Friday, February 25, 2011

Bar Exam Debrief

All the gory details of the February California Bar Exam, in chronological order, as they happened, after the jump...

Friday, February 18, 2011

A First

I was pondering today that I was going to my first hockey game and that it's nice, at my ripe old age, to still be able to celebrate firsts (I feel like anyone reading this is gonna make sex jokes, so go on, go ahead, let's hear 'em).

Wednesday, February 16, 2011


I don't want to whine. I really truly don't. It's annoying. It's frustrating. But imagine how annoying and frustrating it is to FEEL this way. So I will. Because if I don't I'm going to go more insane and I don't know how much more insanity is even possible. Because I'm flipping exhausted from trying to keep it together.

Drive Safe

I made a flip joke about driving 65 on Sloat yesterday. This would later become an incredibly assy thing to say, but I wouldn't know it at the time. (Me saying assy things, even if unintentionally, is becoming a habit.)

One of my simple pleasures in life, and one that I take more advantage of than I probably should, is driving with impunity in the city. Mostly this is in the Sunset where stop signs seem totally superfluous. And on Sloat? Hahaha. Sloat is a giant straightaway for like 3 miles from 19th Avenue to Ocean Beach. In that time there are two stoplights. They put giant flashing light speed signs on Sloat now too, which I just think are taunting me and I like to see how high I can make them go. Yesterday, with the pent up aggression of bar study and being stuck in the house for long stretches at a time, I took it out a little on my car and the streets of San Francisco. I flew down Sloat. And in just more of a giant bird to how I feel about law right now, I tweeted about it. But now? I'll be sure not to drive like an ass. At least for awhile.

Now, this is going to require one of those huge giant digression things, bear with me. It'll point out just how small SF is and that this, for its drawbacks, also makes us all really connected to each other:

My dad grew up on 46th and Wawona. And when he was growing up there, his backyard met the backyard of another sprawling family with 6 kids. My dad became lifelong friends with one of the daughters, Sue. In fact, there's a big long legendary family story about my birth, which I'll save for another time, and Sue, a nurse then, being at my delivery. She's basically the second person to ever see me alive and her and my dad are still really good friends. I've known Sue, then, all of my life and am friends with her son who is a year older than me. Said son also met, and subsequently made out with, my stepsister at our big family party. Since they both live in the L.A. area, they hung out a couple times but nothing ever came of it. Still friends though.

Anyway, Sue had a bunch of brothers and sisters. One of those brothers was a guy named Bruce. Because, as I've pointed out countless times, SF is teeny tiny, Bruce would end up living at his wife's parents house on the same block that my grandparents live on. In fact, Bruce gave my dad the first dog we ever owned, an amazing pit bull named Brutus. Bruce had a couple of kids, that I undoubtably met and probably played with all those hours I spent over at my grandparent's house. Not that I remember these kids specifically, just toe headed kids playing on the street like we all did. They moved away and that was that, didn't give it much of a second thought.

But: dad's still good friends with Sue and has gone and visited Bruce way up in the northern part of the state a few times too. One of Bruce's kids became a CHP officer, so we now have the SF is small/everyone is a cop connection.

Yesterday, I'm over at my dad's house studying, headphones on, doing my thing and my dad's puttering around the house. Dad suddenly comes over and says, "Hey, Bruce's son? He was killed in an accident while working." Fuuuuu. Really? That's....I don't really have words for what that is. Sue's parents still live in that same house on 46th where Sue grew up. My dad, having moved a mere 8 blocks down the Great Highway from the house he grew up in says he's going to take a ride over, see if Sue is there, and offer his condolences. Besides, he's been through this before.

He's gone for several hours. When he returns he says the grandparents are handling it well, being old and having gone through a lot before, but he talked to Sue on the phone who is, understandably, a wreck. He said some other CHP officers came over, on their own time, while he was there and the grandparents were impressed. Dad said they have no idea what they are in for. Police funerals are quite a site to behold. I think those have been accurately depicted by TV, they really are of that scale.

I have been sending emails back and forth with the stepsis all week. Since she knows Sue's son, I let her know what happened. She emails back, "That's sad about his cousin- it's shit like that that makes us realize the actual danger in what our parents do..."

Couldn't have said it better my self.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Like a duck

all calm up top and underneath churning like crazy.

Though: I don't think I've been the face of calmness. Or sanity. But mostly I hide it. I write, a lot. I poke fun at the insanity. I cover it in self deprecating humor. So just imagine this next however many paragraphs said in my gravely serious face, mkay?

Monday, February 14, 2011

Things we think when we're (pretending) studying. Part Whatever

1. My stepdad wins most annoying person of the year award. He is in the kitchen. Making dinner. WHY YES! It IS only 3 p.m. I have heard brass bands operate more quietly than he navigates his way around the kitchen. MUST you slam every cabinet door? Rattle through the utensils like a kid banging on pots? Drop just about everything with a clang on the floor?

Note: it is a general pet peeve of mine to be around people who can't efficiently move around the kitchen/time things to all be done at the same time/understand the difference between sauteing and sweating. Yes, I'm from San Francisco, I win at food snobbery. Not a FOODIE, which is douche hipster term (as Beth will attest to) but a food SNOB.

I also know how to cook and take pride in that skill of mine. (I may not win at pretty, but boy howdy will I fix you a meal that will make you fall in love with me forever. (Yes, I am sometimes slightly delusional.)) The ex would cook and I'd just have to leave. Like LEAVE. You see someone use a metal utensil on a non-stick pan and you want to claw their eyes out, you have to just remove yourself from the situation. I'm one of those people who when someone asks, "How can I help?", unless I am aware of their proficient skill as a sous-chef, I tell them they can help by getting out of my way. (No, I do not wonder why I'm single. I've pretty well figured that one out, thanks.)

Oh, and now it sounds like he has the tenderizer out and is beating something. AWESOME! Also of note: my room is right across the hall from the kitchen. Our house is not that big. Noise travels.

(It does, however, smell good. I also just realized dinner is me in my Uggs, sweat pant jeans, and zipper hoodie with my mom and stepdad. "Isn't it Rommmannttiiiccc?")

2. I'm celebrating OMG I GET TO GO TO A HOCKEY GAME! day today and nothing else. I'm excited. In the way I get excited about going to Tiger Stadium. Which is: a lot. Going to Tiger Stadium > Law school graduation. Just sayin'. As such, I was on the Tumblr, where I follow some Caps people and they made some joke about sending silly Caps related Valentine's. This will mean nothing if you don't know the players but I immediately submitted, "I love you more than Matt Hendrick's loves fighting, more than Brooks Laich loves chick flicks (4:40 mark). I love you more than I love Mike Green on an orange Vespa wearing grandpa slippers, and that's a LOT." Because Tumblr is populated by 15 year old girls far better with MS Paint or photoshop or whatever than I am, someone took my text and turned it into the following picture:
Whoever did that is a genius and a-okay in my book. It made me just giggle hysterically. If I ever fall in love with a hockey fan, I'm sending them that as a card. I would send it to Chuck but I doubt he would appreciate my sense of humor and then get all weird about our friendship. 

3. Beth wins today for making a comparison I make all the time: Outer Sunset = South Boston. We just don't have ridiculous accents. Okay, maybe our propensity for the word "like" and overuse of awesome is kinda ridiculous. But not accented. 

4. If you would like to have nightmares, watch this video of abandoned Six Flags New Orleans. I never went there, as amusement parks weren't really a big deal in Louisiana, but holy crap this video creeps me out. (Also: have you BEEN to New Orleans? What person of drinking age needs an amusement park? The place IS an amusement park.) 

5. I'm taking the bar in Sacramento and staying at a Joie de Vivre hotel. Cuz I'm fancy like that (actually, it was cheaper than the Sheraton/Hilton/whatever was recommended by the bar). All I know about Sacramento is that it's the state capitol. I'm not exactly going to be exploring or anything while I'm there, mostly stress eating room service and trying not to slit my wrists, but if you have any recommendations for not horrible, not chain restaurant dining, I'd appreciate the suggestions. 

(OMG I was just on the hotel website: Complimentary evening wine offering for hotel guests. Wow. That is...I dunno. Awesome. And dangerous.) 

Alright, now that I've thoroughly freaked myself out with my procrastination, I'm gonna go do contracts and run the prayer of St. Ignatius in my head. Despite my lapsed Catholic status, that actually calms me.


I think there's a reason Valentine's Day and Venereal Disease share the same initials. They're both LAMMEE, at the very least. Valentine's Day was fun when you were in grade school and everyone got candy and cards. If it was still silly with candy and cards for everyone, I'd be down. I actually thought of doing that for my friends this year, but, ya know, bar study. Anyway, grown ass couples should just pretend it isn't happening. Candy and hearts are ridiculous. Going out on Valentine's Day is a waste of money and if anyone ever unironically buys me a stuffed bear that says, "I love you beary much" I reserve the right to break up with them on the spot. I say none of this just because I am single, I'd feel the exact same way if I were part of a couple.

BUT! Amazingly enough, this post is not an indictment of the "holiday", you can find that anywhere else on the internet today. Instead I will retell the story of the most amazing Valentine's Day I ever had. It's a repost from the old blog, edited and amended since then, the writing hopefully sharpened so please reread. Also: hot damn to this day I still ADORE this story/happening in my life. Valentine's Day, even when only tangental to the story, can have good moments. Enjoy!

Anne Rice Just Won Valentine's Day

Yes, another vampire post. No, you don't have to read it. This is quick anyway (well, maybe, this is me).

As mentioned, in high school I worshiped at the altar of Anne Rice and her moody vampires. These novels may or may not have played some part in my romanticizing New Orleans and eventual move to the state of Louisiana.

But then she got all into religion, of which I am not really a huge fan, and her vampires got dull and I grew up so I stopped reading her novels. (I never read the witch novels. I tried reading the first one, got confused about who was doing what even though I liked that it was set in both San Francisco and New Orleans, and moved on to something else, I'm sure.)

Anyway, awhile ago I discovered she was on Twitter so out of high school nostalgia, I started following her. A lot of her tweets are long and link, mostly incorrectly, to her facebook so I don't bother with them. However, before going to sleep tonight, I hit up the twitter and saw that she had said, "My Valentine's Day Fantasy. I would love to see a movie of The Vampire Lestat starring Richard Armitage as Lestat,..." with a link.

The Vampire Lestat is the second vampire novel and I definitely liked it when I read it. Lestat's all rock star god, bad-boy vampire. I clicked the link.

I read the rest of Rice's post and realized, she's kind of a randy old lady:

My Valentine's Day Fantasy. I would love to see a movie of The Vampire Lestat starring Richard Armitage as Lestat, Matt Bomer as Louis, Matthew Macfayden as Marius, Cher as Gabrielle, Simon Woods as Armand, and DIRECTED BY GENIUS KENNETH BRANAGH. As what a fantasy. Happy Valentine's Day, People.

Damn, Anne! I don't know if I could have, with my ridiculous boy TV watching habits as they are, cast that better myself. I would put pictures of all those people in here because it would be delicious but I'll spare you (and me) that. Matt Bomer all tortured as Louis? Sigghh. Have you seen Armitage's blue eyes? Yeah, those would work. I don't know about Woods playing a French vampire but I'd be happy to see it and find out.

I love that she cast Cher. Like, "Hi, gay segment of vampire fans!" (Her son is gay and I've read one of his novels, too. It was good but really twisted.) And come on, Cher COULD be a vampire. She hasn't aged in forever.

So far that's the best Valentine's Day related thing I've seen so far. Though, it is late at night, so...

As for me? I'm celebrating Happy 3 days 'til going to my first ever hockey game Day!

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Miss Independent

THE most hysterical thing happened late last night that has me lolz-ing right now. - My true love is out there somewhere and they can go fuck themselves

Unlikely Inspiration

I rarely answer the house phone anymore. It's never for me, I don't give anyone that number, and I generally get annoyed at whoever I talk to on there.

But today, I happened to be sitting in the kitchen, my parents were out, and when it rang I thought it might be my cousin who I have to do something with tomorrow, or my aunt who I need to ask for a favor anyway. Turns out it was my other cousin, Matthew.

Matthew is two years older than me. He looks scary, with a shaved head and tattoos on his neck and hands. He has been in and out of trouble for most of his life, kicked out of the various Catholic schools of the city, and in more serious legal trouble. But his bark is WAY bigger than his bite as he's actually quite charming and adorable, with his crooked smile and Irish good looks. He's easily the most Irish of any of us and although he keeps his head shaved now, has fantastic auburn waves when he doesn't. He is the father of the most hysterical 6 year old twins ever. The girl is actually quite bossy and contrarian, but then again so is almost every female in my family. The boy twin is one of the few children I like. He is a HUGE football fan and just...he's flipping ridiculous.

Like I said, Matthew has been in and out of trouble, but recently, in the past year or so, he decided to get his act together. Figured out that he was one of those people for whom alcohol is a really bad idea, as he is an awful, mean drunk, and got really into nutrition. He's trying to get his body down to an absurd 7% body fat.

And because of this, I occasionally run into him at the gym near my house.

Oh, digression: my grandfather somehow master engineered everyone living within a relatively close radius of his house. So even though SF is, for all intents and purposes, a major freaking city, when we were growing up, all my aunts lived within 2 miles of my grandfather's house. My mom and my Aunt Jeanne are still in the same houses from back then (we've been in this house since I was 4) and are just on opposite sides of Stonestown from each other. Matthew still lives at home, I still live at home, hence us running into each other at the same gym, the closest to our houses that is open the latest.

So when I answered the phone, I had a few minute conversation with Matthew. Pleasantries exchanged, he asked me what I was up to. I said, "Studying."

I should add that I was at wits end today. I didn't want to write about it because I'm tired of complaining, I figure everyone else is tired of hearing me complain, and it's all just a giant guhhhh but, safe to say: it was NOT a good day.

Matthew then says, "Have you been going to the gym?" I say, "Nooo. I've been studying and can only work my brain or my body at any given time! I can't do both!" I'm exasperated. I'm losing it. I'm frustrated. Though trying to be pleasant on the phone. Matthew then says, "There is ALWAYS time to make yourself feel good!" I sort of half laugh and tell him he reminds me of my brother, something he said a lonng time ago that he probably doesn't even remember saying but that has always stuck with me about always making time to work out.

I actually hung up with him and was sort of annoyed, and thought to myself, in a sarcastic way, "Well YOU were more fun when you drank..."

I go through the afternoon studying and cursing and crying. It's finally 9 at night and Matthew's words are still ringing in my ears. I figure there might be some truth to them and I should go work out and see if that makes me feel any better, as I've hit a wall with studying. I tell my mom I'm going to the gym and that Matthew shamed me into it. I tell her what he said on the phone and she laughs.

But holy crap was he right! I feel so much better! It was like, "Alright, I got this. Conquering the treadmill? THAT I can handle. The rest of this? It will come." And I gave myself ridiculous internal pep talks while I did it and I listened to my favorite mix over and over again. I do an hour of cardio and stretch after. I feel refreshed now. Endorphins, man. Flipping endorphins. It's easy to forget, in the midst of all this bar stuff, how important it is to still take care of yourself and let your brain rest (and not just by watching TV). I remembered what it felt like to move my muscles and let it all go and remember that there is a future beyond this.

Thus, a shout out, to my adorable cousin for kicking my ass, reminding me of the little things, and sending my ass back to the gym. It was a solid idea.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Sanity: Tenuous (in a good way?)

RANDOM THOUGHTS! (And yeah, so much for the stepping away from the blogging. Since I'm not interacting with, ya know, real live human beings, I figure this is my entitled to it default position.)

1. I told two friends this ridiculous thing I've been thinking lately (sorry, not divulging what exactly...though it shouldn't be that hard to figure out. Or: choose from any of the various ridiculous things you know I think) and got two very different responses. And by ridiculous I mean bordering on betraying a slight disconnect with reality. (Does realizing your behavior has no connection with reality mean it can't actually be insane? Isn't knowing you're insane a sign you aren't insane? I feel like there's gotta be a rule about this.) Lindsey giggled with me and said whatever gets ya through the day, it's good to have goals. Lindsey and I virtually giggle together a lot. And then give each other "JUST DO IT!" speeches. Linds is certifiably awesome. She sings the Liz Lemon night cheese song out loud. She has similar goals to me, despite me being a cancer and her being a leo. She has red, curly hair that I wish I could steal from her head and wear. In a non-creepy way.

The other friend wasn't as amused. But he gets a pass because he recently did the most awesome thing EVER and more guys should take similar actions. Secret wish: a guy wakes me up with the pebbles at the window thing to tell me how awesome I am. Likelihood of happening? Juuusst this side of never. Sigh. Though, same friend now loses because he just told me "good luck" when I said I wished to win parenthetical aside of the day. I mean, does anyone use more of them than me? ONE of them has to be clever enough at some point.

Stepsister wins for saying to something else entirely, "HA when has a guy having a girlfriend ever really been a problem- or ya know- one that we can't handle!? lol" She's so cute. I miss her. She needs to come visit.

2. My mood is vastly improved by heading to the beach house. Though, I'm hungry and the Great Highway half way between Sloat and Lincoln isn't exactly the best place to get food with little to no effort. I am further not helped in this matter by having no idea what exactly it is I want. But I'm out of dark chocolate now and this is a problem we can't have. Will have to leave the safety of here at some point.

3. I watch Justified. Because it's fucking awesome. I like moral ambiguity. As Alan Sepinwall, TV critic said about the season premiere, That's a lot to squeeze into 40-plus minutes, but it all works comfortably together, along with more of Raylan's ongoing struggle to find ways not to kill people - not so much because he thinks it's wrong, but because the events of last season convinced him that it's a giant hassle most of the time.

Mostly after I watch, I walk around the house saying, "Raaayylllaannnn" all drawled out like I live in BFE Kentucky and imagine it's a great place. Even though they show us crime, film in L.A., from what I know of KY it's awful and my former stepmom's whole family resides there. (I actually have been through Kentucky once. A trip from Ohio to Louisiana with a former boyfriend. Spent the night outside Louisville. The parts of the state I saw I thought were fairly pretty.) 

Last night, the introduction of this season's big bad character scared the beejesus out of me enough that I went to bed thinking, "Yeah. I'm glad I didn't follow through on that note I left at 8 years old that Emily and I were running away to Kentucky to train horses." And the thought that at 8 years old, without any idea of where Kentucky was, I was dead set on moving there with my best friend to train horses made me laugh hysterically. Being a little kid is kinda awesome. My mom still has the note, btw. 

Despite big bad fictional character, running away to Kentucky to train horses sounds sort of epic right now. I might have to reconsider that one...

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Day 3: Irrational Anger

If 2 days ago was lay (lie?) sob on the floor panic day and yesterday was giddy happy because you can't cry anymore and belief in the zen of the universe then today is "I'm so angry I want to kick a puppy or punch a wall or throw something, I wish I wasn't too old to have a temper tantrum in the middle of the grocery store (even though I didn't even GO to a grocery store today)" day. We'll call these the stages of it being two weeks away from the bar exam.

I am an irrationally angry little monkey today. (Why an always an angry monkey? Because angry bunny doesn't have the same ring to it?) (Hey! We're back to an overuse of parentheticals. Awesome.)

I'm just...there aren't words. Just blind range. Example: I have this stainless camelback water bottle with a straw and for reasons beyond my understanding (probably physics) sometimes when I pop the top on the straw lid thing it just spits water everywhere. Today that led me to violently shaking the bottle 'til it stopped spitting water, but ending up with water drops all down my jeans, and then I tossed the bottle across the room. It's still there, on its side, on the floor. Totally rational response, right?

I got mad, irrationally of course, at the whole process today. For having to sit through a professional responsibility outline AGAIN. I say again because you take a class in PR with a final, you take the MPRE which is required by all states as a component of the bar, and then it's on the motherf*cking bar too. So this is the 3rd time I'm being forced to remind myself the basic rule is: Don't f*ck your clients, and don't f*ck your clients money. (Which isn't even the rule. In CA sleeping with your clients is totally legit so long as you're not bribing them with sex to be a good lawyer. Yay CA!) Let's point out the sheer oxymoronic-ness of LEGAL ETHICS while we're at it (oh, I make lawyer jokes too, folks).

I got angry that there was no dinner. That there is no food in this house despite the fact that I KEEP BUYING IT. That people can't replace the few things that I do buy after THEY eat them. I shoved Swedish fish in my face that I didn't even really want. I got angry that I wasn't even hungry to begin with so why did I care? I got angry that my mother wanted to talk to me. And then that she pointed out that I was cranky today. "Nooo. Really??? I hadn't noticed." (I didn't say that. I just said, "Yep" and she said,  "At least you recognize it.") Angry that the dog wanted to play. I want to claw my skin off. I want the Corp outline to stop saying "Unless agreed to otherwise or stated in the bylaws" after every expletive expletive expletive sentence! I want my Mac which is JUST pass warranty to stop running like a bitch. I should probably go run. But if I leave the house I fear this will lead to me running the car into something just out of the sheerest curiosity of what will happen.

So it's a banner day up in this bitch. AND I can't even force myself to angry study. Gritting my teeth, sighing through it, gonna be better tomorrow...

BUT! I have devised a post bar drinking game: I'm bringing the CMR to whatever bar I end up at on that Friday night and we're passing the book around and flipping to random pages. The page you land on? Have to drink as many times as the word reasonable appears (don't even get me started on how much I hate the word...meaningless word...reasonable). My bets are on everyone being black out drunk two hours after we start.

Oh. And even I realize that mostly I'm mad at myself for even having to do this again and for not even doing it particularly better this time than last time. I'm gonna go scream into my pillow.

Alcohol might be nice right about now...

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Things we think when we study part deux

My bangs are an unmanageable mess because I was studying in the backyard earlier. I was wearing a visor. Like a lesbian lady golfer. (Redundancy) (Stereotypes) (Can we hashtag everywhere now? Is that allowable?)

The beach house remains forever my most absolutely favoritest place on the planet. It is made for solo dance parties with its open floor plan. And it has a giant pit bull. Who woke me up at 4 a.m. wanting to go outside, I know not why. He also cracked me up hysterically last night because I couldn't see him on the couch. Giant baby had somehow managed to wrap himself UNDER the blanket that's used to keep him not ON the couch and was struggling to get out from underneath it when I called him. Sooo cute.

I am eating fancy cheese (Lindsey: "I love fancy cheese!" Andy: "I don't care about your fancy cheese.") and salami on a sliced baguette. Add the Perrier I'm drinking and I feel decidedly French today. If only I was in the jardin du luxembourg... Sigh...(First world prooobllemmsssss)

I keep hitting certain phrases in my law study that they strike certain songs in my head. So here they are!

1. Currently I'm doing agency and I keep coming across "best interests". Best interests of the interests of the director. As soon as I see "best interest" I get Suicidal Tendencies stuck in my head. "My best interests?! MY BEST INTERESTS!? How do you know what my best interests are?!" (Ah, I listened to this song a lot in high school. Catholic school, man, what can I say?)

2. When writing out rule statements, for sake of simplicity and because my special problems in civil procedure professor taught me to do this, I write, "The Rule Is..." This immediately makes me think of Chiddy Bang's Opposite of Adults where there is a line that says, "The rule is...the dude up so chuck I'm a cool kid..."

3. Not really a song but: Sometimes I start answering things wrong in a row, or grip my pen with that death grip I have and I think "He's holding on too tight. He's lost his edge!" This is a line from Top Gun. (I can't find it on the youtubes. You should have the whole movie memorized anyway if we are any kind of friends.)

4. Dammit. There was another one but I can't remember it right now. Like how I can't remember anything about devising real property. At all. Ever.

*All quotes are likely paraphrased to how I remember them.

Andy IMed me "Here's your 'What would you do' of the day..." before even waiting for the scenario I respond "Drink heavily". Cracking myself up over here. But actually? I haven't had a drop of alcohol in a month and I kinda sorta love the clarity. I also haven't really left the house in that time either so reserve the right to change my mind. However, the control level is something I think I like for the long term and I would like to start having fun and being bold and ridiculous without also needing a heavy dose of liquid courage. That feels like a really grown up statement but, ya know, I guess I kinda am? (Guh.)

Also: I was just flipping through Equire and I seriously have not laughed out loud so hard at anything in awhile. Interviewer is talking to Scott Caan so you have to do this all in his voice. And he's asking him about how he can combine tortured artist with that he's doing a hugely popular, not all that complicated TV show now. Scott Caan at some point says, "Ya know, living in a one bedroom..." Interviewer says, "No offense, but have you ever had to live in a one-bedroom?" This is, after all, James Caan's son. And that's not even the part that made me laugh! It went like this:
Esquire: They do seem to have the fomula down: throw you guys in a weird situation, something crazy happens, and then your partner says, "Book 'im, Danno." 
Scott: Simplify it some more so I can jump out a window.
I'm just imagining this in his voice, all exasperated and annoyed and it is HYSTERICAL. I have also decided that when the time comes Scott Caan can play Brian Wilson in a movie about the '10 Giants.
Let's compare, shall we?
BRIAN WILSON (not the Beach Boy)
Scott Caan
I think that's close enough to count. Though, Bweezy could also do his own damn acting. 

And these are the random things we think when we are studying. Off to do more of it. Because the difference between an agency, a partnership, and a corporation is apparently REALLY important. *finger gun to head*

Monday, February 7, 2011

And then...

You play tug-o-war with your 90 lb beast who has the same playful and gentle look in his eyes as your 30 lb beast, but definitely gives your arms much more of a work out. You laugh hysterically as he gnaws on what is essentially his binky.

You eat a banana and dark chocolate hearts and have a cup of tea.

You eat a burrito for dinner which required you to pop in to the produce store and pick up expensive cheese and salami for tomorrow. Prior to which you were prompted to say, "Fuck it. I'm going to get a burrito." And then pause and add, "P.S. Put that on my tombstone." Realizing it could be the epitaph of like every Mission hipster ever.

You purposefully avail (civ pro!) yourself of a clawfoot tub, floating in the hot water. And have a solo dance party on the back deck in your towel (no one could see you) to Broken Records using the built in stereo system. 

You find Orion in the crisp clear night sky, always Orion, and feel the cool air on your face. 

And suddenly it's not ALL bad. 

This too shall pass. 

Freak Out

I'm in full on freak out mode over here. Panic has done set in.

The thought process of descent into insanity goes something like this "Omg! I can't do this! There is no way! This is impossible! OMG! OMG! OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG! I'm just gonna slit my wrists because this is all fucking hopeless. (Do not alert authorities, it is hyperbole.) And I still don't even have a computer to TAKE the test on and is my hotel okay and booked on the right days? And is it really close? What am I gonna eat when in Sacramento? Doesn't matter! Not even hungry! Never eating again! Too much anxiety! ANXIETY! I'm just gonna pound 5 hour energies and Dr Pepper and handfuls of Crispix and stay awake for the next two weeks (TWO WEEKS!!!) straight! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" SO. MUCH. FUN.

I couldn't sleep last night and yet was still awake at 7:30 this morning, something, despite my best efforts, I could not overcome.

I figure I'll try something new this time: usually when I freak out I just pull the covers up over my head and pray it will all go away. It's not the most effective coping mechanism. (Nooo, really? You don't say!) (Insanity is also denoted by an overuse of my already overuse of parentheticals.) This time I'm gonna channel that anxiety into actual effort and work on studying.

In fact, when I couldn't sleep last night I fired up the computer and did multiple choice. I got 5 out of 5 right in crim. VICTORY! And then promptly sucked at real property and evidence (hearsay. I hate hearsay). Guhhh.

Related: I am leaving behind the tweets for the next two weeks (TWO WEEKS OMFG TWO WEEKS!) because no one, me included, wants to hear me whine about the bar. It's a distraction I don't need. Not that it matters. For serious. No one cares. Gawsh, Lisa. Enough already. But I felt compelled to mention it. (I follow all these sports writers who come Sunday night tweet about To Catch a Predator and I can't not read them but get sooo mad at myself for reading them. If only there were twitter filters where like you didn't see people when it's not football season. Anyway.) I will also be blogging with less frequency. Probably. Who knows.

The bar? It's bullshit. Everyone who has ever done it KNOWS it's bullshit. But. That doesn't make it avoidable. Or less scary. Or less evil. I am headed straight for it. Whhhhhheeeee!

Imma go study corporations now. With a raging sinus headache that makes me want to kill people. (Lovin' life today, oh yes, we are.)

I'll be back in three weeks after the bar. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Saturday, February 5, 2011


Today I promise to not write about hot boys or sports.

Instead: Bar study! Be careful what you may be wishing for (I have no idea, honestly). Wherein I look for a bright side because I am honestly for serious frustrated about not being outside right now or having a life. I'm over this sobriety monastic thing for the moment.

Just A Fan

I read skimmed a couple articles on women and sports and liking sports and the difficulties of being a female fan and OMG women talk about how the players are hot and guys don't want to hear that yadda yadda. I started to feel my hackles go up about it and thought about writing a thousand word screed on the topic and then I just...didn't have the energy to. So you'll still get a thousand words, it's just not gonna be angry.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Maybe I was wrong? (AGAIN!)

From an actual bona fide sports writer (too much real propertyyyy. Bona fide?):

Sean Avery, now and forever.

I know I’m well in the minority but I’ve never once hated Sean Avery. He’s a dirty player, I guess, but it works, and he’s OUR dirty player besides. And the whole Elisha Cuthbert thing has always been stupidly overblown to the point of meaninglessness.
I’m glad he’s back in New York. I think he’s way better off here than he was in Dallas anyhow - he’s too quirkily urbane to blow off the requisite steam there, which was why we got things like “sloppy seconds.” He needs the Vogue internships and the Tribeca sports bars and the geighborhoods too. (He “lived in West Hollywood when he played for the Los Angeles Kings and now lives in Chelsea”).
Which is why this small piece of absolute awesomeness isn’t completely surprising:
“If there’s a kid in Canada or wherever, who is playing and really loves the game and wants to keep playing but he’s worried about coming out, I’d tell him to pick up the phone and call [NHLPA executive director] Donald Fehr and tell him to book me a [plane] ticket,” he told theToronto Sun. “I’ll stand beside him in the dressing room while he tells his teammates he is gay. Maybe if Sean Avery is there, they would have less of a problem with it.”
Fuckin’ rights.

Alright: I am brand spanking new to this whole hockey fandom thing. But I swear I've taken to it like a fish to water. It's like finding something and suddenly being fulfilled. I KNOW that sounds ridiculous but it's also straight up true. In my new found hockey fandom, one of the first things I learned was that Sean Avery is a colossal jerk (I said this in a post down there, keep scrolling). But! Then I read what Katie posted and I was like, "Ya know what? That is straight up AWESOME." I mean, really, could you imagine? Not many pro athletes would take that strong of a stance. Most of them hem and haw and avoid the topic and blindly assert, in the face of vast statistical evidence to the contrary, that there simply are no gays in pro sports. And then here's this guy, kind of a jerk, and he's telling kids all over that it's not only okay but acceptable and he'll back him up in that decision.

Not that being a jerk is exclusive to his opinions. He may still be a jerk that just has an awesome opinion. But still. I'll reserve judgment on you for a little bit, Sean Avery. 

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Being an Ass 140 Characters at a Time

Good god. I'm going back to sleep. I was woken up by the ringing of my cell phone. It was one of the fun student loan companies looking for their money which I don't have because I haven't passed the bar and am poor. Awesomesauce.


Yeah. So. I'm slightly obsessed. And I love learning about it. Things I've learned so far:

Wednesday, February 2, 2011


I have discovered that studying in silence is a special kind of hell. My mind wanders and I think about what my life will be like and plot the future and outline the great American novel in my head. I make grocery lists and wonder about TV plots and that movie I saw that one time that had that girl I like. I obsess about paying back my loans or how to possibly answer these questions and a giant tumbling cascade of "what ifs" fill my cerebral cortex. Focusing is impossible.

This time I have also eschewed the movie scores I usually use, as also being distracting as I relate music to the scenes they are associated with, in favor of good old fashioned classical music. When I study in the kitchen, where we have a sirius satellite tuner, I listen to the Pops channel. All the classical music you know because it's been in movies or played at weddings or what have you is on the Pops channel. I also love the classical channel DJs because they are so adorably pretentious. The afternoon guy can never just say "Bak" like the rest of us say but insists on saying "Ba(throaty about to cough sound)". When I'm in my room I set up a Pandora playlist of most of the composers I hear on the Pops channel. My notes actually have scribbled on them the names of composers to add to the Pandora list when I get to my room. Today I was looking up easements and came across "Saint-Saens".

I find the music all very soothing and I like picturing different people playing the different instruments, the way you drag the bow across a violin, quickly and sharply or long, slow movements creating differing sounds. Of particular amusement was the anvils and hammers in some song sirius played. It's also not as distracting. Sure, my mind still wanders (that's why I'm here!), but not as much.

What I find most adorable about this whole classical music floating through the house is that if I turn the Sirius channel on in the kitchen and then leave, my mom and stepdad will continue to listen to it. I like to think they're becoming more enamored with it as it plays, but really I know they aren't paying any attention. Le sigh.

I would very much like to go to the symphony when this is all over with. I haven't gone to an actual show at Davies probably since high school when it was compulsory (snobby private school, ftw!). And we didn't see anything difficult or overly dramatic then, usually just Peter and the Wolf. It's time to start doing the artsy stuff.

My mother was driving me to murder today, but a couple deep breaths and amazing friends and I feel better. The internal panic of the fact that this test is approaching is starting to tick up and I feel more and more anxious but trying to quell it with hard work. Something I am utterly not used to.

I am also learning the value of getting outside. My back starts to tighten up if I sit here too damn long. I walked the great highway yesterday and was just giddy the whole time for fresh air and the fact that it's sunny and fantastic and I hit watching the sun set. Of particular amusement was the surfer type dad with the stroller, toddler on top, 12 pack of Coors on the bottom. Beast! No going outside today, as I am already behind on the studying (perpetually), but tomorrow I am hoping to start doing all of this earlier in the morning and get a better jump on things so I have time.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

My dad is...

awesomer than your dad. He just is. I mean, the man carries a gun for a living and is a total pot head. He thinks having 4 bottles of wine in the house for the weekend isn't enough. He taught me about baseball. He recently called the chief of police, his boss, a "media whore" in a print publication.

Today he sent me the following email: