Oh MBE masters. How I hate you.
This is probably incomprehensible and is definitely completely disorganized. These are my actual thoughts just jotted down. Sorry.
Hour 1: Oh haha, this guy is kind of funny. Maybe today’s won’t feel so long.
Hour 2: Yea right, another goddamned mnemonic device. There are more of these than freaking rules, and the only one I’m going to remember is that crazy property lady who sounded like Fran Drescher with a lisp telling me about Frank Sinatra and his popcorn preferences and singing “this is an easement appuurrrrrtenaaaant.”
Hour 3: Is there like some contest for who can be the craziest Bar lecturer? I get the hope that quirkiness is gonna help me remember, but what the hell guys? All I remember is the Agency guy’s puberty squeaks and that MPT guy’s sarcastic, “Gooood ideeeeaaaaaa?” But will someone tell me what he was trying to say wasn’t a good idea, because I DON’T REMEMBER.
“This is not going to be in shades of grey on the bar.” “What about fifty shades of grey?” Jesus I’m getting punchy.
Hour 3.5: Shut up shut up shut up shut up. END END END END. Wait, what did he just say? 30 second rewind.
P.S. I demand the right to a 30 second fast forward button.
2. AMPs: I do a few of these when my brain is kinda fried, and I need a “break.”
” . . . Which of these arguments is the least likely to succeed.”
“Hmmm, I have no fucking idea. I piiiiiiccccckkk . . . A”
YOU ARE CORRECT
“Why? Don’t care. Just memorize the answer”
This is me after doing a few rounds of questions in the same larger set:
Question: Blah, blah blah . . . permissible inference
Answers: Nope. Nope. Nope. ” . . . course of mail.” THAT ONE!
AMP: the training wheels and helmet of BarBri. “I got one right! Weeeeeee!”
3. Interactive Paced Program
Maybe I should click the box to see how much my percentage will rise when I’m done. No no no, that’s cheating. No. You have to wait until you’re *finished.* Them’s the rules
OMG I get to check a box. I can’t wait to get to 15 percent.
Motherfucker! THIS IS BULLSHIT! That was totally a percentage of work!
4. When my favorite pen runs out of ink:
Me: Daddy are you going to the store? Can you get me some pens.
Dad: Sure *starts to leave house*
Me: No no, wait. I need blue, ball point pens, with a rubber grip, and a clicky mechanism, and… Here wait hold on. Here’s a dried out pen that’s my favorite kind. Find these. Or, like, something similar.
*Dad stares at me*
Essay Workshop Lecturer: Whenever I ask people one-on-one who failed the bar what they did to practice essay writing they always respond with “I would issue spot.” I know what that means. That means that they read the question, read the sample answer, and then patted themselves on the back for reading such a good response.
Oh yea, this one’s my best one yet. It’s great that I do these closed book. Aaaand *submit.*
Two hours later
BarBri: Your graded essay is ready to view.
BarBri Essay grader: YOU ARE AN IDIOT. YOU WILL FAIL THE BAR. CONFLATION. CONCLUSORY. DISORGANIZED. OTHER WORDS MEANING ‘YOU SUCK!’
5. MBE Multiple Choice Questions
Screw you. You scare me and I fail and you take way too goddamned long. Also, when I get an MBE question right for the wrong reasoning, it still counts as a win.
– How many days does it take before it stops being considered “a day off?”
– Just realized that I have exactly zero idea what is going on in the world. Any new crises? Are we still looking for Kony? Is Lilo still alive? IDK.
– Googled: Do lawyers have shorter lifespans? The responses said no. I call bullshit. I feel like I’m having a heart attack.
– Text from non-law school friend: Pub for trivia night tonight?
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? No. No Pub. Don’t you think I *want* to be drinking and guessing at useless trivia instead of this? Did you not understand what studying for the bar means?! ARE YOU MOCKING ME?
My response: Awww I can’t! : ( But have fun!
– I *sniffle* can’t *sniffle* DOOO THIIISSSSSS
– Interesting. It now takes three sleeping pills and a boozy drink to fall asleep.
– Bones is the perfect show for BarBri studying. No season long plot arcs and cliff hangers. Just self-contained episodes so I only feel compelled to watch one. Also:
I want to preface this post by saying that my mom is a great lady. She is brilliant (about most things), generous (materially speaking), and caring (in her way). I’m doing a really bad job of this.
OKAY. My mom is awesome. She totally loves us, but she just has this thing where she has absolutely zero filter, and when confronted with that fact will state definitively, “You’re my family. I’m supposed to be able to say what I really think to you. Whatever that may be.” In other words, growing up she was the kind of mom who told us we sucked at something and that we should move on. Not the unconditionally supportive kind.
Your writing’s sloppy, and the flower is amateur. Try math.
Since bar prep started she’s let a few gems loose that I decided to share because I’m pretty certain that most of us did not end up in law school or become lawyers by having parents who babied the shit out of us – so hopefully you all can relate. Even share your own if you have some.
1. The Night Before BarBri Started:
“I knew a few people who failed their first time. Really smart people who went to Georgetown with me.” *Pause* “You know JFK, Jr. failed it twice.”
2. On the phone during week two:
Mom: Nancy told me that Elana was calling her twice a day sobbing after the first week.
Me: Uh huh. Good thing I’m not really like that.
Mom: And Neda said that Milad was calling every person in the family on rotation just to freak out.
Me: Do you want me to freak out?
Mom: Well no, I’m just saying. You do realize people fail the bar, don’t you?
3. On my way out the door to my Sunday mani/pedi. My one big break to myself each week.
“Do you really have time for that?”
4. Leaving the house for a doctor’s appointment after having actually showered.
Mom: Wow. You look great. Stress really looks good on you.
Me: Ringworm, unexplained hives, and stress acne look good on me?
Mom: I guess law school has really lowered my standards.
5. Back from my daily “run” during which I merely jog a mile and walk a mile and a half just to get out of the house for a bit.
Mom: Shou? Khalas? (Arabic for, “What? That’s all?” or “Finished?”)
Mom: Well I guess something is better than nothing.
6. Overhearing My Crim Pro Lecture
“That all sounds like common sense.”
If I kill her, I’d definitely get mitigation for provocation.
There are more, but I think I’ve ragged on her enough. In the interest of fairness I should point out that every time she goes shopping (which is pretty much weekly) she brings me home a cute sundress. And during my months of being unemployed, whenever I expressed despondency over feeling like an embarrassing 20-something burden on my parents she would tell me, “Well that’s your own problem. We’re very proud of you.”
I ALWAYS GET THE WEIRD DISEASES!
I am a swine flu survivor. (High fives to all my brethren out there. That was the worst.) And one time I got a strand of e.coli that hadn’t been seen in 8 years or something, so I was stuck in isolation in a hospital for a week with a zillion IVs and blood work every two hours, and public health came into my room, basically in Hazmat suits, to interrogate me. And when I was finally discharged my arms were covered in what looked like track marks, and it was the summertime. So as I walked down the street in my drug-heavy city passersby were not thinking “Oh poor girl who clearly just survived near-death by shits.” They were thinking, “I thought heroin was supposed to make you skinny.”
Not even if I was an e.coli-riddled heroin addict with a gluten allergy
So remember the ringworm/hives/leprosy/flesh eating bacteria situation? It’s all still occurring and so I made doctor’s appointment number 3 and this time I was told that it’s all just a stress induced skin rash that they can diagnose by name, but they don’t know what causes it – they think some sort of virus – or why it goes away. However, despite not knowing those critical things they DO somehow know that it will clear up on its own within the next two weeks. Oh, and only 0.1% of people will ever be affected by this maybe-virus in their whole life. Awesome. I’m disintegrating.
Apparently God’s plan for me is to be a testing ground for new plagues.
ANYWAY, as if being itchy and seriously ugly wasn’t enough, I had to go get blood work done. The lab was empty except for one phlebotomist who was hot and hilarious and we quickly got into an awesome banter that would have made the Gilmore girls proud. But the whole time I was just all, “Too bad you’re testing me to figure out why I look like I have leprosy.” Also, the beginning of our magical time together went like this:
Him: Limes Disease. Mono. Oh. Syphilis.
Me: *shocked horrified terrified look on my face*
Him: No no, don’t worry. It’s standard that we test for syphilis in these cases. We have to. You don’t have syphilis. Probably.
He didn’t actually say probably, but it was implied because if they knew for a fact that I didn’t have syphilis they wouldn’t be testing me for it. So basically I’M DYING OF A 15th CENTURY DISEASE (until someone tells me otherwise).
Because in a past life, I must have found *this* sexy.
After this horrible exchange, we bonded over Fifty Shades of Grey and our belief that porn would be more efficient, tattoos, and the fact that he had to use an infant needle on me because I hyperventilate and am a pussy. We had a beautiful moment where he gently stroked my arm with his gloved hand. He called it “looking for a vein.” I never knew latex and blood could be so sexy.
Oh wait. Yes I did.
UPDATE: OMG YOU GUYS I was stalking myself on twitter and look what I found:
I’m like a goddamned profit.