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.