Spring Fever.

So, spring has arrived here in the Deep South and with it comes a renewed sense of apathy and absolute lack of motivation, which explains both my lack of blog posts recently as well as my inability to bring myself to do anything school-related other than the bare minimum.

It's a good day when I go to class, and a great day if I actually manage to do most or all of the reading before class actually starts. I have nary an outline to show for the semester and the two papers that I have to write this semester are still just a figment of my uninspired imagination.

As the weather gets warmer and sunnier, the patios of the downtown bars -- not-so-coincidentally located a mere block or so from the law school -- suddenly become more alluring. Consequently, my sharp decline in motivation is directly correlated with an increase in beer consumption on warm, sunny patios. I justify it by reflecting back on the wise words of Professor Entertainment-and-a-half. As a matter of fact, I have taken her at her word and not bothered to show up for Entertainment Law in weeks.

Strangely enough, I have seen the 3L apathy shared by myself and my comrades spread to the 2L class like an insidious infectious disease that eats your brain and gives you the overwhelming desire to drink massive amounts of booze and wake up in a gutter.

Now, I'm sort of baffled about this because 2L's just aren't allowed to share in our sloth and apathy. They still have to care. It's sort of like a rite of passage where you are not allowed to completely let yourself go until spring semester of your last year. After all, law school is essentially just a three-year hazing process. Except, the reward is nothing more than a pretty piece of paper and a staggering amount of debt.

As the real world of nine-to-five jobs and Ann Taylor suits draws frightening near, I have decided to embrace my apathy and revel in spring fever. After all, when else in my life will I be able to sleep in the middle of the afternoon, not show up if I just don't want to, and drink a bottle and a half of wine on a weeknight?

Baby Phobia.

My dear friend Kim finally had her baby the other day. A couple hours after she got home from the doctor with orders to get ready to go to the hospital for an induction, she went into labor. Clearly, this kid wants things her way or no way. She must take after me.

I visited the hospital to check on Kim and Kim Jr. After chatting for a while with her, Baby Daddy, and Baby Grandma, the dreaded question was asked: "Do you want to hold her?"

Me: Ack! I'm scared of babies. And they're scared of me, too. I might drop her.
Baby Grandma: You won't drop her.
Me: Babies wiggle. She might just wiggle right onto the floor.
Baby Grandma: She's too little to wiggle! Don't be afraid.

So, rather than be shown up by an infant, I reluctantly agreed to hold her. They handed me a tiny little pink football and snapped some pictures while laughing at my complete and total awkwardness and ineptitude with children. Luckily for both me and Kim Jr., she didn't move an inch. But she did make an awful face at me.

Me, responding to the awful face: Kim Jr., I know you don't really like me right now. But when you're 16 and I buy you beer, you'll love me. Just wait.
Kim: You can buy her beer when she's 21.
Me: I'm sure you're praying that she's not like you were when you were a teenager. But, turnabout is fair play!
Baby Daddy: And she's not dating until she's 35!
Me, whispering to Kim Jr. (as if she understands a word of this): Don't worry, you can bring boys to my house. I won't rat you out to the parents.
Kim: Don't you think it might be a little suspicious when Aunt LST lives 50 miles away and is babysitting for her when she's 17?
Me, to Kim Jr.: I guess we're not gonna win this one, kid.

I got back to my dad's house and he asked me about the baby and how Kim was doing, etc. The funny thing about my dad is that he seems to think that engagement and pregnancy are illnesses that can spread through person-to-person contact, at least where I am concerned. After every wedding I go to, he asks if it gave me "wedding fever." "Of course it didn't," I say. His response is usually something like, "Thank fucking Christ."

So of course, during Kim's pregnancy he was definitely concerned that it might somehow rub off on me. After I threw her a shower a few weeks ago, he asked, "So does this mean you want a baby?" And my response was a resounding, "Hell no!" much to his relief.

Despite my phobia of babies and children, I'm starting to warm up to the idea of being "cool Aunt LST," the one who lets Kim Jr. drink at my house when she's spending the night, teaches her how to drive a five-speed, and convinces Kim and Baby Daddy to let her get a dog. This situation might work out pretty well, I think.

Marriage: The World's Oldest Profession

I am getting to the regrettable point in every young woman's life where all of her friends are simultaneously married off. I have good reason to think I should expect a barrage of fancily stamped, foiled, embossed and engraved invitations to land in my mailbox over the course of this summer.

Being a future lawyer, I'm a desirable guest on my friends' list when they conduct their financial calculus as to who will provide the best payoff in the food-and-booze-to-gift-ratio. Or so they think. In reality, I'm taking a government job while trying to juggle getting a mortgage and paying off my student loans. If this information was widely known in my circle, I'd certainly be cut from the guest list in the first round.

Apparently marriage has become a booming business in this country. While I have been quietly purchasing nice things for my kitchen when I have the extra cash to do so, I realized one Cuisinart and a set of Henkels too late that all I had to do was get engaged and register for whatever the hell I want, and other people would buy it for me. I clearly missed the memo on that one.

Pretty soon I'm going to be priced out of my friends' weddings, so I've started to develop a wedding fiscal strategy.

First, I am going to set a budget each year for wedding expenses, and when that budget has been reached, decline invitations to any weddings for the rest of the fiscal year. So, if you want me in attendance at your wedding, make sure to either a) get married early in the year, or b) register for cheap shit and pay for my hotel room.

Next, I'm consulting with some tax-savvy law students to figure out how I can make this shit tax-deductible. I am certain that many people spend far less money supporting a child (which can currently be itemized) than I anticipate spending on wedding-related expenses in the next couple years.

Finally, I have realized that in order to equalize this cost-benefit ratio, I need to fast for three days before attending any wedding and carry a large purse so that I can take full advantage of the buffet. As an aside, your chances of securing a positive RSVP from me improve exponentially if you assure me that you will have an open bar with a ready supply of Amstel and Stoli.

And for those of you whose weddings I have dutifully attended (or will attend), gift in hand, please note that I am graduating in May, and as such I have registered down at the local Infiniti dealership.

What If There Is No Tomorrow? There Wasn't One Today.

Well, y'all, it's Groundhog Day. Lucky for us, for the first time in years, both the national groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil, and our very own General Beauregard Lee, predicted an early spring. This comes as timely and welcome news, given yesterday's winter weather fiasco.

I really have to wonder where this strange tradition began. Taking season change forecasts from a rodent seems mighty odd to me, particularly one named Gen. Lee who lives in a miniature antebellum mansion. Southerners will apparently take any opportunity to shove their Civil War heritage in your face when assigning nomenclature, whether it be to a groundhog or a Dodge Charger.

I was thinking that instead of checking weather.com each day, I could just buy my own groundhog and keep him in the house. Then I would always be abreast of changing weather conditions. Not sure how the Terrorists would like that, though.

Disorder in the Court!

Well, y'all, I have some news... I got a job! A real, honest-to-goodness, nine-to-five, no naps in the middle of the day, JOB!

Today I accepted a one-year clerkship with Judge R. in a relatively decent-sized city down by the coast. I had actually previously received another offer from a judicial circuit in the northwest corner of the state, but they insisted that I start on June 1 and had to know by today.

Because I have balls the size of cantaloupes, I contacted Judge R. to see if he'd made any decisions because I was on a tight deadline and wanted to be able to consider his circuit, if possible. I guess my chutzpah paid off, as he e-mailed me back and offered me the position. It starts in August and is only a couple hours from the beach and from two of my friends who will be living down on the coast.

Aside from the crappy pay, everything else is pretty sweet. The hours and benefits are great, the location is nice and the experience will lead to excellent job opportunities afterwards, no matter what I decide to do.

I am not sure that the reality has hit me quite yet. I despise wearing a suit, but will probably have to wear one every day. I will not, however, let the man keep me from kicking off my heels under the desk. I am not quite sure it has sunk in that I'll be working and not continuing to postpone the real world for as long as possible. Being a part of the working populace is something that totally eludes my realm of thinking.

In any case, it is a new adventure. The Terrorists have packed their toys, but I told them it was a bit premature. First, they have to suffer through a whole summer of putting up with me while I study for the bar (which I plan to do by the pool, for what it's worth). If they can survive that, they can survive anything.

Shameless Plug: Buy My Stuff!

Instead of learning UCC Article 9, I've been busy setting up shop over at Etsy this evening:











Check out my little Etsy shop. If you want to order Christmas presents, payment has to be received AND clear by December 15th in order to ship by the USPS holiday shipping deadlines.

C'mon, you know you want to.

Giving Thanks

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

In the spirit of the holiday, here is a non-exhaustive list of things I am thankful for:

• My family, even though some of them drive me batshit crazy
• The Beef
• The Boston Terrorists
• My friends, even though most of them think I have died
• Not having to join the real world yet
• Afternoon naps (with the Terrorists, of course)
• $1 draft specials
  
• College football
• Grande nonfat two-raw-sugar lattes
  
• A well-stocked bar
• A month-long break at Christmas
  

And here is a list of things that I do not currently have, but would be thankful for if I had them:

• A lot of money (or even sort of a lot of money)
  
• A plan for my life
• My sanity
• A fundamental understanding of UCC Article 9
  
• The ability to fall asleep at night, undrugged
• A house with a fenced-in yard for the Terrorists
• Job offer(s) that don't suck
  
• Completed outlines for all my classes
• A good radar detector
• Freak repellent
  

I Mean Really... What Gives?

The freak magnetism continues. I made a quick trip to the grocery store to get a couple of last minute things for Thanksgiving. On my way down an aisle, a guy, probably in his late 30's or 40's, starts talking to me.

Freaky Guy: Hey, I think I recognize you from somewhere. Did you go to W High School?
Me, obviously confused: No. I went to L High School.
Freaky Guy: That was going to be my next guess. Wasn't there some article about you in the paper where you got arrested for beating another kid up for stealing your lunch?

[I shit you not. This is what he said. You can understand my utter speechlessness at this point.]

Me, wondering what kind of Bizarro world I've landed in: Ummm...
Freaky Guy: Just kidding, just kidding!

[Who the fuck says shit like this when they are "just kidding" WITH A TOTAL STRANGER?]

Freaky Guy: So you're at Local State University now, right?

[Do I have a stalker? If I do, he is the worst stalker I've ever seen. Which might actually be a relief. I mean, if you're going to have a stalker, it's best if he's a shitty one who will end up peeping through someone else's window 70 miles away because he sucks at doing his stalker research.]

Me: No, I'm at PDSEU Law School.

[Internal Monologue: Dammit, dammit, dammit! I should know better than to leave this conversation open-ended like that.]

Freaky Guy: Oh, well if you do immigration I can get you a ton of work when you finish.
Me: I'm not. But one of my friends is.

[Internal Monologue: Shit, there I go again, not cutting the conversation off when I had a perfectly good chance.]

Freaky Guy: Well, here, why don't you give her my number. [He finds a piece of paper.] I work with the daycare workers around here. Do you have a pen?

[A couple of points here. First, why are you giving me your number? I don't want it! Second, what does it mean to "work with" the daycare workers? Are they mild-mannered child care providers by day, hookers by night?]

Me, lying my ass off while sounding apologetically sincere: No, I'm sorry, I don't have a pen.
Freaky Guy: Well, I'm sure I'll see you up front at the checkout, I'll give it to you before I leave.
Me, happy to see the light at the end of this tunnel: Okay!

At this point, I hustled away, grabbed the first thing that remotely looked like what I came to the store for, and made a beeline for the self-checkout. As I was sprinting through the automatic doors, I looked behind me to make sure Freaky Guy didn't see my frantic and somewhat awkward escape.

Upon further reflection, I'm fairly sure that I could have avoided most of the situation had I: (a) told him I had just been released from a mental institution and was living in a halfway house; (b) screamed "RAPE!"; or (c) pretended not to speak English (or Spanish).

When am I going to learn? Apparently, not soon enough.

Dazed and Confused

After much procrastination, I finally decided to go to the police station to get fingerprinted for my bar application.

I arrived around 1:30, only to be told that a) the officer who takes fingerprints is out to lunch, and b) they don't take credit or debit cards. So off I went to get cash and kill some time browsing K-Mart (let me tell you, this is exciting stuff).

I came back at 2:30, paid my fee and sat down to fill out my fingerprint cards. There was one other person, a middle-aged woman, in the waiting room, and apparently she heard the clerk and me talking about the bar application process.

Freaky Lady, talking to the clerk: I have to go to Wal-Mart. They have distilled water for $0.64 a gallon!

Clerk: What?

Freaky Lady: Distilled water! $0.64 a gallon at Wal-Mart!

Clerk, still puzzled: Oh.

Freaky Lady, to me: What kind of law are you going to practice?

Me: I don't know. I might not even practice law, but I'm taking the bar anyway.

[You'd think this might end the conversation, but it didn't, because I'm a freak magnet.]

Freaky Lady: You should help children. We need more lawyers to stand up for the children and protect children.

[Ummm... what?]

Me, figuring out the obscure coding system provided by the bar examiners: Mm hmm.

Freaky Lady: I got divorced and he got mad and got custody to get back at me. I tried to tell the court all of these things but they wouldn't let me get it in. They wouldn't let me get in what the child psychiatrist said. They need lawyers who only represent the child.

[What is it about me that compels people to tell me their entire life stories? Does this woman not have a mental filter that says, "By the way, it's kind of weird to start talking to complete strangers about very personal matters"?]

Me, wanting badly to end this: They do. It's called CASA, Court-Appointed Special Advocates.

Freaky Lady: There was one, but the judge ignored him. I tried to tell the court so many things but they wouldn't listen and so they gave custody to the abuser. Even though the child psychiatrist recommended only supervised visitation. And I had to hire an attorney from Atlanta to help me because all of the attorneys here are too afraid to stand up to Judge S and point out that he is biased. Judge S just ignored everything and gave custody to the abuser.

[The law student in me REALLY wants to point out her faulty reasoning in asserting that there are not enough lawyers to "stand up for the children."]

Me: Well, it sounds like the problem is not the attorneys, then, but the judge.

Freaky Lady: Judge S just got re-elected. D would have been so much better I think.

Me: I know.

Freaky Lady: So now the child is being abused and [something about a car and blah blah blah blah].

Me, looking for any statement to definitively end this exchange: The law school has a family violence clinic that helps people seek protective orders and the like. It's not very expensive. You should check it out if you feel like you need that kind of help.

Freaky Lady: Good luck with the bar! I've heard it's hard!

Me: Our law school has a 90-something percent pass rate for first-time takers.

Freaky Lady: Wow, that's outstanding!

Me: No. Our state bar is just not very discriminating in its attorneys' competence.

About that time, an officer came to take Freaky Lady's report for someone who had written her a bad check. Which was awesome, because I was about to go postal. And I don't want any incidents on my bar application that require explanation. That would look fantastic on my record: "I kicked a woman's ass and got booked on assault because she annoyed the piss out of me telling me her sob story while I was waiting to get fingerprinted. Do you want my mugshot to go along with my fingerprints, then?" Awesome.

It's not that I don't have sympathy for people in bad situations, because I do. In this case, though, I was dubious about her claims of "abuse" and I'm fairly certain that if the judicial system here was rampantly corrupt, I'd know about it since I have several friends working for local judges, prosecutors and lawyers. And the kid is probably better off with her dad than with her whacked-out, socially inappropriate mother, in any case.

Last time I checked, there was no sign on my forehead saying, "PLEASE RELEASE YOUR INNER FREAK. I AM A FREAK MAGNET." So what gives?

Flying Freak Show

When I fly alone, I am a freak magnet. Undoubtedly, the weirdest, smelliest and/or most annoying person on any given aircraft will be assigned to sit next to me.

And I can see them coming. As the plane fills, I watch people file past me looking for their seats. All normal, tired, impatient travelers. Then I'll spot the freak. And inevitably, he or she will happily plop down next to me and subject me to his or her freakiness for the next 2 - 4 hours.

Case-in-point #1: The Snuggler

I was flying up to Rochester a few years ago to visit some friends and do some work for a former professor. Once I got to Rochester, I had a 2 hour drive ahead of me. My flight, originally scheduled to leave at 10, was delayed until midnight. So that meant that I would reach my ultimate destination at 4 a.m., at the earliest.

I get on the plane, find my seat, and lean against the window, trying to sleep. My seat mate, a rather large man, clumsily hauls his crap into the seat and plops down next to me. He then proceeds to remove a very large Mexican blanket from his bag. How it fit in there, I will never know.

Freak #1: You scared?
Me, visibly annoyed: No. I'm just tired, and I just want to get to Rochester.
Freak #1: Oh.
[Long Pause]
Freak #1: Want some covers?
Me: NO.

During the flight I put on my headphones and managed to sleep a bit. I woke up when we were descending. It was raining and I knew we were going to have bumpy landing.

Freak #1, leaning over me, peering out the window: Is that LIGHTNING?
Me: No. It's the light on the end of the wing reflecting back into the window.
Freak #1: Oh.

Case-in-point #2: The Drunkard

I used to fly standby on Delta pretty often, which meant I was issued the very last tickets on the plane and always ended up in the shit seats. This was no exception.

I got my seat, and thought I might be lucky enough to have a seat to myself for this particular flight. No dice.

About four seconds before the cabin door closed, Freak #2 comes rolling down the aisle of the plane, headed right towards me. He was dressed in a basketball jersey and shorts, and his hair was all greasy and nasty. I was seriously convinced he had rolled out of bed and onto the plane.

The guy sits down next to me, and while his appearance was slightly disconcerting, I didn't think anything of it. Until I realized he smelled like a distillery, that is.

Freak #2 apparently worked on an offshore oil rig somewhere down in the Gulf of Mexico, and on his few days off, had flown to visit some friends and drank the entire time. Which I could have figured out even if he hadn't told me.

I essentially spent the entire flight facing the window because this dude smelled so bad. Alcohol was seeping out of his pores, and it's quite likely he'd tried to cure his hangover that morning by continuing to drink.

Let me tell you, it's fun times flying for two hours with your nose pressed against a tiny airplane window.

In any case, there are plenty more freak stories I have stored away. I'll try to think of more and post them later.

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.

Am I a Heathen?

I am really, truly and officially a 3L, y'all! I just got out of my first class, Law in the Gospels. I registered for it on the recommendation of several of my friends who said that attendance was more or less optional (a good quality to have in an 8:30 a.m. class). However, after attending the first class, I think it's a class I'll actually want to go to. The professor is a charming and nervous little Scottish man who is a preeminent scholar of law in the Gospels. He invites lively discussion and has interesting views on the Bible. I have always wanted to take a scholarly class on the Bible, and I think this is going to be really good.

Apparently, if you are a student at Harvard Divinity School (and I know y'all are reading this), you can take six classes on televangelism and zero on law in the Gospels. I mean, because everyone needs to know about Ernest Ainsley and his bad toupee and Jim Bakker's Guide to Embezzlement.

Things in the Lawbrary haven't changed much. The 1L's still think they own the place and are loud and chattery. It's still hard to get a good seat by the picture window. The carpet is still ugly.

I'm going out tonight with Jay to celebrate the first day of classes by drowning myself in fine wine at Aromas and trying to forget that the Beef will be at the Dave Matthews concert while I'm still going to be in Little A-Town. That's ok, I'm get to see the Goo Goo Dolls and Counting Crows in a couple weeks.

Ok, I'm off to order a Bible on Amazon.com using my ridiculously abused free 2-Day shipping trial. Apparently the Oxford Press has a Bible that is annotated and scholarly, not preachy and obscure. Just my speed.

New York, New York!

I know this is a little late, but better late than never, right? The Beef and I had a great trip to NYC July 21-24. I got to visit my best friend from college, C-Nota, who has since moved to Princeton, New Jersey. I forgive her for moving there, even though Princeton is our alma mater's hockey nemesis.

I am already in the process of making plans for this to be moved into my future house. Right next to the Money Room.

Don't mess with me and my Crazy Eye! I'll cut a bitch!

My new phalanx of body guards. They'll cut a bitch, too.

I want to meet Emily and shake her hand. Good job, my friend.

... but can he cook?

South Street Seaport, complete with crazy-electric-violin-playing-guy.

I'll post more pictures later when I have time. Right now I have to get ready to go back to Little A-Town. Classes start on Tuesday and Sunday is the Beef's birthday. Don't tell him, but I have yet to get him a birthday present. I do have something in mind, which is at least a start.

I somehow thought I would be making wads of money this summer, but after paying for bills all summer for an apartment I wasn't even living in, gas for my hellacious commute, $17.10 each week at Starbucks (yes, I calculated it), takeout when I worked until 11 (which was too often), and the trip to NYC, I am not left with nearly as much as I thought I would be. Oh well, I'm sure my good friends at Wells Fargo will be happy to oblige.

No Regrets.

I've been obsessing lately about making career choices. I don't want to realize in ten years that I have sacrificed important moments with my friends and loved ones for my job. The job will be there tomorrow. My friends and family may not be. There may not be another holiday dinner with the Group. There may not be another chance to visit an elderly relative - I learned that the hard, painful way when my grandfather passed away. Aside from unbelievable grief, regret was the most overwhelming feeling I had (which probably fueled my grief to some extent).

The Office had an outing last week to see "The Devil Wears Prada." While I enjoyed the movie and thought it was funny, parts of it hit a nerve with me. I don't want to be the girl that no one can count on anymore because she's a workaholic. I already feel I've let down so many people this summer. So many times I've had to postpone my weekend trips to visit the Beef in Little A-Town. So many dinners I've had to bail on with my dad. This summer, I have been That Girl.

On Monday, I put my foot down and put myself and my friends ahead of my job. My best friend from high school, K, graduated from college, and I promised I'd be there. I told the Boss I had to leave at noon to be at an important event for a friend. We have a major brief due this week, but I left work in time to get to the graduation. It felt so good to be there for K on such a big occasion. For one day, I was no longer That Girl. For one day, my friends trusted me. For one day, I had no regrets.

Welcome to My World.

This morning I saw a vanity plate that said, "DEAXBRT," whatever that means.

However, upon first glance, I thought it said, "DAUBERT." I lose.

Classes start soon, and I am excited to get back up to Athens, where there will be lots of football, beer, lazy Saturdays and 3L apathy.

I bought my first Fall textbook today: Secured Transactions, $12, Amazon Marketplace. Eat that, eFollett.

I'll post pictures from my New York City trip soon. It would be just a little too obvious to do it here at work, unfortunately.

Quarter-Life Crisis

Perhaps it comes as a surprise that I am seriously considering not practicing law, and instead pursuing my masters degree after I get my J.D. To those who know me, however, you know that it's been a long time coming.

I have been talking to my friends and hearing about their awesome summers at big firms, and I must admit that I am a bit jealous. They get assignments to do, but they also get taken to lunch everyday and they get to use the firm's box seats at Turner Field. They get to interact with so many different people on a daily basis.

I know that I could have landed one of those jobs if I'd either 1) stayed at my First Law School and interviewed there, or 2) made my transfer decision earlier so that I would have been able to participate in Early Interview Week at PDSEU. Instead, my indecisiveness bit me in the ass and I missed out on all the cherry jobs.

Instead, I am working for a solo practitioner where I have real deadlines and work on real cases. While that may sound well and good, it actually puts me under immense pressure that I don't feel like I am prepared for. I'm not a lawyer. I'm a law student.

After being lulled into a sense of contentment at my current job, I decided not to go to the firm that had offered me a job for the second half of the summer. Mostly because I don't have to be at the office at 7:30 a.m. here and can occasionally bring T.Min. to work with me. I mailed them a letter declining their offer, which was probably not good, considering I'd previously accepted. Then, things took a turn here and suddenly felt trapped, thinking that I'd sent that letter just a few days too early. Timing - it always sucks.

If anything, this summer has been educational in showing me the reality of practicing law. Perhaps that's better than working at a big firm in some respects, beceause I get to see the shitty parts of it in addition to the good parts of it so that I can make an informed decision about my career choice. I have more or less decided that while I definitely have the ability to be a lawyer, and a good one at that, I don't necessarily want to.

For so long I had thought that the law was my calling. And I don't hate the law, or even law school for that matter. I love both. It's the practice of law and the reality that goes along with it that have so far left a sour taste in my mouth.

In light of all of that, I have been seriously pursuing the idea of going to graduate school after I finish law school. I want to get my masters in a program where I can get strong methodology training so that I can go into research consulting. I loved doing research when I was in college, and I even wrote a thesis that was not required. I enjoyed constructing surveys and measuring and calculating and analyzing. There is something inherently academic in it that is lacking in the practice of law.

I've gotten in touch with my college advisor, who is now teaching at a big state university in Tornado Alley. She has a wealth of information about graduate admissions and procedures and even volunteered to chat on the phone, given the complexity and number of questions I posed to her. Most importantly, she didn't think that I'm being silly or flighty. I appreciate the fact that she takes me seriously and doesn't think I'm absurd for wasting three years of time and tuition on law school.

So that's where I am at this point. I will graduate from law school. I will take the bar and pass the bar and be sworn in at the Capitol. But I will also take the GRE and apply to graduate school and see where I get accepted and go from there. And ultimately, this all may lead to an entirely new adventure for me, one that I welcome.

When I Do It, I Do It In Style.

So, instead of writing papers, I'm blogging. Because as far as I'm concerned, my Con Law II exam yesterday marked the end of my semester (or so I'm telling myself). What's a couple of papers? I mean, it can't be that hard to write 50 pages in 2 weeks. Right? Right??

One of my nails came off yesterday during my Con Law II exam. Do y'all know how hard it is to type 70 words a minute about equal protection and the 14th Amendment enforcement powers with a missing nail, people? Do you? I will certainly blame my poor performance on the exam on this unfortunate cosmotological failure. I refuse to go out in public until my friends down at Happy Express Super Nail on Prince can squeeze me in for a quick fix.

T. Min. lost a tooth this morning, which distressed me a lot. The vet school couldn't get him in until Monday, by which time I'll be busy law clerkin' it up down in the ATL, which means I have to find a vet down there to look at him. I don't trust the shady fuckers I have taken him to down there before. At least not where T. Min.'s dental health is concerned, and especially when they have to put him out to check him out and clean his teeth (he's feisty like his mom).

In any case, T. Min. told me that he's looking foward to spending the summer in Atlanta. He's already packed his bags and is more than ready to go.

I asked T. Max. if he would like to spend the summer with his dad. He seemed pretty excited about staying with the Beef and doing guy things. Maybe he is trying to tell me something.


So I'm going to keep on not writing by going over to Ann Taylor Loft to buy me some lawyer-ish clothes. After all, I'm gonna be a real law clerk this summer, y'all!