Thursday, July 29, 2010

"His dad's a doctor."

That?  That's a direct quote.

Someone describing her soon-to-be-husband. 

First sentence out of her mouth.  

Sometimes, I hear one story about a person, have one single interaction ... and if it's memorable enough, that's the first thing I think about them, always and forever.

And so whenever I see or hear about this person and her beloved, which honestly isn't all that often, I get a case of the mean-giggles.

And then I'm kind of grateful to this special spirit, because who doesn't like a case of the mean-giggles now and again?

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

So, that's over with ...

I finished.

I don't really know if I passed.

Honestly, I think the test was pretty simple ... deceptively simple ... like a medical mystery on House that starts out looking like the common flu ... Nothing like the "Texas" Bar, which I found both tougher and more straight-forward.  Like common, but readily operable, cancer.

Anyway, if I passed, it will be a miracle.  But that means I will be one step closer to being canonized someday.


That can be a goal.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Last post for awhile (she promised herself ...)

I found this video while I was trying to get myself to stop whimpering pathetically and study.

Cheesy, but nice.

My favorite part is that the first comment on Youtube was, "Thumbs up if you should be studying right now."

Friday, July 23, 2010

I know better, I just don't care

(Second blog post of the day ... whoa, someone is feeling ambitious ...)

I know I only have three and a half days left to cram for the bar, and I should just power through because after the bar I can relax and have tons of fun ... but I am totally watching Friday Night Lights tonight. 

Ever-evolving legal system

I hereby propose that the rules of evidence be amended as follows:

1. New exception to the character evidence propensity ban

Evidence of texting while driving on prior occasions may be admitted to show presence of drive-texting on occasion in question.

2. New hearsay exception

If you blog about texting while driving, such evidence shall be admitted both for purposes of impeachment and substantively to prove that you are a douche.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Of course

For about two months now, I have worked on exactly ONE project at work.

The week before the bar exam -- the week I was planning to work half-time and spend my evenings studying -- I got FOUR additional projects.


Monday, July 19, 2010

Everybody needs somebody sometimes

You know what?

If I had a tough choice to make, I'd want to talk to Chris Harrison first, too.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Angels above you are quiet notes taking - but only about actual sins

When I have kids someday,* I want to make sure I mess them up only in appropriate ways.**

I’m sure I wasn’t the only one, but when I was a kid, I received several vaguely threatening lessons from seminary teachers, Sunday school teachers, and Young Womens’ leaders about how the highest level of exaltation is reserved for married people.  Sure, there are some people who don’t get married in this life, BUT AS LONG AS THAT’S NOT THEIR OWN FAULT, they will be paired off with some dead Viking boy or murdered Chinese baby girl in the Millennium.  

In all fairness, this message was delivered more harshly in the boys’ directions, at least from the seminary teachers.  But that “as long as it wasn’t their own fault” always sent chills down my spine, and seriously impacted my dating life for several years thereafter.   

Should I go to this incredibly lame YSA activity or stay home and study?   And if I choose to stay home and study, will today be the moment that is pointed to during the “This Was Your Life” portion of Judgment Day when it turns out my single status was, indeed, my own fault?

And this boy who picks his nose in biology class has now asked me out, but if I don’t go, will all the angels watching me put a check in the “Isn’t Trying Hard Enough” column of my heavenly ledger?

This attitude has led to bouts of insecurity (What if that cute guy from the cabin that one time who intimidated me was supposed to be it?  What if I was supposed to meet The One when I was busy dating that douche up the street on Greek Row?   What if all these years of being too lazy to put in contact lenses, a la She’s All That, has been keeping my Mormon Freddie Prinze Jr. at bay?  Should I have stayed later at Family Home Evening?  Should I have worn a cuter dress last Sunday?) and rebelliousness  (Fine, screw it, I’d rather be a helpful angel anyway) on my part.

Until one day—and I can’t seem to pinpoint when that was—I realized the incongruity between believing that Christ can save you from all your sins, no matter how late the date, if your repentance is sincere … but if you wind up dead and single, you’re SOL?  Because being dishonest or selfish or cruel are fixable faults, but being shy or sarcastic or having a bad case of bitchy-face are not?

And wait—here’s another thing.  As well-meaning as all those seminary/Sunday/Beehive/MiaMaid/Laurel teachers were, they had the distinct good fortune of (1) having already met their special someone and (2) having not yet divorced that special someone.   And the first category is 90 percent luck.  With all the hard work that goes into preventing the second category from occurring, I think many of them just happened to forget that.

They weren’t better people or more hard-working people than their single cohorts.  They were simply, in one instance, luckier. 

And I will definitely let them know that there are no angels keeping tabs about whether or not they were appropriately flirty at the ward linger-longer.

Also, they won't have to go to seminary if they don't want to.   But that's a post for another day.

* Hi Dempsey!  Hi Lola!  I probably won’t name you guys that, but I don’t want to call you Future Babies either, since that sounds creepy.  

And naming future babies is totally not creepy.

** Like my friend Bill, who at a work party told his two-year-old very solemnly that she couldn’t go in the pool because the water was so hot it would burn her.   That, in my opinion, was just solid parenting.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

I'm so hilarious and original

Guess what guys?

I stole overheard misappropriated also began to use came up with a bunch of slang that no one else inspired, and will now proceed to use this blog to claim intellectual ownership over said slang.

Totes = totally

Natch = naturally

Srlsy = seriously

Frills = for reals

Kthxbye = Kthxbye

Also, adding "sauce" or "spice" to the ends of words.  You may think every returned missionary on the planet thought of that one first, but nope, 'twas me.

And another one - pwned.  I don't really know what that one means yet, but DIBSIES! 

* If you feel the urge to kick me in the teeth right now, don't worry, I'm right there with you.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

The head, the tail, the whole damn thing

Whenever I watch Jaws,* I get a little teary-eyed (shocking, right?) when the boy on the yellow floatie dies.  Oddly enough, this is a fairly recent phenomenon, as the first time I saw Jaws I must have been 7 years old, and I don't remember being particularly troubled.  (Aside from the nightmares, natch.)

At some point during my adulthood, I realized that the little boy's mother reminds me of my mother.

Extra creepy.

* In case you were wondering, I'm watching Jaws in honor of my current study schedule: Professional Responsibility (ie, lawyer ethics).

Friday, July 9, 2010

Suck it (ha) True Blood

I'm going to start this rant with a disclaimer: I do not think the Twilight novels are well-written.  I think it's an interesting story, with several major flaws, including (but not limited to) an unlikeable main female character, a creepy stalker male love interest, and unrealistic and hopelessly ineffective antagonists.*

That being said, I would way rather re-watch or re-read an installment in the Twilight universe than sit through another interminably boring episode of True Blood.

Oh wait!  you say.  True Blood has been nominated for Emmys!  It has Oscar-winning actors!  It's on HBO!

But here's the thing, I say patiently in reply.  It sucks goat balls

I tried to give it a chance, I really did.  I watched nearly the entire first season.  I stopped when I remembered there was some kind of vampire-serial-killer plot, and I didn't give a crap about how it resolved itself.

I tried again with the second season.  Once again, the main bad guy -- Vibrating MaryAnn, both more and less dirty than it sounds -- was less interesting than Secured Transactions.  I would literally rather find out who perfected their financial interest first than find out the dealio with the weird bestiality orgy lady.

 All the characters are boring, except for Lafayette.  Sookie's super perfect and has an awful accent.  She struts around like there's so much INJUSTICE in the world, AND ONLY SHE CAN FIX IT.  It's like if Elizabeth Wakefield of the Sweet Valley High twins were Southern, poor and a mind-reading waitress.  When she inevitably has to choose between Todd and Jeffrey Bill and Eric or Bill and As-Yet-To-Be-Determined-Werewolf-Character, it is going to bore us all to tears.  Except some of us will be pretending that it's soooooo goooooooood.  Because it's on HBOOOOOOOOO.

Eric just stands around being hot.  I don't mind that, but it would be great if he would also exhibit a personality trait beyond that of "perv."  I'm sorry, but the objectification of a species (human) and gender (women) should not be hot.  Why are people drooling all over this guy?  And did I mentioned that he had girl hair for the first few episodes?  Flowy blond girl hair.

Jason stands around being hot.  Since he is hotter and dumber funnier than Eric, I am more tolerant of this.  In fact, he, Jessica and Lafayette should have their own show.  The three of them could be current college roommates/former college roommates/co-owners of a winery/a dissatisfied married couple and their friend/CSI investigators/high school students who sing their feelings, or all of the above, and it would still be less of a hot mess than True Blood.

Tara yells a lot.  I mean a lot.  That girl only has one volume.  I get it, her life sucks.  Apply for some federal aid and go to college.  "The man Ah looooved! The man Ah looooooooved is dayyyyyead!"  Oh shut up.

Bill doesn't have a personality.  Much like Sooooookah, he also has a terrible, terrible accent.  This is sometimes accompanied by terrible, terrible flashbacks.  Also, no mention is made of the fact that Bill is a murderer.  Not all the vampires on True Blood are bad guys, I guess, but I can't think of any examples off the top of my head.  Bill may be sucking down the synthetic blood now, but he could have been drinking human blood without killing humans since the Civil War.  Sadly, that was just inconvenient, and more sadly, no one on this show seems to care.  It's great that Sookie wants to overlook multiple homicides on the part of a self-reformed baddie, but do you have to get engaged to the committer of multiple homicides? 

You want to throw political realism into a fantasy television show?  Why doesn't someone indict one of these vampires for murder?  Much like your eternal life, the statute of limitations never ends, bitches.

Sam is boring.  Sam is so boring that I had to sit and think, "Who am I missing?  I thought this show had more characters?" for several minutes before going, Oh, Saaaaaaaam.  And have I mentioned that I have easily watched 12 episodes of this show between seasons 1, 2 and 3?  For crying out loud, it's not The Wire.  I shouldn't have to take notes to keep everyone straight when there's less than 10 characters.

For those of you who have never seen it, here's how an episode of True Blood goes.

Sudden violence.  Opening credits.  Sookie is outraged in a ridiculous accent.  Tara cries.  Lafayette says something witty.  Jason takes off his shirt.  Eric walks around without pants.  Sex fantasy.  Sex dream.  Boobs.  More violence.  Jessica says something funny.  Bill broods, and you're supposed to think it has something to do with his former life as a Southern gentleman, but it's really just that it's hard for a British guy to do a Southern accent.  Poorly drawn analogy to gay rights.  Tara yells.  Lafayette says something witty.  Tara and Sookie hug.  Jason says something dumb.  Male ass.  Something violent.  Boobs.  One of the southern extras says something racist.  Sam pops in to remind you that he's still on this show.  Jessica gets into hijinks, the consequences of which are dealt with over the course of the next five and a half episodes.  Eric says something blandly threatening/sexist while looking at Sookie's boobs.  Sookie is outraged in a ridiculous accent.  Eric and Bill express their total admiration for Sookie and her sassy boringness.  Something happens to advance the overall plot a millimeter.  Boobs.  Something violent.  Gasp.  End of episode. 

I'll take my Emmy now, thanks.

* This, actually, is my biggest beef.  I know much has been said of the weird Bella-Edward dynamic, but for me, it all comes down to the fact that none of the bad guys are worth fussing over.  Victoria?  Can't seem to kill one measly little human in the span of a year.  Literally, all she had to do was run up to Bella one day and snap her neck.  Done-zo.  Why did she always fail to achieve this goal?  Because the werewolves (who are only allowed to patrol half the town) might get her?  Umm, wasn't she able to kill SEVERAL humans without the werewolves getting her?  Oh wait, was it because the psychic vampires might be able to anticipate and stop her?  ISN'T SHE A VAMPIRE TOO?  CAN'T SHE RUN AT LEAST AS FAST AS THEY CAN?  Even when she compiles an ARMY OF VAMPIRES, she can't kill one girl.  She can  kill a whole bunch of other randoms, but not the one freaking girl she set out to kill.

Then there's the Volturi, the evil European vampires (who receive a verbal smack down courtesy of the American Revolutionary Vampire in Book 4, thank you very much) who maintain law and order in vampire world so humans won't know they exist.  The humans who, as we are told repeatedly throughout the series, HAVE NO CHANCE OF KILLING A SINGLE VAMPIRE.  If the vampires are so invincible that only other vampires and werewolves can kill them, AND EVEN THIS REQUIRES THAT THEY TEAM UP, who gives a shit that the humans don't know?  At least when vampires were stakeable or burnable or head-cut-off-able, it made sense to not let humans find out about their existence, because clever humans could overpower them.  When you're a totally unbeatable rock-hard vampire who can walk out in the sun with no problems, why don't you just announce your presence to the world and start ruling it with your glittery fist?

Also, how do the humans not already know?  You're not a normal vampire that can suck the same human's blood basically forever.  YOU KILL EVERYTHING YOU BITE ON THE VERY FIRST NIBBLE, including ROOMFULS OF TOURISTS.  And you have to do this on a fairly regular basis.  It's not like you can eat once a year.  You might kill 365 humans a year, and you live FOREVER.  Take the three head Volturi dudes, creepy little Dakota Fanning and British kid, that's 18,250 dead people in one decade.  That's a fairly large liberal arts college.  How does the FBI not already have a file on you in VICAP?

Easy hours

I've been doing doc review for awhile now.

Every day.

For hours.

For months.

It's endless.

And often, when the subject of doc review is mentioned to coworkers or fellow lawyers, someone inevitably chuckles and says, "Well, it's easy hours, right?"

No, actually, it's not.  It's mind numbingly awful.  But whatever.  Lots of people have crappy jobs.

The problem is, I didn't decide to become a lawyer so I could bill "easy hours."  I became a lawyer to, I don't know, do legal-ly things.  Everyone has to pay their dues, and I figured mine would involve really boring research projects.  But no, it's not even that interesting.  Ninety-five percent of my job might as well come down to being able to tell blue from green. 

Gratitude is a funny thing.  I'm grateful I have a job when so many of my classmates still do not.  I'm grateful to have a job when so many people across the country do not.  I'm grateful for medical benefits.  I'm grateful that I will be allowed to assist (ie, do bitch work) for a trial in a few months.  I'm grateful that I'm no longer mooching off my parents.  I'm not so ungrateful that I'm willing to give any of those things up just yet.  

The thing is, I would be happy to be making $10 an hour again if I was actually gaining any practical skills whatsoever.

I'm starting to feel like an antagonist in an Ayn Rand novel.* 

A poorly written, misogynistic, pseudo-intellectual Ayn Rand novel.

Where I'm the bland, corporate whore bad-guy.**

It doesn't get much lower than that.

* Kind of a side note, but have you ever noticed that people who like Ayn Rand always think that they relate to the objectivist heroes, but really are just as sheep-like as the rest of us, only they lack adequate self-reflection skills?  I think about that more than I should.

** Not to belabor the point, but the good guys in Ayn Rand novels rape people.  So to be the bad guy, you know it's got to be pretty awful.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Well, here's a whole new low

When I got home tonight, I realized that I was out of clean dishes.  Unfortunately, I was super hungry and my dishwasher takes foreeeeeeeever.

So I covered my Barbri books with foil and ate off them. 

It worked surprisingly well.

(And it didn't occur to me until after writing this post that I could have taken a dirty dish out of the dishwasher and washed it by hand.)

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Sunday, July 4, 2010

What dreams may come

I had my first bar-related nightmare of the season last night.

I was taking the bar in my parents' basement with Diego, a friend from my high school Drumline, someone I grew up with, and three nameless strangers.  For the record, Diego was wearing his barrister wig.  My mom and all the ladies from church growing up were also there, acting as proctors.

As I stared at the criminal procedure essay question, thinking, "This is a cut-and-dried case of evidence being suppressed because of illegal search and seizure," I couldn't make my fingers type.  Instead, all they wanted to type about how it was racist to name the defendant in the hypothetical "Mendoza" and the cop "O'Reilly." 

Then the second page of my answers disappeared.  I don't know how, but I remember all the other test-takers in the dream advising me to hurry, go find it, don't bother retyping, so I jumped up and started searching for my missing page.  (Under my bed, as it turns out.)

Then, as I returned, to laboriously type the words, The Fourth Amendment prohibits unreasonable searches and seizures.  Evidence collected in a manner that violates this prohibition ... my mother started telling me a story.

Now, here's the thing.  I love my mom.  But she, like many people, has trouble with how to deal with me when I'm stressed.  (Either because my dad also did the professional-standard-exam-thing once upon a time, or simply because our personalities are more similar, he does not have this quirk.)  When I'm thinking, "Oh no, oh no!  I can't find the gift card I purchased for so-and-so's wedding!*"  my mom is the person who starts telling you the stuff that even five year olds knew was unhelpful: It's always the last place you put it.  (And if I remembered where that was, I would have it right now.)  Retrace your steps.  (Um, obviously, still missing the last step.  Hence the gift card being lost.)

And when I studied for the Texas Bar last summer at my parents' house, my dad knew to leave me alone, or occasionally pop in to ask me if I wanted to run to the gas station with him for a fountain Diet Coke.  My mom, on the other hand, would pop in A LOT, asking me if I wanted to take a break. 

There's a sale at Macy's. 

Your brother Alpha was supposed to read a book over the seventh grade summer, will you make sure he did it?  Kids listen to their peers more than their parents, you know.  (Yeah Mom, but I'm not Alpha's peer.  I'm his sister.  I'm his sister who is twelve years older than him and will watch South Park with him, he's not going to take scholastic advice from me.) 

I made dinner, do you want some?  (Despite the phrasing, this is not a request.)

My personal favorite: You need a break, will you vacuum the living room for me? 

In addition to frequently asking me to take breaks that I do not want to take, or breaks that are not breaks but manual labor, my mom will also want to come tell me stories.  Everyone in our family likes telling stories.  Charlie is the best at it, his stories are always hilarious.  Echo and my dad are also pretty good.  (I'm better on paper, as Echo frequently-snottily reminds me.)  Alpha seems to have not yet chosen a story telling style. 

But even though we're pro-story-telling, study time is not story time.  Even Charlie, with his oh-so-hilarious tales of wonder and woe, better back the hell off when I'm studying. 

However, my mom does not obey this rule.  Perhaps it's her mistaken belief that I need a break, and though I have now begun refusing to vacuum the living room, she will provide me with a break via her tale of the funny thing Alpha's chickens did today. Of course, having a tendency to go off to Tangent Land, a story about chickens may suddenly transition into a story about Grandpa's diabetes.  Also not as interesting as one might think. 

And as I sat, in dream world, trying to explain the exclusionary rule with fingers that only wanted to type about racism, my mom launched into a story that I knew dream-instinctively would be ennnnnnndlessssssss.  And so I began to yell, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP, for the love of all the angels in heaven, CAN'T YOU SEE I'M TAKING THE BAR?!?!?!

At which point all the women from church -- Sunday School teachers, Young Women's leaders -- frowned at me disapprovingly.

Ahhh, I knew you ladies were here for a reason.   

* This has happened twice now, and incidentally, to people who may or may not read this blog.  Don't worry dear friends, I bought you new gift cards yesterday and will be mailing them shortly.  Miss Manners assures me I have up to a year to deliver said wedding gift, but I will only take eight months for one couple and a month for the second.  Because I'm classy like that.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Conspicuous consumption

In case you ever wonder why people in impoverished countries both admire/resent Americans, look no further than your good internet friend Ru from Austin.

I now own TWO laptops.


Because my Macbook Pro, which I love more than I could love a human child (what?  Is that offensive?) has an outdated operating system.  I am planning to take the Utah bar in T-24 days.  In its infinite wisdom (and I say that with all due respect, Character and Fitness People), the Utah Bar chose to mandate Exam Soft for all bar-taking purposes, instead of the faaaaaaaaar superior Exam 4.  (Repeat: far superior.)  So I set out to update my Macbook (sweet, sweet Macbook) and then, wait a second, I also need Bootcamp?  And Windows 7?

Grumble grumble grumble.

So instead of buying a lot of stuff that I don't want for the computer I adore, I waddled (yes, waddled, all I've eaten during my study sessions have been chips, salsa and jelly beans) off to my local Best Buy and bought a brand new Toshiba PC,* preloaded with Windows 7.  IT WAS ACTUALLY THE CHEAPER OPTION.

But hey, at least I will have the fun adventure of posting a lightly used laptop on Craigslist next month. 

*Please don't be jealous, Macbook Pro.  Toshiba means nothing to me.  Nothing!**

** Please don't take that the wrong way, Toshiba, you're great too.  And I really need you to perform for me on July 27.  It's just that you and I are not meant to be.  I'm sure you will find the love you're looking for ... on Craigslist.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

I just realized ...

I'm watching Legally Blonde while I study for the bar.

Elle Woods graduated in 2004.

She would be a 6th year associate right now.