The random thoughts of an architect-turned- lawyer from the deep south living in Washington, DC...
Monday, January 29, 2007
Is Louisa crazy?From a case in Trust and Estates today:
"She regarded men as a class with an insane hatred. She looked forward to the day when women would bear children without the aid of men, and all males would be put to death at birth." In re Strittmater, 53 A.2d 205 (Ct. App. N.J. 1947).
For some reason, the professor and students in my class seem to think her words show a diminshed mental capacity. I don't get it.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Thursday, January 25, 2007
GrossA few of you might have noticed and questioned my recent away message on google chat reading: "there is NEVER an appropriate time during a law school class to kiss your boyfriend then put your hand on his junk. NEVER"
Seemingly from your intrigued responses, an explanation is warranted. I should begin by giving a bit of background on this species of law school student. You see, although these students do show up at school and attend classes their presence is for rather social reasons. Now don't get me wrong, I enjoy a Bar Review or Thirsty Thursday as much as the next law student. But their social reasons are more of the romantic sort. I have no problem with people finding love in law school. However, I must object to using the law school as a forum for public displays that should be private.
For example, I sit within visual shot of one such couple in one of my classes. During class last week after the female of the species handed the male a handout for class, and he said thank you, she leaned in and kissed him. On the lips. For an extended amount of time. Later during that same class she played a little "do you dare me?" game whereby her hand made it's way up his thigh and rested squarely on his - um, yeah.
In the spirit of my legal anthropology class, I have decided to observe and record this species during class today:
They arrive in class and discuss their superbowl plans.
He talks about how adorable he thinks librarians are because they have such passion about something no one else likes. She responds with "more adorable than me? I can show you passion."
When class begins, she takes out a piece of paper, puts it between the two of them and writes "I want Dillard now!!" (I record this odd language.)
They are now playing an online game against each other that involves guessing each others secret word. It takes her three tries to guess his word was "stiff".
She then underlines "I want Dillard now!!" on the sheet of paper.
I apparently now know the pet name of my friend's male parts. I do not need to know this.
I also know that he is ticklish underneath his upper arm.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Warranted naggingI usually stay out of the battle of the sexes on WonL but I am at my wit's end. I constantly hear men complain that women "nag" too much. Why do you think that is? Could it possibly be that sometimes men just do stupid shit. What option does a woman have when her man does something downright dumb? Although not unheard of, it is rare that a woman can resort to physical violence. Plus, we all know rational discussions don't always work because men
Now, before my male readers start to categorize me as "that girl" and lash out at me personally, let me clarify something. I'm not talking about a situation where a man constantly leaves his dirty socks on the floor and a woman constantly whines and turns it into a "you don't really care about me" discussion. I believe that to be irrational behavior on the part of a woman. And for the record, I personally would probably merely throw the socks away and call it a day. Anyway, I am basing this discussion on what I argue is a more severe form of "stupid" behavior. Allow me to elaborate using a purely hypothetical example:
You send a text message on a Saturday evening saying "Hi love. I have missed you."
Your lady responds ten minutes later saying "Everything okay?"
You respond fifteen minutes later with "No!!"
Your lady hurries home to get to a location (with pin number) that she can call you."
You don't answer the phone. Or the other phone.
The next day, you do not call her back nor do you respond to her worried text message.
On Tuesday after she has placed multiple phone calls and texts she still has not heard from you and has no idea what country you are in or if you are okay.
What are you thinking? When asked if you are okay, a "No" with two explanation points should not be followed by an extended unexplained absence. Ever. This behavior on your part is a situation that I fully believe to warrant your lady to turn into a nag. Just sayin'.
Hypothetically, if your father is passing away (possibly already passed away) this would exempt you from nagging at this point in time. However, don't think it won't come back to haunt you.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Cherry Cobbler on a bad dayAfter my last post, I decided to take on the task of actually making cobbler. I'm usually pretty good about reading and following directions but the planets were out of whack yesterday and the world was against me. I call this "Cherry Cobbler Law-Rah Style"
Flip open your grandmas church recipee book to the page on peach cobblers. Decide to substitute the word "cherry" for "peach" and choose one of the 4 recipees. Take inventory and find the following ingredients in your cabinet:
1 1/2 c. biscuit mix
1/2 c. sugar
1 c. milk
1 Tbsp. lemon juice
2 Tbsp. margarine
2 Tbsp. cinnamon-sugar mixture
Head to the grocery store for the only missing ingredient:
Cherry pie filling
(*note: although non-bolded directions are not crucial, they should be followed for true Cherry Cobbler Law-Rah Style)
- While at grocery store looking for can of cherry pie filling, notice a boxed cherry cobbler that says "just add water."
- Decide, instead to stick to the recipee at home.
- Wait in line at Harris Teeter forever to purchase one can of cherry pie filling.
- Upon arriving back home, realize you forgot your card to enter your garage in your other purse.
- Park Illegally to quickly run inside so you can grab your card.
- Take 15 minutes to get up to your floor and back down to your vehicle because two of the three elevators are broken.
- Park car for the evening. Phew.
- Upon re-reading the recipee, realize that you mis-read and your recipee actually calls for two cans of fruit and not just one.
- Contemplate cutting recipee in 1/2 knowing full well it would not feed the projected number of people.
- Decide to get another can of cherry pie filling.
- Go to store downstairs in building. Go to store in building across the street. Go to store in building one block away. Contemplate changing to pears because it is the only fruit in a can you can find within walking distance.
- Return to vehicle, return to Harris Teeter, buy one more can of cherry pie filling and a bottle of red wine.
- Combine biscuit mix, sugar and milk.
- Pour batter into buttered 9-inch baking dish or pie pan.
- Open cherry pie filling to realize you purchased cherries in water, not cherry pie filling.
- Pour glass of red wine.
- Read the back of the cherry can and get really pissed and the person who wrote about how "anyone can open a can of cherry pie filling and pour it in but yours will be so much better because it will be from scratch."
- Consume red wine.
- As per instructions, pour cherries and their water into pot with sugar on medium heat stirring continually.
- Read can again to find you were only supposed to put the water over heat, not the cherries.
- Take off heat and drain.
- Try again.
- Read can to find you need 2 Tbsp. corn starch. Empty cabinets trying to find corn starch.
- Pour another glass of red wine.
- Take cherry water and sugar off heat.
- Go to store downstairs to find corn starch. Got to store in building across the street to actually find corn starch.
- Return home and consume red wine while sitting in a chair staring blankly at the wall.
- Contemplate scrapping the whole damn cobbler and bringing Chips Ahoy cookies.
- Refuse to be beat by a cherry cobbler and head back to kitchen.
- After finishing your own cherry pie filling from scratch, spoon evenly over batter you poured into baking dish about an hour ago.
- Dot with butter. (Or, if you don't know what "dot" means, then cut 2 Tbsp. of butter into little squares and put them in various places atop the cherries.)
- Sprinkle cinnamon-sugar mixture on the top.
- Bake at 375 degrees for 45 minutes.
- Watch your friends enjoy your Cherry Cobbler. (Or at least pretend to enjoy because you threatened them with physical harm if they didn't.)
- Decide to "just add water" next time to the cherry cobbler in a box.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Baking cobblerFrom Dr. Izzie Stevens: "It's weird, I have all this money and I would spend every penny of it to save George from what he's about to go through but I can't. It's useless. So I made cobbler."
I watched last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy and it seems to have affected me a wee bit more than usual (read: the tears just won't stop.) I needed it though. I needed to cry about this. For weeks I have had these pent up uncomfortable feelings that I didn't really understand.
When I was in London, Ben got a phone call about his dad. His health not looking too good and he was going to need surgery. I saw an immediate change in Ben's demeanor and did what I could to make him feel better. We talked about it and I let him know I was there if he needed me. That's really all I could do.
His dad took a turn for the worse last week and it is really hitting Ben hard. He just sounded so lost. So tired. Emotionally exhausted. It was one of those rare instances where I found myself at a loss for words. He didn't turn to me to help him sort things out. He turned to me as a way of getting away from it, to take a break from thinking about it. His way of "dealing" is to hide away and get lost in his own thoughts. Alone, in his bedroom, with beer and music. He internalizes things and I can respect that. But at the same time I wish he would reach out. I wish he would turn to me to help him get through it. I wish that I could wrap my arms around him and make it all better.
He left for Algeria on Tuesday with an open-ended ticket to be with his dad and his family. I haven't heard from him since he left which is annoying, yet not uncommon for him. I know that I cannot take it personally and it has nothing to do with his feelings for me. At the same time, I just wish there was something I could do. I'm praying for his father and his family. And he knows I will be there in any way I can if he needs me. I guess that just letting him know I care is all I can really do right now. I still feel so damned helpless. Plus, I don't know how to make cobbler.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Checking my memoryAnd now, the one Bar Exam application question I have been dreading for two and a half years:
"Beginning with your current address, list all addresses (permanent and temporary) where you have lived since your 18th birthday or for the past 10 years, whichever is shorter, giving the exact addresss of each, together with the month and year of the beginning and ending of each residence. For each address listed, indicate with whom you lived."
I cannot even begin to tell you how difficult this is going to be. A lot of places in Lousiana had six month leases. And I have a really bad habit of moving every time my lease is up.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
How far would you go?Classes started on Monday and I let out a sigh when I found out which classroom my Trusts and Estates class is in. This room might be the worst in the law school. It's in the basement, so no windows and not much air flow. Furthermore, it is very long and narrow with no breaks in the rows. This means that the rows are about 14 seats long which is a whole lot of pushing and bumping to get to the middle seats. I got there early to pick a good seat.
Upon arrival, I saw one of my bestest law school friends had arrived even earlier than myself and he had found an end seat. Fabulous. I plopped my stuff down behind him and we began discussing our breaks. As filtered into class, my friend was constantly having to get up and allow people with overly large bookbags to shove their way into his row. I, on the other hand, didn't budge. I didn't need to. You see, I'm on a row where the classroom starts to taper off so there is no seat behind me. This means no one has to squeeze by, bump, or knock me to get to their seats. I saw the frustration in my friend's eyes every time on of the chicks in his row changed her mind about sitting and got up to go chat with her friends. It was then that I realized what a golden seat I have.
Well, of course, as law school goes, the professor did not pass out the seating chart the first day. Instead, he said he would pass it out on Wednesday. My friend turns to me and says he thinks he is going to pick a different seat, like perhaps the one I am sitting in. I laugh it off and tell him no way, this seat is mine. He said he might just have to take it then. Now, let's pause for a moment and discuss the unspoken code of law school seating. Pretty much every law school professor waits until the second day of class to pass around the seating chart and make you decide which seat will be yours for the entire semester. Nevertheless, people usually pick their seats the first day. You get there early and pick your seat and it is pretty much "known" that is your seat and that on day two, you will again take up the same seat and put your name on the chart. Granted, there are plenty of jerks in law school who will take that seat knowing full well you laid claim. They probably figure they don't really know you and don't really care if you theortically claimed the seat because, really, it's not yours until your name is on the seating chart. However, true friends would never do that to each other. Or would they?
I wondered if this friend of mine would actually get to school early today and take my seat. I mean, we are really close and sure have been through a lot in the past few years. However, he is a competitive person and quite frankly, would probably do what he feels is best for himself. So, I did what any red-blooded anal-retentive law school student would do. I checked the classroom roster, found out there were no classes before ours and decided to come to school early to get my seat. As I walked into the classroom at 9:55 this morning I was happy to see it was empty. I claimed my golden seat and set up all my stuff. Now I have to go put on make-up, grab breakfast, and then do my reading for my Trusts and Estates class...which starts at noon.
By the way, to my friend (because I know you are reading this), I saved you the seat in front of me. Oh, and happy birthday.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Dealing with crazy(*Disclaimer - my male readers may not want to read this one.*)
The small print in the unfolded four foot instruction manual said the little pills might cause a shift in moods. Personally, I believe it should have been in 36 pt bold underlined font and it should have said something more to the tune of "these pills will completely take over your mental state, swing it back and forth like a pendulum, then turn you into some raging hormonal beast that ends up crying by yourself in St. James Park because your boyfriend (who took off work early to be with you) is taking too long to arrive." But hey, no one asked me to write the warnings.
For reasons beyond the scope of discussion on this blog, in my 29 years of living, I have chosen to never take birth control pills. (Mom, if you are reading, it's because I'm a virgin.) Anyway, back in October during my girlie doctor visit I spoke with my doctor about my three week trip to London and asked her what she could do to make me not have my "time of the month" while I was there. She put me on a form of the pill that makes me only have my period every three months. Now, I should tell you that when it comes to girlie stuff, I am somewhat of the anti-girl. When I am "pms-ing" I don't get sad or irritable, I actually get hyper; strangely happy and bubbly once a month. Furthermore, I don't get bloated or inflated, I actually drop 4-5 pounds during my girlie time. Nevertheless, I had no idea how this pill would affect me since I'm all assbackwards everywhere else. Case in point: first week on the pill, my face broke out. Everyone said "wait, that can't be right, the pill is supposed prevent acne." Yeah, I'm an odd one.
My face cleared up and I headed off to London with my little green container of pills. I expected that my first week there would be somewhat of an adjustment period. I had not seen Ben in 128 days and neither of us really knew what to expect. However, I really did not expect to be yelling and crying by day two. I cannot even recall, nor do I want to re-live, all of the absurdities that arose in that first week. Just to set the scene: I got my feelings hurt because I brought him "America" chocolates and he didn't eat them right away; I cried because he told me not to turn the water down on the pasta; I got angry and ignored him because I crossed the street and he kept walking on the other side. Every. Single. Thing. pissed me off or hurt my feelings. All he could say was "I just don't understand why you are acting like this. It's not you." When he would go to work, I would spend quite a bit of time over-analyzing (as only a girl can) and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. We didn't have a single fight this summer. At first, I went back to his words that this behavior was not me. I thought that maybe he didn't really know me. Maybe if he knew the real me, he would not like it. Shortly thereafter, I shifted to the possibility that maybe this is my subconscious trying to tell me that he's not all I thought he was. Maybe the honeymoon is over and I am seeing things for how they really are...and how dare he not cross the street with me? Bastard. I took my sadness and anger as signs that perhaps something was just not right with us.
I spoke with a friend about what was going on and she said "wait, didn't you tell me you were going on the pill?" "Um, yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?" She responded (while laughing) "sweetie, welcome to my world. When you first start taking the pill, this is all completely normal." Not once in that first week did I consider that the pill I was so diligently ingesting every morning might be the cause of my multiple emotional breakdowns. I welcomed the realization that my emotional insecurities were the result of a tiny green pill and not because Ben and I were incompatible. When he got home that night, armed with this new knowledge, I had a long conversation with him. We discussed whether or not I would continue to take the crazy pills and the repercussions if I decided to throw them away. In the end, he said he would absolutely support whatever I chose. Still, the next morning, I think I saw him wince as I took my pill. Every day after that, my man just dealt with crazy. And this must be real because he still likes me.
I see trees of green, red roses tooWow. Where to begin? I am having a bit of a blog struggle here. For some strange reason, I feel as if I owe you an explanation...that I should elaborate on my London trip. At the same time, a part of me wants to keep it all to myself. (Well, not completely because I have had multiple dinners and drink-nights since my return and re-hashed it all.) Nevertheless, some form of writer's block seems to be keeping me from divulging all of the details of my time with Ben. Perhaps it is for the best. I may just be selfish and keep it all so that I can relive my moments in private.
I will tell you this: I am one lucky gal. I have found myself one downright amazing man. Aside from the fact that he loves to cook and clean (which are obvious benefits) he adores me and he wants to do whatever he possibly can to make this work. The reality of the relationship began to set in on this trip and a couple of disagreements arose. I got really upset at how he handled a disagreement one day and he came back with "I thought a lot about it and realized I was being a real ass. I am sorry, I should not have treated you that way. Please forgive me." I am pretty sure that is the first time I have ever heard those words from a man's mouth especially with such sincerity. We got through everything and had some great moments in the process. We talked about things, got to know each other even better, and most importantly: we danced. We danced almost every single day. As Ben held me tight and sang along with Louis Armstrong softly in my ear, I realized how truly wonderful this world is.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
She's baaaackWhat a daunting task: the first blog post back from a three week holiday. I see that people have been logging on with increasing frequency, presumably awaiting, um, me. Ahh, the pressure! Since my whole holiday trip to London was really round two of my summer romance, I feel as if my first post back should be about that. However, I am conflicted about divulging that. There is just so much and there are some things I have to sort through first. I will say this: I really really heart this guy. Really.
Not to mention, I have only been back for 17 hours and am trying to catch up on life. My gawd. Who knew so much could happen in three weeks? A dear friend's sister was raped; my brother's wife had a child; my best friend left her husband; and another great friend got engaged. I have only been gone three weeks!
The emails and text messages are coming in quicker than I can respond. I have so many people I want to catch up with and hear about their holidays, but I don't even know where to begin. My blog-friends alone have posted 591 new blog posts since I left. I am thinking of just scratching Bloglines and making all of you email me updates on your life. Sound good?
Ben and I learned a lot about each other on this trip. More importantly, I learned a lot about myself. I learned just how hard it is to be away from my friends and family during the holidays. I learned that no matter how happy I am in the arms of the man of my dreams, I still missed you guys more than you know. Not seeing or talking to any of my friends during the holiday season really left a tiny empty feeling inside of me. I realized just how much all of you mean to me and it really is good to be home.