Love and Marriage...and Divorce?

In less than 24 hours I have found out that two sets of friends are getting a divorce. My best guy friend from high school and his wife (who got married two weeks after Scott and I) and one of my dearest friends from college (one of my bridesmaids, actually) and her husband (who were married a couple of years before Scott and I), are splitsville. I have yet to get the scoop on the demise of their respective relationships, which I will certainly do over the next couple of weeks, but for now I am somewhat traumatized, and left to my imagination's rampant speculation, leading me to question just exactly what would push a couple so close to the edge of the precipice that the only way to survive is dive off alone.

Now we all know that every couple has its problems. Even those couples that seem perfect in polite company have their (often times unimaginably big) fights behind closed doors. Others have their fights in front of open windows, or better yet, their front yard for the benefit of the whole neighborhood. The point is, no relationship is perfect. There are days when I am overwhelmed with love for Scott and there are other days where I want to kick him in the balls. And he usually knows when those days are, because our conversation goes a little something like this:

Scott: [Says something that he knows will piss me off.]
Liz: What do you mean by that?
Scott: I just mean [something that doesn't get me un-pissed at all.]
Liz: Why the hell would you say that? What do you think you're gonna accomplish?
Scott: I don't know, I was just thinking...
Liz: Well, you had to f*$&ing know that would piss me off. Was it really necessary to say?
Scott: No.
Liz: Then why the f%&$ would you say it?
Scott: I don't know.
Liz: I mean, did you know before you said it I'd get pissed?
Scott: Yeah.
Liz: And yet you said it anyway?
Scott: (Starting to laugh.) Yeah.
Liz: You're a f#*!ing asshole. Don't f*%&ing talk to me right now.
Scott: Babe, I didn't mean anything. I mean, I knew you'd get mad, but I don't know why you have to take things so personally.
Liz: Um, I take things personally because I'm a f&#*ing person. How else am I supposed to take things? Like a couch? Or a tree? If you don't mean it personally then don't say it at all. Or, if you know it's gonna piss me off, make sure it's worth saying.
Scott: You just shouldn't take things so personally. Geez, I can't say anything to you. From now on I just won't even joke around with you.
Liz: Oh, that was supposed to be funny? You say you knew I'd get pissed off before you said it, but now it was meant to be funny? You're a f*%&ing c*%#-sucking asshole of a jerk. Don't talk to me right now.
Scott: I was just joking. Don't take things personally. Geez, I can't even talk to you.
Liz: Seriously, don't talk to me for ten minutes. If you f*%&ing talk to me in the next ten minutes I'm going to punch you in the balls. Give me ten and I'll be fine.
Scott: (Laughing more.) Fine, I won't talk to you for ten minutes.

We get over most of our fights pretty quickly because they're about stupid things. Others we don't get over quite so quickly, but most of those we can look back at now and laugh. (Like the one when I accidentally scraped Scott's truck down the side of our friend's house. To be fair, I expected him to be mad. I just didn't expect him to be quite as mad as he was. I mean, it was a really narrow driveway and his truck is huge. Turns out most of my friend's family has run into that corner of the house. Luckily his mom reminded him of the time he ran into the Mazzio's building while delivering pizzas back in the day...) All that being said, there are fights that I don't think we ever really finished; instead, I think we just both got tired of talking. Then we both got tired of not talking and things gradually went back to normal.

Now we're faced with at least one year apart, maybe more, and we have been forced to really think about what we want with our careers, our relationship and our future family. It seems as though we're at the top of a mountain, looking out at the lives we want and the path we have to take to get there. Sometimes I fear that we're looking off into the distance facing opposite directions, and that we'll be lucky to cross paths on our journey. Other times I think our paths may have diverged a bit but that ultimately they'll meet up again.

I guess it comes down to the deal breakers. Everyone must have at least one thing they won't put up with, no matter how much they love the person. Personally, I know if Scott ever insists I suck his toes, it's over. Feet are gross. Seriously though, I guess it's good we haven't discovered our deal breakers. I thought we might be close a couple of times, but those were the fights that gradually faded into the abyss. Maybe once you realize what you absolutely won't stand for, it's just too late.

Or maybe I'm wrong and there really isn't any one thing that pushed most couples over the edge. Maybe it's all the little things - he doesn't wipe the floor around the toilet (come on guys, you know you have bad aim sometimes) or she leaves hairballs in the shower. He doesn't thank her for dinner, even if it is just Hamburger Helper. She doesn't thank him for making sure she has an ice scraper and good tires for winter. He resents her shoe obsession and she resents his five fantasy football teams.

I guess if it's the little things that make a relationship fabulous, they can also be the things that make it unbearable. Whatever it is, big or little, I honestly hope I never find out.

In my next life...

I'm going to be an MTV reality star. I think I'll start with the Real World, then accept all invitations for the Real World/Road Rules Challenges. I mean, I highly doubt these people have real jobs, yet they seem to live fairly comfortably lives. And several times a year, MTV provides all the alcohol, sex and drama a person could ask for.





Here's the plan:
1. Grow up in a fairly normal suburban family.
2. Concoct some story about "struggles" in my life that will serve as an excuse for any immature/absurd/asinine behavior.
3. Go to college for a year or two where I develop an uncanny ability to make a drunken ass of myself with the help of all the beer and liquor I can drink at the friendly neighborhood frat.
4. Send in a video of my amazing self simply being amazing to MTV. Get cast on the Real World.
5. Hook up, pass out, fight with housemates, cry in the confessional, suddenly realize the error of my drunken ways and become everyone's bff.
6. Compete in challenge walking the fine line between loyal teammate and backstabbing bitch in order to come away with the cash.
7. Make random appearances at Spring Break and New Year's Eve bashes.
8. Repeat steps 5 through 7 as necessary to pay the bills (at least the ones that mom and dad don't still pay).
Judging by the stellar cast of characters that has been around since I was in jr. high, I can milk this for 10-15 years.

Hopefully, by then I will have suckered some dumbass into being my sugardaddy, which will make for a perfect segue to my second career as a cougar on "Real Housewives of Somewhere." Shopping, drinking (the expensive stuff this time around!), catfights with other Real Housewives, design my own fashion line and put on a "fashion show" where all my high-society frenemies realize what a poser I am...what more could a washed-up G-lister ask for? (That's right folks, by that time I will have sunk far past Kathy Griffith on the D List.)

Why didn't I think of this sooner?

Mid-Semester Blues.

It's that time of year again. Fall break is a fond memory, the hectic holidays are looming, classes have settled into a predictable pattern (except for one class which seems to morph into an ever-more frustrating monster twice a week) and all I want to do is stay home and sleep.

Instead, here I sit, probably catching swine flu on the Metro, headed to work, which I would love if classes didn't get in the way, throwing myself a pity party.

But these aren't just any mid-semester blues, friends. No, this year they find me in a very existential mood, wondering what exactly I think I'm doing with my life and if perhaps I should be doing something else. Blame it on the economy and my resultant joblessness, blame it on the fact that my law school career is drawing to an end and I find little to comfort my anxiety that this has been the most expensive mistake I have ever made, blame it on my knack for deciding that I want to be one thing when I grow up only to change my mind as soon as the end of one part of my journey draws near, just please, help me find something to blame!

I suppose that I would feel this way even if I had an amazing job lined up for after graduation. There's a little voice inside that pipes up whenever I get too far down one path to turn back, and it always has the same thing to say: Ugh. How boring. I can't believe this is what you have settled on. After all the big plans we made, after all the big things everyone expected of you. What a waste. And my response: But I don't know what else to do. This seemed like such a good idea. I thought I'd love this, be excited about it, look forward to getting out there in the real world. I thought I could be amazing at this. The voice: Heh. So what if you are amazing at this? What difference does it make? Who cares? Are you going to look forward to getting up in the morning for this? Me: Probably not, but I just don't know where I'm supposed to go from here...

Passion seems to be lacking. Not in me, I'm passionate about lots of things, Scott, my friends and family, my crazy misfit dogs, reproductive rights, the fact that Mr. Pibb is NOT the same as Dr. Pepper, I could go on and on. Yet I find myself searching for passion in my career choices. I think I can find it, I'm just not sure how. I mean, let's be honest, if I had my choice, I'd totally be a Gwen Stefani-esque rock star, and parlay that into so many other things, such as a shoe line, opening up a center for "troubled" teen girls where they could get advice on everything fron birth control to fashion (because when you know you look good, you feel sooo much better about yourself!) and a no-kill shelter for animals. But since God has not seen fit to bless me in the vocal department, there must be another way to get where I want to be. While I feel I've exhausted my supply of doors, I'm still looking for that open window. If anyone happens across it, prop it open so I don't miss it.

Looking forward, but not to looking back.

Lately I have been thinking about my ten year high school reunion. But Liz, you think, you have two more years until that somewhat depressing milestone. Why are you thinking about that now, instead of, oh, I don't know, finding a job? Believe me, I am thinking about finding a job, a sad train of thought that leads me to other equally depressing subjects. Plus, I just turned 27 (so close to 30 it hurts) and I went to Scott's ten year reunion with him in July...let's just say there are many reasons. However, I must admit, the main reason is Facebook.


Yes, that wonderful website that keeps us all abreast of what friends and non-friends alike are doing. I must admit, there are many people whose friend requests I have accepted in hopes that I would look at where they are now and feel better about where I am. (Be honest with yourself, you've done the same thing.) Anyway, I recently received a friend request from a high school classmate that I wasn't too fond of "back in the day." No specific incident to refer to, I just didn't really like the girl, thought she was a hateful bitch, that sort of thing. I heard rumors back in college that she had a nervous breakdown and dropped out, and to tell the truth, I didn't feel that bad for her. So when I saw the friend request, morbid curiosity forced me to accept.

Of course, being in class at the time, I immediately engaged in some classic Facebook-stalking activity, checking out her profile, looking at all of her pictures, the whole shebang. She is married with kids, it doesn't look like she ever finished college and I don't know that she has a job. Scoping out her pictures, I flattered myself that the last eight years have been much kinder to me than they have to her in the looks department, but I suppose I should make allowances for her baby-making and rugrat-chasing activities.


So what's the point? The point is, dear reader, that this all got me thinking about what that impending reunion will be like. Who will be fat? Who will look like they've been rode hard and put up wet? Will the girls and guys who walked around like their shit didn't stink be stuck in our hometown with three kids and dead-end jobs? Will people who didn't much like one another act like they were BFF once-upon-a-time?


I know my BFF and I have had big plans ever since we graduated good ol' Chucky Page to show up looking smokin' hot, all educated and with great jobs. However, life has since knocked us on our asses, laughed and said, what the hell were you thinking? Don't get me wrong, we're not complete losers, I just know that neither of us are anywhere near where we pictured we would be at this point in life, and being planners and control-freaks, it's been hard to swallow. It's hard not to look at my own Facebook page and think, how do I measure up?

And that brings on a whole new set of issues: Well, I'm in school now, but what about a job? Do I even want to be a lawyer anymore? What the hell else could I do that wouldn't make me feel like a waste of all that potential I had in high school? How much time do I have to fit back into my high school jeans size?


But really, isn't the big question why the hell do I care? I mean, come on, I don't communicate with most of these people, I don't even want to communicate with most of them. I hope everyone I was friends with is happy and doing well and screw the rest. Yet I look forward to this reunion that is nearly two years away with a certain degree of anxiety, wondering what all these people who knew me before I was a jaded law student, back when I was an optimistic cheerleader/drama geek who thought she had the world at her fingertips, will think of the person I am now. I fear that I won't meet their expectations. And I fear that in not meeting the expectations of my youth (good lord, that makes me sound old) I will have failed at something, although I'm not quite sure just what that something is.


I realize this is all a bit self-indulgent, and perhaps sounds as though I'm unhappy or dissatisfied with my life. That's not really the case. I have a husband I love and who adores me, friends I know I can count on for anything and who can count on me, wonderful parents and in-laws who never cease to support me and three dogs who always act thrilled to see me when I get home, even if I have only been gone twenty minutes. Law school sucks, but I am certainly not alone in those sentiments, and I am enjoying my internship right now. And while I have pretty much come to accept the fact that I probably won't have a firm job, or really any job as a lawyer, when I graduate, I have started considering what I am truly passionate about, which isn't a bad thing.

So why worry about what a group of people who knew me ten years ago and who I likely won't see again until our twenty year reunion think? I honestly don't know. I just know that occasionally I think about it. Then I think about all the decisions that got me here, and about how just one or two different choices could have put me somewhere else entirely. And then I tell myself what my mom always tells me when I am frustrated with how things are going: everything happens for a reason. Don't we all just wish we knew what the reasons are?

Then again, grown-ups these days...

A friend and I were sitting in the library at the law school, chatting about very important things, such as my upcoming phone interview and the male tendency to try to problem-solve when you really just need a good listener. We were up on the fifth floor, and for those of you unfamiliar with our law library, we were in the spot where sofas and chairs go to die. You know the spot, lots of old, comfy sofas and chairs, broken in by years of law student napping, right outside a row of faculty offices where there is always commotion of the odd law school variety.

So there we are, each in a great big chair, our laptops and books out so we at lease look like studying is our primary purpose for being there, but clearly enjoying conversation of the non-law variety, and a girl sits down on one of the nearby sofas. (It should be noted here that I use the term "girl" loosely. This female was clearly in her thirties, possibly her forties, and yes, I believe her age is relevant considering what transpired.) As we sat there chatting, admittedly perhaps louder, at times, than is normally acceptable for library conversation, she would occasionally heave a huge sigh and glare over at us. This continued for probably about half an hour while we chatted about, as I mentioned above, very important things.

Finally, said "girl" slams her book shut, hurls it onto the sofa, yanks up her bag, flings it onto her back and stomps off, muttering something about talking and a f*&$ing coffee shop. She stomps down the corridor of faculty offices, throwing murderous glares our way, and saying something about annoying girls. During this entire display, my friend and I managed to shut our traps and watch in awe as the hissy fit unfolded. Poor girl, if she's known all she had to do to get us to shut us was throw a tantrum she probably would have done so much sooner.

So what is my point in telling this story? Well, there are a few:

1. I would like to point out, in defense of my friend and I (and in case there happen to be any readers thinking that we were failing to observe proper library etiquette) that the area we were sitting in is known to be a non-silent, for lack of a better term, study area. As I mentioned, there are many faculty offices, along with their assistants' offices, and faculty and students are constantly wandering through the area, talking and calling to one another. There actually used to be a sign there, before they remodeled the library, warning students not to expect silence there. Maybe I should make a new one...

2. As mentioned above, this "girl" was really more of a middle-aged woman. Judging by the sheer impressiveness of her hissy, perhaps she has spent too much time around a middle-school daughter. It was great, books slamming, things thrown, eyes rolling, huge disgusted sighs. I don't know if I was that good at the height of my intolerable teen-ager years. The woman should win an award. That being said, my friend and I were both left wondering why she didn't try the more adult route, as one may assume befits a professional student. A simple, "Hey, would you guys mind keeping it down just a little, I'm trying to get some reading done," would have worked wonders. I mean, I'd like to think we aren't total bitches. Sure, I could have said, in my best Mean-Girls-impression tone, "Ummm, if you have a problem with us, you can go to a study carrel or a table. We were here first." But I probably wouldn't have. We're all adults, let's act like it and leave the passive-agressive eye-rolling and muttering under our breath the the fourteen-year-olds.

3. This girl wasn't a 3L. If she's a 2L, she should have figured out by now that in that particular area of the library people are going to talk. If you need silence, go to the reading room, or to another part of the library where comfy furniture doesn't abound. Everyone knows overstuffed furniture invites not only napping but casual conversation. On the other hand, if she's a 1L, then perhaps she should seriously reconsider law school. This was only the first full week of classes. If you are already that stressed out about two people (who, might I remind you, were sitting there talking long before you sat your grumpy ass down) cutting into your silence, it's going to be a loooong three years. Law school is bad enough without stressing yourself out over stupid things like two annoying chatty cathys in the library. Learn to pick your battles, honey, because you will find yourself engaged in worse than that.

Kids these days...

So I have been meaning to share this story for a while, and find that now it gives me a reason to put off studying for a short time.

During my brief and (and surprisingly miserable) stint at Target this summer, one evening I was stocking some merchandise in the infant section. As there were some larger items, all the stuff was loaded onto this large cart, really a 3' x 5' piece of plywood on wheels with a big handle. There I am stocking away, and I go back to the main aisle where the cart is (b/c it's much too cumbersome to push down each individual aisle) and...no cart. Then I see the cart flying down the aisle with a little girl, probably 5 or 6, half pushing-half riding along. I chase it down and we come to a stop about 30 feet away from where the cart originally was, with the little girl's mom following behind. I wanted to tell the little girl that the cart wasn't a toy and that she could have gotten hurt or hurt someone else, but her mom was right there, so I decided to leave the parenting to the parent. The mom pulls the girl off the cart and says to her, "You shouldn't have done that! You could have got hurt!"

Good for you, mom, I'm thinking. However, that thought lasted about 2 seconds, because the mom immediately turns to me and says, "But you did just leave it there. So it's not really her fault that she hopped on it."

I stood there at a loss for words. (Well, to be perfectly honest, plenty of words came to mind, but any combination of them would quite possibly have gotten me immediately fired, so in my mind they remained.) She then walked off, offspring in tow, as I continued to stand there, with what I am pretty sure was a look of utter annoyance.

Now, let's be clear. My annoyance was initially directed at the girl. She was certainly old enough to know that she probably shouldn't go joy-riding through the aisle on any large wheeled object that happened to sit low enough for her to hop on to. But then my annoyance switched to (and remained with) the mother. My unsaid thoughts went something like this:

Really? I shouldn't have left it there? Aside from the fact that I am supposed to leave it there, and that people would be pissed if I tried to maneuver that thing down the baby food aisle as they shopped, I don't see how the mere presence of the cart caused your daughter to careen through the store on it. So because I left the cart there, your daughter automatically loses all self-control and, more importantly, you lose all parental control? You haven't taught your daughter what is and isn't acceptable shopping behavior and that's my fault?

Let's follow this logic down the (admittedly) slippery path it may follow:

Hmm, honey, that isn't your bike. What's that? Susie just left it in her yard? Well, in that case I completely understand why you thought you could take it for a ride. Wear a helmet dear.

Oh my, you took my car and rear-ended a little old lady? You're only 14! What's that? I left the car in the drive and the keys on the counter? Silly me, I should have known it would be too tempting for you to avoid driving it. We should send that old lady flowers.

Honey, where'd you get the iPod? Oh, someone left it on their desk in class while they went to the bathroom? Well, that was just careless of them. What? Oh, you need an iTunes account. Of course, just get the credit card out of my purse, but be sure you put it back this time, your last shopping trip almost maxed it out.

I know, I know, this parade of horribles, to finally use a law school idea in real life, is a bit extreme, but what happened to parents teaching their kids what is and isn't acceptable behavior? My mom would have apologized profusely and then lectured me until we got home about how lucky I was I didn't get hurt and that I should just be thankful I didn't run into anyone else and hurt them and that I better not ever do anything like that again because while we'll just keep it between us this time, if I ever pull a stunt like that again, young lady, your father will hear about it, and then you KNOW what will happen.

I get it, we all want kids to be kids. Kids should have fun. But kids should also know that they can't just take a ride on any wheeled object that crosses their path. And parents should keep an eye on their kids and not laugh off things that should be opportunities to teach their kids what is unacceptable behavior.

I could go on and on about kids not respecting their parents and how some people shouldn't even be allowed to have the responsibility of raising kids, but I won't. Mainly because I am sure I will soon have an illustrative encounter which will make those points for me. All in good time...

After a long afternoon cleaning out gutters...

I created a blog, mainly so I could post a comment on my dear friend Ashley's. All I really have to say right now is that I would pretty much rather do anything than clean out a gutter again...well, anything besides eating snails again. That's right, I tried escargot on the cruise, and decided that is should be called ass-cargot. I strongly believe in trying anything and everything if given the opportunity, but could happily have gone my entire life without that experience.