My Football Team (Still) Sucks

%*#(@#(@(#!!!!

We lost. Again. That makes us 3-4 in our conference. Granted, it's a tough conference, but last year we finished the regular season with two losses and proceeded to steamroll over our opponents in the conference championship to secure a BCS bowl game.

At least my undergrad alma mater won today, beating the mighty Dartmouth Big Green, 28-25. Despite the fact that watching them play football is what I would envision Special Olympics football to be.

We are unlikely to secure any bowl game this year, and if by some miracle we do, it will be some crap ass bowl like the Cereal Bowl or the Toilet Bowl.

And the value of my degree will plummet forthwith. Because everyone knows that in the South, your football team's success factors proportionately into your law school's USNWR ranking. Obvs.

NPH Wouldn't Do That!

Well, ladies (and apparently gentlemen, too)... after much speculation, it turns out, Doogie Howser, M.D. is, in fact, gay.

It undoubtedly breaks many twenty-something women's hearts, as they swooned over Doogie as little girls.

I mean, who can resist a 16-year-old doctor who keeps a journal on a computer that still runs MS-DOS?

Yeah, me either.

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.

Please Go Away, Terrell Owens.

The buzz in the news today is that our favorite NFL player attention whore tried -- and failed -- to overdose on pain killers. Perhaps he felt he couldn't garner enough press looking pathetic and riding his bike on the sidelines during practice. Maybe he thought that if Parcells refused to play him for missing practice -- how dare a coach refuse to play someone who misses practice!? -- then he'd just show him. I can't dumb myself down enough to get into Terrell Owens' vacuous skull and figure out what is (not) going on in there.

I am just sad that Terrell Owens wasn't more successful. Hopefully this little incident killed his sperm so he can't procreate and produce more insipid, egomaniacal asshats. Just go away, Terrell.

The Newsworthiness of Leafy Green Vegetables

I have never been a big fan of spinach. Except for the fact that it screwed up my mathematical calculations as to the number of possible combinations of sauce, pasta and meatballs when I went to Olive Garden last weekend for Never Ending Pasta Bowl (aka Stuff Myself With Salad and Bread and Pasta and Bread and Salad and Have to be Rolled Out the Door), I was sort of happy that they had taken Spinach Alfredo off the list of sauce offerings.

No more spinach, yay. I was happy to end my thoughts on the matter there. But as CNN kept covering the issue as the main story on CNN.com because there is nothing more newsworthy going on, I got to thinking, "How the hell does e. coli get into spinach to begin with?" And as you know, thinking is a dangerous thing.

Lets run through the possibilities here. First, it has been suggested that the irrigation water was contaminated. Okay, I can buy that. Second, perhaps the fertilizer used in the fields somehow introduced the angry little bacteria into the spinach fields. After all, it is cow poop. Fine, I can deal with that too.

But then I had an epiphany - There are no Porta Potties in the spinach fields. And certainly you can understand the logical inference there. EW.

Please, CNN - Save me. Give me something better to think about so I don't have to conjecture about what migrant farm workers do in the spinach fields.

Sadly, I will never be able to look at spinach artichoke dip the same way ever again.

The Kind of Malaise Only the Genius Possess and the Insane Lament

So it's the second week of classes and I'm now in the position to fully assess my prospective semester. I'm torn, because I love (most of) my classes but I hate my schedule.

I have all five of my classes on Tuesday and Thursday, with three one-hour breaks during the day. Makes me feel like a 1L all over again; all I'm missing is the deer-in-headlights expression on my face and the rolly bag. I have no classes on Wednesday and one on Friday, so that's the upside of things. I tried to rearrange my schedule after the first day of classes, convinced I wasn't stupid enough to schedule five classes for myself in one day. But I quickly discovered that was the only way to schedule my classes. So, on Tuesdays and Thursdays I'll just enjoy my flashback to 1L year, sans rolly bag.

Schedule aside, my classes are mostly enjoyable. The only stand-out exception to that is Secured Transactions, aka Law School Class From Hell. Let's establish one thing first: I'm only taking this class because it's on the Bar and I don't trust BarBri to teach it to me sufficiently. It's taught by my favorite professor at the law school, which ameliorates the pain somewhat, but he called on me the whole hour the first day of class. Awesome. On top of that, this class is a combination of hardcore contracts and finance - my own personal nightmare. I'd rather be boiled in hot oil, I think.

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.

It's Almost That Time of Year Again

It's officially almost football season. Yes, my beloved team kicks off against some crappy, non-conference opponent who they are certain to whip soundly a mere THREE WEEKS from today. I'm so excited, I can already smell the barbeque and Brunswick Stew!

To commemorate, a Southern Baptism:


I mean, could anything be cuter? The Terrorists, of course, would beg to differ:


They are certainly little attention whores.

Conspiracy Theory #42

Every semester, I cringe when I see my textbook bill. It's just ridiculous. Some Asshole a long time ago discovered that students could be trapped into paying exorbitant prices for textbooks, despite being the most broke-ass people on earth (well, except for the starving Ethernopians).

This system worked well and good until the Rise of the Internet threatened to foil the Textbook Asshole's brilliant scheme. Thanks to Al Gore and the joys of the World Wide Web, I got my Secured Transactions book for $12.50 off Amazon.com Marketplace. Another one of my classes has no book at all. Yep, that's right: No. Book. Eat it, Textbook Asshole.

However, a third professor decided to change textbooks this year, thwarting my plan to purchase a used copy from a recent graduate desperate to recover the money she flushed down the toilet paying for BarBri. My final two classes are both taught by new professors, which forecloses the possibility of getting used books for those classes as well. And because the law school took its sweet time releasing the book list, I couldn't get those books off Marketplace, either.

Thankfully, I have a free trial to Amazon's Prime Membership dealie, which gets me free 2-day air shipping on all orders. I will probably get my free trial suspended due to abuse of the 2-day shipping privilege. I am almost certainly single-handedly responsible for the recent spike in jet fuel prices, BP be damned.

Although I've been taking an active role in depleting our fossil fuel sources so that I can get my books on time, at least I don't have to pay sales tax on Internet purchases. For some reason entirely unbeknownst to me, this Great State charges sales tax on textbooks (personally, I think the legislatures of this Great State got together with the Textbook Asshole to develop this little racket).

I might have to challenge that as cruel and unusual punishment. As if buying books isn't bad enough, we have to pay an average of $7 a book in sales tax. That's more than a large pizza and pitcher of beer costs on Tuesday nights! Just think of all the pizza and beer money being wasted away on ridiculous textbook sales tax. It's really a tragedy, especially since I'm now a 3L with no Wednesday classes and can actually go out for pizza and beer on Tuesdays.

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.

A New Record.

We got the stupid brief filed last night. Unfortunately, the Federal Court exclusively uses an e-file system, which makes the deadline midnight on the due date rather than when the courthouse physically closes at 4:45 p.m.

I left work at around 12:25 this morning and got home just after 1:00. I caught a few hours of sleep and got up at 7:30 to come back to work. As I was drinking coffee with my dad this morning at 8:15, he said, "I thought you were going in late this morning."

"I am," I said.

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.

I Confess, You Came Because of Me.

The last few days have been absolutely delightful. I mean, who doesn't like putting in half a week's worth of hours in two days? Monday I worked until almost 9 o'clock because a very demanding client had to know rightthissecond whether he could fire an employee covered under the ADA for performance-related issues.

Aside from the underlying legal issue, my real question was, "Who the hell fires someone at 7 o'clock on a Monday night?" That's just asking for an office shooting, I say. There are even studies showing that firing someone on Friday greatly decreases the chances of retaliation on the part of the ex-employee.

But, there's nothing like half-off bottles of wine at Osteria 832 on a Tuesday night to erase the week's troubles. This might become a tradition.