Done, with a side of done.

That is all for now.

For the record: 3 day bar exams are not an NB-Approved Activity.

Law School Roundup #235

Heeeeey brother....

Law School Roundup #235 is up over at Blawg Review, who are kindly hosting the roundup in that space while I attempt to cram some kind of knowledge about mortgages into my head (read: sip my coffee blithely and mutter in denial). Scope it out!

The Roundup will return to Evan Schaeffer's Beyond the Underground next week, and then will return back to this humble blog the following week (you got all that?). Try not to get too lonely!

In the meantime, best of luck to the bar folk, and thanks to the rest of your for your support.

See you on the other side!

The status is not quo (a break for joy, and grooving)

Oh Internet-Friends: You are good enough, you are smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like you!

In celebration of the fact that being a successful lawyer requires not only intelligence, but balance, humor, and the ability to get one's groove on,* here are some goodies for you on the eve of the bar exam, your 1L/2L year, and in honor of the fact that it's Monday:







Finally, when you're done with that adventure, please get yourself immediately to Hulu and go watch yourself some Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. Not sold?
1. Neil Patrick Harris.
2. Nathan Fillion.
3. Superheroes.
4. Musical.

The premise: NPH (Dr. Horrible) is trying to gain admission to the Evil League of Evil, run by Bad Horse. NF (Captain Hammer, "Corporate Tool") is wooing his love interest. Much singing erupts. Go. Right now. Why are you still here?


Fellow bar-folk, hold tight to your senses of humor and you sanity. I'll see you on the other side! If you see a girl with some frizzy hair and sweatpants belting some ballads on the freeway this afternoon, stop and wave. I'm on my way to the Bar. And after? The bar.

*Optional. No quality requirement imposed. Shameless singing encouraged.

What's keeping me sane right now: Part 1

1. The knowledge that, come hell or high water, this will be over in under a week.
2. Good coffee.
3. This guy:

....who hasn't left my side all summer, whether we're running, or walking, or quietly panicking (guess who panics more?), and who stays up with me when the house is dark and quiet, and brings me sanity and humor in my darkest moods.

This one helps, too.
Don't tell the cats, but I think he's really got a lock on this "man's best friend" business.

Oh, like that helps.

Why does Pandora think that I want to hear the Armageddon soundtrack?*

This is not helping my inclination to curl up on the floor and weep, Pandora.


*Sidebar: Ok, yes, I am a total weeper at daddy's girl movies. But seriously? I refuse to believe that earth or Liv Tyler were better off with Ben Affleck back on earth and Bruce Willis exploded into a million bits. What a tragic waste of a badass action hero.

In other recent news

Next week's Law School Roundup will be hosted over at the Blawg Review, a site which, despite its inherent awesomeness, has somehow escaped my notice up until now. Look for it there next week. Expect great things!

Further updates to come, as I transition out of the law-student blogging world, and into the Real Live Lawyer world. Site redesigns, new directions, and other crazy parties, oh my! (TBD after the bar)

Also, I'm going internet (mostly) dark this week before the bar exam. I've got a few prescheduled posts that will go up, and if I start to lose my mind and really need to write something about that, you'll see it. Otherwise, I'll be scarce in these parts. I really am sorry about that---this big ole mess of feelings that I am feeling over here makes great blog fodder, and I feel somehow as though I am abandoning you all for not posting---but I really would like to pass this thing, and I'd hate to have to admit that the reason I didn't was because I really needed to post my diatribe about people on the bar exam who keep breaking into other peoples' houses to take things that (whoops!) it turns out don't actually belong to them.

There is no answer choice for "felony stupid."

So, if your emails are getting left out in the cold, or your comments aren't appearing, I'll get to them, I promise. Unless you are one of those characters that is still having a hard time playing nicely in the comments section. Seriously. Mind your manners, or I will take away anonymous commenting entirely, and then you'll have to start your own blog to explain all the ways in which I am wrong.

To my fellow bar-takers: You were strong enough and smart enough to get to this point. Now, on the brink, it hardly feels helpful to be reminded that you get to take the bar, but you do. It's a (sick, miserable, total unpleasant and absolutely sadistic) privilege and a hazing ritual. Twenty-some odd years of education and countless hurdles later, you have earned the right to stand before your state's bar and demand entrance--this is the final sprint. You have faced, cumulatively, harder things than this---and if you have not, some day, you will. Three (or more) years of law school may not have prepared you academically for this moment, but it has given you three more years of toughness. You are strong enough to get through this. As one wise commenter mentioned (and as bears repeating): you won't die. You will rise to the occasion. Good luck! I'll see you on the other side.

Law School Roundup #234

Law School Roundup #234 is up at Beyond the Underground. Scope it out there.

Obviously, I have a love/hate relationship with the internet

It's the little things...Like when you check your Sitemeter, and find out that some of your hits are coming from Facebook, and it occurs to you that maybe someone out there has recognized your brilliance and "shared" on Facebook, and tons of people are "liking" the smart and interesting things you just said. Or something. It's always novel and exciting to me to think that people I don't know actually read this little corner of the internet. Hi, strangers!

...and if you, dear reader, are that Facebook-posting person: I am currently stoked. Please, if you did "share," don't tell me if it was something along the lines of "and this person is totally a dufus!", ok? I'm enjoying basking in my very feeble 15 seconds of internet fame.


Related, sort of: A very wise person (and we know she's smarter than me, because she had the good sense not to go to law school) emailed me yesterday to say:

[You will pass the bar]. You will. BarBri does this on purpose, just like the Marines do. They break you down and then build you back up so that, when you DO pass, you'll sing the praises of BarBri to every single person you've ever met in your life, including the cashier at Walmart. That's how they are the #1 rated Bar prep class. And, just like your secret blog said, you're just the scared child whose parents left him/her alone in the grocery store. Except that this time, your parents left you on purpose so that you'd stay RIGHT NEXT TO THEM when you went to the grocery store the next time.

Touche, my friend. Touche. She's so right. Onward and upward, my friends!


Two other things:
1. You guys are awesome. Thanks.*

2. Does the bar make anyone else fly wildly between soul crushing lows and prancing around the living to Honky Tonk Badonkadonk?**

No?

Just me?

Ok, then.



* Ok, most of you. Some of you leave nasty anonymous comments, and for that I say: Fie on you! If I want to be belittled and sworn at, I've got a lifetime's worth of former coaches and customers that are up to the task, thankyouverymuch.


** This is my oh-so-klassy act of scholastic rebellion. You can't break me, Barzam! I don't have to know torts to shake my booty. So there.

Please stop telling me I'm going to pass the Bar.

I am not a panicker. I never have been. I'm a major proponent of the Seriously Just Chill The Hell Out school of major life event prep, and I've been known on more than one occasion to tell 1Ls, OLs, and everyone else who will listen that they need to stop taking life quite so seriously. But right now? I'm panicking. Ten days till the bar exam, and every time I start to think about it, I feel like I may break out in hives.

I suspect this is the case for most of my fellow test-takers. Yes, we need to stop taking ourselves so seriously. But also? Even for the most chill among us, this is A Really Big Fucking Deal. $100,000 in loan debt and three years later, this is the test that will determine whether we actually get to be a lawyer. And no, 2Ls, I am sorry to inform you: that $100,000 that you'll be paying off till you're 50 did nothing to actually prepare you for this exam. So here, in this 2 1/2 month timeline, you must cram everything there is to know about this state's law into your head, and hope that most of it sticks come exam time. It's an extraordinary amount of pressure, akin to nothing else I have done in life.

To varying degrees of certainty, we all think we're going to fail. One good friend of mine called his mother this week, to tell her he thought maybe he should just give up now. Clearly, he wasn't going to pass, and it seemed like a waste to ruin the last few days of his summer working for something he wasn't going to get. Another friend has been waking up in a panic for nights on end, because she keeps having nightmares about the MBE.

If you've not studied for the bar exam, this may not make sense to you. It's just a test, after all. And that's true. If you don't pass, well, you'll take it again. Perhaps I'm an unreliable narrator, being in the thick of it myself (and having just had a hyperventilating panic attack because no. I do not have 45 minutes to make dinner. Must. Study. More.), but I have to reassure my readers who are not in the thick of it: these are not neurotic people. These are normally sane, sweet people, who have a great sense of humor about themselves. People who are B students not because they can't hack it, but because sometimes, it's sunny out, and going golfing seems like a better idea than Tax. We are not, generally speaking, panickers.

Still, to a (wo)man, we're all pretty sure we're going to fail.

When I say to you, "I am going to fail the bar," I don't mean it the way a nerdy college sophomore proclaims "omg! I am totally going to fail this chem exam." I don't mean that I might get a C, or I might not be the smartest kid in the room. I mean that, come November, I. Might. Fail. The. Bar. In fact, there's a 50% likelihood that I will. When I tell you that I think I am going to fail, I'm not saying it because I need affirmation that I won't. I'm not kidding. I'm not over-reacting. When I say that, I'm trying to warn you of what might come.

Darwin asked me a few days ago if I would check to see if some of my Least Favorites from law school had passed the bar. Surprisingly, I found myself answering in the negative. Let's make no mistake. I am a mean, spiteful person, who on more than one occasion has wished that members of my class got hit by a bus. I'm not nice. But this experience? It's so miserable, I don't even have the heart to wish it on someone else.

Here's the horrifying thing about bar results: they're spectacularly public. Unlike the LSAT, you can't hide out, and pretend that your score wasn't totally shameful, or that you aren't studying for the test, or that you didn't really care. You do care. Unless you live in a cave, everyone knows that you're studying for an exam, because you look haggard, miserable, and short tempered, and they never see you anymore. The list of bar passers is publicly posted. So, when the final results come out (in California, that's November: just in time to ruin both Thanksgiving and Christmas), and your name isn't on that very public list, everyone knows. In that one epic moment, it's awfully hard to get away from the nagging conviction that's been chasing you all summer: You're not as smart as you thought. You're not as smart as anyone thought. You're a failure.

Now, lots of smart people fail the bar exam. For a variety of reasons, it happens. These people are not failures. I can look at these people---people who I know and respect, and consider them bright, competent, amazing attorneys. The younger ones, I love and respect. I don't think they're idiots. For the older ones, it's a war wound, and a mark of character: proof that they really do "get" the real world. But if I don't pass? You guessed it. I'm a failure. Nobody said this psychology made sense.

The non-lawyerly types won't check the bar passers list, of course. Probably. But they will ask, with gleeful anticipation, if you've gotten your results in. And they're happy to ask, because these well-meaning family members and friends really do believe that you will pass, and their faith in you will be vindicated. Here's the trouble with that, though: if you've been saying, over and over again "Oh don't be silly! You'll pass!", when I have to face facts with you that I, in fact, did not pass, I'm going to have to face that ominous and awkward silence, followed by your condolences. I will then have to have this conversation with every person who asks.

And here's the thing about that: there's no getting away from the fact that you failed the bar. You can't even claim that you just got desperately ill halfway through and couldn't finish, because Jan Honisberg has been telling us BarBri kids all summer about all the appendicitis-ridden, in labor, concussed bar-takers who have taken the exam and passed. This, ultimately means that not only are you a failure: you're less competent than a concussed person. Fantastic.

When I hear someone tell me, offhandedly, that oh, of course I'll pass the bar, it only increases my anxiety. I want to grab them and shake them, and explain that really, my terror is valid. I need you to understand that. If (or when) I fail, I need you to get that these things happen. I'm afraid that you're expecting too much of me, and that if I fail, your impression of me will be irreparably damaged. I don't want to fight with you about it. I really, truly, do believe that I am going to fail. If I don't, it will be by the skin of my teeth.

So, friends and family of the bar-takers: I extend my condolences to you. I know we are just miserable to be around right now. But we do need you. Not to tell us that we will pass, but to tell us that you (as Darwin so eloquently put it) have faith in us. Even if you're certain that we're out of our minds, you won't change them---to me, the specter of failing is just as real, and just as terrifying, as a child who's been left at a grocery store, convinced he's alone for good. No, your parents haven't left you forever, and no, you may be right. We may pass. But in this moment, we feel alone, and overwhelmed, and totally terrified. The bar exam is in 10 days. We don't need assurances that we'll pass, we need your help to mitigate the crazy. We're looking for damage control. Tell us you understand how we're feeling, and you think we're smart. Give us a hug.
When BarBri has robbed us of our confidence and left us as pathetic messes on the floor, tell us you believe in us. Buy us a popsicle.

And hopefully, when it's all over, you can tell us that you always knew we could do it. And if you can't? Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

An alternate career?

This morning is the International Auctioneers Championship. A mutual friend of Darwin & I (and one of my favorite people, ever) is competing, so naturally, I had to go scope it out.

True story, guys: it turns out that competitive auctioneering is strangely enthralling. You can check it out here. Not sure when the live feed ends, but there's an irish guy up next!

Law School Roundup #233

Welcome to Law School Roundup #233, dispatched from the bar prep cave. Ooooh, 1Ls. 2Ls. It really is worse than they warned you about.

Snacks: The evil genius of Chef Boyardee (On a Whim)

Pick a side: Cursory observations on politics and law school (My Legal Fiction)

All work and no play: The value of law review (i don't wear skinny jeans)

This week in BarPrep: Seriously, though, don't take a drink from a guy named Defendant. (a bit bedlam)*

PSA: Words of advice to friends & family of the bar takers (not this week, but still wise) (Third Tier from the Top)

Direction: Why prosecution? (Really? Law?)

Thoughts for the OLs: Student loans in bankruptcy (Paralegal Hell)

Tweet, tweet: BarBri twitter roundup (KatieLuper.com)

Ugh. I deeply apologize for the lack of blogging. There is so. much. good. material...and yet, no freaking time. Good luck and godspeed to the rest of you all. This is miserable.

*This material has been making the rounds for a while and is without an original source citation. If you're it, let me know, so I can give you proper credit and buy you a drink.

ugh.

The Journal secretary is on my back for things that are a fat load of Not My Problem, today's practice test is going horribly, and bar prep makes me want to cry. I would add more content, guys, but it's my lunch break, and I miss sleep and not-panic just enough that a solid 10 minute reflection on the state of things might precipitate a total meltdown.

Yeah, I'm totally a grownup over here.

But how's your day going, Internet?

With a side of flash cards, please.

Sometimes, I think I may have a tendency to feed my feelings. Not my sad feelings, or my angry feelings--but my bored, frustrated, overwhelmed feelings. Fellow bar-sufferers, are you seeing a problem here? Bar prep, with its constant looming threat of total law-fail, its all-consuming BarBri "paced" schedule* (raise your hand if you well nigh wept with joy when you were told you could take "a half day, or even a day!" off for Fourth of July), and the fact that it frequently results in interactions with law students who are exhibiting levels of crazy that usually require institutionalization, frequently leaves me bored, annoyed, and sitting in one place with nothing to do except stare blankly and crunch on a snack. Let's face it, though---carrot sticks hold little joy when you're surrounded by crazies and up to your gills in awful. Pass the junk food, please?

Anyway. Whatever this impulse is (Lack of self control? Abiding love of Cheetos? Nothing better to do? Hoping that the crunch of Doritos will drown out the panicathon going on behind me?), but I would rather not be an out of shape mess by the time the bar wraps up, so my feelings are now on a strict diet of coffee, fruit, and wine only. Vices, yes, but I need some small indulgences to get reward myself for this experience, and the post-3L budget isn't one full of massages and lovely new books. No more Bored Cheetos. No more I Don't Like Playing With Law Students cookies. No more Civ Pro is the Devil Cupcakes, and certainly no more WTF, Performance Exam French Fries.

Not that this has slowed my consumption, really. It's just pointed it in a less fried, more productive direction. Now, instead of tasting like couch potato, my feelings taste like very excited sangria.

Not a bad trade, really. Excuse me while I go bury myself under an avalanche of evidence cards. I apologize in advance for the slackerific posting regimen that is going to ensue over the next 3 weeks.

Also, the weekly Law School roundup is here. Enjoy!



* Pace of maniacs, insomniacs, and crazy people, clearly. Is anyone else actually finishing this? I am not.

Neighborhood Watch: The Mayberry Version

This afternoon, my mother came into the house with her serious face on, called the dog, and headed outside again. Apparently, she saw someone dressed all in black, and hooded, crouched low in the bushes and looking into the neighbor's windows.

At this juncture, it would be appropriate to note: NoDog, while adorable, almost certainly has some pitbull in him. This is good for scaring of The Big Bad Guys, and having of the Big, Blocky, and Not Entirely Clever Head (these uses are secondary to Eater of Everything, Gassy Running Buddy, and Sleeper On The Couch When No One Is Watching, naturally). Also, Mom? Kind of the overly-cautious type. So if you, dear reader, are thinking: "Oh no! NoFamily! Vandals! Call the police!" .... don't worry. If she thinks NoDog can handle it, we're probably ok.

So. The NoFamily Neighborhood Watch goes out to knock on the neighbors' door, where the following exchange takes place:

Mom & The Brute Squad: Hi, I hate to bother you, but I think I saw someone looking into your windows. It's probably nothing, but...
Friendly Neighbor: Small and dressed in black? Hooded?
Mom & TBS: Actually, yes.
FN: *sigh* Yes. I...well, we have a ninja infestation.
Mom: . . .
FN: Ryan [aged 7, and a student at NoBro's karate school] is going through a ninja phase.
Mom: I see. We had a similar problem. Ours aged out around...12? I think?
FN/Mom of Ninja: 5 more years? Oh no. Would you like to come in for a drink?

And that, ladies & gents, is how neighbors make friends in NoTown.

The little ninja is out front, rolling between bushes and being stealthy, and I'm inside, wishing I were 7 again. Oh, summer vacation.

Just another Saturday in the Nobody household

NoCat #1 (the heinously bitchy edition) has taken to wandering around the house vomiting. She shows no other signs of illness, and though we are watching her carefully, we are starting to suspect that this is purely out of spite.

NoCat #2 has apparently become big subscriber to the catch-and-release movement. This would be less of a problem if he wasn't so insistent on bringing us his finds to show them off. Recent targets include: 3 mice, in various stages of maiming (My driver's seat, garage, and front hallway [Ha! Intercepted!], respectively), 1 dove (young, stupid, and almost as alarmed about being drug into the kitchen as we were to see it), and one very large, very surprised-looking toad (drug from where ever he was previously residing through the upstairs bathroom window).

Also this morning, I looked up from my gargantuan coffee mug to discover that my father, in a pique of home-fix-it-osity, has removed all of the bathroom doors. Yeah. Thanks for the warning on that. No word on when the bathroom doors will return, but I am assured that there is a gas station "not that far away." I would chance the shower here, but given NoCat #2's proclivities, I'm worried about ending up with company. He's been keeping a weather eye on baby possums out back.