Time Better Spent

Even though I should probably be working on cover letters and updating my resume, I can't help but think about weddings.  Not mine, necessarily.  If I wasn't a lawyer, maybe I should have been an event planner.  It would be so fun to look at this stuff to help plan other people's events, too.  I recently discovered etsy.com, which I had heard of before but never spent much time looking at.  I really like the emphasis on vintage, homemade stuff. 

There's even a section on weddings!  I have to admit, since my cousin and my best friend from high school are engaged, I have been thinking and talking about weddings an awful lot lately and I couldn't help but look through the website with an eye towards their weddings--and maybe eventually my own.  I found a ton of vintage inspired dresses and accessories and was really excited by all the different possibilities.  It's a good way to use something that's pretty unique and wouldn't be seen all over the place.  It's great to support the arts and get something that shows your personality and individual flair.  Everything is so fun and creative.  Here's a couple of the things I found this morning.

I really love this adorable crystal belt!  It ties in the back with a white satin ribbon and would dress up a wedding dress--or even some bridesmaid dresses!  When I was looking at potential bridesmaid dresses, I felt that most of them were missing a little something.  Imagine this belt on a brightly colored dress...  I love it! 

I love these birch vases--they lend a really rustic character to a wedding or special event.  I would even like to use them after the event.  There's some other ones available on the website that are monogrammed, which would be awfully cute, too.  An easy way to have a centerpiece with a lot of character. 

This little peacock feather clips onto any shoe.  Clever, huh?  A really easy way to dress up a plain shoe and give your wedding (well, really, or any special event) a really special look.  Personally, I really love peacock feathers--I like the bold, jewel tone look.  It is my general philosophy to not talk too much about what I want specifically because my ideas tend to grow wings and go to nest with someone else and their wedding, but, I have to admit, I plan to use some peacock feathers in my flowers and as part of my color scheme.  These little clips were just so cute, I couldn't not include them. 

I probably should get back to working on my job applications.  Anyway, this was a nice little detour from real life.  I had so much fun looking at etsy.com and will probably spend a few of my class hours daydreaming there.  A lot of the dresses are even made specifically for each person--they ask for your measurements and then make the dress for you.  Has anyone ordered anything from there?  Have you been happy with it?  I'm looking for a dress for graduation...  Thoughts, feelings?

Much Like The Weatherman, Sometimes I'm Right

Sometimes I wonder how realistic it is to expect an eighteen year old to know what she wants to do with the rest of her life.  Although I consider my eighteen year old self to have been relatively mature (though I do think that even the most mature eighteen year old is really, ridiculously, forgiveably, endearingly stupid), I still think that expecting me to make my career choice at that time may have been a bit ambitious.  But, you may argue, Americans have among the longest adolescent period of any country in the world, why can't you get it together, you stupid girl?  Well, the truth is, I did get it together.  I decided that I wanted to go to law school and, rumor had it, political science was the best way to get there.  A bit predictable, but sufficient.  And since I had credits from high school, I had to get another major, or risk graduating in three years--so I added English to the mix. 

I did well in college, but sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't have been better suited to a different career path.  Just before law school, I had a mini-identity crisis and started to think that maybe I should get an MFA in creative writing.  Well, starving artist didn't really appeal to me, so I decided to forgo a career in writing and stick with the original plan: law school.  (Lucky for me, too, because, I am quite sure that I have very little actual talent.)  Generally, I think that the best career combines a couple of objectives.  First, you can make a good salary ($60k and up).  Second, you avoid graduate school and are encouraged to gain employment immediately following college graduation (thus saving yourself tens of thousands of dollars in debt and a student loan payment to rival a mortgage on a mansion).

The question is...  If I wasn't in law school, what would I be doing?  And really, I don't have an answer.  I was intimidated by math and science but thoroughly enjoyed English.  But what can you do with that?  Teach.  Or teach.  Or become a college professor, and...teach.  Still, even though I sometimes think that law school was the wrong choice, I am at a loss to contemplate a better alternative.  Any alternatives that I can think of would require me to go back in time and change my major in college.  Well, that's not possible.  And even if it WERE possible, it seems unwise to change a perfectly good major just because I vaguely wonder if there wouldn't be something better to do.  Can an eighteen year old make a decision as serious as this one?  It remains to be seen.  I'm not a lawyer yet, so I guess the question is somewhat premature.  It does seem like that's an awful lot of responsibility that society put on my poor little eighteen year old self.  How will my forty five year old self feel about my choice?  There's no telling.  But of course, I wasn't thinking of being a forty five year old lawyer at the time when I was thinking, "Lawyers get to wear pretty shoes."  (That's a joke!   Seriously, I'm really not THAT vapid.)  Well, I made a choice, and the truth is, I have to live with that choice.

To be completely honest, law school isn't as bad as I describe it.  Sometimes, you have to take me with a grain of salt--I am prone to exaggeration, especially once I get to talking (or typing) and have been known to work myself into an entirely self-induced frenzy.  I hope that you can find that to be an endearing, rather than a frustrating, quality because all too often I only realize that I've done it after it happened.  In all truthfulness, law school is probably, all at once, the most completely empowering and the most humiliatingly demeaning experience I have ever had.  All at once.  When I fail, even the memory of my bad experience can make me blush deep crimson all the way down to my toes.  Sometimes I feel like I must be the most idiotic person on the planet, because everyone else gets this stuff but me.  It's like they are all part of an elitist group, all those kids with jobs after graduation and attorney parents and trust funds and, well, even those without jobs and parents and trust funds...really, everyone except me.  But...when I succeed...it's probably the most exhilarating and rewarding experience I can imagine.  Maybe it's because of all the failures, but sometimes I feel like I am thriving here and sometimes I think I really might be able to do this.  Law school is the highest of the high and the lowest of the low--and sometimes I really think that the highs may be worth all the lows.  Maybe my eighteen year old self did know something, after all.  At least, my nearly twenty five year old self has a little more faith in her judgment every day.

Better Late Than Pregnant

I have to accept that the holidays are finally over.  In fact, January is damn near over, and there's nothing much ahead of me but a little bit of the doldrums.  Today is the absolute last day of the waterfowl hunting season, so my boyfriend will be sincerely mourning it like he would the death of a very old and very dear friend.  Fortunately, he has the job interview coming up, so that should keep him more or less distracted from the loss of his favorite activity. 

At and around New Year's Day, several people asked me what my resolutions were, and I responded that I like to make improvements for their own sake and not because of any silly external motivations.  Many people make well-meaning New Year's resolutions and so they go to the gym very diligently for 3 or 4 weeks, but then they fall off completely.  So the gym that, at the first of the year, is so packed you can't find a single empty elliptical, returns to its normal emptiness.  That is when I like to return to the gym.

Well, since I told people that I like to make improvements for their own sake, it is probably time that I tried to make some sort of improvement.  I didn't want to be like so many others, full of good intentions but essentially meaningless words, and certainly the vices and the extravagances of the holiday season have made the necessity of a little healthy change even more apparent.  It is considerably later than the normal season for developing resolutions, but I figure it's better to be late than not make resolutions at all.  And, the fact remains, I like to think that I am making resolutions for myself...and not because people typically make them at the first of the year.  My year (and my semester) are already in full swing, and my resolutions have very little to do with my day-to-day routine.  But, like all the well-meaning holidaymakers, a little dose of manageable-ness is always appreciated.  After all, what good is a resolution that you only keep for a couple weeks?  I intend to make permanent life changes for the sake of self-betterment and discovery.  If everyone made a few little changes periodically throughout the year, think how much better we would be!  In that spirit, I will start with my first goal.

Goal: Become more aware of the world around me.  It is easy, while in school, to become part of a self-indulging, self-obsessed bubble.  When you live on a relatively self-contained campus, hang out with the same people who are doing exactly the same thing, and only venture out into the real world for the occasional trip to Target, you tend to lose a little touch with reality.  The news becomes who is engaged and who is broken up, who is not coming to class at all, and who is on academic probation, rather than an actual reflection of the world and what is really happening.  I intend to remedy this situation.  I may discover other ways to remedy this situation (graduation will undoubtedly help) but, for starters, I need to watch/read/listen to the news.  The news, as it happens, does not include celebrity gossip, entertainment news, or discussion boards about which designer might make Kate Middleton's dress.  Even though those things are all interesting and I will, naturally, still have time for them, they will not make up the entirety of my knowledge of the world.  My newest thing is NPR, and I think it has made a serious improvement in the quality of my life.  Andy listens, too, and not only does it gives us something new and substantive to discuss, it's amazing how many other times the things I learn really come into my day-to-day life.  Being better informed makes the world a more interesting and  a less confusing and hostile-seeming place. 

Other goals may follow in short order, but for now I will just start with one.  It is generally a bad idea to try to change your life overnight--those changes almost always fail because it is so difficult to make changes on a massive scale.  It is much easier to make small changes gradually.  Let's face it, what better time is there to make changes than in the winter, when there's little else to do?  You can always make a small change to make yourself an overall better person and that should be a major goal of life in general, don't you think?

A Little Puppy Love

Dear Virtual World,

Let's please be friends.  Since my last post was (apparently) so controversial that a friendly reader suggested that I need psychiatric help, and I am still feeling a little shocked by some of the hateful comments I got, I will take a moment to post something completely un-controversial that hopefully everyone will enjoy. 

I originally thought that I was totally set on adopting a yellow lab.  I've always had labs, and they've always been yellow.  But Andy's friend Jonathan has two labs, a yellow girl (Kirra), and a black boy (Cash).  Obviously, yellow (like blonde hair) is a recessive gene, but even a black dog can carry it if there's a yellow back in his bloodline...  Well, Cash, unfortunately, does not have a yellow gene in his bloodline.  But, then again, with results like these, who can complain? 

Thirteen puppies were born to Momma Kirra between Sunday, January 23rd and Monday the 24th.  (It takes a long time to birth thirteen!) 

When my parents were first married, they bred their dog, Maggie, and had six beautiful yellow puppies.  They kept one out of the litter--they picked Trapper because he was snuggled up to his momma's face the whole time.  Trapper was probably one of the sweetest, calmest, and most affectionate dogs I have ever met.  He didn't go through as much obnoxious puppy stuff because he just watched his momma and learned from her example.  Since my mother is a little bit concerned about the future fate of her furniture (when I take my adopted puppy home to train while I study for the bar), a sedate puppy would be good.  Is this my future puppy?

Can you imagine all those babies?  Kirra makes it look easy.  Apparently this afternoon she even had enough energy to go play with Cash!  At this point, they haven't even opened their eyes yet.  All they really do is eat and sleep--it must be the life, huh? 

I say that I want a yellow.  But I also told Jonathan that I wanted to visit the puppies.  And that's dangerous territory.  I have a very, very weak heart where puppies are concerned.  Also, I am taking suggestions for names.  When I thought I was going to adopt a yellow for absolute certain, I decided I would name her Eloise, and probably call her Elle or Ellie, but, of course, Elle is the name for a blonde (one with legal aspirations, too--so perfect, right?).  But if she's black, she can't be Elle.  So I need a new name.  Andy thinks Bonnie.  Maybe Matilda?  Then we can call her Tilly.  And then I can order her a little duck hunting vest and get her name put on it in pink. 

Like I said, I always wanted a yellow.  But there are some pros to a black dog.  Let's list them.  I like lists. 

1. I could wear my favorite black yoga pants and sit on the floor and play with the dog without becoming covered in extremely obvious yellow hair.
2. Pink collars look nice on black dogs.
3. These dogs come from an amazing bloodline.
4. Cash never chewed on anything when he was a puppy, so his puppy will probably be equally well behaved.  (Of course, Jonathan's veracity is somewhat questionable--he is trying to get me to take a puppy off his hands.)
5. What this puppy would cost is far, far less than the $1,000 I was considering spending at a breeder, for an equally impressively pedigree.
6. We could have play dates with mom and dad.
7. I can tell Jonathan that I want the fattest girl puppy he has.  I love when they waddle.

Thoughts and feelings?  They're pretty cute, huh?  I'm weak.  So weak.

Kaplan, To Me, Your Name is Scum

The other day, I came home for lunch and checked my email, as I often do.  In my email inbox, I had a message from Kaplan, a law school study guide/bar review prep course supplier that has sent me emails all through my law school career.  I opened the email, expecting to find grand promises of discounts on study aids and bar review courses, but I was wrong.  Here is what it said:

"You may have heard that BarBri is up for sale (read this article by the ABA Journal for more details) and have concerns about your upcoming bar review experience. Kaplan PMBR wants you to know that you have options. In fact we will honor any deposit that you have with BarBri up to $250."

 Well, I already booked my bar review course with BarBri over Christmas break.  My parents gave me some money for Christmas and, after extensive research, I decided to go with BarBri.  One of my friends who just recently passed the bar had used it, so I was thinking that it was a super good idea.  It's expensive--$3500--but I get in-class lecture review classes at William and Mary as well as multi-state and state-specific review, essay practice, real questions, and a guarantee in case I don't pass.  Anyway, I convinced my parents I was right, and they agreed to pay for it, so when I saw the email from Kaplan, I was more than a little upset.  As I may have mentioned before, I am under a lot of stress right at this moment with graduation and the bar coming up in my very immediate future, and I am prone to meltdowns with almost no provocation.  I feel a ridiculous amount of guilt already because my parents are paying so much money for a review course and to find out that my review course wasn't happening or that we were losing a lot of money was more than I could handle.  I read the ABA article and called BarBri immediately.  They assured me that there was no problem and that, even if I was a 1L (that is, a first year law student), they would guarantee me the same bar prep class that my parents already paid for.  Luckily for them--they would not like to see a third year law student freak out on them.  I was pretty furious, though, that Kaplan would do something like that to me, knowing (as they probably already do) how fragile is the psyche of a law student on the eve of graduation. 

BarBri sent out an email the following day which pretty much summarized my thoughts. 

"Regrettably, Kaplan is treating BARBRI's potential sale as an opportunity to sow fear, uncertainty and doubt in the minds of law students like you. It's unfortunate they've chosen this sort of marketing tactic, since they know that BARBRI has changed ownership twice before with no change to the BARBRI course."

Idiot jerks.  How DARE they sow fear, uncertainty and doubt in the minds of law students who are about to graduate in the worst recession we have seen in a decade?  I think it's low.  Very low.  I can't really effectively verbalize exactly how upset I was when I got the email from Kaplan.  I was really scared.  It has been a very big deal for me to pick a course and for my parents to pay for it--and for about ten minutes, I thought that I had made a huge mistake with my well-meaning parent's money, which is worse than if I made a mistake with mine.  Not to mention it would also jeopardize my ability to pass the bar.

I was already annoyed with Kaplan because my school decided to use their materials to provide stuff for our bar review class.  I decided not to take it because it was like $100 worth of materials and BarBri had assured me that I didn't need any additional materials to pass the multi-state portion.  And Kaplan didn't have anything West Virginia specific (I'm not taking the bar in West Virginia anyway, but why would I pick to take a course that is obviously much less comprehensive than the course I selected?), which made me pretty convinced that it was an inferior product anyway.  I was annoyed that, in order to take a bar review class for my school, it would cost me $100, in addition to all the other books I had to buy and the real bar review course I signed up for.  Kaplan, nice guys that they are, would apply my $100 towards a bar review course--but the representative told me that to take the West Virginia bar I would need ANOTHER bar review course to study West Virginia law.  Why get two bar review courses when I only need one?   Why not cut Kaplan out entirely?  And now I see that they also employ unfair tactics against law students as well.

I'm considering writing a letter, an email, or making a very, very nasty phone call to Kaplan.  I will never buy anything from Kaplan from here on out.  Why do I tell you, you may ask?  Well, for one thing, it's a dramatic story.  For two, if there was any doubt, I hope you will never buy anything from the manipulative idiots at Kaplan, either.  Kaplan, you guys are jerks.

Preemptive Planning

In a bout of mega drama earlier this week, I cried to my mother that my life would never get started and I would spend forever waiting and waiting for things to happen to me that never will.  I won't lie, it is a topic of severe and pervasive frustration for me.  I have been in school (well, higher education) for seven years now, which has prevented me from getting a job, getting married, getting a dog, buying a house, or generally doing anything of any consequence.  It is frustrating, at 24 going very very quickly on 25, to be no better off than I was when I was 18 and first starting college.  In fact, sometimes I feel like I am worse off--I certainly have less money and there's an awful lot more debt.  I am, however, prone to dramatization and high levels of stress (corresponding, no doubt, to my impending graduation, joblessness and the necessity of an intense bar prep schedule coming quickly upon me--which, in my defense, makes it a little more understandable) frequently make me have hysterical crying fits.  My mother, though, for all her good qualities, does not indulge my self-deprecating fits and takes a much more pragmatic approach.  You're fine, she says.  You're in law school, which is better than most people.  Pssh.  I tried to explain to her that law school is one of those things that SOUNDS really cool to people on the outside looking in but that, in real life, it sucks and all law students are incredibly miserable.  She doesn't buy it.  Well, she isn't living it.
I also made the mistake of telling Andy that having a puppy was the only thing I could control and the only thing I had to look forward to for sure.  What I meant was...I can adopt a puppy no matter what happens.  If I don't graduate, I can get a puppy.  If I fail the bar, I can get a puppy.  If I can't control Andy's spending/saving habits and we don't get engaged, I can get a puppy.  I am really uncomfortable that so much of my life hangs on so many other things that I can't control.  Andy said that our upcoming engagement was much more exciting than a puppy and that I should concentrate on that.  He went on to say that we would more than likely be getting married before I got my first job.  Well, that does sound good.  And it made me feel a little better.  If I were completely honest with myself, I would expect to pass the bar and find out about it sometime in late October, look for a job and interview (if I don't have a job before then), and land a job somewhere between November and January.  A wedding before then?  Hmm.
Am I jumping to conclusions by assuming that means that Andy is planning on proposing in a few months?  I told him that I wanted to get married in August or September originally and that, in order to plan for that, I needed to be engaged by March.  I had kind of gone on the assumption that we were not really going to get engaged or married that quickly (because I know that there is no longer any money in Andy's savings account) and had stopped anticipating my imminent wedding.  But now Andy's words have sort of made me start to wonder anew whether or not preemptive planning is a good idea.  Of course,  I would be lying if I said I didn't have some sort of idea (or, you know, an entire wedding powerpoint full of general plans) about what I want to do...but I had more or less stopped actively planning.  Does this mean that I should go on Andy's word, and plan in the hope that the engagement is forthcoming, or should I just wait and be coolly optimistic but not overly excited about a relatively vague "promise" of an engagement?  It's a difficult question.  I generally am of the opinion that to be proactive is best, but where it comes to weddings, I am a little bit too emotionally invested.  I am feeling cautious but optimistic.  I WANT to take it and run with it...but, then again, that may be a very, very bad idea. 
He keeps saying things like that, which at least means that he is serious about getting married--and relatively soon.  But relatively soon can mean a lot of things.  In fact, I would generally say that "relatively soon" in wedding-talk probably does NOT mean this summer--but I could be convinced that to be married relatively soon would mean the following summer.  But I don't think that's what Andy is thinking, because he keeps saying things like after the bar but before my job, etc.  Let's face it--Andy is a boy, and boys know nothing about how long and involved the wedding planning process is. 
...So should I plan, or is it a recipe for disaster?  I have to admit, just him saying that makes me feel much less close to another hysterical crying fit.  But I do still want a puppy.

The Facts

Four years of college: $100,000
Fee to take the LSAT: $118
Applications to five law schools: $225
Three years of out-of-state tuition at an ABA accredited law school: $95,000
Fee to take the MPRE: $63
Cap and gown: $160
Application to take the Virginia State Bar: $775
Bar review course: $3,500
Hotel/meals/travel to take the bar: $200
Resume paper: $10

Having the ability to get your first $50k a year job: $200,051

NOT priceless.

Validation

It's funny how knowing what other people are doing can make you feel like what you're doing is somehow inadequate, even if you know deep down that what they're doing is not what you should be doing at this point in your life or even what you want to be doing.  Every time I see that a new person is listed as engaged on Facebook, a little part of me feels like throwing myself to the floor, kicking and screaming and demanding that the gods tell me why on earth she got more in life than me.  Hey, it worked when I was a kid and my mom was making unequal bowls of ice cream.  Somehow, though, I didn't think that big kid life would feel this inherently unequal.  But that's crazy.  Most of these girls are marrying boys that (1) they fight with all the time, (2) they have cheated on or have had cheat on them, or (3) that they only very, very recently started dating.  I mean, there has to be a reason why the divorce rate is so high nowadays.

I even get upset about non-disgusting pregnancy and child-rearing related-things.  Although graphic details of the babymaking, delivering and parenting process gross me out (like, for example, the fact that a certain friend is 4 centimeters dilated, that another friend posted pictures of her pregnancy tests which everyone KNOWS she peed on, and even discussions about the position of the baby in a friend's stomach), other parts, like the baby bump pictures and the discussions of baby names, make me feel like I am waiting too long to get started on my own life.

But that's not true, nor is it productive.  Even though other people's lives seem all bright and shiny from the outside looking in, they probably all have their own (pretty serious) problems to deal with.  Like debt.  Or divorce.  I am now at the age that, not only have a substantial number of my friends gotten married, but some have also started to get divorced, too.  I can't imagine how awful it must feel to be divorced before 25.  I guess its easy to idealize.  My attitude is neither healthy nor helpful and I will try my hardest to make a conscious effort to not think of marriage as the ultimate goal of my life.  Is it pathetic that I've felt that way for years?  I'm not saying I'm going to stop completely because, let's face it, this is something that has been building in me for years and its hard to dispel completely ideas that I feel are relatively fundamental to my sense of self.  I'm sure I'm not the only person who feels that way.

I was watching Friends today, the episode where Rachel runs into her friends from before.  Each of them is doing something exciting--one is pregnant, one is engaged, and one is being made partner in her father's law firm.  Rachel has to defend her decision to not marry the orthodontist or whatever he was, and work in the little coffee shop.  She cries to Monica and Phoebe about how she doesn't know what she's doing with her life.  It made me realize two things.  (1) I really do have no idea what I'm doing with my life, but if they make a TV show about it, it must be relatively common and at least I'm not the only one.  And, (2) I would be one of the three successful ones, the law partner one, and even though it doesn't say that she's married or pregnant or anything like that, she is considered to be successful just because she meets one of those criteria.  Schwoo.  Who knew a re-run of Friends could somehow give me validation for my life?  But it did. 

I can't do it on the same time frame as everybody else, and sometimes it's probably pretty normal to wonder if the choices you've made have screwed it up irrevocably.  But, hey, it worked out for Rachel, and that's practically gospel.

Help Me, Cesar

The other day, I found out that one of Andy's friend's dog's is preggo.  It just so happens that, at this moment, the biggest dream of my life is to adopt a little yellow puppy and raise it to be my very own.  Right now, I have four dogs in my life.  Emerson belongs to my parents.  Dutch belongs to Andy.  Charles belongs to Brett.  And Wilma belongs to Sarah and Kyle.  Even though I love each of them, not a single one belongs to me or loves me best.  I've been dreaming of adopting my own dog ever since I went away to college, but living in a dorm on campus wasn't the ideal way to do it.  After all, residence life posted a bunch of posters in our college housing proclaiming, cleverly (or so they thought) that "if a pet is your wish, it must be a fish."  Well, I kill fish.  I need something a little more sturdy.

I still dreamed of a dog when I left to go to law school.  Once again, a strict no-pets policy was in place.  I would have moved, but, of course, being a woman alone and without a man with a truck to help me move, that was not really an option.  So I waited.  I found a webpage for a breeder that looked absolutely perfect, bookmarked it, and returned several times a week for three years to look at the pictures of the beautiful puppies that appeared there with each new litter.  I resolved to adopt one as soon as I graduated.

Now, with less than four months remaining until graduation, a puppy is a possibility.  I got all worked up about Andy's friend's dog, only to find out that the puppies are due in about two weeks and will be ready around mid to late March--far to early for a girl who doesn't graduate until May 14th.  Andy told me never mind, he and his friend agreed anyway--a dog will become most attached to the most authoritative figure in the house.  What he didn't say, of course, is what that means: the dog will never attach most to me.  I'm not authoritative enough.  He didn't mean to be hurtful; all he meant was that a dog, as a pack animal, responds to the pack leader.  A dog tries hardest to please the pack leader.  Now I sound like Cesar. 

Today, in an expression of my own autonomy, I emailed the breeder that I picked out.  Not the breeder that Andy suggested I use, but the one I have been looking at all through law school.  Suddenly, though, I do feel less enthusiastic about it.  I really, really wanted a dog that would come to me first when I called.  Is it true that I'm not authoritative enough?  What if I live alone while I'm raising Puppy?  What if I stay far, far away from anyone more authoritative than me?  Andy says he wants to do this together.  Is it selfish if I don't?  If I want to do it myself and, when Puppy fetches or sits or stays or rolls over or shakes, know it was me who made him or her able to do that?  Authoritative or not, if I get Puppy, I want a chance to do this on my own.  I want a dog that loves me most.  I can be the pack leader.  Can't I?

Bloodsuckers, Ambulance Chasers, and Other Future Lawyers

When I first meet someone and they find out that I am in law school, they typically have three reactions, none of which I find to be particularly humorous or interesting, especially after three years of such boorish behavior.  But anyway, I will share with you.

1. They tell me of every interaction they ever had with a lawyer.

2. They tell a very rude and untimely joke about blood suckers, ambulance chasers, and soul-selling.

You're right, I want to tell them.  We suck.  You should buy your next house without one of us on your side.  Sign a contract, too, it'll be fine.  Get divorced.  (You KNOW you probably will, right?)  Write your own will.  Adopt a kid.  Start up a business.  (You know what the difference between an LLC and a corporation is, right?)  I don't tell you why the world would be better off without people in your line of work, and I will thank you to give me the same basic human courtesy.

3.  They tell me that they know someone else who wants to be a lawyer.  They want to introduce me.  Usually, it's a kid.  Always, it's because so and so "is really great at arguing."

This is the scenario which concerns me most today.  Little Susie wants to be a lawyer, so she needs to meet you, and boy, is she good at arguing.  This happened to me a couple times over the summer, but this one time sticks in my memory more than all the others.  Usually I listen to a child talk about how they want to be a lawyer and smile and nod politely.  Usually they have ridiculous questions that have nothing to do with lawyering, but their parents smile and thank me for giving their child such good advice.  This one, however, was different than the others.  I had gone to middle of nowhere Chesapeake to pick up Andy and his roommate, Brett, who were both drunk.  Brett was totally passed out. 

I pulled up to a huge house, which was owned by a kind of weird couple.  An attractive used-car salesman husband, with a slightly older, but very skinny stay-at-home-not-being-a-mom wife with a 10 or something year old daughter.  They had a portrait on the wall over the TV that was so big it went all the way up to the top of the second floor.  Vain, much?  Anyway, as I drove over, Andy told me that their daughter was dying to meet me because she really wanted to be a lawyer, too.  I knew it was a bad sign, but what could I do?  I had to go pick up the boys.  When I got there, it was even worse than I expected.  They introduced me to the little girl and assured me, like all the others, that she was very, very good at arguing.  "Argue," they told her.  And she did.  She proceeded to demand that they tell her where they hid their extra money.  She needed it, she said, to go do Disney World.  For almost a solid hour, she demanded to know where the money was.  She seemed to really, genuinely think that her parents should give it to her.  "Isn't that cute?" they asked me. 

Newsflash to parents: Just because your kid is the most obnoxious piece of work I have ever met does NOT mean that she will make a good lawyer.  Lawyering is not even about arguing.  Most of the lawyering takes place behind the scenes.  It doesn't make anybody feel like working together when you yell at them and tell them why they should give you all of their money.  That is quite the opposite of what lawyers do.  

Of course, I didn't tell them the truth.  I didn't say, "No, you horrible, horrible, vain yuppie people, I didn't go to law school because I was good at arguing, and your child will not be successful just because she is obnoxious."  I wish I could have, but that probably wouldn't have made us any friends.  The child followed me around for the rest of the evening like I was an admissions counselor and that, by proving to me that she was lawyer material, she would somehow be granted (extremely) early admission.  I wanted to say, "No, no, little girl, if you really do want to go to law school, you have to put in the time--you haven't even started high school, let alone college."  It's great to have goals, and I don't mean to belittle them, but please, please, please get some perspective in the next fifteen or so years. 

Also, it's rude to discuss money, particularly in front of company.  Why don't they teach kids etiquette anymore?  I couldn't believe that her parents weren't extremely embarrassed by her behavior.  They encouraged her, told her she was cute.  Oh dear.  Hopefully this isn't the future of the legal profession. 

Answered Prayers

The other day, I was riding in the car with Andy's dad and he started telling me a story about when he was in high school.  He was dating a girl whose father and uncle owned a construction company and, because they liked Andy's dad so well, they gave him a job in their company.  He worked there all through high school and, at one point, the uncle decided that he liked Andy's dad so much that he offered to groom him to take over the company and even offered to give him enough money to buy his niece a ring.

"I wish someone would do that for Andy," I laughed.  Famous last words, it turns out.

Two days later, I found out something amazing.  Bob Duncan, the executive director of the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries and generosity and goodness incarnate, recommended Andy for a new job.  Another friend of his, who is also apparently some kind of Richmond big whig, called the company to recommend him as well. 

What are the odds?  I was hoping that some miracle would come and that there would suddenly be some way that Andy could afford a ring and, miraculously, Bob Duncan intervened.  Of course, Andy hasn't gotten the job yet...  But it looks really promising.  The company guy has called a couple of times to talk to Andy on the phone.  He requested a resume, and I spent one night feverishly revising it so it could be sent in the next day.  Within 2 hours of sending it, the guy called again, so I must have done a pretty good job.  He has an interview on February 9th, but the way the guy has been talking to Andy, it sounds like the job is his to lose...  So, basically, if he interviews well, it sounds like he's got it.  He had some pretty powerful recommendations.

This job would include a pretty huge salary, benefits, a company car, etc. etc. etc. for Andy and would probably guarantee a ring for me.  Andy also promised if he got the job that he would take me to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter for spring break.  Yessssss.

So cross your fingers.  The two dreams of my life hang on this February 9th interview.

I really feel like I should send Bob Duncan flowers or a fruit basket or something to show my gratitude, but that seems a somehow inadequate way to thank the man who may or may not have made everything I ever wanted in my life possible.  I barely know the man, but he is my hero.  If Andy gets this job, it makes my life immeasurably easier.  Being the sole breadwinner would be extremely difficult on me---Andy has a lot of things that he would really like to become possible (boat to run charters, new house, farm, etc) and, if I'm the only one with a really decent salary, that makes it incredibly difficult.  I know Andy has been very happy working for my parents, but of course there would be some things that would be lots easier if he didn't.  For one thing, it would be much easier to go on family vacations because when we went it wouldn't be taking another person off of the schedule at the store.  For another, my granddad wouldn't be able to call and harass him.

I'm not going to lie, my granddad's bad behavior probably served as an impetus for this life-changing decision, too.  Andy wasn't even looking for a new job before my granddad decided to be a jerk.  So maybe I have my granddad to thank, too.  I should call him and say, "Thanks, Granddad, because you were a jerk, you are losing an awesome employee.  Also, don't expect us to come around because you have offended Andy pretty deeply and he wants to avoid you.  Good work."  But of course, I am happy about the job.  Beyond happy.  I'm pretty much elated. 

It's so funny how one minute I was talking about how I hoped that someone could make this possible for Andy and then, just a few days later, it really did happen.  I can't help but feel like this was divine intervention---someone up there really, really, really wants me to go to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

A Cheeseless Situation

I like metaphors about cheese.  In college, my best friend and I (who were frequently uncomfortable with the specific words used to describe sex) used cheese as a metaphor for certain sex acts so that we could talk about them comfortably even while around many other people with whom we were entirely unfamiliar.  It lasted for several years and caused us a great deal of enjoyment.  I have to say, it's hard to describe cheese as part of a scale--what cheese, after all, do you put on the bottom?  Because, let's face it, cheese is delicious.  In fact, I never met a cheese I didn't like.  Anyway, we put Velveeta at the bottom (although that does not, of course, provide an official ranking of cheese quality or general enjoyment because I have a very soft spot for Velveeta) and cheesecake at the top and had several other descriptions of cheese that fell somewhere in between.  Over the years, I have had Velveeta and I have had cheesecake--literally and figuratively--and I have enjoyed both immensely.

The other day, Andy was reading to me, which is something that he frequently does, when he started reading this book that he read in business school called "Who Moved My Cheese?"  Apparently, lots of huuuuge companies (like Apple!) REQUIRE their employees to read this book.  It's about two mice, Scamper and Scurry, or something like that, and two little people, Hem and Haw, who live together in a maze looking for cheese.  The mice and the little people spend their time searching for cheese in the maze until, one day, they find it at a magical and mysterious place called Cheese Station C.  The mice eat it and keep their running shoes nearby in case they need to start looking for cheese in the maze again.  The people quickly become lazy--they get up later and don't worry about their running shoes.  They begin to think of it as "their" cheese and move their homes closer to it.  They grow comfortable.  Until one day when the cheese disappears.  The mice pick up and move and look for new cheese.  But the people have a more difficult time.  The people fall apart when the cheese disappears and keep looking for cheese in all the same places, even though it doesn't come back.  Finally, one of the little people decides to venture out--but he is VERY scared of it.  When he does break away and decides to look for cheese elsewhere, he is empowered and happier because his fear is no longer crippling him.

Of course, for mice, cheese is cheese.  But for people, cheese can represent a whole world of things.  It was a pretty interesting (albeit somewhat childish) story about how we think we're entitled to things and are afraid to make changes, even when we know that what we're doing has stopped working.  I thought the story was so interesting and so timely for me, considering I'm finally finishing school and starting to think about going out into the world and interviewing for jobs.  The point is: don't get stuck in a cheeseless situation.  Because you really can control it.  You can't spend all your life hemming and hawing or being too scared to make a necessary change.

I took it to heart.  Today, I went and cut off my hair.  Well, not OFF.  But I did cut a good 5-6 inches off.  I needed a change and I needed to look more professional.  I also went to the bank and opened a savings account.  And then I worked a bit on my resume.  There's no need to get stuck in a cheeseless situation--and I'm going to avoid letting the fear of failing keep me from doing everything in my power to succeed--even if I struggle a lot.

Okay, that's all for my soapbox today.  It's a good thing that someone thought to write a story about corporate success in a language that I could readily understand.  Cheese.  Man oh man, do I love cheese. 

Baby (Grand)Daddy Drama

Today, I have a lunch with Billie---a lawyer from the law firm where I desperately want to work.  Unfortunately, the way I know Billie is through my grandfather.

Also unfortunately, the relationship with my grandfather is a strained one at this moment.  He called last week to scold me for not going to my Uncle Peter's funeral.  In my defense, I did not go for several reasons.  Number 1: I was needed to work in my grandfather's store (without both of my parents and the employees who were on vacation, the number of people remaining to work were limited).  Number 2: I needed to work at the store.  Law books are expensive, and I don't fancy asking for money from my parents if I haven't at least tried my best to earn it.  Also, they are paying for my bar review class and I feel incredibly, horribly guilty about it.  Number 3: My mom told us not to go.  It was her brother, and she said it would be easier and more convenient for everyone if just the adults went.  For one thing, less hotel rooms.  For another, less dinners out for a large group of people.  For a third, she and my dad are buying a new farm on the eastern shore and the closing was the same day, so not only would we have gone to the funeral, but we would have been at the closing--which would have been kind of inappropriate.  Anyway, my granddad accepted none of these reasons and instead warned me that I should be worried about my reputation, assuring me that he knew things that I did not.  Since he is deaf, I seriously doubt that.  If anyone tried to tell him anything, he wouldn't hear anyway.  That is, of course, unless it was proclaimed on Fox News.  But I'm pretty sure that didn't happen.

My darling grandfather also proceeded to call Andy and scold him for working in the family business (you know, the one my grandfather started 54 years ago).  He told him that, since he has a college degree, he should get a job and support me more in the style I deserve or something to that effect.  Andy did not take this well.

My mom called and yelled at my granddad, but, like I said, he's deaf.  She should take out an advertisement on Fox if she wants to get to him.  I explained this theory and she rolled her eyes.  I'm pretty sure my granddad, who can no longer walk or drive, is determined, in his invalid state, to make everyone around him as miserable as he has become.

My last email from Billie said that he heard I had "snagged my guy."  Snagged?  I hope he doesn't mean that he thinks we got engaged--because I will be quite sad to have to explain that, no, I am not engaged, I just plan weddings via elaborate powerpoint presentations for fun.  He also said he had been talking to my granddad a lot.  A lot?  Oh no.  Did he hear about the funeral?  About Andy's "unacceptable" life choices?  Oh dear.  If he did, I may kill him.  Not cool, g-dad, not cool.  Is he trying to help me get a job or keep me dependent forever?  I'm not really sure.  It's a bit disconcerting, to be sure.

My aunt Beckie called me the other day to tell me that she's sorry he's behaving badly and that she knows how "abusive" he can be.  She did not introduce her now-husband, Jeff, to him until they were engaged because he had a nasty habit of saying horrible things about her boyfriends and making her upset.  Apparently, he frequently told her that her other boyfriends were gay because of some random detail or other and thought no one was good enough for her.  Well, I can commiserate, Beckie.  When I was in college, I dated a boy who my granddad insisted was black but that the boy cleverly hid it from me because, after all, silly little girls like me can be easily tricked about these things.

Lunch should be interesting.

An Ode to Charles: Perfection in Puppy Form

Earlier in my break, I had the good fortune of getting asked to puppy sit for one blissful week.  Charlie Comerford (or Charles, as he prefers to be called) is a bomb squad dog dropout.  He's a yellow lab and originally was adopted to be trained up for bomb sniffing duty, but for some reason was rejected and put up for adoption.  Andy's friend, Brett, adopted him.  Brett, who is newly divorced, deals with his feelings by buying new and expensive toys (a Mercedes and a speedboat, to name a few), traveling, drinking to excess, and dating online.  In this particular circumstance, these habits were very advantageous to me.  One of Brett's new toys was Charles, and he couldn't watch Charles when he went to Las Vegas for Christmas. 

So I agreed to take Charlie, and I quickly realized that this was no ordinary puppy.  This was pure perfection with little floppy ears and puppy breath.  On our first afternoon together, I decided to school him in the finer arts of napping---and he passed with resounding success.  We snuggled together in Andy's Murphy bed and Charles put his little muzzle on my neck.  We fell instantly in love.  I had him on Christmas day all by myself, and I used the opportunity to teach him to sit, stay, and lay down. 

I have been planning for ages on getting a puppy for myself as soon as I graduate school, but this was the first puppy that I've had to be responsible for all by myself.  It was heaven.  Charlie and I were inseparable.  This is key: Dutch, Andy's golden retriever, loves him best.  When Andy leaves the room, Dutch cries.  When Andy gets out of the boat to set up duck decoys, Dutch's eyes follow him and he whines to go, too.  Andy says Dutch should be enough puppy for me, but I need one that loves me best.  When I told Charlie to lay down, he did.  When Andy told Charlie to lay down, he yawned.  Like I said: puppy perfection.

Charlie sleeps through the night, is potty trained, and has the most adorable little smiley face.  I knew the whole week that I was growing dangerously attached.  We were napping together and going on long walks.  He'd sit on my lap and snuggle and even let me pull him up and cradle him like a baby.  All of the qualities I wanted in a puppy were possessed by that little yellow puppy. 

That is not to say, of course, that there weren't moments that my perfect puppy was a little less than perfect.  I spent at least four days trying to teach him to shake to absolutely no avail.  To this day, even though I see him frequently and always try to get him to do it, he will not shake.  He doesn't even seem to realize that he should lift his paw.  I have to pull it up from the floor every time.  Also, on our last day together, I walked back in to the backyard, carrying a ton of things when Charles ran up to me.  He was jumping (a quality I can't seem to break him of).  I leaned down to pet him, thinking that he wouldn't jump if I were down on his level.  Bad idea.  He jumped up, hitting me square in the face.  My lip was sandwiched between his little sharp puppy tooth and my bottom teeth.  It swelled up like a balloon and gave me a fish face look. 

I knew that Brett was coming back, but nothing could have prepared me.  It was late in the evening, and I had started to think that maybe he wouldn't return until the following day--which suited me just fine.  Andy and I had fed the dogs while Andy was making dinner for us, and so after they ate, we let them out so that they would have time to use the bathroom and leave us alone while we were eating.  After dinner, Andy went downstairs to let the dogs back in.  When he came back up, he said that Brett was home and Charlie was gone.  I knew the day had to come, but I was still heartbroken.

Okay, well, maybe Charles isn't puppy PERFECTION, but he does come pretty close.  Charlie has made me make my own new year's resolution: when I go back to school, I'm picking a breeder and I'm going to find out what kind of deposit is necessary for me to secure first pick in their spring litter.  Beginning on January 1st, I decided that this year would be MY year--my law school graduation, my first job, passing the bar (I'm thinking optimistically here), an engagement, maybe (just maybe) a wedding, and new puppy.  I have a new camera to document every development as it occurs, and my newly developed love for Charles has made me decide that a puppy will have to jump to the top of my list of 2011 developments.