PS

I just went to the bathroom to check out my new ankle length skinny jeans. God I have a bit butt.

You know what's lame?

It's official. Dating in the modern era has reached a new low. I now use facebook to do all my most covert relationship stalking. Crime doesn't pay, people. Let's put it this way: if you have to use facebook to find it out, it's not worth knowing.

God, I just know that TOMORROW facebook is going to surprise us with a new feature that tells you who's been viewing your profile. If you find out that The Roni's been snooping on your page, well then I either hate you and was wondering if you've finally been selected for NASA's new super top secret space program wherein you will have the joy and delight of experiencing space travel for the next 50 years (The Roni's generous alternative to a well-placed car bomb) or I want you to break up with your girlfriend for me. Either way, it can't be good.

Things to Be Happy About

Good morning, darlings! 'Tis a beautiful day here in Charvegas, and The Roni is feeling plum full up with excitement! And, in the spirit of giving, I thought I'd share with you a few of the reasons to be happy today.
First of all, the sun is shining and it is allegedly going to be 75 degrees today. After the streak of rainy, sub-50 degree days we've been having here, I'd say that's reason enough to celebrate!
But no, there's more! Today The Roni has broken out the cream, cable knit leggings she's had sitting in her closet since last winter, and let me tell you - they're fabu. In case you're curious (Regina, this means YOU), The Roni is rocking the cable-knit tights with a mini, argyle and clogs. Word. It's preppy-chic today. You know you love it. (GWM, I know YOU love it.)
And finally, in a bittersweet turn of events (and you're just going to have to trust The Roni on this one) the final reason we should all be happy today is this: The MPRE, that devilish little exam on why lawyers can't sleep with their clients, and if they do, they have to pull out. No joke. That came straight from the barbri rep's mouth - The Roni would never say anything that scandalous!!
But seriously, here is why we should all be happy for the MPRE. If you're like The Roni (then you LOVE spice!! Oh, sorry, that was a Rachel Ray-ism...). If you're like me, then you have spent your days thus far this fine second-to-last semester doing the following: (1) Playing golf. (2) Watching Ellen. (3) Cooking elaborate meals on a whim with housemates. (Thank you, Rachel Ray, for the beef stroganoff idea - it was delicious.) (4) Drinking. So basically, The Roni has done nothing school related since, well, May. True story. If I added up the number of hours I've spent in a classroom this fall, the number would be a single digit. Sweet. But now that there is this EXAM looming in front of me which I HAVE to pass in order to earn gobs of money for reading wikipedia (S Corp? What the hell is that?) and contracts all day (and night), I am forced to spend my days in my favorite coffee shop...wait for it...studying. GASP! Normally The Roni would be saying "quelle tragedie!" Mais non! Instead, this coerced edumacation is HELPING The Roni by kicking her butt into gear! So what she won't be able to watch Ellen AT 11am in the hopes that her Ellen and Portia costume picture makes it into the monologue - that's what DVR is for! And so what that she can't play golf this week - that place is built on lies and broken promises anyways. The Roni scoffs in its general direction. (Plus it's ass cold. But whatever.) And SO WHAT that The Roni and her lovies can't drink the usual 1.5 bottles of wine per night...oh wait. I don't have an upside for that one. Well, there's always next month.
But you see where The Roni is going with this, no? It's time we MOTIVATE, people! Let's stop being lazy, hedonistic, carefree countryclubbers! Let's HIT THE LIBRARY! Let's work in coffee shops! Let's do what we do best, and that's flex our massive mental muscle. (Well, that and assembling fabulous, cutting edge outfits with nothing but the assortment of delicious pieces in our collective closet...)
So I don't know about you, but The Roni is pretty excited for the chance to do something productive again. Thank goodness I just spend 38 minutes composing this epistle with my MPRE book open in front of me...

Paper Bag

Hello my darlings. I am back, and I have for you 3 thoughts which are related in the hazy, three glasses of pinto grigio and two episodes of sex and the city on a Monday night kind of way. (Don't front - you know exactly what I'm talking about. The Roni knows the inner workings of your puny mind.)

Thought #1: I've been in slightly melancholy sorts of late, and as a result, drinking il vino and listening to excessive amounts of Fiona Apple on repeat (and we all remember that embarrassing little bout with Sinead O'Connor last spring...). Fiona, honey, you speak to me. And, dolls, you know what she's saying? "I thought he was a man, but he was just a paper bag."

This leads me to Thought #2: The Roni, as some of you lucky few may know, is like a 1998 Barolo - sure she's been on the shelf for a while, but with a delicious papardelle and some candles...well you get The Roni's point. Here we are, a bunch of fine semi-young things who got it going on in the TLC circa-1987 kind of way and we are surrounded by a bunch of donkeys. I tell you, I couldn't find a kisser to plant something tres french on if you paid me $20! No wonder The Roni is forced to drink so much vino - I'm living in a DESERT here, I tell you!

And I am brought to thought # 3: a paradigmatic instance of why being an old, mildly sober 3L is like finding meaning in a Polly Shore movie (get there people - if you're putting your feet on my ether-ottoman, you best know your cinema de early 90's). The Roni found herself at a party hosted by Zeus himself this weekend, and in the course of the night she stumbled upon several legitimately handsome men whom she had never before encountered. Now paint my ass red and call me Scarlet, I was surprised enough by this tremendous find (actually cute boys? at a law school party? who hadn't already had the privilege of trading foreign policy notes with The Roni and/or any member of the Pink Mafia? UNHEARD OF!)! But these darlings tickled The Roni EVEN MORE, if it's possible. How, you ask? Well, it should be obvious to everyone who is not either dead or afforded relief by Atkins v. Virginia, but for you, whom the french call les incompetents, I will tell you - these little slices of sweet succulence brought...CHAMPAGNE. Sigh. If there's one thing The Roni loves more than a cute boy, it's a really delicious, thick milkshake. And if there's one thing The Roni loves more than the perfect milkshake, it's a frosty margarita. Ok, so I am getting a little off track here, but my point is this - THE RONI HEARTS CHAMPAGNE. It's true. In fact, The Roni has a tattoo that says just that on a rarely seen, but widely regarded, well, just wide, portion of her derriere. So I was tremendously pleased to see these tasty little morsels walking into the party carrying the bubbly. I get all giddy just thinking about it now!!
So, of course, The Roni casually made her way over to these biddies, much like a starved vampire would approach fresh blood.
Now here is the point of the story - in the course of my irresistible demonstration of feminine wiles, the subject of age came up. Normally The Roni discusses her vintage about as much as her pant size and/or actual girth (truste moi, ca c'est une looooooooooongue conversation...), but on this occasion, I could not resist - 'twas either the delicious Korbel pleasing my palate or the big baby blues of my audience. So I find myself unable to resist asking this doll how old he is. He laughs and says "I bet I am MUCH older than you!" There are few things The Roni is less inclined to believe that the aforementioned statement. Especially when it's coming from someone who looks like he was born, oh, six hours ago. So I bite. "Ummm, sorry Tonto, but I have a feeling that is NOT la verdad. How old do you think I am?" To which Tonto replies "23?" The Roni immediately bought two tickets to Vegas and found an Elvis impersonator - fat Elvis, obvi. The Roni: "Ummm, ok. That's sweet. What year did you graduate from college, Future Mr. The Roni?" FMTR: "2003." The Roni: "..." (speechless as is flabbergasted by the exchange which cannot conceivably have transpired.)
What perplexes me most about this exchange is, when did they start letting 19 year olds graduate from college? Well, I guess the answer is "2003." And second of all, why would someone who graduated in 2003 think they were older than The Roni? I mean, what does that make him, 22? 23? I mean sure, The Roni likes to exaggerate how old she is largely because she FEELS like she was born in 1922. But really, I am not all that old (thanks, mom, for telling me that!) and I don't think I would walk around talking to people 3 years ahead of me in school telling them how much older I am than then. There's a word for that. I think it's "presumptuous" in English, but I could be wrong.
I realize I am articulating a tremendous schizophrenia here - on the one hand, I am slightly put off by the fact that the FMTR presumed he was far, far older than I, but on the other, I should be tremendously flattered by how young he thought I was, right? I don't know what I should think - Fiona remains silent on this issue.

But in closing, my little hens, I will tell you this. I am given comfort by a transformation I have seen before my very own eyeballs. A certain member of the Pink Mafia (who shall remain nameless to protect the identities of her victims) was but two weeks ago asking, between bites of Cherry Garcia, to borrow seasons 3 and 4 of SATC as she was planning on settling in for a full Saturday of marathon SATC-watching. For those of you who don't know what that means, that's pretty much the female equivalent of...ummmm...what do dudes do when they've just had their heart pureed by the cuisinart that is some frigid, unfeeling man and are horribly, miserably depressed? Drink 15 highlifes and watch football? (Some would call that "Tuesday," but I think you get where I'm going with this...) So yes, this was a troubled child. But now, after all the Ben & Jerry's has been tossed and the SATCs returned to their proper owner, this little sunflower has finally found the rays and is currently balancing a full dance card of dinner invitations. She's like the shangrila of the dating world - I've been told it exists, but I have certainly never been there. So to you, my friend, I say congratulations on your swift recovery. In the words of my good friend, JBR, "he ain't nuthin' but a man, and they makin' them thangs e'ry day."
Man, donkey, paper bag - they all the same to The Roni.