For some odd reason, I am fiercely attracted to construction law, particularly construction defect. I know, it's a super niche area of the law and it's pretty random. But something in the way that construction defect issues blend the borders of tort and contract law gives my body a rush of that hot and bothered tingling feeling.
Why didn't I learn about the Economic Loss Doctrine earlier in my law school career? Where has it been all my life? The Economic Loss Doctrine fills a gap in my soul that I didn't even know I had. I feel a sense of completeness in my life knowing that when a construction defect occurs, there is generally no tort claim available because the loss was not a loss to person or property, it was simply an economic loss, or a defective product (and therefore, recovery is only available through contract- well, at least, this is the case in Washington State).
The Doctrine draws a sharp line between contract and tort law in regards to the area of construction. It encourages the owners of projects to play a more active role in inspecting the construction work. It encourages people to contract for warranties and other provisions to cover potential defects. And we all know that the legal jargon in contracts is just plain sexy. Not to mention the over-all sexiness of a well-bargained for contract which accomplishes the purposes of both parties.
I am so enamored by the Economic Loss Doctrine that each time I go to bed, I expect to have a raunchy sex dream about it. Hopefully in my dream, the sexy doctrine would be personified with the body of a muscular construction worker- now wouldn't that be great :).
When my professor brings up the Economic Loss Doctrine in a class discussion, I get so excited that I think I will pee my pants a little. I sure hope the doctrine will be on our exam because that would make the exam much more enjoyable- like I was writing a lustfull letter to a far away lover instead of just taking a law school exam.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Fresh Off The Boat
Yesterday, I was furiously studying for my International Business Transactions class, and by furiously study, I mean I outlined my outline...as in, I wrote down the name of each chapter of the book...
We have to learn contract shipping terms for that class and one of the main shipping terms is Free On Board, otherwise know as FOB. I have to laugh everytime I hear that term because of a particularly funny incident that happened in my 1L contract class. So- in one of our assigned cases, our class came across the term FOB. In class that day the professor asked the class if someone could explain what FOB meant.
The room was silent for a couple minutes until one particularly unfortunate student raised his hand, "it means "fresh off the boat." he chimed, referring to the derogatory term for immigrants who have not yet assimilated to their new culture. The entire class gasped in unison, waiting to see what would happen next.
Our contracts professor grew up in South Asia. He likes to tell us stories about his first job in America: working at a Seven- Eleven gas station, to perpetuate the stereotype. He then got an undergraduate degree and a law degree. But, he still has a very thick accent and might be mistaken by others as being "fresh off the boat" himself.
Fortunately for that student volunteer, he just laughed and then asked, "does anyone want to correct this bum and give us the CONTRACT term?"
I absolutely loved this professor. He was hard core about the socratic method. When someone got a question wrong, he would form guns with his pointer fingers and pretend to shoot them. One time he said, "I have to get out my rifle for this one" and put both his hands into a rifle shape and pointed it at a student.
This is also the guy who said things like: "If the law didn't inflict pain, it wouldn't be law" and "the only legitimate excuse for getting out of a contract is death, and it has to be yours."
He always had the best way to sum up the facts of the cases we were studying:
"she got this ugly stupid roof"
"give me my remodeled kitchen and take your justice home"
"the bum breached the contract, tell the bum to 'go to hell'"
"hell, damn no bum, 'go to hell'"
and he used Janet Jackson's song "What have you done for me lately" to explain the concept of consideration. That lyric was a running theme in our class. As was the phrase "go to hell" when a contract was found to not be enforceable.
We have to learn contract shipping terms for that class and one of the main shipping terms is Free On Board, otherwise know as FOB. I have to laugh everytime I hear that term because of a particularly funny incident that happened in my 1L contract class. So- in one of our assigned cases, our class came across the term FOB. In class that day the professor asked the class if someone could explain what FOB meant.
The room was silent for a couple minutes until one particularly unfortunate student raised his hand, "it means "fresh off the boat." he chimed, referring to the derogatory term for immigrants who have not yet assimilated to their new culture. The entire class gasped in unison, waiting to see what would happen next.
Our contracts professor grew up in South Asia. He likes to tell us stories about his first job in America: working at a Seven- Eleven gas station, to perpetuate the stereotype. He then got an undergraduate degree and a law degree. But, he still has a very thick accent and might be mistaken by others as being "fresh off the boat" himself.
Fortunately for that student volunteer, he just laughed and then asked, "does anyone want to correct this bum and give us the CONTRACT term?"
I absolutely loved this professor. He was hard core about the socratic method. When someone got a question wrong, he would form guns with his pointer fingers and pretend to shoot them. One time he said, "I have to get out my rifle for this one" and put both his hands into a rifle shape and pointed it at a student.
This is also the guy who said things like: "If the law didn't inflict pain, it wouldn't be law" and "the only legitimate excuse for getting out of a contract is death, and it has to be yours."
He always had the best way to sum up the facts of the cases we were studying:
"she got this ugly stupid roof"
"give me my remodeled kitchen and take your justice home"
"the bum breached the contract, tell the bum to 'go to hell'"
"hell, damn no bum, 'go to hell'"
and he used Janet Jackson's song "What have you done for me lately" to explain the concept of consideration. That lyric was a running theme in our class. As was the phrase "go to hell" when a contract was found to not be enforceable.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Inner Tantrum
People who know I am pregnant can tell that I'm showing- even if it's just a little. Yesterday, I ran into someone who knows about my pregnancy and she commented, "oh, you're popping out a little. you look so cute!" I know she was just being nice and sweet about it and I know she was complimenting me but I totally wanted to SPAZZ out on her.
My lack of a waist is killing me. Like one day this week it just decided to take off on a five month sabatical. I hate wearing my tight fitting tops because I think now I just look ridiculous. I have a small frame and so a normal sized preggo (I hate the word "preggo"- it reminds me of spagetti sauce) belly on me makes me feel like a bulbous circus freak. Like I'm walking around with a huge stomach goiter.
When this person told me how cute I look, I may have smiled on the outside, but on the inside I was bubbling with un-explainable rage. I was yelling all kinds of explitives at a decibal level closely bordering the "public nuisance" range.
Why? Because both my regular clothes and maternity clothes DON'T FIT. Because the Bella Band is useless on my hipless body. Because I feel so damn uncomfortable in all this extra bulge. Because my body collects fluids all day long so by the end of the day I feel as if I have gained 10 pounds since the morning. Because I can't control my own body and it's driving me insance. Because I don't look pregnant, I just look like I just won a hamburger eating contest.
So Don't Freaking tell me I look cute! All you non pregnant people who enjoy tracking my weight gain for your own amusement! And stop staring at my mid-section trying to find the "baby bulge" all the Freaking time! At least notice how awesome my huge boobs are or something!
There, I'm done. Now I can study and resume civilized, controlled, normal people behavior.
My lack of a waist is killing me. Like one day this week it just decided to take off on a five month sabatical. I hate wearing my tight fitting tops because I think now I just look ridiculous. I have a small frame and so a normal sized preggo (I hate the word "preggo"- it reminds me of spagetti sauce) belly on me makes me feel like a bulbous circus freak. Like I'm walking around with a huge stomach goiter.
When this person told me how cute I look, I may have smiled on the outside, but on the inside I was bubbling with un-explainable rage. I was yelling all kinds of explitives at a decibal level closely bordering the "public nuisance" range.
Why? Because both my regular clothes and maternity clothes DON'T FIT. Because the Bella Band is useless on my hipless body. Because I feel so damn uncomfortable in all this extra bulge. Because my body collects fluids all day long so by the end of the day I feel as if I have gained 10 pounds since the morning. Because I can't control my own body and it's driving me insance. Because I don't look pregnant, I just look like I just won a hamburger eating contest.
So Don't Freaking tell me I look cute! All you non pregnant people who enjoy tracking my weight gain for your own amusement! And stop staring at my mid-section trying to find the "baby bulge" all the Freaking time! At least notice how awesome my huge boobs are or something!
There, I'm done. Now I can study and resume civilized, controlled, normal people behavior.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Summer: Where Rest Goes To Die
I've been waiting anxiously by my phone for my OB to call and schedule my BIG FAT 20 Week Ultrasound. I am not a patient person. The suspense of whether I'm having a boy or girl is killing me. For some reason I feel like I will be able to personify the baby, get to know the baby, and bond with the baby better knowing if it is a boy or girl.
When my phone rang at lunch time, I seriously jumped three feet in the air. When I answered it, the person on the other end was not the person I had expected. It was the Managing Partner of the Seattle firm with whom I had interviewed almost two weeks ago. They offered me a full time summer position! He asked me when I could tell them if I would accept their offer. I'm sure I sounded very unprofessional as I practically shrieked- "I can tell you now! I'll accept!" but I was so excited. Especially when I heard how much they were willing to pay me...omg. I would make a small fortune this summer. Ah, the beauty and glamour of working in a Seattle firm.
It sounds like I will be able to work on a couple cases that are being tried at the Appellate Court level as well as a number of high stakes construction defect cases.
The down side: I will have to commute to Seattle by ferry, every day- 1.5 hours each way. This means leaving my house at 6:10am and arriving home at 6:45pm each day. I will also have to buy a handful of maternity suits and professional outfits. For what they are paying me, I cannot justify showing up for work in a gunney sack or a bright blue tarp- darn!
But now that I will be making more per hour than my husband (no power complex here, I promise...well, maybe a little) I can afford to buy all three seasons of Desperate Housewives and a lifetime supply of fudgcicles. Oh the joy!
When my phone rang at lunch time, I seriously jumped three feet in the air. When I answered it, the person on the other end was not the person I had expected. It was the Managing Partner of the Seattle firm with whom I had interviewed almost two weeks ago. They offered me a full time summer position! He asked me when I could tell them if I would accept their offer. I'm sure I sounded very unprofessional as I practically shrieked- "I can tell you now! I'll accept!" but I was so excited. Especially when I heard how much they were willing to pay me...omg. I would make a small fortune this summer. Ah, the beauty and glamour of working in a Seattle firm.
It sounds like I will be able to work on a couple cases that are being tried at the Appellate Court level as well as a number of high stakes construction defect cases.
The down side: I will have to commute to Seattle by ferry, every day- 1.5 hours each way. This means leaving my house at 6:10am and arriving home at 6:45pm each day. I will also have to buy a handful of maternity suits and professional outfits. For what they are paying me, I cannot justify showing up for work in a gunney sack or a bright blue tarp- darn!
But now that I will be making more per hour than my husband (no power complex here, I promise...well, maybe a little) I can afford to buy all three seasons of Desperate Housewives and a lifetime supply of fudgcicles. Oh the joy!
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Running For Two
Is a lot different than running for one. I constantly fear that my internal temperature is going to skyrocket and tranform my future baby into a deep fried side dish. I have to drink A LOT more water than I usually do, and I am freakishly thirsty all the time.
My boobs bounce a lot. Sometimes, when I look into a reflective surface, all I see is a big pair of jiggling boobs attached to road runner-like legs. I already wear two sports bras when I run, the next logical step is resorting to duct tape.
The most un-sexy thing about running for two: every step forward (or in place, if running on treadmill) adds like a million tons of pressure on my bladder. Each time one of my feet makes its touch down, I think I'm gonna lose it and decorate the rotating belt with a big yellow puddle. But that wouldn't be the end of it- have you ever dropped something on the moving belt of a treadmill? It ends up shooting off the other end and flying half way across the room. I can just image how many people I would splatter if I had an accident while running.
Watching the Food Network while I run is no longer easy. When the network's shows feature delectable dishes from all over the world, visions of dinner start to dance in my head. Then the only thing keeping me going is imagining a chocolate pudding pack being dangled in front of me.
Over all though, running regularly is the best thing I do for myself. It makes me feel more at ease with my slowly growing tummy. It makes me feel like my old self since running has been part of my daily routine since I was 14 years old. And it regulates my whacked out hormones. Plus, at the end of the workout, I feel completely calm, relaxed and accomplished. The world could start to crumble around me and I would still be at peace with it all. Running is the best and cheapest therapy. I wonder if doctors should start to prescribe running to people with mental or emtional medical issues. Who needs medication?
So my goal from here on out is to continue running 26 miles/week. I wish I could find a pregnant running group in my area, that would just be the best thing ever. You know so we could all run without worrying about the embarrassment that we might pee ourselves, we could rant about how much we hate people touching our bellies, and we could all wear t-shirts that say "Caution: hormonal pregnant woman on the run." I just worry that that much jiggling and bouncing concentrated all in one running group would be considered a public nuisance?
My boobs bounce a lot. Sometimes, when I look into a reflective surface, all I see is a big pair of jiggling boobs attached to road runner-like legs. I already wear two sports bras when I run, the next logical step is resorting to duct tape.
The most un-sexy thing about running for two: every step forward (or in place, if running on treadmill) adds like a million tons of pressure on my bladder. Each time one of my feet makes its touch down, I think I'm gonna lose it and decorate the rotating belt with a big yellow puddle. But that wouldn't be the end of it- have you ever dropped something on the moving belt of a treadmill? It ends up shooting off the other end and flying half way across the room. I can just image how many people I would splatter if I had an accident while running.
Watching the Food Network while I run is no longer easy. When the network's shows feature delectable dishes from all over the world, visions of dinner start to dance in my head. Then the only thing keeping me going is imagining a chocolate pudding pack being dangled in front of me.
Over all though, running regularly is the best thing I do for myself. It makes me feel more at ease with my slowly growing tummy. It makes me feel like my old self since running has been part of my daily routine since I was 14 years old. And it regulates my whacked out hormones. Plus, at the end of the workout, I feel completely calm, relaxed and accomplished. The world could start to crumble around me and I would still be at peace with it all. Running is the best and cheapest therapy. I wonder if doctors should start to prescribe running to people with mental or emtional medical issues. Who needs medication?
So my goal from here on out is to continue running 26 miles/week. I wish I could find a pregnant running group in my area, that would just be the best thing ever. You know so we could all run without worrying about the embarrassment that we might pee ourselves, we could rant about how much we hate people touching our bellies, and we could all wear t-shirts that say "Caution: hormonal pregnant woman on the run." I just worry that that much jiggling and bouncing concentrated all in one running group would be considered a public nuisance?
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
The Free Ridership Dilemma Of Toilet Flushing
I attend school with about 1,000 or so ADULTS, but I have to keep reminding myself that I am NOT in a kindergarten.
I have to remind myself that these Adults have at least four years of undergraduate school under their belts. I'm pretty sure they took a college level science class, are proficient in the English language, and have the motor skills to handle simple hand eye coordination. So it must simply be that they missed a crucial three year old potty training session: the Art of Toilet Flushing (or is it politically correct to call it Waste Recepticle Management?)
I did my fair share of running to the bathroom today (I should say that I am the perfect candidate to carry out a study re: how many people fail to flush the toilet since my pregnant bladder thinks it is the size of a lima bean). Three of the six times I walked into a bathroom stall today, the toilet was NOT FLUSHED.
Since when has toilet flushing become a free-rider problem? Or is there a three year old running around the law school carrying out acts of bathroom sabotage? Hmm, perhaps these protestors of bathroom etiquette are actually carrying out an environmental crusade to conserve toilet water? Either way, it's very inconvenient for me. I have to decide whether or not I will put on my hero spandex and step in to perform the dreaded task for the welfare of the public or if I will simply move on to the next stall.
I just can't believe this is even an issue at a tier one law school!
I have to remind myself that these Adults have at least four years of undergraduate school under their belts. I'm pretty sure they took a college level science class, are proficient in the English language, and have the motor skills to handle simple hand eye coordination. So it must simply be that they missed a crucial three year old potty training session: the Art of Toilet Flushing (or is it politically correct to call it Waste Recepticle Management?)
I did my fair share of running to the bathroom today (I should say that I am the perfect candidate to carry out a study re: how many people fail to flush the toilet since my pregnant bladder thinks it is the size of a lima bean). Three of the six times I walked into a bathroom stall today, the toilet was NOT FLUSHED.
Since when has toilet flushing become a free-rider problem? Or is there a three year old running around the law school carrying out acts of bathroom sabotage? Hmm, perhaps these protestors of bathroom etiquette are actually carrying out an environmental crusade to conserve toilet water? Either way, it's very inconvenient for me. I have to decide whether or not I will put on my hero spandex and step in to perform the dreaded task for the welfare of the public or if I will simply move on to the next stall.
I just can't believe this is even an issue at a tier one law school!
Confessions
I have been plagued with the gift of over-active guilt. I call my guilt a gift because, while it tortures and hounds me until my heart feels like it will reverbrate out of my chest and my breath will die trapped in my lungs, it has done a lot of good for me. The guilt I feel over small trangressions is so great, that I will never be able to do anything really bad. This will, hopefully, keep me out of prison from committing bloody murder or grand theft.
I know there must be other benefits that go along with possessing concentrated guilt, but I cannot think of them right now.
So, this leads me to the purpose of my post. There is one thing that I did in tenth grade that I deeply regret and I have never told a single person about it. Every now and then the memory creeps up, gnaws at my soul, and makes me feel as though I have tainted all the beauty and purity of the world around me.
I was a straight A student in highschool, I was always prepared for class, I always completed my homework, and I always paid attention during discussions and lectures. However, when my tenth grade English class was reading "Their Eyes Were Watching God"- I was staying up late to watch Star Trek instead [wincing at the memory of my own nerdiness]. I hated that book. It was dull, I couldn't get into the characters, and I didn't get anything spiritual or intellectual out of it, unlike "Grapes of Wrath", "The Scarlett Letter" or "Lord of the Flies."
One morning we had an unexpected Pop Quiz. I could answer most of the questions from paying attention to class discussions but there were a couple detailed questions you had to read the book to know the answer to. One of those questions happened to be something along the lines of: "What was Character X wearing when Event Y occured." I had no freaking clue! I couldn't even come up with a likely guess. I did the unspeakable, I let my eyes wander to Lizzie G's paper. She wasn't the brightest bulb in the class, in fact, she was a football cheerleader and a very unintelligent one at that. But hers was the only paper I could see. So I copied her answer and wrote "swimming suit," hoping to God that she had read the relevant chapter and had a little sense in that bloated head of hers.
The next day we got our papers back. I got a big fat C. The swimsuit answer was COMPLETELY off. You know how when two students put the same random wrong answer, there is major grounds for teacher suspicion? Well right after class, I heard the teacher ask Lizzie to stay behind for a little chat...I knew what was going to happen. I was the straight A English student, it made sense that the teacher would suspect her over me.
I felt sharp knives imbed themselves into my flesh and gouge out all respectability and honor that I had. I let Lizzie take the fall. I was a BIG, FAT CHEATER. But I didn't say anything because I had a whole lot to lose. If I confessed, my perfect straight A record could be tarnished by a blot of untruthfulness and disingenuity in academia.
My personal scale of character feels a lot lighter now, even though I'm permanently scared by my actions. But you can bet one thing: since that day I have never cheated. On another English test.
I know there must be other benefits that go along with possessing concentrated guilt, but I cannot think of them right now.
So, this leads me to the purpose of my post. There is one thing that I did in tenth grade that I deeply regret and I have never told a single person about it. Every now and then the memory creeps up, gnaws at my soul, and makes me feel as though I have tainted all the beauty and purity of the world around me.
I was a straight A student in highschool, I was always prepared for class, I always completed my homework, and I always paid attention during discussions and lectures. However, when my tenth grade English class was reading "Their Eyes Were Watching God"- I was staying up late to watch Star Trek instead [wincing at the memory of my own nerdiness]. I hated that book. It was dull, I couldn't get into the characters, and I didn't get anything spiritual or intellectual out of it, unlike "Grapes of Wrath", "The Scarlett Letter" or "Lord of the Flies."
One morning we had an unexpected Pop Quiz. I could answer most of the questions from paying attention to class discussions but there were a couple detailed questions you had to read the book to know the answer to. One of those questions happened to be something along the lines of: "What was Character X wearing when Event Y occured." I had no freaking clue! I couldn't even come up with a likely guess. I did the unspeakable, I let my eyes wander to Lizzie G's paper. She wasn't the brightest bulb in the class, in fact, she was a football cheerleader and a very unintelligent one at that. But hers was the only paper I could see. So I copied her answer and wrote "swimming suit," hoping to God that she had read the relevant chapter and had a little sense in that bloated head of hers.
The next day we got our papers back. I got a big fat C. The swimsuit answer was COMPLETELY off. You know how when two students put the same random wrong answer, there is major grounds for teacher suspicion? Well right after class, I heard the teacher ask Lizzie to stay behind for a little chat...I knew what was going to happen. I was the straight A English student, it made sense that the teacher would suspect her over me.
I felt sharp knives imbed themselves into my flesh and gouge out all respectability and honor that I had. I let Lizzie take the fall. I was a BIG, FAT CHEATER. But I didn't say anything because I had a whole lot to lose. If I confessed, my perfect straight A record could be tarnished by a blot of untruthfulness and disingenuity in academia.
My personal scale of character feels a lot lighter now, even though I'm permanently scared by my actions. But you can bet one thing: since that day I have never cheated. On another English test.
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