Friday, June 30, 2006

Okay okay!

I get it! Google tells me there are a billion+ of you taking the bar this summer, and thanks to GG, I'm one of the first spots that comes up on google when you need to know answers. First, I defer to GG on all bar studying advice. Second, I will put up a post for you this weekend that summarizes my bar studying experience. Over many beers, a law school friend and I remembered tonight what it was like to study for the bar - and what we did right, and what we did wrong. Luckily, in hindsight, I'm very lucky to have done many things right, so I am happy to share them with you potential Lawyers. I feel for you, as I am drunk right now, yet when I was studying for the bar, was drunk once the entire summer, and that's obviously Just. Not. Right.

As per your many questions. 132 MBE will get you into DC. 105-110 is average on the first MBE practice exam, though if you get much lower, PRACTICE ESSAYS. Esp if you're taking CA, I guarantee you I passed on essay alone. Memorize the first paragraph of every essay. I.e. "California is a community property state. When a couple separates...etc.": Get it? MEMORIZE. PLAGIARIZE. No one wants ANY think from you. DON'T THINK! Just copy. And California will rue the day it called on you.

Good luck to you, my sober compatriots.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

The Land of Fruits and Nuts, and We Hear They're GOOD For You, Too!

I'm back from Cali and dead, totally dead tired. The thing is, I can't sleep 1) sitting up, or 2) in public, so that pretty much nixes any attempts at catching a few winks on a plane ride. Even a 4.75 hour plane ride in the middle of the night. I'm running on 15 minutes of light dozing and several large cups of coffee. Not that that's much different than any other day.

I have lots of SoCal stories for you, but I'd like to wait until I get my images uploaded. But as I exited Dulles today only to be suddenly bathed in my own sweat, I remembered two quick things to share.

There were two major local news stories in Southern California over the weekend. The first one ran several times (which I know because my mom doesn't have cable, so it's KCAL 9 News or one of the zillion variations of The People's Court (oh Judge Wapner, wherefore art thou?)). The gist of this in-depth news reporting? Fruits and vegetables - get this - are good for you. For real. Reporter Plain Jane visited supermarkets across the Southland in order to hold up a bright green pepper and say, "Studies are showing that some vegetables have certain vitamins/minerals/superpowers that will cure cancer/prolong life/save kittens from drowning." Ahh. Brain...leaking...out...ears.

The second story may only be funny to east coasters. While D.C. was drowning in floodwaters, the top weather story for the week in SoCal was, "Holy SHIT it's humid!" Granted, it is unusual when humidity hits the desert (you want me to say it, don't you? Dry heat IS BETTER than humidity, you crazy, crazy east coast freaks), but 1) I didn't feel a single particle of humidity in the six days I was there and 2) even if I had...what? It wasn't even hot! VTA stayed a pleasantly warm 70-ish. Maybe it was just those poor slobs in the Valley who got the brunt of this vicious, take-no-prisoners weather. I still can't believe it was anything like walking down K Street in June, that's for damn sure.

Even some crazy lady at the airport cornered me while I was putting my shoes back on after the X-ray machines and asked if we were all coming from Hawaii or something, because everyone in the area was "so tan!" (sidenote: I'm less tan and more 'lobster-pink') but "how could anyone have been out in this humidity!" Gag me. With a spoon.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

I Am Dumb Adorable!

Last night my mother drove me to LAX to send me off on my 9:30pm red-eye flight back to soggy DC. She dropped me off and I went inside to check in on one of the self-service stations. I swiped my card, clicked "Yes, that's my flight." ...

Rejected! "Sorry, you can only check in 24 hours or less, prior to departure." Um...what?? I run the card again and ohmygodmyflightdoesn'ttakeoffuntiltomorrow!! Ahh! I call my mom, who's a few blocks from the airport, and she swings in a gas station until I can make my way to a service person who tells me, Yes, my flight is tomorrow night, not tonight, and No, I can't get on tonight's wildly overbooked flight.

That's not quite the worst part: the worst part is when my mom comes back to pick me up and as I get in the car I say, "I'm feeling de ja vu...has this happened before?" She turns and gives me the "look" and says, "Yes, this has happened before."

That's right people, not once, but twice I've totally mis-read my itinerary and gone to LAX on the wrong day for my flight.

Quick aside, if you please. When I was a young tot, I was often referred to by my family as the Absent-minded Professor. My youth was filled with a myriad of stories such as this one, which captures the nature of my absent-minded-professor-ness best:

In third grade, I took the IQ test to be admitted into G.A.T.E.. That day I was wearing an adorable romper and matching shoes (I was taking a test, I had to look good!). There wasn't a mass testing period, instead, those of us taking it were called out of class one by one, for an individual interview/testing time. So, right when I was just about finishing the feathers on my racist, mimeographed Indian Native American, with which we were to decorate our refrigerators for Thanksgiving, the teacher called my name.

I stood up and got all the way to the classroom door before I realized...I left my shoes underneath my desk. See, they were cute, which means they hurt my feet, so I had slipped them off while I was coloring. Of course, it didn't occur to me whatsoever that it was weird walking all the way through the classroom in my stockinged feet, until I hit the cement outside the door. When I turned around, I realized that the distance back to my desk had suddenly telescoped to around 100 yards, and paused at the door so my 9-year-old mind could contemplate what kind of embarrassment I was about to suffer due to my fairly ridiculous forgetfulness.

My teacher noticed me standing there and said, "Heather, what's the matter?" Wherein I broke the hold of my paralyzing shyness and ran out of the room. If you think my interviewer noticed immediately that I was sitting there with no shoes on, having walked across half the school in my tights, you'd be right. I'm pretty sure they didn't even grade my test; the interviewer just told them, "This one's totally eccentric enough to fit in with those gifted kids, just sign her up."

These and other similar stories still go 'round the table at family dinner parties. Why? Because I'm adorable, people. Adorable!

And this is exactly what I had to remind my mother as we merged back onto the parking lot that is the 405 Freeway, only to turn around and do it all again tomorrow.

Sunday, June 25, 2006

I sing the songs...

So, my mother bought the Dixie Chicks' new album just, you know, to buy it. It matches her "Bring Them Back / Out Of Iraq" bumper sticker (that's right next to "My Daughter Is In The National Guard"). I realize my mom isn't the hippest when it comes to music (it's genetic), but the following conversations baffled me:

When I saw the cd on the shelf:
Me: "Did you buy Neil Young's new album, too, then?"
Mom: "Neil Young?"
Me: "Yeah, he has a new album of anti-war songs."
Mom: "Let's buy it tomorrow!"

Later that night:
Mom: "What album was that again, Phil Collins?"
Me: "Phil Collins?!
Mom: "What?? I forgot, who was it?"
Me: "Neil Young, Mom. Neil Young, you know, the foremost rocker of your generation?"
Mom: "...I know who he is."

The next day, in the music section at Target:
Mom: "Okay...who are we buying?"
Me: "Mom, you are dead to me."


Tonight some new cop drama came on that centered on a bunch of stolen Foo Fighters tickets. Since my mother is a West Wing fan, I thought maybe she had heard of them before (remember they were on the election episode this last season).

Me: "So, you probably don't care about this, but you know the lead singer of the Foo Fighters was the drummer for Nirvana?"
Mom: "Oh really, what happened?"
Me: "...."

Listed on BlogShares