Legal Hazing

When I was running at the gym last night, I started to think about my 1L year. While time goes fast in law school, each school year has brought what seems like a decade of change to me. I feel like I am mentally and personality wise growing at an exponential rate.

I decided to go to law school pretty late in my undergrad year-- in fact, just one month before I was set to graduate. In that last month, I quickly signed up for the LSAT and an LSAT training course. I don't exactly know why I chose law school, and unlike most of the students in my school, I didn't grow up knowing I wanted to be a lawyer. In fact, even after I decided to go to law school (I think it was the impending doom of entering the real world with nothing but a liberal arts degree without a drop of special training-- "hi, please hire me, I can run a mile in 5 minutes and recite the causes and facts of the Iranian revolution"), I had pretty much decided that I was going to law school for the education and to gain professional skills and that I was not doing it to be a lawyer.

After I graduated, I took a year to work full time and apply to law school (I had such a late start). When I actually arrived at school, I knew absolutely nothing about it. Unlike students who has prepped their whole life for these three years, I was blissfully ignorant of what was to come. I got my class schedule, and wondered curiously what "torts" was-- certainly I can't be taking a course on european egg cake?

Some things I was ignorant of:

• I assumed a "memorandum" was inherently short (I was shocked to learn in legal writing that our memos had to be a minimum of ten pages.
• what Attorneys actually do- you mean it's not like the movies?!
• the difference between an Appellate Court, District Court and Superior Court. "Isn't the Supreme Court superior?" duh.
• I thought the concept of property was objective and tangible.
• A legal brief isn't a type of lawyerly undergarment.

It's amazing to look back and think how far I have come. I am sure now (well on most days) that law school was the best choice for me. It's such an interesting profession and its full of acadamia, stimulating discussions about important life issues, and practicality. And I am almost certain now that I want to practice law.

In just ONE YEAR, I went from knowing absolutely nothing about the law, Attorneys, or the legal profession to working part time in a law firm drafting motions, meeting clients and researching issues. With the most recent baby developments, this second year is bound for even greater changes. Sometimes I feel like I'm changing so fast, I hardly know myself.

Musical Cravings

Forget the infamous cheese, watermelon, or chocolate cravings...I only have musical pregnancy cravings. I can't go a day without listening to Boys II Men...I just lay down, set iTunes to "repeat" and eat it all up. The band totally does it for me right now. Hey, this kid will be one suave cat.

Also, I have also been yearning to hear Jamiroquai...but maybe that's just because I know Blake Lewis is in town and I'd give my last Toffee Symphany bar to see him perform in concert. So very yummy.

No aversions yet, except for folding laundry.

Don't even look at me wrong.

He knows I'm moody and don't feel well but he still insists on teasing me and doing things to purposefuly make me mad. This was not in the wedding vows...must be one of those added bonuses that people never warn you about.

What a Cry Baby

According to online due date calculators, I am about six weeks pregnant and due August 20th.

But, I really don't feel pregnant at all, except for having sore boobs, not being able to poop, being tired all the time and having regular crying fits. That is the biggest thing that puzzles me about this whole ordeal, why do I cry for no reason?

I bawl when I hear a sad song, when I think my husband is mad at me, when I'm tired, when I'm laying on the couch, after I eat, when my boobs hurt, when I see how ugly our second bedroom is for the millionth time, when I'm bored, when I think about babies, when I think about baby animals, when I think about how I can't ski for 8 more months, when I think my eyebrows are ugly, when I want a hug, when we run out of cat food and when I'm cold.

In fact, just thinking about being sad makes me sad. (rubs tears away).

I wanted a baby- so why am I sad all the time? Why do I always feel crabby? I wish I could show other people how I feel so they would understand. People who wintess my crying fits probably think I'm insane and emotionally unstable- oh wait, I am. I think I finally understand what people go through who have chronic depression or other emotional problems. At least, there is a positive side to all this, gaining sympathy for others.

It's just really frustrating not to be able to control something as small as tears.

Too Much Information

Symptom of Pregnancy: Constipation

When you are pregnant, every poop is a gift. A precious gift from God. When it happens, you want to scream for joy and thank the God of Unclogged Bowels.

I have a newly founded wonder for prune juice, apple juice, cran-raspberry juice, pineapple juice (heck, ANY juice), and a hate for our sugar addicted society (do you know how hard it is to FIND 100% juice at the grocery store?).

I Went to the Bathroom. It Changed My Life.

Even though I know they aren't even due until sometime in January, I am already obsessed with checking my grades. And in the midst of waiting for the results of my law exams, I received results from a totally unrelated test. This test I passed with flying colors...

On the morning of Christmas Eve, I went to the bathroom. It changed my life.

The last two weeks I had been feeling very different. At first I thought I was imagining things, then I started to think something was wrong with me. It wasn't anything that I couldn't ignore, slight twinges in my stomache, feeling cold and having random headaches. So, I did just that, I ignored it. I distracted myself with buying Christmas gifts and eating chocolate. Then my friend from Japan stayed with me for ten days, giving me another excuse to ignore the weird symptoms.

Then one day after work, I came home and cried. I cried for no reason. I was trying to decide whether I should go shopping for more gifts or meet my Husband and his friends for drinks. You would have thought I was forced to decide between owning a life time supply of icecream or a freezer to put it all in. I just couldn't make a decision. I was so frustrated, I just had a melt down. I didn't even know what I was really crying about. After a couple hours of shopping therapy I was back to as close to normal as I ever am.

Later in the week, Husband and my friend went to see Will Smith's new movie, I Am Legend. At one point during the movie, while I was already hunched way down in my seat with my sweater hood pulled over my eyes and my teeth clenched on half chewed Jelly Bellys, I started bawling at the sight of an evil, creepy teenage zombie being taken away from its family. Yes, this creature was a deadly, almost inhumane, cannibal freak and I felt sad for it.

Ok, feeling sorry for a human eating zombie? That was the last straw! It was time to start ruling out the things that could possibly be wrong with me. The very next morning, I woke up, ran into the bathroom, and peed on a stick. At first I couldn't tell... did I see two lines? My hands were shaking, I was sleepy, and the bathroom light wasn't so bright. I ran into the bedroom where Husband was and interrupted his unsuspecting, peaceful sleep to shove a pregnancy test in his face.

"What do you see? Are there two lines?" I asked him.

"Yeah, I guess." he replied. That was it, the confirmation. I was holding a Big. Fat. Positive.

When he started to roll over like he was going back to sleep, I poked him with the pee-warm stick. "Do you know what this means?!"

Like a scavenger squirrel, I shoved the BFP in my top drawer under a burrow of underwear. What the hell was I supposed to do with it? I was too jittery and scared to go back to bed. I just laid there. Scared. Happy. Worried. Excited. Scared. Oh Shit.

Now if I can only do so well on my law exams.

From Japan With Love

For the last week, my friend Nami from Japan has been staying with us. I hadn't seen her or spoke to her since she moved to Japan after we graduated from highschool five years ago...

I met Nami in first grade when she had just moved to America and didn't speak English. She carried around a thick japanese dictionary to help her translate what people in class were trying to tell her. Looking back at that, I am totally amazed...I couldn't even read anything- and she was furiously looking up the japanese translation of english words in her 20 lb dictionary.

I walked into class for the first time with my mom and immediateely began crying. I was terrified at the thought of being in school all day without her. Nami was in a totally new country and she didn't even seem phased. Our teacher Ms. Rankin sat us next to each other and we were instant friends (take a packet of powdered friend mix, just add water).

We were best friends for a long time- all the way until sophmore year of highschool when we both liked the same boy. I had one date with him before my mom found out and told me I was not allowed to Date Boys until I was 18...then he asked Nami out. She said yes. I was hurt and angry. They dated for about two years and that whole time I felt betrayed. Looking back, I guess he wasn't even that cute.... he was definately no Indiana Jones :) And I feel dumb for letting such a long friendship become destroyed over a silly boy.

After this whole ordeal, Nami and I graduated and never really spoke. Deep down I harbored a grudge even though I pretended that I didn't care. Over the last five years I had regretted the loss of the friendship. I guess its easy to think your past feelings are silly when you no longer feel them. In situations like this, time is really the only healer.

When I picked Nami up at the airport l ast week, I was really nervous. I didn't really know who she would be anymore. I didn't know what to expect. It turns out that even though five years did a lot to heal us both, five years is not enough to change us beyond recognition. Behind the older looking smile of hers, I recognize the little girl who taught me so much about life beyond the little world I knew. The girl who sparked my love for adventure and foreign lands and who helped me develop a passion for understanding other people.

Yes, things are pretty much the same.

Birthing a Law Final

Although I have never really given birth to anything (thank god), I have the feeling that the experience is similar to going through a week of law school exams. After an excruciating delivery period involving 50+ hours of back to back studying, I feel nothing short of heavenly, abundant joy (and relief) that it is all over.

I am also starting to think that the joy of being done with finals is like those post-birth feelings that erase memories of pain. In two weeks, clearly having forgotten the tortures of finals week, I will be anxious to be back in class. doing homework (gasp!).

Right now, I can't fathom doing anything except sitting in my warm bed, eating Cheddar Cheese Cheetos and watching mind rotting television.

Barbie Secrets

This morning I woke up to a very disturbing dream (more disturbing than my dream of a gerbil running loose in my house, attacking my belongings with indiscriminate defecation). I dreamt that, to my horror, my husband uncovered a box under our bed filled with Barbie dolls and glittery Barbie outfits. The worst part of the dream-- they were mine!

I was so embarrassed at my husband's discovery of my secret indulgence. It was as if a mature (supposedly), married adult playing with Barbies was as unacceptable in dreamland society as child pornography is in ours. I was horrified that he knew the truth and, even worse, I was forced to confront my Barbie problem. I began to feel the weight of a burning Scarlet "B" on my forehead.

I think I know where my subconcious trauma over Barbies comes from. When I was a kid, I didn't really play with Barbies. In fact, I was a hardlined tomboy. I insisted on being a Ninja Turtles when we played make believe. I occassionally dabbled in other characters such as: the Beast from Beauty and the Beast, Sabastian the crab from the Little Mermaid, a cowboy, and a ninja mouse with a sword (I will stop there, this is painful already).

Perhaps, I suppressed all my girly desires and now they are threatening to take me on by force and come out all at once. Or perhaps, when I was little I associated with girly things negatively and thus developed some deep shame over being female? Maybe I wasn't loved as a child.

When I was seven I did have one traumatic run-in with Barbie. A friend (clearly not a close one) or one of my aunts (probably thinking I should act my gender) bought be a Barbie and a Ken for my birthday. At first I wasn't much amused. They lived in the box for a long, long time.

One day I got curious and took them out. I wondered what they looked like without clothes. Then I innocently wondered if they could have babies. My friend had told me that people had babies when they "slept on each other naked." After many attempts, I realized Barbie and Ken could NOT have babies. Then not so innocently, I used Ken and Barbie to enact what I thought "making out" would be . I wish I could remember what a seven year old with very catholic parents believed "making out" to entail.

Although I didn't know exactly what I was doing with Ken and Barbie, this was my first exploration into sexuality. I felt a little guilty at the end (sounds like I'm talking about a one night stand here). I felt guilty for making Barbie and Ken engage in loveless, amateur coitus and guilty for betraying the Ninja Turtles. I took one last look at Barbie, then did soemthing I later blamed on my brother.

I ripped Barbie's head right off!

She was never the same again. So Ken went after Barbie's sister, Stacie.

Holiday Spirit(s)

We are so prepared for the holidays now, thanks to Value Village's 50% off All Hideous Grandma Clothing Sale. I actually felt guilty rummaging through the racks of clothing for my sweater treasure. I mean, people don't shop here because they want to, do they? They shop here because they need to.

So my selfish motives for buying a $3 Grandma sweater--to poke fun and to win the title of this year's Ugly Christmas Sweater Champion-- meant there was one less warm sweater for a poor Grandma who actually needed it.

I will toast to that Grandma when I claim my title, for sure.

Another Reason Why He Is Still Cute

He plays fart sounds from online fart websites...and thinks its funny.

This is almost as bad as having an online dictionary pronounce naughty words.

Extreme Emotional Distress

My finals are causing me EED!

In my favorite class- International Delivery of Human Aid- my professor gave us a writing assignment instead of a traditional 3 hour final. I should be jumping for joy, right? WRONG! It would be a nice easy paper, except that we have to pick our own topics. After we pick our topic, we have to follow certain guidelines he established in analyzing our topic.

So we can pick virtually ANY topic related to international aid. ANY topic? ANY topic? What do I chose? I have been in law school for 1.5 years- whatever creativity I had coming in to lawschool has been successfully beaten out of me by the IRAC method (Issue, Rule, Analysis, Conclusion). I don't know how to write a normal paper! I haven't written a paper like that since college.

I've already been through three topics. My paper deadline is approaching and I'm still stuck. I totally had a break down last night. I buried my head under a blanket and screamed "I can't do it!" until my husband came over to make me feel better. He put his arms around me and consoled, "yes you can, you can do it." I just made really loud, pouty breathing sounds and then threatened to let my computer fall off my lap in frustration. He caught it- damn.

"Can I help you?"
With head under my blankie I replied: "hmph!"
"Do you need power food?"
"HMPH!"
"Do you need a hug?"
head still under blankie: "waaaaaah!"
"do you need to take a break?"
"sob, sob"

I gave in and we watched SuperBad. Then we played the drinking game version of "throw a ball into a box" drinking KoolAid and Vodka out of a plastic cup. Man, I haven't done stuff like that since college. Maybe this morning I will be able to write a normal paper afterall.

Coffee Please, With Room For Sass

My plan to block my cats' access to the toilet backfired on me this morning. First of all, I don't know why they insist on drinking out of the toilet-- are they protesting the tupperware I use for their water dish that currently contains five day old water and bloated sunken cat food?

So I made a specific attemp to close the bathroom door behind me. Too bad I forgot to unlock it first. I rummaged through all the drawers in the kitchen but I couldn't find anything the right size to unlock the door! At first it wasn't a big deal. I mean how badly did I really need that shower? There are worse things than three day old hair. For example: smelling like Old Spice all day long because my own deoderant was temporarily unaccessible. I sat back down and resumed studying for finals (stalking people on facebook).

Two hours and three cans of Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper later....I needed to do something about that door, and QUICK! I packed my bags and drove ten minutes to the nearest Starbucks.

Me: "can I get the key to your restroom?"
Barrista: "sorry, for customers only"

WHAT?! I wanted to threaten to pee all over the floor but I just couldn't do it. So with my legs violently crossed I ordered a cookie (I couldn't order a liquid and watch them pour it into a cup).

It's really hard to count change when you are bouncing up and down.

Long story short, I got my cookie and I was granted access to the restroom. After squeezing into the only available table which was behind a group of loud soccer moms wearing leggings and oversized sweatshirts, I got cracking on my books. My reading was only interrupted one last time by a barrista desperate screams to her co-workers, "We're out of coffee jerkoffs! Go back and get some or I'll have your asses fired! JERK. OFFS!"

So Glad

that there are no calories in salt...so I can dump it all over my food without the least bit of guilt.

Teacher Evaluations

Instructor: Professor Smithman
Course: Development Law

1. Does instructor communicate clearly and effectively?
....Listening to this professor is like listening to my great aunt lila wispering through a toothless mouth from half way across the room. But aunt lila gives me cookies.

2. Does instructor relate the material to current topics?
....Professor repeatedly interrupted student lead discussions about the passing of Kanye West's mother, may she rest in peace, (seriously, where's the respect?) and Nicole Richie's pregnancy (who would have thought she is capable of growing boobs?)

3. Does instructor demonstrate knowledge in the subject?
.....Professor demonstrates knowledge (and years of experience) in boring the hell out of a room full of students of the law (who, I might add, have a high boredom-threshold from reading cases all day)

4. Does instructor help your ability to learn the subject?
....looking at slideshows of lung cancer growths would have been a better use of my time than to attend class lecture (don't think I wasn't tempted on occassion).

Additional Comments:
When he teaches, Professor reminds me of the dancing monkey from Aladdin, minus the cute red hat.

Putting the Crass in Procrastinate

I have finals next week. I have finals next week. I have finals next week. Hmm, no matter how much I say it, I can't get myself to study. I'm in denial. This semester I adopted a new approach to school work: In No Way Shape or Form Will I Acknowlegde My Schoolwork and Maybe it Will Go Away.

Hasn't worked yet...but I still have a week left.

All I know is that I would much rather watch graphically made youtube videos of Barrack OBama dancing and singing Bollywood songs (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sA-451XMsuY), pluck my eyebrows, or even clean out the five week hair clog out of my shower drain (gasp!) than do my readings for Consti(tu)pational Law.

Tourettes for Dummies

I don't know how I ended up with my husband. Unlike him, I was born deficient in the chromosome that compels people to iron their jeans, organize their 200 cd collection in alphabetical order, and keep their laundry out of mountainous piles on the floor.

On the other hand, sometime I feel just as crazy as he is. Today, for example, I was sitting in my night class trying not to listen to my professor dry heave streams of words meant to form logical sentences. I was doing everything possible to make the 2.5 hour class go by faster, such as: figuring out when I would be justified in eating another cookie (which I decided was not a hard qt at all -- MORE COOKIEZ!!) and imagining myself wearing my really ugly Christmas sweater from Value Village with knit snowmen and cotton balls sewn all over it.

That's when I got the urge to yell the word "penis" in front of 20 graduate business and law students and one practicing local attorney.

I just wanted to say it once, just once, and then pretend like nothing unusual had just happened.

I mostly wanted to see how people would react. Would they pretend it didn't happen? Would I get kicked out of the room and sent down the hall to the Dean's Office? Oh man, it would have been hilarious.

What stopped me was not my moral compass or social dignity (they are temporarily misplaced along with my ability to buy cookie dough icecream without eating all the cookie dough chunks out). What stopped me was the fact that I knew I couldn't do it with a straight face and because I did not wish to be the first law student preemptively disbarred.

Reasons Why He is Still Cute

1. We are laying down, cuddling and falling asleep in each other's arms and from his land of dreams Husband informs me, "You're breathing too hard."

Not Sleepy Dangit

It's 12:34am, yes, I know I should be in bed. I'm fighting heavy eyelids and warding off boughts of unconsciousness that are stopping me from running rampantly and indulgently all over the world wide web.

Husband is already sleeping...in a nice warm bed...but I don't give up so easily!
Getting sleepy...wait, nice warm bed?...must stay awake...must check Facebook again.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Raining all over

This morning I just stayed in bed and watched the minutes change on my phone-- as if looking at the time long enough, I could freeze it with my icy stare (which is silly because I made up my mind long ago that if I did have a super power, it would be lightning speed transportation).

The thought of getting out of bed was grossly horrifying to me this morning. I was very happy to be smothered underneath my electric blanket in a protective coating of sweat with my hair plastered all over my face and neck all day long.

Unfortunately, my home is governed by the Universal Law of Cat-- that cats will pounce wherever they are not wanted. So my introduction to the morning was a black fuzzy paw batting my eyelids as the source of the paw purred like a rototiller in my face.

The rain had been coming down in torrents all night and into the morning. Water was everywhere outside. It swept by in deep ribbonlike streams over the roads and boldly washed over all surfaces. I was clearly thrilled to walk to work today. But who am I kidding? Sure, I like to save the earth on a daily basis and reduce America's dependance on gas which just might, in turn, solve all of our foreign policy problems...but NOT if it means getting wet!

I pack all my stuff (ten minutes late as usual) and head for the door to see that my cute, thoughtful Husband caringly left an umbrella on the doornob for me so that I wouldn't have to spend an extra 15 minutes unleashing the contents of hell in our closet all over our bedroom floor in an attempt to find it.

I smile at Husband's kind gesture as I remove the umbrella from the doornob, throw it aside and, with a twinge of guilt, grab the keys to my hip aerostar van. I walk down the steps to the sidewalk and stare in disbelief. I suddenly don't notice that my new shoes are in two inches of standing water, that ten minutes of painstaking haircare is unraveling defiantly in the wind, or that my mouth is open wide enough to fit an entire Philly Cheesesteak inside, because...the van...is gone!

I run back inside and grab the umbrella, no longer thinking Huband's little gesture was cute, or kind, or caring. That stinker drove MY car and all he could do was leave me a dinky umbrella?

Disclaimer

Not all thoughts are filtered before posting. Names may or may not be changed to protect the innocent, however, any resemblence to real life persons which could result in emotional distress and contail libelous content are purely coincidental. Exposure to this blog may result in unpredictable side effects, may be distasteful and...

may contain nuts.