Text msg battle: the aftermath.

There are times when I'm incredibly volatile. And then there are times when I couldn't give a sweet fuck about anything at all.

I suppose I should briefly describe the text message battle between myself and Mr. STF. It was basically a few msgs exchanged, mostly chit-chat and shit-talking. And it was all fun and games until he sent me a text msg with one word: 'weak.' And then, POW, BITCH GOES DOWN. I was PISSED. Drunk and PISSED. He called me a liar and then he called me weak. So anyway that just about ended that. I sent him an email, I suppose to make sure that I wasn't as pissed as I felt. He responded (yesterday, which is 4 days later) something to the effect of, "I knew that would get you ramped up, and it looks like I was right!" So it was all fun and games for him.

I had a long conversation with a friend of mine last night. She is remarkably insightful and has a way of speaking that makes me UNDERSTAND. I was rambling on and on about how I feel like I'm in this constant power struggle, and now I have to craft the perfect, friendly but cool, delayed response to his email.

Me: [Rambling incessantly]
Her: It sounds like he was just kidding around.
Me: I know! I hate it! I hate playing these stupid games.
Her: Maybe you're trying to learn the rules of a game that he's not even playing.
Me: [silence]
Her: What's in it for you? What are you getting out of this?
Me: I need to stay close to people I meet across my life, there's just something about me, that I can't let go after I meet people and enjoy their company. I may not speak to them or see them all the time, but I keep in touch with EVERYONE. And if I go back to City next year, I want to be able to hang out with him. I don't know if we'd date again, but I think we'd hang out.
Her: It sounds like, if you decided to pick up and move there 6 months from now, you could call him or write him, and he'd be happy to hang out. The foundation's there. It doesn't sound like it needs much maintenance.

She's so right. She is SO. RIGHT. So I emailed him today. I didn't worry about waiting the right number of days, or editing everything I said so I sounded witty and infinitely cooler. We're friends. He asked what I was up to. I told him.

How liberating.

Hey there!

What's up. I'm feeling a little lonely. How have you been? What's going on with you? How was your day? Anything you want to know?

P.S. Best quote I've heard from Will & Grace this week, from Karen to Will: "This isn't happy hour at the Cockpit. This is a court of law! Now go litigate, bitch!"

In legal news

Condemn-nation: This land was your land, but now it's my land. Dahlia's Dispatches from the Supreme Court. The idea that government can just come and TAKE YOUR LAND really creeps me out.

Johnson v. California was decided today. Categorizing by race is STILL NO GOOD says the Supreme Court, despite Scalia & Thomas's dissent pointing out that California means well. My opinion: don't know, actually.

Riddle me this

Is it possible to kidnap a dead person?

Sounds simple enough, no? BUT TRY CITING SOME AUTHORITY, BUSTER.

untitled

Ooooh. Rejection letter from Feb 8th's debacle just rolled in. Not
really a disappointment but I'm still REALLY ANGRY about it. At least
they were quick. They didn't even think twice about keeping my name
around for consideration.

The list of employment possibilities is dropping rapidly!

BUT... I read my tarot cards two nights ago. (This is what I do when I feel out of sorts. Don't ask for an explanation). And my tarot cards told me that I'd get some money. Which I knew had to be a big fat lie. I did my taxes last night, however, and I'm getting a month's worth of expenses back in taxes. Which is sweet, since I'll be UNEMPLOYED and at least I just bought myself 30 days. So I read my tarot cards again last night. They were completely unhelpful in regards to my future, but my tarot cards told me that I have the strength to make it through this. Which was nice to hear. Because the tarot cards don't lie.

Handed down today: Smith vs. Massachusetts. A defendant's right against Double Jeopardy was violated when the judge acquitted the defendant mid-trial of a charge, then reinstated the charge before it went to the jury. I think that sounds like a fair ruling, except that the opinion seems to indicate that if MA had an explicit rule of procedure that permitted reconsideration, it would not violate Double Jeopardy. I disagree.

SO BORED

Instinct: To go to all my classes and do all my homework. Read the boring tax book and my boring seminar books and write my boring memos.

Desire: To see if it's possible to pass all my classes if I go through the rest of the semester under the influence of tequila.

Ugh. I'm so bored.

reservations

A good entry about the forced dump over at Stay of Execution. Part of the entry struck a nerve with me:

I pre-emptively dumped a fine fellow not long ago when he was calling me promptly and cooking me nice dinners and inviting me to the movies. He was charming and solicitous but there was a distance, an ever-so-slight coldness, about him that made me feel like six months down the road, I'd be attached and he wouldn't.

That's exactly how I felt about Mr. STF. After our drunken text message battle this weekend, I can't shake the nagging feeling. There's just something about him, or our acquiantanceship that just ain't right. I like him a lot, I find him attractive, I think he's smart and good at what he does. We share similar interests. But I find myself always guarded - even over text message! - when I interact with him. He's considerate, thoughtful, flattering, and yet I question the sincerity of it all. I suspect an ulterior motive but can't figure out what it is. I feel like we're in a power battle over who is the coolest or edgiest or smartest and I don't know how in the world that started. I'm admittedly very uncool, not at all edgy, and certainly not the brightest bulb in the law library basement. But for some reason he made me think that that's how he regarded me, and I've felt the need to demonstrate that. I have a difficult time stepping away from a challenge.

I'm still really irked by his concluding text msg. Fucker.

Last night I got an adorable voicemail from my summer coworker. "Holla atcha boy" he said. I glowed. I miss him. Can't wait to holla back. So very crushworthy.

identity

Happy Black History Month. In addition to celebrating our country's notable Africa-American leaders, I've encountered some celebrations of African culture. Which always leaves me wondering whether other black Americans feel left out. For instance, Caribbean cultures. The Dominican individuals I've met speak Spanish, so does this make them Latino and NOT black or African-American? How do they regard Black History celebrations of African culture? I was listening to a song by Blackalicious that talks about African-Americans not being American, referring instead to brothers all around the world.

Of course, the most important question is, why does it matter? Individuals identify themselves differently, and how they perceive themselves is more important than how I perceive them, at least in regards to race/ethnicity. The manner in which I interact with them is unlikely to change. Some people I've met see themselves as black Americans, some people I've met see themselves as having strong African roots. I imagine that being African and being African-American in the U.S. probably means very different things. But what? and why?

I may hate myself in the morning, but I'm gonna love you tonight.

I curse my roommate for foisting her country music upon me.

Last night saw about 15 people, about that many bottles of wine, the
spirit of Jose Cuervo, a hip-hop dance-off in my living room, and an
intense conversation until 6 am.

That's right, I stayed up so far past my bedtime that I went to bed at the
time I usually go to the gym.

The lingering effects of last night include wine withdrawal tremors,
muttering words to booty call country songs, and a hazy recollection of a
volatile text message battle with Mr. SummerTimeFun. Oh dear God.

Best. Night. Ever.

Love the kiddos

This week I have to direct and cross two child witnesses. In my former life as a child protection worker, I spent the majority of my time interviewing children. My interviews had to be sufficient to support findings in court, but also had to be as trauma-less as possible. I think I'm pretty good at interviewing child clients. But I'm pretty rusty, as it's been at least 2.5 years since I conducted my last interview.

I'm not excited about cross-examining kids. I think kids are great. As far as I'm concerned, every little hellion out there is precious. I have to do my direct examination as a defense attorney in a civil case, but I have to do my cross examination of a defense witness in a drug case. Yikes! So not only am I the evil prosecutor in the second case, but I'm the evil prosecutor trying to smear this poor kid on the stand. Have I no shame?

I love working with juveniles and I'm psyched to work with kids this week. I'm sad that I have to cross-examine one of them in such a nasty way, but I suppose it'll be good practice for the future.

untitled

This article by Sports Guy is DEAD ON (re: OC vs. 90210.

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/050218

Orange and Limericks

A friend of mine pointed out that I've been pretty bitter lately. I don't deny it. I walk through my day in a haze, doing a lot and nothing at all, really not being able to focus or accomplish anything. The job stuff is weighing heavily on me. I know that everyone is concerned about finding a job. I think my anxiety is unique though.

Other people have lives that just work. Things go the way they are supposed to. My life is the exact opposite of that. I get really annoyed by people who live carefree, fancy-free, without concern. I envy them, but I also have little tolerance for irresponsibility. Because how do you know that things won't just all fall apart? One day my parents were married, the next day they weren't. One day I was living in one state - the next day we moved to another. One day we had a rickety old car that worked - the next day we didn't. One day I had an extended family. Then I didn't. My adolescent years were on food stamps and welfare. My time was split between babysitting my younger siblings, trying to get schoolwork done, working part-time, and running every organization at school I could get my hands on. I patched two pairs of jeans my sophomore year of college and wore them for months, with patches in unattractive locations, because I couldn't afford new jeans.

I've learned that just when you think things get bad, they got worse. I've learned that nothing is certain, and life can get pretty bad pretty quickly. For a variety of reasons involving the aforementioned things, I've been a control freak for as long as I can remember. I plan well in advance. I move quickly. I work hard. I direct, charm, and threaten others to conform with my plans. I almost always have a deep knot of anxiety or insecurity underlying everything I do. I need structure and security.

Despite lacking anything by way of material possessions, I've lived a rich life. I've never done a semester abroad, or traveled to Africa or Asia, dressed myself in fine clothing, imbibed in the world's finest wines, or owned a car that others regard with respect. Instead, I've surrounded myself with a good number of incredible individuals.

My favorite color is orange. I am drawn to everything orange. Orange is warmth, energy, vibrance, and light. I soak up these things from others. I'm curious about what other people care about and why, and what makes them that way. I wonder if people think the same way I do - not whether we agree, but whether we process information the same way. I'm an intense observer. I love watching people get excited about what they're talking about, or what they're doing. There are so many people in the world and they each have things to teach me. The only thing I feel compelled to do in my life is to hang out with people. I'm rarely capable of focusing my energy on anything else.

I write limericks for my friends. I've done this for as long as I can remember. In college, I sent limericks via instant message. Now I leave them on people's desks. I hug, pat, pet, kiss frequently. I love cooking comfort food for people. I like having people sit on my couch and play cards, or watch sports, or eat cookies. I love cleaning my room while my roommate belts out bad country music while cleaning the bathroom and my other roommate bakes banana bread. I love lying in bed debating the state of the world and Donald Trump's hair next to a friend or paramour.

Yeah, I'm bitter about the job thing. I'm about to graduate with $150k in debt and nothing to show for it. I'm afraid that things have been going too well for too long. It's nice to remember that people and orange and limericks are free.

news flash

BarBri has TUITION ASSISTANCE for bar review programs. Why was I not aware of this?

I is po'.

HOLY STRING OF CURSES

Next week is the last week in February. Which makes the week after that MARCH.

SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP.

I've just about finished law school. All these things that were supposed to come LATER: like petitioning to sit for a particular state's bar, interviewing for real job positions ("Oh, it's fine that I still don't have a job, they don't make offers until LATER"), registering with BarBri ("I don't have to decide what state I'm going to prep for, I can do it LATER") and you know, being a 3L (I'm a 3L and want to just chill the fuck out, but I can do that when this madness ends LATER).

Later is NOW.

Shit shit shit.

Recap:
Job: None. Rejection letters piling up.
Income: None. Must remember to take stripper classes.
Relocating to: I have no idea.
Relocating when: Also do not know.

I have no idea what comes next. and NEXT is not very far away at all.

Thanks to a link from Arbitrary & Capricious, I got more visitors to my site yesterday than I usually get in a week! It made me feel popular for a moment. Thanks for visiting! Feel free to stick around.

Last night for homework I had to drink a beer and make drugs. All in all a successful evening, I'd say.

Free! Help yourself!

I'm not sure whether the person who left the double chocolate swiss cake rolls in the kitchen for me to encounter when I went to get my carrots and hummus is my friend or my sworn enemy.

It is what it is.

Slate on why torture lawyers are a lot like Stewart. Except, of course, no one's gone after them.

I'm reading a repulsively dense book on the theory of language and power. The book starts off on theories that are completely unfamiliar to me regarding the idea of a dominant language and a dominated language. Anyway, eventually the author works to the idea that there is a power of the dominant class that gives them the authority to say particular things. The author points out that it is difficult to tell whether the authoritative words of a person are true as they exist, or are true because they become true once spoken by the right people. Reading this Slate article about how these torture attorneys say the law is what it is, that's what comes to mind. Does the law actually say that? Or does the law now say it because you said it does, and people in this country are willing to be dominated by you?

every bus needs a public defender.

I had some more interviewing today. It's pretty clear that I've lost all
confidence in myself after Tuesday. For instance, at one point, I had
absolutely no idea what I was doing in a cross-examination, froze,
flashback to Tuesday, froze, stammered, and then inadvertently blurted out
a question that hung my client out to dry. Even the interviewer visibly
recoiled. Sweet.

I'll continue to poke fun at myself because it's the best way of getting
over utter shame and embarrassment, but truly, I'm deeply traumatized by
these experiences. It sucks to feel like you are eternally stupid and not
good at anything, even the thing that you thought you might be good at if
you worked really hard.

I was on the bus home, frantically biting my fingernails and alternating
between not caring that I suck and really, really caring that I suck, when
I finally decided that maybe these people are right and I'm not public
defender material, and I should just suck it up and move on. I'm
convinced that Allah himself intervened right about then, in the form of
the drug task force of Boondocks Bus Depot. This 'force' consisted of a
cop, a cop in jeans with a hat and badge, and Fido the Drug Sniffer. I
saw them hanging out as the bus pulled up. As they were standing right
outside my window, I glared at them menacingly. They didn't seem to
notice. After sitting there for a while, everyone was ordered off the
bus. The Task Force entered the bus as soon as everyone was off - they
were adamant about no one being left on the bus. I watched with my eagle
eye, trying to see whether they were searching anyone's bags (namely, my
own). They rustled around for quite a bit in the bus, in the luggage
compartment, in the bus again, and some more. Fido was pumped. But
clearly they weren't finding what they were looking for. All this time I
was getting more and more angry, thinking, can they do this? Really? And
shuffling through random crim pro bits in my head I think the answer is
yes. But if it were my client, the answer would absolutely be no, for the
record.

After about 15 minutes of this nonesense, we were permitted to reboard the
bus. The Task Force, sans Fido, reboarded the bus, thanking us for our
patience and letting us know they were expecting someone to come through
with something. Then they asked the young man behind me if he would mind
speaking to them outside. I started shaking my head no and trying to
telepathically advise my bus friend NOT TO SAY A DAMNED WORD. He agreed
with the cop and asked whether he should bring his bag. NO YOU SHOULD NOT
OFFER TO DO THAT. The cops said it would not be necessary. They were
outside for a few moments and my bus friend reboarded. My bus friend was
not my friend until he was approached by the cops, at which point in my
head we became best friends. My bus friend is probably 20 years old, I'd
guess of Dominican descent, he was wearing a large puffy jacket, the
baseball cap with the straight brim and sticker on it (as is the style now
apparently) and his Timbs. He sat back down behind me and after a few
moments, I threw etiquette to the wind and I turned around.

"What did they ask you out there, if you don't mind me asking?"
He replied in a shy, soft-spoken manner that surprised me. "The dog
smelled the plaintains that I have in my bag. They asked me if there was
anything in my bag, I told them no. But I guess the plaintains made him
bark."

He went on to tell me that they asked, "Are you sure? Not even a little
marijuana or something?" He assured them that there was nothing in his
bag and offered to let them search it. DO NOT DO THAT. They declined.

"I'm so embarrassed," he said softly.

I remember the attorney for whom I worked this summer, when teaching
street law, would always tell the youth that they had to do what they
needed to do to keep themselves safe. For instance, if the cops are going
to beat the shit out of you or shoot at you for walking away, then maybe,
even though you believe you have the right to walk away, it isn't the best
idea to do so. My bus friend was in the same position. If I were him, I
can't say I would have done differently - I've got nothing to hide, let's
get this over with. But on the other hand, there is a large part of me on
the inside screaming to challenge this bullshit. Had he been following
the advice I was giving him in my head, he probably WOULD have been patted
down, bags searched, and maybe even taken a gratuitous ride in a cop car.

We chatted for a while longer, as the bus was still going nowhere, and
neither were the cops (who were no longer on the bus but lingering
outside). Many minutes elapse and the cops reboarded the bus again,
announcing that they had found what they were looking for. They showed us
what they called a substantial amount of cocaine. I'm no good with
weights and measures. Don't ask me to judge distance. But this cocaine
looked exactly like the round handsoap you would get in a hotel - wrapped
the same way and everything. I was psyched that the cops were showing me
cocaine, and I'm certain that one cop mistook my smirk of public defender
snarkiness as, 'Thank goodness you were here to save me from that soap! I
mean, substantial amount of cocaine!'

I was on a bus in college once and also had the occasion to observe the
cops at work. We stopped, people had boarded, and then we didn't go
anywhere. The cops started poking around the luggage compartment and then
boarded the bus, asking who got on at that stop. They informed us that
the car dealership next door had been robbed at gunpoint and they
suspected the perpetrator might try to flee via bus. Snazzy. Well, the
cops looked around at who got on at that stop and must have decided that
all those people LOOKED nice enough. Until they came to the guy that
could not speak English. They asked him several times if they could look
in his bag. He could not understand what they were saying, so they took
the liberty - literally took his liberty - of searching his bag. The
man's voice and words grew increasingly agitated. The cops thanked him
and returned his bag. I remember FUMING about that.

I told my bus friend that I don't trust cops one whit. He said that they
just wanted to show everyone that they were doing their job. Funny, that.
The white woman in a suit with a briefcase being the nosy cop-hater bitch
on wheels and the young hip-hop Latino man being shy, soft-spoken, and
embarrassed. He knows how to fry plaintains though. I'll be looking for
his face out on the town this weekend.

Slate commentary on the Lynne Stewart verdict.