She’s from finals, but I forgot to post the picture here:
She’s from finals, but I forgot to post the picture here:
Here’s an outline of my spring semester. A lot happened…
January: The semester starts.
The corporate tax exam was a 3 hour typing contest. My goodness.
The semester is almost over. Tomorrow I will take my 24-hour advanced estate planning exam, which is my last final. This is more exciting than a McFlurry in July. Bam-chicka-wow!
I finally cleaned my finals-ridden apartment after my exam and then socialized with RJ and the Bretts.
We eventually end up at Brett #1’s apartment with Gumby and Gander in tow. Gumby is a random 22 year-old that Brett picked up in the bar, and Gander is one of Brett’s neighbors.
I did it – I took my 8-hour international tax law exam today! BAM-chickawow-wow!
I can’t talk too much about the exam (lest my Dean unleashes the Kraken) but I can say three things:
I took my exam at the nearby undergrad library because apparently law students need “special permission from the dean” to take law school exams in the law school library’s study rooms.
Stella and I are holed up at Starbucks studying for finals.
See, in law school Saturdays are off the chain. Behold:
How do I contain myself? Someone call Lindsay…
I think I overdid it yesterday.
Yesterday, the sweet sound of garbage trucks woke the dogs up at 5am. I walked the monsters, snuck off to the library, and took my Family Law exam at 8:30.
After the exam I channeled Jillian Michaels for two hours at the gym, walked the dogs again, and then (somehow) ended back in the library to print of copious amounts of international tax law regs.
My family law exam is done! Bam-chika-wow-wow…
Class ended (I’ll get to that later) and my first final is tomorrow.
Here are some pictures to prove that this finals season isn’t all about junkies and gloom:
The ersatz police dog:
The junkies living underneath me were evicted yesterday. The management company secretary said that booting the junkies out was a nightmare, and the building owner called and to apologize for ever renting to them.
The junkies made this semester rough. They screamed at all hours of the night, blocked and trashed the hallways, broke windows, and even fired a gun.
I’m hammering out my Family law outline when I find a snippet of Professor W among my notes:
Professor W: “It is your responsibility to tell me if you cannot hear me. My mic is not working. It doesn’t like me. It senses that I am afraid of it as a technical device and stops working just to test me. That’s just my imagination right?”
It is spring in Minneapolis…
Professor W: “What’s so wrong with swearing? The most wonderful word in the English language is that four letter word that begins with “f” and ends with “k.”
Professor A: “Someone asked me to record today’s class because they said they were sick. I couldn’t tell if they were sick-sick or just sick of class.”
Professor A: “Like everything else in the internal revenue code, this is misleading and needlessly complex…”
Note: the “Best Week Ever” (BWE) posts are summaries of the prior week.
The past two weeks whizzed by. I don’t know what to say.
Oh, I am a terrible hypocrite!
I encourage the 1Ls to blog, especially when they are busy. “The busy times are when it is most important to blog!” I say. “You’ll thank yourself for writing!”
So of course I don’t condescend to blog when I get busy. Do as I say, not as I do right? I feel like a governor…
Luckily the free-for-all that is “discussion time” in my family law class is the perfect time to blog! I am so not slacking at this…
So, what happened last week?
Well, the most exciting thing about last week was the heat! I think it got to 80 degrees one day, but maybe I’m exaggerating… maybe it was 90 degrees, or 100…
Regardless, it was warm, and the grass came out:
Last week I decided to stop wasting my time.
I quit a clerkship, dropped a pair of toxic “friends” and told the boyfriend that I not getting any younger, these ankles are swelling, and it is time to finalize our adoption and mortgage plans…
Well, maybe not that last part, (That is for this week!) but I have realized that this blog is one of the things that is wasting my time.
This blog is supposed to be a journal and a time saver. It is neither.
Note: Best Week Ever posts are a summary of the previous week(s).
My weeks are too unusual and packed to cover two weeks in a “best week ever” summary post, so here are five snippets of the chaos…
I am in court observing a bail hearing. A scraggly woman approaches the stand and the judge sentences her to four years in prison. She was the getaway driver for her godson’s bank robbing spree and could have been sentenced to 20 years. She thanks the judge for the 4-year sentence, and gets hauled to the next county for sentencing on another robbery.
It is hard to complain about much after volunteering at the public defender’s office. My time in court is always a nice reminder that some people have real problems.
1 a.m. on Saturday. A group of us are near the dance floor at Lush Bar in Northeast Minneapolis. Adam Lambert’s queeny little brother, Glambert, is on the floor. Glambert points dramatically, flips his hair, and challenges a sassy, break-dancing lesbian to a dance-off.
Hot messitude ensues.
Glambert flails around, points, and flips his hair like Jeffree Star without the tattoos, or personality. Glambert goes on for a long time until his friend grabs him and tells him to stop being ignorant.
That is when the sassy lesbian leaves her group of annoyed-looking butch girls. Sassy slides onto the dance floor and launches into into a dramatic, stunt-filled break dance routine.
Glambert got served, but instead of clapping and going on with his life, Glambert proceeds to drop to the floor, open his legs…and… well, my friend Pechman described the scene the best: “That’s just embarrassing.”
Fail.
I was sick. It felt like someone filled my sinuses with bleach, but I was going to finish this moot court brief, headache and bleach be-damned.
I camped out at Wilde Roast and worked for close to five hours on revisions. Randy made a cameo and gave me a study break, but I eventually finished my brief and then raced to a copy shop for a blue brief cover.
I felt ridiculous paying for parking and trudging through the snow for a single colored copy of the cover of a pretend legal brief.
But whatever. If the Moot Rules of Appellate Procedure say blue cover, then they’ll get a blue cover. I’ve stop trying to make sense of my school’s requirements.
These past two weeks were full of trips to the Spyhouse, Starbucks, and Caffetto. I blame moot court and the tax code.
I had a vogue battle with a Somali in St. Paul. Hilarity. That story is here.
Most guys simply drop equivocal hints that they want to go out on a date:
Pussyfooter: “I might want to get coffee. Someplace…somewhere…over the rainbow perhaps? You like coffee right? I like coffee…possibly, maybe…sometime…”
Pussyfooter: “I might be at this bar tonight. Possibly. Maybe. With friends. I’m not sure yet. Haven’t decided. Are you going out tonight? I might be…”
Pussyfooter: “I’m so bored. Thinking about doing something! Going out, maybe? Something. I mean, I may leave the house tonight… not having any plans or a life or anything makes this easy... So I might be up for something! With someone! Possibly! Maybe! What are you up to?”
They want me to ask them out. I have to make the plans because their fear of rejection limits them to pestering guys online.
And I refuse to go out with these guys beacuse I cannot be bothered to waste my time on self-conscious, timid guys. I’m not Dr. Phil, and don’t have the time to build a would-be suitor’s self esteem.
So how shocked was I when someone finally asked me out on a date? I had at least a dozen pussyfooters bothering me at the time, and this guy bowled them over and got the point.
He wasn’t quite my type based on his pictures, so of course he was attractive and interesting in person (seems to be a rule.) The date went well, and I am impressed.
I think Minnesota men might have redeemed themselves. Possibly, maybe.
It is 1 a.m. and we are at St. Paul’s Camp Bar. Eric and Curt are off another room, but I am on the dance floor because Beyonce’s “Video Phone” is playing. An over-cologned Ethiopian-Somali1 guy watches me from the bar.
A remix of “Took the Night” comes on. The Somali and I exchange a look, he puts down his drink, and a full-scale vogue battle ensues.
I usually do not vogue at random bars, especially in St. Paul, but I just wasted a hour listening to a crappy cover band butcher top-40 hits. The band is on break, the video-Jockey is playing vogue music, and therefore boomkats are in order. The Somali agrees.
We give hands, dips, and duck walk as guys at the bar gawk on like “what kind of fuckery is this?” The battle lasts for the entire song. We then clear the dance floor and the cover band comes back on:
Surprisingly, our random vogue-off was not the hottest mess in St. Paul that night: earlier, at the Movie Bears Beer Bust, there was a 400-pound woman wearing black underwear, fish net stockings, and 3-sizes-too-small spiked heels.
Eric was so amused and wanted to pose near her, but I could not get a good shot of our Pussycat Doll because her friend blocked the view:
Normally, I would just ask the Pussycat Doll if she would pose with Eric, but she was ranting about how she didn’t understand why people were making fun of her, so I decided not to add any fuel to the drama-fire.
Last night’s beer bust was my first Movie Bears event. The club usually watches movies on Tuesdays, which is Trivia night, but they also watch horror movies on Fridays. It seems like a fun group, but I haven’t decided if I want to tack one more event onto my social calendar. Do I have time for this?
1 This is actually accurate. I asked.
The class has slowly deteriorated…
Jill is harsh.
Professor W: “Those you in the class with kids! What if your kid was 15 and wanted to marry a 48-year-old guitar teacher. What would you do?”
Jill: “All girls boarding school!”
Professor W: “Where they beat them?”
Jill: “Sure!”
Professor W: “Or where they handcuff them to the bed at night?”
Jill: “Well if she wanted to marry a 48-year-old…”
Professor W doesn’t agree.
Professor W: “Should the husband be allowed after 25 years to go “oh we weren’t married at all …hahaha fuck you?’ Well? Should he, Judge Smith? Will you let him do that?”
Jack: “Yes!”
Professor W: “NO YOU WILL NOT!”
