Thanks!

First of all, I want to thank everyone for the congratulations. It really is pretty fucking awesome. And I am really excited.

So, I know that a lot of you (especially those of you who know me personally) were a little shocked by this news. Well, so was I. For those people who found out on this blog, and maybe... should have found out from me in a more personal way... well... I'm sorry. I sincerely am. I really wish that the right moment to tell you ever presented itself, but, it didn't.

I figured I'd go ahead and answer some of the more common questions that I've been asked thus far. As always, in no particular order.

1. Was this planned? Nope! Not a bit.

2. Who is the father? Scott Rose, Bob Newhart, or my boyfriend.

3. Are you guys getting married? All four of us? Not now. Ask me again later.

4. How far along are you? 9 1/2 weeks. Totally too early to be announcing that I'm knocked up. Whatever. I'm an idiot. Too many things could go wrong still...

5. How are you feeling? Really really tired. Like more tired than I've ever been ever in my entire life.

6. When did you find out? A couple of days before I left for Belize. So my Scuba diving, drinking and eating seafood vacation was slightly redesigned. Awesome nonetheless, though. It should be an absolute requirement for unmaaried accidentally knocked up lawyers to go on a solo vacation. Talk about clarity...

7. Are you happy? As terrified as I am, and as unprepared as I feel, I am over the moon. I have never, ever been so happy.

8. Are you showing? No. In fact, I have lost a little weight, because I puke a lot. Apparently it's not that big of a problem, as long as I make up for it later.

9. How's not drinking? Not the most fun, but actually, not that bad either. My Ob/Gyn told me that a glass of wine every couple of weeks or month is fine, so I ordered a glass a few weeks ago, but I couldn't even drink it. Tasted fucked up. You know what doesn't taste fucked up? DIET ROOT BEER!!!!!!! Never in my life was I a root beer lover until now. I've finished off a two liter in less than 36 hours. It's unbelievable. It's so good I want to cry. Is this something that everyone has known about forever, and I'm just slow?

Anyway...I really am going to try to talk about other things besides my knocked-upness. It might be hard, though. The whole carrying a potential person inside me tends to distract me. For example, tomorrow I get a second ultrasound, and at that ultrasound, you know what else is distracting? HAVING KNOCKERS.

On that note, I'm going to go pour some root beer and stare at my huge cans.

Huge Life News- A Haiku (or The Day Men Stopped Reading My Blog)

No Booze, Bigger Boobs
Lunch Was Turkey and Sweet Tarts
You Guessed It: Knocked Up


Details forthcoming...

Delightful delicious rage

I had just finished telling my friend Obsquatch how I told a woman who honked her horn at me today that if she did it again, I would "FUCK HER UP." To make me feel better about my ragi-ness, he showed me the video he just made.

It fills me with joy. Thank you, Obsquatch. I hope you all enjoy it. A lot.

Dear My Dead Junkie,

Wow. It's that time of year again. Unlike last year, when the anniversary of your death almost escaped me, this year the I've been acutely aware that this day was creeping up. I've been doing a sort of morbid mental countdown.

Then today, I got an email from your mom. And from your friends. Similar to the emails that went around last year. One thing was vastly different, though. The tone of the emails. I guess THIS is the year everyone wants to remember you for your awesomeness- not for how tragically your young life came to an end. Pages and pages and pages of stories. Fucking hilarious stories. You had such an awesomely wicked sense of humor. Seriously, I am sitting here giggling. No one has ever made me laugh harder. No one ever will.

Do you remember, how you used to make fun of me, for having all those photographs everywhere all over my apartment? Well, you know after that one night in July, I moved out. When I moved into my new place, all those photos stayed in the closet. Not a single picture anywhere.

Well, now I've moved again. And you wouldn't believe all the ways my life has changed in the last year. Well, actually, I guess you would believe it. Anyway, slowly the pictures are coming back. I'm staring at your photo right now. You're on my bed, with my asshole dog, smiling. At me. I love this photo. I promise you that there will always be a spot for this photo in any home I ever live in.

Sweetie, we all miss you. We all love you. We are all better and, more importantly, funnier for knowing you. Maybe things would have been different if we had all made a point of telling you that a little more. or maybe not.

I will always be haunted by not knowing what happened. I can only hope that now you're at peace. And I believe, with all of my heart, that you are.

As for the rest of us? We're hanging in. Of course, you already know that, don't you?

Love Always,

Grace

Cuz I'm Belize'n On a Jet Plane

yep. that's the title of this post and I'm not apologizing for it. In about an hour, a car is coming to get me to take me to the airport. Then a plane is taking me to Florida. Then another plane is taking me to Belize. Then another teeny tiny little puddle jumper is taking me to this little island in Belize.

On this island, I shall spend the next 5 days by myself, in the sun totally relaxing.

There's a possibility it might rain, a lot. So I am bringing my laptop, and I might decide to write, but then again, I might not. So have a great Halloween if you don't hear from me.

Bye!

My Stolen Lines #7

I think it is worst if you don't know whether it is a good thing or a bad thing which is going to happen.

I wake up. It's any Wednesday. No reason for this Wednesday. I wake up and I hit snooze. I hit snooze twice, actually. Pretty standard. For a Wednesday. I wake up my asshole dog by whispering "good morning!" I don't think she is responding to the words, but more the syllables and the tone of my voice. How crazy. Today is just another Wednesday. And those three syllables, "good morning" to her make this dumb Wednesday THE BEST WEDNESDAY EVER IN THE HISTORY OF WEDNESDAYS! PANTPANTLICKLICKWAGWAG.

I get out of bed. I turn on my bedroom light. I turn off my fan. I try and remember what day it is. It's Wednesday, I remember. I go into my bathroom. I turn on the shower. While I'm waiting for the shower to get hot, I brush my teeth. I floss my teeth. All pretty standard for a Wednesday. I get in the shower. As has been my habit for many past Wednesdays, I sit down in the tub and let the shower pour over me like I'm sitting in a hot summer storm. I don't have long, because like every day, including Wednesdays, my douche-cock neighbor will begin his own morning ritual of showering, which totally ruins mine. I have no expectations that on this Wednesday, or any other Wednesday, he will cease being a douche-cock. So I keep it brief.

I get out of the shower, I dry my hair with a towel, before I dry my hair with a blow dryer. Then I throw some makeup on. Not a lot. It's just a Wednesday, after all. Black bra, black hose, black skirt, black camisole, black jacket, black heels, watch, pearl earrings, pearl necklace, black coat, black briefcase. Just another ordinary outfit for an ordinary Wednesday.

I grab the leash and take the asshole dog outside for a walk in the park. She growls at all the wrong dogs. She chases squirrels. She does what all dogs do on Wednesdays. She pisses and shits, of course. I take her back in the house. I grab my briefcase and head back out the door to the el.

This one Wednesday though. It's different. I know something this Wednesday that I didn't know before. No Wednesday will ever be the same after this one. I recount the details of my average Wednesday morning over and over, taking comfort in the facts and the certainties that I own. I woke up I said good morning I showered I got dressed I walked the dog I left for the train. That's it. Now it's all going change. For the better, maybe, but just as likely for the worse. I stop myself dead in my tracks, not wanting to go any father. Just one last moment of knowing exactly where and who I am.

I think it is worst if you don't know whether it is a good thing or a bad thing which is going to happen.


*** I stole the first and last line from The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon as part of the Stolen Lines Experiment. The inimitable Butterflyfish found the line.

Update:
Stolen Lines From:
Inaccurate Ninja
Ms. Foxy
Lex Discipulus
Butterflyfish

Stolen Lines #7

I think it is worst if you don't know whether it is a good thing or a bad thing which is going to happen.

For all of you inspirationally challenged writers, here's a new stolen line. This line comes courtesy of the very aweseome and newly employed Butterflyfish. She pulled the line from The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon . The rules: Start your post with the above line. End your post with "I stole the first line of this post from The Curious case of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon" And maybe link back to me so people can understand the point of the post. And whatever you put in the middle is up to you. There's no deadline. Write whenever you feel like it. If you want to have your post included, just leave a comment or send me an email telling me you've posted. PS. This is open to absolutely anyone. All you have to do is write it. Here, you can find the previous Stolen Lines.

Smokes

So approximately 3 years and 2 1/2 months ago, I did something awesome. That is, besides start this blog.

I quit smoking. Now, I wasn't some half-ass, smoke-when-I-drink, or when-I'm-really-stressed-out smoker. I smoked like it was my job. About a pack and a half. Every. Single. Day. I know. Gross. And expensive.

Which brings me to the point of this post. I used to spend about 12 dollars every day for my pack and a half of cigarettes. It's been 1170 days since my last pack. Here's what I want to know:

Where the FUCK is my $14,040 that I've "saved" by quitting?

Dear Whoopi Goldberg,

I understand you've come out full force to defend your fellow famous person ("FFP"), Roman Polanski. Good for you!!! :-)

And by "Good for you," I mean, "Shame on you that is so fucked up and don't try to explain it away, because quite frankly you can't explain it away, and any attempt to explain it away is just another horrific and obnoxious slap in the face to sexual assault victims everywhere."

"It was something else but I don't believe it was rape-rape." -You

Rape-rape? Rape-rape? Now, Ms. Goldberg, I am a criminal prosecutor. And although I am fairly new, I think I have a pretty good handle on criminal law. And I reviewed my outlines, my class notes, and my Bar Bri books, and nowhere can I find a definition for "rape-rape"

But, since you're a celebrity, and therefore, I must believe you, and assume you're smarter than me, I will accept that you are right and attempt to define "rape-rape" as I believe you intended it.

Here you go:

Rape-rape [reyp-reyp] -noun The act of a man with a knife, gun or other such weapon, by use of physical force, inserting his penis into the vagina of a young, white, Christian, virgin, female who has never consumed alcohol or drugs, and who the man has never met. Oh, and who is also a very nice and pleasant person all the time. The man must not be successful, talented or attractive, because men who are successful, talented or attractive are, by law, presumed to not have any need to rape-rape.

Rape-rape. There you go.

This is a great thing, Whoopi. Think of all the women out there who can now go on living their lives FINALLY realizing that they aren't victims after all! Maybe now that they know what happened to them isn't rape-rape, they can go right back to blaming themselves. Super awesome!

Or not.

Your FFP gave a 13 year old child alcohol. That's a crime.
Your FFP slipped a quaalude into the alcohol. That's a crime.
Your FFP then had sex with that 13 year old girl. That is also a crime.
Make no mistake, Ms. Goldberg. That is Rape-rape.

Dear Illinois Bar Takers,

Actually, ALL bar takers:

Daisy just reminded me. This is either a really fantastic day for you, or a really fucking shitty day for you. Or, like me, you lost your anonymous exam number and had to sit around freaking out for five more days.

Leave a comment. Tell me if you passed or failed. I want to know. Pass or fail, I am rooting for all of you assholes.

For those that failed, you WILL be ok. For those that passed, enjoy this moment. And be sensitive to your friends who maybe weren't so lucky. Don't be an asshole know-it-all.

For lack of any opinions, Here's an update

It's Wednesday.

Watching America's Next Top Model- Short People Edition.

Tyra Banks is fucking loud.

I won my jury trial on Friday. So far, I am 3 for 3.

It's almost October. A little over three hours left of September.

I fucking hate Fall.

Moreover, I don't understand people who say that Fall is their favorite season. That's like saying your favorite part of being healthy is that first body ache you get that lets you know you're about to have the flu.

I am going to Detroit this weekend to visit The Agent and her lovely wife. I am bringing my new person. Yes. He takes me to the US Open. I take him by Amtrak to a Tigers/Sox game. Makes it kinda clear who got the short end of the stick in this relationship. He does get to meet some of my favorite people on the planet, though.

The following weekend, I am going to Daisy's wedding in Savannah. Daisy is probably irked with me, though. Because I never formally RSVP'd, even though she knows I'm coming. Here's the thing, though. I can't find the envelope to send the RSVP in. Furthermore, since I didn't get the Save the Date until a few days ago, due to some "alleged postage debacle", I feel she'll forgive me. Daisy, if you are reading this, I will totally be there. And you will be a gorgeous, gorgeous bride.

Two weeks after that, I am going to Belize. I'm going all by myself, on a big fat fantastic solo vacation. I will talk more about that later.

A lot of people are killing off their blogs right now. People are losing interest. people are getting busy. I fear that I'm going to do the same thing because I feel busy and uninspired. So, I am going to try and just write a little bit more often to get back into the habit. Because I totally fucking love it. And I don't really want to give it up yet.

OH OH OH! HOWEVER. I have been invited to write.... hold your breath... don't laugh too fucking hard...AN ADVICE COLUMN!!! For Grace the Spot, which is a fantastic blog geared to hot and awesome lesbians. And YES, I know that I am currently dating a guy, so you may wonder, who the fuck am I to give advice about lesbians... well let's just say that any number of my inappropriate responses to that question would start with "I've had more..." and end with "... than you could shake a stick at" So there.

So go read Grace the Spot. Send in a question if you like. If it's not boring, like this blog is today, maybe I'll answer it.

I have a Cute kitten post. but I can't really write about it yet, as it's still fucking with my head.

I was recently voted the "Third Least Sunny Person" in my office. I'm wildly offended. I am so fucking sunny.

That's all for the moment.

Finally- A Purpose

So, yesterday I was on the train. Just quietly playing Brickbreaker on my stupid fucking phone, thinking about how my life has turned into quite the routine. And how I don't really do anything besides work and the occasional social function. I certainly am not particularly caught up in any political or charitable activities. mostly because I don't care about most things. Until now. I have found my cause. (cue Les Miserables' "Do you Hear the People Sing.")

I am waving my flag. I am declaring war. I have found my cause.

Chicago Raises Liquor Taxes

Again, my life has a purpose. Who's with me?

Not to be a grammar nazi, but...

does anyone else find this poster fucking annoying? no? Well, I do.

Hi Bloggie!!!

Sorry for the delay in posting. I actually took a little vacation. Went to New York City for the U.S. Open. Learned that I don't hate tennis. Ate a ton of really good food at some totally fucking kick ass restaurants. Drank fantastic wine. Stayed at a ridiculously awesome hotel that I was completely not cool enough to stay at.

I want to be that annoying girl who writes all the silly little details of the things she saw and did, but I am too tired. So you can look forward to that post later.

I did almost punch someone. More on that later, too.

My Stolen Lines #6

Me: You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you?

Her: Not really, Grace.

Me: Well, it's just that I am unable to let go of things.

Her: That's tons of people, Gracie. I'm still angry at this fucking bitch I went to high school with who told everyone that I gave a blow job to...

Me: No... that's not what I mean. I mean like physical objects. Actually I can let shit like that go pretty easily. I don't hold grudges. I mean, sometimes I can't let go of physical objects, even when I need to.

Her: Again, Gracie, everyone has that problem. Why do you think your mom still has that ugly ass purple porcelain elephant next to the stairs? I have every single love letter that Ben ever sent me even though we broke up like 15 years ago. I have my size 2 jeans, for fucks sake.

Me: You know that's not it! I can get rid of stuff. I'm good at that. I'm not THAT sentimental. It's more like, I can't physically let go of stuff, even... no ESPECIALLY when it can hurt me. You know?

Her: You are being so hard on yourself, Grace. Stop it. Look at you. You quit smoking. You quit drinking coffee, diet coke. You quit eating meat. You take great care of yourself. Give yourself a break.

Me: You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you? I'm not explaining myself well. I don't know how to LET GO OF STUFF. For example, one time, my hair got caught in the curling iron in such a way that it was burning my scalp. All I had to do was let go of the handle, and the curling iron would fall to the ground. Another time, I was crossing the plaza with a big box of files, and I tripped over a power cord. If I let go of the box, I would have been able to use my hands to keep from falling on my face. But it didn't occur to me to let go of the box. You get it?

Her: Oh. OH! So literally... you can't let go of stuff?

Me: Yes. Literally. I can't let go of stuff.

Her: So, all you're saying is you're a stupid asshole?

Me: Yeah. I guess so.

Her: I understand that.

*** I stole the first line from Salaam Paris by Kavita Daswani as part of the Stolen Lines Experiment. Colby from Colby in the City found the line.

**Update Stolen lines from:
Lex Disciplus
Daisy, JD
Inaccurate Ninja
Ms. Foxy
Colby in the City
Butterflyfish
Harmless Error

RIP Softball

It looks like my glory was fleeting. I say this now, because I spent the day in the Emergency room, and now can only walk with the assistance of crutches. And crutches are mother fucking hard to walk with! It's bullshit. They make my arms hurt!

So the bad news is I can't walk. I was running to third base, and I don't know exactly what happened, but the really big 3rd baseman ended up falling on me as I was running. The next thing I remember was about 20 people standing around me while flat on my back on the field. Super sexy.

The good news is it isn't broken. Just fucked up. And I will only need crutches for a week or so. More good news, I got some pretty decent pain meds. More good news, I was safe at third. And the best news? I won't ever have to play softball again.

Boston Globe Can Suck It But Thanks Boston Globe!

So recently I was asked by two different websites to write for them. It's sort of flattering. I have decided to definitely do one, because I'll only have to write once every other week. The other asked me to provide a sort of sampler platter of what I consider to be the best/least stupid things I've written on this blog. Like ten posts that sort of sum up what this blog is about and what I am about. Kinda strange considering they could just read my blog themselves and decide what they think, but whatever. I'll do it.

It's really kind of hard, considering I think most of what I write is crap, and only occasionally there's a funny line or something. Unfortunately, that one funny line is usually surrounded by a bunch of bad grammar, immaturity, and the word fuck. I enjoy it, but it certainly isn't what anyone would ever call GOOD writing.

So anyway, while I was on the train, I remembered that I had written a post about the phrase "Drawing a line in the sand" that I kind of liked, but I didn't remember when I had written it. So, instead of going into my archives from my Blackberry which always takes forever, I googled "Drawing a line in the sand" & "dumbest phrase ever" and it pops up along with some other links. LIKE THIS ONE

In case you don't want to click on the link, this columnist for the Boston Globe, Jan Freeman, wrote this article about the history of the phrase "drawing a line in the sand" and in it she DIRECTLY QUOTES ME, albeit to make me look like an asshat, but still! I'm quoted in the fucking Boston Globe:

Not everyone bothers to look it up, though. One blogger mocks "line in the sand" as the "dumbest phrase ever," since waves, wind, and time will surely erode such a line. "If you want to draw a line to separate the acceptable from the unacceptable, USE SOMETHING OTHER THAN SAND," she exhorts.

Yep. She's talking about me. Those are my words. And if I didn't do this totally random google search, I never would have known. So that's pretty cool. But then on the other hand, Ms. Jan Freeman, what the fuck? First of all, just because you explained the origins of the stupid expression, doesn't make it any less stupid. Second of all, if you want to quote me, credit me, even if you're quoting me to tell me I'm a lazy loser. Sorta like how I quoted you and credited you? You know, like above? But anyway, thanks for quoting me anyway!

So, anyway...I think I found about 20 posts that I am considering submitting. I am going to cut the list down to about 10. The 20 I am considering can be found here. If you're considerably bored, and feel like reading them, let me know if you have any thoughts on which ones should be added or deleted. Only if you're really really bored though.

Stolen Lines #6

"You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you?"

This line comes courtesy of Colby, from Colby in the City, a fantastic blog. She pulled the line from Salaam Paris by Kavita Daswani.

The rules: Start your post with the above line. End your post with "I stole the first line of this post from Salaam Paris by Kavita Daswani" And maybe link back to me so people can understand the point of the post.

And whatever you put in the middle is up to you.

There's no deadline. Write whenever you feel like it. If you want to have your post included, just leave a comment or send me an email telling me you've posted.

PS. This is open to absolutely anyone. All you have to do is write it.

Here, you can find the previous Stolen Lines.

RIP Ingrid

Oh, Ingrid. You were more than just another hot set of fins to me. We were friends.

You were a delightful composite of opposites: At once, both irreverant and devil-may-care, yet always on my case about renter's insurance.

Like all of those that came before you, you shall be missed.

Stolen Lines #6

Ok, even I pussed out on the last one. It's been a while. Let's go again. New Stolen Line will be posted on Monday, August 10. I am recommitting. Y'all should too.

Now I have to get back to prepping the closing argument for my jury tomorrow. Wish me luck...

Hey... if anyone has any interest in choosing a stolen line (Ahem, Colby, Butterflyfish, Brita) just say the word!