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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.

Solution.

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...

Wikipedia

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

dianecordell

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.

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