Wednesday, January 25, 2006

DC Bar Waiver Status

A number of people have asked me what's involved in the DC Bar wavier application. Well, this one's for you guys. I crossed out what I've actually accomplished.

Application Questionnaire (i.e. every place you've ever lived, thought about living, or drove through; every person you've ever known, met, or stared at on the metro; and every job you've ever had, applied for, or dreamed about having when you were a young lad.)

Certification from Law School, signed by Registrar or Dean. (I've sent away for it, at least)

MBE release form. (you need to have scored 133, though if you're applying from a state that's like CA, you're flying blind on this one.)

Copy of MPRE scores.

Certificate of good standing from the highest court in your state. (also waiting for this)

Required fee sent with certificate of good standing request, in my case, a check for $1 made out to the CA Supreme Court. (yes, one dollar)

Authorization and Release Forms. Three copies. Each one notarized no more than 5 days before submitting application.

Form request for NCBE Character Report.

Certified check for $400 made out to Clerk, DC Court of Appeals.

Certified check for $250 made out to NCBE.

Certified check for $25 for MBE score release.

One staple or heavy binder clip. (yes, it says this)


Wow, so I've done almost nothing. That's awesome. To be fair, I can't do most of it until I get my paperwork from my law school and the CA Supreme Court, since I can't have any of the forms notarized or signed/dated too long before I send the entire application in. I'll also wait until the whole app is ready until I go get the certified checks, but at least I've got that money in my bank. If you have any
questions, feel free to ask.

Oh, and I should mention this because of it's total unbelievability factor. I called CalBar yesterday with a question and not only was the woman I spoke to friendly but she actually had the answer to my question! Maybe once you actually become an attorney they feel like they have to start listening to you. Or at least, not be a total, utter dick so we don't get mad and sue them for emotional distress like we wanted to all summer. (We had to settle for voodoo dolls back then.)

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Nurse Betty Bipolar and the Hundred Questions

Last night I went to do my civic duty and give blood. I used to give pretty regularly, but slacked off in law school (I know, shocker), so I'm trying to get back in the groove - it's also one of the things on my 101 in 1001 list.

It's always hit or miss at the Red Cross on E Street: either everyone's friendly and happy to see you, or they're all cranky and tired and yell at you for not squeezing your little ball often enough. Last night was the latter.

I read my "No One Will Look At You With Knowing Glances, We Promise, If You Choose To Leave Now" brochure and was given a number to wait for the nurse to do the pre-lim screening. If you haven't given blood before, the pre-lim is where a nurse takes your blood pressure, pulse, temp, and pricks your finger to check your iron; they also ask you a standard 80 point questionaire about your travel, health, and sexual histories.

For once my iron was good. Usually the nurse and I both stare at the little drop in the blue liquid as it sinks slowly, then, just when I think I'm in the clear, it makes a u-turn and heads for high water. If that happens, they've got to put it in the spinny thing. Both my mom and I are turned away at regular intervals for low metal, but this time the globule sunk like a lead ballon. Or, I guess, an iron one. Must have been the two bagels I had yesterday. (What? They were free.) And bagels have a sick iron count, as everyone knows. Or maybe that's carbs. I always forget.

Anyway, I'm not kidding about getting Nurse Betty Bipolar. One minute she was trying to gab with me about my fingernails and where I got them done (I don't), because she was growing hers out for her wedding, and the next minute she's yelling at me that I'm lying about my weight. Or laughing at me about my sexual history. No, I'm not kidding, and yes, I'll explain.

NBB: How much do you weigh?
Me: 145.
NBB: What?? That can't be right.
Me: Uhhh...well, 140-145.
NBB: There's no way. I mean, I'll "believe" you, but - no.
Me: (mouth agape) ......

I mean, wtf was that? It took me awhile to figure out if she thought I was shooting high or low, because she wasn't very clear. Finally she said, "There's no way you weigh that much." Which, first of all, I was telling the truth, so thanks bitch, I guess I'm just a huge cow then. Second, why would she think I'd lie and say I was fatter than I actually am? I mean, that's way over how much you need to give blood, so that seems a little insane. People don't walk around telling people they weigh 40 pounds more than they really do. Well. Except my friend T, who routinely tells people, "God! I weigh 300 pounds!!" But I'm not an anorexic gay man. I am, in fact, a straight woman. I'm supposed to be telling people I weigh 115.

My roommate had the perfect response: "I hate it when strangers think they can have personal conversations with you like that. I mean, what business is it of yours how much I really weigh and why do you suddenly think you deserve to hear some sort of secret I'm hiding?" Yes, exactly. Like what was I supposed to do, explain to her how "no, I really can weigh that much, bring me a scale and I'll show you how fat I am!"

A minute later when she stuck the thermometer in my mouth she mumbled mostly to herself, like she was tying to solve special relatively in her spare time, "Well, I guess you are pretty tall." Ding! Ding! Ding! Thanks for playing 'How Can She Be Such a Big Fucking Mammoth?' Free door prizes for everyone.

Then, when she asked for my hand to stick my finger, I gave her my left, because the needle often leaves a bruise and I'm right-handed. (They use the side of your middle finger, where you'd hold a pen.) She pushed my hand off the table and said, "No, give me your right hand, I can't do it on left hands yet." Awesome. There is nothing I love better than getting a nurse-in-training. (A rude nurse-in-training.) Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled there are people in the world who want to do that job, but it's my nerve-endings that get the brunt of the learning-process here.

Let's get to the fun part: The questionaire. She started talking so fast I could barely understand her, but since I knew most of the questions already it wasn't too hard to keep up with her Micro Machines commercial voice.

She asked me if I'd been out of the US any time in the last three years. I said yes and prepared to give her my short list, though as a preface I said, "Well, I haven't been anywhere since the last time I gave blood, so just Athe--"

Suddenly she whips her head around from the computer screen like a nun who heard giggling during Psalms, shoots me eyes of death, and screeches, "WELL WE DON'T HAVE ACCESS TO THOSE RECORDS SO YOU HAVE TO TELL ME ALL OF IT."

Me, again: (mouth agape) .....Whoa. Yeah. I was trying to.

Obviously the neurons were flashing and dying a little too fast in her head for me to keep up with the mood of the moment. She instantly calmed and let me give her my list. Then we got to the best moment of all.

NBB: "44. Have you ever slept with anyone who was born in or ever resided in Africa?"

Except that it came out sounding like this: "FordyforhaveUevaslepwitany1hoowasbornNoevaresidedNfrica?"

I'm pretty sure this is a new question, so I couldn't match her mumblings with my stored databank, like I was doing for the rest of them. I guess I paused a little too long as I was deciphering before saying, "," because then she started laughing at me. Laughing. About my sexual history for pete's sake. "Oh, you really had to think about that one didn't you!" I swear to god I thought she was going to say, "Guess we better check yes under Have you ever had jungle fever? Ha HA!!"

Dude. Whatever happened to discretion? God only knows what would have gone down had I had to tell her something that was actually questionable.

This conversation was immediately followed with, "I love your shirt, where'd you get it?"

Between the mood swings and the nail, clothes, weight and sex gossip, I was really worried she was going to start giggling, strip down to her undies and start a pillow fight with me. Shouldn't we at least get a carton of ice cream to share while this is going on? Would we get to crank call someone next? Was she going to get angry again and call her mom to come pick her up?

Anyway, I high-tailed it out of there and thankfully had another nurse who took my blood. Which went fine until my arm wouldn't stop bleeding.

And I get to do it all over again in eight weeks!

Sunday, January 22, 2006

The panic begins to set in...

My mom called me a couple weeks ago and said, "So, you know your private loans start at the end of January, right."

Oh yes, that's it. The tightness in my chest, the tunnel vision, the sweaty palms. The tiny, triple digits in my bank account dwarfed by the massive, six-digit number printed on my lender's letters.

It's pretty fair to say that I hate my Private Lender. I didn't have this blog way back when I had a death-match with PL when they forced me to get a co-signer for my last two years of law school, for no reason whatsoever, even though my credit was still good (actually, the angry dual was over the fact that when they decided this, I was in studying in Chile for the summer - a representative left one phone message with my subletter in DC, who forgot to tell me, and since PL couldn't be bothered to notify me any other way, they just denied my loan for my second year, which I didn't discover until I went to go pick up my check for fall semester. Try explaining that to your landlord. Or the grocery store.) Then the second death match came over my undergraduate loans, which they took out of in-school deferment during my second summer in law school, for no reason at all.

Now my mom, as my cosigner, has a whole new $100,000 reason to fear my death, aside from that whole 'daughter' thing. She also gets all my mail from PL over a month before me, because they can't seem to figure out that I've moved. I changed it once on the website, but it didn't take, and now they website just gives me errors. I keep forgetting to call them, but pretty soon the post office is going to tire of this this shell-game and stop forwarding my mail.

Anyway, my loans start January 27, and I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to pay them. I'm thinking about selling a kidney on the black market. Those are the organs that grow back, right? No? Well, I never felt it was earning its keep anyway, so I'm going to have to outsource it. I digress. I just tried putting the loans in deferment, but apparently private lenders aren't as amenable to that idea as the federal government is. Oh, and when I tried to download the form so I could do some horrible "interest only payments for two years" program, the file was some nonsense that wouldn't open.

Ah, the panic. The panic. Did any of you out there consolidate your private loans? I just submitted an app to Graduate Leverage, but other ideas are appreciated.

Tagged: four by four

Thanks Chai.

Four jobs you have had:
  • Proficiency test grader. (Golden State Exam flashbacks, anyone?)
  • Observatory technician. (I helped build a radio telescope and a seismograph...ah, those were the days.)
  • Photographer's assistant. (I assembled prom backdrops!)
  • Executive Assistant to the Vice President of Anchor Construction & Leasing. (Cause that's how I roll.)

    Four movies you could watch over and over: Avert your eyes, here comes my inner geek.
  • Contact.
  • Signs.
  • X-Men.
  • Someone Like You.

    Four places you've lived:
  • Cambria, California.
  • Austin, Texas.
  • Pass Christian, Mississippi. (Pronounced KRIS-chi-ANN. It's mostly underwater now.)
  • Santiago, Chile.

    Four TV shows you love to watch:
  • Project Runway
  • Battlestar Galactica.
  • The Colbert Report.
  • Made-for-TV Disaster Movies.

    Four places you've been on vacation:
  • Athens, Greece.
  • Brussels, Belgium.
  • San Pedro de Atacama, Chile.
  • Palm Desert, California.

    Four of your favorite foods:
  • Onion rings.
  • Chicken curry.
  • Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby.
  • The Salad of Victory

    Four places you'd rather be right now:
  • Ventura, California, with my family.
  • That's about it, sorry.

    Four sites I visit daily: Not a fair question, I visit at least 20 sites daily, especially if you include the blogs I read.
  • Gmail.
  • DCist.
  • NY Times.
  • Sitemeter. Cause I'm a narcissist.

    Four Bloggers you are tagging:
  • Maisnon
  • Eve, who's already been tagged by Roonie, but I'm doing it again because she needs to put her damn site back up.
  • GG
  • CG

  • Listed on BlogShares