So I Had a Birthday.

And it was November 13. I'm a bit behind on the ol' blogging. But it turns out that 28 is a whole lot like 27, so I really don't have much to report on the birthday other than that it was a damn good time with some damn fun people.

Because I had a meeting to attend over lunch on my birthday, all the festivities started after work. We kicked things off with some pizza and adult beverages at Basic in the east village, then went across the street to The Corner for some drinking games, because nothing says "I'm 28 years old today and every single person at this table has a graduate degree" more than playing beer pong and Circle of Death in a bar. Ahhhh, good times.

A few pics:

The girls: Clarice, Kirsten, Andrea, Jess, me and Allison. We're hot, huh?

Dave, Jim, Zach & Andrea at Basic.

What's a birthday celebration without shots?

Apparently I liked the shot a lot better than Dave did. And Jess is totally checking out some dude at the next table.

Hey look! Jack is drinking a PBR. That's weird, huh?

Dave and Kirsten.

Mmmmmm....fried pickles!

It's the end of the night...time to double fist it!

And a couple of my favorite cards:

(from Jess)

(from Josh)

(from Marnie, my boss)

A Regular Friday

For me, today is any old Friday. I got up and walked the dog, ate breakfast, came to work. At the end of the day I'm going to go home, walk the dog, and make some Friday night plans. Any stress I'm carrying around today is related to the same stuff I stress about every other day. It's just a regular Friday.

Thousands of California bar takers, however, would beg to differ. In about two and half hours, the results of the July 2008 California bar exam will be released. For those test takers, today is anything but a regular old Friday because no matter what happens, today is a day they're never going to forget.

I know exactly where I was and what I did on November 16, 2007. And even though a full year has passed since my D-Day, the raw emotion associated with failure is still burning in my memory. I also know exactly where I was and what I did on May 16, 2008. That was six months ago, but when I think back to it, I get so many butterflies in my stomach that it makes me feel like the rollercoaster ride of emotions I was on that day just ended a couple minutes ago.

Fortunately, as between my two experiences waiting for California bar exam results, it's the May version that my mind's reference guide jumps to first, and I don't think it's just because that was more recent. Failing felt a lot like what I'd imagine hell must be like. But passing...well let's just say that even thinking about that moment (and the minutes and hours that immediately followed it) still causes a flood of tears--happy tears--to well up in my eyes. Six months after the fact, the relief and sense of accomplishment still feel as satisfying as they did that day.

I have three friends who are all downing some liquid courage right now in preparation for the big moment at 6:00 PM. I don't envy them at all. For the first time since I even started thinking about taking the California bar, test results are coming out today and I don't have to worry whether my name will be on the pass list.

For David, Andrea, Jim and the other examinees I came to know during my two trips to the bar, I wish you the best of luck tonight. May the 15th of May 2009 (the date the Feb '09 results are released) be for you just any old regular Friday.

Spookfest Version 4.0

It's not that we couldn't throw a costume party in San Diego. It's more than we just don't want to, because even an idyllic beach setting couldn't make Spookfest any more fun than it already is. So yeah, we may have moved to California. And Brian may have moved to Florida. And Ryan and Heather may have moved to Kansas City. But none of those seem like good reasons to cut off an annual tradition that our St. Louis friends, and their friends, and their friends' friends have come to know and love.

This year we took Spookfest back to its roots and back to the bar where it all started--Big Daddy's in Soulard. It's small, but we've made some good memories there and they've been good to us. We expected a fairly small crowd given that three of the four members of the "executive committee" no longer live in the area, but it seems we may have had a record turnout....including two Miami residents, three San Diegans, at least four people from KC, one from Las Vegas and a handful from Illinois. If this many people are willing to travel that far for a costume party, that's gotta say something about the reputation Spookfest has made for itself.

I was less than thrilled with my husband's costume, primarily because its most important feature was his abundant facial hair. But he was dead set on being Magnum PI even if it meant growing out his mustache (and subsequently shaving his goatee, which I had never in the six years we've been together seen him without). Personally I think he kinda looked like a stereotypical cheesy cop in short khaki shorts, but even strangers at the party were coming up and complimenting him on his getup.

I had the brilliant idea to come as a gold digger, which, although it seemed novel, was apparently the least original costume I've had because a) the waitress arrived wearing the same thing and b) this was the first year that I didn't win an award. Oh well. You win some, you lose some. And it's impossible to not have a good time when you're in a gold sequined dress and fake eyelashes.

Lots of shots were ordered. Lots of candy was eaten. Lots of photos (like 125+) were taken. Joe came in a speedo. Max got kicked out. Some random people made out. A good time was had by all.

Chicago Marathon

Aside from it just being a good excuse to visit some people we love in a city we love, the primary reason for our Chicago visit in October was to cheer for the many friends of ours who were running the Chicago Marathon. My best friend Tara and her brother Johnny are no strangers to distance running, and even marathons, but for Tyson (Natalie's fiance), Craig (Tara's fiance) and Nick (one of my very favorite friends from law school), this was their first 26.2 mile journey.

Fortunately, the balcony of Cara's apartment looks directly out onto the marathon route, so we had prime seats for watching the action. Of course, that meant getting up at the crack of dawn. But as we sat on the balcony with bagels and bloody marys in our pajamas, I was pretty certain we had it better than the 45,000 sweaty runners on the street below us.

Despite the second year in a row of record high temperatures during the marathon, all of our runners finished and managed to remain (mostly) injury free. Great work, friends!

Nick, who is not pictured below because he is either lightening fast or totally incognito (but either way managed to evade my camera), raised money for brain cancer research and ran in honor of a friend of his who is currently undergoing treatment for it.

The wheelchair athletes led off the race. They were amazing!

The camera crews and official vehicles all came by just before the elite runners.

The front of the race. The dudes were unbelievable.

The elite ladies--front of the pack. I'm told the woman in the goldish gear (about fourth over from the left) represented the US at the Olympics this summer.

Go Johnny go!

Johnny's wife Seka wasn't too far behind him. All of them ran in matching green shirts with their names on the front (so people could cheer for them, of course) and a special message on the back in honor of Tara and Johnny's grandpa.

Tara and Craig were smiling pretty much every time we saw them!

The costumes that some people ran in were absurd. Could you run 26 miles in this?

Or this?

How 'bout this?

Thing 1 and Thing 2?

Totally logical running gear.

A whole family of Elvises. Elvi?

And one of my personal favorites--the band of super heroes and villains.

Did I mention how excited they were?

This was Tyson's first marathon, but it was his dad's 14th. Aside from being a great motivator, Steve's job was to keep Tyson at a pace that wouldn't kill him, and to phone ahead to Natalie when they were about to pass.

Such a sweet fiancee. Nat jumped in and ran with Tyson every time he passed by.

Cheering for Tyson and Steve.

Tara and Craig at the 26 mile marker. Almost done!

The end is in sight. :)

Help save sick puppies!

I recently received a call for help from a California dog shelter in dire need of funds. The shelter--Critter Crossings--is an all-age, all-size, all-breed rescue organization that works to care for and rehabilitate "underdogs." They specialize in pups that are hard to place in homes, whether it's because they're sick, older, untrained or have special needs, or just because they simply haven't found someone to love them yet. Critter Crossings recognizes that the dogs they rescue may seem like a lost cause to most people, and that many would argue that these dogs should be put down. But their mission is to save these dogs and help them find the right home so that euthanizing them never has to be an option. They are always willing to welcome a new dog, no matter where that dog comes from.

Because my own pups--Mason and Lizzie--were "unwanted" before we met and fell in love with them, this type of place really pulls at my heart strings. However, now more than ever, they need my support...and yours.

Critter Crossings has been devastated with a recent outbreak of the parvo virus. As of the date of this posting, they have endured eleven straight days of this outbreak and six puppies have already died. There are many more in treatment, and they fear that the worst is not yet over. Although the parvo outbreak is contained within their northern California facility (called "the dog ranch," because there are no kennels in sight), even the southern California pups are suffering because all of the organizations funds are being routed to pay vet bills, instead of food and basic needs of the healthy dogs. They are in a crisis situation because their general fund has been completely exhausted and their vet bills have already topped $7,000.

They have posted on their blog wish lists for items they're in need of right now--specifically including beds, food, bleach, blankets and towels. However, one of the easiest ways you can help is just to donate a couple dollars. They can buy a fleece blanket for one of the sick pups for just a buck (and they've gone through more than 100 of these blankets in the past week).



I know that at this time of year we are all asked to make donations to hundreds of worthy causes, but if you have a PayPal account and can spare a couple dollars, please consider donating to this one. If I haven't convinced you, maybe one of these sweet faces will.

Go Purple Team!

On our recent trip to Chicago, we were blessed with some gorgeous, unseasonably warm fall weather--perfect for my sister-in-law, Cara's, soccer team "Kick Bill" (she's also on a second team called "Kick Bill Vol. 2") to play an afternoon game, and Jack was more than happy to join his little sister on the fields near Lake Michigan. The fact that Jack had to borrow one of Cara's purple tee-shirts for the game was a photo opportunity in itself, but because this was my first chance to use my Sony Alpha DSLR (read: fancy-schmancy digital single lens reflex camera, my birthday present from Jack), I was excited to take some pictures of the action. The only thing I can really tell you about the game was that neither Jack nor Cara scored, and the purple team lost. But check out these action shots I got!

(And yes, I know that I have a lot to learn in the wide world of photography...but for my first try, I don't think I did too bad! At the very least, I felt pretty cool!)

Barack The Vote

Today I voted in my third presidential election. This will be the first time since I was legal voting age that we will have elected someone other than George freakin' Bush. For the first time since I was eligible to cast a ballot, I voted today for not just the lesser of two evils, but for a candidate I believe in. My fingers are crossed that this election will also be the first time I'll have voted for the guy who won.

However, this post is not intended to push my politics on you (though it should be more than evident from the post's title--which happens to be the slogan on the teeshirt I wore this weekend--who I voted for this morning...and if you're still undecided I'm happy to help sway your opinion this direction). Rather, I write just to encourage you to get out and vote. Period.

Although I know that there are a few baby boomers who regularly read my blog, the vast majority of you who stop by here are 35 and younger. Over the past couple elections, there has been a massive push to urge our demographic to get out and "rock the vote," but I know that there will be at least a handful of you who are eligible and registered but for whatever reason aren't planning to find your way to the polls today. I hope you'll reconsider.

It's easy to slip into the mindset that "it's not like my vote really counts, so why bother?" But those of you reading this post from the Missouri battleground should know better. And if you don't, go ask the handful of Floridians whose votes changed history in 2000. Here on the left coast, your presidential vote may get lost in the sea of blue, but you still have an opportunity to have a voice in deciding whether or not to amend the California Constitution to prohibit gay marriage. That is huge! HUGE!

So go cast your ballot. And then wear your little "I Voted" sticker (mine is on the lapel of my suit jacket, right under my quarter-sized Obama button) and be proud that you did your civic duty. As JFK once said, "The margin is narrow, but the responsibility is clear."

Coming to Terms With My Pastiness

I was never meant to have a tan. Without UV rays, bronzer, or self-tanners (all of which I've depended upon to give me a year-round glow since I was about 14), I could probably give Casper a run for his money. I have blue eyes and (mostly natural) blonde hair and German heritage. I should have known better. After all, Cosmo and Self have been warning me for the past decade.

But alas, I do not listen. I figured that as long as I didn't totally fry my skin, it really couldn't be that big of a deal for me to hit the tanning bed before prom my sophomore year. After all, my mom spent her teen years slathering baby oil on her skin before she headed out into the glaring summer sun, so how bad could could a technologically-advanced tanning bed really be? But then, of course, once I looked so bronze and pretty for my first prom, I needed to repeat the process for junior and senior year. By the time I graduated from high school, I had it in my head that pasty, white skin was about as attractive as not shaving your armpits. So I started tanning before every pageant (and there were many), every sorority formal/semi-formal/theme party/opportunity to be in skimpy attire (and there were many), every vacation, and every wedding I was ever in. Summers were spent on boats, poolside or lakeside, sans-sunblock.

Trips to Jamaica seemed to really bring out my desire for golden bronziness because I have distinct memories of this shady tanning salon in Columbia that Tara and I would try to hit up almost every day for the months leading up to spring break 2000 (for all my Mizzou girls, who else remembers "ready in mango!?!") Before Jack and I went to Negril in 2006, I started up again. And then, of course, my biggest pre-Jamaica tanning offense was my own wedding. With a whole year's worth of bride-to-be parties and photo ops, like hell if I was going to look pale. So I started early and went often. I even made Jack go. Looking back on it, I have no idea what I was thinking.

I made a conscious effort to give up my tanning bed addiction when we moved to San Diego (after all, when you live in a city with gorgeous beaches and sunny skies 363 days a year, who needs fake rays?). Unfortunately, though, it was already too late. Sometime last year I noticed a big, ugly, oddly-shaped mole about an inch below my belly button. In the center of it was a darker dot. I knew it wasn't good, and a visit to the dermatologist three weeks ago confirmed my suspicions. The dot, as it turns out, wasn't just darker--it was purple. They ordered an immediate biopsy, so after a quick shot of lidocaine into my belly, two doctors went to work cutting a deep chunk out of my skin. In an effort to be reassuring, the docs told me it was probably nothing and to look for a letter in the mail telling me I was fine. They would only call if it was bad news.

But then they called. Twice. "Rachel, we have your test results back and it is extremely urgent that you call us back immediately." Oh shit.

During my follow-up visit they explained that it's not cancer...yet. The pathologist was concerned with the atypia of the cells and he indicated that, left to do their own thing, the cells would probably have become something bad down the road. My dermatologist examined the area around my biopsy site (which is now going to be a pretty, pinkish-white scar to remind me why I don't tan anymore) to make sure they'd gotten all the pigment and damaged cells. Fortunately they had, and I was able to go home without the need for further cutting. But for the next several years they will be closely monitoring the biopsy site...and most of the other 100+ moles that have appeared on my body.

So here I am, coming to terms with my pastiness. Several years ago I started wearing SPF 15 on my face every single day (which had more to do with vanity--trying to avoid wrinkles--than really caring about protecting myself), but now I've resolved to be the girl who goes to the beach with SPF 45 and a big ol' hat. All the magazines say that "pale is in" and that I should be proud of my light eyes, and fair hair and skin. I'm not sure I'm quite there yet, but I'm trying. Admittedly, I look back on the pictures from my bachelorette party, bridal shower, and wedding...and heck, even my California drivers license photo, and I think, damn, I look so much better with a tan! But thanks to the miracle of airbrush tanning, any pigment you ever again see on my skin will be the kind that gets exfoliated off after 5-15 days.

I really want to end this post with a plea that anyone who reads this bid adieu to the tanning bed for good, but I know better than to think that will happen. All my girlfriends getting married in the next couple years will probably (like me) want to be deeply golden on their big day, and reading about how I had a funny shaped mole that turned out to be almost nothing isn't going to change their minds. So instead I ask that you all (yes boys, this includes you) strip down tonight and do a skin check. And then in a few months do it again. And when you're ready to give up UV rays for good (which I hope is sooner than later), I'll be right there with you and we can be pasty together. I'll even bring the sunblock.