Bad Socks and The Women Who Wear Them

Dear Santa,

There is something you don't know and I think it is time to get it out in the open. It was only a few years ago that I could not have imagined a blanket with sleeves, a coat with a hood was merely a dream. You're almost too good to be true and I think you might be our only hope, so here it is, Santa.


We women have very low standards when it comes to socks. Sure, many of us look like we have it all together, but you'd have heartburn in your bowlful of jelly if you knew what was lurking beneath our Cole Haans. We simply put up with way too much when it comes to our socks. You would be appalled if you knew the condition of some of the socks I've allowed on my feet. There are many nice, normal women walking around in decent clothing. Little do you know that underneath those black pants with the perfect crease she's wearing the only two dark socks she could find with holes in the toes and the heels worn thin. All day she walks around with a smile on her face, hiding the fear inside that she might sit down and cross her legs, revealing just how hard it is to tell the difference between black and navy blue at 6am in a dimly lit room. Heaven forbid she didn't do the laundry and had to wear her "last resort" socks. You know, the bottom-feeders in the drawer that you only wear when nothing else is clean.


Let me tell you about women's black socks. The first problem is that there is pretty much only one size. Yes, you heard me right. One size. They don't always call them One Size Fits All, instead they trick us by saying size 9-11. What does that mean? Nothing. Nada. The package will tell you that size 9-11 fits shoe sizes 4-10. Everyone I know wears a size between 4 and 10. What makes this most illogical is that we put two things on each foot – a sock and a shoe. The shoe comes in a variety of sizes, even half sizes, but the sock is size 9-11. Remember, this is the same foot I'm putting into my one size fits all sock and then my perfectly sized 7 shoe. Logical? Nope. The result for those of us on the lower end of the 4-10 (AKA 9-11) is the lovely heel flap. This is the part of the sock meant for the heel, but on a smaller foot it just ends up sticking out the back of your tennis shoe like a seatbelt caught in a car door. I'd assume that for those on the 10 end of the spectrum the heel flap makes a lovely home in the arch of the foot. My question is why? We seem to be able to make all other items of clothing in a variety of sizes, so is the sock that much of challenge? I'll bring you to problem number 2. The top of the sock. Nevermind the challenge of the height of the sock, if that were to work out it would be like winning the lottery. This is more like asking for change for the parking meter. I bought some Boot Socks the other day and when I put them on they went all the way over my knees. Why not just call them Almost Pants? Then I would have known what I was getting. For someone taller, however, these could have been ankle socks. Of course, we'd both wear the same size. There are two different types of sock tops. There is the "comfort band" sock that starts out somewhere on your calf and migrates south to make a nice little home around your ankle by the end of the day. The other kind is the "stay put" sock top that doesn't slip down your ankle. Instead, it stays in one place and when you take off your socks at the end of the day it's a little like cutting the string off a fresh turkey. The sock comes off, but the impression left by the elastic noose remains.


Can you imagine if we settled for other items of clothing the way we settle for socks? All of us walking around all day with pants that don't fit, holes in various places, the seat of our pants worn thin. Some would have waistbands up to their neck, others would be stuffed into trousers that only come up to mid-thigh. Then, around noon our pants would slowly start falling down so by 2:00 in the afternoon we'd all be walking around with our pants around our ankles. No big deal. That's good enough for us. Look at our lovely selection of shirts and sweaters. They come in one size, we call it "0-24". The shirts might be down your knees or barely reach your belly button. But wait, the jackets come in a variety of sizes, half-sizes even. If I did a load of laundry and my pants were missing when I took everything out of the dryer, I would be perplexed, irate, scared. Not the socks, they can go AWOL and we don't even think twice about it. You know what else we don't think twice about? Throwing away the other sock. Its mate took off at some point between rinse and fluff, left its twin flying solo and we stick the loner back in the drawer. In hopes that the prodigal sock will one day return? Hasn't happened to me yet. Although if you saw my sock drawer, you'd know I haven't given up hope. Every so often you encounter the brave sock that decides to hitch a ride in your pant leg then make a grand escape attempt as you're walking down the hall. It never works, I (almost)always catch it.


You're probably asking the same question I am – why do the nice girls always end up with the bad socks? I wish I knew the answer, Santa. I do know this - it's time for a change. We deserve a sock that fits us right and as for me, I'm saving my feet until the right sock comes along. You let me know when it's ready, Santa.

That is so 2009

Well, the holidays are here and we all know what that means. It means lots of those nice little Christmas cards with the family photo from summer vacation. I love, love, love getting these Christmas cards. What a great idea in the middle of winter to remind everyone of what you looked like a few months ago. Remember? I was tan and happy, my sun-kissed hair was blowing in the wind. I don't know about you, but December just doesn't look good on me. It kind of washes me out. The photo cards are great. If I ever planned anything ahead of time, I would send Christmas cards too. Unfortunately, whenever I try they turn into February cards which just aren't as cool. Especially when they say "Happy Holidays" on them. Then there are those people who not only plan ahead and get the cards sent, but they get the little 2009 family update letter finished too. You know the one that talks about the joys and losses of the past year. I thought I'd try that, so here's my 2009 Christmas Letter:


2009 was a good year. It brought many new things, along with some losses. Mostly, things just stayed the same. Same husband, same house, same dog. Same school, same church, same job. Same psychiatrist, dentist, housekeeper, and hairdresser (I know, same haircut too). Same face wash. Same bra size. Same monthly lecture from my husband about not giving him receipts so he can balance the checkbook. Same problem with the garage door not closing on sunny days, same spam email about my long lost relative in Nigeria who tragically died in a bike accident and left me a fortune. Same thing happened in Syria and Russia. Same financially challenged man I see every morning on the way to work on the same street corner who "needs mony 4 fud." Same membership to the gym where I still don't work out. Same favorite movie, Legally Blonde. Still cry every time I watch it. Still wait until the last minute to get my assignments turned in. Still tell myself I won't procrastinate next time. Still can't figure out why there are so many different settings on my windshield wipers, yet they only go two speeds - fast or slow. 

There were some losses in 2009. Among them Without A Trace, Yoplait Custard-Style yogurt, the button on my favorite denim skirt, and my dog's tooth. Along with the 26.25 hours I spent taking final exams, and way too many hours of sleep. Also said goodbye to Vaseline Heal & Repair Balm (even though the package said NEW on it which led me to believe it would be around awhile). Lost a few episodes of Bones as a result of a full DVR, my other favorite blue pen because I swear there were two in the package, and the plant on the window sill in the kitchen (Rest in Peace, Dieffenbachia). Also lost that little plastic protective piece that goes on the end of my ipod adapter. Can't find it anywhere.


On a happier note, 2009 brought many blessings. Most obviously a black coat with a hood and a blanket with sleeves. I am very fortunate to have both of these in my life. Also got central air conditioning, a new car, and a few new pairs of black boots. Renewed my Costco membership. Added green tea to my life, not to mention the best travel tea mug ever. Got a few new wrinkles, a new mascara, and a couple new pairs of jeans. New TV show, The Good Wife, to distract me when I'm supposed to be studying. I have a new bank too, but the bank changed, I didn't. Most importantly, I made new friends and a ton of new memories. I learned new lessons, like I'm too old for all-nighters and that some people ride their bike because they want to, not because they can't afford a car. I also learned that some people don't like to wear coats with hoods because it messes up their hair. Who knew? I learned that it's okay if some days, on the way to work, I envy the street sweeper. And that there are people who envy me because I get to go to work. I've learned that life is too short to eat vegan cookies, no matter how much frosting they have on top. I learned how to raise and lower the chairs in the library (finally! for a while, I could only make them go up and not down). I realized that I have the world's coolest grandpa who makes me think that maybe life begins at 90. I learned that I'll probably always be running five minutes late, but at least I can smile when I get there :)


So here's to 2010. May the losses be few, the joys be many, and the good stuff stay the same. And may I find the little plastic protective piece for my ipod adapter.

Changing the World, One Primal Strip at a Time

Ever since that lovely day in February when I found my coat with a good, I've had a renewed faith that anything is possible. This was reinforced by my discovery of the Snuggie. You could say that I wear my rose-colored glasses more often these days (only if they match my outfit, of course). I'm not the type to write letters to my congressman or stand on the street corner by the downtown Nordstrom's soliciting signatures for a petition. Occasionally, however, something will compel me to take action for change. I recently encountered a small problem with the packaging of a favorite snack food. We all know it is never a good idea to come between me and my food. I made a choice to quit buying this snack food because I simply couldn't open the package. Then, I remembered my beautiful coat-plus-hood and sent the following email to the snack food company:

Dear Primal Spirit Foods,

I discovered your yummy Primal Strips about one year ago when I was introduced to them by a friend. I am a law student and am in class for hours at a time. Your Primal Strips were the perfect snack for me to eat in the car, on the way to class, and during class. I have shared my love of Primal Strips with others as well and now there are quite a few of us who have relied on the meatless jerky to get us through hours of boring lectures and endless nights studying in the library.

A recent trip to the grocery store (Market of Choice in Portland, OR) surprised me with a new look for the Primal Strips. I was impressed by a new, bright, and eye-catching package. I arrived at class the other day with my books and Primal Strips in tow. The professor went off on some tangent, my stomach growled, and I reached for some meatless jerky. I opened the first layer of packaging like an old pro, but something happened when I attempted to penetrate the final layer of plastic. I tugged and yanked, used my teeth and all my strength, but I could not open the Primal Strip. There, between me and my jerky, was a thick impermeable layer of biodegradable plastic. I tried everything I could think of, but eventually accepted that nothing short of a sharp pair of scissors could unite me and my Primal Strip. Gone was my quick, easy, protein-filled snack.

I think your new package is quite visually appealing. However, I beg you to please reconsider the security of the packaging and find a solution that allows me to enjoy my meatless jerky like I once did. Sadly, my law school peers and I must find another hunger solution. We will hold out hope that someday our Primal Strips will once again be easily accessible. I request a packaging modification on behalf of all Primal Strips lovers without ready access to sharp scissors.

Thank you for your time and attention.

Kimberly

I was impressed when I received the following response only 12 hours later. It read:

Hi Kimberly

Sorry about your bad experiences with our packaging....the main idea of switching to our new packaging system was to make to the opening process much easier.....

So far, our manufacture has not been able to accomplish the results that they had promised.....we are hoping to have a workable solution before the end of the year. Thanks for taking the time to communicate your experience. Thanks for your support.

We are making plans to have an "easy to open" single package available later this year....because we do not use preservatives we must package the jerky when it is very hot and bacteria free...these requirements have give us many difficulties.


Please accept our sincere apology.

Best wishes
John T West
Pres/CEO
Primal spirit Foods, Inc.

I've gotta say, whether or not the company actually makes a change, at least they made me feel like I matter as a customer. It almost makes me want to carry around a pair of sharp scissors (to open the meatless jerky, of course). As much as I want my easily accessible Primal Strips, I want you all to know that you too can make a difference. Sign a petition, write your local politician, send an email to your favorite snack food CEO. Meatless jerky today, world peace tomorrow.

Taxi!

Every woman hates swimsuit shopping. Except maybe those few who are a perfect size 6 and everything fits them perfectly. If that is you, we all secretly hate you (don't worry, we'll always be nice to your face). There is one thing worse than swimsuit shopping and that is swimsuit shopping with a man (rule #1). I made this unfortunate mistake before leaving on a recent vacation. Swimsuit shopping rule #2 is never go when you actually need to buy a swimsuit or are working against a deadline. You will find yourself squeezing into a top that is two sizes too small and trying to hold up some bottoms that are two sizes too big because they happened to be the only two pieces that matched on the sale rack. This is never a pretty picture. My hope is that you learn from my mistakes. I made mistake #1 and mistake #2 at the same time. First, I only asked my husband if he wanted to go shopping with me because I really just didn't feel like driving. If a taxi or city bus had pulled up in front of my house, I would have hitched a ride. That didn't happen so I settled for a husband-chauffeur. The difference is that a chauffeur waits in the car and doesn't say a word about what you buy. A husband does not. Fortunately, the husband is trainable. Unfortunately, I had to be the one to train him. There are some fundamental rules of swimsuit shopping that men need to learn. They are:

#1. Do not make suggestions. You are not supposed to have an opinion.

This is hard to teach. In the first store we stopped at, Husband-Chauffeur thought he was supposed to help me shop. He pointed to a white, crocheted, bikini and suggested I try it on. When I refused, he asked me why. Why? Because it is white, made of yarn, and smaller than the potholder I knitted at Brownie camp in 3^rd grade. His second suggestion was refuted with an explanation of my bikini top minimum padding requirements. A blank stare was all I got in return.

#2. It doesn't matter how many swimsuits I already have.

Throughout the day, Husband-Chauffeur repeatedly commented about the fact that I already have a swimsuit. "Don't you already have a swimsuit? Why do you need another one?" he says. "Didn't you eat dinner yesterday? Why do you need to eat again today?" I reply. I finally tell him that I don't have a swimsuit at home (maybe I did, but not any I like). As he took a seat in the man-chair by the dressing room, I heard him ask the guy sitting next to him (AKA Mr. I've Been Holding This Purse For Two Hours) how many swimsuits women typically have. The two of them attempted to apply logic to the female swimsuit phenomena. This kept them busy for quite some time. I heard them discuss how they each only have one, maybe two, pairs of swim trunks. They don't realize this is only to prevent them from getting confused. When it is hot, you wear pants that only go to your knees. If you want to get wet, wear the pair with the Hawaiian print. If not, wear the khaki pair. Can you handle it? I finally exited the dressing room and Husband-Chauffeur asked if I liked anything I tried on. I told him I did, but for the price of the swimsuit it should come with breast implants and liposuction. He appears worried and tells me that I can't go on vacation without a swimsuit. I tell him not to worry, I have other swimsuits at home I can wear.

Once we completed Swimsuit Shopping 101, I suggested Husband-Chauffeur and his opinion go browse the electronics or men's clothing department. He said "No, I don't really want to." I said "Oh yes you do." I was finally free.

I quickly scan the teenage two-piece section and pass it up for the more focused swimsuits. I start on the "enhancing" rack and grab some "add-a-cup-size" bikini tops. I've decided to hold off on the one piece suits until I reach the "comfort shoe" phase of my life. I'm not quite there yet, but I know it will creep up on me like that one chin hair that suddenly appears out of nowhere (if you don't think you have this chin hair, look again, my friend). When it does, I'll embrace my black one-piece with the attached skirt. Until then, I'll painfully hunt for a bikini. The "add-a-cup-size" bikini top has so much padding I think it meets regulation requirements for a life vest. Guess I won't be needing my Water Wings. However, I might not want to spend my entire vacation floating upright like a foam noodle. I move on. Next I try the push-up bikini tops. Great idea, but I think you are supposed to have something to be pushed up. It's too bad my ribs are exactly where I want them. I decide to follow the rainbow to store #2. It appears the new styles in swimwear involve a lot of metal beading and decoration. Is this supposed to be an IQ test? Maybe a white, crochet, bikini is meant to be worn indoors, but most people I know wear swimsuits outside when it is hot. I'm no scientist, but I've put on my seatbelt on a hot day a time or two and I assure you that metal gets very hot in the sun. The last thing I need is a third degree burn shaped like a metal hoop in the middle of my add-a-cup-size life vest to give me that summer glow. Perhaps the pot o' gold is at store #3. I barely get inside when Husband-Chauffeur calls and says he found a swimsuit for me. He tells me in which store he made this wonderful discovery and adds " a lot of younger girls shop here, so the swimsuits probably have a lot of padding." Hmmm. How much is a bus ticket, again? I suppose I could go buy some comfortable shoes and just walk home….

2L is the new black (my version of Hello Muddah, Hello Fuddah)

Goodbye Law School, Goodbye 1L
Now I’m down to my last brain cell
My exams are all completed
But I fear my social skills have been deleted

Legal Research, I Google statutes
Don't use Westlaw[1] for finding lawsuits
So long Lexis[2], I don't need ya
Everything I need to know is on Wikipedia

The acronym’s what lawyers dream of
But the footnote is their true love
You better cite it, if you state it
And if all else fails at least abbreviate it

Legal Writing, made me tired
Wrote lots of memos, as required
One thing continues to evade us
And that's why something called a "brief" is thirty pages

So long, Con Law[3], we spent hours
On enumerated powers
Thanks to you, Mister Marbury
To "say what the law is"[4] is for the judiciary

Reading the Supreme Court's interpretation
Of questionable legislation
New words they’re constantly inventing[5]
And why is Justice Scalia always dissenting?

Offer, Acceptance, Consideration[6]
Contracts - my Friday night obligation
We type - Prof lectures from the casebook
He doesn't know we're really messaging on Facebook[7]

Goodbye Civ Pro[8] - you make me weary
Jurisdiction, the doctrine of Erie[9]
My final test may not be perfect
So for my grade I move for a directed verdict

Bye “Hotel Boley[10]” (that’s the name I chose)
‘Cuz most guests are reading with their eyes closed
Try reading caselaw, before you judge me
And you too will soon be dreaming of your Snuggie

Black Student Union, See ya in September
From your one Caucasian member
With Latino Law[11] you’re not competing
But if you’d serve tacos I might actually attend a meeting

Summer will fly by and soon I’ll be back
I hear 2L is the new black
Again I’ll do it, in true “Kim” style
Casebook in hand, in three-inch heels and with a smile :)




[1] Westlaw is one of the primary online legal research services for lawyers and legal professionals in the United States . http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westlaw
[2] LexisNexis is a popular searchable archive of content from newspapers, magazines, legal documents and other printed sources. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LexisNexis
[3] Like I said, if there isn’t an acronym you must abbreviate. Con Law is short for Constitutional Law.
[4] Marbury v. Madison , 5 U.S. 137, 177 (U.S. 1803)
[5]Most of these my spellcheck doesn’t know including justiciability, appealability, forseeability, unconscionability, tortfeasors, tortious, and many others.
[6] The three elements of a contract
[7] If you don’t know what Facebook is, you’ve been spending way too much time reading things with footnotes.
[8] Abbreviation for Civil Procedure, a required class for all 1Ls to learn the rules of court. I suppose if it doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger.
[9] Boring stuff we learned about in Civ Pro. Basically, if you have a case in federal court between citizens of two different states this is what tells you which jurisdiction’s laws to apply blah blah blah.
[10]This is what I call the Boley Law Library
[11] Latino Law Society. I’m not a member, but I hope to add this to my resume next year. I did receive an invitation to the National Latino Law Student Association, but they don’t give out free tacos.

Match Made in Heaven

They say that the best way to find love is to stop looking for it. I mentioned previously that I had suspended my search for a black coat with a hood. Well, I'm pleased to announce that I found such a coat this past weekend. Or I guess I should say it found me. It truly was love at first sight. A thing of beauty -it is black, woolen, and has a hood to make Little Red Riding Hood jealous. I tried it on first, although I knew it was "the one." It fit like a tailored Snuggie with sleeves that took me from monkey to kangaroo. The silk-lining glided over my sweater sleeves like socks on a hardwood floor. Days of shirt sleeves bunched up to my shoulders like football pads would soon be distant memories. Three large buttons fastened me in like a love letter in a self-stick envelope. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

First thing Sunday morning I slipped on that coat like we were old friends. Nevermind that it was 70 degrees and sunny. I headed out to the library with a new found confidence that I could handle any amount of precipitation or air conditioning that might come my way (yes, I went to the library, someone has to make Con Law look good). I wore my coat again today and I don't know how I lived for so long without it. What's that you say? It rained today? Gee, I didn't notice. I was both warm and dry all day long. It looks like you really can have it all. And yes, Santa Claus, there really is a Nordstrom.

The Snug Wow

I used to think there were two kinds of people in the world - Snuggie people and ShamWow people. Now you can have the best of both worlds. If only you didn't have to walk to the kitchen to use the Magic Bullet or the Ginsu knife...

Twicken Noodle Soup

I'm twying to figure out how to Twitter. I feel the same way I do when someone in the Tax department at work tells a joke. I know I'm supposed to get it, and everyone else seems to be enjoying it, but it makes no sense to me. According to Twitter, it is "a service for friends, family, and co–workers to communicate and stay connected through the exchange of quick, frequent answers to one simple question: What are you doing?" The Twitter site lists three reasons why you should Twitter. It says:

• Eating soup? Research shows that moms want to know.
• Running late to a meeting? Your co–workers might find that useful.
• Partying? Your friends may want to join you.

First, my Mom doesn't want to know that I'm eating soup. She wants to know what kind of soup I'm eating, where I got it, if I got enough soup, if I'm still hungry, and why I'm eating soup and not working. Fortunately, Twitter limits "tweets" to 140 characters. Second, if I tweeted every time I was running late to a meeting, I'd be on Twitter all day and miss all my meetings entirely. And my co-workers know I'll be late. If I'm ever on time to a meeting, that might be something to "tweet" about. Third, sitting by my computer tweeting is not my idea of a party. And I don't want friends who think it is. Twuthfully, I'm not sure anyone cares what I'm doing. However, it is enough of an ego boost to pretend like everyone cares about every move I make. So I've taken the plunge. I'm twying to Twitter. Now, like I said, I'm a little twetarded. My stubborness won't allow me to give up, though, so I'm determined to figure out what all the fuss is about.

So far, I've learned that there is a whole Twitter language. It is slightly easier to learn than conjugating spanish verbs. From what I can tell, you just add "Tw" to the beginning of every word. This effectively turns the kid with the speech problem into the hip techie with the twendy lingo. As for me, I'm not sure I have what it twakes to spend my twime twacking every tweetable twitch I make. I'll keep twying, but put me in the short nest for now.

I'm off to eat some soup, mom. Some chicken noodle soup from the grocery store and I have two cans in case I'm not full after the first one. Then, I'll get some rest before getting up for work in the morning. Oh, and I'll probably be late for that meeting - go ahead and start twithout me. I might be partying on Twitter.

The Next Best Thing

I've suspended my dream of being warm and dry, of finding the perfect coat with a hood. For this year anyway. I'll try again next year. Don't feel too sad for me though because I've found something else to fill the void in my heart. The next best thing - The Snuggie. I might not be both warm and dry, but I no longer have to choose between being warm and being productive (I use the term "productive" lightly). I know you're probably rolling your eyes and thinking to yourself "It's no different than wearing a robe backwards." I'll tell you it is different. If you don't have one already, I'm confident you will soon. It's ok, you don't have to tell anyone about it. It's kind of like 90210 - everyone watched it, but no one will admit it. You can cut holes in your blanket or wear your robe backwards if you want to. As for me, I'll stay warm while my hands are free for the low price of $14.95. And I know your backwards robe didn't come with a free book light. No, I'm not selling the Snuggie or making any money off this blog post. The Snuggie pretty much sells itself. Someday I'll tell my grandchildren about the olden days when we didn't have the luxury of staying warm while our hands were free. They'll probably say "Grandma, how did you survive?" and I'll tell them how tough it was and then teach them to keep believing in their dreams. I'll explain that if we can be warm while our hands are free, Grandma might even find a warm, black coat with a hood in her lifetime. Dream big, children, dream big. That coat might even come with a free book light.

It's Not You, It's Me

Dear Snow,

There is no easy way to say this. I don't want to see you anymore. I am very sorry. We had some very good times together and I will cherish them forever. I remember when I was a child how I used to hope and pray that you would be there when I woke up in the morning. Whether it was for an entire day or just a two-hour delay, I always enjoyed my time with you. I won't forget staring at the scrolling update at the bottom of the television, waiting for KGW to tell me you had arrived. We would all refer to you by those little pet names "Artic Blast," "Winter Chill," and "The Big Freeze." I won't forget the good times. It's not you, it's me. The truth is, I'm older now. I have things to do and places to go. I can't waste my time with you anymore. I need a more responsible weather system, one that doesn't just come and go on a whim. And you deserve to be in place where you are appreciated. I'm sure you'll find a nice place where everyone has 4-wheel drive and coats with hoods. Where their winter gear isn't left over from a ski trip in 1989. Portland just isn't that place. I am not that girl.

You can still visit every few years if you'd like to. We'd love to have you for Christmas. I just don't think we should see each other as much as we have been lately. It is time for you to move on. I wish you the best, snow, I really do. Thanks for the good times.

Sincerely,

Kimberly

Below Average

Ok, this might be another post about shopping. This time, however, I'm exposing the dark side of consumerism. Occasionally, if I've had a rough day, I visit two of my favorite therapists - Macy and Mr. Nordstrom. Their hourly rates can be fairly high, but I usually get my money's worth and leave their offices feeling much better than I did when I entered. I'm not completely faithful to both of them because I believe it's beneficial to explore all your options when dealing with the events of the day. Today I visited a therapist I only see on occasion. I will identify this therapist by location only - Banana Republic. I visited the downtown office and there were few other patients there, which was kind of nice. This office has different sections for clients with different needs. My condition forces me into the "petites" section (with the exception of coats and long-sleeve shirts - remember my "monkey arms"). If you look up the word "petite" in the dictionary, it offers you an array of synonyms including "baby", "wee", "elfin", and "below average." The last time I saw someone described as "below average," he was wearing a helmet, a harness, and Velcro shoes. The "petites" also have to use a separate dressing room from the full grown adults. Perhaps they are worried we will catch a glimpse of a normal woman and become enlightened to the real purpose of the plunging neck line. What's even worse is that they have to post a sign that says "petites." There were no other signs around, not even "Men" or "Women." Apparently the average person can tell the difference between a woman's shirt and a man's shirt, but needs a sign to figure out that the size 6X sweater that has been relabeled to a double-zero petite is for the "below average" clientele. What if your therapist had signs in the waiting room that said "Depressed", "Distracted", "In Denial", and "Downright Crazy"? Or better yet, "Below Average"? I would have to pull up a chair right in the middle.

My next stop was Albertsons. They allow me to peruse the aisles with average size adults so I began to feel a little better about myself. That changed when I reached the produce aisle. Some corporate genius thought it would be a good idea to put a big flat-screen tv above the bananas. For those of use who are easily distracted, this is the equivalent of putting speed bumps on a wheelchair ramp. One minute I'm practicing the delicate art of selecting bananas with the perfect ratio of yellow to green (you know, ripe enough for tomorrow but not too ripe by Monday), the next I'm watching some lady teach me how to discern whether you can eat the rind on a block of cheese. I was halfway through Rachel Ray's lesson on enchiladas when my husband called. He reminded me that I had stopped on the way home to get groceries for dinner, which usually comes before breakfast. I grabbed some mini carrots, baby red potatoes, Little Debbie cupcakes, and petite sirloin steak...and caught the short bus home.

*Happy Ratification Day

My mother is a teacher. Most of you already know this because I still write letters to Santa, can tell you about Johnny Appleseed, and know when Flag Day is. So the other day we were having an intelligent discussion about education and budget cuts and all that goes along with it. Then she mentioned to me that the district needs to cut expenses and they are considering taking away some of the teachers' paid holidays. She was appalled at the thought of this. Really Mom? What exactly is it you do to observe Presidents Day? Spend a dollar? Chop down a cherry tree? Abolish slavery - again? She responded to my questioning by telling me how important it is to teach the children about our past presidents. It is important, but I bet it would be much easier to teach if the children were actually in school, don't you think? Granted, it does give the outlet mall a good excuse for a sidewalk sale.

Then there is October 12th, Columbus Day. AKA We've Been In School A Month and These Kids Are Driving Us Crazy So We Need A Day Off Day. Why does this guy have his own national holiday? Because he took a wrong turn? Once I turned onto a street under the Burnside Bridge where a few guys were sleeping under cardboard boxes. Had they been sleeping in teepees, you might be getting a mattress and box spring for $99 at the Kimberly Villanueva Day sale. Instead, we give all the credit to Mr. C. And where would we be without Chris? Ummm...right here. We'd just have better tans and more leather in our wardrobe. And I could put a three-inch heel on a moccasin if I had to. Although I do believe he saved us from a life of **mukluks and beadwork . For that, he might deserve a holiday.

My Mom didn't agree with my view of her sacred paid holidays so I suggested a compromise. Maybe we could have a History Day where we celebrate all the people and things from before 1900. Then, we could focus on relevant holidays like Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and Christmas. And we'll reserve some hope for the future so when someone does something really great, we can give them a national holiday. For example, when a heroic soul finally creates a clothing brand that only sells coats with hoods they can have their own national holiday. Perhaps it can replace Columbus Day so when we are shopping the sidewalk sales in October we will be both warm and dry. For that, Mom, you should have the day off.


*Today happens to be Ratification Day, the day the Treaty of Paris was ratified, ending the revolutionary war.

**you would only know what a mukluk is if your mother is a teacher. It was probably in the lesson your third grade teacher had planned for Columbus Day. Too bad you had the day off.

Googling Like A Madwoman

I have a new class this term called Legal Research. They use terms like "information literacy" and it is only an hour a week, but it is the longest hour ever. Basically they teach us how to Google. The only difference is that we use Westlaw and Lexis instead of Google and Wikipedia. Although I don't know anyone who doesn't at least start with Google or Wiki when researching anything.

We also get nice little "what if" lessons. What if you don't put quotes around your phrase, for example "attractive nuisance?" You could get hits for every document with either the word attractive or the word nuisance. In other words, we could perish from too many search results, or worse, we could get the dreaded "your search returned more than 500 documents. Only the first 500 results are displayed." They can't let us loose in the big, bad legal world if we are going to go around getting over 500 search results with reckless disregard for the little hard-working hourglass icon that becomes my cursor.

Then they give us lessons about how to use real books in the library to research. In case Google goes bankrupt and Wikipedia doesn't get enough donations, I'll be hoofing it up Terwilliger to find case law on trespassing. They tell us old stories about when lawyers had to use books for everything and walk to school uphill both ways in the snow. It makes me thankful for each and every one of my 500+ search results.

I spent the class period Googling "boring legal research class."

Wikipedia has a great little article on legal research. Just don't forget the quotation marks.

Wanted: Coat with Hood - Part I

I should begin with a little background about my "coat with a hood" issue. I first expressed my appreciation for all things wool and double-breasted back in 2006 with Mr. Claus himself. The following letters will fill in the details for you, before I comment on the current state of things.

Dear Santa,

It has come to my attention that my 2006 Christmas list has proved to be a bit challenging for you. While this should come as no surprise, given that I have been challenging for 26 years now, I decided to write you in order to address your concerns.

As you remember, my original list included many clothing items such as jeans, khakis, and shoes. I am aware of the difficulty you must face each year as a "plus size" male faced with the task of purchasing clothing for women of all sizes. To help clarify, I am slightly bigger than an elf, about as curvy as a cinnamon stick, and have arms resembling ski poles (think monkey). My goal is to make this as easy as possible for both of us so I propose to you that you delegate a Santa's helper to accompany me to the stores either pre- or post- Christmas so that we can get all of this straightened out. Mr. Claus, I can certainly understand how you are feeling right now, but please understand that what may be your "December dilemma" is my life as a shopper all year 'round.

I feel as though we need to address the coat issue as well because there seems to be some misunderstanding in this area as well. First, let me start off by saying that while I am aware that my appreciation for fine wool, silk lining, and double-breasted button fronts could be misconstrued as an "addiction" or "obsession" I would like to say it in no way interferes with a "major life activity" and I feel confident that I can stop at any time. In fact, I can prove to you that I give up my affinity for coats every year around April or May and have been coat-free for many months at a time. Therefore, my enjoyment of fine coats in no way rises to the level of qualification for the naughty list. That being said, a girl can get very cold in January and winter white wool can prevent hypothermia. (size 0 or 2, but not petite, remember the monkey arms). I also noticed the other day that I am lacking a coat in the color gray. Could you even sleep at night, Mr. Claus, knowing you failed to provide me with the necessary warmth to get through the cold Oregon winter? I trust you will live up to my expectations as you have every year since 1980 (except 2004, but we'll let that one go).

Please do not hesitate to contact me if you need any further clarification. My goal is to work together with you so that we may ensure and smooth and successful December 25th for all of us.

Sincerely,

Kimberly

Santa responded:

Dear Kimberly,

I received a note your mom forwarded to me and I wanted to thank you for clarifying a few things. You did a wonderful job describing yourself and your situation to me. Many of the elves and Mrs. Claus thought it was the best letter they have received in years.

Let me first address Christmas 2004. If I remember ( you know at my age, my memory does fail me sometimes) that was the year that giving became a greater gift than receiving and you and your family created an especially happy Christmas for some children that would have otherwise had nothing. In my book, that was the Best Christmas Ever!! Although there were few presents with your name on them, your heart was full of love for others, which is the real reason for Christmas.

Because we have had such a bitter cold winter, many of the coats that fit elves with monkey arms have already been taken. I will see if I can find something that would work for you though. I would not want hypothermia to get you and I know that your mom wouldn't want that either, and it seems that you had a grandmother that would feel the same.

So Kimberly, I know that for the most part you have been very good, (except for the time you wouldn't go get your grandad's car) your work for other children has brought you up high on my list and I will try to deliver as before as my greatest joy is giving to others.

Your mom and I will be in contact.

Love,
Santa

So in 2007 I wrote...

Dear Santa,
First, let me apologize for getting this to you so late this year. I have not had much time to prepare for Christmas. I’m sure you already know what I want, since my list really hasn’t changed much since I was 5 (clothes, shoes, coat, you know the drill). There is one item I would like to address with you, however. It seems to me that you should have quite an influence in the retail industry given your occupation. So please tell me why, in 2007, we are able to connect to the internet wirelessly, talk on phone in the car, send information electronically at the push of a button, but it is virtually impossible to find a warm coat with a hood. With one single piece of technology, I can take a picture, text message, listen to music, access the web, and talk to a friend, but I am still forced to choose between being warm or being dry when I walk outside. Does this make any sense to you? I know you want to bring peace on earth and joy to all mankind. A warm coat with a hood could be your first step towards happiness for all boys and girls. I know such innovations do exist. I happen to have almost the perfect coat; it is wool, warm, double-breasted, with a hood. However, I would really love it in black. If you feel this is too much to ask, then please make the choice for me. Do you want me to be dry and cold in 2008, or warm and drenched? The choice is yours. In addition, I would like new black boots. I would guess that you have the same problem I do, as it seems you wear your black boots as much, if not more, than I wear mine. Although I don’t go down chimneys in them, I walk to the mall at lunch a lot and my boots are worse for the wear. Those are my only requests for now. I will let you know if I think of anything between now and Christmas. Remember, I’m giving you this information at the last minute for your own good. I’m encouraging spontaneity and challenging you to become a more efficient giver of gifts.

Love,

Kimberly

P.S. I’m assuming I’m on the good list this year. If not, I’m sure we can work something out.

So, you see, I have suffered a long time. More to come...