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This week's I Watch Top Model has been indefinitely postponed due to a case of "holy crap it's almost April." Points will still get updated this week, and your regularly scheduled programming will resume shortly.
Also: Reserved my cap & gown today. Weird.
What is it about me that makes my male authors want to use emoticons in their emails? Are all academics needy, socially dysfunctional, freak shows, or just the ones that work with me?
Case in point:
Dear [Author]:
Thank you for your recent re-submission to the Journal of Fun and Wonderment. Our faculty editor (an expert in this field) has reviewed the changes you've made to your manuscript, and finds them satisfactory. As such, we are pleased to extend to you an offer of publication for the next Volume.
[blah blah] Please let me know if you have any questions or concerns. I look forward to working with you.
-NB
----------------------------------------------------------------
NB:
Are you happy with my changes??
-Author
----------------------------------------------------------------
Dear [Author]:
Perhaps I need to clarify. I am satisfied with your changes, and am pleased to extend a formal offer of publication to you.
Again, please let me know if you have any questions or concerns.
-NB
----------------------------------------------------------------
:-) :-)
- Author
----------------------------------------------------------------
Just...no. Why would you do that?
Law School Roundup #218 is up Beyond The Underground. Check back here next week, same great place and time, for Roundup #219 (the "OMG More Reeses Peanut Butter Eggs, Please" Edition).
...that now, with so many months of training behind them, my 2Ls have all forgotten how to use an em dash?
Tarnation. I need hardly mention the Rule of Five, except to say: 2Ls, I am watching you. Get thee to the Bluebook, and stop destroying my faith in humanity. I know where you sleep. Your Journal-dominated life is not over yet.
Inspired by KK, welcome to the first weekly session of I Watch Top Model (so you don't have to). If you have testosterone, take your life too seriously, or expected some kind of legitimate substance from this blog, it would be best if you clicked away now. Ok, then? Oh, and if you're not currently competing in the Fantasy Top Model league, you're totally missing out (see below). Anyway. Without further ado, the last episode:
(Sidebar: If anyone knows where I can find some still photos of the episodes without incurring the wrath of the Banks Empire, do let me know).
The girls showed up for their first photo shoot: they get to choose one article of clothing, but otherwise, they are totally nude. Gabrielle, bless her heart, chose gold leggings- because, if you have to be mostly-naked, you might as well be mostly-naked with lame. Angelea flashed her hoo-ha to the group, and Brenda wants her to go home, "because her personality is just horrid."
Angelea, friends and strangers, is this season's tranny-faced model. She's a real piece of work. Mr. Jay is rocking the kilt look at this photo shoot. Ren puts on a mad hatter hat and refuses to talk to anyone but the hair and makeup people.
Andre Leon Talley, Vogue editor-at-large, is a guest judge this season. My best guess is that this is Tyra's latest grasp at couture. Nigel Barker is inexplicably wearing a weird pinstripe suit. At judging, Gabrielle gets reamed for being....boring? I'm not sure. I was blinded by her pants. Alasia gets chewed out for taking a butt shot, but since ALT would hang it in his salon, she's spared from elimination.
When the chips fall and Tyra puts on her Serious Voice, little brunette Jessica gets called first as the best photo of the bunch this week. Watch out for this one, folks. She's all sugar and spice and everything marketable and nice. Alasia the butt-shot girl and Gabrielle are the bottom two, and Gabrielle goes home.
The girls return to their apartment, whereupon we get a nice shot of Ren pouring herself a serious glass of wine (atta girl, Ren). Ren is also, she reminds us, far too intelligent to be here. Probably true, honey, but let's not get on our high horse now, shall we? Naduah tells us that she was (a) in a cult, (b) invited to pose for Playboy, and (c) lived on the street. Because Tyra's involved in these shenanigans, there is an equal chance that she is a pathological liar, or one of the many cult member/homeless/playboy model girls that was recruited for this project.
Ms. J, Runway-diva-coach-extraordinaire, teaches the girls to walk, then sends them out to cross a busy New York street in traffic. The irony of the fact that some of these girls are sent to walk the street is not lost on me.
The girls are sent to a runway challenge. The theme is timing- two giant pendulums swing back and forth over the runway, which is basically a great excuse for us to all watch aspiring models get knocked in the head. Reality television: you can't beat it. Naduah informs us that she is sexy and the judges love her, just as Ms. J starts making faces. The important thing to know here is that Alexandra the plus size model falls down an entire flight of stairs, and then gets knocked off the runway by a giant pendulum. Brenda wins this challenge, so she and Jessica get to keep their outfits for the night.
Ren immediately goes home and gets into a fight with Alasia, most of which is bleeped out (except, interestingly enough, when Alasia tells her that she's acting like real bitch). Alasia warns her that she's "got the wrong female" and that "I may be young, but that don't give nobody no intitiative to say nothing to me...I hate having to snap on people." Alasia: solid gold reality programming. Ren cries. Alasia reminds her that she knows where she sleeps. God I love this show.
Beauty shots the next morning--the girls spray purple perfume on themselves and squint into a wind machine. Naduah comes home, puts on a mardi gras mask, and tells us how great she is. Ren cries again...sanity, happiness, etc. When the girls go to judging, Alasia gets dinged for having something that looks like drool hanging off her chin. Ren gets in trouble for "having the kind of picture that sells H1N1 vaccine." It's a bodily fluids sort of day at Top Model. Naduah inexplicably shows up in a hot pink Fredericks of Hollywood corset.
I briefly blacked out, but I think I heard Andre the Fabulous say something about the smell of whoopass. So. There's that. Raina gets called first, and Naduah and Ren are the bottom two models. Naduah goes home.
Next week: More fighting, and a ride on the 'fab bus.' The models pose as dancers, and Ren complains about wanting to go home. Alasia dresses like an interpretive dancing stripper. Hilarity ensues.
Current Fantasy Top Model Leader? Funny Mean Friend. Rules are posted here. Scores are posted here.
*That crashing sound you heard was the sound of my last 2 remaining readers smashing their faces into their desks.
....Or, "How The Bar Exam Saved California's Budget Crisis."
I am taking the California Bar in July (to clarify: in May, June, and August, I will be going to California bars. This is not the same experience, though both leave you poorer and headachey). I've been bopping along this spring, doling out all of my shiny new tax refund right back to the fine state of California. I'm in the fortunate position of having a bar-study stipend, so long as my firm doesn't fire me (I love you, Work Hard Play Hard, LLP. Call me.), so mercifully, this will eventually get reimbursed, but the idea of shelling out this much money for 3 days of total misery still smarts.*
In the meantime, I'm absolutely certain that bar fees are a tremendously good indicator of the fact that the legal profession only vaguely remembers what it was like to be a starving student. That, or lawyers are just assholes.
Read it and weep, 2Ls. This is you next year. Save your birthday money.
Registration ($97): Presumably, California needs fair warning that sometime, in the not-too-distant future, I will be sending them more of my money. I can't figure out another good reason to be paying this fee. Also,
Laptop Fee ($125): This makes sense, because it is the only normal looking number in this list, and after all, it is so much more expensive and time consuming for the bar examiners to read a printed version of your answers, rather than your manic scrawling. Right? Of course right. Or there's the blood-sucking money leeches approach, but the first idea makes more sense.
Bar Exam Registration ($556): For this much money, how much fun would you expect? I haven't done the research, but it seems like this should go pretty far in a strip club. I know it's several bottles of nice wine for me, and a couple of terrific dinners out. The hidden cost here is that the State Bar has to put all of these people in rooms, see, with these tiny desks, and turn the lights to the right level of irritatingly low/glaringly bright, and then pass out paper. And paper, you all know, is very expensive. So are lights.
Character and Fitness Application ($453): Yes, it does cost $453 to call each of my former roommates (thanks, guys!) to have them aver that, no, she doesn't have a substance abuse problem, and no, we don't think she's committed any felonies. That she's been caught for. Or something.*
Sidebar: Is anyone else irrationally afraid that, during this process, there will be some terrible mistake, and some dark, not-you record will come out of the woodwork, and then you won't be able to be an attorney because someone with your name robbed a nursing home and then declared bankruptcy and then got convicted for dealing cocaine to school children and oh god how will you pay off your student loans with Not-You running around keeping you from being a lawyer oh no oh no?
Just me?
Right. Ok, then.
Moral of the story: I think the California State Bar might be running a pyramid scheme. Someone alert the authorities.
*I know! I'm still employed. Believe me, it's as crazy to me as it is to you. This is due entirely to dumb luck, and has very, very little to do with my actual credentials (although I think the hiring partner was looking for someone who could pick out a nice bottle of wine for him).
I've reached that stage in the law school/Journal/life onslaught that I need a hug even more than I need a stiff drink.
When I say I'm overwhelmed, I sometimes have to remind myself that I am not weak or incompetent--just bowled over and in need of a good shoulder to lean on.
55 days till graduation.
I miss Darwin.
...I drop out of law school and make my living selling things on Etsy. Current skills include: cooking, wedding website design, calligraphy, bootleg alcohol, puttering. I am fairly certain I can parlay this into something that people would buy.
Right?
Welcome to Law School Roundup #217:
It has been a trying week in the blawgosphere. To our friends out there who are grieving, struggling, or barely getting by- we're here for you. Sometimes, the pain is special. Other times, it's the normal ache of the mid-semester grind, compounded with job-search hopelessness and a dash of I'm-not-sure-I-can-do-it. You are not the only one who feels this way: I promise, we'll find a light at the end of this tunnel.
In the meantime, some company, empathy, and humor to lighten your week, from law students past, present, and aspiring:
Grey: Sometimes, it's hard to keep your chin up (Hate is Easy, Love Takes Courage)
Ditto: It's been a slow week (dogsburger)
Constant: Family. Even in the weird, sad, and awful times. (Virgin in the Volcano)
Loss: On strength and perspective (Tales of a Tree Hugging 2L)
Crackberries: A rule to live by (The Rising Jurist)
Fair Warning: Law school visits and the NCAA (Legally Questionable Content)
Not a Crook: SBA elections (UALR Law Student)
The Census: This time, it's personal (Mommy on the Floor)
Tasty: On anxiety, and bacon (Now That I'm Awake)
Class Notes: You learn something new every day. Whether you wanted to or not. (Legal Ease)
What's that? Sleep is for January. This is March. (Write and Wrong)
Bloggery: Not quite the Rosetta Stone (Luke Gilman)
Helpful: The business casual law firm (Fight the Hypo)
Journals: What free time? (New Kid on the Hallway)
Look for next week's roundup at the Legal Underground, and then back here again in 2 weeks. If you want to be added to the blog roll, but don't see yourself up there shoot me an email and we'll get you on the wall of dis-honor. Or email me anyway. Even if you're bored in class. Especially if you're just hanging in there. I love emails.
Kisses!
NB
Again.
Accordingly, Roommate and I are making a turkey. By which I mean: I spent the morning up to my elbows in gizzards and garlic, while Roommate patiently listened to my diatribe about the proper care and feeding of stuffing, and I snuck tastes of the aforementioned when it seemed like no one was looking.
Now, there's a pot of delicious goodness simmering on the stove, Sofa is snoring quietly in my lap, and the impending paper writing marathon is officially impossible to avoid. Six hours till the bird is done, and already it smells like heaven in the apartment.
Later, I will be explaining to Roommate how good gravy cannot possibly be made without good wine. (Oh, you were going to put it in the gravy? No, no, my friend.) The last of the logs need to be used on the fire, and the Red Pen of Justice will be getting a bit of a workout on the most recent journal submissions.
It is March, the first day of Spring, and 56 days till graduation. All in all, there are worse ways to start a new year.
Before she went blind, my grandma, Catherine, used to wander around her neighborhood. She was tough as nails, and always independent. At 16, she became the first woman in the state of Texas to play high school basketball. Seventy-five years later, she shrugs at this, as if it was just 'one of those things.' Divorced when my dad was only a little kid, she raised 4 kids on her own--the kind of kids who still cling to their best friends like life preservers, and who find humor in even the tiniest, most ludicrous details.
The day that my dad, at 9, tried to run away from home in a pique of pre-adolescent temper, Catherine calmly walked into his room, handed him a sandwich, opened a drawer, and started packing. When he froze and asked her what she was doing, she looked into his serious little face and informed him that, if he was going to be leaving, she wanted to make sure that he had everything he needed. When he tried the same trick 3 weeks later, she packed her own bag and waited on the front step for him, merrily informing him that she was coming, too.
Catherine has never been a shrinking violet. Merry and a little devious, she raised a son who, on an impulse, hitchhiked to California "to be a movie star," only to camp out under a freeway underpass for 2 weeks. Years later, she just shakes her head at this misadventure--it all worked out for the best, she assures us. When, at 88 years old, she eventually retired from her job as a secretary at a mechanic's shop, she did so only because she had survived two sets of owners through to retirement. When she left, her absence was mourned by the mechanics and the shop's affectionate stray cat.
Before she began to go blind, Grandma Catherine would take walks around the neighborhood. On one such walk, she came across a dog. Tan, spotted, and eager to make friends, the mutt followed her home, and they spent the afternoon on her back porch, both keeping a speculative eye on Catherine's notoriously unpleasant cat. That night, she called my parents, and informed them that she'd acquired a new pet: Freckles. Mom and Dad prevailed upon Grandma to check the dog's collar--low and behold, she had an owner.
On hearing the story, none of us really believed that she hadn't encouraged that dog every step of the way.
Catherine called the number on Freckles' collar, and a young woman answered. She worked as a nurse at the local hospital, and the two chatted for a while. When the woman came to pick Freckles up, Catherine had worked up to her most charming. Two hours and a cup of tea later, the woman left--without her dog. She was, Catherine explained to us later, "Freckles' other Mommy." On weekdays, she would be Freckles, with Catherine. On weekends, she was Sarah, in her old home. Eventually, even the nurse started to call her Freckles.
Catherine went into a temporary nursing home three months ago, hoping to take care of some minor medical issues. By the time she entered the home, she was fully blind--a disheartening blow to such an independent woman. She was lonely, disillusioned, and she missed her pets. Dad and I took to calling on a regular basis, just to check in. We'd give her a run-down of our day, and she'd repeat the details back to us like a starving person. She was always honest with us, though never self-pitying: "How are you?" "I hate it here." Cheerily said, with an honest belief that she would be leaving again, soon. Each time I got off the phone with her, Grandma Catherine would implore, "Please, you'll call again, won't you? Soon?" It broke my heart to hear her beg to talk to me--I wished I could explain to her that this was not a pity phone call, that I missed her, that I would be lucky to grow up into half the woman that she did.
On her last day at the nursing home, I could hear Grandma's smile through the phone. Her only concern, she confided to me, was that Freckles might not understand why she was gone. Did I think that her feelings would be hurt? Would she understand? Did she miss her? I assured her that Freckles most certainly did, and would be beside herself with joy to have Catherine home again. It would be an adjustment at first, but a happy one. Grandma Catherine promised me that, the whole ride home, she would just hug Freckles tight--then, she would understand how much Catherine had missed her.
This morning, Catherine went in for surgery. What the doctors thought was just an abscess in her abdomen has blossomed into a tumor which has infested most of her torso, growing at a rate that alarmed even her doctors. Even for tough-as-nails Catherine, this is a difficult blow to a 92 year old lady, whose body has already begun to fail her in so many ways. So, several thousand miles away, Catherine is sedated and sleeping, while the doctors wait for the lab reports to come back. As they speculate, they are counting in hours and days, not months. Even this afternoon, Catherine is fearless, concerned for Freckles but otherwise untroubled by the writing that is already appearing on the wall.
This is the woman who still, months after her sight was gone, would talk to me about what color she thought my parents should paint the spare bedroom. Who, when asked how the food at the nursing home was, heartily assures me that it is "oh, simply awful. But the old people here like it." Who, still refers to Darwin as me "special friend," asking about him each time we speak, and telling me how she looks forward to meeting him, even long after such a meeting seemed likely. Who, a few weeks after her 90th birthday, insisted upon helping me to paint a porch, remarking along the way at the charm of the chairs, the goats outside in the field, the turn of the paint can, the way the brush felt under her hands. Her suitcase is packed, and she will go bravely into the next great adventure--it is the rest of us who are left staring blankly back at her.
I love you, Grandma C. And I promise we will help Freckles to understand.
Seriously. Fantasy Top Model. Do it.
Here's the roster. Picutres are on the CW website, and as soon as my technologically incompetent butt can, I wil get them up here, too. Here's the cast of crazies!
Tatiana: Is a volunteer mortician, and promptly tells Tyra about how she fills bodies with sawdust and formaldehyde. Tyra, obviously, eats this up. Not as creepy as Allison "I Love Nosebleeds" from last season, but a little weird. She tells the judges she loves 'glamor' and picks 'Megan Fox' as the model she wants to emulate (which is frightening on so many, many levels).
Naduah: We had to have a cult member here, so obviously, the bald girl had to be it. She is adorably well adjusted for a person who admittedly grew up in a weird sexual cult. And pretty! Easy money on her having a tough-girl breakdown in the first 6 episodes and weeping hysterically to the judges about how she 'never really knew herself.' Tyra loves a crier, and she already smelt blood in the first episode, what with Ms. J going on about how the poor girl wants to break.
Angelea: Describes herself as 'classy ghetto.' Last season, she and her neon talon claws got in a physical altercation with another girl. Obviously, Tyra saw good television, so this one is back. I think she'll clean up nicely, but she is spoiling for a fight--definitely voted Most Likely To Be Arrested this season. Key quote: "When I saw Angelea here, I was scared she was, like, into killing me or making me cry, and taking my lunch money." Oh honey. You have no idea how right you are. On her first morning in the loft, Angelea practices her "bitch, please" look. Her housemates are not amused.
Anslee: Comes from Dicula (which Tyra just loves), and has a 2 1/2 year old kid. She's a little goofy, but she got a nice, edgy haircut, which made her "I smell something bad" face look more fierce and less...icky. Good choice, Tyra! Anslee cried about her hair, too, but gets over it quickly. Anslee tries to offer 'corrective criticism' to Angelea, which is not a great way to make friends on your first night, but she and her new fluffy hair seem unphased.
Alasia: Showed up to auditions in a wig, natch. Wears giant glasses and chains, tells us that "she's not gonna say she grew up in the hood, but she grew up in the hood." I'm confused, too. Not as confused as I was then she threw herself into a hysterical fit on the floor at the sight of Tyra...but still. Alasia is not clear on how many fingers she has, either- this one will not be the prodigy of the season, I assure. Every time she opens her mouth, you can see the older girls cringe.
Alexandra: Is the token plus-size model of the season. In her photo shoot, she drew a big-ass mole on her face and pretended to be Cindy Crawford. It went over like a ton of bricks.
Brenda: Is adopted, which, frankly, isn't even in the same realm as former-cult-member Nadea or kicked-out-of-church Ambiguous Blonde Girl. An added bonus? Her biological father is a felon. Mr. J thinks that she's too "80s" to be successful. Tyra cuts off all her hair, and she cries about it, but I suspect she'll get over it soon- she looks smoking hot with short hair.
Gabrielle: According to Miss J, 'walks like she's going to whip someone's ass.' She's got big, fluffy hair, which makes her near and dear to my heart, and she looks vaguely ethnic. She came loaded with issues about being biracial, and she's kind of adorable. Mr. J loves her because she knows things about modeling. Angelea thinks she's competition, and may kill her in her sleep.
Ren: Tyra's special pick. She's vegan, and looks vaguely alien, in an 'oh please let me go home' sort of way. Ren's got giant bags under her eyes, which either means she is going to photograph like a zombie, or she is sleeper-hot. Ren also does not shave her armpits, so she gets that made over, too (this causes Alexandra, ever the classy one, to speculate on 'what, like the downstairs' looks like). Ren informs us that she is a free spirit, and she can't be caged. We know, honey. You're Tyra's token edgy girl.
Krista: Is nine feet tall, I think. She's 24, which, in Tyraland, is quickly approaching senility (being both too old and too fat for Top Model, I don't so much mind this critique). Luminous skin, beautiful long neck. She's really a stunning girl, all wrapped up in 6 feet of bad attitude. She doesn't date white guys, because pink penises make her think of raw meat, she informs us in her opening interviews.
Simone: Is in a sorority at Duke, but has embraced the valley girl stereotype like whoa. She looks a little like Saliesha, who won several seasons ago. Tyra loves her 'proportions.' I think Tyra is still reveling in the fact that she doesn't have short stumpy girls on this season.
Raina: Is a two time National Volleyball Champion with some pretty business eyebrows. I love her. Mostly because of the volleyball thing. She reminds me a little bit of Kara from last season, and her makeover looks fabulous. I assume that she will go awkward athlete on us again, but for now, she's just wonderful.
Jessica: Got knocked up at 16, and got married to the 22 year old father of her child. If I look that hot after having children, I will throw myself a parade. Tyra died her hair dark, and she's going for the serious brunette look. Jessica is just sugar and spice and everything nice- I am just hoping that she finds some edge before a guest judge eats her alive for being too 'bland.'
A brief first-episode rundown:
33 models show up to the first round, where Tyra tells them that she's considering their TySpace friend requests. The girls are then required to compile their MyFierce pages. (sidebar: Someone needs to count how many times these girls say "Tyra looks so good." Tyra, honey, we don't believe for a second that you're not planting these.) Later, Tyra interviews the girls, where she learns about embalming, penises, and the girls losing their virginity. One particularly awesome contestant explains that she has created a planet called Glamazonia, where only women live, and yearly, a hot man is sacrificed as a sex slave. Tyra insists upon acting this out...with Mr. J. Tyra makes up a musical with one of the contestants.
The girls are sent to a photo shoot where they are to dress up as, and then emulate, their favorite model- a great way for Tyra to out the people who have done absolutely no research this time around (despite the fact that every damn season someone gets nailed for not knowing fashion). Ms. J refers to the unwanted girls as 'viruses.' We get down to 12 girls...no wait, 13, because Tyra randomly added one later. Something is rotten with this setup, and Ren (the new girl) looks uncomfortable. This is doubly weird, because Tyra tells the girls that she has room for 14...but she's only taking 12. Don't get too disappointed, ladies in the background, because I suspect Tyra will be bringing you back in later, to fill in the gaps.
Perez Hilton shows up, and basks in the attention and campiness that is ANTM. I am pretty sure that this is the highlight of his career. The girls get makeovers, and the return to the loft to fight about...closet space? I'm not really sure. Alasia wants you to know that she could totally have a rave in the tub. Yeah! Mr. J brings the girls in for the photo shoot, and...it's going to be nude. I anticipate awesome euphemisms and at least one good cry.
Awesome.
Make your picks!
Law School Roundup #216 is posted up at Beyond the Underground. Check back here, same great place and time, for #217.
It's that time again, kids.
The newest season of America's Next Top Model began last week, and with that, puppies began frolicking through fields of cupcakes, and every little kid got a unicorn.
Yeah, it's that good.
Anyway, Internet, Roommate and I are going to let you in on an age-old Nobody Household tradition: Fantasy Top Model. Because let's be honest- March Madness can only hold my attention so long when Nigel "SexyPants" Barker beckons.
Want to play?
(Answer: OH YES)
Email me (butnothanks at gmail.com), or comment to this post with your top three girls, in order (you have till 9pm EST on Wednesday to make your picks). Then, pat yourself on the back, because you're officially enrolled in the greatest event of this semester.
Here's how it works:
Pick your top 3 girls, and rank them from best to worst (so, #1 is your projected Next Top Model, #2 is the runner up). You get points for your girls' performance, and player with the most points wins fabulous prizes, bragging rights, etc.
You get points:
1. If one of your 3 is called first at judging. (+1)
2. If one of your 3 wins a challenge. (+1)
3. If one of your 3 is Tyra's Special Inspirational Story Girl (see, e.g., homeless trannies, girl who was run over by car, etc.) (+1)
4. If any one of your 3 makes it to the next round (+1)
5. If you correctly guess any one of the top 3 (in the correct spot) (+3 per girl).
You lose points:
1. If one of your 3 is in the bottom 2. (-1 per girl)
2. If one of your 3 cries (no, once they're eliminated, they can't lose you any more points). (-1)
3. If one of the judges mocks/imitates your girls. (-1)
Depending on who participates, scores & summaries will be posted after the episode. Alternatively, I'll email them out, and we'll all revel in how completely awesome we are. Inspired by KK, I'm also embarking on an "I Watch Top Model So You Don't Have To" expedition.
There will be some sort of prize for the winner. Novices and experts are both welcome.
Seriously. Do it. It's the best.
Welcome to Law School Roundup #215. I heard a rumor it's late, but then again, I'm on spring break, so...
Yeah. Sorry about that.
Here you go. I will try to not be on such a 3L schedule in the future.
Balance: On the law school juggling act (Write and Wrong)
Impossible?: Jobs, and pumpkins (Fresh Thought Soup)
February: Thank goodness that's over (The Lovin Spoonful)
Calories: Another great reason to go to bar review tonight (Legal Ease)
Yurts: And other listserve adventures (Tales of a Tree Hugging 2L)
Pitching in: Household chores, for now (Legally Numb)
Second Thoughts: Law school: damned if you do, damned if you don't. (Law School Indeed)
Awkward: Spring fling (i don't wear skinny jeans)
Evil: Basically sums up law school, yes. (Only 3 Years)
To-Do: Better with cookies (The JE Guide to Life)
Benefits?: And they say law school doesn't care. (My Legal Fiction)
Look for next week's roundup at the Legal Underground, and then back here again in 2 weeks. If you want to be added to the blog roll, but don't see yourself up there shoot me an email and we'll get you on the wall of dis-honor. Or email me anyway. Even if you're bored in class. I love emails.
Now if you'll excuse me, Ron Howard is calling, and if I don't move quickly, Darwin is going to finish off the box of Thin Mints.
Kisses!
NB
1. One of my professors just added me as a friend on Facebook. This makes one of us awesome. I am not sure which one.
2. You know what love is? Love is calling the DMV for you, and navigating that horrible touchtone disaster. Thanks, Darwin.
3. The Journal of Fun and Wonderment elected my successor. He looks frightened already. He should be.
4. Prof. Fed Courts has this amazing Stop Now I Hate You look that I have been trying to duplicate. She is my professor doppelganger, and I am certain that if I just try hard enough, I may be able to milk these similarities and someday become 20% as awesome as she is.
5. Sputnik the rat learned to swim. He does not like it, one little bit.
6. I still have a job! Work Hard, Play Hard, LLP has not fired me yet. That has to be a good sign, right?
7. Top Model starts next week. HELL to the yes.
More later. I promise to elaborate if you promise to bring wine.
