's hat, some awesome shimmery purple fabric I bought a couple years ago, and purple eyeliner. If I was staying in L-ville I would be at the Decedent's Ball and would have to go all out with my costume, but I'm not, so I will probably cheat a little. And yes this is relevant because creating my own costume counts as crafty. Well it's back to Memo-land for me, so I leave you with the link to my etsy shop.