Guilty Pleasure

I may or may not have bought this.  On pre-order.  Because as soon as I saw it I knew I needed to have it.

 

 

What's worse?  I plan to watch it.  Frequently.

Maybe I'm weird.  Okay, I probably am super weird.  But there is something about this wedding and this story that gets sets my heart to fluttering and gives me hope for romance and love in the world.

It's also a reminder of a very important time in my life.  On April 29th, I was spending my last day in Morgantown.  I woke up at 4 in the morning to sit on the inflatable mattress I borrowed from a friend and watch the wedding, the last thing I watched in my old apartment.  After the wedding, I packed up my things and, on Saturday, I drove home--ready to start a new chapter in my life, too.

I'm glad the world didn't end today.  Maybe that's an understatement.  But I'd be kinda annoyed if it ended today--or in 2012, for that matter--because I am on the verge of getting everything I ever wanted.  At lunch with my lawyer the other day (yes, I know he's not "mine" but I don't know what else to call him), he encouraged me to pick an area of family law that I am interested in writing a small informative book about, emphasizing that whatever I pick will probably end up constituting a majority of my practice.  Did you hear that?  Whatever I pick. 

I.

Pick.

I have never heard of such a thing.  I fully expected law firm life to be like "this is the gap we need filled, fill it."  And me sincerely responding, "oh, yes, there's nothing I like better."  But to pick?  That gives me a sense of autonomy and self-directed-ness that makes this whole thing sound too good to be true.  But oddly enough, I don't think it is.  I think I just hit the career jackpot.  I feel blessed, and I won't forget that for a single minute.

Still, I have to figure out what I'm interested in.  My lawyer suggested equitable distribution, but then almost immediately discarded it, saying that he didn't think I'd be interested enough in it.  I don't know what I'm interested in because, honestly, I never thought it mattered.  I know I like family law--obviously--but as to narrowing it down to a particular area, I'm at a loss.  I'll have to do some research and see what I like.  Or what I think I'll like.  And, anyway, to write a book, whatever it's about, is also super exciting.  As a former English major, I thought I had to give up my dream of being published when I chose law school.  But, as it turns out, I get to have my cake and eat it, too.

Hard to believe.

Luckiest girl in the world, right here.  And I sincerely hope that all of my friends, but particularly Savannah and Claire, two of the most deserving girls I know, are blessed with the same good fortune.

Scenes from a Bait Shop

Sometimes I feel that, since I graduated and moved home, my life is far less interesting and exciting.  Sometimes that is totally true.  But other times, it is clear that the life I am in now, if not more interesting and exciting than the one I had before (or at least, not yet), it is at least spotted with momentarily interesting events.  It helps that I work part time in my parent's bait shop.  Not to be rude or anything, but...we do get some interesting and very colorful characters. 

I have two stories to share.

The other day, a very heavy set, scantily clad woman walked (I say walked, what I mean is more like lumbered) into the store, set herself precariously on the edge of the counter, and demanded that someone write her a fishing license.

"Okay," I said calmly.  "I'll write it at the back counter, by the computer."  (I pointed, too, so that she would know where to go.)

She picked herself up again and waddled back to the back, set herself on that counter and looked angrily and expectantly at me. 

"We only accept cash for licenses," I tell her, in warning.  "And can I see some ID?"

"I don't have no ID."  She said it, simply, not caring.  I braced myself for the storm that was surely to come.  Her pursed lips and aggressive stance didn't suggest to me that this was going to be easy.  But I knew the rules and certainly wasn't going to break them.

"Well," I started, slowly, a little afraid.  "I need your ID in order to give you an in-state license.  Since they cost less for people who are in-state, I need some sort of state-issued identification to issue it for you."

"The police told me I didn't need one," she said, angrily.  "Why would they say that if it warn't true?"

"You don't need one to get a license," I replied.  "I can get you an out-of-state license without an identification, but to get the benefit of a citizen, I need proof that you live in Virginia."

"Can't you just write it for me?  I stay just down the street."  She looked down her nose at me as if she was thinking that she likes to eat blonde things like me for breakfast.

"No, I'm sorry," I said again, a little exasperated now.  "I can write you an out of state license, but that's all I can do without an ID."

At that time, my dad piped in to corroborate what I was saying.  I love when he does that.  On the other hand, I hate when he pipes up and tells me to do something that I don't want to do--give extra bait to a customer who has been rude to me, for example.  (It is my policy that if you are rude, like if you call me "hey, you," or snap your fingers at me to tell me to do something, I will punish you.  I will give you exactly what you order--and absolutely nothing else.  I am in the habit of adding extra things in for people who are nice to me, and you may not know it, but you won't get the best if you are rude.  And I remember.)

"Well," she said, huffing.  "The warden has my ID."

At those words, I almost burst out laughing.  Here she was, my own little jailbird. 

"You should get it from him.  Then I can write you an in-state license."

"Can't you just call the warden and ask him to tell you that I have a license?"

"Ummm...err...well, no, that's not really my job."  I didn't know what to say, but I am not in the habit of calling wardens all over a silly fishing license.  Besides, that's crazy.  No thanks, you fugitive of justice, go get your license yourself--and if you CAN'T get it, perhaps you ought not be fishing and you should be locked up instead.  Well, at these words, homegirl stormed away in a huff, presumably to find the warden and demand that he give her back her fishing license.

Today brought another incident, of course.  It was the first truly pretty weekend we've had this summer, and everybody wanted to go fishing.  I went to work at 6 in the morning and ran back and forth to get bait all day long.  Literally.  It's good, because I work on commission, but bad because I get blisters on my super tired feet.

One of the most popular baits we sell are peeler crabs.  They are regular blue crabs that are in between being hard and being soft--and their shells peel off.  They are kind of expensive, $2.25 for each crab, and they are highly coveted.  We frequently run out of them, because we can only get a couple hundred at a time, and the demand is that high.  A crabber brings them to us every day, and we only have what he brings--whether he has been lucky or not.  Today, we got peelers in the morning--about 150 of them--and they were going fast.

I had a number of phone calls about peelers from customers and our general rule is that we won't hold them for anybody.  With perishable things, it's dangerous--by the time they get their lazy butts down to the store, some of the crabs might have died, and then they don't want to pay as much for them.  Besides, why turn away perfectly good customers who are physically standing there with money in their hands for customers who may not even come?  Our thoughts exactly.  It is counterproductive, and we don't save them.

Anyway, at one point, I had two customers walk in.  Let's call them Bob and John.  As they come in, I was finishing up with another customer.  Bob walks past the front counter, where you order your bait, and over the hook aisle and starts to browse.  John comes up to the counter and waits for me to be done with my customer.  When I was finished, I asked him what I could get for him.

"Do you have any peelers?" he asked me.

"We have a few," I told him.

"How many is a few?" he asked.  (This is a pretty routine conversation.)

Having not done inventory, I wasn't exactly sure, but I did a little guesstimate. 

"Mmmm 20-25," I told him.

"I'll take them all," John said.  I nodded, and turned to go to the back to pack up the crabs.

"Hey," Bob calls across the store.  "Can I get five of them peelers?"

"They're sold," I told him, shrugging.  "I'm sorry."

"Hey, man," he called at John.  "Can I get like five of your peelers?"

"I'm sorry," John said, "I need them."

Bob stopped harassing my customer, and I walked to the back to get the crabs.  I put them in an old bloodworm box and counted them out--we had 24 and a dead one.  Right on the money.  Feeling pretty proud of myself, I put them all together and carried them back out to John.

"We had 24," I told him.  "I was pretty darn close!"

"Let me get four of them," Bob started up again. 

"I'm sorry," I replied.  "These are sold."

"He only said he'd take 20!" Bob said indignantly.

"I told him I had 20-25 and he said he would take them all," I responded, patiently. 

"Hey, man, can I get four of those crabs?" he started again on John.

"I'm sorry," John said again.  "I've got to make a living."

Since John wasn't willing to give up his crabs, I really couldn't do anything.  He did ask me for them first and I certainly wasn't going to reach into his bag and take out something that he told me first that he wanted.

"But I was here first," Bob said.  "You were helping someone else, and I walked over here, and when he said he wanted them I told you I wanted five."

"He asked me first," I said, getting a little frustrated now.  I didn't know how he could think that I would be free to do anything different than what I was doing.  "I'm really sorry.  We should get some more later this afternoon."

"You're really not going to give me any crabs?" Bob said, his eyes bugging in his little head.

I shook my head.  He took his pack of hooks that he had obviously been intending to buy and threw them at my face.  Being wrapped up, they flew kinda funny--not in a direct line at my face, but kinda flew for a ways, then fluttered slowly and ineffectually to the ground.  I was pretty stunned to have something thrown at me over a situation that I obviously couldn't do anything about.

Ahh, the joys of working in retail.  Sometimes it makes me cranky that I'm still working here, even after I finished my law degree, but I have to remind myself I am lucky to have this connection that lets me work the hours that suit me.  Nobody else would hire me otherwise and I would have to ride my bike or something because I certainly couldn't afford gas at these prices.  And I have to get to and from Williamsburg five days a week starting on Tuesday for my bar review class so...


Let's just say I am easily the most over qualified bait girl in the history of the world.

BarBri Soothes My Soul

I've started preparing for the bar now (which is part of the reason for my extended absence from the world of blogging) and, at first, it was not a pretty sight.  In my first round of multiple choice questions designed to prepare me for the MBE, I missed more questions than I am comfortable admitting and I started to get a cool, heavy, settled expectation of dread in my stomach.  But, I decided, at least I have several months left before the exam, so I must plow on.  After all, I already knew I wasn't naturally the smartest law person--therefore, I have to work that much harder.  Which is fine, it really is.  I'm not sure whether it's even better to be the naturally smart person or whether it is truly more advantageous to be like me--extremely hard working and terrified of failure.  I definitely have powerful motivation.

My actual class starts on Tuesday and, I have to say, I'm kind of excited about it.  Except that I have to take it at a different school where I'm reasonably sure I will know no one.  But maybe that's better.  I am a naturally social creature and, if I have the opportunity to be social, it would be extremely hard for me to just focus on what I need to do.  So, maybe friends = bad, at least for now. 

The more I practice on my bar review, the better I get.  Yes, already I can see a marked difference from where I was at the beginning.  And that soothes me.  If I'm already better, then I will continue to get better the more I drill this stuff into my head.  So far, I'm only doing the first year subjects--torts, con law, criminal law, contracts, property, and evidence.  But it will get even bigger and more expansive and I say bring it on.  I feel reasonably sure that, if I follow the set BarBri program, I will come out ahead, which is good because I have a pretty sweet job to start, come August. 


Please, August, hurry up.

Graduation: It's Official

Tomorrow is my graduation day!  I'm not going, but it's still a special day in my life.  I have gotten several emails from various deans at school, and they all assure me that I have not failed anything critical at the last minute and that I will in fact graduate tomorrow.  Yess!

It's finally sinking in, and I imagine that after I see some of my classmates in their silly law robes, it will feel even more real.

Congratulations to all my friends who are also graduating; we've all worked hard and totally deserve to celebrate.  Congratulations also to Andy's sister, Molly, who is finishing up at Virginia Tech and also graduates tomorrow.  Hard to believe how far we've all come from when we started! 

Bring on the bar exam!

Tampons and Such

My life has recently become extremely boring, and I have neglected my blog a little bit just because I didn't want to bore anyone (if, in fact, anyone reads me at all) with details of how mundane things have become.  Work, study, hang out with Andy...well, really, that's it.

But the other day something happened that I think is a little bit funny and more than a little bit awkward, so I figured I'd share.

It's true; I'm not the girl with the purest of reputations.  I stay over at Andy's house so, well, you get the idea.  I'm also not trying to get unexpectedly preggo, so I am on the pill.  I am, in fact, practically a worshipper of the pill because I think it is probably the most wonderful medical discovery ever.  

Yes, ever.  It's totally bigger than penicillin.  I mean, yeah, okay, penicillin is good, too.  But the pill is better.

On Monday, I had to start a new pill pack, and I put the pack in my computer bag which, when I left to get Andy to go to a baseball game, I conveniently left sitting on the dining room table at my parent's house.  Needless to say, when I'm at Andy's house, pills at my parent's house do me very, very little good.

Since I had to work the next morning, I had to swallow my pride and text my dad to ask him to please bring my medicine to work so that I could take it just 11 hours late, rather than more like 18 or 19 hours late.  I thought maybe referring to it as "medicine" would distract him from my true intention.  

"Bring me the thing that makes it possible for me to make bad decisions and face little to no actual consequences, please, daddy."

Well, who would say that, anyway?  I just called it medicine and hoped he wouldn't think too much about it.  I figured my chances were pretty good since generally men don't worry too much about facts and don't think about things that they don't have to think about.  Cross my fingers, anyway.

Well, he didn't bring the medicine--he brought my whole bag.  Nice, I thought, at least he didn't rifle through and find the pills--I mean, it's pretty telltale packaging.  So I dug through my bag to find my pills when, lo and behold, I also discovered a little plastic Ziploc baggie in there--filled with condoms and tampons.  

Great.

If it wasn't bad enough to ask for him to bring me pills, if he peeked into my bag, he would see all sorts of other feminine items of a questionable nature.  Poor daddy.  I can only hope that, rather than go through my bag, he just picked up the whole thing and was blissfully ignorant of the morality-corrupting wares he was delivering to his eldest daughter.  

Let's hope for that, anyway.

There's No Rush

Suddenly, I feel like I am in entirely too much of a hurry to have my life work out like I think it should.  Because my younger sister got married, and a bunch of my other friends are in relationships that are either headed that way or seem very soon to be, what I am doing hasn't seemed good enough to me and I kept pushing for more.

Not anymore.

I'm going to focus on doing exactly what I need to do at any given moment, whatever that may be.  Focus on making myself happy through smaller things (workouts, massages, new shoes, etc) and using the new lawyer job I'll start working in after the bar exam, I'm going to start living the glamorous life I've always wanted to live.  If it's just me, if I'm not married, I can do exactly what I want all the time.  I can buy very expensive shoes, live where I want, go on vacations with girlfriends, you know, pretty much whatever I want.  All the other stuff will come with time and just because everyone else is doing it doesn't mean that it's the right time for me.  In fact, I know quite a few people who have not only been married and had kids--but now they're separated or divorced.  As a future divorce lawyer, this is good news for the industry--but how embarrassing to be in your low-twenties and be divorced.  Marriage is a serious, serious commitment, and I don't think that many young people truly appreciate that.

It's not happening for me right this minute and that's okay.  I can wait, and in the mean time, I will be perfectly happy.  I don't have a choice.  It is what it is.

There's no rush.  I don't need to do the same thing as everybody else, especially when it seems like its probably not the right decision for them, anyway.  It takes longer to develop into the kind of person that you're going to be forever.

Anyway, I'm a pretty cool girl without a diamond on my finger.  

(Insert Scary Movie Impending Doom Music Here)

It's a bad picture, taken on a cell phone camera, and even worse lighting in my parent's dining room, which has been converted into a study sanctuary.  Sanctuary?  Maybe that's a bit too encouraging of a word.  Cell is more like it.


Here are the pictures of all the books I got from BarBri to start my bar review.

I'm not sure how well you can tell (I will probably post another, better picture so you can fully appreciate the misery to which my life will soon be reduced), but basically I have NINE super duper thick paperback books filled with law that I must know in less than two months.  Reassuring?  I think not. 

To be completely honest, I feel reassured to have the books.  At least its now in my power.  And you bet I'm going to do everything I possibly can to pass on the first try.  And then some. 

Today I bought some new pretty notebooks, notecards, and page tabs so that I will be motivated to do my work.  Two notebooks: (1) is my "notes from class and lectures" notebook, and (2) is my "shit I just don't know" notebook.  At the advice of my professor, I decided to have notebook (2) which will allow me to go over and over the things I just can't seem to get right, and have it all located in one convenient place that I will keep with me at all times to review in the car, in the waiting area at the doctor's office or the DMV, or even while on the toilet, if necessary, so that not too much time will be wasted.  Sound like a plan?  I thought so.

Can't wait to start studying.  I'll keep you posted and probably even bore you with entirely too many details.  Say a finger, cross your fingers, or dance a special dance in support of me.