Bar None

Yesterday the Director of Student Affairs arranged for the Director of a Very Important Group That Lets Me Into the Bar but Not Without a Lot of Hassle to pay a visit to the law school and very clearly and concisely explain how the character and fitness portion of the bar application involves an airing of all our dirty laundry and a raping of our personal histories, but only after we pay an exorbitant sum of money for this privilege, of course.

I am quite glad they had this meeting. Otherwise I wouldn't be aware of the fact that I have to order 2 fingerprint cards from the Bar (why an index card won't do, I don't know), order a copy of my driving record from the DMV, order a copy of my credit report, tally up all of my outstanding student loans (and try to refrain from crying in the process), contact five references to let them know the Bar will be badgering them for information (and bribe them to keep quiet), and try to remember every place I have ever lived and every employer I have ever worked for. Oh, and I have to write a big, fat check go to the bank to get a big, fat money order to send along with it. After I get the whole thing notarized, of course.

Because I have nothing better to do between now and December 6th. The very thought of having to do all this makes me want to a) drink heavily, b) cry and c) reconsider my choice of profession.

And I don't really have a whole lot to hide. I'm just glad I've never been married, divorced, arrested, bankrupt, caught having sex with an animal, found drunk in a ditch, institutionalized, fired from a job or deported. Thank God for small favors, right?

Hooray for Small Victories

You know you've made it in the blogging world when someone else links to your blog.

Lo and behold, E. Spat has linked me. Thanks, E. Spat!

I Am a Walking Calamity, Part II

Remember how I said a while back that I am a walking calamity? Well, not wanting to let anyone down, I struck again last night.

Whilst using a big butcher knife from the dollar store, I managed to hack a pretty deep gash in my fingertip and into my fingernail. In the midst of all my panicking and squawking and flailing, I managed to fling blood all over the dining room and the guest bathroom as well. After I calmed down and stopped paintng the walls red, my first thought was, "Knives from the dollar store aren't supposed to cut people!" Guess it showed me.

Had I gone to the hospital, the doctors would have probably obliged and put a stitch or two in my finger, for the bargain price of my emergency room co-pay of $75. But this whole incident happened after midnight, and so sitting in the ER waiting room at College Town Regional Medical Center with all the alcohol-poisoned freshmen was not my idea of a fun Saturday night. I also have a weird thing about wanting to be stitched up by plastic surgeons because I harbor some sort of delusion that it would make me scar less severely. And I seriously doubt CTRMC has a plastic surgeon on duty at midnight on a Saturday.

Since I managed to get the bleeding to stop and ghetto-rigged a gauze bandage, I figured I could wait until Monday when I could go to the student health center on campus for free. Ha, insurance schminsurance.

Early this morning, I headed to CVS for better bandaging supplies. I was right proud of the job I did closing and taping and gauzing my finger up. "LST," I thought to myself, "Other than the fact that you almost puked at the sight of your own finger laid open and then thought that holding it under running water would somehow stop the bleeding, medical school may actually have been your calling."

Unfortunately, my fantastic intentions for catching up on my Media Law outline this weekend were stymied, as my typing skills have slowed to the speed of molasses. Though somehow I still managed to blog. Hm.

Jingle Jog!

So, I am signed up for my first. 5K. ever. This is both exciting and frightening, seeing as how I am the girl who runs a mile and a half and wants to die afterwards.

The run is December 23rd, which gives me almost exactly two months to improve both my time and my endurance. I'm not a naturally talented runner, so it will be a challenge for me. My dad and brother are also running with me. My brother, the AFA Beast, will probably finish in under 25 minutes. My dad and I will eat his dust and finish 15 minutes later.

I ran 2 miles on the track yesterday, so I'm feeling pretty good about my prospects of finishing without having to stop or walk along the way.

It will also help me shed some of the extra pounds I've been carrying so that I can get back to my pre-law school self. It's all a part of bringing out the alter ego.

Wish me luck, y'all!

Weekend Woes

So it's Friday, classes are done for the week and I'm left with the weekly dilemma of what to do with myself for the next two and a half days.

Our football team is in the shitter having lost the last two games, so I'm not even sure I'll make the trip to the stadium to view another humiliating performance tomorrow. For the first time in five years we are unranked in the BCS and our in-state rivals are actually ranked this year. I'm not sure how this works. The school harps about having increased its "academic rigor," whatever that means, but still spends tons of money supporting idiot scholarship athletes who can barely construct a sentence (I'm guessing they bring down the average SAT score of the undergraduate population by about 157 points) in hopes that we'll be competitive in our conference.

We don't ask a whole lot of these kids. Learn to tie your shoe during your four six years here. Try to master remedial college math. And for fuck's sake, win some damn football games. Granted, we are in what is arguably the most competitive conference in the NCAA, but there is no excuse for the "best defense in the nation" giving up 51 points for a loss at home one week and then losing to a 14-point underdog on Homecoming the next. I propose threatening to make the football players pick real majors if they don't start winning. Maybe that will motivate them.

I should also probably start outlining my classes this weekend. It makes me feel so productive, and before I know it, finals will be here. But then there's that little voice in my head that keeps saying, "You're a 3L. Why the hell would you even consider outlining before the end of classes?" Because I'm a Type-A control freak is why. And outlining might prove to be more satisfying than watching another train wreck football game.

Having ignored my side project for a good week now, that deserves some attention, too. I haven't so much as touched it recently, which is not good with my commercial debut looming on November 9th. I haven't named my company nor have I launched my website yet. And my inventory is not where it needs to be. Which is less than awesome.

While I would love to get out of town and away from drunk fratties for a weekend, I think I will just have to stick it out here this weekend and be productive. I do get to look forward to dicking around all next weekend though, which will keep me going.

My Alter Ego

All schitzophrenia jokes aside, I often feel like I am two people: The person I used to be, and the person I became when I started law school.

Before law school I was confident and motivated. I had passion and direction. I was spontaneous and creative. I was well-rested, happy and in control of my life.

Once I got to law school I became a drone. I gave up my hobbies and passions for lack of time and still never get enough rest. I'm like a walking zombie most of the time. Law school has also made me insecure, paranoid and unmotivated. I don't know what I am doing after graduation but a heavy layer of apathy has slowly settled in over me. I used to be interesting and passionate but now I am boring and indifferent. I've become a product of the law school machine that shapes and molds scores of identical little worker-attorneys. I have paid $80,000 to memorize knowledge that provides good cocktail party trivia fodder.

But I don't want to be just an indistinguishable bore. Lately I've been trying to break out of my law school paradigm and pursue things that make me happy rather than pursuing mere means to ends.

I've taken up hiking again, and when I'm trudging through the woods in the crisp fall weather, wonder why in the world I gave it up in the first place. I'm starting a business that combines my entrepreneurial spirit with my creativity and desire to provide people with some of life's little luxuries. I may begin doing some business consulting work on the side, developing protocols and job descriptions and - most importantly - being in control of myself and my work. I'm applying to graduate school, exploring different programs and job prospects outside the legal world. For the first time in three years, I can see beyond the tiny confines of the law school microcosm that I'd allowed myself to be sucked into.

Though insignificant as they may seem, I see these little bits of my alter ego shining through my dull and boring law school persona. I am beginning to see life beyond the law, and it is something that I embrace more and more each day. And best of all, I'm excited to see what my future has in store for my alter ego - the real me.

Mingling with the Commoners

I have found a little nook in the main library cafe that is, surprisingly, quieter than the lawbrary and has a nice view of the quad. It amazes me that the undergrads seem to have at least a modicum more decorum than the self-absorbed law students.

However, out of the corner of my eye I keep catching the girl at the table next to me glaring at me. I'm not quite certain what I did to invite such an evil look, but I'll hazzard a guess that maybe she is jealous that, unlike her, I have the self-control not to stuff my face with a sandwich, chips and a coke at 9:30 in the morning.

It is sort of like being a fish out of water here, and despite the fact that I look about 16, the tell-tale stacks of brown and blue books next to me announce that I'm a law student. Which doesn't really affect me one way or the other.

The undergrads, however, try to be sneaky and pass themselves off for law students while they casually read on the benches outside the building. One look gives them away instantly. Not only do their books have colorful pictures and cute diagrams in them, but nary a one of them looks scared enough to be a 1L, tired enough to be a 2L or jaded enough to be a 3L. Fortunately for them, they are not quite stupid enough to try to sneak into the law school to study.

The law school is sort of like an elite little club that we protect fiercely from outside intrusion. We feel entitled, not only because we pay three times as much tuition, but also because we've paid our dues. We finished our undergrads, suffered through the LSAT and made it to law school. So if you want to sit next to the pretty picture window in the lawbrary and lounge on the benches next to the prettiest quad on campus and enjoy the perks of wireless internet in every room, then run the gauntlet and pay your dues. Until then, I'll sell you a pass to the hot tub we have on the roof.