Like Truvy in Steel Magnolias, “Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion!”

When I blog, I try to strike a balance between light-hearted frivolity and discussion of serious topics about which I feel passionately. I do this for two reasons, first because I think that a blog devoted solely to either extreme would become tiresome after a while, and because Southern women (like women everywhere) have to navigate both worlds all the time, so I want my blog to represent us accurately. We often find ourselves laughing hysterically at a funeral or crying at a baby shower, and while either of those may feel wildly inappropriate someplace else, in the South, it’s just how it is.

I find that, in general, some people are pretty eager to dismiss Southerners as stupid, and I don’t think that pinning down the cause of that is as easy as rewinding to the Civil Rights Movement and pressing the play button. I hate that part of my home state’s history, but I’m still proud of the progress made since then, and the ongoing struggle and those that are fighting through it. I’ve tried to figure out just what it is about Southerners, and Southern women in particular, that makes people feel so entitled to judge us. Is it the big hair and the heels and the bright lipstick? Is it the accent in general, or maybe that we regularly use words like “sugar” and “honey” when referring to humans? Does it just drive everybody insane at the grocery store when we talk about “sacks” and “buggies” instead of “bags” and carts”?

Now, I have a friend who would agree with Suzanne Sugarbaker – that women who aren’t Southern are just jealous of women who are, and this jealousy accounts for their rudeness. I’m not really convinced that’s true, but at the same time, I do often feel like I have to overcome some preconceived bias before people will listen to me. Yes, it’s true that we take football just as seriously as we take church on Easter morning, and yes, when it comes right down to it, we are probably even more serious what we wear to either occasion. This is not about some misplaced sense of priority, although I think lots of people would make that accusation. The smartest and kindest women I know, without exception, are Southern, and for me, “smart” and “kind” are the highest compliments that exist.

Perhaps I’m just hypersensitive because I work in law, which punishes femininity and rewards severity. I admit that my natural response to conflict used to be softer, but after six years of constant confrontation, I’m harsher now – partly because I’m more sure of myself and my decisions, but also because harsh works and soft wastes time. Although I know lots of female lawyers who strive to be more like their masculine counterparts, I actually try very hard every single day to be more like my grandmother. And I guess that at the end of the day, that’s the point that I’m trying ever so circuitously to make: Southern women are soft and feminine and still effective, and I’m really, really trying to be more aware of that in my everyday life.

Thankful

The holidays are a strange time, huh? It's the end of the year, and just as I'm relishing in a tiny bit of relief from triple-digit Arizona summertime temperatures, I'm thrown into this whirlwind season of forced festivity and gift-giving anxiety. Even shopping, which I love, reduces me to a ball of stress because I become neurotically fearful of choosing the wrong present and disappointing someone that I love. Every public building - malls, post offices, grocery stores, airports - morphs into a sea of humanity that sets my teeth on edge and makes me want to run, screaming, toward the nearest exit. In the middle of my panic, though, I occasionally have moments of lucidity, seconds when I remember that all of this stress is simply a distraction from what's important, and that the method of celebration really shouldn't detract from that which is being celebrated.

I am blessed, and fortunate, and happy.

And so, I am thankful:



For lipgloss, the redder the better, and sparkly nail polish, any color (except orange, because as Blake says, "Orange is for Auburn." YUCK!).

For Blake, Malak, Abby, Mattie Grace, and Isaiah, and especially this year, for Charlie and Ben. Nothing makes holidays more magical than big smiles on little faces.

For pretty shoes.

For NPR.

For old friends, most of whom are distant geographically but close in all the ways that matter.

For new friends who are becoming old friends, and who are there to laugh at all my various predicaments, and then help me get out of them, and then laugh some more.

For my DVR.

For a mom who doesn't stop answering the phone even after I've called her nine times in half an hour.

For a dad who taught me to love the law, and never gets tired of me asking him to explain it to me just one more time.

For my grandparents, Horace and Ruthie. Nothing I say could ever be enough, so I won't try.

For philosophy's eye hope under-eye cream.

For cousins who were like siblings as we grew up, and more importantly, who are my friends now.

For a job that's more than just a job, and for coworkers who are more than just coworkers.

For good music.

For The MISS Foundation, which reminds me to be grateful, mindful, and gentle, and which inspires me to live and love fiercely.

For Google.

For Google maps.

For Instagram, Skype, Goodreads, Facebook, text messaging, email, and mobile phones. My friends and family are busier than ever and scattered to the four winds, but I still get to laugh with them when they're happy, cry with them when they're not, share with them a well-beloved book, watch their babies grow, and tell them I love them.

For a hairdresser who doesn't mind a challenge, or that I constantly change my mind.

For sweet tea.

For pearls.

For Sephora (and Barney's).*

For the quickly-approaching awards season.*

For a God who lavishes His grace, mercy, and forgiveness even when I forget to ask and even when I don't deserve it, and who answers prayers I didn't even know to say.

Happy, Happy Thanksgiving, y'all. xo, avb

*Added at the request of SCM, who knows me so well.

I'm declaring blog bankruptcy.

Sorry, for those of you who were waiting patiently on me to update you on the remainder of my trip to Alabama.  I got sidetracked by work and about 100 other things, so now it's clear that it's simply not going to happen.  Most of the people who read this blog were there anyway, so y'all all know what happened.

Moving on...

Ulta v. Sephora

I went to Ulta last weekend. Accidentally. I had been to Sephora already, but I forgot to buy the one thing that I went to Sephora to buy (though I more than made up for it in impulse purchases). Sephora is pretty far from my house, but there's an Ulta nearby. I'd never been to one, but I've heard they're basically the same.

WRONG.

Ulta was dark and kind of dirty. Everything was quite disorganized, and I had trouble finding anything. They were out of lots of stuff, so once I found the right area, I was still left digging through a bunch of mis-shelved crap, looking for what was really supposed to be there. To make matters worse, the employees just sort of stood around chatting with each other and never even asked me if I needed help. When I finally asked one of them if she'd help me find an item, she looked at me like I was *really* inconveniencing her.

Needless to say, I won't be back.

Except, the item I purchased (the Anastasia brown pen, below): I have to return it. It worked great for about 2 days, and then it stopped working. Clearly, the thing had been sitting there so long that it got old and dried out! Ugh. Very unsatisfied customer.

A Decidedly Un-belle Saturday Afternoon Activity

I spent a chunk of my weekend replacing my downstairs toilet's innards. Not as much fun as it sounds, and let's face it, it sounds fairly awful. But, being cursed with the world's worst landlord, and a job that requires me to work Monday through Friday, and quite often the better part of Saturday and Sunday, I was left with little choice other than to educate myself on the finer points of bathroom plumbing. Luckily, it didn't take that long, and even more luckily, the directions were very specific and helpful. I am, as it turns out, pleasantly surprised with my skills in the home improvement arena, a subject about which I heretofore remained willfully and blissfully ignorant. I'm reasonably certain that belles aren't meant for this type of labor.

Oh, Anthropologie, I *heart* you.

But why must you be so expensive? I decided to take a few minutes out of my day to peruse the website, and now I NEED all of these shoes:

Bouquet-of-Roses Heels

Open Wing Heels
-Love, love, love. Designed by Chie Mihara.

Rippled Bow Booties

Until-We-Meet Again Booties
-These are my favorites. They are just gorgeous. I'm convinced that I could win any trial at all, if only I could wear these boots. Chie Mihara at her best, I tell you.

Mallard Heels
-Yes, I know those are little ducks. I love these shoes in spite of it. Chie Mihara again.

Carved Celadon Heels
-So, so pretty. I love a T-strap.

Wishing Well Flats

Blithe Ballerinas

Modern Matriarch Boots

Draping Orchid Spectators

Brimming Button Heels

Black Magic Heels
-I also love a d'Orsay pump. And Chie Mihara. Clearly.

112

Why is this number important?

Is it the number of days left 'til Christmas? Nope...it's only July!

Is it the number of files in my office that need my immediate attention? No, but it's probably fairly close.

Could it be, you wonder, the number of petals on a chrysanthemum? No.

It is, ladies and gentlemen, the projected temperature - in degrees Fahrenheit - in Phoenix on Friday. Gees.

25 Random Things About Me

I was rereading some posts on Amanda's blog, and I was inspired to create a list of my own:

1. I have seen “Gone With the Wind” more times than I can count. My favorite time was at the Alabama Theatre in Birmingham with Rebecca. I'm not sure if it's my favorite because the theater is so pretty, or because there were people dressed in antebellum clothes, or because Rebecca and I got lost trying to find the place and then got the giggles when she tried to parallel park.
2. I could listen to Nina Simone 24 hours a day and not get tired of hearing her sing “Wild is the Wind.”
3. I visit People Magazine’s website at least ten times a day.
4. I agree whole-heartedly with Sylvia Plath and Amanda: “There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.”
5. My favorite perfume is Burberry Classic.
6. My favorite part of a jury trial is closing arguments.
7. Lip gloss takes up most of the room in my makeup bag.
8. I am a graduate of the University of Alabama (not once, but twice), and though I know every word to “Yay, Alabama!” and will sing it at the top of my lungs whenever asked, I am, at heart, an LSU fan.
9. When I think about Alabama, the things I miss most (besides my family, of course) are oak trees, Southern accents, and people who open doors for me.
10. I am learning to crochet (well, re-learning).
11. I want to learn how to quilt…
12. …and speak Italian.
13. My guilty pleasure: Goop.com (Gwyneth Paltrow’s lifestyle website).
14. Even guiltier pleasure: The Real Housewives of New York City. It's like watching a train wreck, and I'm pretty sure it makes me dumber, but it's so ridiculous I can't stop.
15. I really hate it that one must have a subscription to The New York Times in order to receive The New York Times Magazine.
16. I regret that I never learned to make biscuits from my Grandmama.
17. I get nauseated when I smell the Sun-Ripened Raspberry products from Bath & Body Works. I associate that smell with HealthSouth, where Grandmama went for rehab after she had a stroke.
18. It *really* irritates me when people confuse their and there, it’s and its, and you’re and your. If I ever kill someone, this will probably be why.
19. I have a specific writing-instrument preference: blue ink, rollerball, micro tip. Our office manager orders them special for me.
20. I am addicted to philosophy’s Microdelivery Peel. I use it about 3 times a week.
21. I talk to my mom on the phone at least twice a day.
22. As much as I love being a prosecutor, I wish I owned a store. Preferably a gift store that is also a bakery. Although in this economy, it’s probably better that I don’t.
23. I don’t like ice cream all that much, unless I’m eating it at the store in Needham, with a little wooden spoon. Tastes different.
24. When I was little and complained of constant headaches, my parents thought I was lying and just trying to get attention. Turns out I was legally blind. They felt really bad.
25. I can’t wait to buy a house just so I can paint the walls. I’ve been surrounded by off-white walls since I was 16. I would also like a fireplace, although given that I live in the desert, that has more to do with wanting a mantle than with wanting a heat-producing object.

My summer reading list...

...has sort of gone to crap. By that, I don't mean that I've not been reading. I just mean that I haven't been reading what I *meant* to read. Instead of the long list of books I intended to read, I've ended up reading several Alexander McCall Smith novels (one of each series featuring Precious Ramotswe and Isabel Dalhousie).

HUGE news, though: Sandra Gulland has a new book, and I just bought it! In case you haven't heard me rattle on about that genius that is Ms. Gulland, here we go. I love her. During law school, I read her first series about Josephine Bonaparte. It's a three-part historical novel, written as a diary, beginning when Josephine was an adolescent and continuing through her marriage to Napoleon and thereafter. Love, love, love. Love it so much, in fact, that I've read the series six times. I might read it again this week. Highly recommend. The new book is called Mistress of the Sun, and I can't wait to tell you all about it.

I also took a summertime hiatus from thinking and read a little piece of chick-lit trash called Bed & Breakfast. So there. Yes. I admit it. From time to time, I do read chick-lit. I'm mildly ashamed of it, but what are you going to do?

I'm going through a phase...

...of reading and rereading. In the past month or so, I've reread Little Children, The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets, Cold Comfort Farm, and three or four other favorites. I'm not sure why. But, now that I'm done, in addition to keeping a promise to myself and beginning to read Atonement (see below), I am also keeping several other promises to myself: Love in the Time of Cholera and One Hundred Years of Solitude. If you don't hear an update soon, assume I've flung myself over a bridge and into whatever body of water is nearest. Clearly, I'm also going to be needing some comic relief, which hopefully will come in the form of a few as-yet-undetermined, but hilarious novels.

Along with keeping these promises, I'm also allowing myself to admit defeat: The Emperor's Children has gotten the better of me. I don't know why. I can't figure out her emdashes, and even if I could, I think she's just smarter than I am. Maybe I'll give it a whirl later on.

And, I seem to have lost The Constant Gardener. I know that I was enjoying it, so I can't imagine what became of it, but it's been gone for quite a while now. So until I either find it or buy another copy, I'm in limbo.

Now, you may be asking yourself how I'm going to get through my summer reading list. Well, it's roughly 11,000 degrees outside here in Phoenix. As such, it's nearly impossible for my office friends and me to have our daily lunch dates without melting and wanting to shower. So, my answer is this: I shall be a good girl and bring my lunch every single day, and during lunch, I shall also read. We'll see how this goes, and how long it lasts.

Hmmm...

Today, I shared an elevator with a defense attorney...considerate of me, I know. (You can just tell the defense attorneys from the prosecutors...a practiced eye can even tell the private attorneys from the public defenders. This guy was private. For sure). He commented on my Starbucks muffin, and when I responded, he asked me where I got my "sweet little accent."

I'll admit that I was somewhat reassured by comments like these the first 600 times it happened. At home, no one even thinks I have an accent, so when people here notice the accent, it's nice. But at the same time, I'm pretty sure that when this particular defense attorney decided to ask me about my accent, it never entered his mind that I was 1) educated, and 2) employed by the County Attorney's Office. I also think it rather presumptuous of him to categorize me as "sweet" without even knowing me.

My supervisors tell me that jurors are going to love me. I'm not sure what commentary it is on my lawyering abilities that I'm apparently supposed to depend on a few "y'alls" to win my trials.