Last Thoughts

On the bar, that is. Unless this experience repeats itself, in which case being a mommy blogger will have presented itself as option número uno.

1. I’ve finally pinpointed the physical feeling studying for this way gives me: that sensation when you’ve been up for hours past any normal bedtime, and you viciously want to take your contacts out…but here your contacts = your brain.

2. You know how people always say, “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy”? After a lot of thought, I’ve decided that I would wish exactly this experience on my worst enemy. You know, it’s not like the life altering horror of losing a family member or something, but it’s just really terrible and soul draining.

The end.

Cucumber Basil Bruiser

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Dirty martinis are my favorite libation because they’re a snack and a drink in one package. (Those who ask for extra olives stave off hangovers, my friends.) But this little guy might be the dark horse in that competition…the chunks of cucumber give it a fun texture and they’re even healthy. So basically this is extremely good for you and you should make it immediately.

Cucumber Basil Bruiser
-Bruise a handful of basil leaves and finely chop half a large cucumber.

-Throw both ingredients into a glass filled with the amount of gin needed for two drinks (or however many you plan to have tonight. Life is stressful sometimes). Stick the glass in the freezer so the greenery can “infuse” the gin.

-Wait a painfully long half hour.

-Remove gin from freezer, pour out a shot’s worth into a glass, and scoop out accompanying greens. (If I  call them “greens” enough times, you’ll  start believing me that this is a health food.)

-Top off with fizz of choice (tonic water, if you live here).

-Imbibe and forget for an hour that you’re still studying for the bar. STILL.

Two Little Things

…that are currently helping me stay afloat.

1. Genius, genius idea that I just discovered: you can get a pedicure and study at the same time. Yesterday, I just felt gross and wanted to do anything else in the world except sit in my chair in Starbucks (it just feels like it’s time to move your lurking elsewhere when the baristas know you by name), when I realized I was walking past this cute nail place on Charles Street. Turns out it’s just as easy to do multiple choice questions out of a book while becoming slightly more groomed and less caffeinated. Win.

2. Tuesday night tradition: Bachelorette and sushi. Let’s be real…to say that sushi is a little thing is actually a complete lie. M says my seafood predilections have convinced him that I was a polar bear in a previous life. Um, totally uninterested in having been a giant shaggy thing that eats its own young and lives in the Artic, but thanks for the suggestion.

Despite his sadly misguided thoughts on reincarnation, he is a stellar fellow Bachelorette watcher. This is seriously one of the things I love most about this guy…not his willingness to watch terrible reality TV per se, but the full-on commitment shown to the process once he’s decided it’s on. There’s a lot of hilarious, truly male commentary (“Obviously you want to “go on a journey with her,” she’s hot!”) but the really fantastic part is when he physically cannot take the awkwardness of a particular “we have a connection” conversation, and has to get off the couch and assume the fetal position. I couldn’t get a picture of it because he kept scooting into different contortions with each new horribly, sensationally contrived sentence, and my laughing kept shaking the camera. I guess I really shouldn’t judge, since when she kicked The Hawk off last week and he cried and cried, I had to go wait in the bedroom until it was over.

Also, I think we can all agree that if someone asked you to pick anyone in the world to switch jobs with, the ONLY correct answer is: Chris Harrison. The man suits up to travel the globe and delivers literally two lines an episode, one of which is meant to be helpful, I’m sure, but…Chris, we can all count to one.

Those of us who are able to stay in the room, at least.

Preemptive Nostalgia

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I’m leafing through the stacks of law I’ve brought to the coffee shop to learn to give me an excuse to drink an almond milk latte, and I happen to look up. Such a perfect view…this crumbly old warehouse that, against that crazy sky, somehow looks like even its graffiti is art. It’s not a view I ever would have had before this whole experience…just so very “city.” So, so going to miss vistas like this when we’ve touched back down in the land of big-box stores.

And yet as I type this, some quintessentially Boston machismo has asserted itself in the street behind me. Incessant honking and shouts to “Move yeh ass!” are scoring this scene, so…yes. There are always trade-offs.

Fizbo’s Demise

A few weeks ago, our beloved Baller came to visit. It was SO wonderful having her here, even though we were (sensing a theme here?) forced to spend a lot of her visit in coffee shops, learning all of the law. But, she (as ballers are wont to do) definitely made the best of it, and explored Boston on her own. (I guess after you tackle Australia solo, one city is child’s play).

We did take her to Giacomo’s, though, (because we care about her as a person) and tried to make up for our lackluster hosting with butternut squash ravioli and playfully grumpy waiters. It was fantastic as usual (seriously, if you ever find yourself in Boston, it is a mandatory stop), but what happened on the way out the door was even better.

We’re walking along, an intelligent group of conversating adults, when we passed this ice cream cone smashed on the ground.

It didn’t even really blip on my radar, but Baller leapt over to that square of sidewalk like it was her own personal frozen treat that had just bitten the dust, and yelled, “SAD!!! Sad. A clown died there.”

Just…what?

And that is why I love her.