The silver lining

If you're going to get sick, get sick on a Sunday.  You can throw on some sweats, wrap yourself in blankets, preempt your dad's lazyboy, and watch the '49ers game while your family gets ready for church.  So sweet ...

(Halloween deets forthcoming.)

That's a scary thought ...

Um ...

When do I have to start paying back my student loans?  Anybody?

"I'd vote for Brock O'Bottle if I could"

I went to Hagerman's for lunch today with my friend Kate,* and with two days until Halloween, naturally the topic of costumes came up.

Currently, my plan is to don a Strawberry Shortcake costume and recapture my 80s childhood.  Kate and her hubster Ryan are thinking of being a dead girl wrapped in Saran Wrap and a friendly Miami serial killer.  (Kate, Ryan and I are slightly obsessed with Dexter.)  My friend Amy is going as Rainbow Brite.  Her boyriend Jim is going as Sparkly Twilight Vampire.  My sis Echo is being a pirate.  My bro Charlie is working on a Megan Fox costume.  (Because really, doesn't Megan Fox already kinda look like a tranny?)  My friend Chris (you know, with all the care I go to in trying to change names, I really need to remember to start changing Chris's) "Diego" is going to be a Phaorah mummy.  My friend Abe is going to be Jon Gosselin.  (Or, at least, I'm planning to bully him into being Jon Gosselin.) 

Anyway, Kate started telling me about how her co-worker's kids were trying to decide what to be for Halloween.  (Kate's co-worker's kids have had some golden Halloween costumes in the past, including ... wait for it ... VAMPIRE MONKEY.) 

Anyway, Kate's c.w.'s nine-year-old kid is apparently a budding little Republican, thanks to his birther Grandma, and wanted to go as a "tattered American."  Yeah.  Dress in rags, with a hobo stick (I believe the technical term is "bindle"), and carry around a brick that has "THANKS OBAMA!" spray painted on it.  When his dad told him that "Tattered American" was not a school-appropriate costume (if only to avoid the ridicule of other kids), the nine-year-old said he didn't want  to be anything at school and would go trick-or-treating as a Tattered American.  So while other kids are dressed up as zombies and witches and football players, this third grader will be wearing jeans and a button down: a silent, bitter protest of liberal American politics. 

Kate and I had a good laugh over that one. 

Ahh, kids.  So dumb. 

This, of course, led to another wonderful story -- a different c.w. kid, this one a six-year-old girl, who had a bawling breakdown on election day because HER grandma had told her Barack Obama was a "baby killer," and OH MOM, OH DAD, WHY IS A BABY KILLER PRESIDENT?!?!?!?!?!

Fun fact about this anecdote: Thanks to loving Granny, this kid's parents then had the enjoyable task of explaining to a six-year-old that, no, President Obama doesn't kill babies, people who kill people don't get to be president (unless the killing occured in wartime or an appropriately scheduled duel), but there's this medical procedure called an "abortion" that ...

(I kinda wonder if that led to another breakdown of sorts.  OH MOM, OH DAD, WHY DIDN'T YOU EVER TELL ME YOU COULD HAVE ABORTED ME?!?!?!?!?!)

Seriously people (*cough crazy grandmas cough*), I get that you want your kids to be politically informed, but some topics may be a bit much for certain age groups.  Which is why when Kate's nephew cheerfully announced, "I'd vote for Brock O'Bottle if I could!" at a family dinner a few months ago, everyone smiled and nodded and thought, "That's adorable, our kid's an idiot." 

Appropriate response.



* Names changed

I lack self-discipline

When I applied to take the Arizona bar exam, I waited until the last minute, nearly had a heart attack twice, and paid an obscene late fee.

No, I didn't learn any lessons now that it's come time to apply for the Utah bar exam.

Let's see if it all comes in by Monday at 5:00pm ...

Yeah, I'm 25

Paranormal Activity.

Totally terrifying. 

I was pretty scared while I was watching it.

I was way scareder when I had to go home and go to bed.

Suddenly my parents' house started making way more noise than I ever remember it making in the first eighteen years of my life.

Only slightly ashamed of the fact that around one in the morning, I snuck into my thirteen-year-old brother Alpha's room so he could protect me from the ghosties. 

(Alpha was not pleased.) 

Tequila (or maybe just life) makes her clothes fall off

I have previously alluded to my inability to perform simple tasks like remaining fully clothed while standing around.  Since I'm not a tease (when it comes to blogging), I am giving you my best Wardrobe Malfunctions: 2002-2009 edition.

May 2002:
I was sitting in my bishop's office for my high school graduation interview.  It's just a friendly chat (Where are you going to college?  Are you excited?  Make sure you sign up for Institute first thing, and don't be a stranger at your home ward!), but at some point the top two buttons of my shirt came undone, leaving me and black lace bra just chilling there.

Yup, I flashed my bishop.

September 2006:
I was getting out of a friend's van in high heels and a knit skirt after church.  My heel caught my hem, I kinda stumbled, and the next thing I knew I was standing in Douglas Street in my underpants.

I believe an elderly couple was in the car behind us.

September 2007:
Fall firm crawl.  I've already spilled a Diet Coke on the carpet in the conference room at Van Cott.  At Ray Quinney, my top two buttons (different shirt) once again betrayed me mid-conversation with an attorney.  Shocking I didn't get a job in Salt Lake, right?

October 2009:
Sitting at work at the Deseret Book.  Have no idea when it happened.  Around two o'clock I glance down and notice (yup) my buttons have come undone.  I've just been chilling at a high traffic area of the corporate office, pulling a JLo.

Buttons are my mortal enemy.

Homeless ... homeless ... like the Christ-child was*

Anyone who knows me knows that I have a strong affinity for the homeless. Today I left work a bit early (I've come down with a run-of-the-mill cold, but since the good old DB has busted out hand sanitizer on every floor and is sending semi-regular emails on the importance of guarding against H1N1, I started feeling like a guilty little plague rat, and packed up my stuff just to be on the safe side). As I was crossing South Temple, I ran into an elderly homeless woman in a kid's pink coat. She made direct eye contact with me and mumbled something. I had a couple extra bucks on me, but I wanted to be sure what she was saying. (After all, maybe she only wanted directions.) So I leaned closer. "Pardon me?" I said politely.

More unintelligble whisper/mumbling.

I frowned. "Pardon me?" I repeated.

All the sudden Mumbler scowled and screamed, "Don't you know not to STUTTER?!?!" in my face.

Big pause, then me trying not to laugh. I nodded and smiled like an idiot and went on my way.

Anyway, I feel like this is as good a time as any to give you a rundown of my fave homeless people stories.

(I will not repeat the Noodles and Co. guy story, but if you want to hear that one: http://andthenshewaslikeblahblahblah.blogspot.com/2009/04/chicken-noodle-soup.html)

1. Pinky

The U law library is a public facility, which means it's open to everyone -- including the address-challenged.  Homeless shelters in Salt Lake are usually closed during the day, which means during hot summer months and cold winter ones, homeless people have to find a place to stay cool or stay warm.  Libraries are a gold mine for them.

For the most part, the homeless people and the law students have a friendlyish relationship.  We stayed out of their way, they stayed out of ours.  Occasionally one would corner you and start asking for help with legal problems.  (Big no-no for law students, as the administration would remind us every year - you have to be a real lawyer to dispense legal advice, or supervised by one.)  (By the way, if that ever happens to you, loyal readers, recommend they go to Homeless Court - yes, it's a thing - or the free clinic under the overpass on Sunday mornings.  The Salvation Army gives out breakfast, and supervised law students give out as much help as they can.)

But sometimes the homeless people and the law students have a tense relationship (to put it mildly).  When I was 2L, one of the more infamous homeless people was nicknamed Pinky.  Pinky was a transvestite male-to-female who dressed all in pink--pink miniskirts, pink tank tops, pink sunglasses with pink lenses, pink plastic bracelets, pink socks, pink cardigans, pink size-14 stilletos.  Pinky also liked to sit on the couches and watch porn on his/her laptop.

No one I know got close enough to investigate whether it was gay, straight or tranny porn ... but the subject was debated quite a bit.

I don't know what happened to Pinky.  Maybe he/she found a new place to hang out, because he/she stopped coming around so much by my 3L year.  But I did see him/her riding a bike one time around Salt Lake, and then had to frantically glance away lest Pinky's skirt-on-bike ensemble reveal whether he/she was pre- or post-op.

2. The Giggler


Another of our law library homeless friends was The Giggler.  Everyone got along with The Giggler, because she was very nice, and quite obviously mentally ill.  (Best guess?  Non-violent paranoid schizophrenic - but this is based solely on years of watching Law and Order: SVU.  I'm fairly certain one or two people tried to investigate whether she could or should be committed to a mental hospital, but that's sort of a hard thing to work out with non-violent homeless folks).  The Giggler, well, giggled a lot, and wore blankets over her head, and insisted that people were out to get her, including Britney Spears.  She discovered codes on the internet and newspapers, and was trying to crack them.  She wore fuzzy slippers in the winter, and would always express such surprise when snow would soak through them and get her feet cold.  On more than one occasion she would hand you a laminated sheet of gibberish, tell you it was a "mathematical formula" and ask you to proof read it.  All in all, she was a pretty nice lady, but she had a tendency to pester.

The only time I ever saw anyone lose their temper with The Giggler was during finals week, which is when law students lose their tempers with everyone.  (It was a crim pro study group, I believe, and finally my friend Amy** snapped at her to leave us alone after being asked to proof read the formula AGAIN.)  But The Giggler was pretty cool, and never seemed to get angry back.

3.  The "Why" Guy: Technically Not A Homeless Story

Now, this one didn't happen to me ... it happened to my good friend Lacey.  Lacey works at the _________________ (a public interest firm that shall remain nameless), and part of her job is to head up to the mental institution on a regular basis and make sure the crazies are doing OK.

As a disclaimer: Lacey is a good person.  Lacey uses her law degree to do public interest work.  Lacey opposes the new proposed Salt Lake City ordinance that would outlaw panhandling.  Lacey did not call them "crazies;" I did.

Last week Lacey made her trip and gave her speech ... "If any of you have any concerns ... our email address is ... you have the right to be treated fairly ... does anyone have any questions?"

One guy raised his hands.  Lacey smiles and calls on him.   He stands up, breathing heavily, and yells, "Why ... are you such ... a SLUT?"

Lacey's smile gets a little less genuine, and she tries to move onto the next question.  But the guy repeats his question: "Why ... are you such ... a SLUT?"  At this point, some of the other patients start nodding, as if they are also wondering why Lacey is such a slut.  Lacey loses all control of the meeting, and frantically tries to make her polite exit.

(I don't know this next part for sure, but part of me pictures the doctors and nurses standing in the back of the room, laughing and of being absolutely no help.)  



* My friend Ryan used to sing that randomly when we'd be studying in the law library. Nope, he wasn't actually religious. But Ryan is a good singer, so it got in my head, and now mentally I'm belting that out every time I see a homeless person.  Fortunately, I don't know any other words, and I have no intention of learning them.

** Not her name.

*** Like that pic?  I used that on my sister Echo's housewarming party invites when she finally closed on her condo and stopped couch-surfing the greater Salt Lake area.