caligulawyer

FIND ME AT A NEW BLOG SITE

2008-10-16T02:36:00.000-07:00

So Caligulawyer was down so long I decided to let him rest in peace and launch a new blog - legal bandit. see ya there.

http://www.legalbandit.blogspot.com

Paris "fashion" show

2008-03-02T06:57:00.000-08:00

Recently I saw pics from the Paris "fashion" (I use the word loosely) show. The outfits spoke for themselves but I spoke for them anyway.

A few tips for the young chicks

2008-01-28T05:27:00.000-08:00

I forget how old I am sometimes. I wasn't paying attention for like, 10 years so once in a while I remember I've already seen my 40th birthday and am surprised. Apparently, time goes on whether you are paying attention or not. Also, shit changes. Here's my list so far.

1. You may gain a whole bra size. Think that's great? Underwires pinch and your back hurts. This is only partially equaled out by your girlfriend/boyfriend's happy grin. Well, sometimes it's outweighed. How big do they grin?

2. Testosterone. Now you know why young guys drive like they are in a fucking video game and punch each other in bars. About three days each month you are lucky to stay out of jail. It is in everyone's best interest that you not be armed. Seriously.

3. You no longer give a fuck. This is nice. All that worrying about what other people think? Pretty much gone. Others realize they can't push you around anymore. You're likely to hit them in the head with your 4 inch heel - or hiking boot, as the case may be, and tell them to kiss your ass. You will mean it. They will know this. It will be wonderful.

4. All that youthful anxiety about sex? Also pretty much gone. MMMMMM. Straight women, however, have a problem because the older guys are getting lame. Romping about with a young guy who has some stamina may look silly. However, see #3; fortunately, you won't care, and your friends will actually be jealous. "Cradle robber" translates to "lucky bitch." Meanwhile, us lesbians are throwing down with other chicks who have lost their inhibitions. Go ahead, say it: "lucky bitch."

5. Your back wants to go out. This is quite painful. It is also an excuse to eat ice cream and lay on the floor watching "Charmed" for 7 hours straight. MMMMM, Alyssa Milano.

I could go on, but I've got better things to do. Oh, also you get bored with navel-gazing, which gives you a lot more time to do something useful with your time. So, for y'all young chicks,be anxious and enjoy that lower back. It's one of the few things you'll miss when it's gone.

The thrown bra vs. the mortgage

2008-01-18T16:05:00.001-08:00

My friend was helping her mom pick out a wedding dress, which I imagine is an odd experience. Things just aren't as simple as they used to be, are they? Thank God. I'd shoot myself or at least be drunk 24/7 - if I had to live in some "Leave it to Beaver" world. Anyway, my friend was telling me her mom has some specific ideas and has dreamed of her wedding since she was a kid. This interests me. The wedding march has, historically, made my heart freeze with fear and my stomach turn over trying to run like a crackhead with cops behind him.

In short, I've long struggled with a fear of committmment. About a year ago I started realizing I was thinking of my relationship as in it for the long haul, with all the smelly stuff of daily life, had a heart attack and completely freaked out. In the past year, however, I've given this quite a bit of thought.

I've come to the conclusion that there are several types of lesbians. 1.)One is the drama queen who is in love at first bite and wants nothing more than someone to complete her. They carry invisible signs that say "Run! Am freak! Run!!" but not everyone sees those signs, which leads to much drama and sometimes, restraining orders. 2.)Then there are the ones who secretly long to be completed and deep down suspect the right girl will do that for them but will not admit this. These lesbians drink a lot. 3.)Then there are those who attempt to be in control of what happens in their relationships, thinking this will somehow protect them from having their heart broken. These lesbians do a lot of pushups and have the emotional range of a stick. 4.) Then there are those who read a lot of feminist literature and listen to shitty music by chicks who need guitar lessons. These lesbians are not as deep as they seem or wish they were. The list goes on.

There are also those of us who are just afraid of missing out on something and take a long time to realize that it is that very fear that makes us miss out on so much. This is what I be. Eventually, this is the type who feels the fear and commits anyway. OK, so there are lots of flirtations that won't lead to , um, thrown bras and anxious phone calls. But what is that in comparison to making the decision to have a kid together? To finally accepting she won't clean until you make her and noticing she got your favorite fruit at the grocery store? And you still get your bra thrown, but it is in a room you paid the mortgage on together. The terror of letting yourself plan to love someone really is a terror all its own. Year after year, it changes, as the stupid things of daily life get washed and break and get paid and shed and fall and smell and come off of ebay. And as it changes, it gets easier in some ways, and in some ways, becomes a lot harder, because you have to become more and more real with every turn.
As for me, after 3 1/2 years, multiple freakouts, 24 mortgage payments, two new kittens, 12 pairs of socks, 50 pounds of tofu, 126 sushi dinners, 6 colds, 3 years of law school, 8 broken glasses, 4 Christmases and 17 stupid fights later, I am here, making a committment every day to be here tomorrow. It's the best terror I've ever known. I'd recommend it to the drunk and otherwise problematic lesbians. Really, you're worth it, and so is she.

My first day at grownup skool

2008-01-02T14:39:00.001-08:00

So today I started my new job, which is an internship that turns into a grownup job if I pass the bar and otherwise don't completely fuck up a good thing, which is something I am exceptionally talented at. (Hey, it's good to know your strengths.) I also put my bar application in the mail. It was 86 pages. I have, obviously, lived a very full life. I started to include a bottle of Excedrin for the poor schmuck who has to pick through it, but I needed those pills myself after finishing that shit.

I like my new job. Seeing how bad people fuck up their lives makes me feel like less of a screwup. And we get paid, on top of that. So, that works for me. Oh, also you get to argue at work. Who gets away with that? Trial lawyers, that's who! yeah!

The office consists of two rednecks and a yankee. One of the rednecks is an ex stripper with no driver's license. Let me admit it now: my kind o' people. You can take the girl out of the trailer, get her hooked on $16 a pound goat cheese and fresh ground locally roasted coffee, put her in a suit, teach her to flip an omelet and fill her ipod with hip hop but man, you cannot ever take the trailer out of the girl. It's just a fact of life. Must as I love sushi and as many indie movies as I've seen, (many of which left me asking "what the fuck was the point of that miserable shit?"), you know what I want when I get stressed? Corn bread and turnip greens. The ex stripper and I will get along just fine.

So, life is, arguably, pretty good, and there seems to be much corn bread and arguing in my future, which is just fine by me. Happy new year, y'all, and if you start fucking up your life, drop on by. I'll be happy to charge you to feel better about myself.

The twelve days of Law School

2007-12-26T06:42:00.000-08:00

So now that Christmas has come and gone and Santa brought me a bicycle (no really, and it's cool) I thought I'd give you the recap. So, here's the twelve days of Christmas, law school style:

On the first day of Xmas my law school gave to me:
a headache

On the second day of Xmas my law school gave to me:
two parking tickets and a headache

On the third day of Xmas my law school gave to me:
three problems registering, two parking tickets and a headache

On the fourth day of Xmas my law school gave to me:
fourth circuit bullshit, three problems registering, two parking tickets and a headache

On the fifth day of Xmas my law school gave to me:
five group assignments,fourth circuit bullshit, three problems registering, two parking tickets and a headache

On the sixth day of Xmas my law school gave to me:
six library fines,five group assignments,fourth circuit bullshit, three problems registering, two parking tickets and a headache

On the seventh day of Xmas my law school gave to me:
seven pissy colleages, six library fines,five group assignments,fourth circuit bullshit, three problems registering, two parking tickets and a headache

On the eighth day of Xmas my law school gave to me:
eight over perfumed women, seven pissy colleages, six library fines,five group assignments,fourth circuit bullshit, three problems registering, two parking tickets and a headache

On the ninth day of Xmas my law school gave to me:
nine heavy casebooks, eight over perfumed women, seven pissy colleages, six library fines,five group assignments,fourth circuit bullshit, three problems registering, two parking tickets and a headache

On the tenth day of Xmas my law school gave to me:
ten regrets for coming, nine heavy casebooks, eight overperfumed women, seven pissy colleages, six library fines,five group assignments,fourth circuit bullshit, three problems registering, two parking tickets and a headache

On the eleventh day of Xmas my law school gave to me:
eleven things to rewrite,ten regrets for coming, nine heavy casebooks, eight over perfumed women, seven pissy colleages, six library fines,five group assignments,fourth circuit bullshit, three problems registering, two parking tickets and a headache

On the twelfth day of Xmas my law school gave to me:
twelve rejection letters, eleven things to rewrite,ten regrets for coming, nine heavy casebooks, eight over perfumed women, seven pissy colleages, six library fines,five group assignments,fourth circuit bullshit, three problems registering, two parking tickets and a headache

Happy Holidays until we return! -Caligulawyer

Happy whatever the hell holiday you celebrate

2007-12-24T04:55:00.000-08:00

I like Christmas because it is an excellent excuse to sit on my ass, watch movies and play computer games. Everybody gets to sit on their asses for a few days, and when you're a student, it's like three weeks. That's because professors drink a lot. They want nice, loooong breaks.

So, historically speaking, it redeems Christians a bit. "And now, from the folks who brought you the Crusades, the genocide of Native Americans, the wipeout of the pagans, repression, gay bashing, Pat Robertson, George Bush, yelling men on pulpits, two thousand years of repressing women, and sculptures of a tortured guy nailed to big sticks.... Christmas!" Keep in mind Jesus "is just alright with me", as the Doobie Brothers infamously said (you have no idea who I'm talking about, do you?)- it's his followers who tend to just totally suck ass. Anyway so Christmas looks like a nice little redemption. Only what do we really get?

Ugly ties. Forced comraderie with people we don't like. A Secret Santa gift bought at Big Lots from that weird guy in the next cubicle.Credit card bills. Pressure to buy a lot of crap we can't afford given to people who don't need it.Blow-up dolls of Santa swaying in redneck yards beside their Grand Ams. Regrettable sexual acts with that guy/girl from high school we run into at the liquor store while visiting the folks. I just don't know if this really works out. Only, if it were up to the Jews and the people who invented Kwanzaa like 5 years ago (we are wayyy too late in civilization to be inventing new holidays, people, unless they are random Mondays off to give props to somebody like MLK) we wouldn't get shit for time off because there just aren't enough of those guys.

Anyway, don't strangle yourself with your new tie and happy freakin' holidays. As for me, I'm going to finish this coffee and lumber my ass to the couch until my girlfriend offers to wrap my presents for me because I hate wrapping and she's such a good girlfriend, at which point I'll drag them into the living room, then take a nap. Bills, Big Lots and all, I'm grateful for naps, a good woman and my last three week vacation. Enjoy, my dear readers, and I'll see you back at the whipping post after New Year's Eve.

Take your refrigerator and get out of here

2007-12-09T17:09:00.001-08:00

It's over! Sales and Secured transactions is over! And after having taken that exam, I can now cross "run a marathon" off of my "things to do before I'm sixty" list. It took longer than a marathon and was probably a hell of a lot more painful. Hmm, run 26 miles or three and a half hours of picking through who gets the refrigerator? I'd rather run a real marathon. And I'm out of shape, too. And now that this class is over, I'm going to say it - I simply do NOT care who gets the motherfucking refrigerator. Bury your shit in the snow. Buy a fridge with cash. Just don't come to me. I do NOT care.

Having almost completed law school, I have come to the conclusion that law school is all about who gets the refrigerator, Blackacre and how much tax they pay on them. Three years. Now what can I do? Write a will leaving Blackacre to B, help B sell 100 refrigerators to C, defend C when he trashes D's refrigerator, represent B when his wife cheats on him with E, the refrigerator salesman, because he wants to keep Blackacre, and when B leaves his beloved farm to his ungrateful brat nephew, F, tell F how must tax to pay on his uncles' beloved farm, Blackacre.

It probably takes three years because most of us spend a lot of our class time playing computer games. It's a well kept lawyer secret. Remember that next time you're forking over $2000 for that stupid shit you did. You'll have fun with that.

This came up recently. My girlfriend teaches workshops and taught one at the non-law school part of our university, otherwise known as "parking". Somebody in our class is getting another master's degree (overacheiver of overachievers, we salute you) and was in her workshop. My girl said she figured out who was the law student in like 15 minutes. It was the girl sitting in the back playing the computer games.I told her she'd gotten lucky, we'll play that shit on the front row. So my girl asked me how we learn anything playing computer games all the time. In Sales the next day I looked around and like 80 people were playing games or shopping for shoes. I got a little defensive. I mean, how long can you pay attention to class after class and point after point about who gets the damn refigerator? Why do I need to know what a purchase money security interest is? I am a lot more interested in Mah Jong and getting to be Master Sergeant on "Overkill Apache." I just am. My fridge came with the house, which is not named Blackacre, and I'll read some inherited class outline 14 times the week before the exam and be fine. Damn fridge.

So, one more semester and I get to enter plea agreements for drunk guys who punch cops and throw shit, which really is more interesting than Overkill Apache. And hey, if they live on Blackacre or have any problems involving a fridge, like a repo that went bad, I'll know what to do, man, because it was in that inherited outline from somebody who didn't play computer games. And when I get my check I'll thank God for him. But with you as my witness, I will never, never live on Blackacre.

The Student and the Beast

2007-12-04T04:19:00.000-08:00

Law School is hard enough. So, here's the question - why be a bitch? This may appear rhetorical, but we've got some power hungry, petty, antagonistic, crabby wench working in our office in a position where the students have to deal with her, and I want to ask her why she has to be such a grade A fuckhead. The thing about such a question is that it is a query you can never make when you really need to. The very fact that someone is a crabby ass bitch precludes you from asking why they are such a crabby ass bitch. Life's funny that way.

But the question is especially important when you're in an overcrowded building full of insecure overacheivers jacked up on caffeine. More to the point, why send out bitchy emails three times a day then get pissed when people don't read them? Here's a tip: People don't want your shit. They are having a much harder day than your lazy ass. She locks her office, too, so nobody can sneak in and put some desperately needed Prozac in her coffee. But then, what law student can spare Prozac?

Now,in law school, you learn that there are different ways of fighting, and figure out which one works best for you. Last week my friend and I made the scary journey to Ms. Crabbyass' office on an errand. I hoped for strength in numbers. We needed to pick something up she'd had ready the day before. So we get there and she starts being a piss ant and talking about how we needed to work with her and were late and so on, even though what we needed was right on her desk and we caused her no inconvenience whatsoever. So my friend starts fighting back. Hell, somebody needed to, although she stopped short of saying things that really need to be said, like "why are you being such a shit?" and so on. So, this is one way of dealing.
Myself, I have decided that Ms. Crabbyass is out looking for a fight and acts like such a hateful little wench in order to get a rise out of people. So, I have decided my revenge is to deal with her for three years and never give her the fucking satisfaction. No matter how shitty she is, I'm going to utterly ignore it and go about my business as if she were acting like she'd been raised by humans instead of a pack of wolves. What do you think?

Perhaps she deserves some compassion.Maybe when you are raised by wolves and spend your childhood chewing on raw sheep butt and scratching fleas you just don't know how to write a polite email or act like a human being. The question remains why she has this job hassling law students, most of whom would prefer her pack of wolves to Sales & Secured Transactions, instead of working as a bouncer or somewhere else where bitchyness is expected, like a drive thru or as a dominatrix. Maybe she beat the dean into giving her a job. "Lick my boots! Now give me a job beating students!" You know, something like that. We may never know. However, I've got six months left in this little social experiment, and presuming I don't lose it and cram a Sales exam down her throat (worse than raw sheep's butt) I'll let you know how it goes. Wish me luck!

Criminal Haiku

2007-11-13T09:01:00.000-08:00

Doing some criminal law work this semester and living in a city with much sketchiness have inspired me! So, here is some haiku. Enjoy!
---------
On the same corner
Are a ‘ho, pimp and dealer;
ghetto convenience.
---------

Fall in the city
the drunk guy in the park pukes
on crisp, orange leaves
---------

Clicking of handcuffs;
it is time to stop yelling
except for a lawyer.
---------
“Shit! A Doberman!”
Says the panicking burglar.
Forget the TV!
-------
Reading the paper.
There are guns on them buses.
Glad I got a truck.
---------
Dumb ass behind me
Shares his music with the block
He’ll one day be deaf.
------------
Mean little church guy
Damning everyone to hell.
Man, you should get laid!
-----------

Criminal defense
Is a dirty job because
people are crazy!

It's the strange people I love

2007-11-05T18:28:00.000-08:00

First, let me just say that I think being prejudiced is just retarded. Now, with that out of the way, your average whitie sucks. I say this as a southern white chick born in a trailer. But really. When you need someone to help you out with something practical, the clean cut white lady or guy will normally ignore you. They will give to charity but fuck that up close and personal attention. This summer I threw my back out really badly and couldn't stand up straight for like two weeks. I'll never forget dropping something in line at the store and how this stupid white guy just stood there while I struggled and finally the black guy behind him reached around and picked it up. I think the white guy was too stupid to even be embarrassed. I don't think he thought he was going to catch something picking up my goat cheese. I mean, it was still wrapped. I think his head was so far up his ass it didn't even occur to him to bend his idiot self over and help someone or that he looked like a total asshole when the guy behind him in line stepped up to do it. Now that's just lame.

Today I was zooming (OK, you really can't zoom in a '75 Datsun but I like the image) down a country road between court and class and my accellerator cable broke. So, obviously, there was no more zooming of any sort, even pretend. I became concerned when I realized I'd forgotten my phone and didn't have the first wrench on me. So I tried to get things loose with a set of pliers for a while as one after another nice shiny SUV (I mean, what's the point? Especially when you go over speed bumps slower than a wheelchair. Gas sucking vain fathead.) just rolled on by. So who stops? A scruffy, bearded, leathered out biker guy, who let me use his phone and was really nice. This is the kind of guy the shiny SUV whities are afraid of. Strange, right? Then rolls up this really nice black guy with some tools in his truck and we started getting my jury rigged throttle setup loose when the tow truck came. So he's this big muscular black guy that the little shiny SUV whities are afraid of but he stopped to help. And speaking of fear, I'm this little white chick in a suit. I didn't scare the shiny SUV whities. No, they just sucked. Do I just suck? Well, I don't always stop for people on the side of the road but sometimes I do. The determinative question is: can I take this person if I have to? If I think I can kick their ass if they try anything, I'll stop. I am 5'1 though and that doesn't cover a lot of people but folks, I did not look like a threat to anyone. Except to your smelly little right wing perspective which I think belongs in a woodchipper.

Moving on, let's be honest. The law favors the shiny SUV whities. They just get off easier. Buffy does not go go prison. Jamiqu'anel'la goes to prison. But when I am on the side of the road, Buffy might as well be in prison. The dude with the trafficking charge and Hakeem are who will be there.

So, more and more I think I want to be a defense lawyer. These are my people. And someday, we will rise up with our scruffy beards and bald tires and say, "Screw you, Buffy, Muffy and Ted! Go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not bribe $200. May you learn to be useful."

The schuck of your misdeeds

2007-10-25T16:57:00.001-07:00

So when I was a kid my mother never told me that Santa keeps track of your rotten little actions and that I would get coal at the end of the year if I were bad. I must give her credit for this. However, I am not sure whether she (1) knew that I would be bad anyway and say screw the presents (2) knew I wouldn't believe her (3) didn't want to lose credibility with me, the jury, when Christmas rolled around and my grandparents got me a doll I was afraid of instead of coal, though I would have actually preferred the coal, which writes very nicely on the wall or (4) she just didn't want to frighten me with the idea that some weird invisible fat man was hovering over me watching my every move. Let me say it now, thank you mom.

However, years later, still somewhat afraid of dolls, I have an internship in the District Attorney's office and lo and behold, there are records of your misdeeds, but the district attorney is not fat or invisible. The records are called 'shucks', a nonsensical name for little envelopes that are open on one side. You can see through the front and call people up and then open the shuck and you just never know what you will find. Today I opened one to read that this lady trashed some other lady's fish tank and the property damage included her fish. Now, who fucks up someone else's fish? There's Puddles, swimming around, la la la, "Oh, who's this?" and next thing you know he's on the floor in broken glass dying because some crazy fuck has an anger problem. I mean really. Her fish tank? I have a fish tank, and it was the first thing my girlfriend and I bought together when she moved in (insert "awww" here) and I love my little fishies, who get buried in the yard when they die. Not deep or anything, but we don't flush them. Well, there was that one fish but he was kind of weird. Anyway so I got a little offended. There was this other guy who "beat (some poor jerk) about the head and face with his fists, causing a bloody nose and extreme pain." I checked his record and again, anger issues. Dude, learn to talk, what's up? When I told him he could leave today, I said "hey" and he turned around and I said "Man, quit hitting people!" I doubt this got through to him. Then there was the woman who was in court for the wrong charge. She's got so many she has her court dates mixed up. Open the shucks...and voila! Your ass gets coal for Christmas.

Perhaps, rather than coal, which they would probably go dump in someone's fish tank, we should have a weird fat guy follow them around and make little notes and give them dolls that scare them. Maybe they could be little talking dolls that say "Stop hitting people! Stop hitting people!" or "Sit down! Shut up!" or "You REALLLYYY don't need to drive. Give me the keys. Give me the keys." But until I can have some influence over prison reform, I guess I will continue to read about fish killing drunk driving sewage dumpers whose mother apparently never properly frightened them with the idea that on some level, you pay for your actions. Line up the shucks, Madam clerk, Santa Attorney is coming to town.

love and disaster

2007-10-21T19:03:00.000-07:00

It has been an eventful couple of weeks. So, first I got hit head on by a car riding my scooter. The remarkable thing isn't that someone wasn't paying ATTENTION and made a left right into me, the remarkable thing is that I've been through yet another thing that has killed other people and walked away with a couple of bruises. To date, I've been hit by a car on a scooter, hit by a car on a bicycle, totaled a car hitting a deer, hit another deer in a convertible, totaled another car when someone ran a red light, fallen out of several trees, surfaced after wiping out on a wakeboard and to have the wakeboard come straight down on my head, let's see. . . well, you get the idea. I've never even broken a bone. I think my guardian angel deserves a gold medal, or whatever guardian angels get when they truly rock, like a few years as a human living on a tropical island with Jennifer Lopez. Urgent care put me in a splint for a week for a hand that it turns out wasn't broken. And this is what happens when you go to an online medical school. What I learned, unable to type, is that law school is really fucking boring without Freecell or, in general, the internet.

Now, I don't want to get all 'ooo, brush with death' or whatever, but really, it is how quick we can kick the bucket that gives life meaning, isn't it? I mean, if we lived forever, wouldn't that be boring?

Oh, back to the last couple weeks. I also went to a beautiful wedding last night, especially for straight people, who tend to like these lavish coookie-cutter ho-hums in churches. Can I just say right now: "Bleh"? Anyway, the guy had this gorgeous white suit made in India and the ceremony was well, really cool. Now, back to the meaning theme, I will also say this - besides it's shortness, it's love that gives life meaning. But I don't mean 'marry me' love, though that has it's moments inbetween the laundry and the grocery store; (though hopefully not while driving). I mean something that connects us and makes us real. I just don't think everyone is quite real, sorry; I think you earn it. The more radically in love with the great thing between birth and death you can become, the more real you are. More directly, life can be a pain in the ass; so tell me this - how do you make it worthwhile? If you don't know, try this: shut up, open up, eat up, and wake up. You never know who is going to make that next left turn.

I will make a note on romantic love. To quote a song someone played me yesterday, "a good love is long and boring." Something I have come to appreciate though is that it is mostly right there in front of you, within the boring, that the mystical can be found. It's nothing short of amazing that day after day and year after year someone can get their head out of their own ass and care about someone else. It's right there when I get dressed and go out for ginger ale because my girl's stomach hurts. When she picks up mangos for me because they're my favorite, or is willing to ride the puke ride at the fair with me even though she hates it. When I give up going on the ride because I know it will make her sick. Trust me, that's love, because I LOOOVVVEEE a good fair ride. It's between the fishtank and the coffee beans, the cats and the stupid fights (between us and the cats), right in that spot of stretching ourselves on behalf of someone else. But again, that happens easiest when someone sleeps beside you, but if it happened just a little more between all of us, hey, maybe when that idiot makes that blind left turn, more of us could lie there in the street and say that yes, it was all worthwhile.

All my love to the bus riding hellraisers

2007-09-21T12:45:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I heard about a site online, I can't remember what it's called, like "quiz for people who don't know what to do with themselves" or something. So of course I went there. It asks a bunch of questions about what kind of place you want to live in (fuck no, cold is not OK by me, I don't care about nightlife and there had better be some trees and stuff around) and it gives you places that match up. My number one place, even after changing a couple of maybes, was in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Now, I have never been to Louisiana. I tried to volunteer twice to go down to do free legal work after Hurricane Katrina but the organization couldn't get their shit together enough to find me a placement at all the second time, or the first time until 2 weeks before school started, which I'd give them a break for but the organization wasn't based in Louisana and should have had it together a little more. All I asked for was a building to sleep in once I got there, was that really asking for so much?
At any rate, I had an open mind about Louisiana pretty much until I started reading about this crap going on in Jena. What the fuck year is this? Nooses in a tree? White kids getting away with beating up and terrorizing black kids, but black kids being charged with attempted murder when they fight back? I am completely serious when I ask: What the FUCK?

What disturbs me almost as much as the behavior is that the law is signing off on it. The law is a very powerful tool and to quote Spiderman, (it's been a long time since I was an English major, give me a break) "with great power comes great responsibility." We're not just talking about swinging around on webs here, folks, we're talking about the power to ruin people's lives. I guess I'm still an idealistic student, but I think that those of us with the law in our hands are just plan morally required to do the right thing, even if some of us are prejudiced assholes.

Our school sent buses and I feel pretty crappy about not riding down to the protest. I was trying to arrange things so I could go when I realized that the school had an attorney on call and my semi redneck ass very well might get pissed off and arrested, which is not something I need to explain to the bar, since, as we've already discussed, I have my misspent youth and 20s and half of my misspent 30's (I learn slow) to explain already. Really though, that's no excuse and I still feel like a bum. However, here's to you thousands of people who did go down there and raise some hell on behalf of doing the right thing. People heard you and even if you didn't change much, at least you let those fuckers know what the rest of us think of them. Thanks.

---------To learn more about the events in Louisana, go to: http://www.colorofchange.org/

Sniff*

2007-09-17T06:55:00.000-07:00

So I went to a dinner party at my oldest and dearest friend's house this weekend. Her boyfriend came out with a long stemmed rose and a ring and got one one knee and proposed. He even waited until after dinner so nobody cried in their raspberry tarts. Sniff! What a great guy. His teenage kids came out with him carrying roses too, which I thought was the act of a good father. It was totally cool.

It isn't just that she's getting married, though. It's that I've known her for 20 years and haven't approved of a single one of the bumbling idiots she's dated in all this time until him. Now granted, this guy actually mentioned burps and farts in his proposal, but I have to hand it to him, he pulled it off and still had almost every girl there sniffing. He also beats out all of her ex boyfriends, for starters, because he's employed and self supporting. That's a good thing in a mate, says the broke ass law student whose girlfriend has to buy the groceries. But I am cute. I don't think I could pull off talking about burps and farts in a proposal though, so my hat's off to Phil.

Now one of the things that is interesting is that all the girls there were sniffing except my girlfriend. "Sigh, I'm not a girl" she said when we talked about it later. It's funny because everyone thinks I'm 'the guy', I guess because I like to work on cars and am almost never seen in a skirt. Some lesbians are that simple. Neither of us are, though. She wears skirts and won't cry at a wedding proposal. I get lost and dreamy in the Sears tools department and am totally excited about shopping for a cool maid of honor dress, since my friend said I can wear what I want and I am going to look absolutely fabulous in something emerald green and not TOO slinky. I change clothes four times before I go out and wear lacy underwear but still show up in hiking shoes and a t shirt. My girlfriend has long hair and pretty eyes but bless her heart, she's got the decorating sense of a 14 year old boy. Umm, the list goes on.

It works, though. The question is, if we are going to have a committment ceremony - (since we're not allowed to get married, a legal contract any drunk 'ho and coke dealer can make at a moment's notice in Las Vegas then dissolve when the drugs run out), who will propose? And would she know to show up with a long-handled ratchet and a ring with inset stones so I won't knock them off in an exhaust manifold? Would I be pissed if she says "yeah, sure" and doesn't cry? (You're damn right I would!) Would I be able to find a fabulous dress and make her wear one too, when I'm sure she doesn't really want to? Could we get Phil to be ordained online at the Holy Drive through Jesus Barn of Apostolic Lambs and do the ceremony and work in 'burp' and 'fart'? So many questions, so much time since we'd be doing it for the hell of it anyway (fuck you, Republicans!) but at least one thing I do know, my pal found a good one, and I couldn't be happier. Three cheers for love, folks, and for things that make your chick friends cry.

The Wizard of Bar

2007-09-06T18:38:00.000-07:00

I saw this movie once, "Clean and Sober" with Michael Keaton, who is probably neither, but that's beside the point. He plays this alcoholic guy who is getting his life together and there is a set of scenes where he's arduously writing down all of his past wrongs and, running out of breath, reading the extensive list to his sponsor. Filling out your bar application is like this. They want everything down to the spitball incident in third grade. There are all these cloaked suggestions that they will find out about the spitball incident and every other wrong thing you've ever done and you'd better have written it down, too.

And now, to completely mix metaphors and movies, having written down all of your wrongs and read them out Michael Keaton style - who, dammit, was NOT a good Batman!! - the whole application process starts to look like going to see the wizard. Switch channels with me, folks. We're all kicking around our dirt farms in Kansas or Wilmington or whatever and got swept up in this idea of going to law school and next thing we knew, were following what seemed to be the yellow brick road of law school, reading cases about the guy with no heart and defending the scared lion in a mock trial, assuming the yellow bricks were gold which we'd pick up with these phat jobs at the end of the road, meanwhile sweaty and exhausted and living off of corn chips with the wicked witches of exams harassing us. But then, at the end, haha! You have to go before what seem to be these cloaked figures with mind reading powers who can mine all of your secrets and imply they will find out absolutely everything because they are the wizards and are secretly hooked up with the FBI. Whoa! Where is my dirt farm? Well, either you get a pass and then get to sit for the bar, a mental obstacle course fraught with swamps of reason then go wherever you can get a job writing memos in a corner 80 hours per week, or (b) you get dragged before a hearing, which means you have to ask your friends to come vouch for you, but that you have to let your friends listen to you defend all the stupid, embarrassing things you've ever done, which means they'd beter be true friends, then either (a) or (b), you get kicked back to the dirt farm with an expensive degree unable to practice law because the wizard says you smell.

This, my dear fans, is called taking the bar. Look out, sports fans! (We've changed channels again, keep up!) Will she be able to jump the bar or fall on her ass? Only the wizard knows for sure! Now, those of you who haven't applied to law school yet, well, now you know. So take a close look at that dirt farm, man, because it might not be so bad.

My imaginary friend

2007-08-31T16:07:00.000-07:00

It's hard to stay in touch with people in law school, at least for me, especially when you don't drink, because that's what most people go out and do. People in school are sort of wrapping things up and planning to go their own separate ways by now, and it's hard to catch up with people out of school who still remember me, since I'm busy and terrified of the bar and in advanced tax until 8 and shit like that. Besides, I'm fucking cranky at the end of the day and really just want to kick back on the couch and watch "Charmed" just as often as not.
It's too bad I'm not religious, I'd hang out with church folk, they generally tend to hang out and not drink, but all that blood stuff totally creeps me out. Singing about bloody lambs and guys nailed to sticks is just not how I want to spend my Sunday mornings, God forgive me. I do go to the zen temple, but the plan there is NOT to talk, which makes it rather difficult to get to know people. I do, however, know how a lot of people breathe, if they have allergies or not and if they've memorized some chants in Japanese that, as far as we know, could actually translate to "butter, butter, chicken, monkey, butter, melon, monkey, butter, chicken, chicken, chicken butter, train, plane, pan."
Painted into a bit of a lonely corner here, I've invented an imaginary friend, caligu-buddy. Sad, right? Here's the warning if you are thinking about going to law school - it fucks everything up, including your social life, especially when you don't get fucked up, which is really rather ironic since this character and fitness stuff seems to be quite concerned with whether you have substance abuse problems. Well, I'm sober, but have lots to explain nevertheless. I imagine, among other things, I will have to take my socks off and show that I do not, in fact, have a lead foot, which is too bad, because it would explain a lot.
Well, caligu-buddy went to the store to get strawberries and tofu an hour ago and hasn't gotten back yet, so I guess I'll go call. She probably won't pick up the phone. I'm so burned out even my imaginary friends aren't reliable! Fortunately, she's replaceable, and even I can afford an imagination.

Until later,

caligulawyer and caligubuddy
your imaginative friends

how to answer an interview question

2007-08-29T16:54:00.000-07:00

Today I interviewed for an internship for the semester. I wouldn't get paid, or course credit. Just the satisfaction of being overworked and abused. As a proper law student, this makes me happy. I fear, deep down, if I have a life then the bar will somehow find out and deny me admission. "You did what? You grocery shopped? You should have been subsisting on corn chips from the vending machine! Why do you think the building smells that way? Because everyone else knew better! Damn plum-eating, lazy ass, too-good-for-corn-chips buddhist hippie. DENIED!"

Speaking of lives, the guy today said something about assuming I'd scheduled free Friday afternoons for a reason. Then he asked what my home life was like. Interviews are strange situations. What do you say? "Well, my living room is painted bright green. I have a one-eyed cat who is also missing most of her teeth. Another one is going around with his head tilted all the time, slightly off balance, and the vet can't figure it out. We've taken to calling him "Wobbly" and "Slanty Claws", which will be funnier come Christmas. We watch a lot of "Charmed" and I haven't mowed the yard in so long there weeds so big we can tell they are mini maple trees. In fact, maybe I'll stop mowing altogether and we'll have some more shade around here. Oh, we have three fish named Stella. And I drive a 1975 Datsun that is yellow/rust on one side and grey on the other. I'm gay and practice zen meditation. " Somehow, that doesn't strike me as what I should have said.

See, there is truth and there is truth. "Uh, I've lived with someone for three years and have a little house with cats and fish and a garden" is also true; it just paints less of a picture. When I'm interviewing law students, I'll hire the one with the balls to tell me a good story. Juries are more likely to be swayed by yellow/rust/gray trucks and the Wobbly cat than pat stories about fish and gardens anyway. But until then, I have to get a job, so fish and gardens it is.

Shutup. I'm back.

2007-08-26T13:35:00.001-07:00

Due to popular demand, which means people who want me to distract them from their miserable lives, I'm back. I don't know how much there is to say. My life has gotten stable, or should we say boring? As I write, the fish swim peacefully and my girlfriend is beside me in a thrift shop easy chair doing a cross stitch, whatever the fuck that is, and my raggedy one eyed cat is curled up at her feet. I used to spend Sunday afternoons sweating out Saturday nights and mourning the loss of my new underwear. Now my Pale Ale and panties budget is spent on plums and pencils, not to be used at the same time. OK, well sometimes when I'm really, really bored. This is what age and a good woman does for you I guess, so those of you who still buy underwear in packs and are expected at the local saloon, watch out.

I've taken to listening to a lot of Johnny Cash. I think because I'm in my third year of law school and he had a penchant for singing to prisoners. For some asinine reason the administration, who I suspect simply can't count, let in so many first year students that the third years have to grab one under each arm and use them as battlerams to get through the crowds. They don't like it but fuck them, they need a beating, it will toughen them up, and we've been through enough - or so you'd think. I'm stuck several hours a week in an 80 person classroon (where 83 people sit) with a temperature approximating the 5th circle of hell that stinks of corn chips and flop sweat. I think the first years ought to have to come in and scrub it out, then stand at each end holding fans for the second and third years stuck in there and be grateful for the privilege. Those who don't want to participate could enter the first-year-fight-it-out program where they barefist box and the loser has to go to community college to be a paralegal that the rest of us can abuse when we graduate. That ought to thin the herd a little.

In the meantime, I'll crank up the Johnny Cash and ask my girlfriend what the fuck a cross stitch is. If I like it, maybe I'll let a 1L make one for me.

Changes and the missing head

2007-03-29T07:48:00.001-07:00

So I'm taking trial practice, which is cool, although personally I think those of us who have been on two trial teams should get out of it but whatever, it isn't like law school is here to make sense. We have to do a mock trial and I'm representing an insurance company who doesn't want to pay half a million dollars to the wife of this crooked judge who blew the top of his own head off with a shotgun. At first I was pretty pissed I had to represent an insurance company, because let's face it, they are evil by nature. By which I mean, fuck them. Now, here is where I get to how law school is scaring me. I'm taking business associations and have gotten hold of the fact that when a company pays out, it comes out of the pockets of the shareholders. So, OK, they are probably snotty rich fucks anyway so screw them for the most part, but you know, I just can't look at a company as faceless anymore. Now, as I've said before, I was born in a trailer in the sticks and well, where I'm from, you learn to shoot before you learn to do fractions or put your own bra on right. So I'm looking at this cool gory picture of this guy with the top of his head several feet away from the rest of his head and checking out the blood and the shotgun and it becomes very clear to me that this guy's death was a faked accident suicide by some crooked, embezzling liar who is trying to rip off this company that I can no longer call faceless. So I'm actually into representing the company now.

The moral? Law school changes you. I was thinking about this the other day: I really do feel like a different person than about 2 or 3 years ago. I guess that happens anyway if you are paying attention. Once in a while I feel like I'm looking at my life from the outside and like not all of it is sticking to the new me. The existential question? So how many fucking people do you have to be in a lifetime? How do you ever decide anything when you don't know whether future you is going to be on board or not? 27 year old leaky ceiling hungover longhaired hippie me is, quite frankly, shocked that 41 year old, sober, law student me is writing this closing argument defending an insurance company. It leaves open the question whether 64 year old whatever me will approve of what I'm doing today. But then, I guess that's the big question for all of us. For now, I guess I just have to answer this one - how did the top of this guy's head get all the way across the room like that? And for the moment at least, that's pretty cool.

Next: Judge Crackhead tells Candi to pay her bills

2007-03-23T05:04:00.000-07:00

So I was watching TV the other day - well, actually, I just had it on while I was doing like three other things because I'm ADD and that's sort of how it goes. A promo came on for some other show and this really serious guy, in his deep, worried announcer voice, says something to the effect of "Mrs. Smith struggles - her Yorkie is ill. Next: the fight for Yappy." I had no idea what to do with the fact that someone's idea of journalism is to chronicle the puking of a yippy lap dog, and y'all, I still don't. I can say I was so discombobulated that I immediately turned the fucking idiot box off after that and broke out some Joni Mitchell records. Yes, records. But back to TV: what does this say, that a sick dog is journalism, and by the way, why haven't any of them come over when one of my cats was sick? "Lesbian law student struggles - one-eyed cat loses another tooth and apparently, has worms. Next: the fight to feed Stella." Stupid dog.

Perhaps we just have too many channels and it's getting that hard to find something to put on them. The result is that we have shitting dogs on camera and, of course, a plethora of court TV shows with semi literate drama queens being yelled at by judges with personality disorders because they used up all of their roomate's hairspray and then moved out without paying the cable bill. The result is that us upcoming lawyers have to contend with a mass of citizens who think they know something about the law or how courtroom drama plays out from watching Law & Order after Judge Crackhead. Yes, Jack McCoy probably would have gotten up from behind his table and made incisive personal comments that left the witness stammering, such that the trial was over after a commercial break where we learned how Tide can magically remove butter stains, but it's not like that in real life, and no, I'm not going to yell at the witness and the judge is not going to stop the trial and dramatically annouce how you have been wronged, thus vindicating your search for justice over the way Candi stole your husband. I mean, damn, y'all, isn't the law hard enough?

But maybe our jobs as lawyers are to provide some sense of perspective - in which case, I should have saved myself the trouble of going to law school and kept my counseling job. It could be worse, though. I could be the host of an afternoon TV show holding the mike for Mrs. Smith while she holds her puking Yorkie on her lap, having to look serious while I'm thinking the fucking dog looks like the result of combing carpet. Well, that's me keeping things in perspective. Until next time, take care of your pets and for God's sake, don't sue Candi on "Judge Crackhead" - I will NOT represent you.

and now, for something completely different

2007-03-20T10:27:00.000-07:00

for a little change of pace, here's a poem i wrote today about the war when i didn't feel like studying for business. it ain't revised, because i don't feel like doing that either, but hell, here it is:

------------

perhaps the drums i hear at night
are the newly dead coming back from the war.
they scatter under dishonest stars
toward houses which no longer recognize them,
dodging SUVs full of blind people
with little flags along the road.

perhaps the thunder i hear at night
is the newly dead coming back from the war
dropping their drums around the white house.
perhaps the silence i hear at night
is them stopping, and slowly beginning to pity the president,
who eats his shame for a midnight snack
while gently petting the little dog inside him,
who constantly barks out, ‘you’re a failure.’
perhaps they realize
he cannot help but stumble around pushing things;
he blusters because he was never taught to count,
and now must spend the rest of his days
not listening to the deafening voices of the world
saying, “you are a stupid man.”

perhaps the rustling I hear at night
are the newly dead coming back from the war,
pushing around in the leaves i never raked last fall
in search of a kiss buried, or a hatchet
with which to stage a rebellion. Perhaps the voices
i hear at night are the voices of the newly dead
coming back from the war, calling out to the living
in their red, white and blue surprises,
talking about that day on the seesaw, that night in the kitchen,
the blood in the moonlight by the waterfront,
with only a little time, pressed for forgiveness.

Here's to Scooter, a dumb, true believer

2007-03-10T18:08:00.000-08:00

In the news: Scooter Libby found guilty. Well, duh. And not just because he was obviously lying; but because this was his job; to take the bullet for some horrible fucker and, in the process, to perhaps inspire some measure of odd respect for his loyalty. History is full of people like him. But then, what would it have sounded like if he had told the truth, anyway? "So, did Cheney want Valerie Plame outed?" "Oh, you mean Satan? yeah, sure," "So, it is your testimony that Cheney is Satan?" "Yeah, everybody thinks its Karl Rove, but he's just the front man. Karl's an evil fucker though, don't get me wrong." And so on.

Hey, we all need somebody. Reagan needed Oliver North. Cheney needed Scooter Libby. You need somebody. I need somebody. It's a matter of who we need, and that's a measure of who we are. Cheney is a sneaky, evil shit; he needed some sucker to take the fall for him. I can barely count and need someone who will make sure the mortgage gets paid. The guy at the taco stand needs people who don't get horrible gas from beans, or better, who don't care. It's always something; and so, it's always someone.

But what does it mean to be the one who got needed? Making paper airplanes while your girlfriend writes the mortgage check? Rich? In prison? Left on the curb wondering what the fuck just happened? I have to wonder if Scooter will lie in prison in the middle of the night, listening to the rats feet on the linoleum, thinking "Scooter, you stupid son of a bitch." "Why didn't you just stay home and run that hardware store, Scooter?" "Why didn't you just open that moped dealership, Scooter?" "You just had to work for Satan, didn't you, Scooter?" Or whatever a guy named Scooter thinks in prison in the middle of the night while the rats scrabble and Cheney farts after an overpriced dinner of steak and scotch, and blames it on somebody else.

And yet, I somehow respect the guy, because as stupid as I think he is, at least he was really dedicated to someone, and to something. And beyond what we need, what we can and cannot commit to might really be the measure of who we are. Here's to you, Scooter Libby; you're a dumb fucker, but at least you believe in something. Maybe we could all learn a little something from you.

Ain't love grand?

2007-02-20T16:58:00.000-08:00

And now, a belated Valentine's day address! Last year I bought my girl a ring but made it clear to all of you it had NOTHING to do with some bullshit holiday cooked up by bored marketers out to sell crap. I just happened to be in the mall with $20 I found in the dryer. Ahem. This year I maintain that Valentines' is a cooked up ass holiday but OK, here's the admission at last: I'm a hopeless romantic. Yep. It's true. I secretly want to be all Wuthering Heights and gusty emotions on windy nights and candles and poetry - but good poetry, not that insipid crap that passes for poems most of the time, especially with lesbians. Shit with some imagination and some guts to it. I want to cry "Heathcliff!" toward the castle in the rain, except in my case it would be "Heather!" or something, because, you know, Heathcliff was a guy.

That said, I don't live on the moors, I live in a little house in Durham with a cat that's been throwing up a lot and I haven't done my Tax homework. Sigh. Life and literature don't cross that often. The question remains how to be romantic between the out of town flights and sick cats and laundry and mortgage and the coffee table which seems to have some magical ability to collect crap, like some hellish magnet in the middle of the living room. Further, I've never been with anyone stable before and the dramatic fights and makeups just aren't here for that crying at the castle feeling, you know? NOT that the stomachaches were worth it. And as for stability and settling down - well, it has a lot of benefits; but then, you never get that first kiss again - or do you?

This year, I made my girl a CD with multiple levels of themes (yeah, I'm creative like that.) and tried to musically trace the development of our relationship. It wasn't as corny as it sounds. Shutup. In thinking about that process, it has occurred to me that every relationship has lots of mini-relationships within it, and you kind of do get that first kiss again, because things change so much, and people do, too. There was that monumental first kiss, and boy, this one I'll never forget. Then there was that day I realized I might as well quit trying to stay single because she had me hook, line and windy moor. The first time I cried in front of her. The day she moved in. The first time we split a vet bill. Signing the mortgage. The first vacation. The second vacation. The day I realized I have a tan line on my ring finger. The first time I told her I loved her. The time I told her I love her today.

Relationships take work, though, and I wonder if what happens a lot of times is people forgetting to stop and take a fresh look at that face you see every day and remembering why you wanted to see it every day in the first place. It can be hard to see through the fog of tax homework and the table's detritus. Sometimes a new face can offer promises of clean coffee tables and candles in the castle but soon, you know, they all become surrounded by socks on the floor and bills. So I think the trick is to put down the homework and pick up the socks, or not, and break out that first smile when you sneak home for a nooner; to start building new castles. Then, if they're castles made of sand, so much the better, y'all, because when they wash away, you can go kiss your girl in the ocean and build that castle all over again. Happy Valentine's, cause love is grand, socks, tax, coffee tables and all.

Muffies and a request for some advice, but not from Muffies

2007-02-17T09:57:00.000-08:00

Well, trial team is over, and overall I'm glad to get back to my life. Of course my first act was to take a sick cat to the vet and wait to get worked in and charged $250, but we've already established life just doesn't fucking stop, then, haven't we? At any rate, I'm rather discouraged, not really because my team didn't make it to the next round but because of some of the really shitty behavior I saw and in realizing I've got a lot to learn about not letting people get under my skin. Our first round we beat a pretty tough team, then got something called a 'buy' for the next round which I think means you get a technical win but obviously means you don't get to go make your points then faced this team that cheated so badly it truly disgusted me. Knowing that 'outside the record' isn't an objection and that the judges hadn't read the materials, they abused the witnesses - first year students who were giving up their time to help out - and stretched the facts in ways I couldn't believe they could sleep over. It didn't help that the chick on the other side looked like one of those upturned nose, overprivileged, Muffy types who push maids around buy lap dogs that piss everywhere. You know, my antithesis. I was born in a trailer, have worked on a farm, am not sure what all a maid actually does and have a 14 year old, one eyed tabby cat who is missing several teeth. I just can't resist the urge to want to kick the shit out of a Muffy type when she tries to shove me around. Sigh. It's something I've got to work on.

So two things here. One, it's disturbing to me to see so close up how lawyers get the reputation of sleaziness. It was also disturbing to have to spend most of my energy trying to figure out how to work around their crap and thus having a harder time actually scoring points. Don't get me wrong. We had them on the ropes and called them on their crap a few times, and it was totally sweet. But the other, and really more important thing: as my coach said, I need to learn how to not kick people when I get them down, which to be honest, I really really want to do. I figure if you are going to do something, do it all the way, but apparently that isn't proper. And I need to not let people piss me off so much and to let them dig their own holes. For instance, I just had to add "we would not object to opposing counsel refreshing the witness' memory with something that is ACTUALLY ON THE DEPOSITION" to point out some cheating and one of the judges totally missed my point and told me not to tell the opposing side how to cure their mistakes. It looks like by this time in life I'd learn that when I try to fuck someone else up I only fuck up myself, and to let people fuck themselves up when they try to fuck me up instead of fucking up and getting involved. Does that make any sense? Well it shouldn't! When I'm right, I'm right, dammit! Right? Um.... or not so right after all?

Anyway, I've got some things to learn. I can swing with the best of them but you know, that isn't the whole game. Anyway, I'd sure like a note or two from some practicing lawyers out there, since a recent comment has assured me that not every lawyer, in fact, works 100 hours a week (thank you, whoever you are!) so maybe one of you have time. Oh, and Muffy, if you're reading this, I hope your little dog pees on you.

The existential question and the hungry fish

2007-02-06T05:02:00.000-08:00

My girlfriend got a new job, meaning there's actually some money coming into the house for a change. However, she's out of town all the time and I really miss her. I didn't expect it to get at me so much because I am pretty fond of my space; without it, I get pretty cranky. I'm discovering that when I am busy with school 14 hours a day and then come home to an empty house that it doesn't help my mood much either. This sucks. I also have to remember to feed the fish, which is harder than you would think, because they can't get out of the tank and come get me. The cats, on the other hand, let me know in no uncertain terms when it's time to break out the kitty cereal. I don't know how they get so excited about this same shit out of a 25 pound bag every day but when you wake up with a cat on your chest staring at you, particularly when it's a really old cat who gets gas, you know that the kibble is, in fact, quite important.

So, the million dollar question isn't whether I've fed the fish. Oops, there's one floating. Dammit. And there's a cat on my head. But I think he just wants the fish. But back to the million dollar question - if (when!!) I become a lawyer, do I have to work 70 hours a week, or do people just do that because they're psycho type A workaholics? Am I selling my life and my sanity and ever being in a good mood or hanging out with my girlfriend at a decent hour again? I keep meeting lawyers and asking them how much they work, hoping someone will give me a reasonable answer, but never happens. Don't get me wrong - I'm willing to work hard, I just want to do something other than work with my life. I can see it now: I'm 82 and all crusty in some smelly nursing home hoping somebody who doesn't give a fuck will a. show up and b. not steal my meds and looking back on my life, seeing that I pissed away my youth in bars, was productive for a couple years, went to law school and pissed away the rest of my life in an office, then suddenly not caring if the lazy ass nurse shows up with my meds, because fuck it, somebody should have a good time. Whether or not we only get one life (which makes little sense to me - I mean really, just one shot and that's it? that's cold.) I only get one life as me and am trying to get through the remainder of it with a modicum of happiness. I don't know. Maybe I should get out while I can and go back to being a marginally employed hippie. Or maybe I should just shut up, feed the fishes and go to school. We all make our choices, man, and besides, what else do I have to do today? My girl won't be home for another three days and I'm cranky enough.

Recommendations

2007-02-04T18:38:00.001-08:00

It's that time of year again! Law professors are getting requests for recommendations. It is a lot of work, I am sure. I actually got one and helped write it so it's nice. However, I am thinking that since students vary greatly, that letters vary as well. As a matter of fact, I found this one crumpled up in the trash when I was pulling out plastic bottles that people are too motherfucking lazy to recycle.[**note for legal purposes: everything I write in this blog is bullshit. Almost. It's true that a lot of people are too fucking lazy to recycle at our law school. They will actually throw plastic bottles in the trash right beside the recyling bin. I know they can read, so I guess they are just sorry ass inconsiderate ground water poisoning buttheads. The little kids who live near the landfill thank you, asshole.] So, here it is, just by way of example. If there are any law professors reading who are stumped as to how to write recommendation letters, perhaps this will give you some inspiration.
-----
Dear Anonymous Firm,

I am writing in response to Tweaker Student’s request for a job recommendation. Tweaker is obsessed with being right, willing to give up friends, family and health for grades, and gloats over GPA points with remarkable skill. I recommend Tweaker for your Shallow Fuck position, but hesitate to recommend this particular student for anything that requires dealing with other human beings on an authentic level.

While Tweaker is able to memorize large amounts of material, guess what will be on an exam and thus presents you with a fine GPA, Tweaker will only help others when it is strategically designed to make others know how smart Tweaker is. A truly energetic interrupter, Tweaker is able to jump tall egos in a single bound, and is good at making sure other people overhear conversations about this or that ‘A’ on an exam, assuming they care or will be impressed. Tweaker has a remarkable ability to ignore helpful suggestions and is quick to point out what are perceived as other’s mistakes.

These skills will make Tweaker an excellent Shallow Fuck or Annoying Junior Partner. I must point out, however, that Tweaker will have great difficulty developing rapport with a jury, making clients feel comfortable or cared about, and will probably wind up spending most evenings getting drunk in an expensive chair choking on a growing emptiness and a developing heart condition wondering about that third divorce. Should you wish to hire Tweaker, I would recommend at some point in the next few years compiling a list of good rehab facilities.

Good luck in your search to fill this position and do not hesitate to call should you have any further questions.

Law Professor
----

But I'm sure this isn't a form letter. Or is it?

Point on, pointy!

2007-02-03T16:57:00.000-08:00

One has occasion to think about shit in law school that you don’t think about anywhere else, except maybe third grade. As kids, we are taught not to point. Later, like 4th grade, we learn that when you point, three fingers are pointing back at you. Or maybe we learn that in therapy later, which we need because we weren’t picking up on the appropriate social lessons in fourth grade. But then, we learned that there were times to point. The question “who farted?” inevitably gets a point to some poor, unsuspecting kid from the kid who really farted, because if he says “Timmy did it!” Timmy will say ‘no I didn’t, you did!” real quick then there’s a fight and the would-be pointer is suspected of having, in fact, farted. With the point, the pointer gets off the hook; then, where I’m from at least, the other kids say “A fox smells his own hole first!” to the kid who smelled the fart, and the smeller is deemed to be the farter. But then I was born in a single wide trailer in the backyard of my grandmother’s house and one of my first chores was to feed the pigs, so I don’t know that my perspective is all that great.

Now in law school there is the whole question as to whether it is appropriate for a prosecutor to point at the defendant. We all pretty much agree it’s not appropriate to call him "that guilty fucker" or “sticky fingers over there” but the pointing is still an issue. A sub issue is whether it is OK to walk over to the defendant’s table during closing and knock on the table for dramatic effect, indicating “this guilty fucker” while saying something more acceptable like “guilty on all counts” or whatever. My friend’s teammates tell her not to point. I think some of them are young guys though; for a discussion of that, see the previous entry. I do not know that she has beaten anyone in the head with a shoe.

My coach encourages us to point and even told me today to try walking over to the defendant’s table during closing argument, asking the jury to hold him guilty and then turning and looking at the defendant meaningfully. This would be easier if there was really a defendant there, but this is a mock competition so I have to stare meaningfully at an empty chair. My teammate does opening and does this sort of Vanna White indication toward the defendant’s table, and the coach tells her to point his guilty ass out. Of course, she is not to refer to him as his guilty ass. We do observe a sort of decorum in the courtroom, even if the defendant is imaginary.

I don’t know that this will be resolved, and suspect in practice that we will continue to have opinions as to whether to point, and knock, and how to say ‘that guilty fucker’ without getting ourselves a mistrial. But folks, there is a lot of room for creativity in the legal profession. Maybe I’ll just stand by the defendant’s table and ask “who farted?”

Down, boy!

2007-02-01T18:58:00.000-08:00

Studies show that men tend to interrupt women more than they do other men, or than women interrupt men. I find this to be true. I also find young guys to often be quite full of themselves. It also seems like many law students are pretty full of themselves. Add all this together and young law student guys will sometimes make you want to beat them in the head with a fucking shoe. I wrote a little poem for them! It goes a little something like this:

Shall I beat you with a shoe?
Shall I beat you with some poo?
You do not know everything!
Shall I strangle you with string?
Will you stop your silly yap?
Will you stop, before I slap?
I know that you feel big and strong,
but shut up now, your ass is wrong!

anyway, it's coming along. The fact of the matter is that I have enough to explain to the bar so that I can't just go around hitting boys with shoes to enforce the idea that other people have a right to talk and that they just might, possibly, in a small, far away universe filled with unicorns and butter trees, be WRONG about something or that, god forbid, I might not give a flying fuck what they think - agh, blasphemy!

I have therefore developed a coping skill. I wait until an older guy is around and pass whatever I have to say through them, because older guy will say to younger guy "she's got a point." and younger guy will not interrupt older guy and will in some resentful fashion sabotaged by his own ego attempt to integrate older guy's advice. I just saw some cocky young shit get told by some impotent old grey haired guy on this stupid country show that's on because I am too lazy to reach for the remote - that his attitude was a problem and he needed get his head out of his ass and start listening to some advice. Of course, I paraphrase.

Bet the chick with the glittery outfit on beside him told him to say that.

Well, I'll put this little rant away since the only guy who I know reads this actually lets me finish a sentence. And if any other boys read this - haha, it's a blog and you didn't get to interrupt me!!

Gimme back my tootsie pop

2007-01-28T12:19:00.000-08:00

So I'm on the trial team and it's like a half time job. How long should it take to come up with a few opening statements, closing arguments, and questions for witnesses? About 20 hrs a week for 2 months, apparently. It's like "how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll brand tootsie pop?" "I'm a fucking owl, how should I know?" oh, no, wait, that's not what he said. he took the kid's sucker, licked it a few times and ate it. stupid owl. or stupid kid? i'm not sure. but stupid me, anyway. i'm home so little the other day i was at the grocery store and started back to school instead of my house. i didn't want to live here but there you go.

I have a zen buddy who teaches me a lot. Lately the thing is something about hungry ghosts. The idea is that when a hungry ghost comes knocking - the ghost of tired, the ghost of pissed off, the ghost of feeling disgusted, whatever, - you let them in and hug them. I don't know why. I'd rather just not let his ghost ass in. Lately I want to just go hide somewhere anyway and I certainly don't want to go open the door for a stupid ghost. I am not ghost food. I just feel like a ghost myself half the time. It occurs to me that life is making one mistake after another and that sometimes I just really wish something would come out just right. But it never does. There's always a hungry ghost taking away my tootsie pop. Yes, this is whining. I feel like the little kid wandering around in the woods asking a fucking owl questions about a sucker. How did I get here? What happened that left me talking to owls and wanting to hide from hungry ghosts? It's called life, fellas, and there's the door. I guess I'll get my suckers out, feed the owls and let the ghosts come in.

basket speeks

2007-01-25T11:37:00.000-08:00

My name is basket and this is pretti much how i spend my dayz. it's grate! my mommi is gone a lot to something she calls law skool. she seems realli stressed out and i think she should lay on ths couch like this a lot more! today i brought her a mous and left it outside the door as a presennt. i kan't kook or pack her lunch becaus i don't have thumms and thot this would be grate but she screemed and just left the mous there. so i was sad! but then i chased sum things and felt better. i think my mom should relax. peeple make things so hard! like when another kat makes me mad then i screem and bite his hed and then when he is not looking i go pee on his stuff. haha. then i lay on the couch or go eat cereal out of a bowl in the kichen. i wish my mommi wud stop going to law skool and just lay on the couch with me. well maybee i will go ketch her a bird and then she will feel better. and then i will take a nap. thanx for lissening and if u r in law skool, tell my mommi to come home!

look out - she's back!

2007-01-23T15:55:00.000-08:00

Here's the thing about law school: the rest of your life doesn't stop. It seems like you should get some sort of 'get out of events free' pass while you are going through all of this shit and maybe other people do, but I'm still checking the mail and mine isn't here. For example, last semester my dad got in a horrible car wreck, seemed to get out of the woods, went into some crackhead ass nursing home that almost killed him, then when he could put a sentence together again I got pulled into a trial competition with two weeks to prepare, kicked ass, dusted off my books, then totaled my car. I think I may be working off some karma from a previous life. I must have been a real mean fucker.

I'm on a new trial team now and I have to play both plaintiff and defendant. The plaintiff's case sucks. In real life the D.A. would have never gotten an indictment but this is make believe so there you go. I am figuring out more and more things are make believe, though. Grades are how one professor likes your answer on one list of questions answered on one day. I'm taking business associations now and who is liable for what has a lot to do with how well people lie about how involved they are with what. They trade money that exists on paper and are taxed on cash that didn't trade hands. It makes me feel lost, then I go work on my '75 Datsun or scrub the toilet and I feel human again until I go back to class. Is this going to be what my life is going to be like? Should I drop out and go back to cooking? When you burn the soup, it stinks, and you have to start over, and you know it, and there is really something comforting about that, in spite of the fact that, well, you burned the soup.

If only going to class were symbolic because I can't seem to wrap my head around the fact that we're back at school. I forgot to go to Tax the other day and I forgot to go to another class last week. Obviously, I'm not really into this right now. I also wish I could symbolically smack some people. It might serve to reduce the size of their overbig heads, or at least shut them up, which would also be OK. In general I find people who are full of themselves kind of funny but sometimes the annoyance takes over, particularly when I am tired and don't want to be whereever I am anyway. That's when I want to say things like "It must be great to be so important! Too bad nobody else cares." and "So, are you going to put that on your gravestone?" or "yawn. oh, I'm sorry, I thought you just wanted to hear yourself talk, I didn't know I was supposed to be involved."

Sigh. Anyway, I'm still alive and bitchin' and at least if you don't care, you can click away and read some other cranky fuck's ramblings. I'm stuck here for another three semesters learning more and more about the unreal. All I've got to say is thank god for television.

You want to let me eat your muffin

2006-10-30T14:38:00.001-08:00

Another student asked me once how I manage to keep up a blog. The answer is that sometimes I just don't do my work. They also seem to have been under the impression that it takes me a lot of time to write these posts. It doesn't. I can bitch at a moment's notice. It's a talent I have. I don't question it; it's like the old saying goes: don't look a gift horse in the ass. Or something like that.

Lately it seems I have so much to do all I can seem to get done is playing computer games. This is not going to help come finals or during the trial competition but what do you want? I'm only human, and humans will get to the point where the pile of shit is so big they just decide to live with it. Take the Bush administration, for instance. These fuckers have shoveled so much shit it seems a lot of Americans have mistaken the pile for a mountain and planted a flag on top. For the record, I have tried waving a flag at my pile of shit and guess what? It didn't make that pile go away or smell any better, either.

I have recently (I am slow.) developed an appreciation for Star Wars movies and it occurs to me that this administration, the Siths, know Jedi mind tricks. You know the ones; the Jedi says "you want to let me eat your muffin" and the other guy says "I want to let you eat my muffin!" This is the only explanation I can find. See how it works: "We need to take away your civil liberties!" "You need to take my civil liberties!" "We can throw people in jail and let them rot for years without even seeing a lawyer! "You can throw people in jail and let them rot.. ." well, you get the picture. Now, where are the Jedis to fight off the Siths? In jail being held as enemy combatants of course, duh! Doesn't it all fit nicely? This is my theory. Don't question it, it's America and we don't question shit anymore.

Oh crap - who is knocking on my door? Oh no, it's the secret service!! What? No, I'm not an enemy combatant! What? Yes I am, you say? Why? You're rounding up all the law students before we figure out how to get Bush impeached? But I don't even do my work! Look at me, I'm updating my blog when I have two papers coming due! I'm no law student! Uh...uh... you want to let me eat your muffin! You want to let me eat your muffin! Sigh...I hope the weather in Cuba is nice this time of year . . . I wonder if they have muffins?

germs and the job search

2006-10-21T14:55:00.000-07:00

I spent the last two days at the Equal Justice Works Career Fair and Conference in DC, which one of my friends referred to as the hippie law conference. There were a lot of really cool offices - only a couple of firms (no surprises there!) at tables in long rows in these huge rooms and free coffee and like 800 kids in suits waiting in lines to explain why they should be the next great do gooder. I have come to realize that some people are really crappy at giving interviews. Here's a tip to interviewers: fucking look at the person. Typing is not interviewing.

I have also come to realize that even at the hippie law conference, you have to be competitive in very weird ways, and that looking for a job raises some real questions about your values. For instance, I had a terrible cold and had to think through whether or not to shake hands with people. So, here was a question that said more about me than all the hypos and requests to explain my career change: am I do gooder enough to make an interview awkward in order to reduce the spread of a cold? Answer: hell no, I'm trying to get a job here. However, I am a do gooder enough to wash up before planned interviews so I'm probably not spreading germs I wouldn't have spread by breathing anyway. Make what you want of that. Or, I could tell you what class I've found the most challenging or bullshit you about some crap you seem to want to hear about. At any rate, it was a better experience than my last trip to D.C., which you can check out in the June archives titled something like 'fuck D.C.'. And if anyone sneezing reads this, dude, I'm sorry. Hire me and I swear I'll make it up to you. I'm the next to the next great do gooder. Really.

Here's to Fluffy-headed boy

2006-10-10T18:21:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I am glad life is short. Most of the time I wish it were longer, or at least that I hadn't flat out wasted so much of mine, but sometimes it is good that life is short because there are some people who just don't need to be around annoying the rest of us but for so long. Last week my con law professor, bless her heart (see: post on southern translation if you are not southern) opened up discussion to what people think of the current supreme court. She's new there so I'll give her a break. Immediately, argumentative boy pipes up and says if the court is going to hear arguments about gay marraige, they should hear about polygamy. I wish someone would point out that, generally, gay people only want to marry ONE person each. Idiot. Then fluffy headed boy, as we shall call him for his ridiculous mop of curly hair often topped off by a Bush supporting hat, says if they are going to let gay people get married they should let dogs get married. I am really glad I didn't hear that and only heard about it later or I would have had to point out that he looks a lot more like a dog than my girlfriend does. Soon the fucknuts piped up in support of torturing prisoners accused of terrorism - correctly or not. Wonder how they'd like to be tortured. These are human beings, folks, and there are so many political arguments against torture even if you are too much of a shithead to realize that torturing people is WRONG that I won't get into them here. Anyway. Fluffy head is one of these fucknuts. I had two friends on each side, both of whom are fine human beings, try to bring the conversation down but once you let an idiot loose, it's really hard to stop him, as the 'presidency' of Bush will evidence. I managed to swallow my bile and point out that every man in the room has contract rights with his girlfriend I don't have with mine and tie this into the reading, which took superhuman effort and goes to show that yoga and meditation really do work.

Fluffy headed boy is perhaps a victim of someone or something, though, as further evidenced by the fact that he's been told that polo shirts with the collar turned up aren't stupid looking, and it's October and he's still in flip flops and god knows, someone needs to give that boy a haircut; maybe his brain just isn't getting enough oxygen. But one, who would marry a jackass with a flipped up pink polo collar and two, if he ever manages to get a girl drunk enough to even sleep with him, what difference would it make what kind of rights I have with my girlfriend, who sleeps with me sober? Most straight people get divorced; tons of guys beat their wives; tons of people cheat on their spouses; how is my stopping by the justice of the peace with my girl possibly going to make their lives any worse? Here's to fluffy headed boy and his idiotic pink collar: he's ignorant, but his kind certainly know how to wreck things for the rest of us. Go, Fluffy!

the Whatever exception

2006-09-24T17:23:00.000-07:00

Allow me to introduce into evidence: my dad. I love the guy; in fact, I genuinely like him, which is a lot more than most people can say about their dads. However, he has the worst luck on the road I've ever seen. I don't know whether it's genuine bad luck or that kind of "Joe has the worst luck when he runs in traffic blindfolded!" luck but he's in the hospital again and it's the worst wreck yet. He's been there for a few weeks, which has meant I really haven't given much of a shit about the Whatever Amendment and will be there a few weeks more which will make it hard to care about the Whatever exceptions. What exceptions? I don't know. That's the point.

For the moment, he's sitting in this shitty nursing home waiting for another surgery. I don't know why people who work in places like this take the job because they obviously don't want to take care of people. I was visiting the other day and this beeping noise went on in the hall so long - read almost constantly for two hours- it drove me crazy and I went and asked a nurse to make it stop. She said "Oh..." like she hadn't heard it said and "uh, I guess I could go to the room with the light on", which was my dad's room where he'd called for pain meds like 1/2 hour ago after the brief break in beeping. Yes, I guess you can go to the fucking room with the light on, you deaf, lazy bitch. She explained that they cut the beeping off in the room when they see the patient. I decided not to beat her with a wheelchair because I might have accidentally hit my dad, as the rooms are small, but maybe I'll carry a cattle prod next time and poke the cow. Perhaps this will help, as last night I called and he said that the fuckbrains who worked the night before gave him his last pain meds then forgot to write down that he was out. Now how hard is that? "Oh this is the last one, I should make a note of that so the guy with all the broken bones can have his pain medicine tomorrow." Apparently, that is more difficult than finding all the crack they were obviously smoking. So there's my dad lying there in pain and here I am counting the days till I can sue people like this for all they are not worth just to make a point. And to vindicate my dad and all the other dads dependent on crackheads to help them. Until then, back to the Whatever exception.

On principle, direct evidence of a shitty day

2006-08-31T18:07:00.000-07:00

I had a bad day today. It could have been worse; I could have cholera or children. But it was a rough one, nonetheless. I got up before dawn to meet a friend for our weekly early a.m. hike through Duke Forest. Occasionally this strikes me as strange because a few years ago, I never saw dawn single-vision and certainly not after having any sleep. So, it began to rain and I left. For some reason instead of driving I had taken my groovy new scooter. On the way back, I had to go to the bathroom really, really bad, pulled up in front of a gas station, got off without turning off the engine and in front of like 20 people wiped out, busting my leg up and scraping up the side of my new scooter. So I had to be embarrassed, pee and ride home muddy and bleeding. Actually my blood and pride don't bother me, it's the damn paint job; I will heal, paint will not. That's the thing about paint.

Moving along, I was late for a meeting with a professor because I remembered the time wrong. She was gracious about it. I felt stupid. Also, today we had evidence which is just a bad day in and of itself. Listening to the professor is like watching a game of fucking whack-a-mole. She's all over the place and just makes us do the problems in the book without explanation. "Jimmy Joe, number 5" "Uh, yeah, it's hearsay." "Why?" "Because it's about the ice cream, not the socks". "No, it's about the windows." "Oh." "Ok. tommy toes, number 6". And so on.

Then, I rode my scooter in the rain to my new job to reup my CPR and first aid training, where you would think they'd feed us between 5 and 9, but they didn't. How the hell are you gong to make people watch videos for 3 hours and not feed them? I hope whoever planned that will never need me to treat them for an electrical burn or whatever they were talking about on that tape.

So I got home soaking wet because I was too stubborn to call my girlfriend to pick me up, and as if I needed more torture, looked up the federal rules of evidence online. Here is the quote of the day: "On principle it scarcely seems open to doubt that the hearsay rule should not call for exclusion of a hearsay statement which includes a further hearsay statement when both conform to the requirements of a hearsay exception." On principle. Someone should be tied to a canoe and put out to sea for writing that. On principle, I will never, never make enough money to have had to deal with Evidence class. On principle, no one should go to law school and I should have stayed where I was. On principle. . .I'll let this go for now and take my principled ass on to eat pizza and climb in bed like today never happened, just on principle.

Run for your ego! Run!

2006-08-20T11:44:00.000-07:00

School starts back tomorrow. I'm as ready as I'm going to be; it's the new students I'm worried about. I helped out with orientation for them the other day and answered questions like "are the tests open book?" No. The book would not help you anyway. What is this legal writing class? It's hazing. Get a crystal ball because they will not tell you what they want. You will be as confused after assignments as before them and will learn almost nothing. Stuff like that. This semester I'm tutoring Contracts, which, frankly, most people get or they don't. I will meet with them one hour per week as a class and hope for the best. For me, not them. I already passed Contracts.

Given that there are thousands of bright eyed fools entering law school this semester, I thought I'd go ahead and give you guys a few pieces of overall advice. Here it goes.

1. Run.
2. Run now.
3. Law school will make you fat and blind. Start looking for coupons for eye exams and join a gym. You will need them both.
4. Think you're smart? Good luck with that. The first day you feel like a complete idiot, remember that I told you so.
5. Don't be an asshole. I'm serious about this. Law school is hard enough without you being a little prick and adding to other people's stress. You are not special. Deal with it.
6. If you don't own a coffee maker, buy one. No one escapes caffeine addiction. You will have a .4 blood coffee level by the end of your first semester, so I also recommend not drinking crap. Spend the couple of bucks and get some decent beans. Do you want your blood to be almost half Food Lion grounds swept off the floor of some dismal factory? Didn't think so.
7. Don't freak out. The first year is designed to scare the shit out of you. People stupider than you have passed. Take a breath and get a grip.
8. This is not your whole life. Don't spend 18 hours a day on it. One day you will wake up looking like hell, fat, lonely, crazy and realize you never learned a thing after 10 p.m. anyway, meaning you didn't make more than a point or two better on any exam than people who went to the movies and got some sleep. I never studied past 10, my girlfriend hasn't left me and I got a tutoring job. What does that tell you? Put the fucking book DOWN.
9. Classes are for everybody in there, they are not your private tutoring session. Learn to shut the fuck up. Quick questions are one thing. If you are talking as much as half the other people combined, once again, shut the fuck up. The other students are not there to pay for your education.
10. Good luck, kid, you're going to need it!

Southern translation

2006-08-10T06:02:00.000-07:00

I am unequivocally southern. I mean born in a trailer on a tobacco farm, childhood on the back of a tractor, tomato sandwich, secretly hold men who don't carry pocket knives and know how to fix things suspect southern. Now, there are technically southern areas, such as Virginia, who don't share some of the things I do with people I've talked to about this from Alabama and Georgia and North Carolina; there is an area of the country where, well, we do things a certain way. One of them is that one must NOT be direct! I have come to realize that people from other ares just don't understand the code, and that this causes a problem in communication. Therefore, I thought I would use this entry to help them out with a few translations. OK, here is a crash course in what a southerner - particularly a southern girl - really means when she's talking to you.

"Bless her heart". = She's ignorant and I feel sorry for the silly bitch.

"Bless his heart". = He's a dumbass who doesn't know any better, the poor bastard.

"We have this problem with X and I'm not doing such a great job by myself. I need your help." = Dammit, I'm doing all the work and I'm going to strangle you if you don't get on the ball.

"Honey, I'm at the vet with Stinker and he's hurt! I'm really worried about him." = I'm at the vet and you should show me you love me by dropping whatever you are doing and coming up here right now. Otherwise you will not be getting laid for at least 2 weeks.

"I don't know about all that." = That sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me.

In guestimating an amount: "right much". = Not quite a LOT, but more than an average amount. You know, right much.

"Well, you know, she tried." = How pathetic. My cow could have done better.

"That's just the way he is". = I'll punch you if you say one more thing about my boy.

"Hey y'all, watch this!" = I am endangering my health and welfare for your amusement! Pay attention and act impressed if I don't break anything!

"That's nice". = That's not nice, or I don't give a rat's ass, depending on the circumstances. Anyway, shutup.

Mom to daughter: "Oh, you got your hair done. (silence). " = it looks like you had your hair cut by a blind woodchopper. What the hell were you thinking? You're going to shave that off and get a wig, though, right?

Guy to woman: "Oh, honey, I don't care none about my birthday, you don't have to get me anything." = get me something. something cool. it's my birthday, woman.

Woman to guy: "Oh honey, don't worry about Valentine's day. I know you love me." = You had better show up with something, but make it more original than roses and chocolate. Don't be late, either, unless you want to be taking cold showers until you have made this up to me.

Hope that helps the less rural of you, bless your hearts!

For all the asshole drivers I want to strangle

2006-07-30T14:30:00.001-07:00

First of all, why the fuck do people feel the need to tailgate at 80 miles an hour and weave in and out of traffic? Those little brats need a spanking, and I don't mean a fun one. It particularly bothers me when it's an SUV, which handles like shit and is usually driven by some vain, wasteful, entitled idiot with a 2 inch dick who doesn't realize we DO NOT HAVE ANOTHER PLANET TO LIVE ON. Anyway yesterday just such a jackass was all over me and the highway. Since I couldn't strangle him, I decided I'd try to look at things from his perspective. So, here's his story:
----------
Yesterday I was zipping down I-40 in my Lexus SUV, surrounded by dirty little poor people in lesser vehicles. Though other people were happily moving along at about 75, I am far too important to worry about what other people are doing so I decided to do about 90. What envy I saw when they looked at me, seeing how fast my SUV is, realizing I'm to important to worry about getting 20 miles to the gallon on a good day, or carbon emissions or global warming or traffic laws or state troopers or their safety! How they wished they could waste money and gas and be flashy and go 90 miles an hour and endanger others like me! But they can't because they're little poor people who had to leave on time to get where they're going. All of a sudden, I came up on this silly little Mazda, and lo and behold, this Mazda was only doing 80 in a 65 zone! I figured the driver must not see me and how big and important I am, so I rode up within a couple feet of her bumper so she'd know she was a lesser person in a lesser car and should let me by. You know what happened? She tapped her brakes! That might dissuaade a lesser car driver, but I don't slow down for anyone! I decided she really must not see that I'm in a Lexus and am, besides, too special to be concerned with the other 82 people on the road and continued to ride pretty much in her little poor people trunk. She tapped her brakes again! I actually had to put brakes on! I decided she needed to know how important I am and so did everyone else - I mean, how else will they learn? So I cut around her, across three lanes of traffic, and to make sure this woman got my point, cut back across three lanes of traffic and cut in front of her and hit MY brakes. I do the braking here, bitch! I am super driver and this is MY road! Then I took off at about 95, though I had to weave in and out of traffic because other people in lesser cars just couldn't move fast enough to let me by, though of course they wanted to, because they realize I am entitled to get my way and do whatever I like. Anyway, I sure taught that lady a lesson! I bet she won't get in my way going only 15 miles over the speed limit again!

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hope you enjoyed that. it's just good to look at things from other people's perspective.

is dumping flour dancing? more at 11.

2006-07-20T20:16:00.000-07:00

Last night I got to catch up with an old friend I haven't seen in years, which was great. She's a dancer and choreographer, so we went to the American Dance Festival after dinner, which was educational. There seems to be a movement in dance now involving screeching and dumping things on the floor. Also, in one dance several plants got harmed, a metaphor for the screeching girl's broken heart I think, but I was honestly more concerned with the plants than her messy emotions. I mean, those little plants worked so hard to grow from little sprouts, and were all bushy and healthy, and here come these abstract people spinning them around and pulling their leaves off. I'm sure the plants were thinking, "hey, look buddy, I have nothing to do with your problems or your metaphors for them. now get me some miracle grow and go fucking deal with yourself." Personally, I suspect that plants have a much healthier outlook on life than people. You don't see ferns making messes as a metaphor for their bad relationships, do you? Hm.

Two of the three dances we saw involved dumping things on the floor - dirt to plant the girl to be a tree in the first one, which ended with her hitting herself on the head with a microphone, and the last one with guys sifting something that looked like flour after a series of girls crossing the floor on their knees. I wondered if the choreographer cleaned that up, or after making the dancers work so hard they had to sweep the floor, or maybe some poor shmuck who makes $6.50 an hour had to run out and sweep behind them.

It's not that I don't appreciate a good metaphor. It is that I have also come to the age where I appreciate a clean floor. Am I less artistic than I used to be? Perhaps, but my plants are healthy and my flour stays in the jar.

Now that my shoes have dried, fuck Washington DC

2006-07-07T06:30:00.000-07:00

I try to be a good girlfriend. I really do. Somehow, it just doesn't work out. So here's the latest debacle: as usual when we make plans, our trip to the mountains for my girlfriend's birthday got rained out. She looked so sad I decided it was my job (always a bad decision)to figure something out, and talked her into going to D.C., where the weather channel did not tell us we were going to get stranded in a flood. So we drive in on Saturday, and walk six million blocks on Sunday between walking cement floors in museums which left me feeling like I'd been shot in the back, which I don't think I was because there was no blood.

Sunday night she really wanted to have dinner in the city, meaning we'd miss the last hotel shuttle from the metro, but fuck it, it's her birthday and we'll find a cab, right? As we're leaving the restauraunt, all holy hell of rain's wrath breaks loose. Puddles 3 inches deep in like 20 minutes. We struggle back to the metro, settle in and lo and behold, the driver announces the tracks are flooded and we're getting dropped off at Reagan airport. So there we are, stranded in an airport and we didn't even fucking fly. They tell us shuttle buses are coming - but they're not; the highway is shut down. Obviously, no cabs either. We wait in the metro for an hour. Then we're sent down to the sidewalk for another half an hour until the driver comes and says, no, wait somewhere else! So 100 wet, stranded, disgusted people hustle to the next spot and wait for another hour for the driver to come and say, no, go back where you were - which we do, to find out that apparently the highway did open back up, because the first shuttle is gone, full of people who flew in and deserved to get stranded at a damn airport.

An hour later, the next bus comes and they decide all 100 of us can fit on there. Not pretty. We get to an open metro stop and guess what? No one can get out. So people start diving out of the windows. The bus takes off and by then, I think this is all pretty funny but caligu-girlfriend is not taking things so well. It's like 2 a.m. and man, she gets pissy when she's tired! We get to a stop near our hotel with an Embassy Suites and I suggest getting off so we can call a cab and wait in the lobby but for some reason, she's adamant about sticking to the plan of going to our closed metro station, so I shut up. We get there and - no cabs. This is why I'm not a big fan of sticking to plans. Sometimes circumstances just don't hold up.

So this Indian couple offers us a ride but they don't know their way around. Caligu-girlfriend calls the hotel but doesn't get street names,which makes the couple nervous. Then we see - a CAB! I ask the guy for a ride, he says sure, and we get out and into his cab. But he's helping this other cab - actually, the cab's passenger - change a tire. It's 2:30 a.m. and pouring rain, and neither of them know how to change a fucking tire. The other driver is this big hopeless woman who just stood there, wetly watching. These guys took the new tire off and on like 25 times because they couldn't get it on straight, which is not that fucking hard, but I was too tired and amused to get out and help and besides, I thought they'd be insulted if this 5'1 woman got out and showed them up. So they finally get the tire changed, lo and behold, and we're on the road. Yay! hotel bound!

We pull up to the hotel and for some reason, I think to keep up hope, caligu-girlfriend had taken the hotel key out of may backpack, which I didn't see a reason for but by then I was SO not fucking with her. Well, we pull up into the parking lot and as we're getting out, this creepy guy runs up to the cab and blows out this huge cloud of pot smoke and starts talking to the driver in a very stoned manner. This freaks Caligu-girlfriend out, who gets out of the cab, hears the key drop and thinks it dropped in the parking lot. Did it? No. The cab drives off and there we are, in the pouring rain at 3 a.m. looking in puddles for a key she had actually dropped in the long-gone cab. I couldn't stop laughing. She stormed into the hotel lobby and and my usually placid-acting (there is a difference between acting like you are always calm and actually taking things in stride, trust me) girlfriend, who I had never seen blow her top, actually yelled at the desk clerk, whose eyes got real big and who quickly, silently gave her another key so we could get into our long awaited hotel room. Home at last.

Fuck DC, and somebody please remind me that next time I want to be a good girlfriend, to just buy her some flowers. They are so much easier and even my luck can't screw that up. Can it??

Where's the tequila in this ride, and whose ass is this?

2006-06-22T18:45:00.001-07:00

I didn't believe most of what my mother told me when I was growing up. At about thirty, I finally conceded to "you're going to have to do a lot of things you don't want to do!" which still rings in my head when I don't want to do something, like go to work on Monday, mop, and be nice to assholes.
This shit, however, I did not see coming. I no longer lose two pounds by walking across the room. In fact, I just dropped off my first of probably many pairs of pants to be let fucking OUT. What the hell? My ass has grown, I go to bed at 11, I don't drink,and I actually caught myself saying "stupid fucking kids" about some teenagers the other day. Really, though, what is the point of a car stereo louder than a jet? Ignorant brats are going to wish they could hear when they're fat and deaf in a nursing home. See what I call them then, and they won't even know it, because they'll be DEAF.
It hit me the other night. There I was, driving down the road coming home at 10 with my girlfriend, whose ring I wear, after dinner with a married couple we're friends with. Suddenly, my 21 year old self appeared in the back seat and asked why I was gong home if there was no party there and where, for god's sake, is the tequila in this ride? And I saw myself through the eyes of me at 21 - mowing the yard, comparing refinance options, telling hot chicks IN MY DREAMS for god's sake that I have a girlfriend and can't go home with them, riding my bike to yoga class, using coupons. What time will do to a person.
So how will old age look? Fat and cranky? Shaking my cane at kids and chasing dogs out of my tomato garden? As long as I'm not in a nursing home, man, I guess it will be OK - cause those places usually smell.

Love and boobies

2006-06-08T18:33:00.000-07:00

Here's what I don't understand: people who just don't get mad. Don't get me wrong, I'm honestly pretty laid back and don't rant nearly so much in real life as here. I don't think. Maybe I do. You should ask somebody else, alright??? Quit bothering me! Anyway my girlfriend is one of those people. She said I can't give her an asinine nickname on here though, which people apparently do on their blogs, so maybe I should try that, but that probably wouldn't work either, unless I called her something like Booty Call or Bigfoot or Goddamit, Can You Clean Something? or whatever, which would be inaccurate and totally inappropriate - though funny, which excuses inappropriateness to me almost 100% of the time. Anyway, back to my girl's temper or lack thereof; she/we are currently facing some homophobia in her family and she's sad and I am absolutely fucking astounded she isn't totally pissed. I'm pissed. Fuck that. What the fuck year is this? Too bad this is her family because otherwise, I'd be totally doing some ass kicking right now for even trying to talk to her this way. So there. Or at least getting ready to sue somebody - I mean what is a law degree but a big ass bat turned into an expensive pen?

Besides, just because I got boobies and their dream partner would have a hairy ass doesn't mean she didn't get the better end of the deal. Would it really be better if she were with some smelly, hairy, beer slugging high school dropout who scratches his ass and leaves his socks on the floor? I mean, I graduated from college and shave. And besides, I'm nice to her and totally cute. I bet if she were with Motorcycle Mike the magic mess maker she'd develop a temper, though. But she'll just have to learn to get pissed off on her own, man, these boobies are stickin' around. 'Cause that's love, baby, tempers, dirty socks and all.

today's news: committment catches up with law student; love finds a procedure

2006-06-02T14:44:00.000-07:00

So, my girlfriend and I are trying to refinance my house together. Yes, I'm making a huge committment. Shutup. I'm trying not to think about it too much before I run screaming in fear to somewhere stupid, like the drunken arms of some cute girl in another state. This is the kind of thing that is by no means romantic, or sexy, or fun really, but says a lot about your day to day committment to a relationship - which, in its own way is really romantic. The lender tried to tell me she'd have to be on the deed for six months first, but did not realize they were fucking with a law student who has an internship at an all gay firm. I called back two hours later and said I had reasearched the law, they were wrong about it, I had three other lenders ready to do what I wanted and they could put my girl on the deed or I'd take my business elsewhere. Needless to say now she's going on there. Dammit, I might be terrified of committment but it won't be some banker telling me I can't make one.

I don't know why committment scares me so much. In the past I've always chosen crazy women because then I could play at being in love but know there was an "out" door and it was just a matter of time. Yes, I figured that out in therapy. Again, shut up. Anyway, this time I have somehow managed to get into something all healthy and great and sexy and easy with someone who thinks I'm smart and funny and beautiful. I swear it was an accident.

I'm happy, don't get me wrong, and grateful, I'm just scared shitless. Now I don't have an excuse for running away and I don't really want to and it's, well, kind of weird. I have to show up and put up or live the rest of my life kicking myself for being a stupid asshole. She's patient, and that's a good thing. And I've developed the ability to not throw up when making a major relationship move comes up, which is also good, because that's just not conducive to having a mature conversation. And dammit I love her, enough to fight a banker apparently, and to quit throwing up, and to sign things and write poems and plant stuff and check her cat's ass for worms. What has happened to me? Unfortunately for her she doesn't realize yet the unspoken cost of living with a lawyer: we will argue, I will win, you will pay. Maybe it's her who should be afraid. In the meantime, ain't love grand?

Is it really my birthday? Crap!!

2006-05-22T05:48:00.000-07:00

So today is my birthday. I'm only a little in a funk. How did I wake up 41? I feel ripped off somehow, like I skipped a decade or so, which is really no one's fault but my own, since the fact of the matter is I simply don't remember a decade or so. Dammit, at least four beer companies owe me a birthday present, and I am looking for cards from several bars, who, although it has been several years, probably do remember me. Maybe they are waiting for cards from me though, to apologize. Oh wait, one burned down. But I had nothing to do with that. So it's three to whom I owe apologies.

I am going rock climbing today and went to the beach with my girlfriend yesterday. We went to a nice beach with very little public access or parking, giving us the impression they do not want poor people like us there, although people who have no business in bathing suits and farting children are apparently OK. They also provide no public bathrooms, another indication that if you cannot afford a beach house,you should get the fuck out. But fuck them, I figure if fish can pee in the ocean, it's good enough for me. One of these days I will have my own beach house. I don't know about the name though, which appears to be important, given the crap on the signs at almost every beach house I've ever seen. I think I may just name it "Stupid name" and be done with it. Why do they feel the need to come up with bad puns? "Gull friend". You are not a friend to gulls. You are an idiot. And so on. Perhaps having enough money to buy a beach house somehow makes you the type of person to paint their house pink and name it something stupid, and I can't count out the possibility that this will not happen to me. People change. I mean look at me now, a once productive semi-young person sitting around surfing the internet in her pajamas bitching about bullshit on a blog in cyber space like anyone cares what I think. Care, damn you!! Make my sloth worthwhile!!

Tune in next update for more blathering about some crap. Happy birthday to me!!

weirder by the day

2006-05-10T19:19:00.000-07:00

I took my last exam last Thursday, a real ass of an expedition, and my first year of law school was suddenly over. It took a couple of days to come off of the adrenaline but then, suddenly, I was bloated, sleeping late and utterly without structure. My internship is so far doing independent research, which means that I've been sitting on the couch eating chips and salsa, surfing Westlaw and taking porn breaks. I mean news breaks. The cats have no idea what I am doing here, look at me strangely and go pee in the new garden we put in this weekend.

I have hardly been anywhere in four days and am starting to feel like some isolated mountain unabomber nut, only non violent. So far, anyway. Does sitting around by yourself too much make you start wondering how to build bombs? Is that the way it starts? "Hey, I wonder how to build a bomb? Is it hard? Could I use the fertilizer left over from the garden?" and then, after you start learning, maybe it just seems like it was all pointless if there is nothing to blow up, and then maybe you realize you never liked this or that bunch of assholes anyway. Does it happen that way? Suddenly, you find yourself dressing in camoflauge, which looks good on absolutely no one, and not caring that you look silly in your army surplus suit, putting your homemade bomb in some building. Does a person like that think, "You know, I should go buy a pair of Levi's and just go get some coffee, maybe get laid, make some friends, play Bingo or something.Or see a movie. I wonder what is going on at the movies? Maybe a nice romantic comedy." But then when they think about romantic comedies maybe they get angry all over again, because my God what a stupid genre, and want to plant the bomb after all, but then they remember hearing that something cool was coming out, and decide to go to the movies after all. I hope that happens. I don't want to be that poor unsuspecting asshole someday watching thier butt fly north and having some mundane last thought, as I suspect people do, such as "Oh, and I never did use that Charmin coupon."

I should call someone. My girlfriend comes home so tired from work lately I end up entertaining myself. Hence the porn. I mean the news. We got a truckload of compost from the dump this weekend, put in the garden, then it rained and made a 1/3 truckload of mud, the rest of which I shoveled out today thinking "well, how different is shoveling shit from law school, really?" Then the truck got stuck because the backyard is mostly hill above the garden and probably also because it rained for two days. My girlfriend says the ground needs to dry out more. I'm not sure. At any rate, here I am, surfing the internet for porn, I mean news, spending all day wandering around the house alone, waiting for a tired girlfriend, wondering what the unabomber types think, with a 1983 Ford truck stuck in the mud in the backyard and a one-eyed cat pissing in the new garden. It's been one week since school let out. It's going to be a very strange summer.

Civil procedure at high noon

2006-04-29T18:50:00.000-07:00

Yay! I appear to be putting my school on the map as the sole listed blogger on 'cleverwot', a site that indexes law student blogs. we need to get listed. we need all the help we can get.
It's currently finals, so the building stinks of fear and fills regularly with cluster fucks as we get our exams printed so the profs can tell us that no, Jamika is not liable and number 14 was in fact, B. After civil procedure the other day I had this strange desire to watch a Western, which was truly odd, since sweaty guys with guns and bad teeth really don't do anything for me. Here's the thing, though: I just spent two semesters of civil procedure learning the niceties of how to do this, that and the other thing, and maybe I'd like a little of the Old West when things were so simple. Why do we have to file motions? WHy don't we just kick people's asses anymore? How about a showdown at high noon? When some asshole pissed you off back then, you just knocked the table over, hit him over the head with a whiskey bottle and got on with your day; he therefore knew to never again, so long as ye both shall live, fuck with you. Now we have habeus corpus blah blah blah.
Perhaps this is why people watch wrestling. There just isn't enough good old fashioned ass kicking anymore. Maybe I should watch wrestling. Maybe I should be a wrestler! Only, it won't bring back the old west, and besides, if it did, I'd have to wear dresses.
Maybe I'll be a lawyer after all. Damn, because that means I still have two more exams to take...and I'm such a good shot, it really is a shame...

Tap my shoulder again, piss ant

2006-04-18T14:46:00.000-07:00

I don't know why law school brings out the worst in people. I swear I try so hard to be thoughtful of others because we're all in this stressful situation with shitty resources together, but sometimes I just want to choke the living shit out of some asshole who desperately deserves it. Our school has two tiny computer labs and for the past few days one of them has had a broken printer, which is just lovely right before finals. So I had a 10 second print job before meeting with a professor, and after waiting politely, finally sat down at a computer in the miniscule lab upstairs and put my flash drive in - but lo and behold, up waddles Erkel the jackass who actually tapped me on the shoulder (isn't that battery? and said "I was waiting!" in this petulant little tone as if he were next, (which he wasn't) or as if I could read the invisible sign that said "I am king Erkel, please step aside" around his neck. I let him have the computer because I was afraid if he tapped me again I'd rip his fucking finger off and choke him with it. He commenced to sit down and start an extensive process of booting up his laptop and looking for things. I politely asked if I could just get a quick print in while he set up his computer and this selfish asshole refused, saying he had to print 'real quick' too then sat there for another hour while a room full of people waited for five computers. Maybe I should feel sorry for him, since he appraently couldn't tell time. Perhaps if someone shoved him in a cat carrier and tied it to the back of a truck and dragged it back to his wolf mother's smelly den so he could learn to tell time and perhaps to pull his head out of his ass far enough to see that he is, in fact, not King Erkel, just some asshole who needs to learn some manners, then that would help.
I think part of the reason lawyers have a bad reputation is that snotty little fucks like him get through school because it's law school and people can't beat you up even when you really, really deserve it. Think about it. If he acted like that in, say, the mini-computer lab at the public library, or any random undergrad program, somebody would feed him his laptop and tie him to a lamppost. But we can't afford to lose our cool here or we'll get kicked out or not be allowed to take the bar or something. All that repressed anger probably has something to do with why a lot of lawyers are jerks who drink too much, too. But that's OK. Someday I'll run into him in court and if I can't mop the floor with his case, I'll pay off the janitor to mop the floor with his head. We all get what's coming to us eventually, in one way or another, even if it means growing into a bald, impotent, friendless shithead whose wife hates him and only stays for the money. Sigh. I feel better now. Repressing anger is for chumps, man, and so is being Erkel the King.

We're sorry about the easter bunny. Really.

2006-04-16T05:40:00.000-07:00

OK, this is my open apology to all the kids out there. It is on behalf of my cat, who can't type, or claims she can't. Now, she swears when she was out hunting this morning she didn't know that cute little rabbit was the Easter Bunny and, well, she killed it and dragged it into the kitchen through the cat door. I knew something was wrong right away when I noticed it was pink; in her defense, Stella is color-blind. I tried to do CPR, which is really difficult on a bunny, and I also called 911, but they hung up on me when I told them I needed an ambulance for the Easter Bunny. Some guys with straitjackets showed up later, but I hid in the attic. Anyway, I did my best, and Stella just didn't know. I'll do my best to find a substitute. How about an Easter llama? LLamas are cute. Or an Easter Goat? Would an Easter Goat be OK? Something the cat won't kill. For those of you who might want revenge, note by the picture that I am sending Stella far, far away so forget about it. Well, let me know if the Goat is an OK replacement. And again, I'm really, really sorry.

cat and law student haiku

2006-04-11T08:28:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been amusing myself writing haiku. It's important to amuse yourself. You're there all the time and other people aren't. And if they are there all the time, they quickly become less amusing.
Anyway, I thought I'd share a few of my smart ass little poems with you. Enjoy or go away, your choice.

---
Asshole at trash can,
that shit is recyclable.
why are you stupid?
----

Dear crazy mean girl:
get yourself a therapist,
and leave me alone.

----
vain, insecure man
buys big, wasteful SUV.
still a a pencil-dick.

----
the sun shines outside.
law student gets coffee, and
curses. fuck classes!

--------

my cat eats and sleeps
and worries for nothing.
better than law school!

------
OK - these were written by the cat.

I love you so much!
Here, I brought you a rabbit!
Why are you screaming?

------

warm grass is so nice.
think i'll have some for breakfast.
time to throw up now!

----

mice are such good toys!
I love to chase them around.
dead mouse. time for bugs!

----

just know, little bird,
if you couldn't fly like that,
I would so eat you . . .
---

everybody but kate bush, shut up!

2006-04-07T11:00:00.000-07:00

A note on Kate Bush: I recently got 'Aerial' and she actually has a song about cleaning and doing laundry. I'm serious. At the end she says 'washing machine, washing machine, washing machine! washing washing get that dirty shirty clean!' Now I know she's a goddess, because I've listened to her say 'dirty shirty' about eleven times now and I would still hop across Texas on one foot just to have her reject me in person, and would pay for the privilege. Not that Kate Bush would go to Texas.

Or that she'd reject me. I mean, you never know.

Oh, shut up. I can dream, can't I?

But 'dirty shirty' makes as much sense as school, lately, which has felt a lot like that recurring dream where I have to go back to junior high, except I'm more or less awake and am wearing pants. I don't know why stress makes some people revert to being fifteen years old, but if that applies to anybody reading, here's a tip: hire a fucking therapist. Nobody is going to deal with your drama for free. And this is coming from someone who will actually pay to hear Kate Bush say 'washing machine! washing machine, washing machine!', so you know your ass is silly if I don't want to listen. No charge for the advice - THIS time.
And now back to Kate Bush, whose laundry I would do by hand in the snow and find that romantic. Unless she threw up on something. Even Kate Bush isn't hot enough for that.

a good time was had by most

2006-04-03T18:33:00.000-07:00

I learned something new this weekend! The courtroom is where you get to beat people up, if only figuratively, and get paid for it! Man, this shit rocks. I think I'm going into trial law after all. I made it to the finals in the closing argument competition this past weekend and did well but don't really care if I win or not, (which of course we don't find out for a week because it's law school and they like to stress you out) because I think I've found my calling. Litigation is where you're actually supposed to take somebody's lame ass down, joy, joy, joy and look cool and sound slick doing it. See, I'm to cute to box and get all smashed up, and I'd just bust out laughing if I tried to wrestle as soon as my opponent came out boobs swinging, so this is perfect.

Prosecution is definitely more my style, but the irony of how many times I've cussed the cops after getting yet another ticket doesn't exactly escape me. My driving record, in the words of my attorney, is 'atrocious'. I'm working on it. But hey, I won't be such a mean prosecutor; I'm full of good advice, 'cause I learned a lot about the county jails from some clients in my past couple of jobs. Apparently, don't eat the hot dogs. The bathroom isn't nearly private enough. Don't forget your lighter, either, because the bitch jailer won't bring you one when you really, really need to smoke. Also, take your own magazines because all they have in the women's jail are bad "True Detective" type stories, which on second thought can be helpful, because there is time and material to figure out how they caught your ass and how to do better next time.

My best friend and her new boyfriend came, since she needed to come see me anyway, partially to say hi and partially because she has finally realized she has shitty taste in men and really ought to listen to her friends more, so I had to check the guy out. I really, honestly do like him, but his just having a job and a willingness to eat something other than cheeseburgers puts him miles above the pack, so two thumbs up to new boy. Maybe this one will work out for her. And if he turns out to be a dick, watch out buddy! This prosecutor is coming out swinging.

Nature, Civilization and You

2006-03-27T13:56:00.000-08:00

After my trip to Arizona, where we spent a lot of time outside and interacted quite a bit with our lovely fellow human freakin' beings as well, I've given a lot of thought to the outdoors vs. the
comforts of civilization. Though I'm basically the outdoor type, I've come to the conclusion that each one has its things to recommend it and its things that are a real pain in the ass. So, I've made a little list, since I'm trying to be more organized these days, and thought I'd share it with you.

OK, the outdoors - on the plus side, natural hot springs, mmm. On the minus side, there will already be a fat, drunk man from Texas in there sipping liquor from a plastic mug telling you 'this is the life'. You will not be so sure.
Civilization: on the plus side, nice hotels with hot tubs. On the minus side, no matter how many times you see it empty, when you go down there hoping to make out with your girlfriend, a fat sober man from Arkansas and his talkative wife will suddenly appear and get in there with you. You will want to drown them.

Civilization: plus side: Indoor bathrooms with flushing toilets. Minus side: a long line of fat women will be waiting outside after you've dragged your ass out of the Grand Canyon and had to pee for two hours. You will want to pee on them.
Outdoors: plus side: no lines. You just pee behind the nearest bush. Minus side: you are peeing outdoors. Also, a fat, huffing student from UA will suddenly show up from around the bend before you get your pants up. You will want to pee on him.

The Outdoors: plus side: Snow is gorgeous. Minus side: snow is cold.
Civilization: Plus side: well done decor is gorgeous. Minus side: you can't eat on it. You will have to sit near squealing children to get a bagel. You will wonder why you quit drinking and reconsider the decision.

The Outdoors: plus side: the last few steps of an ambitious hike give you such a sense of accomplishment, and food never tasted so good. Minus side: your ass will hurt for 6 days from the hills and the sense of accomplishment doesn't last as long as the pain.
Civilization: plus side: elevators. One floor to many floors away with no effort. Truly a great invention. Minus side: You will be stuck in there with a fat drunk man from Texas and a woman wearing enough cologne to choke someone. You will want to choke her, or just have the man from Texas sit on her head. You will get off and take the stairs. You will wish bad things on both of them. They will stay on the elevator and make it smell.

Those are just a few thoughts. I suppose nothing is all good or bad. Except me. I'm all good, baby, and don't you forget it.

A REAL closing argument

2006-03-23T09:57:00.000-08:00

The longer I'm in law school, the more I think that like most areas of life, the law has just gotten too complicated. We have a 1L closing argument competition coming up, which I think I'm going to enter just because there is this really arrogant chick I totally want to beat. Hey, it's as good a reason as any.
So today we got all these instructions. Stand up. Say this. Wear that. Structure your argument this way and that way. Come up with a theme. A theme? So 50 people are going to prance in front of the jury saying "this reminds me of....." a pickle. Having gas. Soup kitchens. Man, I'm glad I won't be in that jury box, which some of our professors will. I'd be failing somebody just for being an idiot. "What do you mean this case reminds you of your socks because it smells bad too? You fail. No, not just out of the competition, you fail my class too. Go ask somebody to knock some sense into you. NEXT!"
So I don't see why things have to be so complicated. Maybe just for the hell of it I'll say someting like "Members of the jury, this asshole killed this redneck because the redneck was the repo man and the asshole was a drunk loser who needed his car to get back to the liquor store. if you don't find the asshole liable, you're just as stupid as he is" then go sit down. It should get me in under the 5 minute time limit and hey, maybe I'll just win this thing because I did something different.

Helpful Bears

2006-03-21T08:31:00.000-08:00

Here we see a Go Bear, native to Tonto National Forest, visiting with a Snow Man. Contrary to popular belief, all bears are not dangerous creatures, and Go Bears actually make excellent pets and travelling companions. They can also be very helpful. Here, Go Bear has noticed that Icy Joe has no arms, and is asking if he can do anything. After this picture was taken, Go Bear went to find Icy Joe a carrot and a top hat.

Go Bears differ from most bears in other important respects as well. For instance, Go Bears tend to be very small, and are usually filled with stuffing. Because of this, they don't smell as bad as most other types of bears, and if they get too dirty, will respond well to your average washing machine. These wonders of nature are truly worth getting to know better, but one should be forewarned they do not usually survive interactions with puppies, teething children or fishtanks.

Improvident lesbians in the snow

2006-03-18T06:52:00.000-08:00

My girlfriend and I went to Arizona over spring break with a tent and lots of plans that didn't work out. I am not a fan of planning anyway. Weathermen are liars who make stuff up to amuse themselves, and anyway, sometimes planned stops are silly as a bowl of mice and unplanned stops are surprisingly cool. It was a very good time overall, and we hiked trails in any number of parks and I didn't have to read one law book, which might have been the best part. I did read a Jeanette Winterson novel on the plane out there and cried three times, which the weird guy next to us tactfully ignored. But then, he was reading books checked out of a middle school library and I looked over to see him highlighting 'Oiuja board' in an assiduous way. It made me regret giving him gum, because he probably could have used the pressure on his head upon takeoff.
Our last hiking adventure was the fault of snickering weathermen who said it had warmed up at the grand canyon. We drove most of the day to find a foot of snow on the ground and no choice but to set up camp in it. We read in the little park newspaper that the "TOP" of the trail we planned to hike might have some ice on it. Assuming "top" meant like 500 yards, and that 'little' meant 'little', we optimistically hit the trail at dawn with no hiking poles or crampons. If you don't know what crampons are, they are little spikes you strap to your boots in the ice unless you are an idiot. Well, it turns out "top" meant the first two miles, and "a little ice" meant we should have been skating down the damn thing, only I can't skate. Keep in mind this trail is about as steep as attic stairs or the sagging boobs in National Geographic. On a good day, it is not for the faint of heart, or leg, or ass.
After the ice came the mud and enormous puddles. After that came the rocks. We hiked 4+ miles down to Indian Gardens, a truly gorgeous spot where I guess Indians used to grow squash and stuff, but that meant the climb back out was harder than 6 property exams, a weekend with your Baptist mother-in-law and trying to talk sense to Republican all rolled up into one - especially the icy part, where I had to think about Batman to drag my ass out for that last fucking mile. Batman would just wrap his cape around him against the 20 degree wind and trudge on uncomplainingly; I managed to pull my cap over my ears and bitch, but I did get to the top. Some one should shoot me for being so stupid as to take that hike on with no equipment. Someone else will have to; I'm still too tired.

law school, midterms and motherf*ckers

2006-03-08T12:22:00.000-08:00

Well, it's midterms time again, and the building is rank with the smell of flop sweat and cheeseburgers. These people should eat better. Maybe they wouldn't be so constipated looking. The thing is that I have a really bad cold and have been heavily medicated for the past few days, which just isn't a good thing. I can be a little cranky (like a kicked skunk or your average fat republican) on a good day, but on antihistamines, I just want to bitch slap some stupid fucker with a long handled shovel. Or lots of stupid fuckers, actually. I say shovel because my hands are small and a shovel covers so much more head area.
There are several people in particular I would like to hit with shovels. Or maybe ball peen hammers. I have decided to take the high road, though, and am hereby taking up collections to get them operations to keep their hands down and their fool mouths shut. So far I only have enough to buy three muzzles. Maybe I will spend the money on a shovel instead, that way I can keep it and use it to work in the garden this summer. I need a garden because I don't eat fucking cheeseburgers.
Here are a few tips for any future law students out there so your classmates won't want to beat or muzzle or buy operations for you. First, classes are not your private tutoring sessions. Second, nobody cares what you 'thought'. You were wrong. Shutup. The professor is not going to say "oh, I never thought of it that way! how brillliant! Let me call congress right away and get the law changed! Why don't you teach the class while I'm gone?" 3. Tutoring sessions are not time for the You show. Nobody is there to hear you. Once again, shut up. Don't make me get my shovel.

law students and their smells

2006-03-01T09:27:00.000-08:00

Today is picture day for the various clubs, so I decided to wear something decent and brush my hair for a change. I have noticed that as students, we're divided into two camps in this respect; half of us deck out like we're lawyers already, and the other half look like we were dressed by a mound of chickens. I tend to belong to the latter group.
Or maybe I look more like I was dressed by my cats. My cats each own one collar, and wear it every day. They also wear the same fur coat everyday and sometimes they smell a little. Like my cats, I will wear the shit out of something. Unlike my cats, I don't lick my coats clean. That just takes too much time.
I have also noticed that the people who dress like we're getting paid for this often seem to be getting attacked by cologne bandits on their way to school every day. I often take the stairs not because I enjoy dragging 40 pounds of books up them eight times a day, but because the fucking elevator stinks. So does the library and all other enclosed areas. Here's a tip, people; if you want some space, just say 'get the hell away from me'; there is no reason to knock down everybody in a ten foot radius with your scented lotion, body spray and perfume. I will buy you some soap, man. You can take a shower in the amount of time it takes to spray yourself down with all that shit and the rest of us will be grateful.
Speaking of perfume, I will be so glad when this vanilla fad is over. I just don't understand why a grown woman would want to go around smelling like an old pastry. "MMM, you remind me of crusty muffins!" Not professional, not sexy, not cool. There are 400 of us in this building and about half of us already smell like the chickens who dressed us, so put the bottle down, chick, before I attack you with chicken-flavored frosting.

Getting along with skater chicks

2006-02-25T15:45:00.000-08:00

I've been watching the Olymipics lately, and although what I really like is people doing ski tricks and being amazed they don't land on their heads (which is why I guess they make it to the Olympics, since quadraplegics don't compete) I've also sat through some skating with my girlfriend, who appears to like it. Don't get me wrong; I admire their athletic ability. I fall down if I even look at an ice skate. Shit, apparently I fall out of my chair if I type ice skate. Damn, there I go again. Anyway it's really the whole picture, and the fact that those girls scare me. I mean, they have sharp things on their feet and and can kick really high, and well let's be honest, I have a tendency to speak without thinking. Plus, what kind of woman can go out on ice barely dressed like that? You have to be TOUGH. And also having the balls to dress like that in public simply amazes me. Who told them to dress like that? I saw one woman in pants and her outfit wasn't too bad, besides that fact she was wearing a glove on one hand. She fell down. I think she was out of balance because of the glove.
A few nights ago there was this ice dancing team who appeared to be very angry with each other. Apparently he had dropped her or something and they were giving each other severely dirty looks. Now, while I think it's always important to get along with people, wouldn't it be especially important to get along with someone wearing blades on their feet who might knock you on your ass on ice? Plus, these guys have seriously compromised their masculinity - they're frill wearing ice dancers for God's sake - you never know when one might need to bitch slap your ass just to feel butch, right? I kept waiting for them to get into a good old fashioned cat fight. Now that's an Olympic sport; frilly, one gloved , blade footed ass kicking on ice. Tune in at 8.

Bush helps out law student

2006-02-20T19:46:00.000-08:00

Today in the news: George Bush took time out of his busy nap and reading lesson schedule to call up a despondent law student who had not only missed three days of classes with alcohol poisoning, but had lost the drinking contest that made him so ill. George took a special interest in the student because he, too, was a barely literate, rich, entitled, drunken cokehead from a family who made billions dealing in middle east oil. "Don't take it so hard!" George told the student. "You need practice at everything. I mean, I had to run several companies into the ground before I had the skills to wreck an entire country. Running your car into a ditch is good practice! Look at me - I drove an entire country into a ditch then took over another one and screwed it up too! We just need to work on your skills." Bush then made a personal visit to the student, who was scraping by with a 2.0 average just as George had, and found that the young man had a particular penchant for blowing money. The student, who had spent thousands of dollars in a night on drugs, drink and hookers for his idiot friends. was wowed by finding out that Bush had blown the country's largest surplus in history within a few months of taking office. Bush bought the drinks that night and gave the student tips on beer bongs and how to surround yourself with evil people who can read in order to maximize one's unearned success.

yay, I'm unacceptable!!!

2006-02-18T15:06:00.000-08:00

Since I blow the equivalent of Haiti's national budget each week on coffee, I thought I'd take advantage of something called AdSense where Google puts ads on your blog and sends you money. It didn't even occur to me that calling people buttfucks and offering to sleep with senators would offend them, but they refused to put their ads on my blog because it is apparently rife with 'unacceptable content.' YES!!!! When I was young I tried SO hard to be unacceptable to "the man"; and look at me now, I can do it without even trying!!! Getting older is excellent - and I still get a 28 year old girlfriend who is like, wicked smart and cooks for me too. So bite me, you bigfooted, hairy fucknuts, I'll buy my own damn coffee and thanks for showing me just how much I've grown.

Today I held a ten minute old baby goat on my friend's goat farm and it was so very cool. They can drink from bottles and wobble around right out of the womb. Just as I suspected, even goats are smarter than people. Next week: a visit to a monkey farm. I want to ask George Bush's mother what the hell she did to him.

my theories on cheney

2006-02-17T07:34:00.000-08:00

Lately in the news: V.P. Cheney goes hunting and mistakes an old man in an orange vest for a little brown bird. Now, here's my question: what kind of person starts a war, gets countless people killed and then relaxes by going out to shoot little animals? Here are my suggestions: 1. satan 2. satan's minion 3. someone who has sold their soul to satan 4. a vampire 5. a bloodthirsty old fuck.
Given the possible personality profiles, next we must ask how accidental this shooting really was. My theory is that he is jealous of the young guys who "get" to shoot people in Iraq and the blood of little birds just wasn't enough for him - so he figures, hey, I'm the VP, I can obviously get away with anything, and this guy is old; hell, I'll get him in my sights and say it was an accident.
Well, at least he's dedicated to something, even if it is his job as the angel of death. I'd like to contratulate him for his focus. Actually, I wish he were here right now; this room is really hot and we could put a fan behind him and cool the room with the air blown over his icy little heart. Everybody has a purpose.

Rants, babies and stinky air

2006-02-16T05:42:00.000-08:00

A follow up thought on yesterday’s rant. I can’t entirely blame someone for wanting to abort a child who will born seriously disabled. People who bear and raise kids with severe disabilities have it hard, and I don’t think I could do it. It’s keeping the kid and actually suing for ‘wrongful birth’ that just seems sick. But then I'm not sure I could deal with having a healthy kid. Especially a baby. All they do is puke and shit and pee and cry for like, a really long time. That just doesn't sound fun to me. Then they grow up and wreck your car. Or was that just me?

Speaking of ranting, I find I rant a lot lately. Overall, I don’t think I handle grief very well, and it isn’t like being in law school helps. The air is so thick with stress, ego, and general pissyness I have to take my clothes to the Laundromat because the residue was clogging up my drains at home. I did come up with a new venture, though: bottle the air and sell it to people who think they might want to apply with a label that says “If this doesn’t make you depressed, shallow or a total bitch, congratulations! You’re ready for law school.” It would be way cheaper and easier than seeing a career counselor or a copy of “What color is your parachute? Or did it just not open?”

The puddle of soul I left downstairs

2006-02-15T05:44:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we read a case where a mother sued for ‘wrongful birth’ because her kid was born with Down’s Syndrome and she would have aborted him if the doctor had suggested she have an amniocentesis such that she would have known the kid would be "defective". I had always suspected law school robbed students of their souls, and in fact by the time I finished reading, I felt a little lighter on the inside, there was a strange puddle at my feet and, well, I felt a little more capable of evil than ever before.

Two questions:1. what lawyer filed the action for ‘wrongful birth’, and 2. did he get the keys to the flaming bus to hell right there, or did they come in the mail? Also, can I sue someone for ‘wrongful birth’ if I think they’re an asshole and making the world an uglier place?

I am also wondering how much the kid picked up about this case; Down’s doesn’t generally make you utterly unaware of the world around you. Now there’s some baggage to have: your mom actually sued her doctor over your being born and sits in court testifying about how she would have aborted you if she’d known what you would be like. There ain’t enough whiskey in the world, man, or a therapist that good.

valentine's, or something

2006-02-13T15:46:00.000-08:00

So, it's Valentine's day. My girlfriend has choir practice so I guess we'll be hanging out some time later this week. I bought her a tshirt that says "I'm suing my girlfriend's law school for loss of consortium". It's my way of apologizing. Most people will probably think it means I'm not sleeping with her but I am; it's the fact I'm cranky, stressed and busy all the time that probably sucks.
She doesn't bitch, though, which I appreciate. And I don't really care about being all whatever on Valentine's, either. It's not that I'm not romantic. It's that I'm stubborn and don't like to be told what to do or when to do it. I hear about women who get mad at their boyfriends because they don't go get roses and shiny things on Feb 14. Now that's just ignorant. Do you really think some overpriced flowers mean he loves you if they come on a certain day? Incidentally, the Kay's Jeweler's commercials make me sad. Their jingle is "every kiss begins with Kay's". Now that's a crappy relationship; you have to go buy diamonds to get a kiss. I get laid if I take a shower. I did stop by the mall and pick up a ring for her after school yesterday, though. But I did it because I wanted to; not because it's Valentine's day; let's be clear about that. OK, I did it to make her happy. Whatever. But what's great about her is that she'll know the real expression of love isn't the ring, it's that I went to the mall, which I find barely preferable to being chewed on by small animals.

As for the other half of it, she told me yesterday she hadn't gotten me anything for Valentine's, and seemed upset about it. I honestly don't care. I'm just grateful she puts up with me; as long as she's happy, that's all the gift I need.

Open letter to NC Republican Party

2006-02-12T16:16:00.000-08:00

Dear buttfucks:
I had the misfortune last night to run across your party platform in the course of doing some research and after regaining my appetite, decided I'd like to address a few issues. The first is that you spend more time under the "family" article stomping gay people than supporting any idea of family. Nice! I can see where your heads are at; up each other's butts. Now, in this asinine little paragraph, I found it interesting how you take pains to oppose "special treatment by law based on nothing but homosexual behavior". Poor legal argument. Nobody is asking for special treatment. We're not even asking for you to throw us parades. We have our own and they're way cooler than any bullshit you'd throw together anyway. We're just sick of being second class citizens and seeing kids go kill themselves because shitheads like you threw them out of the house when they came out to you. Nice support of family. Take your dyke daughter out to dinner and tell her you're sorry. That's support of family.
Another brief note on a brief and unconscionable provision. So your platform is to oppose mental health provision in schools because it undermines parental authority? What is WRONG with you? How often do you think this conversation happens: "Junior, I can tell you're really screwed up over my being a crack whore and your dad molesting you; how about I smoke a couple rocks and we'll go find you a therapist?" Who are these kids supposed to turn to? The overworked teacher with 46 students in a stinky room who has to go home and eat peanut butter because you won't give her a fucking raise? She can probably barely remember half of their names. Then you get pissy because theses kids grow up to be criminals. What do you expect? Get out of your Lexus and look around you. If you're going to make public policy, make it for the public, not for yourselves.

Shoot Red Bull

2006-02-12T08:08:00.000-08:00

I work occasionally at a rock climbing gym, not because it pays enough to cover my gas getting there, but so I can get in free whenever I manage to get off my ass, which isn't much anymore. Anyway last night I spent the night there for a boy scout's overnighter party. I want to put this out there right now: if anyone can find, and shoot, the person who invented those damn 'energy drinks' that make eleven year olds scream and run in circles until 4 a.m., I will personally defend them pro bono. I mean it. Also, if any legislator out there can put a minimum age on buying those things, I will not only vote for him or her, I will also sleep with him or her, especially if it's a her, and she's all hot and stuff, and my girlfriend wouldn't mind. Since she went with me last night, I think she'll understand. C'mon, senators. I'm cute and I always vote.

hopalong

2006-02-11T17:53:00.000-08:00

so my blog is starting off kind of sad because some fat dog some idiot let run loose killed one of my cats this week. we buried him in the future flower garden and i skipped class that day and haven't paid much attention this week, which isn't good considering I'm in law school, but I just haven't given a fuck about the statutory definition of anything.

my girlfriend has been really supportive, which is good. she's a cat lesbian too, which is important. there are two kinds of lesbians: cat lesbians and dog lesbians, and never the twain should meet. Dog lesbians want the dogs to sleep in the bed and dogs take up too much room and smell. i can't imagine having sex with a smelly dog huffing in the bed. too much like a guy. Dog lesbians are very defensive about their dogs, too. I don't really mind dogs, like I don't really mind guys, but again, i don't want to sleep with either.

cat lesbians are also a little more independent, which i like. Women who build lives around their relationships scare me a little. Get a life, you know? Sorry your job driving a truck isn't that fulfilling but maybe you should get a hobby or something. I have to study.