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.

Schedule (Mal)adjustment

I decided about five minutes into Administrative Law that it just had to go. The professor seems nice enough. But the thought of sitting through that class three times a week for a semester makes Secured Transactions seem fun in retrospect.

Today I embarked on my mad whirlwind tour of law school classes in a frantic attempt to find a replacement that would deliver me from the boredom of executive agencies and internal review procedures.

My first experimental class was Entertainment Law. Pros: Only two credits; meets once a week; interesting and potentially useful and applicable subject matter. Cons: Brand new edition of the textbook (read: sell your firstborn child to purchase it); adjunct professor who got some not great reviews.

As an interesting aside, the professor is something like six or seven months pregnant. She assured us that she wasn't going to let the baby come until after the class is over. Hon, I know you're a lawyer, but you just can't control everything.

My alternative experimental class was Real Estate Transactions. Pros: Nice, laid back professor; interesting and very practical subject matter; good textbook. Cons: Meets twice a week for 75 minutes (an eternity for my ferret-like 3L attention span); rumor has it that the class is largely self-taught; exam is closed-book.

The fact that I sprinted to the door after real estate was over like I was trying to escape a masked gunman was obviously not a good sign. So, after some vascillating and hemming and hawwing, I eventually dropped Administrative Law like the bad habit it is and picked up Entertainment Law. Hopefully this well-thought out (perhaps even over-thought out) decision won't come back to bite me in the ass later.

And as one semester begins, last semester is still nagging us like Long Island housewife. The grade submission deadline for professors is not until tomorrow, but I'd be too naive to think that all of my grades will actually be posted by then. There are enough old codgers with tenure teaching here who can disregard guidelines and deadlines with impunity and who are not afraid of being chased through the halls by a little man in a bow tie.

Not like grades matter that much at this point, anyways. Not unless I actually want to get a job or something. Psh.

Back In Business

I took a rather long hiatus from blogging during Christmas break and gave myself the opportunity to do things I rarely get to do, i.e., read non-law books, spend time with my family and friends, sleep in, watch ridiculous amounts of college football, and learn to sew useful and nifty things.

And so it begins again. I'm sitting in my first class on the first day of my very last semester of law school. Thirty minutes into this class, I am already debating dropping it like a bad habit. I suppose that during registration last semester, nothing seemed as bad as Secured Transactions, and thus Administrative Law seemed like a good prospect. So far, I appear to be dead wrong on that one.

Already I have fallen back into my routine of directing about 12% of my attention to the professor and 88% of my attention to other pursuits, namely instant messaging, blogging and responding to e-mails piled up in my inbox.

I should enjoy it while it lasts. After all, graduation will be here before I know it. After the poofy hat and cape are gone, I'm faced with bar prep and then (*gasp!*) the real world, for which I am dreadfully unprepared. I guess in comparison, Administrative Law seems like a veritable picnic.

Falling Off the Turnip Truck

Well, yesterday was my last final. Which means I'm officially 83.3% done with law school and can relax for a couple of weeks before heading into the home stretch.

After my brain was thoroughly and completely raped for three straight hours yesterday morning, I headed wearily back to my car in the parking deck. For some reason, the book buy-back people had a booth set up. Since I didn't want to lug my now-useless Natural Resources textbook an entire flight of stairs up to my car, I thought I'd see if it was worth it to sell it.

Me: Hi. I just want to see what your buy-back price is for this. I am not making a definite offer to sell it to you, I just want to see what you think it's worth.

[I didn't want to have this kid screaming promissory estoppel at me when I refused to relinquish the book for pennies.]

Textbook Buy-back Asshole: That one is eleven dollars.
Me: Eleven dollars?? Are you serious? It cost a hundred and eleven dollars brand new.
TBA: Yes. Eleven dollars.
Me: I was born at night, but I wasn't born last night.
TBA: It's eleven dollars. Do you want to sell it?
Me, indignant: No! I'd rather carry it the rest of the way to my car than sell my dignity for eleven freakin' dollars!

Jebus. They must think people are really desperate to get rid of their books, because I know I can sell it on Amazon for at least fifty, if not more.

Good job, textbook assholes. Just one more way to fuck students in the ass and somehow have them thank you for it.

Dear Classmates,

To those of you who put up away messages such as, "WOW! I am SO GLAD I'm done with finals!" or "Done! Off to drink myself retarded and then pass out in the gutter!" or "YAY! I am done with finals so I can finally take a shower and catch up on everything I've TiVo'd!": Fuck you.

I don't want to hear about it. I don't want to hear how joyous you are to be able to emerge from the lawbrary for the first time in two weeks.

As luck would have it (and, coincidentally, as luck would have it every damn semester), I had a final on the very first day of finals, and I have one on the very last day of finals.

So, until I am finally done and can share in the celebration, kindly keep it to yourselves.

Love,
LST

A Letter to Pete Carroll

Dear Pete (I hope it's okay if I call you Pete),

I just wanted to let you know that I thoroughly enjoyed watching your over-ranked, overrated, spoiled brat Trojans get beat by the unranked UCLA Bruins this evening. Although it does not take much at this point to distract me from studying for Secured Transactions, I consciously disregarded my academic duties in order to watch you lose. It gave vastly more pleasure than would a workable knowledge of Article 9.

Pete, you have to admit it's been coming for a long time. The commentators have been whispering about it for some time. After so many near misses (despite a very poor strength of schedule), it was inevitable.

The fact that your team is vastly overrated is not the only reason that I hate y'all. You and your team have consistently shown not only a massive sense of entitlement, but also a shocking lack of class. Annoyingly overrated Matt Leinart, who is, notably, currently whiling away his days as a mediocre pro QB for the Arizona Cardinals, refused to give kudos to Vince Young after the Longhorns topped the Trojans in the National Championship last year. Even worse, he went so far as to suggest that he was the one deserving accolades.

Fast forward to today, Petey. In the last few minutes of the game, when it was clear you were going to lose, one of your players started hitting the UCLA ball carrier in a desperate and shameful move that should have been clearly called a personal foul. And after your stunning loss to UCLA, Coach Dorrell had to come all the way over to your sideline to shake your hand. He appeared gracious and humble. You looked disgruntled. Way to be good sportsmen.

Come play in the SEC, ACC or any other conference that doesn't have a bunch of pussies in it, and your team might actually be revealed for what it is. Until then, I hope you wake up tomorrow with the taste of defeat still in your mouth.

Lots of love,

LST

Priceless.

Bar Application Fee: $300

Cashier's Check Fee: $8

Motor Vehicle Report: $7

Fingerprinting at the Police Station: $12

Floppy Disks: $3.41

Express Mail Postage: $14.40

Having my Bar Application finally done: FUCKING PRICELESS.

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.

Overheard #1

Law Student #1: When is Thanksgiving? Is it Thursday?
Law Student #2: I think so. At least that's what everyone keeps saying.

Do I even need to comment on this?

What Did I Do Wrong?

I've ranted about Texas before. And here I go again. Apologies in advance to C or any other native Texans who may be reading this. I kid because I love.

If my mock trial team is (un)lucky enough to place well enough at the regional competition, we will be traveling to Texas to for the National Trial Competition finals. Houston, no less - the land of no zoning ordinances.

I have been fortunate enough to avoid Texas for 23 years; I was hoping to avoid it for at least a few more.

The whole Texas attitude just weirds me out, the way that Texans are so SUPER DUPER PROUD of their Texas heritage and think of themselves as Texans first and Americans second. A friend of mine even told me when she was in elementary school in Texas, they had to pledge allegiance to the Texas flag.

On two separate occasions, two different Germans disparaged the German province of Bavaria by referring to it as "the Texas of Germany." Seems that the Lone Star State has acquired an international reputation.

Not four hours after I received news of my impending doom trip to Texas, I saw an SUV with a Texas plate on it. And if that wasn't enough, it had a Texas flag sticker in the window. And if a person was dull enough not to realize the driver was, in fact, from Texas, it had a bumper sticker that read, "I'm from Texas. What country are you from?"

The audible thumping that was heard afterwards was my head repeatedly banging against my steering wheel.

Wish me luck. You can probably find me at the pawn shop buying a gun or at Tractor Supply Company buying a ginormous hat.

I Halfway Retract My Previous Statements

So yesterday, my heretofore shitty, unranked football team upset the number 5 team in the nation in a rivalry game everyone expected us to lose. Our highly-touted but slightly disappointing freshman QB came out of the woodwork and threw no interceptions (compared to 8 in the previous 3 games) and completed 14 of 20 passes.

My only question is, Where the hell have y'all been all season?

In some ways it makes me more angry about our dismal season. It would be one thing to say that the team didn't have the talent, which places a natural ceiling on our ability to win. But they clearly have the talent; they showed that yesterday. Which means that in the ridiculous losses we've suffered, they have lacked the dedication, drive and focus necessary to bring home the win. And that is what disappoints me most.

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.

Everything I Need to Know I Learned from John Grisham

Hold the phones. I'm sitting in Media Law and the ditzy, hapless victim of the professor's Socratic questioning cited as a basis of her reasoning John Grisham's A Time to Kill. Except she didn't even really know the name of the book; she just referred to it as "some John Grisham book" (and I only figured out which book it was because of her brief and oblique description of the plot).

Let me repeat this so you can fully absorb it: A law student just cited John Grisham to establish a legal principle.

Perhaps she is the same person who referenced the television show "ER" in Health Care Law a few weeks ago as the basis for her beliefs about how hospital emergency rooms operate.

What world am I living in? Someone help me out here. Maybe if I write "Because 'Law & Order' told me so," on the bar exam, they'll accept the answer and I'll pass. Or perhaps if I start throwing out legal non sequiturs in everyday conversation, people will think I'm smart and important.

Good grief.

(Boston) Terrorists One Step Closer to World Domination

On Saturday, the Terrorists and I, Steph from the Terrorist message board and Daisy, Mer and my furry niece and nephew, along with my dad and Triple D, participated in Walk 4 PAWS, a fundraiser for a local organization that provides low-cost spays and neuters for animals in the local area.

Too bad they don't spay and neuter fratties and sorostitutes.

Here are some photographic highlights:


T. Min. says, "Get the camera out of my face and kindly fuck off."


Terrorists ready to roll:


T. Max and his new girlfriend, Daisy. Too bad T. Max no longer has his man-bits:


Triple D, fascinated by something shiny, no doubt:


Triple D checking out his shrunekn doppelganger:


Don't mind us. We're just taking over your neighborhood:


Marching towards world domination. Be very afraid:


Special Note: Thanks to my dad's friend Jim for the awesome pictures!

Oops! She Did It Again!

A California judge dismissed Britney Spears' defamation lawsuit against a weekly celebrity rag because rumors that Britney and K.Fed made a sex tape are not defamatory as a matter of law.

The judge told Britney that she had "put her modern sexuality squarely, and profitably, before the public eye."

In other words, Britney, you're a highly paid hooker. Which therefore makes you libel-proof when people talk about how you get down and dirty under the sheets. Or in front of a video camera.

I thought most celebrities had learned a lesson after the Pam-and-Tommy fiasco, but apparently Britney has surprised us yet again with her stunning idiocy. Well played, Britney, well played.

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.