Don't get sentimental, it always ends up drivel

I accomplished much during my break from blogging. I: successfully took the CA Bar exam; hurt my back; underwent a root canal without dying; brought back "booyah;" made a lucrative bet in an unusual currency; joined facebook and created a pet zombie; bought my first jar of eye cream; have had 2 jobs and hated one but under appreciated the other; been asked to be a maid of honor. There were other things I wanted to accomplish, such as travel to Portugal and back up my computer for the first time, but that is what lists are for.

gonna stick my bloody hand in the jaws of the beast

The title aptly describes how I feel about the upcoming Bar exam. I have avoided blogging, because I knew it was inevitable that at least part of any post would revolve around studying for the Bar exam, the constant feeling that I'm going to fail regardless of my efforts, my inability to study, stay focused or motivated, and the low-level wonderment as to whether I really want to do this. In an effort to avoid this inevitability, I will focus on what little good can come from 2 months of violent studying and the accompanying self-deprecation.

First, studying for the Bar has given me good cause to visit Office Depot multiple times. My affection for visits to the drug store are rivaled by my affection for excursions to Office Depot. My love for office supplies really comes from my innate compulsion to be organized; in this way, I love all things that enable this. Whenever I watch Friends and there's a bit about how organized Monica is - take, for example, when Chandler is looking for a job and Monica organizes his options by color-coded folders and she gets excited about using her label maker - I get excited for her, and I wish I had a label maker or even a laminator. So far, I have stocked up on highlighters to the point that I have them in excess, packs of colored pens, and lined post-it notes in various colors (which, by the way, I really have no use for unless I'm going to go so far as to stick inspirational post-it notes, such as ones saying "you can do it" and "if you can't, the universe will not implode" or "at least you're not a drug-addicted prostitute and single mother in Calcutta" around my apartment).

Second, studying for the Bar exam has fueled my already strong appetite to read and practice yoga. I am more dedicated than ever, if you can believe it! Now that I am reading even more, I have an even greater need to visit Borders more frequently. And, who can visit Borders without visiting the nearby Anthropologie, Victoria's Secret, or Papyrus?

Third, studying for the Bar exam stimulates me to think of what I am going to do after it's all said and done. I do not mean this in the practical, sensible way. I am not contemplating where I am going to live, where I am going to work, how I am going to pay back my student loans that are now due and owing. Instead, I am contemplating what corner of the world I will get to explore. I've been thinking about this for a while, and I now realize I simply need to purchase my plane ticket. My choice of destinations has included (in this order): Portugal, France, Thailand, Vietnam, India, Nepal, Peru, Argentina, Ethiopia, Tanzania, (and now I'm back to) Portugal, Corsica, and Croatia.

Fourth, while this may seem counterintuitive, the Bar exam has enabled me to enjoy even more of the day than law school did. I've given Barbri's Pace Program the strongly-deserved middle finger; just as I was the furthest thing from a "gunner" in law school (I'm disappointed that in acquiring an actual career I'll be losing my weeks), I am not gunning it with the Bar exam. The Bar exam gives me something to do so that I'm not completely bored, but since I'm incapable of aiming high, I have plenty of free time to do things like: shop, visit Office Depot, practice yoga, see movies, grab lunch at my favorite spot - Samovar - and generally wander around aimlessly.

Who knows, I may even get to enjoy all of the above all over again in December.

Put your hands up for Detroit - I love this city!

An ode to Smith (aka Susan, Red, Home Skillet, Smalls, Homegirl) is an ode to the hive mind more or less. The hive mind is a type of collective consciousness that Smith and I share. As a result of the hive mind, many people get a little twitchy when we say the same thing or gesticulate in the same manner at the exact same moment. For example, tonight while on the phone Smith said "You'd makeout anywhere" at the very second I said "I'd makeout anywhere." When Smith wants to shop, I usually do too. The hive mind rocks out at the gym and goes to Whole Foods and Trader Joe's together to buy the same groceries (minus green goop - this is where the hive mind malfunctions). On the way to said destinations, the hive mind sings along to "you can't see tits on the radio, I'll give you five fingers for a one man show!" We are convinced that most peeps at school think we are a couple, since we can typically be found in each other's company. Need one of us and you're likely to get both. We were also both meant to be born and raised in a tropical environment given our unusually strong affection for all things pineapple. Smith is the one who searches high and low for things like pineapple jam with me.

Aside from the hive mind, Smith joins the disco bus at an ungawdly hour AND brings blow pops to the party! She also makes a last minute run to Anthropologie (otherwise, if I'm there she is as well), to get a new outfit for a date that was lamely upgraded at the last minute, bringing forth my spazztastic self.

Red also gets particularly rageful, especially when skeezy crackheads call her "red." She accepts and understands my fits of rage and encourages me when I tell her that I want to put my fist through a wall. She even devised a plan with me - after graduation we are smashing shizz in the street. She was quick to point out that we will need protective eyewear. Oh, and she got me saying "shizz."

Not many people like soft serve from McDonald's. She reignited my fondness for it - especially when (as Susan nicknamed it) you get a flaming torch. She does not judge me when we go to 1984, I get fully loaded, and start engaging in behavior I'd rather not remember the next day.

Susan lets me spend inordinate amounts of money without pointing out that I either don't have it or that I should spend it on more practical things. In fact, she put me on the path to using war paint, and now I use it almost every day. Oftentimes, I call or IM Susan in the morning to see whether she thinks what I want to wear will look good. Susan is THE ONE who broke me of wearing lots of black. I am not to the point of "dressing like candy" or wearing all colors at once, but I now own orange clothing and few black things.

She has a teddy bear made of alpaca, and she lets me cuddle it when we watch movies at her place. She appreciates the value of a glue gun. She embraces my predilection for boxes and nicknamed me the Box Ghost after a character on Danny Phantom. "I'm the Box Ghost - Beware!" is sometimes a random interjection into a conversation of ours.

I'm a classy honey kissy huggy lovey dovey ghetto princess

An ode* to my favorite ex-roommate: Candace. Canned Ass. Candit. Porch polisson.

I moved out of my wonderful apartment on Masonic in August when I moved to Copenhagen. I was sad to leave. Candace, on the other hand, didn't seem to care either way. What ensued was an unspoken passive-aggressive battle in a relatively small space. I left with the suspicion that we wouldn't remain friends. While in Copenhagen, my suspicion became more of a certainty, one which was solidified when I first returned. It's an imperfect world since it is full of imperfect people, so I was ready to accept what I couldn't change. I spend my time doing otherwise too often. Magically though, she came to her senses and realized what bad assery fun she'd be missing.

She is the progenitor of the excessively expressive and interpretive car dancing. She too is troubled by the fact that we can't download "Shiny Disco Balls" off itunes. She gives me the opportunity to kill an evening and night at Lucky 13 at the spur of the moment. She loves the mac and cheese from Home just as much as I do. She appreciates the wonky eye - or at least the wonky. She too is willing to make a meal out of mango mojitos. She spends an entire day with me engaging in retail therapy which requires a joint effort to pretend that we have more money than we do ($60 for a pedicure, sure! as long as it comes with crital gel). She joins the disco bus and loves its hydraulics. She has Ralph who responded "Bitch is back!" when told that she was in the disco bus. I can say "I don't sparkle on Wednesday," and she gets it and responds with "we need vitamins!" She doesn't kill me when I yell "Hotender!" when outside Double Dutch. She comes over, eats the nastiness that is yellow curry (that is now sitting in the garbage stinking up my kitchen), bakes cookies and watches Grey's Anatomy with me. She says outrageous things, performs outrageous feats, and is more dramatic than 3 xanax, 2 lines and a flask of bourbon - all of which make me feel a wee bit more grounded. Homegirl can go through a box of kleenex with amazing speed. She is brutally honest even about her own shortcomings, which is refreshing. Oh, and she loves my new mix tape.

I should give her a box of sandwich bags and a roll of aluminum foil.

* this is the first in a series of odes to my favorite peeps

Worries vanish here within my dream

I chose the perfect song lyrics for this blog! My good day continues to get better, and it is only 10 a.m. The best occurrence so far (and I think this will be hard to beat) is that Alan and I scheduled a lunch date for next week at Triptych in SOMA. It is one of my favorite restaurants in this city full of fabulous eateries, and Alan is one of my favorite individuals. Five seconds into the conversation he had me laughing and knowing that I will get to spend at least an hour if not more in his company makes me look forward to next week.

I woke up this morning feeling well-rested. I had a great night, a good night's sleep and a dream from which I did not want to wake. I was back in Ireland. Enough said.

Aside from that, I had a fit (of what I'm not sure) and determined that I am tired of being disappointed in myself. I am sure I will continue to fuck up in some ways; I will do something and later think to myself, "why did that seem like a good idea?" Or, at the very least, I will feel a twinge of regret at something said or done (or something left unsaid or gone undone). I'm ok with this. It's those moments that lend themselves to some introspection and growth. It is the rather incessant nature of this as of late that I'm looking to mollify. So, here goes! Wheeeeee...

Oh crystal ball, crystal ball...save us all, tell me life is beautiful!

My rather unexceptional law school experience will come to a conclusion in one month. I say that it has been rather unexceptional, because I will not look back on the last 3 years with either fondness or distaste. I have put in minimal effort and have surprisingly managed to get an acceptable return on that investment. Thanks to law school, I have come to terms with being (what I perceive as) mediocre; but, I have also become lazy. Never before law school have I been this unmotivated, which is strange since during undergrad I did not need to be motivated, but I was regardless. Since I didn't have to do much of anything to receive "As," I busted my butt in other areas of my life. Now that effort is needed to do well, I have thrown in the towel and settled for the middle of the pack. For these reasons, finishing law school does not feel like an achievement, and this is why I am not walking at the graduation ceremony. Why celebrate my own apathy? Or, more importantly, why make my family celebrate it?

[To qualify the above - law school has not been entirely awful; it enabled me to spend two months in Prague, three months in Copenhagen, and one month split up over Budapest, Amsterdam, Helsinki, Stockholm and Istanbul. This time abroad lent itself to meeting amazing people and having experiences that made me think, feel and experience life in ways law school is incapable of stimulating.]

Along with the conclusion of law school comes a confluence of emotional experiences and managing them all feels overwhelming. Somtimes my emotions change without notice, and other days I feel conflicting things. To run the gambit of feeling frustrated, elated, anxious, disappointed, weary, enthusiastic, doutful, impatient, comfortable, and content makes focusing seem impossible. A reassessment of goals is in order, and that is terrifying. What were the reasons I came to law school and are those still valid? Not really, and it is unthrilling to finish law school and think that it was perhaps not the best path to take to achieve self-fulfillment and satisfaction. But, as I (and simple physics) maintain: a body (used metaphorically for my life) at rest will stay at rest until a force is acted upon it. Similarly, a body in motion will stay in motion until a force is acted upon it. Such was the case with coming to law school, i.e., once I was on the path, on the path I was determined to be. Change is always difficult, and it's not that things are changing at too rapid of a pace. Instead, things are changing, but I simply cannot predict all the ways in which things are changing and the likely consequences.

I am a bit melancholic that law school has come and gone, as inconsistent as this may seem. It's not the experience of law school itself that I am going to miss. It's the loss of being forward-looking that I think I am starting to lament. Before starting, I had been preoccupied with thoughts such as "once I start law school..." Since starting, I have been preoccupied with thoughts such as "once I graduate..." Now that graduation is nearing, I'm not really thinking to myself "once I take the Bar..." or "once I start my career..." Why? Because I know that once I start my career, it will not be long before I am bored. There is no immediate goal that I am working towards, since retirement is far off in the future. I can look forward to my annual two-week vacation, but that is a bit anti-climactic. It feels unfortunate that I feel as though I am entering the denouement of something...my life perhaps, even though I know this is not an accurate depiction. Fortunately, this melancholy gets circumvented by excitement and anticipation when I think of all the possible avenues that are still before me. While this too feels overwhelming, it's of a good variety that leads me to believe that "the world really is my oyster."

Be rest assured, I will continue blather on about inane subjects in the not too distant future...

I am trying to be heroic in an age of modernity

Fuck this shizz!

I just realized that the last semester of law school is like a season of Survivor. To be fair I will qualify that statement by saying that I have never seen an entire season of Survivor (or even half a season). Regardless, the analogy holds true. I could wax poetic (ok, maybe not so poetic) but those who read this who are also in law school understand what I mean, I am sure. It's just awful, and what makes it awful is this strange confluence of events and corresponding feelings. I hate to say it, but I am actually looking forward to buckling down and studying for the Bar. I am sure that I will hate myself for saying that in 2 months' time, but I'm going out on a limb here.

My only silver lining at the moment is that Easter is rapidly approaching. I LOVE Easter and all of its splendor. The time of year, the flowers, the colors, little colorful and artfully decorated eggs, cupcakes in the shapes of tulips, Easter baskets! Really, if you set aside all religious context, what isn't there to love about Easter?

Easter, for sure, is not part of the shizz that should be fucked.

They say the devil's water it aint's so sweet

There are so many topics that come to mind for this particular blog! It's a complete 180 from the last few weeks. Hallelujah! (and, yes, this heathen did use dictionary.com to look up the spelling of that word. Much to my surprise, I spelled it correctly).

Two weeks ago, the class had to give group projects. One group had the brilliant idea to hand out mini magic 8-balls as prizes for not falling asleep during their presentation (and I am not referring to 1/8 ounce of H, coke or tina). The idea was brilliant, because that is exactly what I was needing, since I have the acumen of a thumb tack. Now I can rely on the trusted magic 8-ball to make guide my life decisions. From my magic 8-ball I have divined that I will, in fact, pass the Bar exam on the first try; I will not be sued for malpractice; I will eventually find a job in San Francisco; I will once again be able to afford my own apartment, and I will eventually travel the entire world. The magic 8 ball was unclear as to whether I would eventually meet a rich paramour to fund my travels and eccentricities (or at least my shopping sprees at Anthropologie). I carry my magic 8 ball around with me, as though it has the same "essential" status as my keys, wallet and bus pass. What I failed to ask the magic 8 ball, and which could have saved me on some anxiety, was whether I have any cavities.

I am an arms dealer, fitting you with weapons in the form of words

I told you this title was going to make multiple appearances, and so it has. My blogmanship skills have been subpar at best as of late. There were two events that would have been the subjects of blogs under ordinary circumstances, and those didn't even make it on to my new colorful blog. Is it laziness? lack of focus and motivation? submission to apathy? These are all possibilities. Or, maybe they all fall under general depressive behavior. Well, here is my meager attempt to restore my status as a true dedicated blogger.

A few weeks ago, San Francisco was hit with torrential rains. Sick of being indoors, I prompted Ms. Smith to go with me to Flax - a neverending art supply store on Market. Ms. Smith arrived decked out in full rain regalia with jeans tucked into rain boots, while I was (as usual) inappropriately dressed. I had closed toed shoes on, and I did have my umbrealla, but otherwise I was unprepared for the onslaught of water. While we were crossing Market to reach the stop for the F-Market car I commented that Market Street had turned into a river. We stood there perched on the minimally raised platform waiting for muni when WOOSH - a car drove through the river that became Market Street and splashed us. My response "oh my god!" We inched towards the other side of the platform when WOOSH - a car on that side drives by and splashes us followed by an even louder "OH MY GOD!!" Realizing that there was no place for us to go, we were left standing there while we got splashed again followed by an even more vehement "OHHH MYYY GODDD!" We stood there looking like helpless drowned rats, or at least I did. Susan's boots got wet, but who cares about wet boots? My pants were soaked through. At the first break in traffic I ran to the sidewalk, where I realized other passengers had been waiting. Two guys came out from an antique store and asked if we were ok, and we started laughing uncontrollably.

Last weekend, Susan and I made a Target run. While there we both became acutely aware that we were starving, so stopped by In and Out on the way back. I had never been before to actually eat something, so I pulled up to the awkward little dude who waits outside to take your orders. Because he came up to the car, I couldn't see the menu. I asked if they had anything vegetarian to which he quickly responded "we have a veggie burger." Let me repeat that. He responded, "we have a veggie burger." I delightfully responded, "great! I'll have that but with no onions or tomato." We get our good, and I look at my supposed veggie burger. There is a bun. There is lettuce in the bun. There is some thousand-island looking sauce on one side of the bun. I look harder only to find that there is no patty. To make sure I'm not delusional, I show it to Ms. Smith and she assures me that, in fact, there is no veggie patty. So, back to the drive-through line we go. I show the little minion my bun sans veggie patty. His response: "did you want, like, a veggie burger?" Flabbergasted, confused, and still starving, I responded with a resounding "yeah," which lacked the force with which I would now like to say it. It always happens that after an event, I think of all the ways I could have and should have responded. These include, but are not limited to, throwing the bun at him, yelling "yes! I want what you told me you had!" and demanding my money back. I could have at least asked him what sense he thought it made for someone to order a lettuce and bun, since I had said for them to hold the tomato and onion. Instead of one of the cool scenarios I have in my head where I come out the victor, he just told me that they don't actually have veggie burgers.

I know if destiny's kind, I've got the rest of my mind

Today’s topic: the drugstore. Whether it be Rite-Aid, Long’s or Walgreen’s, I love the drugstore, and I always have. My long term affection began around 6^th grade, when things like lotion, cosmetics, hair dye, and all things that go in the bathroom started to really appeal to me. I stood agape in front of the bountiful shelves stocked with lipstick, gloss, liner, mascara, pressed and loose powder, and nail polish. As a chubby and socially awkward kid, I looked, I tested on the back of my hand, and I wondered how to use these products. Most importantly, I imagined all the ways in which these products could change my life (and would once I learned how to use them and use them properly). I stocked up on lotions, bath salts, exfoliants so that I could give those familiar things a chance to work their magic. They never did. My affection for the drugstore was not so limited though. Not only did I marvel at all the things that could make my life just a little bit better, a trip to the drugstore gave me a glimpse at independence. During those 30 or so minutes, I had my own basket, I strolled around unsupervised, and I chose my purchases carefully. I was my own prepubescent boss. I imaged the day when I wouldn’t need my mom to drive me to the drugstore, and what bliss that thought gave me. I would move onto the vitamin and medication aisles, since it seemed most adults visited those aisles during their drugstore experience. I was always in such a hurry to grow up, that I imagined when I’d get to buy vitamins, medications, and other products I thought were adult-like.

My affection for the drugstore remains. I love going, and I also love buying things I don’t really need. For instance, I have 3 unopened boxes of toothpaste, one of which was recently purchased. I like having options should I grow tired of a certain kind. More importantly, needing options gives me reason to frequently visit the drugstore. Same with anti-perspirants. I still stroll through the cosmetic aisles looking at things I know I won’t buy. I like to keep up to date on the market and learn just how long, plump and dark mascara can really make my lashes. I've recently spent more money than usual at drugstores, namely one - Walgreens on Market. I walk by it on my way home from the gym. I go to the very same gym as I did before, but when I lived in Upper Haight I had to turn right to go home. Now I have to turn left and pass by the oh-so-inviting entrance of Walgreens. Just when I thought I didn't need any more cotton balls, q-tips, nail polish, I was wrong!

I am an arms dealer, fitting you with weapons in the form of words*

Tonight has been el sucko. First, the federal government prohibited me from purchasing 20 tablets of Claritin-D, which would greatly help me feel normal. Apparently, cracked-out punks can use it in their unstable homemade meth labs so that tweakers do not have to go without. Since I didn't want to carry my wallet, I only took my credit card. Without my driver's license or a picture i.d., the squirrely man behind the counter could not sell me anything to decongest my airways. I did manage to score some Ny-Quil, so not all hope is lost.

Second, because I am sick I feel entitled to eat the low-fat, chewy goodness that is a tootsie roll. In fact, I feel entitled to buy a bag of midgees sans guilt, and I feel justified ignoring that little voice in the back of my head that reminds me that I have plenty of weight to lose and that tootsie rolls only contribute to that goal in my self-created alternate universe - the one where I am also queen! I left the drug store with my bag of midgees only to discover when I got home that they are rock hard. What makes tootsie rolls so great is the combination of the fake-chocolate taste and the chewiness! My bag of midgees is only useful should I wish to pull out a filling or potentially crack a tooth.

*I think the lyrics to the new Fallout Boy song are heelarious! Expect the title of this blog to make many more appearances.

we'll get jacked up on some cheap champagne and let the good times all roll out

Reality is sort of sinking in for a change. If all goes well I'll be an actual attorney in the not too distant future, and that scares me. I do not feel prepared to be an attorney. To help myself along, I think I should start eliminating some words out of my vernacular. I should no longer say: "like, sweet, awesome, really?, fuck yeah, totally, SO, rock out with my cock out"

This is why:

Me: "I am SO going to file the motion today."

Judge: "Motion granted"
Me: "Sweet!"

Judge: "Motion denied"
Me: "Really?"

Co-worker: "don't you have an appearance today?"
Me: "fuck yeah! I am totally going to rock out with my cock out!!"

I can come up with too many examples for "like."

As Ms. Smith says, this could be like the Smurfs not saying "smurf," but I have to try if I am going to get and stay employed. Also, I need to work on not flashing devil horns as a way of saying "fuck yeah!" or "rock on!" I'm pretty sure that is not an acceptable way of getting one's point across.

Just nod if you can hear me, Is there anybody home?

I started moving things into my new home this morning. I started with the essentials - clothes, shoes, toilettries, and linens. Tomorrow is the big day. I meet movers at my storage unit at 8 a.m. and from then on it will be nothing but hauling, stair climbing, and unpacking fun. One of the few things that I like about moving is that it is the perfect time to purge my possessions of all unwanted, unnecessary and neglected things, which makes me feel a bit more organized. So far in the "get rid of" pile are clothes, shoes, school textbooks, magazines, and some furnishings for which I no longer have a need. Also, the more I get rid of, the less I have to move later.

The logistics: I am living in the Duboce Triangle, which is a pocket in between Lower Haight, The Castro, and The Mission. I am on a quiet tree-lined street, which is like a small haven from all the happenings of the surrounding areas. I am living with a 26 year-old guy, who just moved up from Santa Barbara. He seems very nice, and I am excited!

Because I am not really on top of things yet, I thought I had another 2 weeks of vacation. Not so! I start classes next Thursday, but there is little room for complaint. I have Fridays off, and the following Monday is a holiday. I also only have one 2-hour class on Thursdays.

With a great new home, a great new roommate, and a manageable class schedule, it seems as though my last semester will be GREAT!

if music is the victim, then so am I

It's January 2nd, which I think qualifies as the dead of winter. I stepped outside to get something from my car and immediately noticed that it felt like early springtime. The temperature was 68F (20C), and it was still light out at 5:30 p.m. My mom was working in the garden, and I was wearing flip-flops, which maybe isn't as abnormal for Northern California as it seems. Instead, I think I am still using Copenhagen as my frame of reference.

To regress for a minute, New Year's Eve is a night like no other, and I'm not referring to the extravagance and over indulgence that marks the night. Instead, it's a night where people feel hopeful and have a sense of renewal. In the spirit of it being the first day of January 2007, I am coming up with some resolutions. Mind you, these are not New Year's resolutions, which I think are trite and (usually) lack sincerity. Instead, I usually make a list at the beginning of each month of things I would like to accomplish or work towards. These goals range from the cliche, like lose weight, to the more earnest. My more earnest resolution for January is to squelch my inner-consumer. I will remind myself that things such as the latest cell phone, ipod, laptop, and other suck gizmos do not define me or my worth. Instead, I am going to increase my donation amount to Oxfam!