If there is one thing I talk about sort of a lot in my day-to-day life, it is clinic. If there is a second thing I talk about with some sort of frequency, it is Andy. If there is a third thing I talk about on occasion, it is weddings/engagements (with emphasis on my own).
I can't help it. Something about the way my chromosomes connected gave me an excess of the Bride gene. It's not my fault. It's my genetic makeup. And unfortunately, I think my mom gave all of the B genes she had in her to me, and so there were none left over for my sister. Instead of thinking up her own wedding, which would require a slight dose of the B gene (or at least a glance at Martha Stewart Weddings), she took mine, which I had carefully planned during innumerable hours of otherwise unprofitable daydreaming. Now I am currently engaged in the re-planning of my wedding. Although I was annoyed with my sister at first, I am glad that she demonstrated some of the flaws with a few of the plans I originally made. Now, because I am more experienced in the art of wedding planning and execution, I will be much more ideally situated to put the thing off without a hitch. Well, preferably with a hitch---because Andy and I had better be getting hitched. But just one. Other than that, perfection is necessary.
Luckily, not only do I have an aptitude for wedding planning, I have finally found the perfect boy. And I would be lying if I said that I wasn't 100% thrilled about it--not JUST the possibility of years and years of wedded bliss (and I really have no doubt that's what it will be), but also the alluring idea that relatively soon it will be my turn to work on planning the perfect (to me) wedding. I have to say, I totally can't wait.
Even though I KNOW I can't put too much faith in old adages, I have always heard that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. To that end, I have spent countless hours in the kitchen, trying to perfect various recipes--usually desserts. Currently, I have a chocolate marbled cheesecake in the oven, preparing to wow Andy into matrimony. Okay, honestly, I know it doesn't work that way. But it can't hurt to try. Seduction, after all, can come in many forms.
The other night, I had a dream. Frequently my preoccupation with matrimony invades my dreams, but this time was different. It was more vivid--and a bit more ridiculous. In my dream, I knew Andy was going to propose because he asked my parents and my mom called me immediately afterwards to tell me he was about to pop the question. So when Andy was about to ask, I knew it was coming. I was giddy with excitement and, he got down on one knee, and I practically yelled yes. When he gave me the ring, though, it was bizarre. You know those flip flops, where you buy the flop and the flips are interchangeable? And they sometimes have different little gems you can put on the flop? Well, my engagement ring was like that. There were different bands and different diamonds, and they were all interchangeable. I didn't like it very much but I woke up thinking that it was so exciting to be engaged, no matter what the ring.
My sister, for all her wedding-stealing, is right about one thing. The engagement ring is the most important ring, like, ever. Not because it has to be big or expensive, but because its the one thing that your man buys you when you have absolutely nothing. When he has to scrimp and save every last penny and he buys the best thing he can afford. Even though, at just about any other time in your life, you could probably have a bigger diamond. But that's not the point. The point is that this is the one time that you are starting out. It doesn't matter if it's big or small. All that matters is that one day, hopefully soon, Andy will be on one knee and our life will be starting. I can hardly think of anything else.
It's no wonder the thought is invading my dreams, too. But still, let's hope the stones on my engagement ring are not interchangeable.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Real Life Elle Woods
It would be weird if I framed it, wouldn't it? It's okay, who needs a frame? I rewarded myself with cookies. Mmmmmm. I like cookies.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Never Shave Above the Knee Unless You're Expecting Company
If there is a benefit to being the long-suffering woman in a long-term long-distance relationship, I have to say that there are three.
1. Showers are optional.
2. Sweatpants/yoga pants/flannel PJs are mandatory.
3. No shaving is necessary.
Does that sound gross? I would apologize if I felt sorry at all. But I don't. Each of these is somehow related, but also independent of each other. And, every day that I am separated from Andy, I do appreciate that these three things make every day life without him a little bit easier and a little more enjoyable.
Most of my Andy-free days are spent wallowing in the same clothes for days at a time in the same spot on the couch, with various casebooks, highlighters and empty Coke zero cans haphazardly arranged in a circle around me. I can't say I enjoy the boyfriend-free zone, but the warm fuzziness of my green fleece blanket and a new season of Dexter from Netflix make the alone time more enjoyable than it would otherwise be. And, really, who likes to shave? Or shower.
Although I consider myself quite an accomplished baker, I rarely take the time to cook anything of consequence when I'm here in West Virginia. Unless, of course, I get a new edition of Martha Stewart Living. Something about the bright, seasonally decorated pages puts me in a cooking frame of mind. I have to admit, I did subscribe to the magazine out of a thin glimmer of pathetic hope that one day soon I will be a wife and, in that line of thinking, I told myself quite firmly that I would have to master a much broader arrange of culinary arts in order to please a husband with a discriminating palate. I need to encourage myself to stay away from the microwaveable soups, sandwiches, instant oatmeal and bagels that make up so much of my at-school diet. Its hard to find much motivation to cook for one, though. Still, I try to tell myself that this is a life I will never live again and that I need to enjoy it to the fullest. After this year, the amount of time I will get to spend watching Dexter in yoga pants after going to the gym and then not showering will be slim to none. Especially if I get married, which I definitely hope I do. He told me he's saving for a ring, and I'm definitely hoping to set a date for sometime next September. So, that just reaffirms this simple fact: You can't always be a carefree twentysomething girl living alone. One day, your world will change and maybe, just maybe, you'll miss the days you spent, just sitting on the couch, reading endlessly from casebooks, in yoga pants and an old sorority t-shirt, messy hair pulled up in a bun on top of your head, with legs a little like Sasquatch. It's a little like freedom.
1. Showers are optional.
2. Sweatpants/yoga pants/flannel PJs are mandatory.
3. No shaving is necessary.
Does that sound gross? I would apologize if I felt sorry at all. But I don't. Each of these is somehow related, but also independent of each other. And, every day that I am separated from Andy, I do appreciate that these three things make every day life without him a little bit easier and a little more enjoyable.
Most of my Andy-free days are spent wallowing in the same clothes for days at a time in the same spot on the couch, with various casebooks, highlighters and empty Coke zero cans haphazardly arranged in a circle around me. I can't say I enjoy the boyfriend-free zone, but the warm fuzziness of my green fleece blanket and a new season of Dexter from Netflix make the alone time more enjoyable than it would otherwise be. And, really, who likes to shave? Or shower.
Although I consider myself quite an accomplished baker, I rarely take the time to cook anything of consequence when I'm here in West Virginia. Unless, of course, I get a new edition of Martha Stewart Living. Something about the bright, seasonally decorated pages puts me in a cooking frame of mind. I have to admit, I did subscribe to the magazine out of a thin glimmer of pathetic hope that one day soon I will be a wife and, in that line of thinking, I told myself quite firmly that I would have to master a much broader arrange of culinary arts in order to please a husband with a discriminating palate. I need to encourage myself to stay away from the microwaveable soups, sandwiches, instant oatmeal and bagels that make up so much of my at-school diet. Its hard to find much motivation to cook for one, though. Still, I try to tell myself that this is a life I will never live again and that I need to enjoy it to the fullest. After this year, the amount of time I will get to spend watching Dexter in yoga pants after going to the gym and then not showering will be slim to none. Especially if I get married, which I definitely hope I do. He told me he's saving for a ring, and I'm definitely hoping to set a date for sometime next September. So, that just reaffirms this simple fact: You can't always be a carefree twentysomething girl living alone. One day, your world will change and maybe, just maybe, you'll miss the days you spent, just sitting on the couch, reading endlessly from casebooks, in yoga pants and an old sorority t-shirt, messy hair pulled up in a bun on top of your head, with legs a little like Sasquatch. It's a little like freedom.
Friday, October 22, 2010
MDTs and IEPs and Memos, Oh My!
I'm sorry that my most recent posts have been so emo and self-deprecating. Sometimes, I forget that I'm a 24 year old adult and not a whiny thirteen year old schoolgirl. Sometimes, even though I realize that's the way I'm coming across, I can't stop myself. It's like the whinyness comes from somewhere deep in my soul and I can't prevent the negativity.
This time, I assure you, my negativity won't be a problem because I have had a week that, although exhausting and stressful and entirely too long, made me feel like success may be possible at some point in my life before I am old and wrinkled and the joy of success has long since left my frozen, old maid soul. Tell me about your success, you say? As a matter of fact, I will. There are so many things I will make a list for your reading pleasure.
1. I am a memo-writing maniac. On Monday, Professor Umbridge sent me an email that left me chilled to the bone. "Katie, can you write a memo on the new file by Monday?" Great. Thanks, Dolores. As if I didn't already have enough to do, I will find time in my nonexistent free time to write a memo dealing with a TON of elements...by the end of the week. It's cool. I've got this. Luckily, I did. Between Tuesday night and this morning, I found the time to draft a 32 page memo. (See, a legal memo is not a "memo" in the way normal people think about it--it's not a couple sentences scrawled on a pink post-it--it's a description of a case, including factual history, law, a description of application of law to fact, etc.) I haven't gotten any feedback yet, but I am feeling very optimistic. I must say, it is the Mona Lisa of legal memos.
2. My clinic partner, Savannah, and I went to our first MDT meeting as counsel for a real, live client! It started off a bit rocky at first because Savannah was 15 minutes late and we were just taking the exit ramp a few minutes before our meeting was supposed to start. The MapQuest directions we had gotten were totally wrong and, before long, we were lost. Savannah started freaking out, which is usually my job. But for some reason, when Savannah freaks out, I stay calm. Well, I stayed mostly calm. As soon as she told me that the syllabus says that if we miss a hearing for a client, we get an F in the clinic, I lost my cool a little bit. I started thinking of what 7 credit hours worth of Fs would do to my GPA and it made me feel like my lungs were collapsing in on me. Still, I tried to think clearly. I told her to call Professor Umbridge and then our supervisor, who is awesome but I haven't thought of something clever to call her for the purposes of this blog yet. Umbridge was lost too and the Good Supervisor had no idea where we had turned wrong. While Savannah was on the phone with the Good Supervisor, I called 411 and, within minutes, had directions and had pulled into the parking lot of the office where we were supposed to be. We walked in to the meeting, right on time, were escorted in by the Assistant Prosecuting Attorney (more's the pity, though--not the one with the parking meter tickets) and seated... Umbridge was much later, coming in and interrupting the meeting. I smiled. It's nice to be the one who has it together. The MDT itself went well and our client was pleased. Successssssssss.
3. Also, we had a very successful meeting with another client and her children. The Good Supervisor told us afterwards that it sounded like we had a great dialogue going. She was very pleased that we were able to talk so easily with special needs children. Another success. We also got invited to go to one of the children's IEP meetings. The school was so intimidated that we're coming (I have to admit, I can be pretty intimidating at times) that they rescheduled it so that we could have it at a time where their lawyers could also be present. Yes, it's true, I inspire fear everywhere I go. I can't help it. Occupational hazard.
4. Maybe this should be number 1? In my weekly meeting with the Good Supervisor, she told me that Professor Umbridge told her that my cross-examination in clinic class was really good! Professor Umbridge generally hates me, so any compliment is a good compliment. Plus, the Good Supervisor says that, in our hearing that's coming up in November, I can be the person who gives the oral arguments to the court! How exciting! It's so nice to feel like she thinks I'm the right person to handle something, like I'm the best choice for the job. Any job.
5. I spoke to two other clinic students who are annoyed and frustrated by Professor Umbridge and how our clinic is run. They both said they were thinking of dropping. They said that they were planning on talking to the dean that one of the other clinic students had already spoken with and saying that, unless some serious changes are made, they were prepared to drop the clinic. It gives me some serious warm fuzzies. That brings the total number of students thinking about dropping to five. Out of eight. Maybe six. But definitely at least five.
Also, Thanksgiving break isn't so very far away. And after Thanksgiving, it's just a hop, skip and a jump until final exams. Why are you looking towards final exams, you may ask, and justifiably so. What kind of freak of nature looks forward to finals? The freak of nature who knows that what happens before finals is that CLASSES END and that, with the end of classes, comes the end of one traumatic semester of the child and family advocacy clinic.
This time, I assure you, my negativity won't be a problem because I have had a week that, although exhausting and stressful and entirely too long, made me feel like success may be possible at some point in my life before I am old and wrinkled and the joy of success has long since left my frozen, old maid soul. Tell me about your success, you say? As a matter of fact, I will. There are so many things I will make a list for your reading pleasure.
1. I am a memo-writing maniac. On Monday, Professor Umbridge sent me an email that left me chilled to the bone. "Katie, can you write a memo on the new file by Monday?" Great. Thanks, Dolores. As if I didn't already have enough to do, I will find time in my nonexistent free time to write a memo dealing with a TON of elements...by the end of the week. It's cool. I've got this. Luckily, I did. Between Tuesday night and this morning, I found the time to draft a 32 page memo. (See, a legal memo is not a "memo" in the way normal people think about it--it's not a couple sentences scrawled on a pink post-it--it's a description of a case, including factual history, law, a description of application of law to fact, etc.) I haven't gotten any feedback yet, but I am feeling very optimistic. I must say, it is the Mona Lisa of legal memos.
2. My clinic partner, Savannah, and I went to our first MDT meeting as counsel for a real, live client! It started off a bit rocky at first because Savannah was 15 minutes late and we were just taking the exit ramp a few minutes before our meeting was supposed to start. The MapQuest directions we had gotten were totally wrong and, before long, we were lost. Savannah started freaking out, which is usually my job. But for some reason, when Savannah freaks out, I stay calm. Well, I stayed mostly calm. As soon as she told me that the syllabus says that if we miss a hearing for a client, we get an F in the clinic, I lost my cool a little bit. I started thinking of what 7 credit hours worth of Fs would do to my GPA and it made me feel like my lungs were collapsing in on me. Still, I tried to think clearly. I told her to call Professor Umbridge and then our supervisor, who is awesome but I haven't thought of something clever to call her for the purposes of this blog yet. Umbridge was lost too and the Good Supervisor had no idea where we had turned wrong. While Savannah was on the phone with the Good Supervisor, I called 411 and, within minutes, had directions and had pulled into the parking lot of the office where we were supposed to be. We walked in to the meeting, right on time, were escorted in by the Assistant Prosecuting Attorney (more's the pity, though--not the one with the parking meter tickets) and seated... Umbridge was much later, coming in and interrupting the meeting. I smiled. It's nice to be the one who has it together. The MDT itself went well and our client was pleased. Successssssssss.
3. Also, we had a very successful meeting with another client and her children. The Good Supervisor told us afterwards that it sounded like we had a great dialogue going. She was very pleased that we were able to talk so easily with special needs children. Another success. We also got invited to go to one of the children's IEP meetings. The school was so intimidated that we're coming (I have to admit, I can be pretty intimidating at times) that they rescheduled it so that we could have it at a time where their lawyers could also be present. Yes, it's true, I inspire fear everywhere I go. I can't help it. Occupational hazard.
4. Maybe this should be number 1? In my weekly meeting with the Good Supervisor, she told me that Professor Umbridge told her that my cross-examination in clinic class was really good! Professor Umbridge generally hates me, so any compliment is a good compliment. Plus, the Good Supervisor says that, in our hearing that's coming up in November, I can be the person who gives the oral arguments to the court! How exciting! It's so nice to feel like she thinks I'm the right person to handle something, like I'm the best choice for the job. Any job.
5. I spoke to two other clinic students who are annoyed and frustrated by Professor Umbridge and how our clinic is run. They both said they were thinking of dropping. They said that they were planning on talking to the dean that one of the other clinic students had already spoken with and saying that, unless some serious changes are made, they were prepared to drop the clinic. It gives me some serious warm fuzzies. That brings the total number of students thinking about dropping to five. Out of eight. Maybe six. But definitely at least five.
Also, Thanksgiving break isn't so very far away. And after Thanksgiving, it's just a hop, skip and a jump until final exams. Why are you looking towards final exams, you may ask, and justifiably so. What kind of freak of nature looks forward to finals? The freak of nature who knows that what happens before finals is that CLASSES END and that, with the end of classes, comes the end of one traumatic semester of the child and family advocacy clinic.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
"Sue the bastards!"
In my colorful first year torts class, my professor had one saying that he repeated more than any other. No, it wasn't the speech about the being a demigod who had descended (or condescended, as the case may be) to come down from the legal Pantheon to demonstrate to my class the genius of the god-like Learned Hand. It was "Sue the bastards!" which he insisted on us all repeating in chorus at different times throughout the semester. Generally, proceeding that was the statement that, "all liability is based upon fault," but that's not nearly as fun or as much of an attention-getter.
Usually, when Tom Torts discussed suing bastards, he referred to the classic "slip, trip and fall" scenario, which usually took place in the Wal-Mart and usually involved an old "blue hair" who slipped on a wilting lettuce leaf in the produce aisle. Today, I was that blue haired lady.
I went to the Kroger because I needed more organic milk (hey, it tastes better, lasts longer, and is free of all those cancer-causing hormones). I was walking through the store, trying to be inconspicuous because I decided to go in my pajamas, talking on the phone when, all of a sudden, my foot slipped out from under me. I felt my face going red. As I tried to get back up, my foot still slipped. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. An older woman came over to me and helped me up, asking if anything was broken or if I was cut. "Don't get up if it hurts too much, honey!" she kept saying. Once I finally got back on my feet, I looked down and saw that there was a bunch of what looked like spaghetti sauce on the floor and some broken glass pieces. The woman kept fussing over me and said that it was "unacceptable" and that she was going to immediately have someone come clean up the aisle. Meanwhile, I stood there...in pajamas...and flip flops...and, of course, I did not shower today. I painted a very attractive picture, I'm sure.
In Tom Tort's scenario, the lady would sue the evil corporation and, of course, would lose because, no matter how good her claim, Wal-Mart has deep pockets and the "fat cat" company people would stomp the lawsuit out of the little old blue hairs.
I remember in torts thinking that it was so funny that there was an entire section on slip, trip and fall cases. But now that I am a slipper, tripper and faller, I guess its not quite so surprising. The first thing I thought, though, once the deep crimson blush faded from my cheeks and I finally got on my feet (no cuts, bumps or bruises, although I have to say my rear-end is feeling very sore at the moment) was...SUE THE BASTARDS.
But, of course, I know better. My fall was for nothing. FML.
Usually, when Tom Torts discussed suing bastards, he referred to the classic "slip, trip and fall" scenario, which usually took place in the Wal-Mart and usually involved an old "blue hair" who slipped on a wilting lettuce leaf in the produce aisle. Today, I was that blue haired lady.
I went to the Kroger because I needed more organic milk (hey, it tastes better, lasts longer, and is free of all those cancer-causing hormones). I was walking through the store, trying to be inconspicuous because I decided to go in my pajamas, talking on the phone when, all of a sudden, my foot slipped out from under me. I felt my face going red. As I tried to get back up, my foot still slipped. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. An older woman came over to me and helped me up, asking if anything was broken or if I was cut. "Don't get up if it hurts too much, honey!" she kept saying. Once I finally got back on my feet, I looked down and saw that there was a bunch of what looked like spaghetti sauce on the floor and some broken glass pieces. The woman kept fussing over me and said that it was "unacceptable" and that she was going to immediately have someone come clean up the aisle. Meanwhile, I stood there...in pajamas...and flip flops...and, of course, I did not shower today. I painted a very attractive picture, I'm sure.
In Tom Tort's scenario, the lady would sue the evil corporation and, of course, would lose because, no matter how good her claim, Wal-Mart has deep pockets and the "fat cat" company people would stomp the lawsuit out of the little old blue hairs.
I remember in torts thinking that it was so funny that there was an entire section on slip, trip and fall cases. But now that I am a slipper, tripper and faller, I guess its not quite so surprising. The first thing I thought, though, once the deep crimson blush faded from my cheeks and I finally got on my feet (no cuts, bumps or bruises, although I have to say my rear-end is feeling very sore at the moment) was...SUE THE BASTARDS.
But, of course, I know better. My fall was for nothing. FML.
Friday, October 15, 2010
You Can Call Me Diana,
goddess of the hunt. Today, I am back home for the weekend. Well, until Monday, anyway. Almost as soon as I got in my car and left school yesterday, I felt like an enormous weight was lifted off of me. At school, I feel like I feel constantly inadequate, like I'm always searching for something I did wrong and trying to figure out how to prevent it from ever happening again. I have so many memories that, when I look back, I blush just thinking about it. I can easily catalog every single mistake I have EVER made in law school. I never forget. Like yesterday. In my business organizations class, we had to write Articles of Incorporation and Bylaws for a fake client who is interested in starting up a clinic for providing holistic health care. She's smart, and she wanted to limit her liability and preserve for antiquity the amount of capital she (and her partner) invested in the business, and also protect her role as Superwoman and Chief Decision Maker of the newly-minted corporation. Understandable. I can sympathize with a fellow wannabe Superwoman, and I can work on making her role in the corporation as permanent and unchangeable as possible. Well, in class we had to swap our Articles and Bylaws with a neighboring group, and, unfortunately, I sit by a couple of uppity 2L girls who think that they know everything. They got our Articles and I knew they would tear them apart. Our professor--who I happen to love--gave us a rubric for analyzing the other group's work and then came around to talk to each of our groups as we did it. When she came up to us, she asked if we thought the activity was useful and I blurted something moronic like how reading it made me realize how many things I had screwed up. Probably not the most tactful. She was looking for something like, "Oh, yes, I have an intimate understanding of corporations and how to organize shares of stock to protect the managerial interests of my clients." Once again, I failed to deliver. She smiled, though, because she's a trooper and I have had one other breakdown in her presence this semester, and asked, "Ms. Wilcox, didn't your group get an A on the last assignment?" Well, Professor, I thought, that's only one success. I can think of soo many more failures. Let me list them... But no, she kept on and said, "You won't ever get anything totally perfect! I just want you to learn from it." What a nice woman. I really do like her. But, I thought, though of course by now I had realized to keep my stupid interfering mouth completely shut, how can I be satisfied with not getting anything right? Especially when all I hear is wrong. Here are a list of the things I have done wrong this week:
1. I did not save my mock client counseling session in the right place so my inept professor would be able to find it.
2. Although I showed her how to find where I HAD put it, I apparently did not do it well enough, because she still couldn't find it.
3. I showed her again, and although she was able to find it, there was something wrong with the volume for the last ten minutes, pretty much obscuring everything that I had said in the interview. Cool. Thanks, technology.
4. Deposition. Ahhh, my deposition. I would prefer not to think of it anymore, but I can't help it. In the future, I am going to make an effort to S-L-O-W D-O-W-N everything I say, not second guess my questions, and not talk over the witness. Be a friend to the court reporter.
5. I did not list our corporation as "for profit" in my Articles and it was one of the things we had to have on the rubric.
6. I forgot to print off two copies of the Bylaws to bring to class. (But I did fix this--I ran down to the clinic room and printed off copies during our break. But still. I forgot.)
7. I wrote a motion for substitution of counsel and, after my style of the case, I included a line to separate it from the rest of the document. Another lawyer did not like this.
8. I also referred to the petitioner as the defendant in the same document.
Anyway, I am home now, and I am leaving my faults behind. It's funny how much better I am able to sleep when I'm here and how much less stressed I feel. It's like a few days of freedom before I return to prison. Okay, I'm exaggerating. They don't have pepperoni rolls in prison. But apparently, in Moundsville, they serve lobster, according to my post conviction remedies professor... but I digress.
Today my analysis will come from a different form of footwear: Muck boots. Today I will shed my traditional footwear (flip-flops and Converse for everyday, but pumps on special occasions, client interviews, court appearances, oral arguments, etc) in favor of my hunting boots. You haven't known me to be like this yet, but in fact I am quite a different person when I come home. Andy and I hunt and fish a lot in our spare time, and this weekend is no exception. Today, I have a date with a brand new ladder stand that Andy put in a prime sniper position on my great-grandmother's property (now belonging to my grandfather). It is his personal goal to get me to shoot a deer with my beautiful Mathews bow. My newly pink fletched arrows are primed and ready to go. Number 3 has been flying awfully well in the last several months. I outfitted her with a broadhead (and a few others, just in case). She and I are going to sit in the treestand and hope for success on some front. I would really like to have success somewhere, at something.
When I do, you can officially call me Diana. I really like to be the goddess of something--especially since I'm definitely not the goddess of law school.
1. I did not save my mock client counseling session in the right place so my inept professor would be able to find it.
2. Although I showed her how to find where I HAD put it, I apparently did not do it well enough, because she still couldn't find it.
3. I showed her again, and although she was able to find it, there was something wrong with the volume for the last ten minutes, pretty much obscuring everything that I had said in the interview. Cool. Thanks, technology.
4. Deposition. Ahhh, my deposition. I would prefer not to think of it anymore, but I can't help it. In the future, I am going to make an effort to S-L-O-W D-O-W-N everything I say, not second guess my questions, and not talk over the witness. Be a friend to the court reporter.
5. I did not list our corporation as "for profit" in my Articles and it was one of the things we had to have on the rubric.
6. I forgot to print off two copies of the Bylaws to bring to class. (But I did fix this--I ran down to the clinic room and printed off copies during our break. But still. I forgot.)
7. I wrote a motion for substitution of counsel and, after my style of the case, I included a line to separate it from the rest of the document. Another lawyer did not like this.
8. I also referred to the petitioner as the defendant in the same document.
Anyway, I am home now, and I am leaving my faults behind. It's funny how much better I am able to sleep when I'm here and how much less stressed I feel. It's like a few days of freedom before I return to prison. Okay, I'm exaggerating. They don't have pepperoni rolls in prison. But apparently, in Moundsville, they serve lobster, according to my post conviction remedies professor... but I digress.
Today my analysis will come from a different form of footwear: Muck boots. Today I will shed my traditional footwear (flip-flops and Converse for everyday, but pumps on special occasions, client interviews, court appearances, oral arguments, etc) in favor of my hunting boots. You haven't known me to be like this yet, but in fact I am quite a different person when I come home. Andy and I hunt and fish a lot in our spare time, and this weekend is no exception. Today, I have a date with a brand new ladder stand that Andy put in a prime sniper position on my great-grandmother's property (now belonging to my grandfather). It is his personal goal to get me to shoot a deer with my beautiful Mathews bow. My newly pink fletched arrows are primed and ready to go. Number 3 has been flying awfully well in the last several months. I outfitted her with a broadhead (and a few others, just in case). She and I are going to sit in the treestand and hope for success on some front. I would really like to have success somewhere, at something.
When I do, you can officially call me Diana. I really like to be the goddess of something--especially since I'm definitely not the goddess of law school.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Caveat Plaintiff
I have come to the conclusion that I, for better or for worse, think differently than just about everyone else in law school. Since my first year, I have felt that plaintiffs (now, please understand, this is a gross over-generalization and I accept that there are certainly exceptions to this) generally seek to obtain money to which they have little to no right. Who doesn't want to slip, trip and fall in Wal-Mart and sue them for millions upon millions of dollars in damages to your lower back? It's easy. (Haven't you heard the pumpkernickle joke? If not, I'll tell it at another time.) But it's wrong. I know that no one feels a tremendous amount of sympathy for the Wal-Marts of the world, but I do. At some point, though, someone at Wal-Mart made some smart business decisions somewhere along the way and they deserve to reap the benefits of their business savvy. Why should they lose their hard-earned money just because someone saw dollar signs reflecting brightly in the newly-mopped floor? It's ridiculous.
In the defense of people who think that sympathy is the best avenue, I guess I should probably say that originally I, too, thought that this was the best avenue for success. When I first started working, I thought that the best way to deal with clients w was to be extremely sympathetic and pretty much agree with everything they said. I didn't want to come across as confrontational or skeptical about their story. I thought it would help. I was wrong.
Last summer, though I worked for a lawyer, who practices by himself, back home and one of the first things he said to me was "Your tears don't win cases." He is so right! (It was worth doing all that copying and labeling and file-finding and phone calling just for that one little bit of world-changing wisdom.) Me feeling sorry for someone is NOT going to help them. Me boohooing over the terribleness of their terrible, horrible, no good, very bad lives is not going to do anything at all to make anything any better. I prefer to be no-nonsense and common sense. Your story is whatever it is, and I'm not going to sugar coat it or create a day and name is National Feel Sorry for (Your Name Here) Day. If I don't seem surprised or upset or overwhelmed, then I'm in control and I can handle things--it makes clients feel confidence in my abilities, rather than just exaggerating their fears and anxieties. Chip, my lawyer at home, also used to tell his clients all the time "Stop worrying. You came to see me, and it's my job now. We'll take care of this." And they all found it incredibly reassuring--you could literally see relief show on their faces. I would much rather be like that than stop an interview, saying "I just want to make sure you're okay, how are you coping?" It makes problems seem worse!
For the record, I am not hard-hearted, but it is definitely not in my nature to coddle. In general, I much prefer to make a plan. If I'm upset, I don't cry (for very long) and sit around feeling sorry for myself. I like to know what my next move is going to be. Still, I dont envision myself becoming a plaintiff's lawyer. I feel much more comfortable with the idea of working for the defense. Actually, what I really what to do is divorce. It probably sounds strange, but I would like to represent men. Generally speaking, I think that men get the short end of the stick when it comes to divorce, especially in regards to property division and child custody. Like my poor uncle, who married a heinous woman. He's afraid to divorce her because (1) she could get part of our family business and (2) he's afraid he would lose his kids. When he's the good guy in this scenario, that just doesn't sit right with me. It makes me want to change my job title from Katie, attorney, to become Katie, Official Crusader of Good Men With Heinous Wives Everywhere. In my law practice, I want to make the divide between women's settlements and men's settlements a little less like a canyon and a little more like a small brook. That is, if I ever make it to actual practice, which still remains to be seen.
Yesterday, I gave a deposition, and it was definitely not at all as good as I hoped it would be. For one thing, I talk too fast. Of course, that has been a critique that I have been getting all along. For another, the WAY I talk is kind of a problem. When I asked questions to my witness, I would then try to clarify, but while I was clarifying, the witness was trying to answer. So, a court reporter pretty much would have hated my guts. It was very choppy and generally frustrating. Afterward, my professor was like, "You just don't trust yourself." She's right. But how can I trust myself, when I keep hearing all the things that I'm doing wrong? How CAN I trust myself, when Professor Umbridge said to me that SHE knew what to do, SHE was right and literally everything I had done was wrong? Seriously, no joke, she did say that. No joking in her face, either.
But it should come as no surprise at this point that our personalities clash. She is liberal in the kind of way that she feels intensely sorry for the struggles of everyone and sees dollars and lawsuits after every client interview. In short, in essentially the kind of way that she doesn't actually end up ever helping anyone. She told my clinic partner and I that we might file a lawsuit against the school in this case we're working on now. Personally, I think that, when working with a school, it is better to try to figure out how to work together to resolve a problem, rather than getting the administrator's backs up right away by saying that we are considering a lawsuit. She's also a feminist--and I am not. I distinctly remember telling people that I had come to college to find a husband. Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful. But still, I am not opposed to married life, not opposed to the idea of staying at home to care for children full-time (although I know that with a law degree its probably an impossibility for me at this point), not opposed to doing cooking and cleaning and traditional "woman's" work. Traitor to my sex? Apparently. Hard-hearted bitch? I don't think so.
In the defense of people who think that sympathy is the best avenue, I guess I should probably say that originally I, too, thought that this was the best avenue for success. When I first started working, I thought that the best way to deal with clients w was to be extremely sympathetic and pretty much agree with everything they said. I didn't want to come across as confrontational or skeptical about their story. I thought it would help. I was wrong.
Last summer, though I worked for a lawyer, who practices by himself, back home and one of the first things he said to me was "Your tears don't win cases." He is so right! (It was worth doing all that copying and labeling and file-finding and phone calling just for that one little bit of world-changing wisdom.) Me feeling sorry for someone is NOT going to help them. Me boohooing over the terribleness of their terrible, horrible, no good, very bad lives is not going to do anything at all to make anything any better. I prefer to be no-nonsense and common sense. Your story is whatever it is, and I'm not going to sugar coat it or create a day and name is National Feel Sorry for (Your Name Here) Day. If I don't seem surprised or upset or overwhelmed, then I'm in control and I can handle things--it makes clients feel confidence in my abilities, rather than just exaggerating their fears and anxieties. Chip, my lawyer at home, also used to tell his clients all the time "Stop worrying. You came to see me, and it's my job now. We'll take care of this." And they all found it incredibly reassuring--you could literally see relief show on their faces. I would much rather be like that than stop an interview, saying "I just want to make sure you're okay, how are you coping?" It makes problems seem worse!
For the record, I am not hard-hearted, but it is definitely not in my nature to coddle. In general, I much prefer to make a plan. If I'm upset, I don't cry (for very long) and sit around feeling sorry for myself. I like to know what my next move is going to be. Still, I dont envision myself becoming a plaintiff's lawyer. I feel much more comfortable with the idea of working for the defense. Actually, what I really what to do is divorce. It probably sounds strange, but I would like to represent men. Generally speaking, I think that men get the short end of the stick when it comes to divorce, especially in regards to property division and child custody. Like my poor uncle, who married a heinous woman. He's afraid to divorce her because (1) she could get part of our family business and (2) he's afraid he would lose his kids. When he's the good guy in this scenario, that just doesn't sit right with me. It makes me want to change my job title from Katie, attorney, to become Katie, Official Crusader of Good Men With Heinous Wives Everywhere. In my law practice, I want to make the divide between women's settlements and men's settlements a little less like a canyon and a little more like a small brook. That is, if I ever make it to actual practice, which still remains to be seen.
Yesterday, I gave a deposition, and it was definitely not at all as good as I hoped it would be. For one thing, I talk too fast. Of course, that has been a critique that I have been getting all along. For another, the WAY I talk is kind of a problem. When I asked questions to my witness, I would then try to clarify, but while I was clarifying, the witness was trying to answer. So, a court reporter pretty much would have hated my guts. It was very choppy and generally frustrating. Afterward, my professor was like, "You just don't trust yourself." She's right. But how can I trust myself, when I keep hearing all the things that I'm doing wrong? How CAN I trust myself, when Professor Umbridge said to me that SHE knew what to do, SHE was right and literally everything I had done was wrong? Seriously, no joke, she did say that. No joking in her face, either.
But it should come as no surprise at this point that our personalities clash. She is liberal in the kind of way that she feels intensely sorry for the struggles of everyone and sees dollars and lawsuits after every client interview. In short, in essentially the kind of way that she doesn't actually end up ever helping anyone. She told my clinic partner and I that we might file a lawsuit against the school in this case we're working on now. Personally, I think that, when working with a school, it is better to try to figure out how to work together to resolve a problem, rather than getting the administrator's backs up right away by saying that we are considering a lawsuit. She's also a feminist--and I am not. I distinctly remember telling people that I had come to college to find a husband. Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful. But still, I am not opposed to married life, not opposed to the idea of staying at home to care for children full-time (although I know that with a law degree its probably an impossibility for me at this point), not opposed to doing cooking and cleaning and traditional "woman's" work. Traitor to my sex? Apparently. Hard-hearted bitch? I don't think so.
Monday, October 11, 2010
For Your Amusement (Or Maybe Just Mine)
In my clinic, I am working on a case. The subject matter of the case is unimportant. However, what is important is that this is my first case that may require a court appearance (yesss!) and in which I will actually have to confer with opposing counsel. Intimidating? Earlier today, I would have said yes. Now, though, recent facts have come to light that have made me feel infinitely more optimistic about my chances for success, not only in this case, but in life in general.
Opposing counsel in this case is a young woman, who is currently the Assistant Prosecuting Attorney for a nearby county. Apparently she is a graduate of my law school, a former clinic student, a successful bar-passer, and has now been out in the real world, practicing for six years. At first glance, she sounds like a success and an inspiration. Hopefully, I thought, when I finally had to face her for this case that I'm working on, she would be understanding of my plight as a clinic student, sympathetic and willing to help. Now, though, I have no qualms in facing her in court. In fact, I will hold my head up high because I have not screwed up that badly yet. Perhaps writing this in my blog makes it much more likely that my day is coming. My karma points are building up against me. But still, this is far too good not to report.
In my well-meaning research, I stumbled across some case law pertaining to my most honorable opposing counsel... Apparently, in one year, from November 2005 until November 2006, homegirl was able to rack up 377 (no, there is no typo) parking meter violations in the city where she works. THREE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY SEVEN. Want proof? Here's an excerpt from the case, with names and identifying details deleted (not because I have to but because it seems like the decent thing to do, she's probably embarrassed enough already):
"The City of ____ cited Appellant _____, Assistant Prosecuting Attorney for __ County, with 377 separate parking meter violations from November 2005 through November 2006.
Both appellants executed amnesty agreements with the City of Fairmont. Under Ms. Hawkins agreement, she was to pay $3,801.00, which total represents all of the 377 parking fine assessments and half of the penalties levied as a result of the unanswered parking violations.
Subsequently, the appellants became delinquent in the payments. As a result, notice was sent to Ms. Hawkins on June 22, 2007, and July 16, 2007 to appear before the Municipal Court on August 16, 2007, at 3:30 p.m. to answer the parking meter violations. Neither appellant appeared at the hearing. As a result, the municipal court issued capiases for the appellants' arrests. Thereafter, the appellants were taken into custody, processed, given an opportunity to post bond and provided a date and time to appear before the municipal court for failure to appear at the scheduled hearing."
Did you get that? Not ONLY did homegirl get 377 parking meter violations in just 365 days (do you realize that means that frequently this girl had more than one violation PER DAY?), she also did not respond to her tickets, did not pay her fines, and did not show up in municipal court for her hearing. Just a side note: Courts don't like it when you don't show up for hearings. That's probably why she was TAKEN INTO CUSTODY and had to post bond. Yikes. I'm not going to lie, part of me feels extremely sympathetic towards her, because she probably works in an area where parking is extremely inconvenient...but still, part of me is like "Woohoo! Comparatively, I'm a success!" Still, I am sympathetic enough that I will protect her name, even though the case is a matter of public record at this point. Still, it's good to know that I will be a success once I start the bar and start practicing without getting 377 parking meter violations, which, except for the bar passage part, shouldn't be that terribly hard. Of course, that is not to say that I have NEVER had any run ins with the law--from time to time I have been accused of having a lead-filled right foot. But still--at least it hasn't happened to me 377 times.
I have to admit, I'm really looking forward to meeting her. I have this vision of what a person who manages to get 377 parking meter violations looks like, and I'm eager to see how true to life my imagined person is. Probably pretty far from it, but still. How often do you get to meet a repeat offender like that?
I'm sorry, Assistant Prosecuting Attorney, that it is your shame that today fills me with inexplicable glee. I've messed up, I'm told that I'm too stupid to function, I have to re-write my documents a million times before they are approved to go out to clients, and I still blush painfully pink whenever I'm called on in class (the scars of 1L year fade with time, but my subconscious is still somewhat battered and paranoid). But...I'm not THAT bad. Cheers!
Opposing counsel in this case is a young woman, who is currently the Assistant Prosecuting Attorney for a nearby county. Apparently she is a graduate of my law school, a former clinic student, a successful bar-passer, and has now been out in the real world, practicing for six years. At first glance, she sounds like a success and an inspiration. Hopefully, I thought, when I finally had to face her for this case that I'm working on, she would be understanding of my plight as a clinic student, sympathetic and willing to help. Now, though, I have no qualms in facing her in court. In fact, I will hold my head up high because I have not screwed up that badly yet. Perhaps writing this in my blog makes it much more likely that my day is coming. My karma points are building up against me. But still, this is far too good not to report.
In my well-meaning research, I stumbled across some case law pertaining to my most honorable opposing counsel... Apparently, in one year, from November 2005 until November 2006, homegirl was able to rack up 377 (no, there is no typo) parking meter violations in the city where she works. THREE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY SEVEN. Want proof? Here's an excerpt from the case, with names and identifying details deleted (not because I have to but because it seems like the decent thing to do, she's probably embarrassed enough already):
"The City of ____ cited Appellant _____, Assistant Prosecuting Attorney for __ County, with 377 separate parking meter violations from November 2005 through November 2006.
Both appellants executed amnesty agreements with the City of Fairmont. Under Ms. Hawkins agreement, she was to pay $3,801.00, which total represents all of the 377 parking fine assessments and half of the penalties levied as a result of the unanswered parking violations.
Subsequently, the appellants became delinquent in the payments. As a result, notice was sent to Ms. Hawkins on June 22, 2007, and July 16, 2007 to appear before the Municipal Court on August 16, 2007, at 3:30 p.m. to answer the parking meter violations. Neither appellant appeared at the hearing. As a result, the municipal court issued capiases for the appellants' arrests. Thereafter, the appellants were taken into custody, processed, given an opportunity to post bond and provided a date and time to appear before the municipal court for failure to appear at the scheduled hearing."
Did you get that? Not ONLY did homegirl get 377 parking meter violations in just 365 days (do you realize that means that frequently this girl had more than one violation PER DAY?), she also did not respond to her tickets, did not pay her fines, and did not show up in municipal court for her hearing. Just a side note: Courts don't like it when you don't show up for hearings. That's probably why she was TAKEN INTO CUSTODY and had to post bond. Yikes. I'm not going to lie, part of me feels extremely sympathetic towards her, because she probably works in an area where parking is extremely inconvenient...but still, part of me is like "Woohoo! Comparatively, I'm a success!" Still, I am sympathetic enough that I will protect her name, even though the case is a matter of public record at this point. Still, it's good to know that I will be a success once I start the bar and start practicing without getting 377 parking meter violations, which, except for the bar passage part, shouldn't be that terribly hard. Of course, that is not to say that I have NEVER had any run ins with the law--from time to time I have been accused of having a lead-filled right foot. But still--at least it hasn't happened to me 377 times.
I have to admit, I'm really looking forward to meeting her. I have this vision of what a person who manages to get 377 parking meter violations looks like, and I'm eager to see how true to life my imagined person is. Probably pretty far from it, but still. How often do you get to meet a repeat offender like that?
I'm sorry, Assistant Prosecuting Attorney, that it is your shame that today fills me with inexplicable glee. I've messed up, I'm told that I'm too stupid to function, I have to re-write my documents a million times before they are approved to go out to clients, and I still blush painfully pink whenever I'm called on in class (the scars of 1L year fade with time, but my subconscious is still somewhat battered and paranoid). But...I'm not THAT bad. Cheers!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
It Didn't Work Out So Well for Caesar
Last week, I had probably the third worst week that I have ever had in law school. The first worst week was just a few weeks ago, when I was feverishly working on a case for a terminally ill client. (Though, of course, I should also say that attorney-client privilege absolutely applies to bogs written by disillusioned law students and that I will adhere completely to the Model Rules of Professional Conduct in my posts. I have been known to have a little bit of a big mouth, and I promise that I will keep my client's confidences here.) The second worst was my first week of classes, where several terrifying professors shamelessly put the fear of God in me.
After these ridiculously terrible weeks, my last week seems relatively tame, but, I have to admit, it leaves me contemplating armed rebellion, though of course I recognize the dangers latent in such a course of action. In my two years and seven weeks in law school, I have had several very good, and a few very, very bad professors. Only once, second semester of my second year, did I ever think about complaining to administration about the quality of education I was receiving because of a professor, who although undoubtedly a previously brilliant man, was a stroke victim who spent every single one of our class periods reading in a droll, slurring monotone. I didn't say anything.
But now... Now I have an even worse situation on my hands than the rambling, miserable classes and a final exam so ridden with typos that it was practically indiscernible. Now, I have Professor Umbridge, who I have renamed both for her own protection and, more importantly, for mine.
Last week, I was revising a letter I had written several weeks ago closing a client's case. I had a lot of problems with it, because for one thing, both of my supervising attorneys had, at one point, "sent" me the revisions, without actually attaching any documents. When I told them about this, it took them BOTH several days to re-send the revisions. Without revisions, of course, there wasn't much I could do, so I waited. But then, I got the following email (minus, of course, changes that I made to take out information that is sensitive to my client's confidential case):
I suggest you add more information, including the statutory cite, to the new paragraph on guardianship. Also, I don't understand what the last sentence in the paragraph means re: a suitable plan etc. I suggest you explain what that means. These are minor changes -- can you please make the following revisions today so it can go out today?
So, I did. But to attach the actual draft of the letter is not very important here, because, for one thing, it would violate confidentiality. The real problem you can see, even without knowing anything about what my letter says. I made the changes, and sent a new draft. I got the following email back in response:
Notwithstanding the typo at the end there, which does not relate substantively to the letter and that I preserved just for funsies, I found this letter very frustrating because the two concerns that were indicated by my professor in the first letter were NOT the concerns that she addressed in her second email. So, although I was informed that I did not address either of her two concerns, the email DOES show that the concerns she wanted addressed changed from one email to the next. Am I supposed to be a mind reader? There was also a dig at me for taking so long to revise the letter which, I admit, it has taken a lot longer than it should have, but, at the same time, there were times in which the revisions were out of my control.
I have to admit, I cried after I got the second email. And I probably let it affect me more than it should have. And ordinarily, I could withstand a negative review or two, but this is just another example in a series of things that have really, really upset me this semester. It's so frustrating to feel like I'm putting so much time and energy into research and drafting only to hear that I am doing everything completely wrong. I'm worried about the impact that negative episodes like this one will have on my grade. I'm a grade grubber, I know, but this is one of my first experiences working with real clients and I desperately want it to go well. It's an important line in my resume, and an important grade in my transcript. Plus, at this point, I just need to prove to myself that I can do this at all.
I understand that my professors know a lot more about the practice of law than I do. Of course they do. I've never been alone on a case in a courtroom, and I have never been solely responsible (read: liable) for a person's case. But still, I didn't make it through two years and seven weeks of law school by being a complete and total idiot. I have the ability to read and make some choices and I don't appreciate being told to do one thing and then yelled at for not doing something completely different. It makes me wonder if I should try to talk to someone about what's going on. I'm also worried that saying something will hurt my grade, or else I would have done it already. Besides, rebellion generally doesn't work out so well for many of the parties involved.
So. The question is...to rebel, or not to rebel?
After these ridiculously terrible weeks, my last week seems relatively tame, but, I have to admit, it leaves me contemplating armed rebellion, though of course I recognize the dangers latent in such a course of action. In my two years and seven weeks in law school, I have had several very good, and a few very, very bad professors. Only once, second semester of my second year, did I ever think about complaining to administration about the quality of education I was receiving because of a professor, who although undoubtedly a previously brilliant man, was a stroke victim who spent every single one of our class periods reading in a droll, slurring monotone. I didn't say anything.
But now... Now I have an even worse situation on my hands than the rambling, miserable classes and a final exam so ridden with typos that it was practically indiscernible. Now, I have Professor Umbridge, who I have renamed both for her own protection and, more importantly, for mine.
Last week, I was revising a letter I had written several weeks ago closing a client's case. I had a lot of problems with it, because for one thing, both of my supervising attorneys had, at one point, "sent" me the revisions, without actually attaching any documents. When I told them about this, it took them BOTH several days to re-send the revisions. Without revisions, of course, there wasn't much I could do, so I waited. But then, I got the following email (minus, of course, changes that I made to take out information that is sensitive to my client's confidential case):
I suggest you add more information, including the statutory cite, to the new paragraph on guardianship. Also, I don't understand what the last sentence in the paragraph means re: a suitable plan etc. I suggest you explain what that means. These are minor changes -- can you please make the following revisions today so it can go out today?
So, I did. But to attach the actual draft of the letter is not very important here, because, for one thing, it would violate confidentiality. The real problem you can see, even without knowing anything about what my letter says. I made the changes, and sent a new draft. I got the following email back in response:
Actually, the letter doesn't address my two comments. First, it needs to specify that __ can petition for guardianship -- I think if I recall correctly that I asked for that specific language vs. "can be appointed" because "can be appointed" implies that it is automatic and it is not. Second, I asked that you summarize the statute and you didn't include a summary. Please look at that statute and summarize how it works. That would mean at a minimum that you would include what the act is for. It means you also have to show why ___ could bring this proceeding as an "interested person" -- which is a defined term. Also, you need to include the overall test that the court uses -- which is "best interests". So all in all, you will need another paragraph to accomplish this.
This is taking a very long time. Can you please work with ___ today to iron this out? Think about the information you would want to know as the client. Also, you should point out that appointment is not guaranteed -- especially if.....as guardian fo the child.
Notwithstanding the typo at the end there, which does not relate substantively to the letter and that I preserved just for funsies, I found this letter very frustrating because the two concerns that were indicated by my professor in the first letter were NOT the concerns that she addressed in her second email. So, although I was informed that I did not address either of her two concerns, the email DOES show that the concerns she wanted addressed changed from one email to the next. Am I supposed to be a mind reader? There was also a dig at me for taking so long to revise the letter which, I admit, it has taken a lot longer than it should have, but, at the same time, there were times in which the revisions were out of my control.
I have to admit, I cried after I got the second email. And I probably let it affect me more than it should have. And ordinarily, I could withstand a negative review or two, but this is just another example in a series of things that have really, really upset me this semester. It's so frustrating to feel like I'm putting so much time and energy into research and drafting only to hear that I am doing everything completely wrong. I'm worried about the impact that negative episodes like this one will have on my grade. I'm a grade grubber, I know, but this is one of my first experiences working with real clients and I desperately want it to go well. It's an important line in my resume, and an important grade in my transcript. Plus, at this point, I just need to prove to myself that I can do this at all.
I understand that my professors know a lot more about the practice of law than I do. Of course they do. I've never been alone on a case in a courtroom, and I have never been solely responsible (read: liable) for a person's case. But still, I didn't make it through two years and seven weeks of law school by being a complete and total idiot. I have the ability to read and make some choices and I don't appreciate being told to do one thing and then yelled at for not doing something completely different. It makes me wonder if I should try to talk to someone about what's going on. I'm also worried that saying something will hurt my grade, or else I would have done it already. Besides, rebellion generally doesn't work out so well for many of the parties involved.
So. The question is...to rebel, or not to rebel?
I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends
Okay, so you already know that sometimes law school is a little less wonderful than previously anticipated. I spend very little time wearing power shoes and, when I do, I don't feel all that happy about it. On Friday, I wore my new black patent leather peep toe pumps and consequently suffered a rather painful injury to my left big toe. Back to Rainbow flip-flops and Chuck Taylors it is. Anyway, I can't get on Facebook without constant and painful reminders of my friends and their infinitely more exciting, oh so grown up lives. There is always a new friend (usually a younger one) who is engaged, married, or pregnant. Don't get me wrong--I don't envy the knocked up ones. It's just another reminder of how their lives have moved on, they are working regular jobs, getting regular paychecks, and living real lives. I, on the other hand, have not. My parents still help me pay for my groceries and pay my cell phone bill and foot the health insurance (but that's probably because I told them I would die in a car crash rather than pay it myself---mature, I know).
Still, every so often there is a little bright spot in my life. One such bright spot happened yesterday. Of course, part of the reason why I came to such a big school for my graduate degree was so that I could have a school with a good football team and a good-natured, cult-like following. Yesterday was a home football game day. In my town, that's a big deal. In my first year of law school, I had Allie to go with---but then she dropped out. In my second year, I was so smitten with my then brand-new boyfriend that I skipped all the games to talk on the phone or to drive home. Sometimes I feel like my priorities of the last year and a half (basically, seeing Andy, talking to Andy, thinking about Andy, planning things with Andy, etc) have made me miss out on a lot of things that I could be doing around here that might make me at least a little bit happier when I'm at school.
There was a tailgate at the law school, with free barbecue, coleslaw and baked beans (although not as good as we make it in the REAL south), kegs of Rolling Rock, bottles and bottles of wine, some "pop" (that's what my friend Claire calls it and it makes me laugh), chips, cupcakes, cookies, muffins, and a corn hole tournament. I went with Claire, who is goodness incarnate, and her new boyfriend, Kevin. Usually I feel like a third wheel on such occasions, but both of them were so sweet to me that it was hard to feel like I wasn't wanted. We also had a couple of other friends from the law school, Kate, who I don't usually hang out with but who was a total blast, and her boyfriend Adam, who both liked my Chucks in matching school colors, and some others who came and went at different periods. We spilled wine on each other (on my Chucks! ahhh!), laughed hysterically, touched each other inappropriately (the girls, anyway, and even then mostly because it makes poor Claire so uncomfortable), ate, laughed, talked about school and how much we hated some of our professors (very therapeutic), and even our prospects for the future. And then we even went to the football game.
Our school won. Well, really, we trampled the other guys. (Which is VERY good because, at the law school, we get a discount of however much we beat the other team by on the next school day, so Monday, we'll have a discount of 39%. I have been wanting a new College of Law long sleeved T-shirt.) Sometimes, there's nothing like a day of hanging out with friends to make you feel like the bad things in your life maybe aren't so bad after all. For one thing, thank goodness for Claire, who kept saying, "I'm so glad you came today!" Maybe I'll make it through this. Maybe.
Still, every so often there is a little bright spot in my life. One such bright spot happened yesterday. Of course, part of the reason why I came to such a big school for my graduate degree was so that I could have a school with a good football team and a good-natured, cult-like following. Yesterday was a home football game day. In my town, that's a big deal. In my first year of law school, I had Allie to go with---but then she dropped out. In my second year, I was so smitten with my then brand-new boyfriend that I skipped all the games to talk on the phone or to drive home. Sometimes I feel like my priorities of the last year and a half (basically, seeing Andy, talking to Andy, thinking about Andy, planning things with Andy, etc) have made me miss out on a lot of things that I could be doing around here that might make me at least a little bit happier when I'm at school.
There was a tailgate at the law school, with free barbecue, coleslaw and baked beans (although not as good as we make it in the REAL south), kegs of Rolling Rock, bottles and bottles of wine, some "pop" (that's what my friend Claire calls it and it makes me laugh), chips, cupcakes, cookies, muffins, and a corn hole tournament. I went with Claire, who is goodness incarnate, and her new boyfriend, Kevin. Usually I feel like a third wheel on such occasions, but both of them were so sweet to me that it was hard to feel like I wasn't wanted. We also had a couple of other friends from the law school, Kate, who I don't usually hang out with but who was a total blast, and her boyfriend Adam, who both liked my Chucks in matching school colors, and some others who came and went at different periods. We spilled wine on each other (on my Chucks! ahhh!), laughed hysterically, touched each other inappropriately (the girls, anyway, and even then mostly because it makes poor Claire so uncomfortable), ate, laughed, talked about school and how much we hated some of our professors (very therapeutic), and even our prospects for the future. And then we even went to the football game.
Our school won. Well, really, we trampled the other guys. (Which is VERY good because, at the law school, we get a discount of however much we beat the other team by on the next school day, so Monday, we'll have a discount of 39%. I have been wanting a new College of Law long sleeved T-shirt.) Sometimes, there's nothing like a day of hanging out with friends to make you feel like the bad things in your life maybe aren't so bad after all. For one thing, thank goodness for Claire, who kept saying, "I'm so glad you came today!" Maybe I'll make it through this. Maybe.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Confessions of a Somewhat Regretful Law Student
It's true, I admit it. I'm a spinster, I drink entirely too much Coke Zero, I wear pearls with flannel, and I chose my career path because of the types of shoes I would get to wear. You probably think I'm kidding. I admit, I didn't realize that was my motivation at the time. But now, in my third year of law school, I realize that I never had any legitimate, intellectual, common-sense reason to decide that I wanted to be a lawyer. I didn't know what it meant to be a lawyer, and I certainly didn't envision a life of constant research, of drafting and re-drafting, and of professors who have made me, for the past three years, feel like one of the biggest morons in the history of the universe. When I think back to my eighteen year old self, full of optimism and faith in the future, I see only one thing: a vision of myself in heels, with a closet full of still more shoes for every imaginable occasion. But that's ridiculous. Who can make a career decision based on shoes? Me, apparently.
But now, decision already made, $80,000 in debt with still more to come before May 14th and graduation, another question comes up. Will a girl, who made her career decision based on the kind of shoes she would get to wear, be happy? The lawyer in me feels the need to clarify. What, after all, does "happy" mean? How can it be defined in this particular context? Well, to provide a positive definition, I guess what I mean by happiness is... Will I be content? Fulfilled? I guess we'll see.
That's the purpose of my posts here. Will the next year take me from a slightly depressed, slightly overweight sponge-like life form living almost entirely off of an ever-increasing repertoire of student loans and charitable gifts from well-meaning but obnoxiously optimistic parents---to a law school graduating, first time bar passing, possibly engaged, well-adjusted, home-owning adult?
But now, decision already made, $80,000 in debt with still more to come before May 14th and graduation, another question comes up. Will a girl, who made her career decision based on the kind of shoes she would get to wear, be happy? The lawyer in me feels the need to clarify. What, after all, does "happy" mean? How can it be defined in this particular context? Well, to provide a positive definition, I guess what I mean by happiness is... Will I be content? Fulfilled? I guess we'll see.
That's the purpose of my posts here. Will the next year take me from a slightly depressed, slightly overweight sponge-like life form living almost entirely off of an ever-increasing repertoire of student loans and charitable gifts from well-meaning but obnoxiously optimistic parents---to a law school graduating, first time bar passing, possibly engaged, well-adjusted, home-owning adult?
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