Update: I got an A in Schadenfreude!
My first unqualified A at PDSEU! And in a 4-credit class, to boot!
I guess this means that I will really know what they're saying when I watch over-dramatized courtroom scenes in Law & Order. Or my personal favorite, Boston Legal.
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.
No matter how much confidence you may have in your abilities, do not attempt to complete school work from Spring semester after you have already started your summer clerkship.
This is doubly true when you have a 30-page paper due the same week as a reply brief in federal court. Choosing between an F and malpractice is simply not a feasible option. Staying up until the wee hours of the morning when you have to work in a couple of hours, however, is an option. The only option, it appears.
I should be billing hours to a client in Texas, land of the tiny ex-boyfriend, but instead I'm blogging. Excellent. I'm going to make a fabulous lawyer.
Today is my second day at my first summer job. I'm currently working in my boss' living room instead of my normal office space. That's because Financial Lady is here. FL is a cross between Paula Deen and Hitler and comes in on Tuesdays to do bookkeeping and other accounting, non-lawyer type things. She is very Southern and also very territorial and abrupt. I think I overheard her bitching about something on her -- now MY -- desk being out of order.
The Boss was gone when FL got here, and FL immediately flew into a tizzy because HER STUFF wasn't in HER BOX like it usually is. Or something. I called and left The Boss a voicemail. I offered to call The Boss' legal assistant (who is down in the Americus office) to see if she knew precisely what was going on. This is the response I got from FL: "SHE won't know where it is! SHE'S in AMERICUS!" Whoa there, FL. See if I ever offer to be helpful again. Especially considering it's not my job to be the secretary. That's what Secretary is here for.
But, sure enough, FL came in after trying to call Legal Assistant and told me she'd gotten some weird automated message. Not only am I not the secretary, I am also not the phone expert. The Ex-MLB Phone Guy lives behind The Boss' house. Go talk to him. Or, in the alternative, learn how to correctly dial a long-distance telephone number. I messaged Legal Assistant and she called the office to talk to FL rather than explain to FL how to call her. Maybe while she was at it she explained the joys of modern technology to FL.
I can't really cross FL because she is the one who cuts the paychecks, after all. I think that next Tuesday I'll encase her office supplies in Jell-O, a la "The Office." Or maybe I'll just rearrange everything on MY desk Monday night before she commandeers it again.
I received some questions from people who are thinking about going to law school. I'll post my answers sometime when I get a chance, after I've finished the two (yes, TWO) papers I have left to finish for this semester.
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!
It has been well over 24 hours since I took your final - which, by the way, would be more appropriately termed "mental rape" - and I am still dumbfounded and speechless.
All I can muster is: Just what, exactly, was that?
Was that a cruel attempt at humor? Were you silently laughing as you watched us panic, eyes wide with terror as we scribbled and bubbled and typed with white knuckles? I'm pretty sure you were.
I just want to give you adequate warning you before you read my trainwreck of an essay: Be prepared to read something that appears to have been composed by an alcoholic who is on a vodka binge instead of at an AA meeting. While I did not, in fact, have vodka in my free WestLaw water bottle, I did leave your exam at noon and promptly embark on a three-martini lunch in a vain attempt to erase the trauma of the previous three hours from my memory.
Unlike some of my classmates, I was fortunate enough to get something down for each part of the exam, even if it was only an incomprehensible sentence fragment with no punctuation and a random exclamation appended to the end.
This class should not have been called Evidence. No, it should have been called Schadenfreude.
Thank you,
Law School Transplant.
Further proof that I am a walking calamity:
I'm sure you want to know how this happened. It was all part of a grand scheme by Marley the Dog to hasten my demise. Everytime I go to the Beef's, Marley the Dog greets me at the door. Well, more like barks ferociously and tries to push me out the door by pushing my butt with his nose. He also sniffs me way too much, like I am a tasty morsel and would be just that much tastier with a dash of salt.
Anyway, this particular incident came about when we were walking in the yard. Marley the Dog was on his tie-out, and sneakily made a loop around my ankle. Then he waited for the right moment so he could catch me unawares, and made a break for it. His goal, I am certain, was to drag me around the yard and then eat me. Unfortunately for him, all he managed to do was yank me to the ground and give me a very painful rope burn.
Thanks to Marley the Dog, I will be sporting sandals for the next several days, because the tie-out happened to catch me right at my shoe line.
I have been trying to concoct an alternate (and more interesting) version of the story. Right now, the best one seems to be that a band of carneys strung me up by my ankle and beat me with a sockful of quarters. That's much more exciting, don't you think? Of course there's also the version where I was trying to escape Indiana Jones' romantic pursuits when he snagged me with his whip and dragged me back, kicking and screaming.
The Terrorists tried to send me packing on a guilt trip today by staring forlornly out the window while I was being very industrious and working on my Evidence outline.
A prize to the person who comes up with the best caption for this photo. I mean it!
The stress of finals and my run of bad luck has been getting to me. So, no better way to beat the end-of-semester blues than to engage in a little retail therapy.
There is no way I am going to pay $85 for a set of speaker mounts, so I just have to wait to set it all up until I can get to Lowe's and spend $5 on the stuff to make my own. Here's hoping my grandfather passed on at least an iota of his handiness.
I found this neat little dog cabana at Target, so I picked one up for the Terrorists. T. Max. is skeptical; he thinks it's just an oversized frisbee.
Au contraire, T. Max. Behold: El Cabana de los Terroristos. T. Min. is checking out the new digs, while simultaneously imagining that it's actually set up on the beach somewhere. It's okay to dream, T. Min.
That's about all for now. Funny how depleting my bank account is just soooo theraputic. Now I really have to finish my Evidence outline.
Needless to say, the last couple of weeks have been a big disappointment. First came the news that I was waitlisted for the Oxford semester abroad. I came to terms with it and mostly decided that I didn't want to live in the dorms again and take classes with the same 20 people all the time, anyways. Defiant indifference is always a good defense mechanism, right?
I turned myself towards other pursuits. Like taking a class in the Jounalism School on mass communication law. After jumping through endless hoops and navigating through a jungle of red tape with patience and a smile, my petition was summarily rejected. Now, pray tell, why would an arguably relevant class like mass comm law be denied, when I know for a fact that others have had such absurdities as Spanish Film classes approved. Spanish Film classes?
I resigned myself to taking media law in the law school, and applied to TA an undergraduate business law class for next year. After being one of four people (out of ten applicants) interviewed for two positions, I found out tonight that - lo and behold - I didn't get the job. Big fucking surprise, the way my luck has been going lately.
Which got me to thinking about karma. I mean, I must have done something disastrously horrible to warrant such a string of shitty luck. Did I unwittingly knock an old lady over in the middle of the street? Should I have given that homeless guy my leftovers instead of taking them home to eat later? Was it really that bad to bind and gag the annoying 1L who wouldn't shut up in the reading room?
The creators of the Music Genome Project have introduced Pandora, a free (with registration) Internet music database that allows users to enter a favorite artist. Pandora then creates a playlist of music that it thinks the user will like, based on his or her preferences. Users then have the opportunity to rate the songs that Pandora chooses, allowing it to further tailor playlists to users' tastes.
I entered "John Mayer" and Pandora created a playlist of great music, including Paul Simon's "Father and Daughter" and Better Than Ezra's "Rosealia." Pretty nifty.
Check it out and let me know what you think. Thanks to Marc for the heads up on it!
My dad and my little brother flew out to Colorado Springs the other day for my brother's orientation at the United States Air Force Academy, where he'll be a cadet in the Class of 2010 this fall. Don't get me wrong, I'm immensely proud of my brother and all of his accomplishments, and it's been kind of neat watching him grow up from a pesky little brat into a mature and charismatic young adult.
I am, however, terrified. Although he is guaranteed to be in school for four years (meaning, they won't pull him out of school to go overseas), I'm so scared for my little brother. And I'm afraid to see the person who comes home for Thanksgiving; I am afraid they are going to break his beautiful and unique spirit, and turn him into a narrow-minded and obedient yes-man. I am afraid that his college experience will be one that narrows his horizons, rather than broadens them. And I am afraid that he was forced to choose his career at much too young of an age.
He called me the other day to get my street address. Then he told me he'd designated me his beneficiary for his death benefits. Talk about a sobering moment: An 18-year-old forced to ponder his mortality in a very real and concrete way.
I just hope that he is happy with his decision and that the AFA proves to be all he'd hoped it to be.
On the plus side, there is excellent skiing an hour away and his local host family has already said we're welcome to stay with them. I told him to plan on hitting the slopes with me for a couple of days during the beginning of his Christmas leave. At least he picked a school in a location that I'd definitely visit. If he'd chosen, say, Iowa, he'd be shit outta luck, and so would I.
I've decided that this summer will be a good opportunity for me to start a workout routine and try to get into better shape. I'm tired of trying to hide underneath my clothes, and I'm tired of feeling fidgety and self-conscious when I go out in public. I want to wear cute clothes without having to worry if my ass looks big. I don't want to have to worry that people are staring at me. In my mind, everyone I pass looks at me and thinks of me as "a fat girl." Size-wise, I'm still in single digits, (you didn't think that I'd divulge my actual weight, did you?), but I no longer have any confidence in myself.
Bottom line, law school students-to-be: Law school makes you fat.
Yup. You take classes in one building, so you never have to walk across campus. You're eligible for a sweet parking deck pass, being a grad student and all, so you never have to walk to the bus stop or to campus. You spend all your time studying and none of your time working out. On top of all that, the enormous stress causes your body to produce extra cortisol, which packs on weight. Not to mention the fact that your diet is the victim of convenience rather than health considerations.
So, I've developed a game plan for myself. After finals are over, I'm going to start the Couch to 5K program. Amber over at My Aim is True has already started, so I'm anxious to see how she progresses. In the meantime, I'm taking the Terrorists over to the Greenway as often as possible for some brisk, pleasant walks along the river.
Before my days as a sedentary law student, I was relatively active. I played soccer and was in a national champion marching band program which, all band camp jokes aside, was a pretty rigorous physical activity. In college I hiked the hills in Ithaca and played on the women's rubgy team. In short, I think I can do this.
The Beef thinks that I am underestimating how easy it will be to work my way up to running a 5K, but with all the wear and tear I've put on my knee, I want to take it slowly. Hopefully, by fall, I'll be running some 5K fun runs, like the Athens Run For the Dogs.
I'll tr to keep my progress updated here. (Eventually I'll move all my stuff to TypePad so that I can compartmentalize my life.) Anyone else up for joining me?
MPRE results came out the other day, and I am proud to say that I am sufficiently ethical to practice in any jurisdiction. Clearly, the answer to any question asking, "Your friend, Lawyer Alpha, is sleeping with his client. What should you do?" is "Throw your buddy under the bus by ratting him out. Then go snort a line of nose candy that you purchased with a client's retainer fee in the bathroom." That's just how we lawyers-to-be roll.
Yesterday, I was supposed to take my final exam in the 6-week, 1-credit Medical Malpractice class I took this semester. It is an entertaining way to spend two hours a week (if you have to be in class) and, more importantly, is notoriously easy. The exam is entirely taken from handouts that are passed out each week.
I blew off Evidence to study at Jittery Joe's all day. I seem to focus much better with no Internet access and an IV hookup of coffee, go figure. I took all the handouts and put the information into an outline, hoping that I'd learn it through typing and organizing it. It worked, sort of.
Well, we showed up to the exam and one of the professors (a local trial attorney) had sent one of his associates to give the exam. (Sidenote: This is totally cool, and when I am a partner, I will absolutely send my associates to do my dirty work for me on a regular basis. The more ridiculous, the better. "Go walk my dog on your lunch break. And don't forget to pick up the poop. No, not with your hands, with a bag. But if you're not smart enough to figure that out, maybe I should make you use your hands.") Here's roughly how it went down:
Round 1: About 30 exams get passed out. There are at least 85 people in the class. Associate panics and runs to the library to make more copies. Lauren and I inconsiderately chatter about the bridesmaid who dropped out of her wedding while 30 people take the exam.
Round 2: Associate returns with more exams. About 30. Clearly not enough. Lauren and I just want to get this over with, but the exam-taking gods were not smiling upon us and we, of course, didn't get an exam. Associate panics, calls the remaining 25 people into the hall. He says he's going to run downtown to the copy shop where they actually have fast copiers, and he'll be back. He probably only knows where the slow copiers are because that's more time to bill to clients. Lauren and I walk to her apartment downtown to grab a snack. On the way back, we see Associate pacing back and forth outside the copy shop like a pissed off tiger.
Round 3: We get back to the classroom just as Associate gets back with the exams. We heard whispers about two makeup test dates. Associate is handing out exams. We bolt, our test-taking moment having passed for the day.
And so we'll try it again on Thursday. Hopefully I will still be able to remember everything I need to about expert witnesses and tort reform and filing affidavits.
I really felt bad for Associate. He clearly got thrown into a terrible situation, and tried very hard to remain cool under pressure. I personally think that his boss was testing him to see how well he could perform when put in a situation like that. Sadistic, yes. But better to learn the importance of attention to detail while proctoring a slacker law school class rather than in court.
When, dare I ask, has it EVER been appropriate to have a full conversation at a normal volume in a library? I will venture to guess that the answer to that question is "never." It seems pretty clear to me that even the Greeks and Romans revered the quiet sanctuary of their libraries and reserved their need to chatter for their homes, the piazza, the Forum, the Acropolis, or whatever.
Nonetheless, no fewer than half a dozen 1Ls have decided to have a group conversation right next to me in the reading room. Mindless 1L chatter about Property, about grades, about opening day of baseball season. Of course, with lots of irrelevant legal jargon and unfunny law puns thrown in for good measure: "So-and-so adversely possessed my favorite Widespread Panic t-shirt." Can you picture my eyes rolling?
To make matters worse, the most annoying one has a giant sticker on his computer: "[Name of Impressive Private Southeastern University]." Why people feel the need to parade these things around is beyond me. Do I walk around with "I went to [Name of My Ivy League Alma Mater]" tattooed on my forehead? No. On my backpack? No. And certainly not on my computer. I even hesitate to wear t-shirts with my undergrad plastered on them simply because that kind of grandstanding just seems downright unnecessary to me. Besides, it's a clean slate once you get to law school.
Perhaps when he's put in his place by his spring finals, and ends up waiting tables at The Grill all summer, he'll peel that sticker off and eat it. I can only hope.
I am not so great at this blog thing yet. It seems like so much effort to sit down and focus in order to write something witty and inspiring on a daily basis. Hopefully I'll get better with this.
Anyway, I found out some troubling news just now. Through my super-awesome-yet-borderline-disturbing Internet sleuthing skills, I discovered that my ex (Teeny) and his mannish, Sopranos-extra fiancee might be moving to Texas in the very near future. What makes this troubling is that UT-Austin is on the Beef's short list of graduate schools, and so there is a very real possibility that I might have to don a ten-gallon hat and a six-shooter when I go to court.
I know that Texas is a big state (too big, almost), but the thought of being in the same state with Teeny is just unsettling. We have not been in the same state for 5 years or so, and the fact that our debacle of a relationship ended disastrously clearly doesn't make me anxious to jump back into mutual statehood with the ex, regardless of how big or small that particular state may be. Really, the only thing worse than having to live in Texas would be having to live in Texas while my ex lives there too.
Although, it would be far worse if the state in question was Rhode Island. At least Rhode Island has the whole fresh seafood thing going for it, not to mention a conspicuous lack of ten-gallon hats and six-shooters.
So, this is my first adventure in blog-land, aside from my foray into LJ.
I know that the world needs another law school blogger just like it needs Iran to have nuclear weapons. But, here's hoping that perhaps I can add a unique perspective to the law school blog-sphere by sharing my transfer experiences. JCA covered the basics of the transfer process in Sua Sponte, and I am eternally grateful to her. Even though she's no longer actively blogging, her archives contains tons of great information about transferring. Thus, I won't try to reinvent the wheel and will rather refer potential transferrees to her blog.
Feel free to share your comments and ask questions, and I'll try my best to answer them!
