remnants

I've been watching the hurricane coverage for days now. I wasn't particularly interested until I found out that it wasn't going to hit New Orleans as much as it was going to hit Biloxi and Gulfport. I haven't been able to stop watching. This morning, without looking, I took a coffee mug down from the shelf that says "Biloxi Beach," where I lived for several years. I remember being fascinated by the history and beauty of Beauvoir; I remember the houses that lined the same street as Beauvoir - the old Southern mansions that are separated from the ocean by nothing more than 4 lanes of traffic. I remember the large pillars, and the house that had a huge palm tree growing right in the middle of the steps to the front door. I remember the playground where I had my first kiss, which was later graced by our initials written with one of those select-a-color pens. I remember my first two boyfriends. I remember all the drills we went through in school - there was a bell system for each one. A hurricane drill, tornado drill, train derailment drill, and I think the 4th was some sort of nuclear annihilation drill. I remember having to go to a hurricane shelter once. I remember preparing for all the tropical storms and even a tornado warning. I remember our neighbors and the other residents who always insisted that hurricanes were not going to be that bad, who never sought shelter, who were determined to remain in their homes. I remember that it never really was that bad. Some broken windows, some strewn debris.

I think about my old house, and the history of Beauvoir, and that palm tree bursting through the stairs of that mansion, and that playground with my initials, and I wonder how much of it is still standing.

Jack Balkin: Alive and Kicking: Why no one truly believes in a dead Constitution.

But there's a more important problem here: Non-originalist decisions that guarantee race and sex equality, that protect free speech and the rights of criminal defendants, and that give Congress power to protect the environment and secure equal civil rights are not unfortunate errors that we are just stuck with because of "reliance." They are some of our country's proudest achievements. There's something deeply wrong with a theory of constitutional interpretation that treats some of the key civil rights decisions of the 20th century as mistakes that we are stuck with. For if decisions like Brown, Loving, Craig v. Boren, and Griswold v. Connecticut are mistakes, we should read them as narrowly as possible and overturn them at the first opportunity. But that's not how Americans regard these decisions. They are evidence of our gradual progress as a nation. They are what make us a country conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all people are created equal.

the garbage heap that is my love life

I had a full 48 hours of drinking scheduled for the weekend; but after the first 7 hours, I was pretty much done for.

Friday night was a friend's going away party. I got dolled up and was definitely ready for a night on the town. I acessorized. There was makeup involved. And the sexy little black top was paired with jeans and some "I'm going to hate myself in the morning" shoes. I hadn't seen these friends in almost 8 months, and I was ready to make up for some lost time.

It was a lengthy trip to the bar via public transportation. For most of the walk and most of the ride, my eyes were locked with those of The Twin. He converses in a manner that makes you believe that you are the most fascinating and engaging person in the room. And he greeted me with a hug and a kiss. He is so very crush-worthy. Trust that I have crushed. It was a very pleasant way to start the evening.

We got to the bar a little after 7 pm. The party was kickin.' Hours of socialization ensue. One friend, whom I haven't spent significant time with in many years, appeared. We were so delighted that we embraced, we squealed, we kissed, we giggled, we hugged again, I nibbled his neck, he asked for more, and I told him we could make out later. He said, "WOTL, it's so great to see you again, and I like my handjobs nice and tight." I laughed my ass off. He then introduced me to his younger brother, who I met once when he was significantly shorter and a little nerdier. Now he's a senior in college, about 6'2", just getting back from 9 months in Australia, and is about 110 pounds.

I spent a lot of the beginning of the night drinking beer and catching up with a nother friend, not in the group of friends assembled, who then led me down the dangerous path of tequila shots. By the time we left the first bar, I: was $80 lighter, despite the fact I had purchased only half my drinks; was drunk almost to the point of blindness; had an extended cell phone conversation with the father of friend & little bro (who I do not know), during which the father told me that Little Bro was a really cool kid, I should hook up with him, and that Little Bro could definitely use a night with me; I informed Little Bro of this and Little Bro vowed never to speak to his father again; I engaged in relationship counseling with The Twin while secretly willing him to leave his girlfriend for me; I made friends with the boyfriend of a friend of a friend, who was later dumped by friend of a friend; continued to flirt with The Twin; had several friendly, "You Poor Thing You Don't Really Know Anyone" conversations with the Little Bro, who turned out to be pretty cool, and then stumbled to several more bars, the names and locations of which I have absolutely NO recollection.

From there, I lost an earring and a shoe; insisted that the Birthday Girl of the party walking behind me DID NOT LOOK 40 AT ALL (she didn't); broke up a fight because I am a public defender and I somehow, after 18 tequila shots, thought these two things were relevant factors to each other; then after saving that fight/marriage the wedding party was actually affirmatively insulting to me, so I screamed at the top of my lungs how much I hate Australians (I think they were. Maybe they were Scottish or something. Dunno.) and will never go there. So some other guy on the street found this to be a good time to come over and comfort me, which he did, and then Little Bro kindly steered me away from that. Then there were a few more bars, and me going back and forth between flirting with The Twin and flirting with the Little Bro. I vaulted a gate to catch the train, and on the way back home, as I was holding hands with the Little Bro, I leaned against a wall, pulled him to me, and kissed him.

After pizza, we finally found our way home. A few of us remained outside on the steps, talking under the stars. The conversations were of the deep and meaningful kind that only happen after a crazy night of partying, while still drunk, and in the stillness of the dead of the night. I said my goodnights and announced I was going up to bed. Little Bro stood up and said, "I'm going with you." Apparently, I was the only one who understood that this meant that we'd be sharing a bed - everyone else thought his intention was merely to retire for the night. I, on the other hand, knew differently, and thought that it was pretty hot that he announced it so smoothly, quietly, and confidently.

So that happened... but I'm not dirty enough to go all THAT far with a 22 year old kid that happens to be my friend's little brother. He is a cool kid, and cute, and it was nice to sleep in the arms of a guy. Even if he was born in 1983. *cringe*

The next day, I was exhausted and had a sour stomach all day, which led me to eat a large plate of diner food in the morning and not much for the rest of the day. After drinking lots of Coke at the BBQ, I finally just drank a few beers and voila! Hangover cured. How disturbing. Later that night, more drinks at another party ensued, and I was still exhausted but trying to remain standing. Little bro and I flirted, touched, insinuated... but by the end of the night, I realized he was doing the same with another girl, who happens to be cute, blonde, and the roommate of my friend/Little Bro's brother. And this is how it went. I slept alone, and he went home with her. NO FUCKING JOKE.

So if I had any dignity remaining by Saturday morning after making out with Little Bro, that shred was eviscerated when I was then bounced for another woman. It's not necessarily an ego hit that we didn't make out again - it was an ego hit that everyone KNEW we had the night before, and then he was mackin' on some other chick. And trust me when I say, he's not nearly that smooth. So I danced with one guy who told me he had been watching me all night, which was fine until he sat down and wanted me to give him a lap dance in the middle of the bar and kept trying to put his face in my bosom; another guy came over to dance with my female friend and I, and when she asked (not so nicely) "Do I know you?" he patted her on the back, kissed my shoulder (kissed my shoulder? WTF?), and left.

During all of this, another guy with whom I've been friends for, oh, 6 years now? kept grabbing my rear end, asking me to grab his, kissing me, trying to convince me that we should hook up, etc etc.

Long before everyone else was ready to call it quits, I looked around and realized that everyone else was really, genuinely having a good time, and I was most definitely not. About an hour and a half later, I finally decided to make my way home by myself. It's best to cut one's losses at that point. No more ass-grabbing, bosom-burying, barely adolescent men for me.

While there were some casualties of the weekend (like my lost / broken jewelry, dignity) it was overall a great time with friends. It also made me wonder how and where in the world I'll ever find a man worth dating.

P.S. Can someone teach me how to cut text behind a link in an entry? You know, where I can put in a 'continue reading' link so my entries don't always take up an entire page?

dial-up internet and a non-compliant mouse has caused me to miss all things related to news.  Dahlia also had a great article on John Roberts here

Constitution: Dead or Alive?

I love it when legal arguments have me humming Bon Jovi. And Kiefer was a total hottie in young guns 2. Dahlia, my favoritest ever, is doing a series on why, or whether, the Living Constitution idea is dead, and invited reader input. Some interesting thoughts being bantered about. Definitely check it out here and here.

The Woman, She is Officially Employed.

And the world rejoiced.

today was a good day

I am as tan as I have ever been. I believe the words to describe me are "bronze goddess." Those are the words I use, anyway.

I FINALLY found a Tim Wakefield t-shirt, so now I can end the "I refuse to by any Red Sox t-shirt until I buy a Tim Wakefield shirt" strike. No joke, I owned ZERO Sox tees for that reason. (Well, ok, I had one long-sleeve World Champions shirt. But it was a gift, and I love it.)

I joined a gym for their 30 day free trial. Perhaps I will soon feel less squishy.

Not so good, actually annoying but now amusing? The optical mouse attached to my mother's computer has decided that it only works in alternate five minute intervals, which has certainly hindered my websurfing time. I just discovered that picking the mouse up about 8 inches from the mousepad and dropping it several times helps it work again. How fun.

Need reading and listening recommendations. Apparently NONE of the drug stores around here carry the Economist, which is like crack to me. I just finished "Sammy's Hill" and "Angels and Demons." Both excellent beach books. There are several pages in Angels and Demons that make me believe it could be a religion, and would be a religion I enjoyed. The new Scientology! Move over, L. Ron Hubbard. When I get a better mouse and better internet, I'll search inside the book and pull out the excerpts that struck me in more of a spiritual manner, rather than a sunshine and cocoa butter manner.

breathe in, breathe out

Step 1: Notify sponsor of intent to withdraw fellowship app.

That's what I did today. And then hours later, I received the bittersweet response, regarding the missed opportunity for such an innovative project and a missed opportunity to bring me to their office. The sentiment was appreciated, but of course, it upset me like I knew it would, and I've spent a good part of the afternoon wallowing on the couch with the depressing music on my iPod. I nurtured this, I brought it to life. Then I abandoned it. I feel guilty, like I abandoned the attorneys and the clients. I need a moment to mourn the loss of this very specific dream, and to shake off some of this guilt.

Step 2: Notify funding agency of withdrawal.

Check. Hopefully their response will not inspire the same reaction.

But for the past few weeks, I've slowly been prepping. I've steeled myself to make this decision. Making a decision either way was going to result in a loss in some form, so neither option was easier to accept than the other.

Now I have to go accept the other position. As my mother pointed out, it's generally wiser to accept one before withdrawing from the other. But part of me hoped that they could offer me something at the last minute, some sort of guaranteed employment, that would allow me to continue to pursue the withdrawn project. Something, anything, to make this decision easier. It didn't happen. But hey, life is full of difficult decisions. And I've made mine. I'm paralyzed with terror that I could have made the wrong decision - again, I think either decision would have left me feeling that way. But the decision has been made, and now I have to go forward accepting that either decision could also be the right one. It's time to look at why I'm the luckiest SOB for having a choice at all between two dream jobs.

Well hell. I'm going to be a public defender! It's about time. I have to get that acceptance letter out ASAP...

to the batcave!

I threw out my batsignal yesterday. After days of avoiding friends' phone calls and emails, I sent out a mass email, my batsignal. I told them about the job offer I received. I told them I was going to take it, except that I had some hesitation. I laid out my choices and told them why I was going to make this choice, and why I was hesitant. And I begged. What should I do?

And they all responded. It wasn't the answers to the questions I posed that really got to me. It was the feedback and the thoughtful responses, not the answers, that just leveled me. Seriously, they are the most incredible group of people ever assembled. These responses have singlehandedly shot my confidence in accepting this job from 80% up to 94%.

I use this blog to write about me, and to avoid problems in my personal life, I avoid writing about my friends. And it's a crying shame, because they are such incredible people. I think I'm going to have to lift the ban on writing about others. It's going to take tricky filtering, to make sure that the only stuff that gets on here is stuff that I'm 100% sure will not reveal or bother the people about whom I write; nevertheless, it has to be done. These people are too wonderful not to share with the world.

on music: a confession

I am whatever the exact opposite pole of "music snob" is. If I know what's hot, it's from my 18 year old sister. I only own a handful of CDs, and generally don't listen to much more than what is on the radio or what I overhear someone else playing. (Luckily I hang out with people who have their finger on the pulse of cool music).

Thus, my iPod dilemma. Having an iPod is only as good as your music selection. I never, ever bought music, although loved the mp3 craze. Imagine how terrible my iPod is. I have an Ace of Base CD, the soundtrack to Aladdin, an old Janet Jackson -these are all from when I was in junior high. And still they remain in my CD holder. If any guy ever tried to draw conclusions about me from my CD collection, he'd probably conclude that I'm a fantastic freak, and he'd be right. Anyway... my iPod shit the bed, so I lost all the great music I had bought or snarked from other people and now have to redo it all. All (12 of) my CDs are in storage now, so I'm at the mercy of other people's CD collections at this point.

I can't figure out which is more amusing - the fact that my dad has 3 Guns N Roses CDs, or the fact that I just uploaded all of them.

P.S. I watched the "Wild N Out" episode with Kanye - loved it. Then, right after that, it was supposed to be Pimp My Ride, which I also love, but it was an interview of Kanye by my very fave MTV personality Sway.

kanye

calls for an end to gay bashing
I've never seen the show, but there is some show on MTV tonight that is going to have rappers heckling Kanye. One asks him to make a song without a sample, and my ears perked up. Yes! Please! So I'm going to watch it tonight. I do adore Kanye.

more about what's next

We were frightened of being left alone for the rest of our lives. Only people of a certain disposition are frightened of being alone for the rest of their lives at the age of 26, and we were of that disposition. - High Fidelity

I promised another part to this entry, on Friends. I wrote an entry, but I'm not going to post it. It's a little too personal, and I really try to keep this blog generic. Besides, I'm trying to remain anonymous, and it's become ridiculous trying to blog about these things while cloaking my whereabouts.

Generally speaking, though, as I'm trying to make a decision about where I go next, I've been considering where my communities are. I want to find a community in which I can continue to grow as a person. I'm not ready to stop figuring things out. I'm not ready to stop stumbling over challenges or insecurities. I'm not ready to stop reaching out and slowly examining the edges of what's comfortable to me. On the other hand, I'm ready to stop making big mistakes. I'm ready to stop doing things for the purposes of status, or because I think such status is expected of me. I'm ready to stop doing things because everyone else is. I'm ready to accept that a lot of the things I need to lead a happy life are things I already have.

In my home community, I have a lot of friends from high school with whom I'm still close, and I still love dearly. But it's no longer my community. I'm not ready to join it. They're married, they own houses, they have jobs, they have kids. The other night, I saw two of my closest girlfriends from high school. As we walked through a store, one mentioned that she and her husband have talked about having kids, and that maybe in the next year, they were going to start trying. She had some concerns about how that will impact the type of life that she and her husband want to lead, and that concern remains unresolved. She said exasperated, "But I mean, I want to have kids before I'm 30!"

Oooof.

I love coming home and visiting, and catching up, and I love love love love the kiddos. The two kiddos who have sprung forth from the loins of my pal since 7th grade are the cutest darn kids ever, and I had several pictures of them that I had posted during my bar studying. BarBri recommends putting a picture of someone who is really super smart and failed the bar, or a picture of someone who is really dumb that passed. I think that cutting pictures out of the facebook of people I don't know but only hear about in law school lore is fucking crazy. But putting pictures of the two most wonderful tykes in the whole world on my desk reminded me that there are so many wonderful, amazing, heart-filling things out there in the world, and none of them have anything to do with whether or not I know what a Totten trust is. It reminded me that there was just one other thing in all of my life that I wanted to do besides be a public defender. I want to raise a family.

But I'm not there yet, and I don't know when I will be. Kids by the age of 30 is definitely not happening for me, although I thought it would. Now I'm just hoping for marriage by 34, kids by 37. Right now those are my set limits. But when I hit 34 and I'm still not married, I'm sure they will go up again.

So I have to go where I think I will meet people I like. I want to go somewhere I think I could stay for a while. Unfortunately, the remaining two cities of the three cities I'm considering each embody one of these. There's one city that I think will be a place I'd stay. Stay, and not leave. What a novel idea. There's another city where my law school friends will be, and those are the people in my life who right now are the people most suited to being my community. Most of my friends are single, a few are cohabitating with their significant others, and all of them are starting their career right now. I think they're the greatest group of people ever assembled in one place, and why the hell would I leave that now? And while I don't see myself living there forever, it would be silly to think that being in a place where I would not be happy or feel comfortable would lead me on the path to a pleasant future, just because it looks like what I want my future to look like.

And of course, that deep rooted, skittish fear that I will never get married rears its ugly head, and fuck. Is there any wonder? I'm a raging freak and clearly am in need of a Prozac drip.

The Washington Post on choosing an administrator for the DC jail.

MD closes secure youth facility due to abhorrent conditions. Solution? Ship them to Idaho. Ugh. Such a freakin' DISASTER.

musings

1. Porn with the significant other - Do or Don't? Different from the ones already stashed in your closet? How does one implement such a plan?

2. I found out today that a good friend, who happens to be an old ex, lies to his girlfriend when he hangs out with me. Discuss.

3. Sitemeter's slogan: doing what we can to assist internet stalkers, one longitudinal degree at a time.

I think I'm in love.

I had to rent a truck today to move a mattress from one temporary storage area to another. I got a Dodge Ram 1500 Quad Cab SLT. I've always wanted a truck, a beat up white Chevy in which I could ramble down country roads in the summer with the windows open and the radio blaring. But my oh my, this truck stole my heart. I believe it is the largest truck on four wheels, and I did 80 on the highway and weaved in and out of traffic in the big city, no problem. I slowed down once I had the mattress perilously strapped into the back, but now that the mattress is unloaded, I have some driving to do. After all, I have my love until tomorrow at 11 a.m.

Bad.ass.

home sweet home

I am house-sitting this week for two houses, one of which includes a hot tub and pool. SWEET. I am big pimpin.' Which is to say, totally lame. I will swim when and if I can find my bathing suit (it seems I lost it between here and Lake Michigan) and will spend the rest of the time watching DVDs, baseball, and drinking coffee/beer/wine while eating the awesome food stocked in someone else's fridge. This is the life, my friends.

In the 36 hours I've been home, I've:
- gone to the mall TWICE
- gone grocery shopping with Mom (it doesn't get any more fun with age)
- received an offer from my younger brother to be set up with a guy he described as "definitely not your type"
- been subjected to what I thought was a party, so I brought my kickass artichoke & spinach dip, but ended up being a guy's night, so I was then subjected to watching a poker game and a few porn flicks
- received the requisite, "Do you have a job? A boyfriend? When was the last time you got laid?" questions (The answers are no, no, and way too long ago)

Blonde Justice linked to a really good post about a late-night lineup.

The last two weeks have been rough. In one 10-day period, I took the bar, packed and moved out of the house I’ve lived in for two years, moved all of my worldly belongings into a storage unit, had a job opportunity suddenly and without warning nearly disappear, then reappear again, had my car vandalized, moved back in with my mother, and flew to a wedding and vacation, and reluctantly returned.

Where to begin?

Let’s just go by topic.

The Job

Next: The Friends

I've lost that lovin' feeling.

First, the job. Or the lack thereof. I don’t even know how to begin to explain what has happened with the job search. To refresh: there are two job opportunities I’m currently pursuing. One is a job that I’m creating; the other is a job I was assured I’d get. The Friday after the bar, while I was moving out of my house and about to leave the town I’ve called home for the past three years, I received news that there was a possibility that there were fundamental differences of opinion about the job I was working to create. This was quite unexpected, and if any shred of my sanity was intact at that point, it was thereafter razed. I did not respond to this news, but instead took a few deep breaths, and only a few moments later I was on the phone to the job I was assured I would get. I left a message, inquiring as to when I should expect to hear from them officially, since I was long ago assured an offer? Since that time, I’ve lost any feelings I’ve had about each job. I’m no longer capable of feeling attached to the job I created, nor am I able to feel excited or happy about either job opportunity. My senses have been dulled by what has now been a year-long process, and that Friday was the last shred of my own sense of self in this process. Since that time, I have only been capable of looking at this all with a cold feeling of economics and the muted desire to escape this reeling madness.

And then, out of the blue, a third opportunity reappeared. This organization has sought me out three times now for a job. And every time, I assure them I’m still very interested. And then I follow up, and my contacts go unreturned. And then months later, I hear from them again, same inquiry, same reassurance from me, and same silence from them. When I heard they had offered my friend a job, a job I wanted so very badly and a job I knew he would not take, it made me ill. So this time, yet again, I assure them I’m interested, but this time it is without feeling. I don’t care. I don’t care if they hire me tomorrow or if I never speak to them again. For now, I will neither be happy nor disappointed.

The job to be created was restored back to its original level of uncertainty, and I still have yet to hear back from the other job. I will follow up again, but I sense the answer cannot be good. Some moments, I care very little about what result that follow-up phone call will bring – any result is result enough. Other moments, I frantically cling to the hope that this madness was not all in my head; that when they said I would have the job, they weren’t lying. Because if that wisp of certainty were to fade away, I would really and truly be homeless and unemployed.

I’m not taking time off now because I don’t know what I want to do, or because I need to do some soul-searching. I’m so proud of what I’ve done. There is no doubt in my mind that law school was the right choice, and that the law school I chose was perfect. I have not one regret about my three years, and I wouldn’t do anything differently. I’ve worked hard and learned a lot. I know what I want to do; I’d go almost anywhere to be able to do it. I’ve put all my effort into being able to do it. I know that public sector work can take a little while. I’ve worked long and hard and in return, have asked for nothing more than a job that I will love.

And for all that work, I have nothing to show. For all of my effort, and my education, and my debt, I’m starting to fear that this is what failure looks like. That fear is what paralyzes me and it inhibits my ability to interact with anyone. The moments when That Fear creeps up into my gut also wraps a tight fist around my heart, makes my eyes sting, my stomach shrink, and my head fill with a throbbing pain. At those moments, which arrive at any time, in any place, and with no warning, I know that my face changes, and the curtain of confidence drops, revealing a sullen or scowling look. I feel the angry tears come to my eyes but know that those tears won’t drop – I know that they stay, pooled and burning, in my eyes.

Several times a day for the past few months, and especially in the past few weeks, I’ve had to field questions about what the future holds for me. Every time the question is asked of me, I get the same feeling as when I see the check engine light come on. I get tense, and anxious, and I’m afraid that my world will come crashing down around my ears, and please oh please sweet Lord, I’m not asking for much, not even A/C or power locks or a radio that can scan both up and down the channels, but just get me to where I need to be next. Please, just get me there, or at least to a gas station or a place with cell phone reception.

I want other people to know that I believe in what I’m doing and that I’ve foregone other opportunities because I believe so strongly in what I’m doing. Except it gets harder and harder to put on a tired smile and explain, yet again, that I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m hardly in a position to convince someone else if I am no longer convinced myself. No, I don’t know where I’m going. Where I’m moving. What I’ll be doing next. Yeah, I took that state’s bar. I don’t know exactly what that means for my job process, but I do know that these other states will hire me if I’m barred in that state. I don’t know where I’d rather be. Let’s talk about you now.

The day that I left LawSchoolTown was one of the worst. My departure had been delayed by several days because of the aforementioned Friday News, and the necessary work that went into restoring that opportunity to its original level of uncertainty. As my last ounce of energy had been sapped by the Friday News, it took an extraordinary amount of borrowed energy to diligently work things out in the subsequent days. I had to forego a day trip on my way back home, to a destination that I had so desperately wanted to see, and know that I will not have the opportunity to see again. Then, on Wednesday morning, I went to my car and found the words “FUCK U” carved into my trunk in large letters. At first, I didn’t care; I was more concerned about the more vulgar language on my friend’s car, and how he would react. I was afraid that he’d be much more upset. Since I’d had a dream that my car had been broken into and all my belongings stolen the night before, I was just relieved that my car was intact.

But as I embarked upon my several hour drive, my misery deepened. I was leaving my town and my community on an anticlimactic note, to say the least. I had to whittle the importance of my life to three suitcases. I was heading towards an uncertain future that, for the immediate present, is an indefinite stay at my mother’s house. I have an extreme amount of debt that I cannot even begin to repay, despite the monthly loan bills that have come due. My check engine light came on every 15 minutes for many, many hours. And to top it all off, I was driving around with vulgar, billboard sized words carved into my car. I can’t afford to get it fixed because I’m broke and homeless. I’m broke and homeless because, more than anything in the world, I feel compelled to tirelessly advocate on behalf of the assholes who decided to senselessly vandalize my car.

And then my landlord informed me I wasn’t getting my deposit back because the new tenants whined that the ceilings were dirty.

And they wouldn’t let me on the plane because they informed me that I had been on the previous plane to that destination, and despite the fact that I missed my connection because this airline is utterly incompetent and eternally late, apparently I had managed to both get on the previous plane and miss it.

And then they lost my luggage.

Those angry tears sprung to my eyes again. I want someone to acknowledge that this is an inhuman amount of stress. I took the bar and moved, all while juggling job bullshit, I have no place to live and no money, my car is a total piece of shit that I cannot afford to fix or replace, and now I’m driving around with the words “FUCK U” on it. The bar exam itself is enough to drive one person mad – and yet, the bar exam was the least stressful event of the past few weeks, if that’s any indication of how horrid my life is. I do not want pity or coddling. I want someone to see not weakness but strength in my angry burning tears. I want someone to acknowledge that my dedication to this population of clients is so strong that I have given absolutely everything, and have accepted every conceivable burden, and that what I’ve done is incredibly, incredibly difficult – much more difficult than any comparable pursuit of employment. I honestly, truly, plainly, and sincerely have absolutely nothing more to give. Maybe the vandalism on my car really does express my sentiments. Fuck you too.

to blog or not to blog?

I just graduated from law school. I loved it. I had great friends, a really good educational experience, and discovered a passion for public defender work. As a result, I'm now really fucking broke and unemployed.

Well folks, I'll be transient indefinitely, and I'm unsure what my internet access will be. I love to blog, but it's clear I've had nothing to say for at least a few months now anyway. So, there's a chance you won't be hearing from me for a while. There's also a chance that I'll be posting hourly out of pure boredom. Just wanted to say, Woman of the Law is still here, although wishing she were "Woman of a Different Career Field" right now (is it too late to be a teacher?) and the headline, "I ain't passed the bar" still holds true. Here's to moving back in with your parents. God help us.

Moving Sucks.

I'm going to miss this place.

Bar Exam 2005: Some observations

1. The first day, I had to check to make sure I was wearing underwear on the way over there. Fortunately, I was. Unfortunately, it seems that I had forgotten to wear deodorant. Luckily...

2. The room was no warmer than 40 degrees. I had to wrap my feet and ankles in a friend's fleece and shivered in my light zip-up sweatshirt.

3. During an essay portion, it got so intense that I was, and I'm absolutely not exaggerating, unable to spell correctly or use the correct words for what I was trying to say. There are several words that just do not exist in the English language that are in my essays.

4. A friend had to explain this ordeal to her parents, and this is how she described it. "It's as though someone told you that you have two months to memorize the phone book of a large city. Except for each line, you need to reference 10 other books in order to understand all of the information. And then, they test you on such things as the John Smith who lives on Merry St. and the John Smith who lives on Cherry St. Except it's like the question is in Spanish." To which another friend added, "And like you have dyslexia."

5. Earplugs are best used not IN the exam, but in the breaks, when there are actually people who talk about the questions and what the right answers are. I didn't think these people actually existed, but they do. Fuckers.

6. We came home to no gas, which meant no hot water, and were told we wouldn't get it turned on until August 1. At which point I got much less cordial and much more argumentative. See #1 above.

7. THANK GOD IT'S OVER.

one last time

Going about my business today, I was confronted with the fact that there are people that I will never see again. Really close friends who have departed for their respective bar exams and aren't coming back, people I've had in my life every single day for the past three years - today was the day of departure. I haven't said goodbye to anyone; it's always been, "I'll see you soon," and not in a cheezy way - but as a firm and definite statement that we both accept to be true but is most certainly false. But it's the best I can do right now. Graduation was bittersweet - it was a lot of fun, and sad to say goodbye to some. Now the rest of us are leaving, and there's no fanfare or solid goodbye moment; it's just a trickling, limping end to a time of my life that has been by far the most rewarding. I will never find a community like this again.

A dutiful fan forwarded me a picture that I thought was particularly on point for all of us bar schmucks. Good luck to all; we'll all make it through, and then the question becomes, "What next?" I look forward to being able to answer that question.

why i'm a bad person

i did about 3 hours of work today, and finally gave up and came home to
take the afternoon off. I just beat the rain, had some nachos, and sat
down to read this month's Maxim (which smells terrible) and watch an
afternoon of "That 70s House" on MTV. My roommates have been getting
wonderful gifts from their firm, or their parents, like cakes and
postcards and cookies, and I've gotten nothing at all which normally
wouldn't bother me except I'm incredibly fragile at this very second, and
the job thing has started to make me physically ill, and I can't read
another barbri book for another goddamn moment, and I actually don't have
transportation to the bar even, and the bar exam is just DAYS away... but
I just needed to relax, and then right after I got home, the sky opened
up, and for a moment everything stopped, and it just rained and rained and
rained, and then the moment passed, and the roofers next door started
banging 3 feet outside the window, and one of their cell phone's keeps
going off, loudly, over and over again over the banging, "Dee deet DEET
DEET DEET, Dee deet DEET DEET DEET," and I just can't take another moment
of knowing that the bar exam still hasn't happened yet, and that I'm not
ready for it to happen but at the same time I am SO READY and what the
fuck with this whole job thing? and please STOP THAT FUCKING BANGING IN
MY GODDAMN LIVING ROOM AND TURN OFF YOUR FUCKING CELL PHONE and if I weren't rendered 100% completely and totally numb by the stress, I think I'd be sobbing in my bed right now.

and I know everyone in Internet Land thinks I'm a total fucking psycho,
which is pretty true, except to everyone else in the world, it looks like
I totally have my shit together.

update: and right after this post, I did go to my bed, and cried so hard I couldn't breathe, and then just laid there for about another hour with my chest still feeling really clenched, and I would probably still be there if my roommate hadn't come home and come up to my room to say hi, and I'm so glad she did, and I'm back to feeling like I'm the luckiest person in the world to be surrounded by so many good people. Thanks for your kind words.

MA has increased assigned counsel rates but in the same bill, cut the max hours that attorneys can work on these cases. I'm not quite sure what the point of that is. As one attorney says in the article, the Legislature is sending the message that it's bad to do this kind of work. Massachusetts needs to get its act together already.

nyc subway searches

I know I'm studying for the bar, and presumably I should know the answer
to this, but: can they do that? Randomly search people as they enter the
subway system? People are "free to leave" and not submit to a search, but
that seems hollow, particularly in NYC. Can this be distinguished from,
say, searches at the airport?

hang a star on THIS, asshole

The title of the post is in reference to a BarBri lecturer that some of
you will recall (the Yellow Magic Marker moment guy). I actually have no
problem with him, per se. I like his voice and his mannerisms, and he
gives a great outline and tells you to look at nothing else but that
outline after class. That's helpful - a finite body of information. My
complaint was that he then spent the class reading us the outline, which
inevitably caused me to tune out. So BarBri guy - my ire is not directed
at you, because I like you. You just had such neat little catch phrases
that I'm now going to adopt for my own disgruntled purposes.

Tangent - a lot of people are getting to this site by searching for
"barbri" "why barbri sucks" "fuck barbri" etc. I have to say, there is
absolutely no way I, myself, could have done this without Barbri. They
have a little schedule planned out, it's all quite organized, you know
well in advance what you're supposed to do and when. Being as anal as I
am, I like this type of structure. That's not to say that I followed it -
I'm pretty sure it's impossible in the amount of time allotted. But they
give you what you need to do well, and it's up to you to do something with
it. So, right now, before I fail the bar, I will say, I'm not
particularly unhappy with BarBri.

Anyway.

I have bags under my eyes. I have wrinkles. I'm up to one pot of coffee
in the morning, and down to 6 hours of sleep at night (which for me is the
absolute bare minimum necessary for functioning). My workouts have shrunk
to about 30-40 minutes, 4 days a week. However, my errands are getting
done in a remarkably timely manner, mostly because it's a good break from
studying. It helps me clear my head, gets me out of my chair, and makes
me feel like I've accomplished something. Look! Clean laundry. Look!
Dishes are done. Look! I just paid my bills. Look! I just ate an
entire bag of lime tortilla chips. And I still can't remember for the
life of me what the fuck the test is for applying which state's law in
which type of case. Domiciled in Guam, residence in California, defendant
in Wisconsin, excellent cheesesteaks in Philly, Red Sox are in Chicago,
accident happened during the in-flight movie somewhere over Nebraska,
apply the law of Tijuana. Whatever.

And the job thing - ugh. I keep getting phone calls from one job's area
code, and then I get all excited, because I'm convinced that since they
promised to offer me a job back in March, they're actually going to follow
through with that promise. Now that it's July, I'm starting to think that
I'm wrong. But anyway, I keep getting phone calls, and I get all excited,
and then I check the voicemail, and it's BarBri just calling to make sure
I'm ok, see how things are going, wish me good luck on the bar. STOP
CALLING ME, because you're getting me all worked up over nothing. After
I'm disappointed that it's just BarBri, I start worrying about the job
thing again, instead of worrying about the fact that I will never be a
licensed attorney, and that maybe law school was a horrid mistake anyway.

Move over Beauty and the Geek. I've often said that law school would make
a fascinating and ridiculous FOX reality TV show, and I still maintain
that's the case. You'd have to edit out a LOT of dead time over bar
review, but there are those priceless moments that just illuminate the
absurd intensity and coping mechanisms of people studying for the bar,
that I think would make for great entertainment. I myself refuse to speak
to anyone during the day, and to enforce that, I've started walking around
with my iPod on. I'm all like, "oops, sorry can't talk, I would totally
but I have headphones on. maybe next time?" I've also started taking the
rarely-used stairwells in the law school, and plan out my route from point
a to point b to afford as little interaction as possible with other
humans. I've found a little hidden area to do studying, and I'm camped
out there all day, only emerging to pee and eat. And surf the net.

Time to retreat back underground.

lady in red

"You are a hot woman.  You look great in red.  Stop bye [sic] sometime." [is the [sic] supposed to come before or after the misspelling?]

So I found that sign on the front of my house at 6:15 this morning on my way to the gym.  I was bewildered.

When I tried to remove it when I came back, I realized that someone had GLUED it to the wood underneath the mailbox.  Not in the mailbox, not clipped to the mailbox like we do with our mail, not left discreetly in an envelope on the porch - no.  GLUED to the front of our house like a billboard.  Second snarky comment: is the helpfulness of the arrow pointing next door. Oh, I see.  You live that way.  Real fucking helpful buddy.  Thanks for the arrow.  Third snarky comment - um, clearly I'm hot and look good in red.  But there are THREE hot girls who look good in red that live in this house.  So which one of us is supposed to follow the arrow 'that way' to find you, Prince Charming of Elmer's Glue?

 

None of us were wearing red yesterday.  Two of us were wearing pink. One of us ran into one of the neighbors in town twice yesterday.  One of us has run into another neighbor a few times in the morning.  Another one of us thinks it's another, really sketchy neighbor, because who else glues a sign like that to the front of your house? 

 

I suppose the nice thing about a letter like this is that each of us can be secretly convinced that it's for us.  Dear Secret Admirer:  You totally made my day.  So thanks.  But please don't be a creepy stalker or the person who always steals our recycling from our porch.  I will shoot you point-blank if I see you looking in my windows.

 

As an aside, I would like to mention that I heretofore believed that 'secure transactions' were what happened when you order something online, and that little lock icon thing appears to let you know it's safe to put in your credit card info.  I'm in the midst of figuring out exactly how wrong I was.

make it end

THIS SO FUCKING SUCKS.

I would rather be in combat.  As I see it, at least my body is fallible, and mortal.  I know when I jump into the middle of a circle of snipers, throw my arms out, and yell, "I'm heeeeeere!" the risks are known and concrete, and what I'm capable of contributing is definite and finite.

Cf., the bar exam.  I have knowledge.  I have some knowledge.  I have a decent amount of knowledge.  I need more of it.  I'm not sure how much more of it.  The knowledge that I do have doesn't always make sense - what I have in my head isn't always pieced together correctly.  Or, if it is pieced together correctly, it doesn't quite fit with the multiple choice answers I have available in front of me.  (DIE, TORTS, DIE!)  I'm not sure what I'm going to be capable of giving, but it's not finite - there's always more information or more analysis that could be crammed into my head, if I could just get it in there.  I feel no definite boundaries, no sense of, "Ok, here I am, here is where I am safe, and over there is where I am not."  I don't know if I currently know enough, I don't know if I will ever know enough, but I sure as hell know that I'd rather be dodging physical bullets, because at least those are tangible.  And the worst that happens?  You die.  Worst that happens if you fail the bar?  You live for 2-3 agonizing months wondering if you failed the bar, then you find out that you DID fail the bar, and you have to live in constant, tortured agony of 1. having failed the bar, 2. having to tell people you failed the bar, 3. paying off your law school debt while not being able to work as an attorney, and most of all 4. HAVING TO DO IT ALL AGAIN.

I need a hug.  Preferably a big, naked hug.  Involving tequila.  And maybe a cowboy hat.

eeeee!

How is a girl supposed to study when Tim Wakefield is pitching tonight?  Swoon.

Least favorite Yankee:  Gary Sheffield.  I very, very strongly dislike him.  Ass.
Most favorite Yankee:  Tino Martinez.

Least favorite Red Sox player:  David Wells. 
Most favorite:  Pretty much all the rest, but love in the Biblical sense, Tim Wakefield.

Wait.  Did Al Leiter, brand new again Yankee (3-7) just strike out Johnny D?  Damn.

quite right.

You Are an Espresso

At your best, you are: straight shooting, ambitious, and energetic At your worst, you are: anxious and high strung You drink coffee when: anytime you're not sleeping Your caffeine addiction level: high

What Kind of Coffee Are You?

that can't be right.

Those are the words written in the margins of one of my barbri handouts. I didn't think about the phrase that prompted this response while I was writing it down, but when my friend to my left pointed it out, I realized it's times like this that illuminate why lawyers are fucked up.

I had written, "valid trust as long as W had a vasectomy."

It is, indeed, correct.

I told my partner in crime that the reason why he didn't understand future interests and the Rule Against Perpetuities is because the "life in being" that he drew on his outline was ugly. He was busy jazzing up his stick figure with a baseball hat, a gun, and a beer when the discussion of vasectomies ensued.

Tell me I'm pretty

One of my friends used to say it jokingly. "Tell me I'm pretty," she'd say, either imploringly or while striking a ridiculous pose, when she was having a bad day or feeling silly and wearing an outrageous outfit or just feeling unloved. I've adopted the line as my own. I used the same line on the administrative assistant when I was a social worker having a bad day. When I'm feeling particularly lost, helpless, stupid, or vulnerable, that's what I think to myself. It doesn't work so well with the law school crowd. One of the essential circumstances of the "tell me I'm pretty" line is having the correct response, which is something equally silly like drawling, "You are a pretty pretty princess" or prancing around the room with the utteror of the statement.

I emailed my boss from this past summer in regards to my fellowship, since the proposal is based on my summer job, and I also need her to write me a letter of nomination. I asked her whether she thought I should continue to go forward with this. I wrote her sometime last week, when I was feeling particularly helpless and rejected. I got an email back from her today that was exactly what I needed to hear - why the project is useful, I should totally do it, she'd be glad to write the letter, and she also raved and raved about me to the other job. I was so happy to get her email and I could so accurately picture her very boisterous throaty voice and Irish-American energy emanating from the email that I started to get all teary. It's one of those things where you feel like you just want to cry to your mom, except you know your mom always pisses you off, so crying to a maternal supervisory figure is so much better?

Tell me I'm pretty.

As an aside, this post from This Fish Needs a Bicycle got me particularly choked up. She hit it, dead on.

changed my mind

I'm not sure I want the fellowship anymore. I think I want the other job.

movie review: "Crash"

Perhaps this isn't so much a review as it is a reflection on the issues the movie illuminates. I struggle to be articulate and insightful about these sorts of things, so I apologize in advance for the jumbled and incoherent nature. It's also really hard to discuss without summarizing a lot of it, which is both complicated and a killjoy to those who have not seen it.

"Crash" is Sandra Bullock's new movie and it has LUDACRIS in it. I cannot tell you how much that influenced by desire to see this movie.

The movie tracks five or six people in L.A. and how their lives are unknowingly intertwined by racism. The first half of the movie develops each character, so you have a frame of reference. The second half of the movie is the culmination and resolution of each storyline. During the first half of the movie, I kept thinking that it would be so much more powerful if the racism was more subtle. Sandra Bullock's character makes derisive statements about the amigo gangbanger who is changing her locks. (By the way, Brendan Frasier is Sandra's husband in the movie, and he plays a very wealthy D.A. You should see their house! Who knew criminal law could be so lucrative?) Ludacris and his buddy talk about not getting service in a restaurant. Don Cheadle tells his mom when she calls mid-coitus that he's banging a white woman. Don says to the now-angry woman, "I would have told her you were Mexican, but I wanted to piss her off." Then the woman informs Don that her parents are from Puerto Rico and El Salvador, which is not Mexico. To which Don replies something along the lines of, "And how is it that these wonderfully diverse cultures all get together and agree to keep junked cars on their lawn?" The great thing about this movie is that the bad guys have good moments, and the good guys have bad moments, so no one is without blame.

So for the most part, the racism is quite blatant, which I don't think is ever really an opportunity to learn. Everyone can walk away thinking "THAT is racism, and I don't say or do those things, and thus I am not racist." The racial undertones that are more subtle are the ones that give cause for reflection. Ryan Phillipe's character has to watch Matt Dillon harass an African-American couple and tries to make up for it later - you see him stick his neck out a few times on behalf of African-American characters but the movie, by the end, gives you something to think about in regards to what racism means. Don Cheadle, a detective in the movie, has to decide whether the theory of the case is that the white guy (cop) has shot his third black man (also a cop), or that the white guy really was acting in self-defense. The lead investigator or D.A. (I couldn't figure it out, but he had a badge anyway) was white and wanted to go forward with the "White man killing three black men" routine, but Don wasn't sure that was the story. The investigator then went off on a politically correct rant about the black community, and the struggles they face, and why things are the way they are, etc. I'm sure at some point we've all said those things. But the kicker is that Don Cheadle, as a black man, has to decide whether (as the white investigator said) the black community needs another dead black man, or a hero killed tragically as a result of racism? I think it's interesting to see how Don Cheadle's character has to resolve this obvious racism issue within a subtle racially motivated framework - that is, the white guy wanting to save the black people using racist (or what some would call reverse-racist) beliefs, and how Don Cheadle has to choose his evils between accepting the white investigator's theory of the case or pursuing what he thinks is the actual turn of events.

If nothing else, it showed how truly shitty police officers (Matt Dillon was a BAD cop but in the end redeems himself, hmph) and D.A.s can be if they want to. There was nary a public defender to be seen, but I'd like to think it's because the movie didn't want to besmirch the wonderful reputation of public defenders. And Ludacris was really good. He had the best rants. I can't say much more without giving away some fun points in the movie, so I won't.

It got me thinking a lot about some of the things we discussed in my critical race theory class, and the role that public defenders play in an inherently racist legal system. I know that there are plenty of people who think that critical race theory, feminist jurisprudence, and the like are just trashy pop-culture politically-correct bullshit classes. I find it to be quite useful as a technique to take another look at what we're doing. We've been taught law in a particular manner, and as such we've adopted this as the objectively correct approach. I think it's instructive to take that lens off from time to time and use a different lens to look at the same picture, and see what sorts of things it turns up. I won't argue that everyone needs to accept these doctrines as absolute truths - you're all smart enough to sincerely study these approaches and draw your own conclusions. But there is not much to be gained by refusing to acknowledge that there are different ways to approach a problem, or a profession.

In the end it's pretty much all resolved, which is good, because if the outcome was all violence and evil and bad shitty things, I'm pretty sure it would have done me in considering my fragile mental state. I know I wasn't so coherent, but man it takes too much energy to write any more deeply or in much more detail, and I'm still not finished processing it all myself. Nor will I be, anytime soon. But here is my assignment to all of you, particularly the public defenders: Go see this movie. Then let's talk about it. Mmmmkay?

Smooches.

BarBri's Fifth Level of Hell: Getting Stupider

As if trying to learn every legal principle / doctrine / analysis ever created wasn't bad enough, there comes a point when you are not as far along as you need to be, but then your brain starts leaking information it collected earlier.

I managed to rock my simulated MBE such that, had it been my score on the actual MBE, I would have passed with some points to spare. Since that time, I have not managed to get over 30% of my questions correct on any subsequent practice test and I don't have a blessed clue what the fuck I'm doing anymore.

Wills & Trusts and Corporations squeezed Property, Evidence, and Contracts out of my tiny little skull. That explains why my right ear keeps popping.

and the fellowship marches on

Despite every desire to do so, I've managed not to roll over and play dead yet. I had a nice chat on the phone with one of the attorneys at my Host Agency today, and it seems feasible to rework this proposal. We are waiting for feedback from others involved in the project. I promised to get a basic barebones version of the final proposal out to them by Monday or Tuesday. (Why, God? Why? Who do I think I am?)

Thank you all for your kind words of encouragement. I don't particularly like using the blog as a sounding board, but I do anyway, and it's nice to look back and see people cheering. And thankfully, I have wonderful friends who are interested in what I'm doing, who are excited about it, who tell me how proud they are, who offer their help, who pull me out of bar review class to give me important mail, and who still like to hang out with me despite the fact that I'm bitching and moaning relentlessly. From time to time, I stop and think how it is that I manage to have any friends at all, because I annoy the fuck out of myself so much. The fact that I seem to have so MANY wonderful friends is nothing short of the work of a Higher Power.

And having the Counting Crows' hits album, "Films About Ghosts" on the iPod? That's just icing on the cake, baby.

MA lawyers refuse to accept court-appointed work

Prosecutors praise MA ruling to admit grand jury testimony if defendant influences witness not to testify

because this is my life, and you just can't make this shit up

Roommate beckoned me out of bar review class today.  I got outside the classroom and shut the door, and she pulled out a big envelope from Funding Agency.  We opened it and viola! an invitation to submit a full proposal.  Roommate clapped and squealed and hugged, and I just stared blankly.  My mind was reeling.  The continuous uncertainty of all of this is wearing on me.  Today was a particularly grouchy day for me because I got very little sleep last night, so I got no work done, and I've gone through the past two days of bar review having truly not heard one word that was spoken.  This letter should be happy news - I should be excited that there is a chance I can work this out after all.  And I really want this to work.  But I'm tired, and I don't want to keep fighting this fight, and I want to just whine and cry about the fact that it's not fair that everyone else knows what they are doing and where they are going - at least, where they are going - and I don't even know that.  NOT having a job at all would be less stressful at this point, because at least I could study for the bar uninterrupted, take August off, and then figure this shit out. 

I'll save my rant about the timing of this proposal (when it's due) and the work necessary to accomplish it for another day.

But hey!  Look at me.  I'm a rockstar.  Round 2.  here we go.

Pardon me while I repeatedly slam my head in the door.

BarBri's Fourth Level of Hell: piercing the corporate whale

I lurrrrrv corporations.  Oh yes I do.  It's so cold and calculating and has such fancy terms of art.  I'm loving corporations a little too much right now - things are starting to look blurry.  But I just got to the part about "piercing the corporate veil," which is the doctrine by which the court will disregard the corporate entity and hold shareholders liable.  Sexy, no?

 

In a corporations class not my own, I heard lore of a European law student who was intent on pontificating on corporations "in [his] country" for 1/2 of the class time.  He would raise his hand, start his lecture by stating, "in my country" and then ramble, thereby alienating all fellow students, permitting them to perform uninterrupted acts of solitaire, spider solitaire, minesweeper, poker, and war games.  But what perked up the ears of these alienated students is when he, in his European accent, would discuss his and his country's views of "piercing ze corporate whale."  Oh, how the students snickered.  And now, every time I see the court disregarding the corporate entity, I have visions of 'piercing the corporate whale' - a large beluga, perhaps, pierced with a mighty pointy harpoon.  Or with a badass gold hoop earring.

Happy Fourth of July

Hope everyone had a relaxing weekend!

We had the craziest party ever this past weekend. We were going to spend the weekend studying, but instead spent it recovering, physically but mostly psychologically, from our "Bar Review Students Gone Wild" weekend.

Here's to bringing down the curve.

O'Connor resigns

I predicted to my peers here in law school that she would resign before Rehnquist.  No one believed me.  I win.

defeat

Now that I've had time to think, I'm feeling absolutely, 100% horrid.

I'm not sure I can articulate how this feels. I guess, even though I've
been really anxious and uncertain about the whole thing, I really planned
on this. This was my absolute dream job, and it was perfect. I was ready
to pursue this to the detriment of everything else - like a definitive
paycheck. It was a dire need, it was my favorite population (the kiddos!)
and I was going to have the opportunity to establish a position that was
going to be a model for the rest of the agency, to later become an actual
unit of attorneys doing the same type of advocacy. The attorneys with
whom I consulted were great, and the community was the community that I
wanted to move to - and as far as I was concerned, it was going to be my
last move ever. This was going to be it for me.

What's even worse about this whole thing is that, in theory, this is
actually the best thing for the kids - something I would have tried to do
in the course of my fellowship. These kids deserve better, and the state
is trying to give them that. I should be happy that this is a step in the
right direction for these kids. And I am - it's such a good thing.

But what if one day, you showed up for work, and there wasn't a need for
public defenders anymore? No one was committing any crimes, no one was
indigent, nothing was happening. Then what would you do with your life?
Where would you go next? How would you feel about all that you had
accomplished?

Of course, this is just one little job. there are other jobs. But those
other jobs aren't in those communities, and aren't specific to the
population and the advocacy I wanted to do. And I've worked so hard on
this - this was my baby. It was my little project, a seed in the soil,
that was about to bloom and flourish. I think this proposal really
grabbed some people's attention, and I know that these ideas will see
themselves develop statewide - eventually. I should be pleased with all
of this. But right now, I have nothing.

What are the possibilities? The funding agency, now almost a month late
(I sent in the app on APRIL 1. It's been 3 months. That's about one page
a month that they've been reading my app). Last week they said they were
sending out letters last week, and I should have heard early this week.
It's now 10 pm on Thursday, and I haven't heard anything. If they sent me
the letter and rejected me, then this is of no consequence. If they sent
me the letter and invited me to the second and final round, there's a
possibility I could make some alterations to do the same kind of advocacy
but with a different sub-group of kids. I'm not sure that it will appear
as compelling, however. Third, they could send me a rejection letter NOW
based on this intervening event, since my proposal as it stands is moot.
Fourth, I could scrap this whole thing - the agency, the kids, the
community - and go with the other job that assured me they'd be making me
an offer. The upside is that I will know many people in the community,
and will be working with indigent defendants, and will be working for an
excellent agency, but I otherwise loathe the idea of moving to this
community.

Earlier today, I was smarting from the impact of this news. It was more a
shock than anything else. Right now, I'm just devastated. I feel like my
feet have been knocked from under me. This whole time, I was really
gearing up for this - I was really putting all my mental energy into
wanting this to work. Now what?

I emailed Mr. STF an email along the lines of what I posted earlier today.
He called me. I can count on one hand how many times we've spoken on the
phone since we've not been in the same city. He was really sweet. It was
really nice, actually, that he cared enough to call and talk to me about
it. We discussed this predicament. So this fellowship was Plan A. Plan
B I described above. So he asked, "What about plan C?" Plan C is to move
to the Plan A community and just do contract work until I can get a job
that I want. He said, "Well that's not so bad." Pause. Silence.
"Right? It's not." He did it. And I sort of dismissed it, although the
idea had been in the back of my mind. But now, having spent the past 2
hours lying on my bed with tears of anger and disappointment just
simmering in my eyes, I softened to the idea. It's not that bad. If
everything else falls apart, and I can't bear the idea of anything else,
there is Plan C.

I'm tired. I'm devastated. I feel like my energy has been completely
tapped. The day got exponentially worse for unrelated reasons, and now I
really just want to crawl under a rock and not come out for a few months.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

A high ranking state official saw the overwhelming problems riddling juvenile deliquency services and as such, has taken action that COMPLETELY ELIMINATES MY FELLOWSHIP PROPOSAL. Yup. About 90 minutes ago, I became completely fucking obsolete. It's a good thing for the kiddos, it's a really really bad thing for my proposal.

And, by the way, the funding agency is several weeks late in notifying me as to whether I even made it past the first round at all! I mean, the proposal as it stands now is moot, but I called the agency last week and they assured me they sent out letters last week. Maybe we'll make this one fucking banner day by finding a rejection letter waiting for me. Or maybe an even more ridiculous outcome will be a letter inviting me to the next round. The fellowship is salvageable with some modifications, I think, but I just need everyone to know that I am currently FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

I mean, I know I'm good, but sometimes being good means putting yourself out of work. Look how accurate I was at identifying the needs of the community... I was so accurate that someone else WENT AHEAD AND DID IT FOR ME.

Bar Review's Third Level of Hell: Duty Problems

Never once in law school did it occur to me that a duty was anything other than a legal obligation. Then I heard the Bud Light commercial that changed my life. One "Real Men of Genius" commercial came on while I was listening to the Sox game. It was "Jean Shorts Inventor." Not a particularly amusing one, until the narrator says something along the lines of jean shorts, either at work functions or family BBQs, doing their duty. Then the guy that sings in the background says, "YOU! just said doodie." And it was so unexpected and out of nowhere that I laughed my ass off. That was about two days before bar review started.

Through property, evidence, torts, contracts, the word "duty" appears a lot. But I have to tell you, in 3 years of law school, and after a month of bar review, it was not until today that it became uncontrollably funny. The lecturer referred to "duty issues" and having "duty problems" and at first it started with a childish snicker. By the end of the class, me and my back row cronies were hysterical.

Heh. He said doodie.

Supreme Court rulings

SCOTUSblog is updating:

The Ten Commandments display in KY were unconstitutional; the display in TX was not.

Supreme Court will not hear case regarding whether there is a reporter-source privilege.

Failure to enforce a protective order does not give rise to liability.

Check LII's Supreme Court page for the decisions.

Summer Listening & Reading List

About two years ago, I started asking people for book and music recommendations. I have asked several friends to recommend one book that they think I should read - either because they particularly enjoyed it, or because they think I would enjoy it, or because there is information in it that would be useful to know. I don't read as often as I would like, but I have used these recommendations and am glad. Not only do I enjoy reading books I may otherwise have avoided, but I think it reveals a hidden corner of the person who recommended it.

So, internet world, what would you recommend? I would like to ask you for a book to read, a CD to listen to, or both. There are many of you out there that read this blog who have never quite introduced themselves, and I hope you either leave a comment or shoot an email. I'd really like to hear from you!

And far be it for me to take without giving. Here are a few of my own recommendations for summer reading:

"Love in the Time of Cholera" - Gabriel Garcia Marquez (100 Years of Solitude is my favorite, but if you've never read Marquez before, I think it's hard to start with that one)
"Naked" and "Me Talk Pretty One Day" - David Sedaris
"Prodigal Summer" - Barbara Kingsolver
For the ladies, anything and everything by Jennifer Weiner
For the legal eagles, "The Brethren" by Bob Woodward and Scott Armstrong is a must-read.

how to love bar review

1. Go to the morning class instead of the afternoon class on Friday. Spend the afternoon at the beach, sunning yourself. Make 6 flashcards and call it "work." Spend the evening eating tapas and drinking sangria with girlfriends.

2. Get up Saturday morning and have a fabulous workout, followed by 4 hours of work.

3. Having spent the morning doing some earnest work, spend the afternoon kayaking, enjoying the water, the sunshine, and the physical activity.

4. Having worked up an appetite, go grab a sub and ice cream for dinner. Yum.

5. Watch "Waiting to Exhale" because it's one of your all-time favorite chick flicks while you continue to work.

6. Go out drinking around 10:30, alleging you will be in bed by 11:30, and stay past last call.

7. Wake up on Sunday morning, skip the gym, eat a big brunch, and rock your way through contracts.

Passing the bar can only be easy in retrospect. I may have a great tan, but I don't know shit about law.

Supreme Court ruled today that the government CAN take your property from you to give it to developers.

Results of the poll

Girl who carries her own condoms - prepared, or sleeps around? First impressions. Be honest.

"Prepared" (3)
"Sleeps around"
"First impression is prepared, but I'd look for signs that suggest otherwise"
"sexually liberated" (to which I replied, 'that means slut')
"it depends"
"was this message meant for me?"

snapshots of a bar review course

Lecturer:  "The defendant would argue, 'THAT IS NOT MY SEMEN.'"
W, whispering:  "Dirrrrrrrty."
Guy to my left: "If I had a nickel for every time I said that..."

poll

Favorable Dicta is compiling a Top 10 list of things every girl should have, in reaction to MSN's lame top 10 list. What seems to make every list is condoms. MSN has "a condom" as item #10. You can't really buy just one condom though.

This prompts something that I've been meaning to inquire about but have heretofore been too reserved to ask. What do you think about women who carry condoms? I have twice had condoms in my purse when I hooked up with a guy, and twice he was surprised, and both times he didn't have any. Or so he said. (This was the same guy both times, several months apart). It seems like there's something that catches guys off guard when a girl has condoms in her purse. Well, hell, I knew we were going to hook up, and we did, and lo and behold, I was prepared. Like a Boy Scout. I don't take them out of my purse, because you never know when someone will need one (I have on several occasions provided them to friends). One problem, though, is that I think they've, ahem, aroused some suspicion at security points. I was at the Supreme Court the day that Blakely was argued, and right before that historical oral argument, I had to show the guard my condoms. He was embarrassed. I was amused.

Why is it that guys are put off by this? I suppose guys draw an inference that if a girl is carrying condoms, then she must sleep around. I would like to present to you Defense Exhibit A: WomanoftheLaw carries condoms and gets almost no sex. So there you go. I defy social myth. Condoms do not cause women to sleep with lots of random anonymous men.

And seriously. If I hadn't been carrying condoms, then Mr. STF - you would have been stuck with those miserable condoms that you had stashed away long ago that prevented anything fun from happening for you. Shouldn't you be thankful for my preparedness?

file under: things that no one tells you about law school

Studying for the bar will absolutely be the worst way to spend two months. Not because you're frantically studying, or because even after graduation you end up in the same library with the same people as you did the three years before, not because it's hot as balls and nothing's air conditioned properly. it sucks because there's about 30 hours of work to do a day, you do nothing more than show up for the BarBri class, and then spend the rest of the time brooding and watching trashy television because you can't bring yourself to waste time doing something FUN, because you know you're supposed to be studying. Everyone hates life, including those people in law school who were never once in a bad mood.

AAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH.

bad Republicans.

Jeb Bush requests investigation into Schiavo 911 call. Bush hates Michael Schiavo - Bush will not let him win. Can you imagine if something happened to your mother, spouse, sibling, and you made the decision that they wanted, and you had local, state, and federal governments ALL introducing laws and creating havoc about it? And then your governor requests an investigation by the AG even after it's all over? KNOCK IT OFF ALREADY. GO fix starvation, poverty, the eighteen different wars we're fighting, SOMETHING. There is no 'living will' epidemic.

And while we're at it, Republican politicians, if we're interfering with marriage, and we're thinking a Constitional amendment defining marriage is in order, then I insist you include a ban on Celebrity Marriages as well. Please use your Schiavo intervention skills to stop this marriage ASAP. Katie Holmes, what are you thinking?!?!

Michael Jackson acquitted.

Today's Supreme Court decisions

Wilkinson v. Austin is a prisoner's rights case regarding whether the procedure (or lack thereof) for assignments to Supermax prisons violates the Due Process Clause.

Conditions at OSP are more restrictive than any other form of incarceration in Ohio, including conditions on its death row or in its administrative control units. The latter are themselves a highly restrictive form of solitary confinement. See Austin I, supra, 724—725, and n. 5 (citing Ohio Admin. Code §5120—9—13 (2001) (rescinded 2004)). In the OSP almost every aspect of an inmate’s life is controlled and monitored. Inmates must remain in their cells, which measure 7 by 14 feet, for 23 hours per day. A light remains on in the cell at all times, though it is sometimes dimmed, and an inmate who attempts to shield the light to sleep is subject to further discipline. During the one hour per day that an inmate may leave his cell, access is limited to one of two indoor recreation cells.

Incarceration at OSP is synonymous with extreme isolation. In contrast to any other Ohio prison, including any segregation unit, OSP cells have solid metal doors with metal strips along their sides and bottoms which prevent conversation or communication with other inmates. All meals are taken alone in the inmate’s cell instead of in a common eating area. Opportunities for visitation are rare and in all events are conducted through glass walls. It is fair to say OSP inmates are deprived of almost any environmental or sensory stimuli and of almost all human contact.

Aside from the severity of the conditions, placement at OSP is for an indefinite period of time, limited only by an inmate’s sentence. For an inmate serving a life sentence, there is no indication how long he may be incarcerated at OSP once assigned there. Austin I, supra, at 740. Inmates otherwise eligible for parole lose their eligibility while incarcerated at OSP. 189 F. Supp. 2d, at 728.

The never-ending Miller-El v. Dretke case, granting habeas relief on a Batson claim. Texas sucks.

Bradshaw v. Stumpf is a Sixth Amendment case that I'm not familiar with but caught my attention. It appears as though there was some dispute as to whether the defendant was fully aware of what exactly he pled to. Additionally, the prosecution proceeded against the defendants (capital case) on potentially inconsistent theories.

The Supreme Court reiterated Batson again in Johnson v. California, overturning a state Supreme Court decision because it placed an inappropriate burden on the defendant.

thinking

I thought that after I saw you last time, I'd stop thinking about you so often. I thought I'd remember how much I don't feel connected to you, how sometimes you made me feel uncomfortable. I thought I'd stop wondering what made you the only guy that's not a distant second to a good DVD on a Friday night. I thought that we don't know each other well enough, that we can't ever be involved, that the way I think about you is crazy and irrational, and that it's clearly not meant to be. I thought I'd stop thinking about where I'm going next in relation to whether I'll ever see you again. I thought I'd stop thinking about you in the course of my conversations. I thought I'd stop wanting to talk to you, to tell you about my day or my plans or this really neat article I read. I thought I'd stop wanting to hear your voice, hear about your day, your family, your friends, your plans. I thought that I would stop falling asleep every night thinking about how perfect it felt to be curled up with you, listening to your breathing, feeling the way you take your place in the world even while you sleep. I thought that I'd stop wishing that it had been you that called instead.

I was wrong.

lazy heat

Baltimore Sun: Special report on inmate health care

I walked out of my bar review class yesterday after the first hour.

I received a phone call last night from someone that I wasn't expecting. I should call him back.

My debit card stopped working. The machine spit it out at me in disgust and flashed a threatening message. I have about 38 cents on me until I manage to get to a bank to get a new card to access my checking account, also worth about 38 cents.

The air conditioning at my gym broke a week ago. Today, they posted a notice assuring us that they will know more about a possible temporary solution by the middle of next week. I'm sorry. What? I just paid waaaaay too much for my summer membership, I'm sweating like a bitch as soon as I walk in here, and now you're telling me that you will have information about a possible TEMPORARY solution ONE WEEK from now? On the upside, I never have to wait for any of the equipment, since there's only 3 of us in the gym at any given time now.

I may spend the weekend swimming instead of reviewing equitable servitudes.

BarBri hallucinations

I've had some very vivid and of course, completely odd dreams the past few nights. This is a good indication, because it seems that when I'm particularly distracted or otherwise occupied by anxiety, I 'stop' dreaming.

My recollection of my dream last night began at a law review buffet. One of my friends on law review invited me to the buffet, despite the absence of any nexus between myself, law review, and the occasion for which the buffet was set up. In line at the buffet, my roommate got in a raging argument with a dark-haired couple, who were standing in line incorrectly (you know? when people think they're standing in line, but aren't, and then all of a sudden you're cut by idiots who just can't stand in a straight line?). The argument was about simple liability and complex liability. As far as I can tell, neither of these are actual legal standards, but this demonstrates the hazards of studying (yes! actually studying!) for the bar in the evening. Roommate was clearly right in my dream, and clearly the dark-haired girl was stupid, but it made me feel better about my chances for passing the bar.

Next, I was in a bedroom that presumably was mine, and was making my bed with someone I don't, in real life, know particularly well. I remember the sheets were yellow. There were other people who I didn't know in the room. Suddenly I was shot in the chest and collapsed on the bed. Someone called 911, but the emergency vehicles weren't showing up, so I was just lying on the bed gasping and bleeding profusely. I kept very calmly and firmly assuring people in the room, "Don't worry! I will be fine, I promise." Secretly, I was terrified that since the ambulance seemed to be taking its sweet time, I was going to die. I started coughing up blood, and said, "See? That's supposed to happen. That's a good sign" while again, thinking, I'm gonna die. Then I regretted spitting blood on the comforter. That will never come out in the wash, I think to myself, and it's so impolite since that wasn't really my bed. What feels like 20 minutes passes, me gasping and oozing blood, and still no emergency response vehicles. I reach for the phone to call 911 again. My friend is really upset and wants to call them, but I calmly and confidently assure her that I'm fine and I should be the one to call and see where they are. I really didn't want anyone else to think that I was in bad condition, although I knew I was. So I 'call' 911 again except the phone is actually one of those generic condiment bottles, and as I'm calling 911 I'm actually pouring gravy into my ear. Regardless, it works as a telecommunication device and the operator, who can see my location based on my call, assures me that the response vehicles are at my door. They got lost on the massive amounts of land on the property, apparently. As I'm looking through the screen door, I see a line of cars pulling up and I'm relieved.

The next part of the dream, I leave the house with my mother. I'm still shot and bleeding, and really starting to wonder if I'm going to die. We're walking to her car so she can take me to the hospital, and we're arguing the whole time. She was blaming this situation on me and I was not going to back down on this argument. As we're walking to her car, which in my dream is a large old blue Chevy utility van, I see two young men, who clearly look like punks, walking towards us. I know that they are going to rob us without hurting us, but I'm sure that we can get into the car in time, avoid the whole situation, and get on our way to the hospital. I turned around and saw an older man signal to the two younger men by popping his collar (eew?) and so the young men suddenly change their mind. I suddenly know that my mom and I are in trouble and we rush to get into the van, me on the passenger side and my mom in the driver's side, but as we're climbing in, the youths pull out two knives. One of them hops in the backseat and the other is holding a knife to my mom's neck. I know that they want our money, and I sense that there's a chance that they won't hurt us but since that other man signaled something to them, their motives have changed and maybe they will actually hurt us now. In my head I start pleading with them because I know they won't let us drive to the hospital, and I know that I'm going to die, and if they are trying to rob us and I end up dying because I can't get to the hospital, they are going to be in so much more trouble, and they would have no way of knowing that, and I didn't want them to get into that much trouble. I was debating whether I wanted to tell them about their potential criminal liability, when suddenly I awoke. I never did get medical attention for the gunshot wound but hell, it couldn't have been that fatal since I'd been bebopping around with it for a good hour or so in my dream.

Death row inmates raise scholarship money for future police officer

Baltimore Sun on a Maryland death penalty appeal that is re-examining the use of racial disparities as a legal argument, which the Supreme Court has already deemed irrelevant.

Apparently, not all of Boston is ready for Queer Eye. Yes, apparently letting a gay man in a pink shirt throw the first pitch makes all the other teams laugh at you because it is uncool and not manly, and thus, we should not let gay men in pink shirts throw out the first pitch. We don't want people to think we are not cool or manly. Ah, Boston. You like your gay people as much as you like your minorities.

News today

Innocent but never free - an article about how two men had such different experiences after being exonerated

Not so star struck - an analysis of what it means to be a celebrity in Boston

Home alone, but entertained: As Americans seek out solitary amusements, a sense of common identity may be lost.

brooding

I'm feeling a little lost right now. I'm barely studying for the bar, because I'm so consumed by the fact that I have no idea where I'm going on August 1st. I have not hear from either of the two potential job opportunities I had, and now I'm starting to get worried. What if the agency who said "We will be making you an offer" totally forgot about me? What if the funding app for my other project goes nowhere? Why is it June and I have yet to hear from either of them? When should I start getting worried?

I've been looking at job listings. I can't go back to being a social worker, because the state in which I was a social worker doesn't require licensing, and the state that I'd be looking to go to does require licensing. Career services has wisely advised not to look for jobs while studying for the bar - just concentrate on the bar. It is difficult to forget about jobs when I'm actively waiting for two of them.

I've all but removed myself from socializing, and can't motivate to do much of anything. I've stopped answering or returning calls. I fear that I could be on the brink of disaster. I'm afraid that I may have pursued my ideal jobs too passionately. It's possible that I dashed full-steam ahead through the woods only to find myself running right up to the edge of a cliff. I had confidently plowed ahead with my public defender job seeking, and even when things started sputtering, I didn't back down. No one else knows how terrified I am that maybe I ran the wrong way. Did I take the wrong bar? Was I wrong to stop the job search after that one assurance of a job offer? Does it matter that my other project proposal is going to be the framework for a new division of attorneys in the next few years, if I can't even get the funding to be the one to start it?

I don't have the energy to socialize or enjoy the weather, because all my energy has been spent fretting, job searching, and trying just to keep myself on track.

So I sit on the lawn, eyes closed, baking in the sun, turning over and over again in my head what my potential plans could be come August 1st.

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Announcements of the television and matrimonial sorts.

I found out yesterday that Joan of Arcadia has been cancelled. I am DEVASTATED. I love that show. Sadly, I'm sure that I'm not in the target demographic but I still love it and I cannot believe that CBS would take it away from me. This is the first time I've ever had a show that I really loved cancelled before its time had come. Sigh.

Congrats to my favorite mildly intelligent monkey, CDog, who got engaged this weekend. Congratulations on finding a gal who not only tolerates you but manages to keep you in line! She's a total sweetheart and clearly way too good for you. Love you both. (P.S. Do you realize that you have now left me without a back-up? I think I found another one though. But still. OUR SONS WERE GOING TO PLAY HOCKEY. You've gone and thrown it all away.)

Ah. One more wedding for me to attend stag, fielding questions that have no good answers, such as, "So, what are your plans after law school?" [nail my diploma to my cardboard box wall, or burn it for warmth] "Anyone special in your life?" [if by special you mean the bad kisser who leered at me, made a lewd comment, who I then took home and made out with on my couch and thankfully never saw again? then yes, I have several very special people in my life] and "How does it feel to know that you will die alone surrounded by cats and crusty cans of baked beans?" [I've already drawn up my will - the cardboard box will be left to the cats]. Sweet.

Holiday weekend!

Yesterday afternoon I emailed my friends an impassioned plea to hang out "and do something chill, something that doesn't require mascara." BestFriendandRoommate, and two other friends, headed down with me to the sports bar to watch The Red Sox - Yankees game. (Ouch). True to my word, I had on no makeup, I was wearing dark baggy jeans, old running sneakers, a black printed T-shirt, and my Red Sox hat. It wasn't pretty. Friends joined us, more friends joined us, and we decided that after the Sox had their asses handed to them, we should play pool. We played a game and put a quarter on the table.

The individuals who put their quarter down for the two spots in front of our quarter never showed up. We were eyeing the table, figuring we'd give them 5 minutes, and then just take the table back. During our allotted wait time, two young men came in and started playing pool. I was indignant. They saw the quarters, discussed them, and disregarded them. I can't say I blame them - no one was using the table - but ahem? I wanted to play pool. After they finished up their first game, they were gearing up for a second game. I jumped off my bar stool and strolled over to them. "Hey guys, do you mind if we cut in for a game?" I slid in front of him, blocking him from the coin slots. "You see, we're quarter #5. Quarters 3 and 4 never showed." The young man, who was quite attractive, smiled and said, "Of course. Do you mind if we play you? Doubles? We'll pay."

And without mascara, that's how I ended up with yet another man's phone number in my cell phone. S, as he later introduced himself, is a teacher from the Midwest who relocated out here just to get away for a few years. He's moving back in July. His friend T was taller, slender, with glasses, and a total sweetheart. He is an auditor, visiting from the Midwest and is in town for the weekend. My friend C hit it off with S, and I was having a good time chatting with T. As per our bet on the second game of pool, T will now be paying off my student loans. I invited them to our house for a BBQ this weekend, if we can find pleasant weather, and so I'm the one who ended up with S's phone number. Since I do a lot of the social gathering, it is guaranteed that I'll get C and S in the same place again, which does avoid the typical awkward number-swapping phase between two people. Oooh, I'm a matchmaker!

And still haven't actually STUDIED for the bar. It's more like an awareness of it than it is preparation. I'm now two days behind on the VERY CLEAR AND PRECISE bar review homework schedule.