My Awkward and Unfunny Attempt at Returning to the Keyboard


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So something happened today. My favorite website (which return readers know is introduced me to “steampunk chap-hop dissing rap.” STEAMPUNK CHAP-FUCKING-HOP DISSING RAP! No? Confused? Here:

Professor Elemental is ripping Mr. B: The Gentleman Rhymer a new asshole! But politely and with proper grammar.

As if steampunk wasn’t glorious enough, am I right? The reason this matters is because it reminded me of something: I, like, have a personality.

Since moving to my new coast and starting my new job I’ve been so freaked out about settling in and making friends that I’m now some weird schizo-constantly-manic-but-still-somehow-watered-down version of myself.

Mitt Romney & The Republican Team Event

Photo credit: mnassa

Like Mitt’s platform, my edited personality somehow exists in the real world despite being too contradictory to conform to any rules of logic or physics.

The two character traits that have taken over are my pathological lying and my anxiety. I lie about, just, the stupidest shit. “OMG I LOVE that band!” No I don’t. Why would I say that? That song sounds like baby coyotes attacking their midnight meal. My ears are bleeding.

My anxiety goes up and down so hard and fast I somehow end up just being constantly confused. The other day in a new attorney meeting, during which my job was to literally just sit there and being lectured at, I started to have a panic attack. Running out of the room crying felt a tad embarrassing so I opted for inconspicuous rocking back-and-forth while clutching my chest. The guy sitting across from me noticed.

Don’t worry dude the crazy will pass. I just momentarily feel like I’m having a heart attack. Also, do you want to brainstorm this new case together?

And can we talk about something? It’s not about how law school did not prepare me for real world motions and legal practice. It’s not about how every time I get a new writing assignment I end up in the bathroom literally shitting myself from fear. It’s about how every single goddamned person’s response to any comment about being reamed out or yelled at is, “Something, something. It’s just water off a duck’s back.”

WHEN DID WE ALL DECIDE THAT WATER ROLLS OFF DUCKS’ BACKS?! Was there a science lesson I missed in elementary school? Was there some middle school science experiment with feathers and water? I was a huge loser as a kid. I had face-sized bifocals at age 8. HOW DID I MISS THIS?!

wet duck

Photo credit: Muffet

“My feathers are water resistant, and PS jails are run locally and prisons are the federal ones. Idiot.


Entering Adulthood One Toe at a Time


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Dilemma: I write a blog about law school, but I’m no longer in law school. Also, I’m not quite sure if I’m a lawyer because, you know, bar exam.


Now that I’ve done all of the creative thinking I can handle for today, I would like to take this time to address the incoming 1Ls:

Fuck you. No seriously. Like, I do all this work – for humanity – to warn the world of the perils and general total assfuckery that is law school, and here you still are: fresh faced, bright eyed, and possibly even goddamned eager. Don’t blame me when you start avoiding mirrors because the dead eyes and bitterness staring back at you are too scary to face.

English: Albert Einstein Français : Portrait d...


Do I risk checking my hair? Nah. I’m sure it’s fine.

To the incoming 2Ls about to face OCI: Fuck you. No just kidding – good luck. OCI is too awful to even joke about. I’m pretty sure it was Dante‘s 10th, deleted scene, circle of hell. Unless of course you’re one of those people who got more interviews than you can fit into the week (Haley *cough cough*), in which case I return to my original fuck you (and also good luck).

Now on to ME. You guys, I’M AN ADULT. Sort of.

For example, someone gave me this:

Meet Pip the Prius. I’ve already dinged her twice.

But I had to pay a month upfront plus insurance, and my job doesn’t start for a couple weeks, and I owe my soul to the government in loans, so like . . . you know . . . Daddy?

Also, theoretically I have the skills to try a case, or help someone petition for SS benefits, or negotiate some kind of fancy deal or whatever it is you corporate people do (drink whiskey and laugh cynically?), but then I notice that my favorite dress lost a button that needs to be sewn back on, and, um, . . . Mom?

That Which Was Lost 1/07/12


12 page memo on the use of collateral estoppel in arbitration? Fine. But THIS? This is too much.

I also now have a banker, but he is really super cute, so if you’re a long time reader of this blog you know exactly how our initial meeting thing went. Him: adorable and funny. Me: Awkward and sweaty.

Banker: Any stocks, bonds, or other investment assets?

Me: Um, no? Shoes? Do you help me with that?

Banker: No that’s a broker.

Let’s not go into it anymore because it was generally painful for everyone. I won’t contact him again until I actually have something adult to report. So in 10 years probably.

Sorry for this disjointed post. It’s about together as my shit is right now.

George the Monkey is Coming – Let’s Not Push This “Grown Up” Thing Too Far


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I’m staring at two suitcases. Two suitcases that must contain my life in 100 lbs or less.

What do I take? I asked Haley.

Take nothing.

Nothing? Hmmm, nothing. Leave it all behind. The poetry about the love of my life when I was 17. The letters from the love of my life when I was 19. The necklaces from the love of my life when I was 22. The box that contains them all, and the key that locks it. An unassuming wooden painted box my mom gave me as a side gift one Christmas. These items weigh a total of 1 pound. That seems so light.

I want my whole bookshelf. Including the bookshelf. I don’t think I’m going to win that one. So Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone is coming. The one I bought at 9 in a bookstore in London that doesn’t even have any artwork on the cover because the book was still a nothing written by a nobody at the time suggested to me by the owner who recognized my love of fantasy. The Outsiders is coming. A few books from college courses that “totally blew my mind, and, like, changed my life” are coming. But my childhood copy of the Anne of Green Gables series will stay.

My bedroom is so densely packed with me. Living here, sleeping here, can be oppressive. Leave it all behind. The road sign to my street stolen at 16 with Rose. The paintings purchased in Paris with Ann. Shot glasses and dried roses. Stuffed animals and scrapbooks. Tickets, so many tickets, to first-date movies and first drunken concerts and trips to everywhere. My first scrapbook, started at 12 and finished at 18, weighs 2.5 pounds all on its own. My wall atlas. My wall atlas probably weighs one ounce. It also bears the weight of my most outlandish dreams. My wall atlas is everything I’ve been, and everything I want to be. My Zac Efron Link Larkin Hairspray poster. Let them go. The past is too heavy to pack on a flight.

Goal For Next Month: Be a Dimension and a Half


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I am in the process of trying to move 3,000 miles away. It’s all very exciting, but it includes trying to find an apartment, which is not that easy when your list of requirements includes things like: 1) some level of clean between a hoarder and OCD – preferably neat but okay with being borderline unsanitary, but like just borderline, 2) A dog or a cat already there so that I can have the benefits of a pet but not the responsibility because I won’t have time and I’m kind of irresponsible, 3) roommates who are reasonably subdued during the week, but up to party on the weekends, but, like, sometimes up to party during the week, but also able to STFU when I’m cranky after work. I’ve already turned down three places: one because the woman was slightly too old for comfort, one because the commute was too long, and one because the girl’s response to a question about what she does for fun was, “I just love to play board games.”  . . .Uuuhhhh

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good board game night now and then, but I worry when that’s your only response.

Trivial Pursuit: America Plays

Did you mean board drinking games? Or like, stripping? Is there stripping?

The process of looking for an apartment includes interviews obviously, and a lot of the question, “So what are you into?” Or, “What do you do outside of work?” And, I have realized something: I HAVE NO INTERESTS. Law school robbed me of all depth and intrigue. The first time someone asked me I almost sputtered, “Um, Facebook? Gchat?”

Image representing Twitter as depicted in Crun...

Image via CrunchBase

Sometimes I tweet, and then people RETWEET IT!!

My next best answer was, “I’m really into TV and movies.” Which, in my flabbergasted state turned into, “And like, I don’t mean this in a nerdy way, but I just really love pop culture, and analyzing it, and I mean I read a lot of blogs and stuff, and I actually think people generally don’t realize that like pop culture is kind of important and should be taken seriously because it’s totally a time capsule of society’s response to what’s happening in the world right now. So yea, like, I really love that stuff.”

Any chance you don’t now think I’m a future unabomber?

I’m honestly distressed by this whole revelation because I swear I used to be a vaguely interesting person. I *did* things. But now I can’t even remember what those things were. WHAT WERE THEY?! Were they fun? How did I survive three years without them? WHO AM I??

Kerouac & co.

Flickr: gwen “Kerouac & Co.”

I posed that last question to the internets and it answered “Ask Kerouac.” Am I a hippie internet? A novelist? YOUR RESPONSE IS TOO CRYPTIC.

Do I return to my old things? Do I find new things? WHAT ARE MY THINGS? WHO ARE MY PEOPLE? I think I liked to read books at some point. Yes. Yes, that’s right I used to read. Memoirs, Nonfiction, Romance, Fantasy, SciFi, American classics. I used to READ. Should I joint a book club? Oh wait, there was a time when I knitted things. Cute things. Oh and I went to museums. I LOVE MUSEUMS. And music – I used to spend time searching for new music and keeping my music library OCD levels of organized, and I used to ride horses, and hike, and I even loved camping and also shopping. I don’t even remember the last time I went shopping – unless you count internet shopping for the one specific item I desperately need (see image above depicting the internet addiction that constitutes socializing in law school). Do you understand what this means you guys? I GET TO DO THINGS AGAIN!! FAHREEEEDOOOOOM!!

Mel Gibson as William Wallace wearing woad.


This. Minus the hateful drunken spiral. Hopefully.