Guess What I Know - A Law School Primer

Since at least sometime in our third year of law school, my friend B. and I have been discussing writing a book that would shed some light on what seems to be the impentrible world of law school. As survivors, we're qualified to share our experiences, good and bad, funny and sad. (That wasn't meant to rhyme, sorry.)

Now that I'm done with the bar and I've got my own time again(!), I figure I should keep myself busy. Plus, if we don't get started soon, we'll forget everything we learned, and we'll get too good at whitewashing the memories.

Plus, we've had some tentitive comments for guest writers. This could be fun! And even after listening to bar examinees tell me, "I don't care what happens to the kids behind us," I find that I do. I really had such a miserable first year that if I can save anyone the badness, I will absolutely do it.

So while I'm at work, and not working, I'm going to try a rough outline of topics. Any suggestions? Tales you want to tell? Questions you have? I'm open.

The Bar, Day Three

And thank goodness, the final day!! Here's how it went:

Today was MBE day. The MBE is an evil exam, designed to make you second-guess yourself on every answer. Most the of the questions are written with 4 possible answers, with 2 Yes, because... and 2 No, because...

It's just terrible. The answers don't seem to fit into what I knew the law to be. It's like the writers picked the most obscure angle of any question and then made me delve into the question 3 or 4 times to try to figure out what they were looking for. The topics are given on the NCBE website, but the content of the questions are so obscure. I don't know how I did. I felt OK after the morning session, but the afternoon was brutal.

Did I mention that you get an average of 1.6 minutes per question? And some of the prompts are 1 1/2 columns. It takes every bit of concentration that you have to answer them.

I can't talk a whole lot about the topics, and I can't even mention the questions, because you swear to barely discuss this test when you open your test booklet. So, I'm not trying to be vague, I just don't want to get hauled in front of the Character and Fitness board.

Suffice to say, everyone who walked out after this test looked like the walking wounded.

So now it's done, and I wait until September 26 to find out if I passed. If I did, the swearing in is on Momma's birthday. I really hope I passed.

The Bar, Day Two

Today was the MEE and the MPT. The morning held in store for me 6 essays. 30 minutes each. This is not easy to do when you can't seem to remember anything. So here's what I did: I read each question and prompt. Then I re-read them and jotted down a couple notes for the questions for which I had the vaguest clue. I was expected some evidence or criminal or pure property questions. None of those. So next I got up, went to the ladies' for a good think, then I got to work. It was down to the wire. When the Bar Guard called 10 minutes, I was in the middle of my last question. At least I finished, but not with enough time to check my work. I hope what I wrote made sense (oh, and was right).

Here's the topics:

Debtor/Creditor - should have gone to that class more often, and while there, should've paid some attention.
1st Amendment - crap! Why couldn't it have been equal protection or due process? I rock at those. But at least I saw that the 1st Amendment doesn't have a whole lot to say about privacy rights.
Civil Procedure - again?!? I just did a whole day of civ pro! MORE subject matter jurisdiction? Are these people sadists?
Property - but only in the sense that it was landlord/tenant. Again, thank you Core, for making me write about that topic. And good on me for even caring about it when I took property! The only reason I cared was because I was a tenant, but still...
Two, count 'em, 2 Business Association: one was about partnership, and I wished it were about agency. Oh, wait! The second question was on agency.

Then came lunch, where I hung out outside and eavesdropped as people disected the questions. I loved the confirmation that I got some of the questions right.

Onward...the MPT. I'd never taken that one before, but I figured it would be my favorite. (I know, a bar favorite? I am sick.) It wasn't too, too bad. I just didn't have enough time. One was about child custody and the other was about fraud arising from a shady car repair place. Overall, not too bad. I wish my vocabulary for words like "statement" were better, but I muddled through.

Tomorrow is the beast, the MBE. It counts for 50% of my grade. So please, please pull for me! I really never want to do this again.

I'm not sure if I'll get to update you tomorrow, because right after I'm done, I'm headed home and I probably won't get there until 8:30 or 9, after which time I will be drinking copiously and talking to the boy. It's been a long few days without him - almost a week! I'm sure there's much to say.

But I will catch you up on the final day. And since I made phone plans, chances are they'll fall through, and I'll write again anyway.

Thanks for all your support, everyone!

The Bar, Day One

Today was the first day of the test. It was a half day that covered Alabama Civil Litigation. Unfortunately, I didn't spend as much time studying this as I thought I had, as evidenced from my reaction when I read the first question. I believe I actually said out loud (albeit quietly) "Son of a bitch!" Seemed appropriate at the time.

We had 3 hours to cover 6 questions. This means that you write like crazy and your formatting is not as good as you'd hope. At least, that's what it means to me. I read the questions about 3 times, thinking that there was no hope and I might as well go home. I then took a quick break, gave myself a pep talk, and realized that I actually might know this stuff. So I got down to it.

I wrote scintillating essays on subject matter jurisdiction, personal jurisdiction, and venue. I wrote about the Rule 12(b) rules. I could remember all but number 7. I guess I have to credit case; in Core, we had to write 12(b)(6) motions to dismiss for failure to state grounds under which relief can be made. Luckily, I think that was one of the answers to the essay I wrote. And if I'm wrong, hopefully I laid out my argument well enough that I'll get credit anyway.

Tomorrow is the Multistate Essay Exam and the Multistate Performance Test. A full day of writing! I guess today was the breaking in of my hands. I wasn't as sore as I thought I would be, but I'm chalking that up to intense stress and the ability to block pain receptors.

Two more days, and I'll be done, and I can have beer again! I miss you, beer.

Welcome To Montgomery!

So, we made it. I've been showing Momma my Facebook and Myspace pages, and this little blog. The hotel is rather sketchy (read: the deadbolt doesn't work) but since we're on the back inside of the building, we hopefully won't get stabbed.

Thanks for all the well wishes the past few days! And keep thinking them until Wednesday at 4. Then, you are free. And once I get back, ramped up on Red Bull and adrenaline, we'll catch up and I can be funny again.

Hooray!

One Old Problem Solved, And One New One

Last night I awoke in a panic. It occurred to me that I don't know what to do with my cat on day 3 of the exam. We have to check out of the hotel by 11. Momma's friend is taking her to "an old lady tea house" which is cool; they'll have fun. But what will happen to Biggs? He can't hang out in a car all afternoon, and I can't have him with me. Can you imagine what the Ethics Committee would say if I should up to the MBE with my cat? Unless Momma's friend is willing to take him to her house for the afternoon, I am completely screwed. I don't know why this didn't occur to me until last night.

I really, really don't want to leave Biggs with my dad. Sure, he adores Biggs, but he also has a very short temper and a tendency to yell at, or hit, cats. It took me years to train fear out of my Biggs, and I know all my hard work can be ruined in 3 days. Still, what's my other option? Lay out an unbelieveable amount of food and pray he'll be OK in the apartment alone? I wish there were someone nearby who could come check on him. But none of my friends live close enough, and the one that days is extremely allergic to cats.

So, I'm planning to leave in 3 hours, and I have to sort this out.

For the problem solved, remember when I was talking about the perfume I want? It also occurred to me last night that I have a $75 gift card to Nordstrom, so I'll only have to cover the additional $15 plus shipping charges. Hooray! I will get myself a "ding, dong, the bar's over" present after all!

Wish me copious amounts of luck. I'm really nervous. But I'm trying to fake calm. After all, it is just a test. Right?

I Think, Redux

Yeah, I know that eventually you'll get tired of my reduxes, but since it's so close to the bar, you'll tolerate me. This is a redux of this post.

I think...

That I might actually pass this time.

That my desire to be a lawyer is stronger, although my fear of it has increased.

That I can be a narcissist.

That I love knowing a little about what's going on in my friends' lives. Not necessarily my close friends, but people who I considered friends along the way. (And in English, that means that I'm enjoying getting to re-know some folks.)

That occasionally asking for what you want might actually get you what you want.

That some random farewells are for the best. (I mean, there need not be a big, flowery scene.)

That this little relationship I've been having serves only to restore my self-esteem, and isn't an answer.

That I still need to work on believing in myself.

That I'm still glad that I have some anonymity, even as I work harder for more reclaim.

That what I said above I will contradict for possibly ever until...

I'm Goin' To Montgomery, I'm Gonna Beat Me a Lot of Bar Ass...

If you sing those words to the tune of "Peaches" by the Presidents of the United States of America, you'll find that they fit very well with the song.

And this is what I will hum to myself when I start (continue) to freak out, and do my damnedest to psyche myself out. See, my biggest fear isn't really failing, it's passing. When I pass, people will expect that I know how to do things. It's scary, the learning curve. I know everyone has one; it's just that I'm impatient and I want to already know how to file motions, format documents, be all clever and stuff.

Today I printed out all my outlines and got them all together in a (relatively) small document. Total, there's probably 20 pages. My goal was to shrink down all this detailed information into the shortest phrases possible. (Yes, I got the inspiration from Twitter.) That's a better way for me to learn than mnemonics. And this time around, who cares if it's Bar/bri approved?

Later, when I find the cord that connects my digital camera to this machine, I'll post the very clever picture I took of myself that I think clearly signifies how I really feel about this whole mess.

Until then, here's the blatant begging for good luck wishes - have at it, people! I'll be here until Sunday!

So Annoying!

Here I spent at least 10 minutes writing out a new story for you, only for Blogger to a) tell me it's too busy to post my missive and b) lose what I wrote! Now I've kinda lost the moment.

So here's the recap: I'm still in love with that perfume. I did search to see if I could buy it more cheaply, but apparently Nordstrom has the best deal. So I checked my account balances, and as it stands now, I can't even pay rent. Yet I still love this scent! It's so good; it makes me want to devour myself. So, I guess I'm down to the decision. If I can't pay rent anyway, and since I've been studying FOREVER, don't I deserve a treat? A tasty, yummy, totally-fits-me treat?

I think we both know the answer to that question.

It just sucks that the post that you would have read is gone, and this one is a cheap substitute.

Aside: Tomorrow I'm going to ask you to send me your most positive comments, as I am really turning into a bar slave. Ugh. And thank you in advance.

St. John

Normally, whenever I get my magazines, I tear out all the inserts that make the pages turn to particular areas before I even start reading. I hate all those inserts; they're annoying. Especially if I already subscribe. I don't need postcards to subscribe if I already belong to them.

(Yes, this is habit evidence, admissible in court. Damn bar. Everything that happens becomes a bar question now. But it'll be over soon, bbs!)

Today, something tempted me to try out one of those perfume samples. What the hell? I'm tired of the scents I normally wear. I wear, for daytime, J'adore, and for evening, Bulgari Extreme. It's been this way since I got over my Cool Water for Women obsession. Although lately that smells good again, which is tempered by the fact that my mother wears it.

So I got my anniversary sale catalog for Nordstrom. (I miss Nordstrom. There isn't one is Vegas. There's no good shopping in Vegas, unless it's boutique. I am poor; I cannot afford boutique.) Inside was a perfume sample for St. John. I was bored; I figured, what the hell, why not try it on. It's a little strong at first, but after about a half hour, it smelled amazing on me. An hour later, it was still good.

You know how some scents smell terrible on your body? Well, this one smells fantastic on me. So I'm off to Sephora, or, you know, begging you for gifts.

Pluses and Minuses

Today I got more Facebook love. I was able to add some friends from high school. And then I got to learn more about their lives.

One of my friends lost her brother a while ago. She is a graphic design expert, and also endlessly creative. I saw her tribute to her brother through photos. I remember him, I remember how dorky he was in junior high, and how he started to grow up. I wish I had more memories, but it is what it is. When he passed, I was heartbroken, but I had no idea just how bad it was for her family. Looking through her photo gallery, my heart finally broke. Wow. All I can do is wish for peace for her family, and especially his kids.

Then I saw that another friend is fighting cancer. Cancer, really? We're all the same age! It can't be true! Apparently this is a kind of cancer that's really beatable. But it's scary. She's a momma to 2 small children. I will say my prayers each night for her.

When did life become real?

Yeah, I guess that I have no pluses tonight. I mean, I do, but they dive right into my narcissism. I guess I'm just glad to know that I still have friends. I hope they know that I will support through anything and everything.

Revisited: The Lazy Blogger

Felt a need to blog, got nothing I care to tell you, so here we go:

1. I AM: alive, scared, wondering what happens next. What if the things I say I want are really what I want?

2. I WANT: to continue to be a toy, his obsession.

3. I WISH: that I could control everything.

4. I MISS: the safety that ignorance brings.

5. I HATE: the idea of my phone not ringing tonight.

6. I HEAR: the buzzer of my dryer. Sweet, sweet reality, you do help.

7. I FEAR: being forsaken. And knowing that inevitably, I will be.

8. I WONDER: about how very basic things work.

9. I REGRET: not all that much, actually.

10. I AM NOT: gorgeous.

11. I DANCE: when I drive, whenever the spirit moves me. I didn't say I do it well.

12. I SING: when the lyrics move me to.

13. I CRY: not recently, thank goodness, although I've earned it.

14. I AM NOT ALWAYS: patient, caring, or willing to give up my narcissism.

15. I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: oh, jeez, I'm not going to actually type that out. But my hands have been busy.

16. I WRITE: notes, shortcuts, anything that can get me ready.

17. I CONFUSE: my interest in me with the interest others might have in me.

How Not To Get Laid

I love this list! Enjoy, and may you laugh as hard as I did. Also, edifying - I never was any good at understanding 50's lyrics. (Also, not really a fan, which is another factor in not knowing his lyrics.)

In the same vein, and also the same website, I found this. I laughed so hard that my upstairs neighbors stomped on the floor. If you can muster through the comments, which are really NOT good, there was one shining example. One lady said, basically, the Raft? Awesome, I can hold my pina colada. Nice. (NSFW)

The Honesty And The Pain, Revisited

So I went home and I tried to hide it. I managed through the weekend. But I was scared. Really scared. I didn't know where he had been. So, this is what I did...

I went to work on Monday. On Mondays we had team meetings in my boss' office. I knew that the last thing I wanted was to be in a small room with a bunch of men. (Where I worked, the employees were mostly men.) So I stood outside of my boss' office, but still in his eyesight.

(Background: While I was at the party, my boss saw my date, and said to me, essentially, "Do what you have to to get him to come back!") So clearly I didn't want to see my boss either.

When my boss saw me outside his door, he said, basically, "Oh, you're still messed up, that's why you don't want to come in here. I made it through the meeting, barely hanging on.

After the meeting, I went to my best work friend's office, and just burst into tears. I couldn't stand it. How did this happen?

(Yeah, yeah: Other work friends told me, later, that he spent the evening telling them how much he loved me. Nice.)

My best work friend just held me. I cried on her for what felt like hours, but was probably 20 minutes. I then pulled it together, and went back to work.

But it felt like a second betrayal. Not only did this jerkoff abuse me, but my then boss kinda endorsed it.

And no, the asshole didn't return to the company.

Next - the fun-filled doctor's visit. Later, my friends' reactions.

PostScript

Has anyone else seen this? I can't decide whether to laugh or cry, but to be honest, I'm leaning towards laughter.

Bye Bye, Starbucks

Since I first saw the story on the news about Starbucks closing 600 stores, I've been wondering which of the stores would close. Today, I've got my answer. Thanks, Rex, for linking to the list. And also for being less lazy than me, I'm sure if I actually looked, I would have found it myself. But credit where it's due, and all that karmic bullshit.

It's not that I hate Starbucks, at least not in the traditional way. I know a lot of people who hate Starbucks for being essentially ubiquitous (sp, I know, shut up). I hate Starbucks for a different reason. I don't drink coffee. I don't like it, I will never learn to like it, and now that I'm 35, I think I'm allowed to know my own taste by now. Starbucks offers very few alternatives to coffee. I'm also not a big fan of hot tea, so that's right out. Why can't they sell soda? No, not Italian soda - I am of the land of pedestrian tastes, and all I want is a damned Diet Coke. No, wait, Diet Mountain Dew.

So it amuses me to see an uber-business crumble a tinge.

So there.

Honesty, And Pain

This is something I've often wondered if I should tell you. It's a story of hurt. My hurt. I've wondered if I should tell this tale, if only because it's so personal. And yet, it's not, because it's not something I did. It's something that was done to me. I might still take it down after a bit. But after today, I have to talk about it.

Today I saw someone that I never wanted to see again. In fact, I was hoping that this person was either dead, or far, far away from this town.

Years ago, I had a friend. A good friend. He and I hung out often, ate out, went out, just had a good time together. Over the months/years, we saw shows, we talked, we enjoyed each other's company. He was my savior when I started a new job. I later helped him get a job where I worked. It was still good.

I thought he respected me. I know I thought he was fun. I did know, though, that he was more into me than I was to him. Still, it worked OK.

After he left his job where I worked, we stayed in touch. At my old company, we had an annual holiday party. It's more fun when you invite a date, so I invited him. Suits, dresses, open bar, what could be better?

Now, I know my alcohol limits. It was funny, though, early in the evening, I was feeling very drunk. When he said that we should go upstairs for a bit, I was OK with that. I trusted him.

This, I think, was about 11pm. I came to around 4am, and asked him if we should go back to the party. He pointed out the time, and I agreed. I went back to sleep.

I awoke again around 9 or 10. We packed up our things and decided to get breakfast. At the time, he made an aside comment. "I would have done you with your boots on, but you were wearing hose." I didn't really think much of it at the time. I was woozy and thought that maybe I had had too much to drink. I let him take me out for lunch. I could barely eat, my stomach felt bad, and all I wanted to do was to go back to bed.

After that feeling, I knew I wanted to be away from him, but I didn't know why. So, after eating very little, I left, and I called my best friend. I lived with my folks at the time and just couldn't manage that. I asked if I could come over, so I went over there and stayed with her. I pretty much passed out on her couch until about 8:30pm. I then decided to go home.

On the way home, it hit me. It hit me. The things he had said, the way I felt...he raped me! The friend had raped me! It hit me so hard that I called my best friend. I told her what happened. Then I had to go home, and hide it.

There's more to this story, more information, more ways that I got hurt. But suffice to say that I saw this motherfucker at the gas station today. And that's got me all sorts of confused, angry, amazed, and really, mostly, pure, unadulterated rage.

Ah, The Days

Today was a lovely day, where I did very little except look up information about Buffy. (Oh, and I studied, too, but what's interesting about that?)

Now, I'm waiting to see if The Boy calls again. He was supposed to call me back about 45 min ago. Still, it feels like high school. If I call him, then I'm needy. Yet I dearly love his attention.

(Yeah, boys, girls are as crazy as you thought. Shut up.)

We'll see what happens. To be honest, I kinda thought that if I was online and blogging, he'd call.

I'm definitely going to chalk this up to the Bar. Because nothing makes me needier than this test. Oh, and irrational, too.

I'm also listening to Jon Secada, in Spanish, because his songs are much prettier in Spanish. And I know this because I have a degree in it.

Wow, you are all going to know the true crazy. And thanks for continuing to read. Sanity will (may) return.

Oh, Thoughts

Remember when I was talking about getting a whole new blog? One where I could be really honest? Yeah, I'm thinking about it again. Is it possible to hide one's identity enough that she could do it? Is it possible to only invite people to see the posts?

Investigations to follow.

Ugh, Ads

I'm not entirely sure when this happened. It used to be, from my memory, that loading pages took forever. I think it was because the modems were so slow. Lately, it seems like internet ads take FOREVER. I remember hearing all the kvetching about download speed, about trying to open pages.

Now, what I notice is that it takes 40 years to open a page, if only because there are 75 ad pages that have to load before you can see the actual content of the page.
?
How did this happen? How did we move from "ads are evil" to "ads are expected"? It is endlessly frustrating, if only for the way I have to deal with them.

If I am able to delete the history, it means I have to remember every damn password I have.

Also, when did "free" become "ad-content"? Isn't anyone else annoyed by this? I think it's part of the reason my machine is uber-cranky.

Ideas?

Brain Trust

I know that here in Vegas, we do not hold the top mark for America's most stupid, but we've got to be in the top 10. Case in point - a couple days ago, I was forced to hear local news. Downside of NPR, I guess. They think I care about what happens here. But any of you that live in a (relatively) small area knows that local news is pretty much bullshit.

(Aside: The worst part of a local news broadcast is Children To Love, where DHR whores out small children to be adopted. It doesn't bother me as much when it's pets, but children? Seriously? Each appearance has to equal at least two years of therapy.)

However, this nugget came on: Local man and woman caught with a meth lab at their house. This is not news. Apparently not having teeth, or sanity, is in. It gets better. Next, they announce this lab was on federal land. Then, they announce that this lab was on Redstone Arsenal.

I was blown away. If you're cooking death, wouldn't you want the location to be, somewhat, hidden? Preferably not on a U.S. Army installation? Especially not a U.S. Army installation that regularly test-fires missiles?

Like I said, top 10.

PostSecret

I am definitely late to the PostSecret party, but I'm now thoroughly addicted to it. I wish that there were archives, and if there are someone please tell me! Or maybe I can find one of those sites that archives the Internet and see if I can find old updates. Now, the first thing I do on Sundays is read the page.

Today one of the secrets got to me: I work at a battered women's shelter. I understand why your husband punched your lights out.

That's actually a pretty well-kept secret of the trade. I, too, have done my time in a domestic violence shelter, as part of my internship for my master's degree. I have to admit that I absolutely dreaded it there. Not only was it a sad, sad place, but some of those women, damn, they really were disagreeable, mean...

I mean, the logical part of me knew that there were definite and true reasons for their behavior, but sometimes it just got to me. It's hard to be supportive to someone who just really doesn't want help. Plus, there was the fun, never-ending fear that one of these ladies would tell their abuser where the shelter. This did happen, probably more often than I was made aware. And let me tell you, leaving the shelter at night, after conducting children's therapy (read: babysitting. How can you counsel a group of 15 kids ranging from infants to 15-year-olds? A: You can't. You just try to keep them for killing each other. Remember their life experience.) I got to go to my car in the dark. You zig, you zag, you pray.

Yeah, so I understand what that secret-sender means. And I'm impressed that she can go back to work each day. It's soul-grinding work.

The Glory of Anonymity

Recently, I've had the chance to play around on this cranky machine of mine, and run into "blogs of note". Some of which I've bookmarked, in order to see if I like them enough to add them to my list of what I read. If they're any good, I'll add them.

Maybe.

Because now I wonder. I've been reading Gawker for a while, and some other sites. I, at first, wondered at the self-importance of the posts and the comments. To be honest, I don't have the best first opinions about folks from New York City. Blame it on law school. But why I questioned was because the folks I met, and the ones whose blogs I read, are really, really, REALLY aware of their presence on the internet. Now, don't get me wrong, I do pay attention to the hits on this site, and glory in all of them.

Still. I was reading Fimoculous, and reading the comments on his site, and I was really taken aback. For all the articles on the power (and viciousness) of the blog and the blog comments, I had never seen it for myself.

It took me full circle. Maybe the best thing to do is to not link, not let anyone else see what you see. I know that's hardly the point of this little Internet, but wow!

Now I know what he means when he talks about microfame. And I can see how it can affect your worldview.

And I also get the irony of the links in this post, but without context, y'all got nothing.

Oh, and if I can ever figure out how to get from A to, oh, say, D, without losing my point, you'll be the first to know.

There's More...

But I can't really talk about it. I know, I know, I'm getting secretive. I wonder how this blog will change when I pass the bar. Every other blog I've read that's about passing the bar changes amazingly after the passage.

Does this mean we matter more after we pass?

Oh, Jeez...

The downside of blogging is that I can't tell you everything, because the point of this little diary is to talk about my world, and also to be sure that I don't hurt anyone in the process.

Sometimes the interactions I have with others make me want to talk about it, but I shouldn't. That really sucks.

OK, so maybe I'll do it this one time and then, if I need to, take it down later. But wait, isn't there no "taking down" on the internets? Yes. I believe there is.

Let's see if I can water it down, so no-one gets hurt.

A person I've been talking to said something really good tonight. He said, "Yes, I was dressed Western, and I had a loaded gun." I pointed out that the gun was illegal. His answer? "I was shooting blanks."

Perfect.

Advice

This is a little tidbit I learned today at work, which, as we know, a place where I get very little done. There was an update from Microsoft today, which is supposed to fix the random...(yeah, I don't know. Something about DNS? or pinging?)

Anyhoo, it messes with your antivirus. And loading the update can ruin your ability to access the Internets (and I will say Internets until the current president is gone). So, if you have the update installed, and cannot have access (and the irony isn't lost on me), just set your carefulness setting to medium, and apparently you'll be all right.

Or be like me, and don't install it.

Hyperbole...The Best Part Of Me

Let me just tell you about Tuesday's adventures, which spread into today. Yesterday, I knew I had to deposit a check into the bank or I'd never been able to buy gas again. Since the "low gas" light had been on for about 2 days, getting the petrol was becoming a necessity. So I actually left early enough to go to the bank before work and not be late for once. (That was a sacrifice - I love playing on the computer in the morning.)

So I go to the local ATM, and it cannot seem to figure out how to dispense an envelope for my check. This means I have to go to the next one, not too far away, but as I mentioned, fuel was becoming an issue. I get there, and glory be! There's envelopes. I fill it out, insert my card, do all I need to, and the damn machine will not eat my envelope. I tried like 8 times to no avail. Then, to add insult to extreme poverty, the machine took my card!

(Aside: I live my life like that commercial where everyone uses their card, and the dorkbutt who uses cash slows everything up. Yeah, I said slow up, whatcha gonna do about it?)

So it's not about 8:50, I need to be to work by 9, I doubt I'm going to make it, and now I have to wait until the bank opens. So I decide, in my infinite wisdom, to go get gas during the lag time. Problem is, the closest gas station is about 17 cents higher than the one I patronize. I know I'm going to have to suck it up, because pushing my car in 90 degrees (1002 if you count the humidity) is not a viable option in work clothes. Or any clothes, really.

So my car pants in, cranky and dusty for its lack of power. So, there goes the $50 I got. I gave the nice lady a $50 bill, and got $8 back for my trouble. (I blame the bar for gas prices, too. Evil!)
I go back to the bank, deposit the check, and make the teller laugh with my tale of woe.

And today the nice bank people returned my darling, dear, gorgeous debit card. I am back to spend another day.

Perhaps

Perhaps, after I've made some changes in my life, the changes are finally happening. I thought that I wouldn't have to deal with the repercussions, but I do. And really, it's not so bad. But it does feel different.

We'll see what happens. Until then, this is the best update you're going to get. Yeah.

Different v. Repercussions.

And I think my spelling really sucks. Maybe I should take down the post about grammar.

Oh, Crap

As I play on Facebook and get into more silly groups, something occurred to me.

I joined a group which revels in the glory of the bump at the intersection of Airport and Whitesburg. Anyone familiar with the south end of town knows this bump. I'm amazed it's still there, actually, because it's almost a rite of passage to drive your first car over it so quickly that you catch air. My little Mazda did it many times. And even though I've been going over that bump since I was 17, it's still fun.

So I decided to look at some of the members of the group. That's when it hit me. I might have actually joined a group where my friends' kids are members. That reminds me that I am getting old. How embarrassing to be in a group with kids I can remember swinging around when they were toddlers. How did this happen? How did I get to be 35?

Work Husband, Part Deux

Writing about W.H. is apparently the most popular page I have. I'm guessing this is because a lot of us have work spouses. I don't have to feel guilty about it, however, because I'm single and therefore have no accountability.

I miss him. He's gone until Wednesday, and the office is quiet, and my boss is busy and doesn't have a lot of time for idle chit chat. W.H. doesn't either, really, but he gets no choice in the matter. Plus, he's closer to my age and we have more in common.

So I made it through today - it was quiet there and (thankfully) I got some studying done. Have I mentioned that CrimLaw and Property are my least faves? There are so many lists to learn. And knowing that I'll be sitting for this bastard in 3 weeks is not helping. Stupid malice crimes. 10? Really? Actually, there's 11, but for some reason robbery and larceny are listed together. I hope the MBE takes pity and hammers me with more ConLaw questions. I'm a freaking rock star on it now.

So, back to the original post. I'm looking forward to W.H.'s vacation stories, and telling him all about the silly stuff that happened while he was out. And I'm not too proud to make up stories.

How many of you have work spouses?

My Little Heart Is Broken

So, I didn't get to see the ending of the epic battle between Federer and Nadal. But as I look at the news, I see that Rafa won. Congratulations, Rafa!

But I wanted Federer to win. I prefer his style of playing.

I bet he was classy at the end.

Damn it.

Relationships

This is post #199. I've got to come up with something really good for post #200. Any suggestions are welcomed. I also just realized that I didn't write yesterday. That's the first day in goodness knows how long. I guess even manic bloggers are allowed an Independence Day.

So, to the topic title listed. It seems, lately, that as I worry less about the status of mine, the more I'm enjoying the boy. Why do the labels matter so much? And the fact that I even care makes me feel like Justin Bobby and Audrina wrapped into one. (Remember those glorious episodes from The Hills? Yes, I watch The Hills. Shut up.)

And maybe what I thought I wanted, initially, is not what I want. I think I might be coming to the age where I'm putting more pressure on myself to fit into societal norms. Why? Do I get a cookie or manna from Heaven if I follow arbitrary rules? I don't want kids, so there's really no point in marriage, if I follow the conventions I'm placing on myself. So, relax, girl!

I'm going to blame the Bar. I'm going to blame it for everything, including stubbing my toe this morning and having to clean out the cat box. And then I'm going to consciously tell myself to relax and enjoy the good, fun relationship I do have. Let the rest work itself out.

Today's Random Thoughts

1. People in Huntsville apparently bought their (collective) driver's licenses from the Internet. That's the only way to explain the random weaving and their amazing ability to have a left turn signal on, be in the left turn lane, and then turn right, over 3 lanes of traffic.

2. I got my ticket for the bar today. It made me shake. All over. For like 2 hours. I guess it's real now. Plus, I wish I were really rich so I could stay in a good hotel for a change.

3. After talking to B., I'm guessing that everyone who's sitting for the bar (what a dumb expression) has the same "it's on" moment.

4. It's getting harder to hide the fact that I do minimal work when I am at work.

5. Wimbledon freaking rocks! (As a reminder, it ends Sunday, so I can let you have a break and I can move on to other, more pressing, topics.)

6. The day ended better than it started. I wish I weren't a walking emoticon.

7. I am chair-dancing to Machines of Loving Grace.

8. I have gorgeous, mauve-y purple toes. Thank you Momma!

Wimbledon, con't

Things I've learned from watching the tournament:

1. As the grass goes away, aim there. It will generally mess with your opponent.

2. Rafa Nadal either touches his butt for luck, or it's a habit. Either way, that's OK with me.

3. Roger Federer might have had Botox in his hairline. Seriously, does that man sweat?

4. The videographers must love the sexy part, for there are many shots that might be considered inappropriate.

5. The commenters are annoying. Really, random stories are not necessary. Especially as we're headed into the finals. Shut up and let them play!

6. Trust your instincts a little more. You're in a better position than you think.

And it's fortunate that this isn't on all year. I'd never get anything done.

If it helps, the tournament ends on Sunday (weather permitting) so you'll all be free for another year.

Disintegration

In order to complete destroy myself for the bar, I've been exploring the sadness that I often feel and try very hard to hide.

Last night (and, yes, right now), it got the best of me. The random of Winamp bit me. The song Disintegration came on. And yes, I listened to it about 8 times. I looked all over the not-yet-completely unpacked apartment to find the CD. Of course I couldn't find it, and of course I took it as a sign.

It's not. I know, logically, that it's not. But still, the part of me that never believes in myself took it that way. And I still have a desire to rip this apartment apart to find it. And when I do, I will play it endlessly again. I might even find a way to be more annoying than the last time I devoured it. Last time, it was the end of a college relationship, and I (actually) listened to it in the dark and wrote bad poetry while listening.

I hope no-one ever has a copy of my bad, manic poetry.