Ain't love grand?

And now, a belated Valentine's day address! Last year I bought my girl a ring but made it clear to all of you it had NOTHING to do with some bullshit holiday cooked up by bored marketers out to sell crap. I just happened to be in the mall with $20 I found in the dryer. Ahem. This year I maintain that Valentines' is a cooked up ass holiday but OK, here's the admission at last: I'm a hopeless romantic. Yep. It's true. I secretly want to be all Wuthering Heights and gusty emotions on windy nights and candles and poetry - but good poetry, not that insipid crap that passes for poems most of the time, especially with lesbians. Shit with some imagination and some guts to it. I want to cry "Heathcliff!" toward the castle in the rain, except in my case it would be "Heather!" or something, because, you know, Heathcliff was a guy.

That said, I don't live on the moors, I live in a little house in Durham with a cat that's been throwing up a lot and I haven't done my Tax homework. Sigh. Life and literature don't cross that often. The question remains how to be romantic between the out of town flights and sick cats and laundry and mortgage and the coffee table which seems to have some magical ability to collect crap, like some hellish magnet in the middle of the living room. Further, I've never been with anyone stable before and the dramatic fights and makeups just aren't here for that crying at the castle feeling, you know? NOT that the stomachaches were worth it. And as for stability and settling down - well, it has a lot of benefits; but then, you never get that first kiss again - or do you?

This year, I made my girl a CD with multiple levels of themes (yeah, I'm creative like that.) and tried to musically trace the development of our relationship. It wasn't as corny as it sounds. Shutup. In thinking about that process, it has occurred to me that every relationship has lots of mini-relationships within it, and you kind of do get that first kiss again, because things change so much, and people do, too. There was that monumental first kiss, and boy, this one I'll never forget. Then there was that day I realized I might as well quit trying to stay single because she had me hook, line and windy moor. The first time I cried in front of her. The day she moved in. The first time we split a vet bill. Signing the mortgage. The first vacation. The second vacation. The day I realized I have a tan line on my ring finger. The first time I told her I loved her. The time I told her I love her today.

Relationships take work, though, and I wonder if what happens a lot of times is people forgetting to stop and take a fresh look at that face you see every day and remembering why you wanted to see it every day in the first place. It can be hard to see through the fog of tax homework and the table's detritus. Sometimes a new face can offer promises of clean coffee tables and candles in the castle but soon, you know, they all become surrounded by socks on the floor and bills. So I think the trick is to put down the homework and pick up the socks, or not, and break out that first smile when you sneak home for a nooner; to start building new castles. Then, if they're castles made of sand, so much the better, y'all, because when they wash away, you can go kiss your girl in the ocean and build that castle all over again. Happy Valentine's, cause love is grand, socks, tax, coffee tables and all.

Muffies and a request for some advice, but not from Muffies

Well, trial team is over, and overall I'm glad to get back to my life. Of course my first act was to take a sick cat to the vet and wait to get worked in and charged $250, but we've already established life just doesn't fucking stop, then, haven't we? At any rate, I'm rather discouraged, not really because my team didn't make it to the next round but because of some of the really shitty behavior I saw and in realizing I've got a lot to learn about not letting people get under my skin. Our first round we beat a pretty tough team, then got something called a 'buy' for the next round which I think means you get a technical win but obviously means you don't get to go make your points then faced this team that cheated so badly it truly disgusted me. Knowing that 'outside the record' isn't an objection and that the judges hadn't read the materials, they abused the witnesses - first year students who were giving up their time to help out - and stretched the facts in ways I couldn't believe they could sleep over. It didn't help that the chick on the other side looked like one of those upturned nose, overprivileged, Muffy types who push maids around buy lap dogs that piss everywhere. You know, my antithesis. I was born in a trailer, have worked on a farm, am not sure what all a maid actually does and have a 14 year old, one eyed tabby cat who is missing several teeth. I just can't resist the urge to want to kick the shit out of a Muffy type when she tries to shove me around. Sigh. It's something I've got to work on.

So two things here. One, it's disturbing to me to see so close up how lawyers get the reputation of sleaziness. It was also disturbing to have to spend most of my energy trying to figure out how to work around their crap and thus having a harder time actually scoring points. Don't get me wrong. We had them on the ropes and called them on their crap a few times, and it was totally sweet. But the other, and really more important thing: as my coach said, I need to learn how to not kick people when I get them down, which to be honest, I really really want to do. I figure if you are going to do something, do it all the way, but apparently that isn't proper. And I need to not let people piss me off so much and to let them dig their own holes. For instance, I just had to add "we would not object to opposing counsel refreshing the witness' memory with something that is ACTUALLY ON THE DEPOSITION" to point out some cheating and one of the judges totally missed my point and told me not to tell the opposing side how to cure their mistakes. It looks like by this time in life I'd learn that when I try to fuck someone else up I only fuck up myself, and to let people fuck themselves up when they try to fuck me up instead of fucking up and getting involved. Does that make any sense? Well it shouldn't! When I'm right, I'm right, dammit! Right? Um.... or not so right after all?

Anyway, I've got some things to learn. I can swing with the best of them but you know, that isn't the whole game. Anyway, I'd sure like a note or two from some practicing lawyers out there, since a recent comment has assured me that not every lawyer, in fact, works 100 hours a week (thank you, whoever you are!) so maybe one of you have time. Oh, and Muffy, if you're reading this, I hope your little dog pees on you.

The existential question and the hungry fish

My girlfriend got a new job, meaning there's actually some money coming into the house for a change. However, she's out of town all the time and I really miss her. I didn't expect it to get at me so much because I am pretty fond of my space; without it, I get pretty cranky. I'm discovering that when I am busy with school 14 hours a day and then come home to an empty house that it doesn't help my mood much either. This sucks. I also have to remember to feed the fish, which is harder than you would think, because they can't get out of the tank and come get me. The cats, on the other hand, let me know in no uncertain terms when it's time to break out the kitty cereal. I don't know how they get so excited about this same shit out of a 25 pound bag every day but when you wake up with a cat on your chest staring at you, particularly when it's a really old cat who gets gas, you know that the kibble is, in fact, quite important.

So, the million dollar question isn't whether I've fed the fish. Oops, there's one floating. Dammit. And there's a cat on my head. But I think he just wants the fish. But back to the million dollar question - if (when!!) I become a lawyer, do I have to work 70 hours a week, or do people just do that because they're psycho type A workaholics? Am I selling my life and my sanity and ever being in a good mood or hanging out with my girlfriend at a decent hour again? I keep meeting lawyers and asking them how much they work, hoping someone will give me a reasonable answer, but never happens. Don't get me wrong - I'm willing to work hard, I just want to do something other than work with my life. I can see it now: I'm 82 and all crusty in some smelly nursing home hoping somebody who doesn't give a fuck will a. show up and b. not steal my meds and looking back on my life, seeing that I pissed away my youth in bars, was productive for a couple years, went to law school and pissed away the rest of my life in an office, then suddenly not caring if the lazy ass nurse shows up with my meds, because fuck it, somebody should have a good time. Whether or not we only get one life (which makes little sense to me - I mean really, just one shot and that's it? that's cold.) I only get one life as me and am trying to get through the remainder of it with a modicum of happiness. I don't know. Maybe I should get out while I can and go back to being a marginally employed hippie. Or maybe I should just shut up, feed the fishes and go to school. We all make our choices, man, and besides, what else do I have to do today? My girl won't be home for another three days and I'm cranky enough.

Recommendations

It's that time of year again! Law professors are getting requests for recommendations. It is a lot of work, I am sure. I actually got one and helped write it so it's nice. However, I am thinking that since students vary greatly, that letters vary as well. As a matter of fact, I found this one crumpled up in the trash when I was pulling out plastic bottles that people are too motherfucking lazy to recycle.[**note for legal purposes: everything I write in this blog is bullshit. Almost. It's true that a lot of people are too fucking lazy to recycle at our law school. They will actually throw plastic bottles in the trash right beside the recyling bin. I know they can read, so I guess they are just sorry ass inconsiderate ground water poisoning buttheads. The little kids who live near the landfill thank you, asshole.] So, here it is, just by way of example. If there are any law professors reading who are stumped as to how to write recommendation letters, perhaps this will give you some inspiration.
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Dear Anonymous Firm,

I am writing in response to Tweaker Student’s request for a job recommendation. Tweaker is obsessed with being right, willing to give up friends, family and health for grades, and gloats over GPA points with remarkable skill. I recommend Tweaker for your Shallow Fuck position, but hesitate to recommend this particular student for anything that requires dealing with other human beings on an authentic level.

While Tweaker is able to memorize large amounts of material, guess what will be on an exam and thus presents you with a fine GPA, Tweaker will only help others when it is strategically designed to make others know how smart Tweaker is. A truly energetic interrupter, Tweaker is able to jump tall egos in a single bound, and is good at making sure other people overhear conversations about this or that ‘A’ on an exam, assuming they care or will be impressed. Tweaker has a remarkable ability to ignore helpful suggestions and is quick to point out what are perceived as other’s mistakes.

These skills will make Tweaker an excellent Shallow Fuck or Annoying Junior Partner. I must point out, however, that Tweaker will have great difficulty developing rapport with a jury, making clients feel comfortable or cared about, and will probably wind up spending most evenings getting drunk in an expensive chair choking on a growing emptiness and a developing heart condition wondering about that third divorce. Should you wish to hire Tweaker, I would recommend at some point in the next few years compiling a list of good rehab facilities.

Good luck in your search to fill this position and do not hesitate to call should you have any further questions.


Law Professor
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But I'm sure this isn't a form letter. Or is it?

Point on, pointy!

One has occasion to think about shit in law school that you don’t think about anywhere else, except maybe third grade. As kids, we are taught not to point. Later, like 4th grade, we learn that when you point, three fingers are pointing back at you. Or maybe we learn that in therapy later, which we need because we weren’t picking up on the appropriate social lessons in fourth grade. But then, we learned that there were times to point. The question “who farted?” inevitably gets a point to some poor, unsuspecting kid from the kid who really farted, because if he says “Timmy did it!” Timmy will say ‘no I didn’t, you did!” real quick then there’s a fight and the would-be pointer is suspected of having, in fact, farted. With the point, the pointer gets off the hook; then, where I’m from at least, the other kids say “A fox smells his own hole first!” to the kid who smelled the fart, and the smeller is deemed to be the farter. But then I was born in a single wide trailer in the backyard of my grandmother’s house and one of my first chores was to feed the pigs, so I don’t know that my perspective is all that great.

Now in law school there is the whole question as to whether it is appropriate for a prosecutor to point at the defendant. We all pretty much agree it’s not appropriate to call him "that guilty fucker" or “sticky fingers over there” but the pointing is still an issue. A sub issue is whether it is OK to walk over to the defendant’s table during closing and knock on the table for dramatic effect, indicating “this guilty fucker” while saying something more acceptable like “guilty on all counts” or whatever. My friend’s teammates tell her not to point. I think some of them are young guys though; for a discussion of that, see the previous entry. I do not know that she has beaten anyone in the head with a shoe.

My coach encourages us to point and even told me today to try walking over to the defendant’s table during closing argument, asking the jury to hold him guilty and then turning and looking at the defendant meaningfully. This would be easier if there was really a defendant there, but this is a mock competition so I have to stare meaningfully at an empty chair. My teammate does opening and does this sort of Vanna White indication toward the defendant’s table, and the coach tells her to point his guilty ass out. Of course, she is not to refer to him as his guilty ass. We do observe a sort of decorum in the courtroom, even if the defendant is imaginary.

I don’t know that this will be resolved, and suspect in practice that we will continue to have opinions as to whether to point, and knock, and how to say ‘that guilty fucker’ without getting ourselves a mistrial. But folks, there is a lot of room for creativity in the legal profession. Maybe I’ll just stand by the defendant’s table and ask “who farted?”

Down, boy!

Studies show that men tend to interrupt women more than they do other men, or than women interrupt men. I find this to be true. I also find young guys to often be quite full of themselves. It also seems like many law students are pretty full of themselves. Add all this together and young law student guys will sometimes make you want to beat them in the head with a fucking shoe. I wrote a little poem for them! It goes a little something like this:

Shall I beat you with a shoe?
Shall I beat you with some poo?
You do not know everything!
Shall I strangle you with string?
Will you stop your silly yap?
Will you stop, before I slap?
I know that you feel big and strong,
but shut up now, your ass is wrong!

anyway, it's coming along. The fact of the matter is that I have enough to explain to the bar so that I can't just go around hitting boys with shoes to enforce the idea that other people have a right to talk and that they just might, possibly, in a small, far away universe filled with unicorns and butter trees, be WRONG about something or that, god forbid, I might not give a flying fuck what they think - agh, blasphemy!

I have therefore developed a coping skill. I wait until an older guy is around and pass whatever I have to say through them, because older guy will say to younger guy "she's got a point." and younger guy will not interrupt older guy and will in some resentful fashion sabotaged by his own ego attempt to integrate older guy's advice. I just saw some cocky young shit get told by some impotent old grey haired guy on this stupid country show that's on because I am too lazy to reach for the remote - that his attitude was a problem and he needed get his head out of his ass and start listening to some advice. Of course, I paraphrase.

Bet the chick with the glittery outfit on beside him told him to say that.

Well, I'll put this little rant away since the only guy who I know reads this actually lets me finish a sentence. And if any other boys read this - haha, it's a blog and you didn't get to interrupt me!!