I won't always love these selfish things, I won't always live not stopping.
Jimmy Eat World, "23"
It's been far too long, as someone who reads this has pointed out to me at the bar the other night. Well, unfortunately, I'm currently engaged in a legal torture exercise known as Practice Court and that takes up most of my time. When I am not sifting through thousands of pages of Westlaw printings or flipping through code books, I am either a) sleeping or b) sitting on my couch, staring blankly into space and hating my life. More about PC later.
Since it's been a while, this post will be long and include several stories. Just find the heading you like and read that story or read through them all.
Life (Or Something Like It) Generally
Fan-dimonium!
I had a guy at school come up to me and recently tell me how much he enjoyed reading my blog. I mean, I know it's out there for all the world to see, being on the internet and all, but I thought it was kind of awesome that someone read what I had to say and was entertained by it. Mostly all I put down here is what is buzzing around in my head and who wouldn't be flattered that someone finds their thoughts amusing and insightful? Either way, I guess I'm glad that people get some joy out of this cathartic exercise. I also promised I would give this person, who requested I call him
p.6, a shout out. So here's to you, p.6--thanks for reading.
The 2L Party
The first week school of school, a couple of my friends who live together decided to throw a Welcome Back party. This house includes p.1, p.2, and my good friend Red. They’d been talking about this since the day they moved in, possibly before, and if there’s one thing these kids know about, it’s how to party. I had just gotten through the most hellish week of school in my life and was ready to cut loose. I also acknowledged that this night had the potential for massive disaster. Having drunk law students around each other was never a good idea, but it would be the first time that I had hung out with p.1 and p.2 where there was tons of alcohol and no girl to make p.2 unavailable, or at least no girl planned to make p.2 unavailable.
Right before I was about to head over, I got a call from Red telling me that she had left the party because her and p.1 had gotten into a fight. Red is like my shield to the awkwardness of that house, so if she wasn’t there, I didn’t really want to be there without her. I told her to tell me when she was headed back and instead went to go hang out with some of the recent graduates. The guys who recently graduated are some of the most entertaining people I have ever met. They are also overwhelmingly good looking and charming and the closest thing I have to the frat guys I used to hang out with at A&M—everything with them is laid back and easy.
They leave to a bar I absolutely loathe, so I figure I should get to the party, knowing that Red would be wondering back from the wine bar soon. I called in some back up in the form of my nursing friend and my graduate student friend.
When I finally got to the house, I was a little taken aback. EVERYONE I saw was trashed—I mean, they were on a completely on a different level. I was stone cold sober and was less amused and more really uncomfortable about the whole thing. I quickly found my best guy friend, CB, and the non-law school girls. They were standing in a group talking to p.3. Great.
When I walked up, the conversation was really inane. The girls were laughing at p.3’s jokes (he can be charming and hilarious when he wants). One of the girls was playing around with him about being hot. Then the words came out of p.3’s mouth:
“I’m taken but open.”
I nearly spit up my beer. When p.3 wondered away to get them some beers for the girls I informed them all he was most certainly NOT open. Grad student turned to me and asked, “What does that even mean? ‘Taken but open’?”
It means someone is epically confused.
I felt awkward at the party and was missing the older guys. I didn’t know half the kids there, didn’t care to know them. I stuck mostly to my back, CB, and CL. Red came in at some point, knocking back tequila. I should have sensed impending disaster.
Eventually TL comes and finds me, tells me that Red is sick. Usually I am adverse to nursing drunk sick people, but Red is my girl. In the bathroom, when both TL and I holding back Red’s hair telling her how much we loved her, I realized how great it is to have them as friends. It’s nice to have a friendship that is so solid in this awkward and stressful place. It's pretty awful when the most centered I felt the whole night was when I was helping out a friend in distress. This party was obviously a fail for me.
Eventually we locate p.2 and he comes in and takes over taking care of Red. I would never use the word “caring” to describe p.2, but he was caring, at least with Red. He’s usually brash and cold and harsh but his voice was smooth and lowered, he rubbed her back, told her everything was going to be alright. I felt an uncharacteristic twinge of longing.
There’s been a breach in the wall.
Sensing a weakness in my defenses, I walk back out to the living room and get into a discussion with TL’s fiancé. He is one of my favorite people in the world and a great guy. He tells me he loves me for taking such good care of TL and Red. I tell him I love him for being so good to TL and for loving Scott Pilgrim.
p.2 eventually emerges from Red’s bedroom after relinquishing care duties to someone else. He looks a little sad—it’s an odd look for someone whose face is almost cherubic. He gives me a small smile. I ask him how Red is doing. We begin talking, which is kind of ground breaking since we usually just ignore each other in public. Then he drops the bomb.
“Lo, I’d like to apologize.”
Was I hallucinating? The apology (for something he did in an entry below) was completely unprovoked. I had never thought p.2 capable of apologizing. For anything. He told me he shouldn’t have done it and he didn’t even think about it at the time (something I suspected pretty early on). I told him it was fine, it just hurt and that I’d gotten over it and we were cool. I finally looked him in the face and his brown eyes were centered on me. Damn it. Wall down.
And the look he was giving me. I knew that look. It was familiar. The following scene from “Cat On A Hot Tin Roof” popped into my head:
Maggie: “Why were you just looking at me like that?”
Brick: Like what, Maggie?”
Maggie: “Like you were just looking.”
Brick: “I wasn’t consciously looking at you, Maggie.”
Maggie: “I was conscious of it. If you were thinking the same as I was thinking . . . “
Brick: “No, Maggie!”
Maggie: “Why not?!”
Brick: “Would you please keep your voice down?”
Maggie: “No! I know you better than you think. I’ve seen that look before and I know what it used to mean. And it still means the same thing now . . . “
Brick: “You’re not the same woman now, Maggie.”
I'm like Maggie and he's like Brick . . . except I'm no Liz Taylor. And p.2's no Paul Newman. And he's not that good at football. And he does have a ridiculous bromance with his best friend, p.1, though.
Relating my life to movies is not at all uncommon for me.
I forced myself to take a seat at the counter and he took one beside me. All I wanted was comfort and familiarity and fighting that urge was almost soul crushing. We talked some more, about lord knows what. I was counting down the seconds until I would get to the point where there was no going back. Someone was going to get hurt and it was going to be me.
Saved by my iPhone, the screen lit up with a picture of a pale, dark haired boy and his dog. I answered. He gave me an out of this awkward situation and I took it. When I hung up, p.2 was looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face.
p.2: “I’m going to bed, I guess.”
I said my goodbyes and left, the lyrics to “I Got It Bad (And That Ain’t Good)” running through my head.
Looking back, that night was pretty telling. The 2Ls were definitely out, single, and ready to mingle, which will no doubt spell disaster and hilariousity. I realized how grateful I was for the great friends I have—especially the great girl friends, because I’ve never really had a lot of those before. And I am proud to say that my diagnosis of p.2 as a decent person who occasionally does some dick things was correct. There were a lot of people who felt I’m too nice when it comes to him, but I’m glad he showed that he deserved my esteem.
I also figured out that my defenses are not strong enough against him as I thought. Eventually I will break down and I am assuming it will not end well. Also, p.3 was going to be around and in my life whether I liked it or not, so I was going to have to suck it up and deal with it. And that is the rule of our school—you can’t avoid anyone. You have to just suck it up and make do.
Salsa & Margarita Festival
Country music. Tequila. Salsa. How could this possibly go wrong?
I was just amped because Randy Rogers Band was playing and their new CD is so epic. They have so many songs that speak directly to me and the situations I find myself in. Luckily, my good friend Mouse, who I know enjoys a good concert, was meeting me out at the festival.
We were late getting there, as usual. Most of the 2Ls were already obliterated by the time we got there. Besides Mouse, p.2 and I, I seriously doubted anyone was here for the music. Most of the crowd we were with was there for amusement’s sake.
Sure enough, when the music started, Mouse and I were the only girls yelling out all the lyrics and dancing around. I love country music so much—I think it’s definitely an underrated art form. Mouse and I swayed in each other’s arm to our theme song from Eli Young Band, “Guinevere.” Mouse went to A&M and were reminiscing about how much the music was making us miss good ol’ College Station. There is an alarming lack of country music, blues, boots and country boys in my life now.
I’m pretty sure p.2 would have been singing along, and kind of was, although he was on a different level of drunk. He at one point tried to booty dance with Mouse. To a country song. My friends are awesome.
As per usual festivals, most people ended up getting too wasted and not really enjoying the concert itself. Whatever. I had come for the music and that’s what I got. I had to keep back tears during Randy Rogers Band’s rendition of “In My Arms Instead.” Like I said, country music speaks to my soul—and usually to the exact situations I find myself in. Especially Randy Rogers.
Of course, not done with beer and tequila and Randy Rogers, most people went to the bar afterwards. Including p.2, who was sporting what we affectionately refer to as "racoon eyes." In other words, it was a miracle he was standing. But, the boy is nothing if not persistent. He made it to the bar like a champ.
The odd point of this night was that later at the bar, there was a boy—we’ll call him p.4. He wasn’t unfamiliar in that I didn’t know where he came from—I’d recognized him from school. And there wasn’t really anything exceptional about him. He was standing quietly in the corner with some of his friends, nodding at something. But there was something about his silence that was—intriguing. In a school of Type A personalities, it’s nice to have someone that’s not always seeking the spotlight.
I obtained an introduction through mutual friends and began talking to p.4. And he was awesome. Kind of weird, but in a good way. He seemed a bit aloof—like all the chaos and drinking going on around us wasn’t fazing him. It only made me like him more.
Inevitably, any wishes I had for p.4 were dashed in the wee hours of the morning. Turns out the law school is much smaller than most of us think—and I misjudged its small town mentality most of all. I guess I can’t really be mad about it—the impediment to p.4 was of my own construction. I guess it goes to show me, and should show everyone else, that everything you do has consequences, especially in a place that refuses to forget.
I guess the whole p.4 situation also showed me that despite current doubts about my moral fortitude, I still won’t lie to get my way. Honesty is the best policy, but sometimes, being honest blows.
Also, as predicted the night before, all the new single people were on the prowl. You can officially cut the sexual tension at law school get togethers now with a knife. It's like being a bottle of Maker's Mark away from a massive orgy and it's uncomfortable.
Setting the Mood
My family came into town the second weekend of the school week. Characteristically, though, my mom and the littest Sep disappeared somewhere around 11pm, leaving me free to go to my favorite place in Waco--Scruffy Murphy's.
The night started out normally enough. A lot of the law school was there and finally it seemed some of the class barriers were being broken down with the whole 'everybody is single' thing. My other sister decided to come out with her boyfriend, which is a rarity.
I was doing my whole social butterfly thing and talking to several different groups of people when p.2 came up and talked to me and my sister. Him and her had (oddly) gotten along during the previous Spring, although I suspect that was mostly because she wasn't p.1's biggest fan. He said hello to both of us and we made polite conversation for maybe about three minutes before he walked off to talk to some other friends.
Later in the night, I ran into p.3, who I still fully resented. He wasn't an idiot and knew I resented him so he decided to try and explain things to me. Me, being me, gave him the opportunity and I guess I'm glad I did. We ended up talking about life for about four or five hours that night. Look, I know that there's wrong and there's right, but lately I've been learning there's a lot of gray too. And what he told me that night--well, I'm not saying that it made everything right, but it made it more understandable. At least, I could see where he was coming from, his situation. My friends are of the opinion that this is highly dangerous.
It's not all gray, but a lot of it is.
Look, all I'm saying is, things aren't so strict. Life is complicated. People are even more so. And more than anything, life is hard and filled with lots of should I's and why not's. It's gotten increasingly hard for me to judge people for the things they do, especially once I know the background and the motivation. Also, I have way less energy to judge. And why would I judge anyway? I should be the last person to throw a stone, especially in this particular case.
p.3 later called me out about my interaction with p.2. He kept calling us "obvious" and wanting to know what I wanted from p.2. I tried to dodge the questions, mostly because I didn't know the answers and I didn't want to admit that to him. I told p.2 about getting called out the next day and he laughed about it. At first, I just thought it was a little jealous thing from p.3, but it was later confirmed by Mouse that we're sickening to watch. Great. Project Avoidance has been officially reinstituted at bars.
Later that night, I found myself empathizing with one of the main characters in one of my favorite books and for all the wrong reasons. Somehow I have landed myself in another ridiculous situation where only tragedy can result.
Mouse thinks it's because I'm a masochist. She's probably right.
Somethings Never Change, Others Surprisingly Do
One of my best friends from my home town got married the other weekend. I was really excited for him because I love him a lot. I was also nervous for him because it seemed like all of the people from our hometown were going to stick out like a sore thumb at the wedding. Which was dry. With no dancing. This is unheard of when you're Mexican.
Sure enough, there was a clear difference in the church/Houston crowd and ours. A couple of people commented on it, but for the most part, I just had a good time for my friend's sake.
The odd thing was hanging out with people I haven't seen in years. There is this one boy in particular--we were good friends when we were younger and people, gossiping the way they did, had started rumors that we had hooked up. This rumor was completley untrue and really disturbing since he'd already made out with at least two people that were related to me. Besides, this kid, definitely wasn't my type. He was everyone else's in school apparently, but not mine.
Anyway, he was at the wedding and later he attempted to try and hit on me.
Normally, this would have just been amusing, but it was all so SO wrong.
I have never really fit in where I'm from. I'm not a "typical" Valley girl, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever be. So when this boy employed his typical "I'm going to get this Valley girl" game on me, it backfired massively for him. I wasn't interested in how much money he made or how many nice things he had--I'd been surrounded by nice things all my life thanks to my dad's profession, but my parents had raised us to realize that material things weren't important. More importantly, I don't need a man to impress me with his ability to buy me pretty things . . . once I get out of law school I plan on buying them for myself.
Also, this guy deployed the direct game. I don't know where guys fell under the impression that if they are as vulgar and brutally honest as they can be about things when they hit on you, we're just supposed to swoon. Ew, no. And this is like, the second time this type of game has been employed on me in the last couple of weeks. I think some people need a lesson in subtlety.
Also, since we were people I'd never met before, I was talking to random people we were with at the bar. One of the guys described his MMA fighting hobby to me and I tried to talk him into hooking up with one of our friends. I met another guy who was a chef and another guy who ended up hanging out with us later. However, occasionally this boy would come and make comments about me talking to other guys. Jealousy is not a turn on for me--exactly the opposite. Also, unless you're my boyfriend, you have no say. On top of that, I hadn't even given this kid one indication that anything was even going to happen between us. Mostly because I knew it wasn't.
Some people may have the desire to go back and do the things they didn't do in HS, but I am not one of them. I've already been on my ugly duckling tour and learned that mostly, after the initial triumph wears away, you learn that you are so not the same people, that the whole thing was an awful idea, and mostly that you are so vastly superior to this situation you don't understand how you ever thought that person was so great.
So some things never change--this guy is still trying to get with everything that moves. He still carries his "I'm a jock" game from HS. He's still ridiculous and thinks women consider it charming. Sadly, most girls do. I do not.
And some things change--namely, me. I'm not that person I was 7 years ago. And I have no urge to revisit or relive that place or those people for nostalgia's sake.
The Great Reconciliation
For the last six months or so, two of my very best friends have been at odds with one another. These two friends used to be best friends, which always struck me as peculiar because they are so strikingly different. It would be like Mussolini and John Lennon being friends. But, you know, it worked. Or at least it did until it broke. And when it broke, it broke ugly.
p.1 and I were caught somewhere in the middle, since we were pretty close friends with both girls. p.1 once analogized the situation to us being children in a divorce--and that was fairly accurate. We carefully split our time and walked on eggshells around both of them. Our group of friends was oddly butterflied because of the split. After six months of defeaning silence, I had accepted the finality of the situation.
And then everything changed.
The ice suddenly thawed and the girls spoke to one another. In the precarious spot of being in the middle, I reveled at how this surely must be too good to be true and urged proceeding with caution to both. I wasn't expecting things to go back to the way they had been, I would've just been happy if they had found an uneasy peace. But the girls really surprised me. Maybe I just put too little faith in most human's ability to reconcile. Or maybe I underestimated how common opinions and empathy can unite people. All I know is that I couldn't be happier. My girl world is finally at peace.
I really need to stop quoting movies.
The Practice Court Stories
Generally
Practice Court is held in a room we affectionately refer to as "The Dungeon." Mostly because it a) smells funny, b) we are trapped in there for a large part of the day, and c) it is a place filled with insanity and soul crushing.
Let me just say, Practice Court is every bit as bad as everyone says. Don't ever listen to anyone who tells you otherwise. It's basically a practice in which you are doomed to fail. Apparently, this is supposed to make us resilient. Sometimes I just think it's wholly unnecessary. The work load is heavy and basically a legal form of torture.
This is my row in The Dungeon . . . and yes, all that stuff on the desk is necessary for class.
This class basically turns you into a sleep deprived maniac that finds odd things funny and suddenly you find yourself making due process jokes and people around you laughing at them. It also makes it impossible for you to have a life during the week--this is severely distressing to me because I really miss going to karaoke. Or, you know, having time to clean my room or make my bed. Or listening to the news. Or sleep.
Frumples, taking a post-PC nap. You squeeze in the naps when and where you can.
The only time I really get to see my friends is on coffee breaks. They've all been really great though, especially the non-PC ones. But I miss just hanging out and watching trashy reality TV and talking about the boys and problems in our lives.
I used to really enjoy law school because I loved the law. I keep trying to remind myself that's why I'm here and putting myself through this torture. It's really hard to stay positive when the rest of my 3L friends at other schools are playing golf and not going to class. Also, I think the sleep deprivation and over caffination are keeping the message from getting through.
Every day I walk into the room around 7 am, I have to fight the urge to grab a big black Sharpie and scrawl over the door, "
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate." For those of you not familiar with Italian or Dante's Inferno, this roughly translates to: "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."
I want to order one of these for the doorways . . . how much trouble do you think I'd get in?
It would be funny, but mostly, it'd be true.
The Roof
During PC2 (also known as EVIDENCE), we were learning about laying predicates for evidence admitted during trial. I was hopelessly lost, mostly because I had almost fallen asleep a few minutes into the lecture since I had gotten at total of four hours of sleep in the previous 48 hours and right around this time my morning energy drink began to wear off. An aerial Google Maps photograph of the law school and the neighboring Mayborn Museum was up on the Elmo projector. Our professor was questioning one of our classmates, BB, about how to authenticate the evidence. He seemed lost, as did most of the class. For some reason, our professor let him phone a friend and he called on his buddy, DC. DC sits behind me, but I could almost feel the nervousness radiating off of him.
Professor: "Mr. DC, what is this a photograph of?"
DC: "It's an aerial photograph of the law school and part of the Baylor campus that backs the Brazos."
Professor: "Is it? Have you ever seen the law school from this angle?"
DC: "Um . . . no sir, but I believe that is the roof of the law school and the surrounding buildings."
Professor: "And have you been on the roof of the law school or the Mayborn museum, Mr. DC?"
DC: "Not yet, but I might after today."
The class tittered. Our professor walked slowly up the aisle until he was right in front of DC. I froze in my seat, employing the TREX method (if you don't move, he won't see you), and threw my hand over my doodle in the corner of my notes.
Professor: "Mr. DC . . . are you thinking of jumpin'?"
The class broke out in hysterics. I don't even know that DC's reply was.
The Sam's Run
It's an odd day when we don't have double sessions or advocacy exercises in Practice Court, and seizing the fact that for once we were done with class at noon, JN and I decided to get some day errands done now that we finally had time to come out of The Dungeon. So we piled in the Caddy, squinting in the sunlight, and headed to Sam's. We were in line to check out when I noticed the woman in line ahead of us. She looked like she belonged on the "I'm Sleeping With My Sister's Husband" episode of Jerry Springer. She also had a toddler in the cart that was attempting to eat a blue slushie but was mostly dropping it all over the sealed concrete floor. My first thought was: sealed concrete + blue slushie = massive premises liability case. Sad, I know. I looked at the contents of her cart: cases of cheap light beer, bottles of wine and frozen pizzas. My heart felt a little tug of nostalgia. Then I surveyed the contents of mine and JN's cart: two 24 packs of Diet Dr. Pepper, a case of 24 low carb Monster energy drinks, a box of 100 calorie snacks, Sharpie pens, Post-It notes, and a stack of 8 binders stood as a testament to our lameness.
Ugh. Lately, I've come to resent my life. It's a feeling I am wholly unfamiliar with. I don't like it.
A Sam's worker approached us and steered us away from the spilled slushie. The employee radioed for a clean up and literally stood there warning JN and me to be careful every five seconds until it was wiped up. JN poked me.
JN: "Dude, didn't this totally remind you of the Walmart slip-n-fall case we read for today?"
A rendering of incapacitation by slushie.
I involuntarily laughed. This is what my life has become :(
Okay, that's enough for now. There'll be more later, mostly because I promised p.6 and now that I see him all the time, he can badger me for it.
