I Know What I Am

"Wasn't it beautiful when you believed in everything? And everybody believed in you? It's alright--just wait and see--your string of lights is still bright to me . . . Who you are is not what you did. You're still an innocent . . . Lives change like the weather; I hope you remember today is never too late to be brand new." - Taylor Swift, Innocent

Rage Is All the Rage

Carle van Loo's "Jason and Medea" (1759)



It seems, as of late, there's been a lot of anger around BLS. And while I usually would chalk up the ill moods and fighting dispositions to the finals mania that descends over the school like a plague around the end of October, I can't this year. That's because the cause of this anger is annoying and crudely blatant:

Pure jackassery.

Red and I are at the center of this little hurricane of rage. This is because we are very similar in our anger--it takes a lot to get us fired up, but when we break, we break ugly.

And it just so happened that we broke the same weekend.

It started, for Red, on a Thursday. I had a ridiculous amount of reading to do that night and had been putting it off and cleaning my room instead. Translation: No bar time for me. Red was also ridiculously busy, as busy as a PC student, so she had also nixed the idea of going out.

I was wading through an opinion on discovery when I got her 1 am phone call. Red NEVER calls me this late.

Red: "I need a drink. Taylor's coming, also. Do you want to go?"

There was a wild edge to her voice. Something was off. Plus this is the one of my friends who managed to hide herself away from distractions (aka Me) better than anyone else around finals. You had a better chance of finding Osama Bin Laden than getting this girl to even get on facebook around finals time. And now she wants to drink?

Something was definitely wrong.

I looked down at my case. That catastrophe wasn't going anywhere. I was getting nothing done.

Lo: "Sure, I'll see you in five."

Red's story is not mine to tell. Suffice to say, when it all came out, even I was appalled at the jackassery it encompassed.

I had never seen her so mad either. It's as if she was hyper alert and alive--eyes glistening and darting everywhere, hands clutched, then unclutched, shifting her weight back and forth. My she-hulk from the previous weekend didn't hold a candle to her's.

But perhaps the most disconcerting part for me was what was showing at the fringers of her anger--disappointment and betrayl. I'll never get why people are so cruel to one another.

I didn't sleep that night. I read on and then sat through several hours of class and downed far too many energy drinks. Afterward, Frumpy and I went for a quiet happy hour at Ninfa's. We both ordered our drinks and sat in comfortable silence. My mind wandered back to Red and her situation. It was a shame. I shook my head, silently hoped it worked itself out, and then gulped down the rest of my Dos XX.

You know those nights, where you get that ominous feeling? You know, the "I shouldn't go out" vibe? But if you're like me (a person who wholly ignores the smarter voices in her head), you ignore this omen and go out anyway. And it almost always ends in disaster.

This night was no exception.

I shouldn't have gone out. Besides the funny feeling I was still tired from only getting 3 hours of sleep in the last 48 hours. All I really wanted to do was hang out with the Boy, but I couldn't because he was gone on Fall Break. But me? Not go out? Impossible! I dragged myself out of my bed, into the shower, and then out to Austin's. My roommate, an overgrown 30+ year old manchild, decided to tag along.

The Yankees/Rangers game was on at the bar and it was the one the Yankees came from way behind to win. Everyone was drinking fast, dulling the pain of the Rangers loss. I was lagging. Something was off and I knew it.

We ended up at Scruff's. (Of course.) I drove up and Nurse and Frumpy were puking in the parking lot.

Lo: "WTF guys? I left you like 5 seconds ago and you're puking?! It's barely 12:30 am."
Nurse flashed me a grimace: "We were chugging vanilla vodka."

Well, of course, why wouldn't you do that? Oh. Yeah. Because it makes you puke in dive bar parking lots like a supermodel gearing up for the fall runway shows.

That's kind of when it all went to hell. And being significantly more sober than everyone else was NOT helping my outlook on things.

A little backgorund before we get into the fight: While hanging out with one of my 2L guy friends, he told me that "someone," a guy, was talking about me at school and he had overheard the conversation. He refused to name them which means a) they run in our general social group and b) they're definitely a 2L. In his words, what was said about me was "not good." The content of the conversation was mildly offensive, but only so because it wasn't true. If I actually did something, I'm very good about manning up to it. And because of that, it really bothers me when people accuse me of things I haven't done. But I laughed it off and told him that rumors of my out-of-BLS activities were greatly exaggerated. And he agreed, because if anyone would know, it'd be him.

Despite this attempt at confidentiality, I know who said it. It's painfully transparent as is the speaker's personality.

So this little accusation was still swirling in my mind and nagging me that night.

But ANYWAY . . .

I will not detail the argument. Instead this is the general chain of events:

• I am talking to other people that I am not that close to from school. MC ("manchild roommate") lumbers up, obscenely drunk, and starts accusing me of all sorts of shenanigans. NOTE: These are topics that are not appropriate to be talked about in public, much less in front of people from BLS.
• I tell him to stop lying and insinuating, that he has no grounds for his beliefs, and to shut up and stop slamming Bud heavies down his throat.
• MC gets even more offenseive, yelling out stories he knows aren't true, painting me a general awful light, pulling p.3's dirty laundry out for all the patio spectators. And none of this was done in a joking tone. Instead it's accusatory and cold and slurred.
• I tell MC he can walk his ass the 12 blocks home and escape into the bar before I lose all control and clock him. I keep saying, "It's not worth not being able to sit for the Bar Exam," in my head.
• Once in the bar, it's a bit easier for me to breathe, but I'm seeing red and in one of my legendary rages. The temper in me rears its ugly head. It is taking every fiber of my being not to lash out and break things. I am surrounded almost instantly by sympathetic and disgusted friends who caught the show outside or have heard about it. Everyone is attempting to clam me down. I am frustrated, so hot tears ar running down my face. I HATE crying. Especially in public. Especially in bars. This only makes me more frustrated.
• Suddenly, MC comes charging into the bar, yelling at me about being dramatic and trying to break through my little circle of friends. I shoot CL, my knight in man-slut armor, a wide-eyed look and him and I quickly escape out to the patio.
• I now revert to one of my more unlikeable traits--doubt in moments of overwhelming emotion. I sit CL down and ask him if maybe I'm blowing this whole thing out of proportion by being so offended. He sits quietly and assures me that I'm not overreacting and I have every right to be as profoundly offended as I am. If he's saying it's messed up, things must be mad.
• I eventually venture inside to close my tab. Frumpy is by the bar. He hugs me and I huddle into his side. He tells me we should go home. I agree. I just want to get out of that place, away from MC.
• As all of us are piling in the car, our friend Utah will NOT get in the car. He is drunk and keeps mumbling how we can't leave MC. All of us yell at him to get in the goddamn car. He convinces me to give MC a ride home with us, mostly because I know that if I don't drop Utah off in BFE Waco where he lives--no one will. I tell him he owes me his first born child and that if MC so much as speaks, I'm leaving him on the side of the road.
• We follow Frumpy to Nurse's house. She needs her car for work. At 6 am. [Remember, this was the girl that was puking in a parking lot about an hour before.] The rest of us ride in silence all the way home. Frumpy had decided to commandeer his "drunk bed" (a Relax-the-Back chair) at our house for the night. MC and I do not speak.
• As soon as we are back, I stomp up to my bedroom and slam the door. Once up in the loft, I feel 10x better. Frumpy tells me not to come down. I call CL and he somehow manages to soothe me to sleep.
• I am up for work early the next morning. I march past MC. I do not speak.
• He leaves me flowers. I do not like flowers. They remind me of funerals. Perhaps if he stopped judging me all the time and got to actually know me, he'd know that.
• It is now a week plus later and we still have not spoken. Nor do I intend to until I get an apology.

I know what you may be thinking. "Isn't this a little harsh, Lo?" No. It is not. The things that he said that night were inexcusable. And like a festering sore, it's only gotten worse with time. The thing that bothers me most is the disrespectfulness of it all.

In the following week, I got pep talks from two entirely different camps. The first was the "poor MC" camp. Made up of mostly older guys, this one kept excusing his actions with phrases like, "He was really drunk." So? We're drunk ALL the time and no one's ever really been this ridiculous before.

The other camp was the "eff MC" camp. These people are generally people who disliked MC from the start (people I used to DEFEND him to) or people who were there that night. I won't put what they said up here. It's not very nice.

So basically, for a week or so, Red and I got to soak in our anger together. And while I was soaking in my anger, and trying not to lash out (and trust me, I wanted to), I stayed in my room and worked on mini-trial, puzzles, and cleaning.

One night, I couldn't get to bed and pulled out a paperback version of Euripides' "Medea." The following quote struck a cord:

There’s something that she means to do; and know this:  She’ll not relax her rage till it has found its victim.

I always feel like that quote perfectly captures the depth of my anger at its darkest.

Maybe when my anger first started raging it was destructive, but now that it's abated, the whole thing is just kind of sad. Sad that someone who was supposed to be my friend disrespected me so badly. Sad that such a display came from someone who should so clearly be beyond that. And sad because, Red, when she was talking about her situation, put it best:

"Things are never going to be the same."

No. No, they're definitely not.

"Assholes Finish First": Tucker Max, All Grown Up?

The Man. The Myth. The Moralist?

"The Dark Side is a lot more fun. Join us." - Tucker Max

I have been waiting for the new Tucker Max book, "Assholes Finish First," since BEFORE the movie for "I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell" came out. And then they delayed it. Jerks. Considering that "I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell" was one of my all time favorite reads (I re-read it on the plane home for an interview in the last year and people were staring as I was cracking up), I couldn't wait to get my hands on the next installment of Tucker's ridiculousness.

For those of you who live in caves or can't appreciate someone accepting what an asshole they are, Tucker Max is an author who went to law school at Duke University. He didn't buy a single book his last two years of school and even lived his last semester in Cancun--and still graduated. [Obviously, this could never happen at BLS. I am jealous that other 3Ls have this type of freedom.] He's become famous for writing and keeping up his website (www.TuckerMax.com; don't try to pull it up, Baylor's lame and blocks it). In it he writes about drinking excessively, womanizing, and general adventures with his best friends.

The thing most people don't realize about Tucker Max is that he is genius in its purest form. We all have stories like his (though maybe not as many, at least not as many about midgets), but we don't put them down on paper. His style is conversational and engaging. He's extremely intelligent and witty, as are most of his friends that he writes about. And while a lot of the critics like to bag on what a jerk he is and what a miserable human being he is, I find his whole hearted embrace of who he really is and his sense of humor hilarious. I wouldn't say that he's an idol, but he's definitely someone I wouldn't mind having a couple of beers and trading a few stories with, and his style (along with Chuck Klosterman's) has highly influenced the way that I write--especially for the book version of "My War with IRAC".

Well, "Assholes Finish First" did not disappoint. If possible, I thought it was even better than IHTSBIH. For those of you who have read IHTSBIH, this book is funnier and believe it or not, Tucker's actually grown up a bit. Sound lame to you? It shouldn't. He's still just as hilarious from his slightly altered perspective. Of course, grown up for Tucker Max is like having the sense of humor and sex drive of a 15 year old boy . . . so it's all relative. Hearing him be morally offended and think about starting a family isn't nearly as odd as you think it'd be.

I highly suggest the book for anyone who is looking to neglect law school reading for funnier material. The first story is "Tucker Goes to Campout, Owns Duke Nerds." For those of you who have attended Duke (or know anything about it), this story revolves around the lottery for Duke basketball tickets. It involves a lot of drinking and a really loud bullhorn. My favorite quote from the piece, as Tucker realizes he can talk over anyone with his bullhorn:

"This must be what narcissist heaven is like."

Also:

"I will NOT apologize for being AWESOME!" 

[the new VV motto]

Perhaps my favorite story in the whole book is "The Capitol City Clown Crawl," which takes place in Austin [where incidentally, Tucker now lives]. Him and his friend go on a pub crawl dressed as clowns with a bunch of professionals in Austin--apparently this is held every year. If it wasn't for the fact that you have to dress up as a clown, I would definitely be down for this.

Tucker, of course, gets inappropriately hammered far too fast and ends up yelling at a woman in a Texas State sweatshirt at Hula Hut:

"Is that the bullshit they taught you at Texas State? Is that even a real school? Why'd you go there, couldn't get into the University of Phoenix?"

Hilarious.

Of course, the night ends up with him wondering down the middle of 6th and getting arrested and spewing all over the drunk tank. All in a day's work for Tucker Max.

Other tidbits of wisdom:

• "Look, the double standard makes perfect sense, you just have to see it in the proper perspective. My grandfather put it to me this way: If a key opens lots of locks, then it's a master key. But if a lock is opened by lots of keys, then it's a shitty lock." - PWJ
• [Note: I still don't agree with this statement, but it's probably the best way of explaining the double standard I've ever heard of.]

• "Every time I think I've hit bottom, every time I think I can sink no lower, every time I think I have slammed face-first into the bedrock of depravity, I find a new low." - Tucker Max

• "It's only too much if you can't handle it." - Random Chicagoan

• "Being pimped by a girl to another girl is pretty much the optimal situation for a guy, so I did the best thing I could do: shut the f*** up, smiled at MidgetPrincess when she looked at me, bought everyone beer, and let it all play out. When you have a girl running game for you, the more you speak, the greater the chance you'll f*** it up. Be quiet and let the girl do the work. Women trust women, not men, so the less you interfere--the less game you run--the better. Sounds counterintuitive, illogical, and borderline retarded? Welcome to women, enjoy your stay." - Tucker Max 
• [Note to boys: The girl wing-man never fails.]

• "You aren't hot enough to have this much self-respect." - Tucker Max

• "At this point, I'm kinda impressed. It takes talent to suck this much." - Soylent

• "Let me give you the maxim I guide my life with, the one that's led me to greatness: 'Ask forgiveness, not permission.'" - Tucker Max

• "If a woman mentions something--even to tell you she's not into it--it means she's at least thinking about it, which is more than half the battle." - Tucker Max 
• [SUPER true.]

• "This is not the right way to deal with crazies. A little attention is the worst thing you can do; they interpret it as meaning you still care, and all they have to do to get your attention is try harder." - Tucker Max

• "You aren't as smart as me. Just admit defeat and submit." - Tucker Max

And then he laid down the quote that quite possibly captured what I've been trying to tell everyone for years:

"I will never lay claim to being some sort of moral crusader as I may not have the most conventional moral code, but I do live by a very distinct and clear set of principles--they are just different from most people's."

So spend a couple of hours with Mr. Max and laugh as he drinks excessively, has a threesome with midgets, and tells you how abortions are tax deductible [HOW IS THAT LEGAL?!]. It'll transport you into an entirely different world than that of BLS and allow you to live (at least vicariously) in a world where you're brave enough to eschew social limitations. If you're one of those people that stays within the party lines, run free with Tucker Max and then return to your less funny existence. It'll be liberating.

Lo Verbally Smacks Down An Undergrad, Enjoys Herself

I couldn't find a photo for verbal sparring :( So enjoy some girls beating the crap out of each other.

I had an incredibly hilarious run-in with an undergrad the other day while hanging out at the Boy's house. I am relating it to you almost verbatim as I relayed it to p.4 right after it happened. Of course, now being on a computer, I can really do the situation justice.

Scene: Boy and 3 other undergrads (Accounting Majors 1 & 2, and the Ginger) are sitting around his kitchen table doing some project for class. I am sitting on the couch, supposedly reading for PC2. I am actually looking up Texts From Last Night, reading "Assholes Finish First" and playing Bejeweled 2 on my iPhone instead. As I am infinitely bored, I decided to interface with the undergrads. This is not something I would normally do because a) I value my sanity and b) there's only so much stupidity I can take before I start getting mean. [Insert ominous music here.]

To entertain myself, I start talking to the group, but solely in Tucker Max and "The Hangover" inspired quotes. No one seems to get the hilariousness of this but the Boy. And that is why he is the Boy. The Accounting people seem to indulge me, but the Ginger very clearly does not like me. Sensing this, and realizing that no matter what I do, she'll NEVER like me, I decide I am at liberty to be ridiculous.

She is prattling on about Homecoming and how some girl got this Tory Burch clutch she really really REALLLY wanted and how "jelo" she was. (No, seriously, she said that.) I think I vomited in my mouth a little bit. I decided to spare the group any more nausea.

Lo: "I would rather mainline Drano than listen to another second of your shallow undergrad sorority girl prattle."

Okay, so it's not originally mine but it's still funny.

The Boy pretended to shoot me a "watch it" look but I could see the corners of his mouth pulling up and his chest shaking. The Accounting people looked highly amused. These non verbal cues only served to encourage me.

Ginger decides to man up.

Ginger: "All you law students are super bitter."

The funny thing is, this could have been said as a fact. Yes, we ARE bitter. Because we hate our lives. I'm doing 260 pages of reading a night and prepping for finals and mini-trial while you're working on a three-page project you've had for three weeks? Cry me a river.

Only, it wasn't said like a fact. It was accusatory and had just the right undertone of anger, sorrow, and embarrassment. I know this tone all too well. This is the "I messed with a law student and they humiliated me/never talked to me again/used me/ruined my life" tone.

I can recognize my peers' handy work anywhere. So little time, so many dreams to crush.

Lo: "It's hard not to be bitter when you're surrounded by 10,000 overindulged children. I wish my daddy would replace his love for me with a Beamer, too. I'm so 'jelo'!"

Mean, but hilarious.

Ginger: "I guess it's easy to be a condescending asshole when you got into this school on affirmative action. Boy, what the hell do you see in this girl?"

You're going to pull the race card on me? Are you kidding? Let's completely disregard the fact that I'm half white and my mom was freaking born in GERMANY. In this day and age, is pulling the race card still even acceptable?

I would like to point out that all this was said to me in the voice you would imagine a Dallas socialite ordering her immigrant maid around in. WTF? I was a debutante! My family is in politics! I have a good GPA!

Obviously, this only fueled my fire.

Lo: "Actually, it really is easy to be a condescending asshole--especially since I'm in the top 20 % of my class. But don't worry--ten years from now, when I'm making six figures instead of marrying into money and your husband you met in this hell hole is cheating on you with the Puerto Rican nanny, I'll remember the kindness this school extended to me--and hire a white girl with a worthless business degree to clean my toilets."

She was stunned. The Accounting Majors were slack jawed. The Boy was doubled over laughing so hard he was crying.

I was sort of kicked out of the house, mostly because there was no way they were going to be able to do anything with Ginger and I in the same room. I told the Boy I was kind of sorry, but that really didn't mean much because I enjoyed doing it. Add a dumb, rich, spoiled, racist undergrad and stressed out by finals me and apparently all you get is verbal smackdown hilarity.

I laughed the entire time I was texting p.4 about it all the way home.

Happy Days!

Melinda, Kempers and I . . . . if we lived in the 1940s.

; )

Despite the massive work load I'm under and the drama with the roommate, things have been actually going really well. I'm actually ridiculously happy for the first time in a long time. This is seriously the most carefree and high-spirited I've felt since last Spring.

I'm going to attribute most of it to the VV Squad. Those girls are so awesome. I really adore our group of friends and each of the women I know contributes something unique to the group. And we can have fun by ourselves. We're always laughing. There's no secrets or jealousy or cattiness. It's honestly the greatest thing ever. We're brash and hilarious and fun. And I couldn't ask for more than the greatest friends in the world :)

Unless you include my boys. They don't always get along (they epitomize the word "frenemies" better than the girls ever have) and they don't necessarily live in the same city (there's the Waco Boys and then the CS Boys) but they are also people I couldn't live with out. CL and Frumpy have been the greatest. They take care of me and watch out for me, not that I really need that much watching out for. They have my back and I have theirs. CB is also included, even though he's been a tad MIA lately. It's okay though, because his new girlfriend is totally awesome, and I am a fan of him making some good choices.

And then there's the Boy. Well . . . I don't really know what to say about that. We get each other. He makes me happy. And we're moving with the speed of snails cross-breeded with sloths. And that's actually working out. It's got me smiling all the time. I know there are some . . . uh . . . differences (euphemism?) between us, but I don't know . . . this kid is just . . . . different. So, we'll see.

Life has been good. And I've stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. And maybe that in itself is a victory at the end of the day.


Look at me being all positive and insightful. It's a nice change.

The V V Squad Goes Statewide

ViVa the VV!

"Raise your glass if you're wrong in all the right ways." - P!nk

So, it finally hit me yesterday . . . the VV Squad is going state wide come the end of next week.

It's hard to believe, but Mouse and Red will be departing the spralling paradise that is Waco (for Houston and Austin respectively). Obviously, I am completely devestated by this considering a) I want to trade up too and b) I see these girls every day.  And while I have no doubt that the VV Squad is going to stay tight, it looks like like Nurse and I will be mostly holding down the fort.

Turns out my little Tennessee Titan is leaving me too. I guess this means that there will be a road trip every weekend for at least one of us. We can't live without each other's sarcasm. Life would be too hard to bear without it.

Of course, because VV is going state wide, I fully expect our shenanigans to go state wide as well. So keep looking for more hilarious stories as our lives spread out across the vast land of opportunity (or disappointment or hilariousity--depending on how you look at it) that is Texas. Pre-planned outings include Texas A&M Weekend in Waco and a tenative plan to do NYE in Austin again. After last NYE, I promised myself I'd never go back because it couldn't be topped. We'll see. Last year's NYE was pre-VV Squad. And we all know everything's better with a little VV in your life ;)

NYE planning made me stop and think where we were that night last year. BLo and Mouse were barely getting together. My cousin wasn't an ADA yet. I had free time and was intrigued at the novelty of p.1. It's hard to realize that was a little over 10 months ago.

My, how fast things change.

Life IS the Messy Bits

In a closing note, I just wanted to leave you with a little food for thought.

Mouse and I spent the most wonderful Saturday afternoon together. It was the first Saturday I had slept in without an alarm in like . . . . 9 weeks? I woke up when Mouse called and we chatted for a bit before deciding to go for a late lunch of Olive Garden and bellinis. And then it started raining. I love Waco when it rains. I love Mouse's dirty jokes about the rain even more. So what do we do? We fully accept that no studying is going to get done, and instead go to B&N to buy the new Tucker Max book and see a movie.

During the movie Mouse threatened to designate me as her kids' guardian in the event of her and whoever she marries demise (this is the plot line of the film we were seeing). I told her that if she did that I would dig up her grave and kill her all over again. I don't think I'm fit to take care of little humans. I'm pretty sure I couldn't handle little Mouses breaking all my cool stuff. She can leave me her stuffed animals Roosevelt and Socrates instead.

So we plan to follow it up at night . . . . except both of us run out of energy. So we did Girl's Night In with VL instead.

We watched "Letters to Juliet." I know some of you are groaning. This will be over quickly and with relatively no pain or nausea, I assure you.

Cliff Note's Version:

There's this part in the movie where the characters are driving up to a grand estate looking for this old woman's long lost love and her grandson makes a comment that if this is him, he went from working the land to owning it, and she "got to miss out on the messy bits."

The old woman looks out of the window and says quietly, "Life is the messy bits."

Possibly the most profound piece of truth I've ever found in a chick flick. Also, words to live by.

Life is messy, but it's kind of beautiful. Live it, love it, embrace it. And don't be afraid to get a little messy.

Over and out.



Song of the Day: The Boxer Rebellion - Semi Automatic

Eating the Dinosaur

"I look around at a beautiful life--I've been the upperside of down, been the inside of out--but we breathe; we breathe. I want a breeze and an open mind, I want to swim in the ocean, want to take my time for me--all me. Maybe tomorrow I'll find my way home." 

-Stereophonics, "Maybe Tomorrow"

Warning: This is a LONG post. Scroll to the headings to find the stories you want to read if you're looking for a brief read.

Life has gotten exceedingly strange. Which is saying a lot because normal to me is pretty strange to others. Since the little life revelation from two weekends ago, I have thrown myself into school, mini-trial (which loomed ominously on the horizon), and Chuck Klosterman’s “Eating the Dinosaur.”

Eating the Dinosaur

I’ve already been massively laughed at for reading for leisure during PC, but Klosterman is a damned genius. The candid and caustic tones of his writing endear him to me. Plus, his essays on Kurt Cobain/David Koresh and the need for a meaningful life are highly insightful and relevant given my current state of mind.

Klosterman, on his essay about Kurt Cobain and David Koresh pointed out the crux of the relationship you can draw between the two:

“Koresh decided he was literally God. Cobain was told he was figuratively God. Taken on balance, which would make a man crazier?”

Seriously, the man is a genius.

Also, on an essay about Ralph Sampson (a basketball player), he possibly nails why there’s so much animosity towards the savants who don’t try:

“But when you’re naturally better than everyone else, and when that talent is so utterly obvious, being quiet doesn’t translate as humble. It translates as boredom . . . supremacy coated in apathy.”

Perhaps this is why we’re so accepting and appreciative of the people we see really work for their greatness.

While the essays have given me some insight into the phenomena of “mattering,” the most lasting visage they have left is a near constant loop of Nirvana’s “In Utero” on my playlist, lightly interspersed with Engine Down and Civil Twilight. Obviously, this isn’t the type of music that makes you feel all happy and warm inside.

One line, pulled out of an essay about voyeurism and the Real World, has really stuck with me as definitive of my generation.

“You’d think we’d care more, but we’d probably care less.”

That, right there, is truth.

I cannot exalt Klosterman’s genius enough.

Blank Slate

When not holed up in the dungeon or buried in Westlaw print outs, I am usually up in the TreeHouse attempting to sleep. Moving my bed up to the loft was the best idea I’ve ever had. It removes me from the world.

I’ve finally finished hanging up everything and my bed once more sports red lights along the headboard, like during my senior year at Texas A&M. Sometimes I just lay up there in the soft red light and watch my wooden dove I found at Spice twist in the rafters. I let my mind go blank.

Don’t let anyone mislead you—there is nothing as relaxing as NOT thinking. I guess I understand why people will do retarded things to shut up their brain. If there was a less destructive and less illegal way to do so, I’d definitely be in off mode as much as possible.

Because not even in sleep is my mind completely off. In the few hours of sleep I get, I’m usually dreaming about mini-trial or deer blinds. Once in awhile the nightmares from last Spring will creep in against my will. You can’t run from things in your sleep. Sometimes sleep is less than helpful.

I just want to go blank every once in awhile. Is that too much to ask?

Regret—I’m not familiar with it and it sucks

In the 25 years and some odd months that I’ve been around, I’ve done a lot of things. Luckily, my life philosophy has been one that has made the burden of living a little lighter—if I’m going to regret something, I usually won’t do it. I may whine a little about it, but for the most part, I’m accepting of the decisions I make. I’m able to swallow them and live with them.

Of course in those 25 years, I’ve been surrounded by people who let regret weigh them down. And I’ll admit, I naively always wondered why they just didn’t shrug it off and make better decisions. Why they didn’t just cast off the burden, take the lesson, and live on.

I will never ever wonder about those people again.

Now that I have done something I truly regret, I get their predicament. You want to let it go—hell, you need to let it go—but it’s hard. It haunts you, the ghost in all your thoughts. You’re afraid to let it free because then maybe you haven’t learned your lesson. Maybe regret is about punishing yourself—at least that’s what it feels like to me.

I am uncomfortable with this new emotion, since it is foreign to me. I feel the same way when I experience fleeting moments of jealousy. It’s a dress I’m not used to wearing and it makes me feel like a stranger in my own skin.

ST says I’m being too hard on myself. Maybe. Others are threatening to slap some sense into me because they love me. That would’ve been helpful three weeks ago. All I know is that I’ve seemed to have painted myself into a moral corner and I guess I’m going to have to wait for the paint to dry to get out.

Oh well. You live and you learn.

At least, that’s ideally what’s supposed to happen.

Mini-Trial: The Thrill of the Case

I admit, I approached PC with a very laissez faire attitude. I just wanted to make it through in one piece. My partner and I have a motto: Everyone wins if no one gets memo-ed.

To say I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the mini-trial we had this week would be an understatement. After getting ripped apart on openings and memo-ed (albeit, not completely demoralized) during direct and cross exercises, I was expecting the worst. In the days before the trial ST and I were both apologizing to each other for sucking so bad. This is probably why we make great PC partners—we totally get where the other is coming from and don’t let the shit get between us.

So, going in to trial, I was full of anxiety and dread. And being the control freak that I am, I hated the feeling. I had a few too many energy drinks and a bag of 100-calorie popcorn for lunch. Game plan: Just live through it.

The profs had given us advocacy lectures. The one that stuck with me the most was Wren’s. He kept talking about empathizing with your client. I found this interesting because I’ve found very few attorneys that actually do that—most look and feel like hired guns. Their feigned emotion is transparent and annoying.

But getting up there and fighting for a client—I know it’s a fake client and for fake damages—but I don’t know . . . it was kind of thrilling. It gave me this insane adrenaline rush. So, even though most of PC has just been a form of legal torture, I’m going to have to exempt mini-trials from that. I actually like them.

You know, as long as I don’t get a memo.

Luckily, we managed to pull of a W and a verdict of $600,000 in our first mini-trial. Not so shabby. We didn’t go in there expecting to win, so it was a rather nice surprise. I quickly switched out of my suit and into jeans and promised ST that I’d meet her for a celebratory Big O at George’s.

Not thinking, I bounded down the stairs, my head buzzing with the words “verdict for plaintiff” and Wren’s critiques on my closing (and jokes about me being from Hidalgo County) when my life decisions smacked me in the face again.

Oh, life. You are a tricky bitch. And you like to try and tear me down when I’m in a good mood.

I mustered an awkward smile and then headed towards a group of Spring 2010 starters I knew.

Standing in this group were SK and WC, arguably my two closest friends from that class. I quickly spoke to them and then drove to George’s to meet ST.  I recounted my little “my life choices suck” moment.

She laughed and shook her head.

“These things only happen to you, Lauren.”

It’s a phrase I’ve heard before. I simply shrugged and nodded and then drowned myself in a Big O.

I tell myself you’ve got to learn to roll with the punches life throws your way. Especially the sucker punches.

***Additional Note: I was told by most of my 3L friends last year, that people’s true colors came out during PC. I initially had no idea what they were talking about, because everyone seemed so nice at the beginning of the year. I thought we were all going with the mentality that life is hard enough, we don’t have to be asses to one another.

I was wrong. Enter mini-trial.

I cannot tell you the amount of stories after our first round of mini-trials that have come out about people being unnecessarily rude and sneaking or just plain awful. There’s even tension in some of the PC teams.

I just think this is all wholly unnecessary. I mean, it’s not team 1 v. team 2 in there—it’s PC students v. Professors.

Like I said, everyone wins as long as you don’t get a memo. Hell, you could lose and win simply because you didn’t get a memo.

I wish everyone would just work together. Of course, I now realize this is probably wishful thinking.

Ninfa-rita Madness

Fridays have developed an almost holy reverence on my part since the start of PC. They are the beacon at the end of our dark, torturous tunnel. Every Friday someone will inevitably sigh a countdown of how many more weeks we have to go through before we get to PC 3. Truth is, with every passing Friday, the burden on my shoulders seems just a tad bit lighter.

My new favorite thing about Fridays is Happy Hour at Ninfa’s, which has become something of a tradition for us. It’s super cheap, which is nice. But mostly I just enjoy having time with my friends away from BLS. As expected, with the mix of us and Ninfa-ritas, the conversation turns ridiculous. Among our past topics: Child pornography, how hot Emma Stone is, CL’s general whoredom, boobs, and how iMDB and iPhone have changed our lives.

Also pondered: Why do the stars Hollywood uses to portray high school students usually happen to be almost in their thirties?

Usually, this is followed by a leisurely two-drink nap which is only interrupted from becoming a full night’s sleep by my other favorite thing about Fridays . . .

Supernatural-ly Awesome

Supernatural is a show on the CW. Some people might have stopped reading by now, because (even I’ll admit) most of the stuff on the CW is complete crap, albeit crap I love. But Supernatural has always been a little different and has been so for the past five years. While it follows the tried and true CW formula (hot guy and hotter guy + bad boy attitudes + a ridiculously awesome muscle car = tons of adulating female fans), the show has always been a little bit deeper than the rest of the crap the CW churns out.

Not that Supernatural’s all serious. There’s a couple of episodes that are campy—usually intentionally so when the writers are trying to poke fun at something—but the show addresses issues other CW shows wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole—namely the issues of good vs. evil vs. something in between. My favorite story arc has been through the last two seasons where there was a war waging between heaven and hell and the apocalypse started—with billions of humans caught in the cross fire. Additional issues included free will vs. pre-ordained destiny, family vs. others at large, and responsibility vs. personal happiness.

If you haven’t checked it out, it’s a great show with an awesome dynamic. Most of my good friends and I watch it whenever we can. Frumples and I have reserved going through the Season 5 DVDs as our “PC down time.”

You have to revel in the little things, or you’ll go insane.

Why Do Unavailable Dudes Love Me?

I have noticed an annoying trend in my life for the last three years or so.

Unavailable guys LOVE me. It’s like they flock to me. I am their siren song.

My experiences with this phenomenon range from mild disappointment to extreme disgust.

Since when did monogamy go out of style?

Note to future suitors: Do you have a significant other? Or someone who would be upset if you introduced her to me as a “friend”? Yes? Then don’t waste your time or mine.

Thanks and Gig ‘Em.

Playing Hard to Get Is For Teenagers

On a related note, this is an open letter from most of the girls I know to guys.

Boys—

Playing hard to get is not amusing nor do we find it endearing. It’s annoying and it makes us want to punch you in the face. Playing coy is mildly acceptable in high school. Now, it’s just a waste of our time and yours. 

Thank you—the Girls.

Blast from the Past, Or My Second Chance at Awesomeness

Following the disaster that was Red River Shootout, the kids and I were out at Scruff’s, again. There was a random assortment of my friends from a couple of different groups, but the bar was dead for the most part.

I was torn because there was a guy who was hanging out with us (we’ll call him p.5), that has already graduated and I think has a ton of potential. He is good looking in the best way—not enough to be aware of it, but enough so that given a stellar suit and the right attitude, he’d turn your head. Plus he has that whole, dark hair, pale skin thing that I love going on.

p.5 is just capable of being a great guy. I have no doubt. But he’s a fixer upper and a recent break up left him with a cracked foundation. And I just don’t have the time or the energy for a side project right now—and neither do most of the girls I know.

It’s unfortunate, because, as I said, p.5 is pretty awesome.

While contemplating all this, a light haired, handsome boy moved into my periphery view. It took a look of recognition on his face and a wave to shock me into realizing who he was.

Dear Lord, it was the European!

I met the European during a random bout of drinking games with some undergrads my 2L year. He was completely adorable—tall, with strong facial features, and completely easy going. Also, five years my junior. At first I didn’t notice him because I was distracted by one of his friends, but we eventually developed a good friendship.

Then, in the twilight of the p.2 days, the European made his move.

And I, being the idiot that I am, gave in just enough to come off like a total skeez when I ditched him for p.2. Also, this scenario involved a drunken lie that let to one of the funniest stories of my time at BLS.

Although the funniness came from p.2’s obliviousness, the European and I did not speak after the incident. Having the advantage of hindsight, I always kind of regretted choosing p.2 over the European.

The European came over to my friends and I and said hello. He was as adorable as ever. We caught up and smiled at each other. I apologized for my behavior last year. He smiled mischievously and waived it off.

My friends stood, mouths agape, watching the whole thing. Not a lot of them had met the European, with the exception of p.5 and maybe CL.

And that night, I saw the light at the end of my boy darkness tunnel—all was not lost! Not everyone that was going to hit on me would be 1) extremely screwed up, 2) completely unavailable, 3) an asshole, or 4) a combination of any of the preceding three.

I love blasts from the past—especially when they’re European and hot. The second chance for awesomeness starts now.

Closure—At least I made the reach?

So, after a blowout fight with the one boy I’ve ever loved (and who I haven’t talked to in about two years), to say I was walking on eggshells would have been an understatement. Usually, I could care less what others think about me, but he went for the Achilles tendon. And he knew it, too.

I guess fighting dirty with me was the only way to win?

Either way, it got me thinking. I am pretty good at making things normal after a person and I have history together. Probably the best example of this is p.1 and I. And I think that’s why we’re good friends. No matter what happens, we’re able to talk it out. Clear the air. Make amends.

I have questions that I need answered. I need to clear the air. And only p.2 can give me that clarity.

The question is, will he?

It initially looked like he might, but I’m starting to doubt it. He’s never been one for confrontation. He’s a person who prefers avoidance. So I may never get my answers. Thinks may never be . . . normal. I may never get my clarity.

But it reminded me of that scene in “A Lot Like Love” where Ashton Kutcher says he’ll get their coffee, but he appreciates the reach.

At least I made the reach, right? That has to count for something.

She’s a Jezebel—Or Why People Seem to Lose Their Inhibitions Around Me

I recently got pissed when a good friend told me that one of our older friends was not going to come out because “he couldn’t trust himself around me.” Direct words.

The funny thing is, nothing had ever given this guy cause to worry—if anything there was an alarming lack of chemistry between us. Initially, I was offended but tried to justify it by chalking it up to his having a new girlfriend.

Well, lately, I’ve obviously been obsessing over the statement. Since when did I become such a Jezebel?

And the funny thing is, it isn’t even only dudes. And no, that’s definitely not what I mean.

People seem to be freer around me than they usually are in normal life. They do things they usually wouldn’t do, say things they usually wouldn’t say.

The question is why? What makes me trigger their loss of control?

I guess there’s no way to ever really know, but Jackson says it’s probably that they pick up on a vibe that I’m not going to judge them. I guess that makes sense. There’s no fear of social repercussions when I just sit there and watch it all go down.

This is not to say that I’m not judgmental, because I can be highly so. Usually this judgment is directed at people that I don’t know well or am not fond of. For the most part, as most of the girls can testify, I swallow ridiculous and awful behavior pretty well with an empathetic nod.

I suppose I just don’t see the point in judging. I get that people have inner urges that sometimes they lose sight of checking. I don’t hold it against them—I understand it.

Perhaps that’s it. But who really knows?

I don’t entirely have a grasp on whether this is a good thing or not. I’d like to think that people are freer around me, more their true selves. But is that what losing inhibition is? Or are they just some horrible mutation of who they really are? Is their badness unconsciously making me smile and allowing me to justify my own life choices?

Again, who really knows?

This brings me to my next topic . . .

Don’t Speak—I Don’t Want To Know What You’re Thinking

Along with this loosening of inhibitions, there also seems to be a losing of lips.

I mean, I don’t mind being there for people. In fact, I think it’s one of the greatest things about friendship. Sometimes people just need an ear or they need someone to lean on. And I like being that person for my friends and acquaintances.

But the downside to this is that is that along with all the important stuff, I get a ton of crap that I’d just rather not know/hear thrown into my head.

Again, I’m not sure what it is that makes people tell me horrible things, but it happens all the time.

Lately, there’s so much of this stuff buzzing around my head, it feels like it’s about to explode.

These things, they’re heavy, and I’m not sure if people realize that. I’ll gladly listen to you tell me about this horrible thing you did to your best friend. I’ll sit there and tell you that I believe you can become a better person and that I’ll be there for you. But that knowledge—it’s a tad heavy. And you’re adding it already to a burdensome load.

Again, this is just another example of why I think people should live by the philosophy that if you’re afraid of others finding it out, you probably shouldn’t do it.

Monogamy--Not so foreign of a concept; Commitment--What language are you speaking?

I am lucky enough to be surrounded by really strong, grounded couples. A lot of my best friends are in stable, healthy, long term relationships.

I’m not being sarcastic, either. I meant the above statement.

There is something beautiful about watching people in love. The bliss that radiates off of them makes you feel good. It’s kind of like soaking up the sun’s rays. Being constantly surrounded by these couples reaffirms my faith in love, human decency, and their power.

However, it also serves to underscore the fact that I am probably incapable of such a thing.

It’s not that I don’t understand monogamy—quite the contrary. I’m a huge fan of monogamy. It’s the commitment that gets me.

I’m not saying I won’t date someone—we all know that’s completely untrue. But I can’t imagine ever being in a place where it’d be more. The most I see in my future is a Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russell kind of relationship—partners, but never married.

There is something about the finality of commitment that terrifies me.

I’m not sure if it’s a fear of marriage. I don’t think it’s necessarily a fear of “forever” or anything. Or the journey to forever. It’s just recognizing that that’s not the path that my life is heading down. I can never picture myself planning a wedding like TL or figuring out where I’m going start my career based on another person. These things, these decisions seem normal when seen coming from others; filtered through my personal reality they seem ludicrous and foreign. I just can’t see myself doing these things. I feel like doing these tasks for me would be like acting out a role in a play—I’d go through the motions and say the words, but it’d all be pretend.

Oh well. C’est la vie. I can’t change who I am, or what I want. Everyone’s always warning me to just wait, that the one person who will change my life plan will eventually come along and make me want everything I don’t want now. The husband. The 2.5 kids. The white picket fence. A really annoying small yappy dog.

I won’t hold my breath.

Love of the Law v. Love of Others

So that brings me to my next topic, which was brought up by Jackson the other day.

After bemoaning my lack of boyfriend for an hour, Jackson accused me of liking school more than I liked other human beings. I’m going to chalk this rant up to him being in the throes of new relationship euphoria—which usually fills the new relationshipee with a desire to see everyone as happy as them. When someone doesn’t yearn to be with someone else, it’s near incomprehensible.

Trust me, I’ve been around long enough to know the signs.

I don’t think he’s necessarily right. I would much rather spend my night beating the crap out of some guy at Mario Kart than reading about compulsory counterclaims. But I guess he means as an idea . . . I’m more in love with the law than I am with any other member of the opposite sex.

And I think that’s a fair assessment of my life right now.

As Jackson counsels, the law won’t hug you back or cuddle. Duh. And I guess this is the defining characteristic my views on relationships. I’m always going to be the girl who chooses her career. Every time.

I’ve never let emotion stand in my way of this whole career thing. If anything, any ties that existed I waived away with relatively little emotion and an “I need to focus on ME right now” speech.  I could never see myself staying in a certain place for someone or postponing/changing career decisions for someone else.

Jackson says this is inherently selfish. Maybe. He also says that such behavior will eventually turn me into a cat lady. I find that highly unlikely because I hate taking care of other living things, especially cats. But I guess I can see his point.

The problem is, I have a really good guy friend that is just like me. We were on a dinner date one night and we were talking about how important work is to us. Both of us grew up with fathers whose jobs were their number one priorities in their lives. And we’re not bitter about it—we’ve just adopted their work ethic. We both recognize there are nights we’re going to duck out of family dinners to go meet clients or sacrifice vacation time to get a deal done.

I guess it just makes me feel better knowing I’m not the only one out of there like that. It also shows me that this is likely the kind of person I’m going to have to end up with.

I’m fine with not being number one in that person’s life, as long as we’re both each other’s number twos.

And number one is a career, not some whore named Tootsie.

It’s Hard for A Girl

One of the fights I’m sure everyone has been privy to is the cliché, “It’s easier for a girl than it is for a guy to hook up.”

This argument is largely premised on the following assumptions:

1. Girls are pickier than boys.

2. Girls want to hook up less than boys.

3. If you’re a girl and you snap your fingers, they will come.

I’m pretty sure this cliché is losing relevance if the experiences of those around me count for anything. Granted, this is a social study conducted in a) the Baylor bubble and b) primarily with law students, so take it with a grain of salt.

Chuck Klosterman noted in his book “Sex, Drugs & Cocoa Puffs” that:

“What I’ve noticed—at least among young people—is that this convergence has mostly just prompted females to adopt the worst qualities of men. It’s like girls are trying to attain equality by becoming equally shallow and selfish. “

I think the phenomena his pointing to—the convergence of the sexes—has a lot to do with this cliché losing its potency.

Lately, the boys that we have been constantly subjected to have done the same as the females Klosterman mentioned—they have adopted the worst “female” characteristics. This is including, but not limited to: passive aggressiveness, ridiculous amounts of vanity and primping, moodiness, an affinity for gossip, etc.  The girls I know have done exactly the same by absorbing some of masculinity’s worse “traits”—aggressiveness, desperation, a need to conquer, bluntness, philandering sensibilities, competitiveness.

Honestly, I think this “equalizing” of the sexes has just served to make us all more annoying and worse people. We’ve simply switched the worse characteristics of the sexes. Somehow this is supposed to qualify as progress.

It boggles the mind, really.

Anyways, the differences and the untruth of this cliché came to a head the other night when one of my female friends was bitching to me about how she hit on three different guys and ended up alone at the end of the night.

One of the guys literally told her he had to go home to “sleep.” WTF? And that’s because this girl is extremely attractive.

Over looking the obvious discussing about why such a beautiful girl shouldn’t be so upset just because she had to go home alone, her complaint about the guys echoed every complain that my guy friends at A&M used to make about girls.

I empathize. Everyone wants to feel wanted or loved. But I couldn’t commiserate exactly—while I too went home alone, it was by choice. I had options; I just didn’t exercise them. I was happy just to lay in the TreeHouse and think about the European and how adorable p.5 had looked in his hat.

I digress.

So maybe it is hard for a girl now. I mean—this girl is beautiful. She’s smart. She’s funny. If guys are as easy and desperate as we paint them to be, this shouldn’t be happening.

I think it’s high time we chuck the clichés They’re not working anymore.

Also, this discussion begs an analysis of the social pressures and warped morality that has instilled the need to “hook up” or not be alone to feel relevant in today’s society. But I have homework to do and am tired.

Another day, another time.

Conspiring With Ex Crushes and the Rule of Awkwardness Avoidance

WC is one of my favorite people at BLS, hands down. He is genuine, warm, funny and completely geeky n the cutest way. And this summer, he was my little BLS crush.

Nothing ever came out of this crush, but we’re still really close. We always see each other out. Recently, we have begun pow wowing about our BLS love woes.

The other night, I gave him (and a 1Q) the patented BLS “Rule of Awkwardness Avoidance” strategy that was relayed to me by a graduating 3L last year. The rule works as follows:

The Rule of Awkwardness Avoidance

Or

How to Hook Up and Experience the Least Amount of Backlash Possible

1L Year--You might be tempted to go for your classmates—but don’t. That will rarely ever end well and you’ll have to see them pretty much every day for the next three years. While you might be tempted to go for the seemingly worldly and carefree 2Ls, there’s a better option. In order to decrease the chances of ever having to deal with this person or awkwardness, go for the 3Ls. They’re usually overly stressed, not looking for anything serious because they’re about to take the Bar and move, too busy to bug you because of PC, and they’re leaving in a relatively short amount of time. They’ll be gone within the year—and when they’re gone, it’s like nothing ever happened.

2L Year--You are now smack in the middle of your law school experience. This means that the rule now works that you can go either way—younger or older. Either way, come a year or so, you won’t see most of these people. Plus you have a copious amount of time on your hands to frequent the bars for the newbies or to make late night house calls to the 3Ls. You are the king of all you see—with one small exception (the GS).

3L Years--No doubt, you want to tear your eyes out about now. PC is killing you. Then there’s finding a job—that’s a lot of stress. But guess what? You’re almost done. You can do anything because you’ll be out of here in a couple of months! Conquer whatever you like—the repercussions will likely be slight.

Exceptions:

The Graduating Senior--When you hit this point, there are no rules. You do whatever you like—you earned it.

The PC Students--PC kids are always appropriate to hit on because they will likely not have the time or energy to bother you. If they’re calling you—it’s usually to get you to witness for them in mini or big trials.

Rules of Thumb:

The “Free” Pass--You have one free pass in every class. After that, tread at your own risk because feelings tend to get hurt. Also, your reputation might suffer.

Avoid groups of friends. This one is pretty obvious.

Everyone knows about everything—therefore, your game and subterfuge has to be phenomenal. As I once put it to a 1L last year—you can pick bad apples, you just can’t pick them in public because there are consequences.

WC thanked me for the strategy. We toasted to us. I think it’s nice that we can hang out as friends with nothing awkward between us. He’s a good buddy. Whatever girl he chooses to mack on is going to be lucky.

Also, 1Q now comes to me for girl advice. Hilarious.

I’m glad I can drop some important knowledge on the masses.

The Straw that Broke Lo’s Back (Yes, ANOTHER p.2 story)

On Friday evening, Mouse, Nurse and I were still hurting from our epically awesome night before, so we decided to pick up Chili’s for dinner and lie around the house watching Supernatural. Kemp and I were at a stoplight on Valley Mills and I was starring at the birds that covered every available exposed surface. It was creeping me out. My mom made me watch that Hitchcock movie about them once and ever since then (plus learning how dirty they are in Great Diseases of the World) I’ve hated birds.

Mouse was saying something about the European when something feel out of my mouth not even I was expecting.

Lo: “I think I’m over p.2.”

Mouse starred back at me, wide eyed.

Mouse: “I think that deserves a moment of silence.”

We stayed silent for a second before she resumed speaking.

Mouse: “I’m really proud of you.”

Lo: “Thanks.”

And the statement was true. It is done. I hadn’t thought about him in forever. Not even when we were out and drinking. Instead my head was filled with the European, issues with p.3 and “Like a G6” playing in near constant loop. Piercing brown eyes had been replaced with kinder and more excited blue-green ones. I knew what I wanted, what excited me, and for once, it wasn’t p.2.

And all I could think about was how things would finally be okay. No more awkwardness. Just friendship.

Well, I should have known better.

We were out later that night (inevitably, despite our hangovers) when I found out that p.2 had unnecessarily and untruly created animosity of me in another boy in his class. What he said I said or what was really said isn’t all that important in the scheme of things. Instead, suffice to say, it was about something stupid and minimal and unimportant. I’m not sure whether he mischaracterized something I said or misstated it or why. But I have witnesses to what I said and I knew he was the only one in that room who would have done something so ridiculous and petty.

Funny thing is, the kid that is mad is so wrongfully so. If anything, I should get a trophy for being his number one champion back right now. Maybe that’s why I got so angry—because the whole situation was just so completely wrong and ass backwards.

And by angry, I don’t mean, “Oh, darn, that p.2 and his crazy shenanigans. Oh wait, I’ll be over it in a night.” I mean black-out, Hulk rage, Justin-Myneir-on-Sangria angry.

I am, in general, not an angry person. But when something triggers me—dear Lord—watch out. I rage blindly and harshly. Things literally turn red. I lash out and lose all sight of reasonableness. Anger simmers hotly in my veins and I am hyper aware of everything. I tend to lose sight of the things I should be concentrating on.

So, unfortunately, my focus shifted from the European and on to avoiding assaulting someone in a bar. I slowed down on the Lone Stars, since alcohol could only worsen the situation.

After a nice text chat with WC, I still went to sleep seething. I sent p.2 a text message that not-so-politely told him how I felt about his stunt.

And I fell asleep thinking about the Hulk; the phrase running through my head, “You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

Yeah, especially when I no longer have feelings for you to abate the anger.

SW Classic Saturday

I woke up early, still feeling off because of the anger. The drive up to Dallas went surprisingly fast. I’m chalking it up to good music (Randy Rogers Band/ The xx/The Black Keys/Melody Gardot/Nirvana/David Guetta) and the fact that driving seemed to soothe me a bit. Of course, by the time I got to Dallas, my guy friends were not ready. Instead they were waking up, hung over, in a house that they clearly weren’t supposed to be in. Because they didn’t know who owned it. Or where they were.

Classy.

I got to see all my favorite Betas from A&M at the tailgate to the Arkansas/Texas A&M game. In true Beta fashion, there was an overabundance of beer, tacos, Ray Bans, boots, and maroon. And it was located right in front of the Aggie entrance to the stadium. The guys are the bomb. I had a great time and I really just had missed hanging out with all my guy friends. There’s something about them that is just so . . . easy and natural. Also, they kept me full of Coors Light and happiness.

BTW, Jerry World is freaking awesome.

I ended up going to the game, which was heartbreaking—as most A&M games usually are. It was made even more so because the Arkansas fans were really obnoxious. But, as an Aggie, I’m used to losing. I’m just glad I got to see the boys, have a couple of beers and margaritas and Fletcher’s corn dogs with them. It made me long for the A&M glory days.

But those days, ladies and gentlemen, are long gone—see me running into a friend’s little brother who is almost done with school. He didn’t start at A&M until the year after I graduated. Where has the time gone?

Oh yeah. Law school.

I drove back, once again music blasting, wanting to escape from the place I was heading back to. However, I severely misjudged my night. The anger was still simmering hot and low, but I ignored it and when tot hang out with the girls at Scruff’s. Later, p.3 and another guy we know showed up. It was nice to just hang out.

P.3 and I ended up hanging out afterwards. My feelings about p.3 have fluctuated a lot, but I have to say—he’s a really great friend. He’ll call me on my bullshit. He makes me laugh. He makes me forget about my worries. Instead of stressing, we laid around watching 1000 Ways to Die (Note: Don’t tease construction workers who are operating concrete saws), drinking Lone Star, debating the mating habits of Preying Mantises, and talking about school. By Sunday morning, my disposition was much sunnier. It must have been the combination of p.3’s distraction, temperpedic pillows, laughter and Lone Star.

On a side note, p.3 is an example of something I’ve been talking to a couple of people about lately: one decision or one line of decisions shouldn’t define a person. We’re more complex than that. And lawyers, more than anyone, should know not to take one fact, one little thing, out of context—it can skew the view of the truth.