Daisy, Just Daisy |

If You Want To Hear God Laugh

December 14, 2009

Tell Him Your Plans.

I’ve been putting off posting & putting off posting because I’ve been quite convinced the *next* post is going to be some pretty photos of my tree, some favorite ornaments (my Daisy ornament from Law With Grace, the gorgeous glass hot air balloon we bought in Napa with a tiny bride & groom in the basket below, a few of my favorite childhood ornaments, a Radko green pickle hiding in the branches…) but instead, nada. Error messages about the photos being too big, but a lot of contradicting evidence to that error message, and at the end of it I just get frustrated & throw my hands up in the air. NO CHRISTMAS FOR YOU.

In the continuation of the Granny Cart Lady story, there isn’t much. She was old (older than I thought, and you know, many thanks to the snarky commenter Laura who resorted to name calling – who you calling a fool?- in her disagreement over TGL’s age estimate) and apparently she took a few classes at my undergrad, which would in fact explain her colossal meltdown when she was locked out of a class a time or two, particularly on exam day. She was survived by children and grandchildren and she had a voracious appetite for learning. She also had a penchant for trying to run down hungover 18 year olds with her cart, but hey- we all have our quirks.

You have also had an opportunity to learn about another one of my (many) flaws- I can’t estimate worth crap. I’ll tell you that there were 100,000 people at a football game and it turns out there were only 53,000. I think the store is a mile away, it is seven. I think an old lady is “in her 70′s” and as it turns out, when I was there she was more about 85. I’d guess that a bag of flour at the store contains 3 cups when in reality it holds about 12 (maybe?). I’ve learned to survive by a little bit of laughing (TWO MONTHS OLD YOU SAY? MY HOW LARGE SHE IS…..eeeep) at myself, a little bit of biting my tongue, and one handy dandy calculator application on my iPhone that has saved me from accidentally buying 7 quarts of cream when I need a gallon of it. (EGGNOG PEOPLE). Live & learn, eh?

Granny Cart Lady

December 10, 2009

By Daisy

My undergraduate institution had its legends and folklore – the things that the guides whisper to you conspiratorially as you take your tour. Some are superstitious and others are funny. On our academic quad had two buildings that didn’t fit in architecturally – legend was another Southern Ivy had two buildings that didn’t fit in on their campus either & somehow, during the building boom after the Great Depression the bricks were switched. Rather than spend the money to send the bricks back to the respective schools the schools instead swapped building plans & built the other school’s intended building.

My school also had the woman affectionately called The Granny Cart Lady. I’d estimate she was in her 70′s, hunched over, frail and definitely senile. She would pick a schedule of classes & attend them, with scary regularity. Unfortunately Granny Cart Lady was angry, hungry & had a large push cart that she brought along with her. She’d sit in the front of the class, munching on sandwiches she’d find in her cart, slurp coffee out of an old beat up thermos and angrily shout at the professors. A friend of mine had a professor who locked her out once, and if there was anything that upset The Granny Cart Lady more than slow (hungover) people blocking her way was being locked out on exam day.

Granny Cart Lady was most certainly not enrolled as a student. Legends flew freely about why she was allowed to disrupt classes. Some argued she was the daughter (or mother) of a benefactor to the school. Others thought she was the mother of a professor in good standing. No one ever really settled on why the Granny Cart Lady was around, but she was most certainly around. She sat next to me in an upper level sociology course once and managed to spill coffee on me on more than occasion.

The Granny Cart Lady, it seems has passed away. Her name as it turns out was Martha. Details will follow in 24 hours & I’m hoping the mystery of Martha, the Granny Cart Lady will be unraveled. In the meantime, rest in peace Granny Cart Lady. I forgive you for the coffee spilling. And hitting me with your cart.

Hoarding Reality

December 8, 2009

By Daisy

It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a woman (between the ages of 19 and 40) in possession of a large DVR needs some will power.

I jest.

Sort of.

Perhaps you have heard of this new television show, Hoarders? It is described by A & E (on their website) as the following:

Each 60-minute episode of Hoarders is a fascinating look inside the lives of two different people whose inability to part with their belongings is so out of control that they are on the verge of a personal crisis. Whether they’re facing eviction, the loss of their children, jail time, or divorce, they are all desperately in need of help. In a fly-on-the-wall style, we’ll capture the drama as experts work to put each on the road to recovery. But cleaning is just the first step, like taking drugs away from an addict. The healing won’t be easy. For some, throwing away even the tiniest thing — a sponge, a button, an empty box — is so painful that they will not be able to allow the cleaning to be completed, no matter the consequences. For others, professional help and an organizer’s guidance give them the strength to recover. At the end of each episode we’ll find out who has been able to keep their hoarding behavior at bay and who, despite help, is still lost inside this painful disease.

Right. So, as a woman with a DVR & a husband who sometimes spends an evening meeting up with his sailing friends for an evening of culture & refinement (Read: bourbon & talk of boats that go real fast) I downloaded two episodes of Hoarders with an intent to spend an evening of sloth-like bliss, eating breakfast for dinner & watching trashy television. Tasty omelette, cozy blanket & all, I was ready for some relaxing. Instead I got a punch in the gut.

This…show….as some call it, isn’t entertainment in my book. It is a front row seat (from my clean, tidy house and recently vacuumed couch) at the lives of people afflicted with a mental disorder so deep & powerful they ignore human instincts that cause (most) of us to stay away from rotting food, feces and animal droppings. The show, rather than simply explain hoarding with a few scandalous photos & the camera time with a psychologist & perhaps an interview with a person who hoards (face blurred, to protect their privacy) instead exploits it. Juicy interviews with crying friends and spouses. Long camera shots of the utter chaos they live in. The threats the people live with, typically the ones that prompted them (or their family member) to reach out to the show – eviction, condemned homes, city fines, DCFS taking their children away are highlighted over and over again, the shows “explanation” for why they are there with their cameras.

I’ve only watched two episodes, so I can’t speak for every one, but the ones I watched brought in two days of help- psychologists, cleaning crews & a professional organizer. They film as the experts (respectfully) try to help the hoarders part with the rot and the mold and stuff – useless broken junk, beyond repair, that simply sits in their homes, their yards and their attics.

What the show doesn’t do is fix the problem. They often only have time to clean one room in the entire disgusting home. It doesn’t fix the mental illness that got the people there. One episode ended with a blurb saying the individual was in therapy, but the rest of the of episodes I saw ended with a statement saying the person refused therapy.

I don’t think the individuals portrayed on this show have the mental capacity to consent to being on this show. (WHO HAS A FANCY LAW DEGREE NOW?) Much like someone under the influence of alcohol can’t consent to things, neither can a person who suffers from (in the courts words, not mine) a mental defect. The mental illness removes their ability to agree to be put on television. Sure, some people are learning as they watch. Some people might use the show to come to grips with the Hoarders in their life. The rest of us however, sit in our jammies and eat our crackers and cheese and marvel at how weird/gross/disgusting/awful/bizarre these people are and HOW DID THEIR FAMILIES LET THIS HAPPEN? YEE GADS LOOK AT THAT ROTTEN PUMPKIN! IN THE LIVING ROOM! NEXT TO THE BABY BASSINETT FULL OF STARVING KITTENS!

My point is, these people are ill. They deserve respect and help, preferably behind closed doors with a lot of bleach and therapy. They need help that doesn’t come in the way of a television show- from their families, their church, their health care professionals, from Adult Protective Services, from their neighbors and paper boys & the Fed Ex man that brings all that junk to their door. They don’t need all of America gazing in at their crazy. They are not a bimbo hoping for a shot of fame & a 3 carat diamond on The Bachelor & they are not signing up to live on a deserted island to compete for a hot meal and a million dollars.

They already live on a deserted island, one filled with sadness and loneliness & filth. We don’t need to invite ourselves in from our own sterile living rooms.

Commence The Freaking Out

December 7, 2009

By Daisy

I forget (a mere two years later…) that December means a whole slew of students, both undergraduate and graduate are busy freaking out. Exams, papers, lab finals & projects are consuming their time, each of them has a big circle around a date near the end of the month that marks their escape to freedom- sleeping in, seeing family, perhaps going back to the job they held during the summer months.

A special brand of finals fear rests in the heart of law students, 1L’s in particular. It is a fear that resides in the part of the brain that houses words like “failure”, “inept” and “the curve” – enough to send shivers down any sane persons spine. Have no fear, law students (and lawyer) are not sane. They are competitive, mean and judgmental. At few of them feel the need to wear fedoras and act superior while flaunting the 6 degrees they’ve already attained. The rest of them are busy trying to figure out how to get 5 other degrees while in law school so as to graduate ahead of the fedora-wearing-lameo. The person wearing the fedora will disappear at some point 1L year, never to be seen until graduation when they announce they are taking a position in Minnesota. As a duck tracker. My point being law students should be handled with care and a touch of skepticism.

The night before my very first final exam of my 1L year- about 4 weeks after getting a dismal grade on my one and only midterm, the one assignment that could have served to bolster my ego or feelings of faith in myself, was long and tiring. At about 2 am, as I was going to wrap up and squeeze in a few hours of restless sleep, my computer gave me the blue screen of death. I did what any frazzled 1L would do- I called my Mom, sobbing, explaining in detail how I was withdrawing the next morning because I was a washed-up law student has-been.

Needless to say she informed me I wasn’t quitting. I cobbled together some semblence of Windows, managed to eek the computer through the rest of finals (it limped through the rest of 2005 only to die an explosive death during hour one of the first day of Contracts in January) and went home, exhausted. What on earth had I just done to myself??

When my grades came back I was deflated as much as an already flat tire can be. My grades were mediocre at best. Always a solid A to B student (excepting that semester of micro-economics in college that I prefer to block out of my memory, along with the hypothetical cups of coffee and tea my professor was always moving around the white board) my grades were solidly the middle of the pack, if the bottom-middle. I was no stand-out, that was for sure. I went to each of my professors and went over my exam in an attempt to understand what I’d done wrong.

When I went to speak to my Con Law professor- the one whose exam had struck horror in my non-laptop-working-heart, he pulled out the stack of exams. He explained the top grade was the first exam in the stack, the lowest grade on the bottom. Receiving a solid B in the course- a “meh” grade in my book, I was shocked when he pulled my exam out of the stack after only setting 3 other exams aside. I’d had the fourth best grade in the class- and yet, I’d only gotten a B. My Contracts professor’s tutoring session was worse- when he found my exam in the stack he told me it was, by far, the best written exam he’d graded that semester. Somehow, that didn’t make my B feel any better- especially when looking at my “points earned” section I realized I was probably the bottom of the “B” pile.

The reasons for my disheartening story are as follows:

If you are in graduate school, taking exams (especially your first semester) mentally prepare yourself for straight C’s. You are competing with a lot of people who have done just as well as you for just as long, and mathematically speaking, 95% of you will not be in the top 5%. Anything that isn’t a C will be gravy, but it will help keep the sting to a minimum, just in case.

Some people in the top 5% will get the coveted jobs. So will someone in the bottom 50%. At least one person in the top 5% will not be heard of again until you run into him/her at Starbucks 3 months after graduation- they will be handing you your coffee. Take that dose of perspective along with your Type A pills and Competitive Serum.

You can’t learn it all. You simply can’t. Trying to learn it all will result in a 3 am sob fest in the library, on public transportation, or in a coffee shop when you hear someone else mention something completely irrelevant to what you are studying.

That said, you can not study too much. Alternatively, you can study to little. The person who studies the most passes the exam, but so does the person who finds the middle ground. Decide which person you want to be ahead of time.

There is something to be said for mental breaks- going to the movies, out for a cocktail, running, shopping, golfing, ice fishing. I don’t really care how you take a break, but schedule them in. Do not take a break to do laundry, unless your name is Daisy *cough cough* and the sight of neatly folded sheets and towels sooothes you to no end.

You are probably being an insensitive jerk to your best friend, roommate, parents and/or significant other. Plan something nice for them after it is all over if you hope to graduate with them still supporting you.

Showering is still important. At the minimum, change your skiivies daily.

The Stockings Were Hung By The Chimney With Care

December 4, 2009

By Daisy

…In hopes that St. Nick soon would be there.

While this certainly isn’t my first Christmas with B, it is our first Christmas as old married folks, and as such our parents have handed the duty of filling the stockings down to our respective spouses. I purchased stockings & had our names embroidered on them & began my quest to fill B’s stocking with fun & goodies, all for less than $100. So here is my stocking stuffing guide based on my extensive research (Read: Twitter) & perusing of store shelves. I also succumbed to B’s request that his stocking hanger be a reindeer, even though I wanted snowflakes. Marriage: it is about THE COMPROMISE.

stockign holder

For the toe of his stocking we have the ever classic Terry’s Chocolate Orange- dark chocolate. Next up is dress socks- I found some lovely ones at Nordstrom Rack ($3 a pair!), and it fulfills my family rule/tradition that your stocking must contain stockings or some variation thereof.

I’m going to put a tube of his favorite Kiehl’s shaving cream in there, as I think everyone should get a favorite bath/beauty/personal care product they don’t always want to splurge on for themselves- in fact, B likes it so much I might buy two tubes so my Mom can put one in Dad’s stocking. The nice part about the shaving cream is that it comes in a plastic squeeze tube rather than a metal canister, which according to my airline pilot father is much nicer for him & airport security. I realize that while I might be into the lotions & potions, it might not be what he wants his stocking to be filled with, so I’m also stopping by our local Blackhawks store to pick up The Frozen Confines DVD, (under $10!) which is an inside look at how we froze our bums off last New Years Day the Blackhawks-Red Wings Winter Classic game at Wrigley Field last year. Go Wings!

I made two small purchases from my favorite Preppy Princess for the stocking as well- nautical luggage tags (B sails competitively during the summer months) & a new d-ring belt to add to his collection: anchor B hate filling out the disposable luggage tags at the airport (a duty that always falls on him) so I thought these might help- I’ll slip his business cards in beforehand so they are ready to be used on our return trip home! The ribbon/d-ring belts at the Preppy Princess are fully customizable so I selected the whale pattern and put it on red cotton backing- tres chic! And it will match most of his wardrobe, classic colors guy that he is.

I also bought, much to my chagrin, his favorite holiday candy even though I find them so icky I can’t even talk about them: cordial_boxes3 Ew. EW. He can eat every single one in the whole box & I won’t make him share a bite.

After all that, I think his stocking will be pretty full and my Mom requested a little space to put something in from my family as well. However, that doesn’t mean I don’t have more ideas (sure to be used in years to come) as well as a few ideas for any lady-friend whose stocking duties have become your responsibility:

favorite writing pens or Sharpies

a pad of pretty note paper for a table top/desk/phone area – Alexa Pulitzer makes my favorite note pads ever, I buy as many as I can whenever I’m in New Orleans or Savannah:

morrocan fleur

As kids we always had fun toys/experiments in our stocking- a deck of trick playing cards, a “grow your own crystals” experiment, or a kit to make your very own home-made slime. I know quite a few adults who would enjoy these novelties as well!

A new set of make up brushes – Sephora, MAC & Bobbi Brown always put together a package or two of staple brushes around the holidays that you can pick up at your local counter.