Serendipity

2006-01-01T18:27:00.000-05:00

It's a new year, and the last year was just as bad as the first one. Au revoir, bitches!

2005-07-17T20:08:00.000-05:00

I didn't really do much of anything today. I lounged around and bled painfully. M called at three in the afternoon while I was talking to Arizona and my mother came in with R.'s mom, and asked her to drive me to Walmart. I couldn't do it. She called later in the evening to cheer me up, and told me that I had a good letter, for what's it's worth.

I went out with R. to dinner. He's graying, and he smokes a pack a day, but is generally youthful. Has a bootstrap-it attitude. At least he made me feel better, instead of like a complete fucking cowpie, although he may actually think it. He thinks it's odd to not go in a straight trajectory -- he and every other person out there. It's easy for him to say I shouldn't be afraid of failure and all this other stuff, but I don't think he understands what freaking self doubts I have to tame in order to do a damn thing. Or maybe he does and he thinks I'm a joke. R. is dating an 18 year old to "have a good time" and a 27 year old at the same time. Ms. 27 insisted on monogamy, so R agreed, but is dating Ms 18 behind her back. Ms 18 knows about Ms 27, so R says. I told R to cut 27 loose, because the lying really isn't worth the bother if he just wants a "good time".

2005-07-17T00:19:00.000-05:00

Croissant's current boyfriend is over twenty years older than she, and is being held in jail pending the trial of a man who is accused of murdering his wife five years ago. Apparently the police suspect Mr. PI of hiding the victim's car. He also lied about working for the defendant. Croissant will Stand By Her Man. Croissant is lucky she wasn't dating him then, because she would make the perfect patsy because she is so willing to trust jackasses. I'm beginning to wonder how safe it is to be her friend.

Last Friday, she filled me in. She's afraid the state police may tap her phone, and is adamant about not talking on the phone about it. She was so agitated (bills falling through) etc, that I asked her if she thought the appartment was bugged, and I half expected her to be in handcuffs when she took too long to check if her biological uncle had wired her money. She said, "We can't talk about my love life." When I suggested a restaurant, she said "I have an upset stomach, I can't eat your kind of food, Chinese Mexican, whatever..." We then went to Olive Garden, where she spent more money than me, ordered a fried seafood platter, and then spent the entire time talking about her love life. Believe me, anything I've gone through pales in comparison, because it is All. About. Her.

Clogged

2005-07-16T23:35:00.000-05:00

I talked to Deepak. He once again urged that I go on a REAL vacation. I can't properly call my trip to Maryland and southern NY a real vacation since it was completely not of my volition. He offered up his son as an escort to California.

Today I used an ancient vaccuum and baking powder to tame the dust bunnies in my room. I also put some freaking Drano in my shower. The water is still standing there after a couple of days.

Why couldn't the freaking drain handle the hair?

I think that about sums up the state of things -- clogged. Nothing's going anywhere. I don't know if I'm going to be in law school or even in the same town within the next couple of months, and the time is fast approaching for me to act. I need to start doing things and I don't have the information to do so -- it's out of my hands.

A martini ( undrunk) A cosmopolitan, an amaretto sour and a water later.

2005-06-12T01:02:00.000-05:00

Why am I bleeding right where my ankle is, if the shoes I'm wearing have no ankle straps?
(Hic!)

2005-06-07T23:35:00.000-05:00

I'm a big fan of blog aggregators since I'm addicted to blogs. That way I can read one site and save time. Ha.

I recently ran across the Cotillion -- a blog aggregator of these conservachicks. It doesn't seem like too many of them think. Some people do think; even if they are completely wrong. Scalia who I generally disagree with; has well written logically flowing opinions that work if you accept his premises. For the most part, even granting them that grace still results in posts like Swiss cheese -- when they aren't fatuously congratulating themselves on their bravery or their beauty or coolness.

These blogs have well designed templates, five billion outbound links, and very little in the way of posts. And they all seem to have this weird obsession with slinky girls and martinis -- like they are all chick lit novels.

I think they really do like the fifties-- complete with the Donna Reed pearls, shoving Junior outside to play Cowboys and Flip Up Skirt Day, drinking three martinis waiting for Hubby to come home while the black maid sweeps everything up. Or they like the antebellum Southern belle or the southern debutante. Or at least they like the sugary sweet poison dart. How many boy are those chicks ugly posts can you make?

"Oh, mammy, I just can't be 20"!

2005-06-05T18:13:00.000-05:00

I don't generally take time to greet my mother upon arriving home, nor do I spend much time doing it.

Me:(coming in)
Mother: Come here. Where have you been.
Me: (holds up graduation pamphlet.* Starts to leave)
Mother: Wait a minute. You shouldn't wear such a tight top.
Oh my god.
Me: Well hello to you too. (walks away)
Mother. Look at yourself in the mirror and see if you like it. (Looks at newspaper.)
Me: (Goes to sink. Spits.)

I had an argument with her yesterday. She pleaded with me to lose some weight because therefore I would have a smaller waist and would look better. Not so. I had the same damn waist-hip ratio twenty-five pounds ago, and I'll be damned if I'll knock myself out trying to get her 20-in. waist when she got married. It certainly isn't motivational for me; it's depressing.

I was this close to telling her to fuck off. Others may think she was only being kind with only the sincerest interest in my potentialities. Not so. I could for example, tell her that she's wrinkly and flabby, and then protest that I only mean to encourage her to use sunscreen and do bicep curls, but how convincing is that? Granted, I might not be at the perfect BMI, but I certainly shouldn't have to put up with such fucking rudeness.

*Thankfully it was a friend's graduation.

Malaria makes you skinny

2005-06-03T21:30:00.000-05:00

I accomplished nothing today.

I went to Macy's in the mall and discovered that I am officially a 34D. This means I have officially left the land of halfway pretty lingerie and now must acquire scaffolding to support my enormous breasts. Moreover, they do not have the foundation garment I require in my color and size -- although I may be a 34C still, if I rationalize that it will stretch over time from constant uses. Most "flesh colored" bras do not in the least look like my flesh, unless one is throughly blind.

My bottom half has exploded! Months of living on horrible food trying to study for my finals coupled with no exercise and being under ridiculous amounts of stress has definitely made me huge. I've gained maybe 6 lb but 6 inches on my waist. It doesn't matter that I lived at home; I spent most of the day at school, and nobody packs both lunch and dinner. This is proof that God and genetics hate me. Short stature, shapeless eyebrows, shapeless body. I never wore skirts or dresses if I could possibly help it. Shopping for a prom dress, and the precious virginal white dress for graduation was a nightmare. Even in high school my body was in three different sizes. If a dress fit my boobs, it did not fit my waist. If it fit my waist and hips, I'd be too busty to pull the dratted thing over my chest. I ended up with some horrid thing which made me look boxy and fat. I look back on old pictures and want to scream. Twenty pounds ago and I still am in a dress that makes me look like a rectangle! And I looked fatter than all of the other women in my high school class.

There was maybe one brief shining moment when I was thin and pretty -- second semester freshman year. I was in love, eating horrible cafeteria food in small portions, and walking for three hours a day with my posse of friends in addition to going back and forth to classes. I'd forget to eat for long stretches, and then gorge on a small amount of food. Unfortunately no pictures exist of this period -- and my ex probably burned all the ones he has of me. I have a picture of my frowning face, a blown-up black and white photo taken for an art project. My mother hates that one and probably got rid of it. My mother thought I was too thin and made me eat dressing... on salad. Creamy full fat dressing. I was not consciously trying to lose weight.

The one time I succeeded in losing weight I was on a combination of an SSRI and an anti histamine -- which was sort of like mild speed. My father had me discontinue taking it because it made me too bouncy.

Now supposedly, I need to lose lots of weight so I can be marriagable. There's a convention and weddings coming up in which she will introduce me to loads of bored stockbrokers and med students. They all love hearing themselves talk, and most certainly do not acknowledge the existence of anyone over a size 2 who doesn't fawn over them. A woman or girl who I will name Human Stick Bug is the ultimate prize. She is premed. Human Stick Bug has that perfect waist-hip ratio, which I will never achieve except through speed, dieting, and much liposuction. She shops in the children's department, and has exquisite visible spinal bones. She never eats much, yet manages to polish off three Cosmopolitans that clubbers throw at her. And then she complains she is so..... hunnnnnngry.

In my imagination this is how the mating dance between Human Stick Bug (HSG) and MD goes.

MD: ...So I was sitting in Bello's having lunch, when I saw this old guy waving his hands in panic silently. Nobody knew what to do, but someone said asked "Is there a doctor in the house?" So I...
HSG:... performed a tracheoectomy?
MD: ... performed the Heimlich maneuver.
HSG: (at the same time) .. .Tracheoectomys are so... sexxxy....

See what I'm up against?

2005-05-30T18:42:00.000-05:00

Titanic was on television yesterday night. I recalled I had seen it in the theater in college which lead me to the random whim of looking up some people I had known in college. I, of course, looked up some old boyfriends, and friends. One of my old roommates is working at a bank in Ohio as a head teller. She came out of the closet sometime after graduation. Another old roommate, as far as I can tell, is still working at a bookstore. Still another roommate is pursuing her dream of being an animal trainer – though I can’t imagine which animals she’d train in Salt Lake City. One inescapable conclusion I can draw --- everyone I was friendly with in college was a geek.
A bunch of grade A geeks.

My closeted roommate – geek. Nobody obsesses that much over Ivanova. It truly takes dedication to love Bablyon 5 so much that you painstakingly record all of the episodes on tape.

The bookstore person--- geek. Nobody is that in love with role playing games

The first guy I kissed – geek. He’s trying to get someone to buy his medieval fantasy book about a classic struggle between good and evil. A talking squirrel, and a short history book don’t really do it. He used to be into James Bond, German and helping old ladies across the street.
My ex--- uber geek. Roleplayed Watership Down. Looked the part. I look at old pictures – I’m roly poly and young and he looks thin and old in comparison.

That dude who annoyed me in history class --- Transhumanist geek. I can’t figure what his day job is at all he seems to be very involved with tourneys, game figurines and construction simulations. I think he works or worked at a community center for elders in Boston.

I suppose this makes me a geek groupie. I can’t fall for someone who’s normal and likes pep rallies at all. This reminds me that the people I've come across in law school tend to be the straightest most conventional arrows I've seen in a while. My alma mater was very white being in the midde of of Ohio, but there was a significant mix of international students that went to my school .

I know that I'm a minority; but for the first time I could feel the whiteness seeping from the old men who ran the law school gracing the walls, and the very Catholic white babies on the vote-for-Bush spam in my mailbox, and the realization that there seem to be maybe three people who are darker than mother of pearl in my oneL class. Everyone seems to be a frat boy by way of business school or a pearls and suit type or a soccer mum with kids. Yeesh.

2005-05-15T21:38:00.000-05:00

I woke up today, disoriented, and not knowing what to do. I sat at home in my rank jammies, ate ice cream, and watched bad mindnumbing television. I was supposed to do my laundry, but then I had no detergent and went out this evening to get some. There, I fell into a grocery store trance.

I saw a flyer of someone running for school board. I viciously ripped apart their writing, and ripped up their flyer. Looking at writing that's worse than my own, that's rewarded so much more than mine, makes me ill.

Tommorrow I suppose I'm supposed to talk about what I want to do this summer. I should look for a job, and hope I land one, for I just do not want to be in a working situation with Blondie ever again--- the lack of discipline and the racism is bad enough. If her friend is anything like her, I'll be getting it all freaking day -- plus it is mindnumbing.

2005-05-14T20:45:00.000-05:00

I finished my last exam. I'm sure I made grievous errors, such as forgetting the difference between larceny by trick and embezzlement.

I just feel so empty.

Tommorrow I'll go to school and pick up the rest of my books, clean out my horrible room, and return to the constant nagging and imprecations of my parents.
I alternate between feeling too mentally taxed, and feeling like my brain is rotting in a bath of junk, as I do between terror and indifference. I am a lonely person indeed -- I have no drinking buddies, let alone confidantes.

I suppose I'll attempt to polish up a writing sample and try to get a summer job -- but I won't, because I'm a lazy fucking slacker and everyone else isn't. I don't think that 20 hour days are better than 16 hour days -- but I'm sure plenty of people will tell me otherwise.

I don't know that being a lawyer is the best thing -- but I don't know of anything else I could do; I'm such a fuckup as it is. Neither amusing an audience of one, nor creating art is valued-- and I am good at neither. The headlines just keep getting more and more absurd, and the Dominionists just keep getting shriller and more openly corrupt. My constant paranoia is that someone I love or know will be stuck in a camp, never to be seen, tortured, humiliated, all because of a bonehead Homeland Security officer or an anonymous tip made out of spite. I don't think it's likely, but I know it's in the back of my mind. Congress passed a National ID Act this week; God help me at the DMV. I fear that the Dominionists will try and pass new Comstock laws. Make no mistake; Dominionists, fundies, whathaveyou, are running the federal government. I know it's in the front of my parents mind whenever they caution me about expressing a strong political opinion. I don't know if I got into this because I thought it was respectable and safe, or if I had dreams of fighting for people.

Here I am; hemmed in by fate, circumstance, and everyone else's expectations. If I'm not dead, then surely I am dying,;just more painfully than I want.

The morning before my Property exam, I dreamt I found my brother in the shower, dead of a slit throat.

Croissant again.

2005-05-12T15:26:00.000-05:00

While I was *studying* for Beige's exam Wednesday in Borders, Croissant came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. She was much thinner. She is not dating Jimmy Crackpipe anymore,; she threw him out. In addition to the aforementioned ghoulishness he:

Cheated on her with ten different women at the Oregon.
Had priors for rape and burglary in addition to the crackpipe charge.
Was stashing cocaine in her appartment the entire time he was there.
Yelled at her, and hit her.

The only thing that suprised me was the other priors, but it fits my picture of him. Crackpipe is now working at another restaurant. She's now dating an older man, who is a PI who happens to be teaching her to become one. He also kept warning her off Crackpipe. He also happens to have an ex who keeps calling him up, and stole money from him. I told her that if PI doesn't work out, he could totally stalk her to the ends of the earth. I'm convinced, because it is Croissant, that the ex really is from Fatal Attraction. I am also convinced that no amount of PI training is going to stop people from targeting her -- she wants male approval too much, and that blinds her to neon flashing signs. She is extremely lucky that she isn't pregnant, diseased, or cooling her heels for possession of cocaine.

She elided the question of how much time elapsed between dumping Crackpipe and dating PI. PI is nice because he helps her out with money, is solvent, and doesn't watch her every second of the day. It's really really sad.

She said her mother is trying to get her committed because she is off of her meds. She complained of mother's control..

Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200. GO DIRECTLY TO JAIL.

2005-05-12T15:14:00.000-05:00

I took Daffy's exam. I'm certain I failed.

I took Hypo's exam. For all of his patented pre exam chatter, "Don't leave early, it's distracting... All I want to see is whether you know the issues..."I'm certain that over the years, that at least one student went into hysterics because the staple holding the answer sheet to the exam gave way.

I took Beige's exam. I'm sure it's an incomprehensible mess.

The Admiral's exam was harder than I expected. Also a mess of essays.

I keep wanting to be escapist because I'm certain I'm going to bomb anyways so why get only 4 hours of sleep every night.

I am thankful for small favors. I don't have to write a final 3 hour exam for Xtina. I'd cry if I had to do that. As it is, I felt like I wasted all of my effort in that direction anyways. I don't care if everyone tries to write on, I just don't want to do it.
Earnest is way too nice. I think he's going to wallop people.

I still am disappointed to be alive.

The meme of threes

2005-05-07T08:30:00.000-05:00

three names you go by:

You
A section of my dad's first name as my last name.
A shortened version of my first name (which nobody can say)

Three screen names you have:

That's proprietary information, my wholly owned subsidary! *crack*

Three things you like about yourself:

My small delicate hands.
My ability to entertain myself
The fact that sample shoes are usually in my size

Three things you hate/dislike about yourself:

My brain
the fact I procastinate a lot
My inconstant motivation

Three parts of your heritage:

a highly pronouced sense of duty
guilt
vegetarianism

Three things that scare you:

failure
towering anger from myself
the world going to hell.

Three of your everyday essentials:

scrunchie
news not reported by the mainstream media
someone to talk to.

Three things you are wearing right now:

scrunchie
glasses
a tank top

Three of your favorite bands/artists:

Tori Amos
Bjork
The Ramones

Three of your favorite songs at present:

My Sharona
Wargasm
The Coocoo Song

Three new things you want to try in the next 12 months:

bungee jumping
getting a law related job
Veuve Cliquot

Three things you want in a relationship (love is a given):

stability
equality
Being on the same wavelength

Three physical things that appeal to you about those to whom you are attracted:

Height
Cupid's Bow
Symmetry

Three things you just can't do:

Stay on task
Do calculus
Make like Ginsburg (she's superwoman)

Three of your favorite hobbies:

bloviating
coming up with the ultimate in jokes
embellishing the truth (in private of course)

Three things you want to do very much right now:

Buy a whole lot of new clothes
Get the hell out of dodge (by myself)
Do so much better than last semester.

Three places you want to go on vacation:

Bangkok
Toronto
Jamaica (Bumfuck, NJ is just not that interesting)

Three kids’ names: for either a boy or girl:

Bharat
Vijay
Barouch

Three things you want to do before you die:

Write a great bestselling novel and get lots of royalties.
Speak the truth to power and live and prosper.
Cut a swath through the Northeast.

2005-05-06T23:44:00.000-05:00

I drive aimlessly on hairpin turns,
listening for the whoosh as I speed by.
A giant cage of metal holds me,
Moving a mile a minute.
It’s too dangerous to walk outside after sunset.
I don’t want to be road kill or prey.
Everyone warns me about muggers behind the bushes.
Everyone says I should not be alone.
A woman as a companion is as good as none at all.
Everyone is wrong.
I am not Jack Kerouac,
Trusting of passengers or drivers along the way.
But I don’t follow an unofficial curfew.
I just stick to my town.
I stop at the all night supermarket.
Tattered flags
fallen from antennae
litter the parking lot.
The cashier on duty tells me,
“Don’t do anything your mother wouldn’t approve of”.
I look far too small and young.
Uniquely American,
I speed away.

2005-05-02T21:59:00.000-05:00

Come a little closer huh, ah will ya huh. Close enough to look in my eyes, Sharona.Keeping it a mystery gets to meRunning down the length of my thighs, SharonaNever gonna stop, give it up. Such a dirty mind. Always get it up for the touchof the younger kind. My my my i yi woo. M M M My Sharona... -- The Knack.

I've had this damn song in my head all week. It is a dirty old man song whose delicious poppiness takes the edge off. It was recorded the year I was born. I listened to the song and it is dirtier than I remember. I blush when I hear this song.

2005-05-02T21:39:00.000-05:00

My mother says that my uncle is exaggerating.

My doddhamma has breast cancer.

And I wrote out a suicide note in longhand yesterday.

Confessor

2005-04-29T16:21:00.000-05:00

People stop me on the street
They are hunkered down and tense
And confess things
Unspoken to others.
I do not know why they seek me out.
”I just tried to kill myself.”
“I passed out. When I came to, I was naked in my friend’s bed. ”
“God came to me from the waffle griddle.”
I cannot ask
“Why are you telling me this?”
At any rate, they would not hear.
I listen
To those in need
But they do not take my silence
As disinterest, impatience or scorn.
My face does not register
I am the well in which people
Drown their secrets,
Which sink like stones
Never to be seen again.

2005-04-29T11:14:00.000-05:00

I checked the family email account yesterday morning to see if super duper eligible had corresponded any further with my parents. After the huge guilt trip over giving him my email address, I have not heard from him. However, I saw an email from my uncle. I opened the email, and he said he's in a financial mess, and that he shouldn't have married his wife or had my cousins and that he feels he's cheated on them. That perhaps explains why my mother was crying in the early hours of Tuesday morning. She loves her sister in law, but my uncle is her only brother. I have no idea what happened or is happening, and I'll probably never get a straight answer.

I received a voice mail from Croissant a week ago asking how I was, and admitting that there may have been some fault on her part in regards to the last time I saw her. I haven't responded to her, because I just can't deal with her giant drama vortex right now. But I still think of her, guiltily. She is so vulnerable.

I feel so demoralized.

2005-04-27T21:57:00.000-05:00

Met with Xtina today. She kept saying that "It's not the end of the world", said she felt for me, and offered to help me edit a writing sample. I'll bet that she'll refuse to serve as a reference, even though she obstensibly said that she would for everyone in our class, twice in writing. I didn't really talk much because I couldn't stand to talk about all of my problems. It wouldn't have done any good anyways. In addition, Rhetorical Blowjob* kept sniffing around the meeting room, and he wasn't even supposed to be meeting her right after me.

I went to the bathroom in the middle of the meeting, and when I came back, there he was, walking out the door. I struggled to get it together before Hypo's class by forcing myself to smile in the bathroom. It's always so obvious that I've been crying; my nose turns red, and my eyes become bloodshot at the slightest welling of tears. *

This was Hypo's last real class, and I have now officially managed not to register on his radar screen. It doesn't matter anymore; I'm chickenshit. Hopefully I won't ever have to take another class with him again. I have such severe anxiety that I need a drink to even talk. I was afraid if I went to see him, he'd blow me off, or I'd start blubbering like a fool, and that wouldn't even elicit pity, just scorn. I made direct eye contact with him once; and it looked as though he'd call on me, but he didn't.

He told some story about getting arrested by the Duquesne police because he didn't care for the officer's tone of voice, and decided to bait him by not indicating his professor status. "I was an officer of the law"When the officer went to grab a blackjack, he told his class watching from Academic Row to watch his hands. He raised them and put them behind his back. No charges were ever filed. "The best part is, he managed to commit every first semester tort!"

We had our last Daffy class today. She was caustic and irritable and talked about zoning and her odd expectations for the exam. Characteristically, she told people to stop asking questions, and basically said she wouldn't be around this week and next. I was about to feel relieved, but then I remembered I still had to take this exam. In addition, rising 2Ls will have her for Taxation; and she will probably complain about being taxed. I think she needs to switch her anti depressants, because they aren't working (Ren Faire warned me that Daffy was "not a happy woman."). If she had accidentally snapped her rubber band at me, I would have gone off on her.

I feel as if I can't get any more real help. I've asked for my exams several fucking times, and the school keeps refiling them or telling me to come back another day, or some bullshit excuse. So I lied a little to Xtina about being helped; after all I should be grateful. It is profoundly discouraging dealing with the nitwits that run the Registrar and Front Office.

I spent the day on some Contracts and Torts, using flash cards.
__________________________________________________________________
* In the beginning of the year, we had gotten our first paper back. In addition, we received a model paper. Many people were upset with their grades. Gunner was indignant while reading the model paper by the lockers. "She just keeps saying 'Good' 'Good" and here she's sucking his dick." I don't believe the name was mentioned, or that Gunner would have said this about a male professor. I've heard rumors that he is working for her, and his opinion of her does not seem to have substantially changed.

**As a child, a classmate constantly teased me for being tear-happy. I haven't really changed at all.

2005-04-26T13:58:00.000-05:00

Laughable line of the day: “I’m really stressed about this exam”-Beige. Never mind that we have to take it.

So fucking tired of it all.

2005-04-24T00:15:00.000-05:00

I am still road ragey, depressive, anxious, and weepy.

I am increasingly frustrated with GSK and therapy. She keeps insisting I have NLVD, but yet cannot really convince me that it is the be all and end all, since she cannot say why it is a better diagnosis. When I asked her specific information two weeks ago, first she says she forgot what I said (after taking notes!) and then she directs me back to a fucking website. It's not helpful since

a) the ADA does not cover this stupid disability.

b) There 's nothing for adults as to information or advice or training -- I don't give a shit about babies; I'm not one anymore.

c) I looked at the fucking website already; I'm not interested in pawing through newsletters & going online and chatting with yet another group of people.

Plus I think maybe she is manipulative. She handed me this stupid workplace accomodations sheet a month ago. It was larded with things that people with NLVD cannot do -- which in the aggregate would rule out any possibility of being promoted, most chances of being hired, and most jobs. I got increasingly upset, and she kept blowing me off with flippant lines such as "You wouldn't want to do that anyways" completely ignoring the fact that most people work at jobs they do not really want to do anyways. She then said I had no business worrying about getting a job during the summer or shopping for clothing for interviews for such jobs. And then she kept saying that I needed to ask for a tutor from Xtina. And then seeing my reluctance said, "Oh, you're ashamed." She is not going to take me off this stupid crank for another two weeks either. I enjoy feeling like I've got Parkinson's. So I haven't called her back yet. Maybe I will after exams. Or after I take the entire fucking bottle and wash it down with some pricey liquor.

Also:

The administration at Hilly is completely assinine. In the handbook stating disability policy, it clearly states that the registrar's office is supposed to have the written copy of the policy. I go there, and Gunner and QB are lingering outside the office, for no apparent reason. The registrar tells me that there is no written policy, and that I need to write to the dean for information and that I should talk about what it is anyways, since she's going to know anyways. It is none of her fucking business unless I actually get accomodations. I didn't believe her bullshit about there being no written policy, since every single fucking policy is written down in triplicate. I was so close to slapping her stroke addled face. I don't know what jackass wrote the fucking handbook -- but I want a fucking attorney. If the administration is shitty providing information, I can expect to paddle up Niagara Falls on anything significant. (I also get to jump through hoops to read exams, and to try and plan my schedule around core classes which aren't scheduled yet.)

Random notes to teachers:

Hypo, you fucking twit from New Jersey, there is no Mr. Swarny. N.B. If we teach ourselves the law, why the fuck do we need law school? Or you? We don't get to practice til we take the bar and we cram for that ourselves anyways. I'm not sure how much I learned from hearing Gunner flap his gums.
I can hardly wait for Xtina to tell me how badly I've done. She did get me a tutor, but I can't feel warmth towards her --I don't think I can forgive the lack of sympathy or slack when Atti died. Plus, her class was responsible for 90% of my mortal terror this year. I got no real clue of what was expected of good legal writing or really of formalities, the TA was an avoidant bitch, and the library course was ridiculous. I dislike the idea I should pathetically grub for crumbs, while people like Rhetorical Blowjob whine about their lack of ego strokes.
Beige, I don't know why each class is your special conversation with the one person on panel that day. We know you pitch softball questions, but it still is a sloppy lazy way to teach, especially in a class of 6o fucking people.
For that matter, the Socratic Method is a piss poor method of teaching a class of more than 20 people. Over that, and some people are required never to speak, if Daffy's admonitions are to be believed. I don't know what moneygrubbing jackass thought that combining large classes and the Socratic Method was a good idea-- but I think people that put up mortgage loans to come here deserve more.

2005-04-23T23:09:00.000-05:00

I don't really talk about law school much to anybody, except to perhaps complain about it, and then only to Arizona. I don't really say things to my parents either.

It may be that I'm just not excited about the enterprise. But part of my problem is that I am in such a state that I'm not excited about much of anything nowadays, nor can I plan. Rather, I cycle between terror and complete indifference.

One of the reasons I may not talk about law school with my parents is this:
I simply do not think they would understand, and much of what I would say has a "you-had-to-be-there" quality.

Or I'm convinced that my parents would be throughly bored by the details of Erie or vertical privity or jointfeasors or incohoate crimes or whatever else you can name.

Or I've been so caught up in my giant struggle to be able to do something while fighting off feeling like such a complete and utter failure on the brink of overdosing, that I don't have the energy to actually enjoy anything I'm doing.

Or that the vast bulk of my day happens to be, in no particular order: solitaire, surfing, comestibles & drink, class, study and engaging in small talk.

Or I feel that nobody understands the amount of pressure I'm under, and I simply do not have the patience to make them understand. I had a meltdown when my paper would not print the morning my brief was due, and they simply did not understand. My mother was completely chill during exam week and this week asked, "Why can't you come to so and so's party? Your cousin will be there." In addition my aunt huffed, "Well, Cousin works harder than Author does."

Or simply some of the more colorful anecdotes would shock them. For example, in my last class, someone finally repeated Beige's suprising laughline to Hypo. (I think it was Meathead.) Hypo just replied that Beige was a "politically correct kneejerk liberal" and that he did in fact have a history of not understanding women, and that he would say whatever he pleased. That was the sound of Hypo's knee jerking.

My parents would probably have some choice comments about a man who is on marriage #3 to a woman fifteen years younger. Or not. I don't know whether that disapproval extends to men on their part. My father is a clean spoken quiet man driven to rage by obscenity. He would have a problem with Hypo's apparent glee in slinging around epithets and swear words like a five year old, and the exaggerated swings of his voice in the middle of class. My poor parents would have simultaneous heart attacks hearing the pertinent ad in Hustler Magazine v. Jerry Falwell.

My extended family, for example, would have problems with Xtina on general principle. I know my grandfather was moved to call her cold and unfeeling, but I'm not sure how much of that was motivated by Atti's recent death, and a general disapproval of working women. My parents were scandalized by the idea of Xtina bringing a red and a white on Fridays. I know my grandfather would steeple his fingers and say, "This is why India needs to follow a civil system. The adversarial system is American, and gets in the way of justice. In America the lawyers are so stressed that they drink in the middle of the day. The French just have long lunches."

Despite my parents' supposed wisdom, I swear they are sometimes so naive.

2005-04-01T23:27:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Xtina mandated that we show up to watch the debaters compete to be in Moot Court. I made up my mind to sit there and play Spider.

Prescription + 4 oz. Beaujolais = babbling narrator. One of the lovely side effects is that I don't know just how drunk I'll get on any given occasion, plus I may go into seizures. This is in addition to the dry mouth and the shakes. It wasn't too bad. Funnily enough, nobody uncorked the wine until Xtina told everyone too. It's as if nobody wants to seem more alcoholic than the rest of the other people.

I probably spoke more that day than I have all week. I also dropped a cracker. I stepped outside during the break, needing the fresh air. I was too dressed up, felt incredibly dowdy. The building was too warm.

"One of the benefits of smoking is the fresh air." I said.

"Did you see the judge? She's hot. I'd fuck her." -- Drawler, said of Xtina's boss.
"Well, you're not the only one, I could see how that --"
Oops, -- well nobody pays attention anyways. I'm straight though; if I were gay on top of everything else in my family I would have killed myself a long time ago. My parents are very homophobic.

Control

2005-04-01T22:31:00.000-05:00

It's raining outside today. I associate rain pounding on the roof with being lulled to sleep and a sense of security. A sense of security is something I don't have right now.

I had prepared the chapter ahead, while we were still on the last, so I felt stupid as usual. Gunner looked bleary, clutching a Cherry Pepsi, probably from drinking heavily in celebration the night before. My only regret is that I didn't enter into a bet with anyone; perhaps I could have won some money. Then I could not bring myself to confront Hypo after class. I'm not sure I'm still registered; I have never been called on in that class ever. Plus I need to wrangle the other half of my exam from him. Walking out of class, the list of every semifinalist and their argument trials were posted on the wall, and people crowded around the announcement. Looking at the list, while my back was turned, Gunner bumped into me. There were some people I knew, but most I couldn't place, though I'm sure I'd recognize their faces.

I figured I may as well do some work in the library, so I grabbed a table and set up my laptop, determined to finish at a week's worth of work in one course. At some point, Gunner and some woman were discoursing loudly about the pros and cons of every argument for the one issue for moot court. Gunner was right below me on the 2nd floor. I tried to ignore it while I was taking notes. He stopped. Then he started up again. I was so pissed off --- I went to the library specifically so I couldn't concentrate in the hallway or at home, and here Gunner was rambling about a fucking hypothetical hangglider. I shouldn't have to sign up for a fucking study room or move my seat, just so I could study. Gunner could practice for Sunday elsewhere. I have had it, I thought.

I leaned over the side rail and said clearly so it carried, "Excuse me, I'm sorry, but could you keep it down? I'm trying to study."

Gunner looked up, and blinked. Asshole didn't even say sorry -- but he did shut up. Maybe the other people in the library thought I was an ass -- but what the fuck did I care? I was this close to snapping off his head from his twiggy body. I must have still been upset, for when I went to ask what Sanders was videotaping, the camerawoman asked if it was ok. Gunner conked out on the stuffed chair and began to snore.
I have serious assertiveness problems, obviously. I'm fine outside the law school building, people can hear me well. But inside, I have a quiet little girl's voice when I do speak, and I probably look about four inches shorter than I am, and I'm 5'1/2" I am such a freak.

The guy on my left in class came by at some point and asked me what I was upto today. That conversation fell like an anchor. I ran into some other people outside the library watching the Pontiff deathwatch on Fox and CNN and discussing the ceremonial hammering of a deceased pope, and headed on out.

At Borders I picked up a book on NLVD. I thought I needed to know more. GSK hasn't really told me much that I understand. I'm not sure if that diagnosis fits, but I took the book home to show my mother, who expounded on why it was wrong, implied that I needed discipline, and when I asked her to think about what I was like as a child, replied with insinuations that I didn't really like girly stuff when I was little, and I could be more feminine if I really wanted to. Then she asked me if I wanted to give my email to the latest suitable, and I just told her I didn't have energy right now. "Maybe it's a different type of energy." Then I told her to do what she wanted. I suggested that if I was interested then I could email him, and if not then I wouldn't. "No, I had to talk to your father first and ask if it was ok." Yesterday, she hovered over me telling me what picture of his to look at first, and oohed and aahed over the fact he looks excellent on paper and can write a decent letter. Even if Arizona didn't exist, I'd still find this highly irritating. As it is, my parents have felt completely free to disregard my dating status in the past.

All these fucking antiquated rules must be followed. I'm not kidding when I say my life is a cross between The Adventures of Walter Mitty and The Age of Innocence. The guy can't talk to me first. He talks to my parents. Then I'm supposed to wait while they check everything but his shorts and dental records. After that, I'm supposed to email and then let my mother look in on everything that's written, so she can tell me how to respond.

Or: I must go and get poked by pointy things to get rid of my invisible blackheads, and wear oodles of makeup, and wear the clothing my mother chooses, and act demure and sweet while nursing a 100 degree fever, and only speak when spoken to, while dingbat suitor comes in his rumpled clothes and my grandparents' servants serve him tea and my extended family peppers the poor man with questions.

I may just start exercising again, just so I can have a release. Nothing important is under my control.

Two Interludes.

2005-03-29T20:04:00.000-05:00

Back from Easter Break. Every class I had today was either truncated or cancelled. It seem so wrong that I don't know my own schedule -- that I get tripped up by such a small thing. I shan't write about how awful my life is just yet, so here's something amusing, and if it isn't-- well, you had to be there.

Daffy said, " Beefy Side, you're up, tell me what sort of easement this is. ---Oh, Beefy, I see you have a new beard?"
She turned to the center of the room. "No, Gunner, I can't answer a question now."
"I see you're distracted by my sexy beard," Beefy said.
At that the class was roaring.
"No offense, Beefy, but you're too young."
The class giggled even more.

___________________________________________________________________

Beige's class was boring as usual, but I did not play solitaire, because I was convinced she would call on me, since I had gone up to her the day I missed class. We were briefly talking about jury selection.

"Hypo said that women are harder on women," volunteered Meathead.
Beige said, "What does Hypo know about women? You have to do better than that."
The class erupted in gales of laughter, and some women in the center actually started clapping.

Signs that you need a break (trying to be funny)

2005-03-21T16:35:00.000-05:00

You wake up with no memory and Palsgraff imprinted on your face.
The word “the” fascinates you with its legal meaning—and it has absolutely nothing to do with the case.
You scare small children even with full makeup and concealer.
Inserting a catheter and IV seems like a sensible timesaving maneuver.
Reading a case, you think “Kill them all, let God sort it out.”
You show up in your interview suit not because you have an interview, but because you haven’t done laundry in a month.
You think the twitching is not so bad.
You show up in your first class of the day with your toothbrush.
Viagra has no effect on you -- and you're a 22 year old guy.
People outside the law school have no idea if you’re alive.
You’ve reserved a section of Yellowstone specifically for your Westlaw printouts.
The sun feels – strangely warm.
You're hunched over like a dwarf-- and you used to be 6'2".
Your red eyes aren't from smoking a bong -- they're from being up for 60 hours straight.

2005-03-20T23:10:00.000-05:00

My teeth hurt -- I think I may have a cavity, due to the complete lack of saliva, my reliance on sugary caffeine drinks, & my less than optimal dental hygiene. I haven't been to the dentist in ages. I really bled when I flossed today. I was one of those kids who got four cavities and then never got any again.

Also: I'm jittery and panicky one freaking cup of tea and the drug I'm currently on. I was also a little panicky. Granted I have a nervous disposition, but feeling that way during five minutes of Gladiator? C'mon.

All weekend, I've been sluggish and bored, waiting for the day to end, not able to get the motivation to do work or do anything.

Despite all of this, my brain doesn't turn on til I've had caffeine -- no matter how much sleep I get.

I spent time looking at Erowid, trying to ascertain if taking the whole damn month's supply would do anything. Nope. Salon has some headline article on speed. I looked up Provigil. Ow.

*grinds teeth*

2005-03-19T00:22:00.000-05:00

The votes are all in. And the people who are going to represent our class in moot court are all men. Which I think is weird. I honestly think that at least one woman should have been up there and this is not just because of my biases. I honestly think the men who made it were the ones who talked the most, the loudest and looked the best in a suit. One guy, for example, shaved his head, and has not settled into ex QB fat yet. Another guy is basically tall, a medium build, blond. The third guy is basically doe eyed and snaggle toothed. Gunner as I noted, was wearing this utmost dress for success ensemble. I don't understand why the QB made it ahead of everyone else. I just don't think he was objectively better than most of the class, either in class all semester or at oral arguments. I can think of at least two women who were comparable, if not better than him, imho. Other women, didn't look nearly as authoritative as they could have, for example, or were too soft spoken, even if they didn't get rattled. Other people I think were eliminated because they were pudgy or were not intelligible, or older, or slackers. I know I was perceived as a slacker and a deer in the headlights, so I knew going in that I would have a snowball's chance in hell. I believe that most people had made up their minds beforehand.

2005-03-18T18:46:00.000-05:00

I went to see Dr. GSK on Wednesday after oral arguments. Basically she has nothing to offer me except a letter, breathing exercises and a higher dose. And "I understand how you feel." It rankles that nobody can give me more than cheap sympathy and drugs. I feel as if my purpose in getting therapy has all been in vain. Why did I even bother? Why did I take the LSATs three times? Why did I keep asking people for help? Why did I sequester myself in the library until 10 pm most nights last semester? Why did I finally get over my crushing doubt about being admitted anywhere and apply and write those stupid essays and ask people for recommendations? Why? I don't even want to get out of bed, let alone go to class and read the cases anymore -- it just seems like such a waste of effort in order to be perpetually one down. I'd rather be the world's biggest slacker then try and fail on such a scale. I don't have it in me to pick myself back up again. It's one thing to start over, it's another thing to not even start. Medical leave, withdrawing, going through this semester -- it all seems to me to be the same. GSK remarked that I had more important things to worry about than finding job appropriate pumps. GSK keeps pointing out that I was able to get into this specific law school, but for what? My mother said now that the important thing is that I tried -- but I know she doesn't really believe it.

I looked up Wellbutrin overdoses online. It seems to be a very hard drug to kill yourself with. Maybe some Ambien, some liquor, Wellbutrin and a plastic bag.

2005-03-18T18:40:00.000-05:00

sometimes i'm a crashing bore
when i try to ask for more
when i want more than crumbs
i don't care i am numb.
don't you want another life
don't you want another life.
i don't want anymore
i don't need anything
what i can't have
won't kill me
but it does sting.
bitter is as bitter does
coffee grinds & worn down nubs
suck on a lemon pacifier
nobody likes a high flier
keep your mouth in a smile
antacid laughter honey bile
don't you want another life
don't you want another life

Want.

2005-03-18T18:27:00.000-05:00

I never want to admit to wanting anything. Ever. I never seem to get what I want, so even admitting I want anything, seems to me to be too raw. It seems to be an exercise in self abnegation. I'd rather deny it, then cop to wanting anything important. I'd rather tell myself, I do not, in fact, desire anything. Sometimes I convince myself and I believe it so throughly that even a lie detector test would not ferret me out.

When I was young, every birthday I'd wish for some friends when I blew out the candles. Of course, that never happened in the manner I wished. I stopped wishing for things on my birthday several years ago. I never tell people I want x for my birthday. I never say, I want this food or that drink or that restaurant on that day. Part of it is that I really do not know. I don't want to be reminded that this is another year in which I failed to get what I want. I feel as if I've been waiting for my whole life for something --- at first friends, and then finally getting out of the house, and now finally getting back on track with my life so I can have some semblance of respectability. I wanted to go on vacation again somewhere without my family. I wanted to be able to date someone special out in the open. Such simple things, and I feel as if I shall never get them.

I'd rather die than admit that I want something. Or show enthusiasm. Perhaps I don't deserve any of it. I just feel as if the world is a pail of cold water, waiting to be thrown on me as soon as I express any desire openly, suffocating my enthusiasms and dreams. My life is an exercise in continual frustration and arrested desire, and I do not see that changing until the day I die. So I must suffer contentment, since jealousy doth mock the meat it feeds on.

Gunner

2005-03-18T18:06:00.000-05:00

Anyway, today we had the 2nd day of oral arguments. Gunner clearly wanted to represent the class more than anyone else.

The day before my oral arguments I asked Marm to fire questions at me, since I've been completely mute in class. She said I'd do fine, and said, "Don't worry, everyone's on the same side. Beat. Except Gunner?"
"What side is he on? His own?"
"Gunner's hypercompetitive".

Today, Gunner was nervously pacing the floor up and down before we came back from recess. He had on a pinstriped suit with padded shoulders, crocodile shoes, conservative tie -- the works. He even had a red hankerchief in his front pocket. During the first set of arguments, he was fidgeting constantly. He looked like what he was -- a young skinny man straight out of college, trying his best to be taken seriously. I knew someone with the same type of build, and he would get mistaken for a kid at his high school, and people would ask for his hall pass. He got carded at bars and at movies. Gunner's opponent was holding on to the back of the chair, tightly, not moving. I couldn't really get myself to listen to Gunner argue -- I was rooting so much for his opponent that I really didn't care.

I didn't understand why I was tense during that class session -- after all, I had already done my oral arguments on Wednesday, and I knew that I have no chance in hell of ever representing the class. I freely admit to being jealous -- I had to steel myself for this class in order to attend. But the anxiety? I tried that stupid four square breathing exercise, but I don't think it really helped.

After everyone had finished their arguments, we all voted on the four people who we wanted to represent us at the class. It was anonymous of course. I pretty much knew who I was going to vote for, but I racked my brain trying to find someone to vote for so I wouldn't have to include Gunner in the final four. I voted for my opponent, who throughly bested me and was the standout, one member of my group, his opponent, and a girl who had gone the day before who I thought was decent. I don't think it will stop Gunner in anyway, but I felt guilty for not voting for him and yet, in the unlikely event he doesn't make it, I will experience a small pleasure in denying him. Petty, I know.

In the bathroom before oral arguments, I and Marm were trying to encourage Gunner's opponent. "I think he should get bopped on the nose", Marm said. When I asked why, she said something to the effect that it was a necessary milestone to his future as a litigator. I guess she thinks of him as a puppy, and an insolent one at that. I don't really care about Gunner's brain.

I went home after that, and in the garage nearly ran over Daffy. She waved. Then I went and looked at fluffy magazines at Borders.

2005-03-14T22:37:00.000-05:00

You Are Pride !You're competitive about most things. And feel
compelledto constantly assure yourself of your greatness.
But hey,It's not all bad - maybe you are that good! You
generallylook presentable, and are well educated because you
wouldn't letyourself be any other way. People are intimidated
of you though,so try and tone it down a bit - after all nobody is
perfect.
Congratulations ... You are the 'Best Kept' of the
7 deadly sins!

?? Which Of The Seven Deadly Sins Are You ??
brought to you by

2005-03-14T15:21:00.000-05:00

I apparently require more preparation for study than Barry White does to make sweet love. I'm either distracted by noise, or quiet, or need to pee, or am tense, or tired, or need caffeine, or some odd combination thereof. I'm completely hyper and nervous, and I'm being completely set on edge right now. I got another classmate to lob questions at me tommorrow morning, but I don't know how well that would work. As usual, lots of people were missing in the morning. I just want to know when I'm required to talk in front of the clerks so I can get it over with already. *grinds teeth*

Whatever shall I wear?

2005-03-13T00:08:00.000-05:00

My brother incessantly watches hockey programs late at night when people should sleep. It's quite annoying. He never seems to learn that nobody wants to hear Lemieux's hat-trick while they are trying to sleep at night. That, and my parents are why I used to use earplugs to help me sleep at night. I think earplugs might be a good idea during the day too. Then I don't have to feel like beating everyone that watches television over a whisper.

Today I went browsing at the mall for shoes and a suit. It occured to me that my wardrobe has needed a drastic overhaul for some time now, but the turning point came when I missed a Women's Networking Social because I did not have a thing to wear. Also, I am required to wear clothing like I would on an interview for the oral arguments of death -- so I need to dress like I'm going to interview for a job.

If I'm correct, my jacket seperate and black pants barely qualify as casual. The most formal wear is a skirt suit with hose and heels. I'm not sure why -- because the fear of a run is more "professional?" Because we need to remind people we're women? I don't know -- you'll never see men required to flash their knees in any setting. r Because "professional" equals "uncomfortable"? I liked the pinkish seersucker I saw, but I keep associating it with a Bar-Bri rep and I keep thinking "Mary Kay saleswoman" when I see it on other women. I'm not sure whether or not that is a good thing. It seems like something someone in a more relaxed field would wear -- it doesn't say power. The black one is ok, but I feel like it's kind of untailored, (pocket flaps! why do designers persist in useless pocket flaps!) and that everyone can tell the whole thing costs less than a hundred bucks. Everything I saw online costs at least $200 to make a suit, and some places charged $200 for the jacket -- readymade. I'm probably a broke cheapskate, but if I'm going to spend a small fortune on a suit, shouldn't the damn thing be tailored to fit my body? Banana Republic offers "tailoring" -- i.e. we'll hem the thing for you.

I haven't the faintest fucking idea how female attorneys dress for trial. The firm I interned at briefly had no female lawyers -- just men who wore suits all the time. When I sat in on a deposition, I didn't register the female attorney's wear either. I have never seen or spoken to a female lawyer in the flesh. I just keep thinking pinstripe, navy or black skirt suit with a neutral shell, nude hose, and high heels.

I also looked at shoes in two stores. I can't decide what is a good shoe. I just know I can't wear the shoes I wear to school every day. Professional means that I must have a shoe that has a heel of at least 2 inches but not more than 3. It cannot be a funky color. I found myself wondering if visible stitching was too much for an interview. Chunky heels are out. No kitten heels. I know every other woman seems to love wearing jeans with high heels. Pointy toed high heels. I've seen classmates hobble around in very pointy toed, stilleto-ish ankle boots. I cannot fathom walking up and down several flights of stairs a day in heels, while carrying a 20 lb backpack and a laptop. As it is, I have trouble carrying all that like a pack mule, and I have been known to trip over my own jeans. While stone cold sober. I'm going to find a Hush Puppy or an Aerosole -- I can't stand pain, and I don't really know how to walk in heels. I also have "trick ankles" that randomly seem to give out when I wear a shoe with a high heel. I once did that at the top of the stairs once, and only by my professor grabbing my arm did I avoid tumbling down several flights of stairs. The last thing I need, is to be thinking about how much my *&^*%&% shoes are pinching my feet and fucking up my knees while I'm terrified out of my mind.

2005-03-12T23:56:00.000-05:00

One of the great ironies of my life is that as soon as Dr. GSK decided I had NLVD, my parents have suddenly conceived a great interest in ADD. ADD is now a popular syndrome; look it has a drug that's incessantly marketed! NLVD, in contrast, doesn't. ADD is a symptom of modern life, it seems, or too much sugar, and is a sign of brillance or something. NLVD, on the other hand, is unknown to most people and medical professionals, and seems to be code for "asocial loner". ADD is something that is socially acceptable to some extent. NLVD seems to be on par with autism and Aspberger's syndrome, and pervasive developmental disorder. I'm sure, as I've said before some stupid psychiatrist will diagnose me with something else.

I fucking hate my psychiatrist, I hate my parents for giving me my stupid brain, I hate everybody who seems to have it so easy. I hate PLEA, I hate my stupid pricey high school, I hate my former psychologist, and I hate fucking SUVs that speed up on a crosswalk to get you to walk faster. I flicked one off on Friday; I'm sure it'll come back to haunt me somehow.

2005-03-11T16:05:00.000-05:00

Somehow in order to pass I must:
Miraculously manage to be charming and pretty so people will overlook my background and present circumstances and help me -- ie. tutor me.

Miraculously churn out lots of superior work product and a little amount of time.

and miraculously do so well that I have a job for the summer.

and I'm doing this because I wasn't smart enough to quit within the first few weeks of school, and I wasn't smart enough to seek psychiatric help constantly from that time, and well, I already have paid the money, and damned if I quit now.

I wish I was never born or existed. If I were a man, I would have killed myself a long time ago.

2005-03-09T22:13:00.000-05:00

So, another session with Dr. GSK. Apparently now the focus is getting me to be able to come back next year -- when did this change? Did my mother and GSK confer and say I should brazen it out? Just some usual crap -- stop beating up on yourself, eat your meals, get your sleep, take your meds. Oh, and "templates" is the magic word of the day. One lesson learned: live closer to where you work, or get an extra long life battery. Also, even you decide to drive 80 mi on the freeway, it will still take you a half hour to get from Hilly to the house. Today's Shivratri-- I didn't go with my parents to the temple, because I need to work on my paper. I'm not working on it now, because I feel like it is such an exercise in futility; I won't finish the paper for a draft, I won't get a draft in on time, I won't get any feedback from Xtina, and I may as well quit school. I'm still prone to screaming crying rages.

I thought of slitting a vein, a vivid thought, but not something I can manage to do. I'm terrified of needles.

Maybe I'm not suited for this. Maybe I'm not suited for anything at all.

It's 10:30 pm. It feels like midnight.

Thou art not a miracle drug.

2005-03-07T19:46:00.000-05:00

Signs that a high dose is reaching its limits

I still forget what the hell i'm doing in the middle of doing it.
It still takes me 20 minutes from deciding to go to actually leaving the place to leave law school.
I forgot numerous times to pick up something or to make a trip to a locker today.
I still get bloodlust over bad drivers and waiting.
At t0o high of a concentration in my blood it makes me bug eyed, and I think"Must. Scratch. Face. Off."
Still feel compelled to go walk outside several times.
I cannot multitask with this, it's hard to break my attention.

Sartorial Update

2005-03-07T19:41:00.000-05:00

1st day back from break*cough* and people are wearing new clothes and sporting new hairstyles.

Gunner is not sporting his usual Ohio State pimp gear. Instead, following up on his decision to cut his hair, he was wearing a blue tee layered with a blue button down shirt. He still looks like a monkey and he still plays with his hair more than a shampoo model.
One of my lrw group got a new flippy haircut; an improvement over her long, straight, parted in the center blond hair which accentuated her long face.
The guy on my left in the morning, buzzed his head, getting rid of his overlong, floppy, and in need of a wash brown hair. I almost didn't recognize him.
Party Poker Guy looks the same.
Women showed up in their pastel clothing.

yes I know I'm sartorially challenged.

2005-03-06T18:33:00.000-05:00

What. is. wrong. with. me. ?

2005-03-06T18:29:00.000-05:00

Today:
Woke up. Swallowed pill.
Looked at crap on the internet.
Wondered what the hell was wrong with me.
Posted.
Ate breakfast.
Posted on bb.
Talked to 2 people.
Went to sleep.
Woke up. Ate. Took pill.
came back to bedroom.
Looked at crap.
Took 3rd pill with swig of coke.
Grinding teeth. Tense.

Typical

2005-03-06T12:54:00.000-05:00

My mother had come home on Thursday with gems the astrologer said would help my concentration. I don't know how much of my situation was clear to her.
I explain to my mother that I don't think I can salvage my semester after three weeks of not being able to function. I don't think it's realistic to expect me to turn around and be superwoman afterwards. I explain the option of medical leave and what that entails. I tell her I can't put it off more than a week before finals.

My mother: "You just keep plugging until the deadline, no."

"Why aren't you wearing your rings!? I spent xxxxxx rupees on that. You don't want help, you want an excuse!"

At that I just started walking away.

In which our heroine is glad she doesn't have to deal with these people every day

2005-03-05T09:39:00.000-05:00

Nuff said.

I haven't heard from Croissant in months; since December to be exact. I never hear from her unless she wants something. Croissant will change hair color, weight, and jobs in the blink of an eye. In December, she told me that she was engaged and then wanted to drop by for a visit, two minutes from my house, on the cell phone. Unfortunately I was in the middle of exams.

The gist of all of this is that Croissant is not the most reliable person in the world. She has abysmal taste in men, and if she treated me is how she treats all of her friends, then it's a wonder she has any friends at all. Croissant consistently chooses the men in her life over her friends, at least it seems that way to me. Croissant is manic-depressive, but sometimes she really gets on my nerves.

I called her up the next day, like she asked me to. She said she couldn't afford to go out to dinner, and did not want to be treated. Fine. She also asked me to bring some snack food, and that another one of her friends was coming over. "I'm so hungry, and I need something fattening. I don't know what to get for a vegetarian. " On my way out of the door, my mother decides she needs to tell me about the latest and greatest in suitors and show me a suitable's biodata and scanned picture-- but she just can't find it. I cannot tell my mother to buzz off, so I'm sitting there for a half hour with a strained smile. "Oh, you can keep Croissant waiting, dear." Finally I get ready to leave with pretzels, dip and leftover fruit, when Croissant calls. "I haven't been able to drink in a while. I really need to get drunk tonight." So I figure, hey, might as well spring for a bottle of wine, right? Croissant, her fiancee, her other friend who I'll call A, and me. So I grab some chips, dip, and a nice red. I figure we may as well have some nice food right? I finally manage to make it over to her appartment.

Once there I find out that Croissant's fiancee is not joining us tonight. "He has to to work at the bar tonight." Then I find out that A is Buddhist, which in her case, means not only is vegetarian, but she also does not drink alcohol. Keep in mind that I only met A once, several years ago. That leaves me and Croissant to drink wine. I also find out that she has not asked the other person to bring some food either, and I am providing all the food for the evening. Croissant tries to open the bottle of wine, and just manages to push the cork in the bottle. We sit around, turn on some music, look at some bridal magazines. I drink maybe half a glass of wine. Croissant drinks maybe 3 glasses, and then takes the bottle and chugs it. Croissant gets silly on the wine, flashes us, "We're all girls here, right?" She then dumps the wine out into the flour pot and sticks it on the top cabinet, because "He doesn't like it when I drink. He gets all angry and moody when he drinks."

She asks me and A to be her bridesmaids. She then says she will ask a high school classmate of mine to be the maid of honor. This classmate is in med school in another city. She hasn't asked her yet, because she doesn't know her number, and hasn't talked to her in two years.

She shows us the ring he got her, and says that they haven't told her parents yet because her fiancee doesn't want them to know until after the holidays. I'm not clear on whether Croissant pays rent or whether her parents do. I then learn that Croissant's PI friend thinks that her fiancee may be doing drugs because he comes home with smoky red eyes and is angry all the time.

Then she decides she wants to go visit her fiancee at the bar. I figure we may as well get some extra bridal magazines, and Croissant can sober up. We all pile into my car, since Croissant is too inebriated to drive, and A is legally blind. A & I get some coffee at Borders which is five minutes from Croissant's appartment. Croissant won't drink coffee, because "it makes me sick".

We then head to the Oregon. The Oregon is packed on this particular night, with no place to park, but dangerously close to some trucks and SUVs. "Oh stop worrying about parking properly, silly", Croissant says. I glare at her, and say that my car was just repaired because some asshole in a white SUV backing into it didn't leave a note, and it cost me $500. She giggles.

We head into the loud, packed, smokey bar. It's apparently karoake night, and the waitresses in their Ms. Claus porn gear are busy. Croissant is hungry and wants an appetizer. A offers to pay and asks if the bar takes credit, as she has no cash. Croissant never answers. We see her boyfriend, who is a leathery looking if slight guy for 30 years old. We get soft drinks and some appetizer because she wanted it. My contacts bug me so I end up heading out briefly to get some fresh air. A, however, is having a worse time. Not only is A legally blind, she's allergic to smoke.

So we end up deciding to leave. Croissant heads outside. I stand in front of the cash register, and wave at the woman operating it for twenty minutes, and get no response. I have cash, but I don't have exact change for the bar, and there is no way I'm leaving $20 for a $5. A has a card, but the bar won't charge it right away; it's so they can start a tab. A's lungs keep bothering her, and she needs me to help her out of the bar, so I end up leaving. I figure if I attempt to give them their money for 20 minutes right in front of them, and they won't take it, it's not my obligation to pay anymore.

In my car we head out and Croissant complains that she's hungry and wants some MickeyDs. She says, "Are you mad at me?" I say, "Yes."

We end up at her appartment and she ends up detailing the sad woes of her boyfriend. He got caught with a crackpipe some drifter left in the backseat of his car, she says. That's why he can't pay any rent, 7/8 of his income goes toward paying off his costs. She then goes into this harrowing saga of ending up in the hospital in pain --- because of a horrible UTI. "The doctors say that guys can get UTIs too, and I tell bleep to watch for the signs, but he's not very good at it." While in the hospital, she also found out that her birth control isn't working, because she ovulates twice a month. "In my biological family, the ability to have twins skips generations. I have at least a 40% chance of having twins." "Does he wear a condom?" "No, Bleep doesn't like the way they feel."

A volunteers, "I don't think anything is happening. The smoke in that bar would make anybody's eyes turn red."

Croissant says, "Not if they're heavy smokers."

I then leave, throughly disgusted.

A week later I'm sitting peacefully in Borders, when Croissant taps me on the shoulders. "Hi Croissant." "My fiancee is here, and the bill didn't get paid, and he's angry at you. You'd better make sure he doesn't see you."

Faced with visions, of an irrational, angry man possibly on crack, I slink out of the bookstore, furious. I am now deathly afraid of letting Croissant into my car.

"The Rape" of Mr. Smith

2005-03-03T12:16:00.000-05:00

By: Anonymous
The law discriminates against rape victims in a manner which would not be tolerated by victims of any other crime. In the following example, a holdup victim is asked questions similar in form to those usually asked a victim of rape.

"Mr. Smith, you were held up at gunpoint on the corner of 16th and Locust?"

"Yes."

"Did you struggle with the robber?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He was armed."

"Then you made a conscious decision to comply with his demands rather than to resist?"

"Yes."

"Did you scream? Cry out?"

"No. I was afraid."

"I see. Have you ever been held up before?"

"No.""Have you ever given money away?"

"Yes, of course--"

"And did you do so willingly?"

"What are you getting at?"

"Well, let's put it like this, Mr. Smith. You've given away money in the past--in fact, you have quite a reputation for philanthropy. How can we be sure that you weren't contriving to have your money taken from you by force?"

"Listen, if I wanted--"

"Never mind. What time did this holdup take place, Mr. Smith?"

"About 11 p.m.""You were out on the streets at 11 p.m.? Doing what?"
"Just walking."

"Just walking? You know it's dangerous being out on the street that late at night. Weren't you aware that you could have been held up?"

"I hadn't thought about it."

"What were you wearing at the time, Mr. Smith?"

"Let's see. A suit. Yes, a suit."

"An expensive suit?"

"Well--yes."

"In other words, Mr. Smith, you were walking around the streets late at night in a suit that practically advertised the fact that you might be a good target for some easy money, isn't that so? I mean, if we didn't know better, Mr. Smith, we might even think you were asking for this to happen, mightn't we?"

"Look, can't we talkin about the past history of the guy who did this to me?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Smith. I don't think you would want to violate his rights, now, would you?"

This is what you get for being a skank:

2005-03-03T10:23:00.000-05:00

Four years ago this past December I barely escaped being sexually assaulted by two "friends". All of this is too familiar to me. I barely held it together to pass most of my senior classes that following semester. I had to take longer to finish a senior seminar-- a difficult feat since I suffered from the shame of not being able to function. I still feel the reprecussions of that in my academic life and in my personal relationships. I know it really hurt me when my so called friends chose to interact with those two people as if nothing happened. Cary's advice to today's Salon letter and the responses to it are typical of society. People give less sympathy to women who've been assaulted period.

My problem lies in the way my best friend (whom I refer to as B) treats the situation. B, who is also friends with M, chides me for not being polite to M when we pass him on campus. B tells me that I should "forgive" M even though he has never apologized and has gone so far as to deny the entire situation. I reply to B by saying exactly that. He says M has apologized. I ask when this happened. The conversation stops. Every time this happens (like earlier this afternoon), I get upset. B knows how much this bothers me, and yet he still persists in doing it. It infuriates me that M is the one who did something wrong, and I am the one who gets lectured on being polite. I don't understand how someone who is so amazing and understanding in every other way could fail to see why this is a big deal to me. Are men just incapable of comprehending how horrible it is to have someone (especially a friend) reduce you to nothing more than body? Is it just impossible for him to imagine a friend of his behaving so poorly? How can I make him understand how much his disregard for my feelings hurts me? Or, how can I get over it? I just don't want to be reduced to an unproductive mass of wretched feelings every time this happens. Violated

This young woman hoped that she could make her friend understand what happened.

Cary's advice misses the boat -- the only good thing about is that he advises her to seek therapy. He advises her to consider hosting an outreach program, and that pursuing a formal grievance will help underline the seriousness of the matter, and implies that it is her job to make him understand the pain by throwing books and studies and citations at him. It's too wishy washy. She'll never get him to understand the pain if he chooses to be blind. She should drop her mutual friend from her life rather than keep him around so he can keep gaslighting her, because she'll never get any acknowledgement from those jackasses.

Typical TT responses:

First poster: At the end of the day, nothing happened. Don't talk to the creep, and maybe not even "B" anymore.

This man has no reading comprehension. He probably is a rapist.

This female poster all but calls the advice seeker a whiny collegiate skank. Because going out and drinking with your friends is not part of college life according to this woman. Because trying to fuck someone while they are unconscious is nothing compared to the crime of passing out! Or being asleep! Sleeping Beauty asked for it! She and the letter writer were issuing sexual invitations to all and sundry by being passed out or asleep! Boobs are not sexual at all! She feels the pain of entitled athletes and frat boys everywhere. But this is priceless:

I'm worried about the issue of date rape because it gives women too much leverage to cry rape.

This poster who was not a young woman says: I will admit, in my hearts of hearts, that I have had less sympathy for victims of date rape. When my roommate in college was tied up and raped by a Marine from Pendleton that she met on a train .I've read of cases that went to trial in which the woman invites the guy to spend the night, they sleep in (I was home for the weekend) I was a bit irritated with her. Why did you allow him to pass out in the room? Why did you allow two near strangers to stay there while you slept? Why? Why? I didn't say these things, but I knew she knew I was thinking them. So, I admit I was annoyed, and thought it maybe less of a "real rape", but I knew that thinking such a thing was wrong, too. I tried to fight that impulse to categorize a sexual assault. I still do. A rape is a rape, whether or not you're coming home from your shift at midnight from 7-11, or if you let two Marines pass out in your room. On the other hand, trying to prove a sexual assault....it's really tricky. My friend never did anything, as she knew it would blow up in her face.

This poster had to add this caveat, completely missing the point about the letter writer's best friend who sloughs it off like it's not big deal : I'm no big fan of women calling themselves victims at any conceivable opportunity. They should try to exercise good judgement, and take some responsibility when bad decisions get them into sticky situations. But, a guy who tries to take advantage of a woman's drunken state is not someone who can be trusted.

2005-03-03T00:00:00.000-05:00

Met with psychiatrist today. I've been on her perscription for several days now. I believe it stops me from crying and raging, but I don't feel any better; I just feel numb and zoned and tired, and irritated. She started telling me she knew I was angry, and I waited for her to get to a point. She didn't. Nothing that I already didn't know. It is one of life's rich ironies that she's put me on a drug that compromises my liver, and I want to enter a profession where it seems that everyone has a glass or two on a regular basis. Your liver or your brain. What a choice. Stress till you die, probably fail or give up law school and any grad school at all, or take a leave, start law school again, slower, hope you'll find someone that doesn't expect you to bill 1000+ hrs and doesn't care that you're nearly fucking 30 and green as a sapling when you graduate. Or marry some rich dude, a facsimile of my father, and become the human palm pilot. Maman comes home tommorrow. Oh the nagging commences again, but I'm sure my dad will be glad of the non defrosted meals again.

I met a woman today, a slight apologetic woman with graying hair, who came up to me and asked me what i used my laptop for, and how I printed stuff off of it. She seemed about 40. I asked her what she wanted one for, and she said she was curious. She was trying to be friendly, and I know I was annoyed, and I feel bad. She didn't seem like she had a lot of money; perhaps it was her clothing or her lack of knowledge, so I said something like they vary in price depending on what you want in one, and said I got one that was light cause I went around with it all the time.

Daffy

2005-03-01T00:28:00.000-05:00

Daffy is apparently the professor everyone loves to hate. Daffy is a bit younger than my mother. Daffy is a squat person who favors generic button down polos and pleated slacks with penny loafters, and has a square pageboy. I'm sure she is most peeved by a recent 9th Circuit ruling finding a requirement for female employees of a casino to wear makeup constitutional. She's the resident feminist, and has a sharp manner she uses on the earnest who keep asking questions, and the people unfortunate enough to be called on from the stack of cards she shuffles. While everyone is in awe or seems to be of Hypo's oratorical three ring circus, nobody really is of Daffy, and they definitely remark on her ridicule. The worst she's been called is "feminazi". I think the worst anyone has called Hypo is -- well, people mostly just complain about how his class confuses people about the concepts with glee. I've honestly heard more people complain about Daffy than Hypo, but I don't think Daffy is any meaner, really. Daffy just isn't as entertaining -- but how many stories can you tell about her specialty? Daffy isn't currently practicing either. Daffy seems perpetually irritated on good days, and I see it as a sign of depression, though I only see her in class, and then again I might have a tendency to see depression in everyone.

No Sex (in the study room)

2005-02-28T00:50:00.000-05:00

Undergraduates are horny. I once saw some undergrads on a couch in the basement of the Union on top of each other. The couch was right by the stairs in possibly the least secluded place you could imagine; whether for lack of room, or just plain idiocy, they probably attempted to do it in the undergrad library as well.

In contrast, law students have very little time to do anything other than study. Lots of people are coupled, but to see someone hold hands? Monumental. At least it seems that way with 1ls. I know someone with fond memories of the OSU law library -- as an undergrad. It's probably the only action the library has seen in years. Frankly I think most students are too tired to give a fuck. What the hell do students on law review do?

loosely riffing off a Chris Rock song

No sex in the study room
absolutely no sex in the study room.
keep your fluids off of Brennan and Posner
no sex in the study room
don't gum the outlets
Don't webcam the prof
no sex in the study room.

turn off your pagers
no cell phones on vibrate
no sex in the study room
absolutely no sex in the study room
only ten seconds to pee
don't you run away from me
no sex in the study room.

absolutely no sex in the study room.
the couch is not a bed

don't let Holmes go to your head
no sex in the study room
this is not a three prong test
there is no need for joinder
don't get cozy with Prosser
no sex in the study room

Hypo

2005-02-27T17:19:00.000-05:00

I'm strangely afraid of Hypo. Hypo, to date, has never actually called on me in class. I wonder if he thinks I dropped out the first week. Hypo is a man about my dad's age, whose bald head looks like someone used the side of his head to erase smudges from paper, who wears alligator shoes, too tight clothing, and likes to pace -- or perhaps he's conflated the other subcontinental person with me and thinks he's called on everyone. He wisecracks a lot, mostly at people foolish enough to speak or unlucky enough to be called on. People laugh out of uneasiness; a contagious forced laughter which gradually became more natural, I think. He once called a woman in class a whore to make a point about introducing extraneous evidence, and misquoted Dworkin to make a point about consent.

Most of the rumors I've heard about professors are about Hypo. Hypo apparently is on his 4th marriage and is the reason there's a metal detector in the county courthouse, non 1Ls have told me. The same upper division students claim that he's a big softy to the students that take his trial advocacy class, bringing in baked goods. His current wife was a student at the school while he was teaching there.

He seems as solidly upper class as anyone. There are hints, that he has not always been white collar; he'll allude to a job where he stuck his hand in a welding machine in a locker door factory, or how he was a cab driver once. I suspect his rumored Harley fixation is an affectation. If he was ever young, I can't imagine it, for he's a block gone to fat. I think he's permanently middle aged.

For all the rumors swirling around him, he's the prof that seems to reference his own personal life the most in class -- so far it seems. He'll even go as far as to dispel rumors that I haven't heard of until he mentions them. Daffy will make little jabs about how tenants, hint about a dating life past, and the stellar testing skills, but really doesn't talk about personal stuff. Mumbles never really did either. Xtina will mention her husband and her two young children in passing, when apologizing for something. The Admiral does have personal anecdotes but they relate mostly to clients he had. Earnest may say something personal, but he's never actually told a story of any sort. He's alluded to past drinking problems and his firm firm belief that we must save the babies. But otherwise? Nothing.

2005-02-25T18:17:00.000-05:00

I talked to Daffy. Daffy seriously thinks I should think about taking a leave of absence. Xtina thinks so too. My stupid psychiatrist thinks I should take a leave of absence and switch over to part-time. The dean, who had never seen me before, gave me information, emphasized quite strongly that I would have to pay for another year and take all the classes again, and then kicked me out of his office.

My stupid psychiatrist can't help me out of this this fucking depression-learning disorder thing. (Well not in time for me to salvage my life. No guarantees anyway. ) My dad is full of regret saying that he should have kept me on antidepressants since my teens continously based on information that wasn't even available at the time. My dad is clueless saying he never realized i was on Strattera, like my mother was clueless in not realizing that in a Catholic elementary school they say the "Hail Mary" several times a day, since he actually procured several samples of the shit, a couple of times. I don't even know what fucking learning disorder I have, or really what's wrong with me.

None of these stupid psychiatrists or people agree on anything. Arizona thinks I'm "classic ADD". My dad thinks I'm ADD. My mother thinks I'm depressed, and tacitly thinks ADD because she asked my high school psychologist for a referral. Crazy Cat Lady thinks I was just depressed. Maybe NLVD will be the hot new cognitive disorder in a few years, if they find a spanking new drug to market. Like ADD is a fucking hot disorder now, cause Big Pharma keeps pushing ADD drugs now. My psychiatrist has yet to even give me a fucking plan of action or an idea of what I'd need to do, but certainly is big on "templates". Templates remind me of those stupid outlines people use to make footballs on birthday cakes. I can certainly see myself templating my way through life and through a fucking firm job. Yes, please, give me a fucking template.

My mother, perhaps feeling powerless, consulted the family astrologer, who said that I was going through a "rough period" that was affecting my "concentration" that would last until May and that my stupid good period would be starting in October and that I would continue higher education. I think that everyone around me is full of shit. The astrologer is probably saying nice things because he knows my mother is worried and will pay money to hear the right things. My psychiatrist, doesn't take insurance and charges $175 an hour, and wants a treatment contract, and guarantees nothing.

I'm basically tired of living. I don't know what I want, since all the options suck and I can't see going one way or the other. Failure is so daunting I've half a mind to just wipe out and be done with it, then to persevere. I'm tired of having the same things run through my head.

I was supposed to be able to finally get on with my fucking life this last fall. Finally get out of the traction which has been plaguing me for the last several years, trying to get one half assed job after another and failing, halfheartedly going to community college and local university classes trying to get a direction, working at my dad's office, going off into escapism. Instead I'm facing the possibility of depressive downtime, and 22,000 dollars down the drain, and just utter, utter failure.

argh.

2005-02-21T17:56:00.000-05:00

I just screamed my fool head off in utter frustration while trying to stanch a toilet overflow, due to my brother's overgenerous use of toilet paper. On the way home, my father called me eight million times already to call Dr. Pained, who wasn't in her office, when i finally managed to get off the highway, after an abortive liquor run. ( I know, liquor bad, President's Day good.)
I got nothing done today.
I walked through the day in a fog, did some contracts reading, if you can call it that, after classes ended. I met with my lrw group impromptu. I maybe sent Daffy my IRAC before class, pleading family emergency and apologizing. We didn't have Beige's class today for some unexplicable reason, and I finally got my hands on a couple of fucking outlines already, christ almighty, no thanks to the fucking bookstore. I think I will kill myself, out of sheer frustration already. I think i hallucinated the damn starbucks in the union was open already.

I swear this a true example of me being a raging asshole and a weepy clown.

This is such a disjointed piece of crap.

Sick and Tired

2005-02-20T12:18:00.000-05:00

This week I have been unable to concentrate on anything, doing a usual cycle of weepy clown and raging asshole. I go to class, sit there, understand probably nothing, and then I go home and sleep. I haven't done a real day of work in about a month. The allnighter I pulled on Tuesday night was probably for naught. I've been to two doctors in 3 weeks.

On the weekends I wake up, astonished i'm conscious, and take 3 hours to decide to brush my teeth, and then i go to bed early and sleep the sleep of the day. I watch bad tv, and the soujourns to the bookstore don't even seem fun anymore.

I either cry at the drop of a hat, or I'm just pissy and irritable, or I sleep. I skipped Daffy and Hypo's class on Wednesday, because I was just too tired to digest anything; I had had about 3 hours of sleep. I've been late to everything. I think I skipped the Admiral's class on Monday, at any rate i feel as though I might as well not be there. I am truly anonymous in this place. A cheerful 3e invited me for dinner and a movie at the waterfront on Wednesday, and I agreed since I figured I'd be useless for the rest of the day anyways.

My father talked to me about how I should ask my former psychologist for a referral since he doesn't agree with this one. I don't know how credible she is. I don't really know if anything will work; and frankly I don't know if I have time -- time to save my stupid semester. Everything takes forever, like I'm travelling through molasses and everyone else is traveling through air. Travelling to the stupid office, the appointments, the juggling, the feeling, whatever. I'm frankly sick of doctors trying to give me meds, which may or may not work in a month or I've had before. I'm sick of doctors diagnosing me with one damn thing or the other and not having a fucking solution like yesterday. All anyone can seem to offer me is a lifetime on drugs and therapy that insurance doesn't pay for and liver function tests for the rest of my days. I don't even know what stupid diagnosis I'm supposed to have; and the stupid thing is, I'm sure the doctors with their fancy degrees from their fancy schools don't know either.

Take an an antipsychotic and an anti-depressant. Take an anti-depressant you've taken before even though it didn't work. Take a thyroid medication and an anti-depressant. Take a stimulant. Don't take crack. Don't drink coffee. Drink coffee. Do the hokey pokey. No, jump up and down. Maybe we should trepann your skull. You have an excess of melancholy and bile, we need to drain your liver.

I looked up suicide methods on the internet yesterday. If you don't care if you kill other people or about the mess or pain, it seems quite easy, as easy as killing yourself can be. Something to think about anyways.

The Misery Song

2005-02-18T15:56:00.000-05:00

(sounds like a Broadway musical song. However the beginning seems to get mixed up with the opening notes of Every Sperm is Sacred. I wrote it while waiting for my grades. It was prompted by my grandpa's comment, "I don't care as long as you feel bad".)

i don't care
if you forgot to write
if you forgot to call
if you didn't ace your midterms this fall
if you didn't pass the bar
I don't care(3x)
as long as you feel bad
you don't have to mean it
I just have to believe it
just feel sad
just you show it
your misery is enough for me
don't get mad
don't be happy
just don't show it
I don't care (3x)
As long as you feel bad.

2005-02-18T15:25:00.000-05:00

under the freeway
waiting armed with squeegee
"BROKE! WILL WORK FOR FOOD"

2005-02-16T02:09:00.000-05:00

gunner flutters hand
he loves the UCC
me! me! call on me!

2005-02-15T16:22:00.000-05:00

It's 4: 22 pm and I just can't concentrate on anything. Supposedly the Strattera has washed out of my system. I find I can't concentrate on anything for long, not even blogging. I supposedly have a memorandum of law due tommorrow, but I have yet to write anything substantive. I have strangely become mesmerized by minesweeper on my computer, my room is a disaster area, and I can't bring myself to put forth the academic effort.

Cause it sure as hell won't be rewarded. I'm fully aware that I'm acting the like sun shines out of my ass, and I'm being terribly narcisstic, but I really don't care. I couldn't be bothered to get out of bed to get to the Admiral's class on time.

Another thing: if I can't change my appointment day, I'll be most disappointed, since Tuesdays actually suck for me schedulewise--- I'll waste an hour fighting traffic. If I don't get something stronger than the drug in the patch, I will turn to my friend, Gimpy on the corner -- since expresso straight makes me have acid from hell, Stattera makes me have the dragon breath from hell, and caffeine only works in short spurts. I may just take the decongestant out of retirement.*

That worked wonderfully, plus it helped me lose weight. I was so fucking keyed up on that shit, I bounced out of bed like the damn thing went vertical at 6 am every morning. And then I'd run. Of course, I had to be taken off of that because of rapid heartbeat --- but my sinuses were never clearer, and the pine trees near my house didn't make me itch.

Yesterday, out of some strange sense of obligation, my father got me some weird balloon, teddy, plastic red contraption, since I got him a Valentine's Day card. I got my brother a V day card because he feels lonely -- but I don't think the day's importance occurred to him. Oh well. I haven't talked to my mother in a couple of days. Apparently Mr. Suitable's visa from the UK to the US didn't come through. It's like they are worried that he will camp out in the US, being such a land of opportunity and all -- c'mon it's not like London sucks!

I've got to go to fight traffic. Fuckers.

__________________________________
* Don't kid yourself if you think that you don't abuse drugs at least occasionally. Unless you're a caffeine free teetotaler who goes to bed when the sun goes down, who works like 20 hours a week and has no kids under the age of 20. Half the people here are binge drinkers anyways.

Line Gunner won't say in an interview - "Once I start drinking I can't stop." Mmmmmmmm alcoholism.

An Ode to Minesweeper.

2005-02-15T16:19:00.000-05:00

(to the tune of O Tannenbaum)

O Minesweeper, O Minesweeper
You distract me during classes

Much easier to handle than IM
Not for me the bluefly wares
Of Texas holdem I’m so bored

O Minesweeper O Minesweeper
You distract me during classes

So addictive yet so simple
I can’t pay attention professor

O Minesweeper, O Minesweeper
You distract me during classes

2005-02-11T18:16:00.000-05:00

This week I:

Went to a most disorganized psychologist friend of my father's, who was an hour late on Friday and decided to give a drug most often used to quell hallucinations. I envisioned a great ad campaign featuring Joan of Arc and Ally McBeal. I decided not to go back to her, since she wasn't even listening half the time. *
Vomited and had diarrhea and fever from a combination of cranberry juice, expresso, Strattera and stress. The flu apparently has nothing to do with it.
Went to another psychiatrist who decided that no, Strattera doesn't work for me, that I really have some other weird overarching disorder that fits in with some family of disorders that my brother has. A fairly useless yet distressing label which my father took great exception to. **
Lost my voice for my current presentation. Apparently I'm a better participant drunk and mute.
Got completely ignored for my last presentation, even though I tried to be assertive. Cried and cried from stress. Bit my nails. I never bite my nails. Nutured burning hatred of Xtina.
My mother's in India now, and from what I last heard, Amma is not doing so well.
Met with Daffy. Apparently commercial outlines are it; my long outlines are far too short, and I think in a radically different fashion than Daffy, who happened to be an undergrad math major back in the day.
Got another email from Mr. Suitable, which leads to a grand total of two. I'm not ready to deal with anyone right now on a serious basis.
Found out I've apparently been without insurance for two weeks. However, I'm still in their odd computer system and was able to go and register for new password thingy. Why?
___________________________________________________________

* "Thanks to A****, I don't have visions anymore!" -Joan of Arc. "Shoot the dancing baby, use A***!"

** If this label is correct, I've been throughly, horribly screwed over by my parents and the educational system, without even the recourse of a drug that Big Pharma is pushing this year. Most treatment, of course, is for kids. I'm an adult. It would also serve to complete my sense of freakishness.

I am a happy ass clown

2005-02-06T22:19:00.000-05:00

Well since I last posted, I got all of my grades but my lrw grade which is subpar anyways. My grades can best be described as a mostly subterranean cystic zit -- large, painful, and mostly below the surface. I am in a rage at half of my professors for various petty things, such as the way they've decided that we are all latent corporate espionage agents and the various petty slights designed to bolster their large fragile hot-air balloon egos. * Through a combination of inertia and dispair, I have not bothered to even write my stupid resume for job interviews, since I'm convinced I won't get one anyways. **
I have not taken the news of my grades very well, since I can't seem to understand why in the world my grades are worse than the semester I tried to develop a hard liquor and nicotine habit out of depression stemming from events that lead to the Ms boards. My parents are finally convinced I have some sort of cognitive disorder. Or they're just convinced by my theatrical cycling between weepy clown and raging asshole. ***
My mother has left for India****, promising to prepone her visit if by some chance mr. suitable can jump through U.S Immigration hoops. Frankly, I'm irritated at suitable's presumption, setting aside the other big caveat.***** I abhor the way this process is completely out of my control, it seems. I don't get to set the terms of anything, let alone the stupid wedding my parents are hoping that they'd throw. My doubts are considered immaterial even at this early stage.

_________________________________________________________________
* We cannot, take our written answers home; instead we must sign for them, take no notes, and can only look at them in the registrar's office for 15 minutes. I did ok on the essay and bombed the multiple choice for Hypo. Guess which section is not available? Profs like Hypo and Daffy tend to do things like comment on 1Ls' haste to learn the freaking rules, or declare their superlative LSAT scores. If you've been admitted to the bar since the Carter administration, your memory of school is dulled, and the LSAT hasn't been relevant in any way for a very long time.
** Because of course, those offers are based on grades, prior skills, and writing sample. I haven't much of anything.
*** A weepy clown is someone who makes a lot of self deprecating jokes and tends to focus aggression on themselves. A raging asshole doesn't cry, but makes mean jokes and kicks the dog. More on this later.
**** My grandmother has renal failure, and needs to be convinced to use another form of dialysis -- or die in a very unpretty manner. During Mom's absence, I will be expected to wait on my dear dad and brother, notwithstanding my own obligations.
*****I am demographically screwed, like most immigrants, so i must fall over myself to drop everything for a resume that photographs well, so i can stop being single before the dread age of 30. Unless I'm engaged, my relationships mean nothing. The implications of this are a whole 'nother post. Happy Fucking V Day.

Random Thoughts During Crim Class

2005-02-01T14:01:00.000-05:00

I just can't pay attention today. To anything. Seriously. It's like I cannot cannot focus during Civ.Pro at all. Now I'm settling into Crim. We're talking about the insanity defense. Personally I'm under the impression that as long as you appreciate that what you're doing is wrong, then you are not criminally insane.

Someone's raising the cultural relativity argument on definitions of insanity.

Now I've got "Raspberry Beret" in my head. I hate Prince.

Before I had the "log song" in my head.

I can't wait to just find my research and go home. Or something.

Now somone is surfing eluxury.

Now my bladder is annoyed by all the caffeine I've consumed.

And by my itchy sweater.

I still have yet to look at my exams.

untitled

2005-01-24T16:40:00.000-05:00

Turns out that my contracts grade is the best grade I've received so far. Hopefully, my property grade does not augur some sort of trend for the rest of my midterm grades. I think I'm kind of numb right now, and obviously the cruelest month will be February. Biting winds, middle of winter, Valentine's Day, and of course, grades dangling in like multiple swords of damocles. I believe my reaction may also be accounted for in that I can only have one hissy fit per two days. I may have other reactions as grades roll in. That, and the fact that professor property basically shitcanned a third of the class is the only comfort I have right now.

Like always, I'm not telling my parents as things come in, good, bad or indifferent. The reason is quite simple. They have inflated expectations based on delusions they entertain in a fantasy
world that's a cross between 1950s Bangalore and Lake Woebegon. They will just unload on me, and not generally be helpful in any meaningful way. They have continually made me feel guilty for the time I do spend working, and then insinuate that I do nothing. And then, somewhere, they'll wail about the trials of Job that God has unleashed upon them for not giving them super achieving obedient desi children straight out of a Hindi movie. It doesn't really matter.

I got some letter from one of the persons my parents have screened like purebred puppies, and i wonder how much of what is presented is puffery. I'm sure he's a decent enough person, but I don't know how the rest of my tangled life will work out, if it does, and if it doesn't.

untitled

2005-01-24T13:59:00.000-05:00

Monday morning. My brother is in a funk over the game, and there is no hockey season in sight. Meanwhile, I'm being driven to full blown drama queen blowouts by the wireless situation with my computer. I'm about ready to drop kick CTS, Microsoft, and Sony technical support into the nearest ocean along with my stupid computer. CTS doesn't know if or when I'll be connected to the stupid network and hasn't known since about November 15th. Meanwhile the people in my class are buying freaking Prada shoes on Ebay, and I can't so much as connect to Lexis Nexis.

My father doesn't understand why I'm about to dropkick him into an ocean. It's not that I don't appreciate the help; it's just that I have precious little time to go and tinker with the bloody system. Every time he decides he wants to try and tinker with the bloody thing, is time I can't use my little computer. Every little quirk ticks me off --- like reading things aloud. And at the end, I'm back where I started and that much more behind. I've spent over 10 hours this week trying to get the bloody thing to work. Anywhere. And my father is like, you don't give me proper deference, when he won't even listen to what I've already done. No, Dad, just call someone who knows what they are doing!

Now, after actually getting through to a freaking server dude at one am in the morning, their answer is "Call Sony technical support." Sony has made it mandatory that I accept that they will send downloads to my computer. I don't care if I get the damn thing to work at home or if they throw up their hands in despair and tell me to call someone else, I'm complaining, and loudly.

Microsoft has made it mandatory that I enter several different codes three ways from Sunday for their copyright, so I, little peon do not put it on more computers than necessary. First, I need to enter the product code. Then I need to "confirm" by internet or phone. I couldn't confirm by internet, so I had to confirm by phone. First their stupid numbers didn't work, and then when I got a phone number it took me twenty freaking minutes to confirm my stupid product, which finally doesn't keep asking me if I want a new toaster or something. I only got this product because I need to be compatible with the school's documents on their computers which are all Dell.

Ugh. I got this stupid computer so I could be more organized. Fuckers.

untitled

2005-01-19T18:56:00.000-05:00

I'm most irritated by the computer department at my university. They will not connect me to their network and they have no idea when I'll allowed to connect to the network at all. I emailed the head of the department and I haven't gotten a response yet. Please keep in mind that they haven't been accepting new users to the network since November 15th. I don't think that I should be penalized because I had an old laptop before November 15th. Nor should I be denied the opportunity to take my exams on my laptop for my exams because I couldn't connect to the network just because I didn't have the laptop last year. I didn't get the shiny newlaptop so I could use a wire and not use the network on my computer.

Nor did I get it so I could juggle two laptops at home, so I could stop monopolizing the computer downstairs-- I should not have to do that at all, and yet my father can't be bothered to even help me find the instruction manual so I don't tear apart his den. If I don't get connected soon, I don't know what I'll do.

Professor Property called on me twice, just as promised. That's like some sort of record. She must be frustrated that people can't seem to read. I suspect that other people don't read as much as I think, either.

untitled

2005-01-18T21:04:00.000-05:00

Daffy stopped me in the hall today and informed me she plans to call on me every single class for the rest of the semester. The two times I've been called on, I either freeze or blank with complete nonsequiturs. It never seems to matter how prepared I actually am. Daffy believes in trial by fire. I think everyone believes in trial by fire. Hey, it's either that or Toastmasters. <gulp>

2005-01-14T22:50:00.000-05:00

I really hate that the writing course is only 3 credits and takes up 75% of the time.

2005-01-13T23:04:00.000-05:00

2nd day of the 2nd semester. Beige seems like she's going to put just one person on panel for the entire class, which is distinctly terrifying, since I've never actually learned how to speak in public; and distinctly boring since the rest of the 70 odd people in class get to be onlookers. In Mumbles' class, he called on everyone at least once a class; but i just kept tuning him out until I'd be called on, and blurt out an answer; or just be lost in space. It never seemed to matter whether I was fully prepared or shooting the breeze; I just sounded like I had no idea what I was doing. Mumbles' was very nice, but he sounded like the adults in Peanuts.

Yesterday, Daffy had a horrendous cold and told the class that we couldn't "IRAC our way out of a paper bag" and that nobody seemed to know the rule for the essay. Daffy plans to have everyone IRAC at least once a week for class.

I just realized I forgot my books for one class. Really, I'm not sure whether Earnest will notice or exult about the fact the USSC just declared mandatory minimums unconstitutional . My classmates seemed bored.

I hope it's true...

2005-01-07T15:50:00.000-05:00

that the inverse of how you feel on an exam is how you do on it.

Dropping the Ball

2005-01-07T13:59:00.000-05:00

Since I last posted, much has happened.

My great aunt died and I went to her funeral on September 11th.
My dad was in the hospital to pass kidney stones.
My aunt was in the hospital to get her appendix removed.
The basement was completely flooded by the biggest flood in the city's history, we lost the carpet and we remodeled the basement.
K my my great aunt's dear friend, died of cancer.
My doddama was diagnosed with breast cancer and surgery.
I went through much angst over my LRW course and grade, and my first semester, and discovered my parents had nary a concern as to how I was doing or what was involved.
Croissant got engaged to a wholly unsuitable man.
I went to New York City for New Years and spent it for the first time without my parents or my brother and got on a plane by myself for the first time since high school.

This past year:

I spent New Year's without my mother because she was still visiting my grandparents after my Tata's funeral.
I discovered one lone white strand of hair on my head-- on my 25th birthday while talking to my mother on my cell phone.
We lost several family friends prematurely -- Vasu to a car crash, Madura's mom to an unexplained heart attack, and my parents lost several friends.
I own a car. Said car however, has been through too much at the hands of deer carcasses and jackasses in white pickup trucks.
Puppy Love, despite much malfeasance, still managed to keep her job.
I started law school.
I discovered how much I need drugs to do secretarial work.
My parents September vacation plans were, for the 4th year in a row, wrecked by the forces of nature, this time in the form of hurricanes hitting Orlando.
Shrub became acting president again for another 4 years -- my mother and I are numb.
A gigantic tsunami killing 150,000+ people merits less funds than the chickenhawk war consumes in a couple of days. Fortunately, individuals are more generous than the U.S. government.

Lately:

My Amma was in the hospital due to complications for her 2+ years plus renal failure.

2005 hasn't even really gotten underway yet, and I'm already exhausted.

Wexis Training

2005-01-07T13:56:00.000-05:00

For once I've signed up for something ahead of everyone else. Ahead, in fact, of every other day student. I go on the 20th and 27th, both at 2:30 pm.

A Sorta Fairytale

2004-09-06T00:58:00.000-05:00

on my way up north
up on the ventura
i pulled back the hood
and i was talking to you
and i knew then it would be
a life long thing
but i didn't know that we
we could break a silver lining

and i'm so sad
like a good book
i can't put this day back
a sorta fairytale
with you
a sorta fairytale
with you....
--Tori Amos,

Endings

2004-09-06T00:36:00.000-05:00

Atti's dying.

D called me today while I was in the middle of wrestling on the floor with
Arizona. It's not exactly news, she's been dying for a long time; but it's
still a shock. D asked me not to ruin my mother's day since "there's nothing
she can do; she'll just get worried."

Atti's not able to speak coherently anymore. She just keeps answering yes
to questions to get people to shut up. She hasn't been eating or really
drinking for a couple of days. D says that if you ask her if she wants to
eat or drink something, you can get her to drink a few sips of water or eat
a few tiny chews of food, but not much more. I just wonder if she's just
conciously deciding to kill herself by slow starvation or her body is just
shutting down because her mind is tired of fighting. It doesn't seem like
I'll ever see her lucid again. I take it that D & N are not going to put her
on a feeding tube. She's always been very concious of her dignity. Right now
she's got round the clock nursing care, but D still sleeps in her room. She
still wakes up at night, afraid and not knowing where she is.

She's had cancer for two years and change. It will be three years in
November, if she lives that long -- which I severely doubt. It's not the
first time she's had cancer either; she's had it twice before --- uterine
cancer & breast cancer. The lung cancer she has now is killing her.

Soon it will be time for my ironic smoke I bitterly decided I would have. I tried to gain a smoking habit back in college my senior year because it gave me something to do with my utter misery. (Another story altogether) . But I was a horrible addict, and just when I started getting used to inhaling the smoke, I quit. I never really got used to the way your index fingers stink after you hold a cigarette in your hand. I noticed that my chest felt like it was constricted by bands when I was lying in my bed at night. I was afraid I'd really start liking it. I'm sure my father still keeps a pack in the glove compartment of his car -- an occasional help to stay awake. Tata smoked for many years and lived far longer than my nonsmoking Ajji. Ajja smoked heavily for many years, and Ravi does too. Atti, as far as I know, never smoked a day in her life, but lives in one of the most polluted metros in the country. My mother says Atti has the cancer gene from her mother's side of the family.

I remember walking down the long long hill in Schenley Park one year as part of The Race For the Cure on Mother's Day. I remember asking her why we were doing this, and she said, "Several members of our family have had breast cancer." She never really said who.

D just called Manju who called me to talk to my mother.

Fifty ways to prevent yourself from being a rapist

2004-08-15T15:58:00.000-05:00

Colombe at the Phoenix found this:

PLEASE FORWARD THIS TO EVERY MAN YOU KNOW:

Fifty Ways Prevent Yourself from Being a Rapist:

1. Do not think you have the right to rape a woman.

2. Do not rape a woman. Do not rape a man.

3. Learn what rape is.

4. Rape is forcing someone to have sex with you when they do not want to.

5. Most rapes are committed by men who know the women they are raping. If the woman you are forcing to have sex with you happens to be your girlfriend, your neighbor, your cousin, your sister, or your wife, it is still RAPE.

6. When someone says no to you, that means you have no right to force yourself on them.

7. When someone pushes you away, or otherwise inclinates, verbally or with physical movement that they do not want to have sex with you, and you force yourself on them, that is rape.

8. If you see a woman in a parking lot, don't rape her.

9. If you see a woman walking alone at night, don't rape her.

10. If you see a woman in a short skirt, don't rape her.

11. If you see a woman with long hair, don't rape her.

12. If you see a woman walking down a dark street at 4 AM, naked, don't rape her.

13. If you see a woman who is not carrying pepper spray for self protection, does not know karate, does not have a gun, and is not even holding an umbrella to ward you off, still don't rape her.

14. If you see a woman who has a sign on her head that says "I Want Sex", you don't have the right to force sex upon her.

15. If you're at a party, and a girl is drunk, and she wants you to kiss her and touch her but then she wants you stop, STOP.

16. If you're on a date with someone and they want to go so far, but then stop, you STOP. If you don't stop, it is called rape.

17. Rape is a crime, whether you go to prison for it or not, whether it is reported or not, whether you're convicted, or whether anyone believes the woman you rape, or whether you get a goddamn medal of honor for all the rapes you got away with committing, IT'S A CRIME and it's a crime against humanity, which has more to do with your conscience and morals and the rights of women to live as human beings on this planet without having to be in fear their bodies will be violated, than it laws and prison sentences. If you are a rapist, you have violated a person's right to simply live. News Flash - you do not have the right to do that. Neither does any other man or woman you know.

18. Rape is about power. It is not about sex. Do something else with your misogyny than rape a woman. Try, say, reading a book. Or committing suicide to rid you from the planet so we will have one less rapist walking around.

20. Men are the people who can stop rape. Not women. For proof of this fact, look at statistics on rape for a second. It happens every minute of every day, and it is usually not ever reported so statistics on it are always underestimates. Women have been trying to prevent themselves from being raped for a few centuries. IT HASN'T WORKED YET.

21. Rapists destroy lives in a way that murderers do not. If you rape a person, you are as inhumane as a murderer.

22. Before you decide to rape someone, go to visit an emergency room one night, and ask the nurse on duty at the triage, how many raped women have been there that evening. Then ask about the rape kits they did on the women, the DNA evidence they collected. Then spend a few years of your life talking with women who were raped and see how it has affected them every single day of their lives. You might reconsider rape after that, if you're actually human. If you're not human, please kill yourself before you rape someone.

23. Note that you are living in a patriarchal society which is the only reason why committing rape will occur to you as something you have a right to do in the first place. Note that, despite this fact, you STILL DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT TO RAPE ANYONE EVER.

24. Know that a few million human beings on this planet right now want you dead, if you're a rapist, because we're sick and tired of you walking around, and our self protectoin mechainsms haven't worked, and you're not about to be a real popular guy if anyone finds out you are a rapist, unless, you are hanging around other rapists.

25. Know that whether anyone ever finds out you committed a rape or not, you are still a replusive, weak, pathetic, disgusting, grotesque, inhumane, repulsive, worthless, twisted individual if you rape someone, and this fact will remain true, and you will remain guilty forever, whether she tells anybody or not. And you can be the one to live with that; if you have a conscience.

26. If you don't have a conscience, go murder yourself instead of raping a woman.

27. Read Ms. Magazine instead of Playboy

28. Stay away from pornography. Most rapists love it. That should be a danger sign.

29. Cut your hands off. You won't be able to use them. That will help matters.

30. Cut your penis off. Or ask me to do it for you; I'll be happy to, if you're considering committing a rape.

31. Stay away from women.

32. Stay away from little girls.

33. Stay away from boys.

34. Stay away from the human race.

35. You are not the superior sex, never will be, never were, never are. Women are equal to you, and sometimes women will be smarter than you. This is called life. Deal with it.

36. Sometimes women will not like you. That is our right. See above.

37. Sometimes women will rebuff your advances. In other words, we don't always want to have sex with you. Note, no one has any duty to have sex with anyone, ever. You are no exception.

38. Sometimes women will think you are stupid, will make fun of you, will not treat you well, will fire you from a job, will laugh at you, will refuse to go out with you. Just like men can do these things, so can women. This does not mean you have a right to commit rape.

39. If a woman has sex with you one day and doesn't want to have sex with you the next, that is her right. You do not have the right to rape her.

40. If a woman has sex with you and one hour later does not want to have sex with you again, that is her right. You do not have the right to rape her.

41. If a woman has sex all the time, with lots of men, and you think she is a slut for it, you still don't have the right to rape her. Women have the right to have sex with who they choose, when they choose, wherever they choose if it is consentual. Just like men.

42. No woman has ever, will ever or does ever ASK to be raped. No woman LIKES being raped. No woman INVITES you to rape her. No woman has EVER ASKED FOR IT. Try to remember that.

43. You don't have a right to rape your wife, your daughter, your granddaughter, your best friend, your girlfriend, a girl you met at the grocery store, your boss, your coworker, your student, your professor, your niece, your next door neighbor, a woman you do not know, or ANYONE ELSE. Ever. Period. End of Story.

44. Do not forward around emails to people telling them what women should do to prevent themselves from being raped. Women have never, and will never be able to stop the phenomena of rape, even as women do a good job of trying to, because we are not the ones with penises. Very simple. You are the only person who can prevent you from raping me or any other woman. You. Not me. You. Not any woman. You. You must stop you from being a rapist. It is YOUR job. Take responsibility for it for a change. I'm tired of giving out the 1-800-656-HOPE number to women who have been raped. I WANT TO GIVE OUT A HOTLINE TO YOU. 1-800-STOP IT NOW
But that hotline does not exist.

45. Go build a crisis center to stop yourself and every other man you know from becoming a rapist. Get funding for it, which will require a lot of work on a daily basis. Hire counselors. Hold group therapy and individual therapy sessions. Try, again, to get funding for it because it will be difficult to do so. Women have been doing this for decades. They're called rape crisis centers and we have too many of them. They should not have to exist at all.

46. When you converse with your male friends, be sure to warn them to NOT RAPE ANYONE if they are going out late at night, or if they are going out with a new girl, or if they are doing anything at all where rape might be an issue of concern. Women do this all the time, warning their friends to be careful, warning their daughters, their sisters, their mothers to be careful, to watch out, to lock their doors, to keep their doors locked, to carry pepper spray. We have all sorts of advice we give each other based on our very rational fear of rape. Why don't you try giving every man you now advice on how to prevent rape?

47. If you know someone who is a rapist, do something about it. Do not ignore, tolerate, pretend you don't know or don't care, or congratulate him. DO SOMETHING about it, such as, telling him he is the scum of the earth, reporting him to the police, beating him up, or put up a billboard with his picture, his name and the word Rapist in bright red letters on his front lawn.

48. If you're a rapist, go to therapy for a few years, perhaps the rest of your life, spend some time in a psychiatric hospital, perhaps dozens of times, perhaps years, and try to figure out how to live with yourself and what you did, which is exactly what many women who are raped by people such as you must do.

49. Donate money to RAINN, since you haven't succeeded in stopping rape from happening yet, so we still need these sexual assault centers, and maybe you should try being the person who donates money to them, rather than the people who were raped. www.rainn.org 1-800-656-HOPE. Or donate money to your local sexual assault crisis center. Or donate money to one of the women you know who has been raped so she can go to therapy, because statistically, there is little chance that you do not know several rape "survivors".

50. SEND THIS TO EVERY MAN YOU KNOW. And when you get the next email telling every woman on the planet what to do to prevent herself from being raped, and it says, "forward it to every woman you know", don't do it. For an example, see the message below and consider how ridiculous it is that women should have to live in a world where we write, read, and send each other these kind of messages, and know that it is not fair, and wonder for a minute, why you never got a message like this before addressed to men.

The war on terror has color codes; the war on women has email forwards

2004-08-15T15:21:00.000-05:00

I get so sick of forwards entitled "Ladies beware!!!!" telling me the latest or not so current ways of avoiding creepy violent psycho killers. It's mostly fearmongering, and the truth is a lot scarier.

I got this forward from Puppy Love in my mail box; and PL is completely ignorant about a lot of things. Like how "if you're wearing a bra, you drink for free" nights are not one of the great advantages of being women. And that getting trashed out of your mind is not a good idea.

from the BJS (Bureau of Justice Statistics) website:

Males were more likely to be violently victimized by a stranger, and females were more likely to be victimized by a friend, an acquaintance, or an intimate.
During 2002 --

* More than six in ten rape or sexual assault victims stated the offender was an intimate, other relative, a friend or an acquaintance.
* Seventy-four percent of males and 43% of females stated the individual(s) who robbed them was a stranger.

For murder victims, 44% were related to or acquainted with their assailants; 13% of victims were murdered by strangers, while 43% of victims had an unknown relationship to their murderer in 2000.

In 2002, women experienced an estimated 494,570 rape, sexual assault, robbery, aggravated assault and simple assault victimizations at the hands of an intimate, down from 1.1 million in 1993. In 1993, men were victims of about 160,000 violent crimes by an intimate partner, and in 2002 men were victims of about 72,520 violent crimes by an intimate partner.

Intimate violence is primarily a crime against women -- in 1998, females were the victims in 72% of intimate murders and the victims of about 85% of nonlethal intimate violence

Two-thirds of victims who suffered violence by an intimate (a current or former spouse, boyfriend, or girlfriend) reported that alcohol had been a factor. Among spouse victims, 3 out of 4 incidents were reported to have involved an offender who had been drinking. By contrast, an estimated 31% of stranger victimizations where the victim could determine the absence or presence of alcohol were perceived to be alcohol-related.

2004-08-08T11:23:00.000-05:00

What Famous Leader Are
You?
personality
tests by similarminds.com

2004-08-07T14:49:00.000-05:00

ALL I WANNA DO by Sheryl Crow

....
"All I wanna do is have a little fun before I die,"
Says the man next to me out of nowhere
It's apropos of nothing
He says his name's William but I'm sure
He's Bill or Billy or Mac or Buddy
And he's plain ugly to me
And I wonder if he's ever had a day of fun in his whole life
We are drinking beer at noon on Tuesday
In a bar that faces a giant car wash
The good people of the world are washing their cars
On their lunch break, hosing and scrubbing
As best they can in skirts in suits
They drive their shiny Datsuns and Buicks
Back to the phone company, the record store too
Well, they're nothing like Billy and me, cause

All I wanna do is have some fun
I got a feeling I'm not the only one
All I wanna do is have some fun
I got a feeling I'm not the only one
All I wanna do is have some fun
Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard

My pants are literally falling off my ass

2004-08-07T14:06:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure whether that's good or bad. What's worse... ass cleavage, or
seeing people's underwear?

2004-08-07T11:17:00.000-05:00

I'm going down to DC to visit my great aunt. This is all screwed up, due to my parents' capriciousness and my mother's lovely history with my cousins' wives. My mother has some whacked out ideas of me going on Greyhound and getting picked up in a shady area of DC and coming back with her whenever. She won't even decide, oh I'm staying for X number of days -- she keeps playing it by ear. What ear I don't know. She's been debating with herself for a month and finally went this last Sunday. I can't go take off when I've quit work; I've got to go now -- it doesn't really make sense. If I go when I quit, then I could stay longer and spend more time.

Here's the deal: My great aunt has cancer which has not gone into remission for the past two years. She's had cancer twice before. This cancer is not going into remission. My mother only wants to visit my great aunt while she's in her house, not in the hospital and not at either of her cousins' houses. Why? She feels that my cousins' wives are completely nonhospitable. She can tolerate D's wife, L, but not N's wife, S. She cannot abide S at all. Most of this has to do with some history that happened when I was too little to understand.

Both of my second cousins married white women. My mother is very opposed to any sort of interracial marriage, in the sense it might be ok if other people do it, but We Have Standards and Must Preserve Our Culture. She will go to weddings of mutual friends' children and if they happen to marry white people (I've never seen otherwise for interracial marriages in my community) and whisper to me, "How sad for the parents! Look at them pretending to be happy!" As for my great aunt --- well she's the grand priestess of Preserving Culture. Don't touch that subject with a ten foot pole; she'll bite your head off. She threw D out of the house and said she'd never talk to him again when he tried to bring L home.
At any rate, my mother isn't very close to either of her cousins because of this. She grew up with D in the same house for ten years, but she barely talks to him. N she talks to even less. She hates S. In addition to laboring under the burden of being a white woman, she also has a sarcastic bent of mind, hates housekeeping, and teaches at middle school part time. My mother is not sarcastic. She hates housekeeping but will bend over backward to accomodate guests in her home. It is the way of Our Culture. and my mother doesn't like conflict. S will leave you to fend for yourself. I don't really like or dislike S;' she certainly hasn't driven me into a rage like she has my mother. The last time we stayed in her house, my mother was babbling on the parkway about "civilization" and how one "treats a guest". L is more outwardly nice, but is majorly Catholic. My mother will not visit their houses as it's clearly an imposition, and will not stay in a hotel. She doesn't want me staying a hotel.

Atti is only going to be in her house for a limited amount of time and then will go back to the hospital or one of her sons' houses.

2004-07-25T19:54:00.000-05:00

Should I stay or should I go now? The Clash

Darling you gotta let me know
Should I stay or should I go?
If you say that you are mine
I’ll be here ’til the end of time
So you got to let know
Should I stay or should I go?

Always tease tease tease
Siempre - coqetiando y enganyando
You’re happy when I’m on my knees
Me arrodilla y estas feliz
One day is fine, next is black
Un dias bien el otro negro
So if you want me off your back
Al rededar en tu espalda
Well come on and let me know
Me tienes que desir
Should I stay or should I go?
Me debo ir o que darme

Should I stay or should I go now?
Should I stay or should I go now?
If I go there will be trouble
An’ if I stay it will be double
So come on and let me know

This indecision’s bugging me
Esta undecision me molesta
If you don’t want me, set me free
Si no me quieres, librame
Exactly who’m I’m supposed to be
Diga me que tengo ser
Don’t you know which clothes even fit me?
¡§saves que robas me querda?
Come on and let me know
Me tienes que desir
Should I cool it or should I blow?
¡§me debo ir o quedarme?

Should I stay or should I go now?
¡§yo me frio o lo sophlo?
If I go there will be trouble
Si me voi - va ver peligro
And if I stay it will be double
Si me quedo es doble
So you gotta let me know
Me tienes que decir
Should I stay or should I go?
¡§yo me frio o lo sophlo?

2004-07-25T09:30:00.000-05:00

Wackiness: 60/100
Rationality: 44/100
Constructiveness: 38/100
Leadership: 84/100

You are a WEDL--Wacky Emotional Destructive Leader. This makes you an anarchist. You don't give a damn. When push comes to shove, you just forget about it--it's just not worth the heartache. What this means for others is that dealing with you can be aggravating, because they find they can't get you motivated about things they care about. What this means for you is that you are happier, calmer, and saner then they are on their best days.

You are near-immune to criticism, and those who know you well acknowledge and respect that. You may come across as lazy, but the truth is that you find little to get worked up about. Regardless, you have slews of friends, because they are fascinated by your world view, jealous of your lifestyle, and drawn to the fact that you are hilarious to be around.

You are a pillar in a sea of hot-bloodedness. You have a sweet tooth.

2004-07-17T20:06:00.000-05:00

I haven't published on my own blog in a long time. My perpetually bickering parents are out of the house for the next fifteen minutes, so I can actually blog.
My mother started going on about how my living in a dorm would be bad because I couldn't deal with bad roomates and she wants to see me at the top of the fucking law school class.
Screw her. There's no guarantee that listening to my parents bicker first thing in the morning and last thing at night would be a great motivator for me to excel in law school.
She's already getting hyper about my freaking memo, which won't kill me.

Headache

2004-05-01T18:07:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting in the library next to someone who possibly has rattier hair than myself, and I have a whopping headache.

My mother had Sthapana today, I didn't go. And neither did anyone else in my family. When I woke up today, the very first thing my father told me to get a job on the weekends in addition to working at his office five days forty hours a week, because I need "more money", and my mother said I need to exercise twice a day, because I'm really "getting a double chin" and am in the "prime of life" etc. So basically I've been in a sour mood all day, although whether or not I would have been in a good mood is debatable.

I really want to know what's the point of working seven days a week. I seriously think it's because my father thinks I'm really a lump on the weekends and therefore need to be productive. If I had quit the job, then it would make abundant sense. If I were about to be fired, then it would make sense. It's not likely I'll be able to land a better job right now that pays more, or something that is only confined to two days a week or even one day a week.

I really need insurance. With any luck I'll have some at the end of this month. I had a scare in which the tax deposits for the bank had disappeared between my hand and the teller and it turned out that the deposit got caught in the machine. My freaking cognitive disorder is such that I thought I might have dropped it out of the envelope on the way to the car, or forgotten the slip in the office, or dropped it between the teller and the drawer in the drive through. It doesn't matter that none of this is my fault; I'll just be known as the bubblehead daughter of the boss. Puppy Love says that if I weren't the boss's daughter and the slip had been lost, I would have been fired, and I'm pretty sure that I would have been fired anyways.

To top off this crappiness, my great aunt was in the hospital this week. They found several spots in her chest and a nodule on her lung when she had to be rushed there to have a quart of fluid aspirated from her lungs. It doesn't look good, because that means that her lung cancer has metastisized, after she's had cancer twice before. She refuses to stay with her son Nandi, because it would be a burden "to pack". She's fiercely private; I never knew she had cancer twice before until Deepak mentioned it. My mother is beside herself. We used to play word games when we visited her, and she'd play on her guitar and sing. She can't sing now, the cancer is up in her throat. She sounds wheezy, and has this cancer for two years. I told her about a cancer drug I had heard about on NPR, and she said it's some sort of hormone that her oncologist wants her to take. She'll do that; but she won't go through chemo or surgery again and I don't blame her. Her cancer is like Pancho Villa hiding out from the federales and Woodrow Wilson; it seems to go away but then comes back again.

At least the tulips in bloom and it's balmy outside.

low grade fever

2004-04-24T19:03:00.000-05:00

I've spent Tuesday onward feeling like someone yanked my power cord out of an electrical current. Tuesday, I was fine until I had stomach pains and that total energy drain. I conked out in the office and was bizzarely not interested in anything around me. I couldn't handle the druggie patient's appointment request and her angry internet-jonesing son, nor was I interested in the upper-middle-class pretentions of Departures magazine. Wednesday I came in, but still had some bizzare fever. Thursday I spent at home sleeping most of the day, and Friday for good measure so I could recover from the bug I had caught. My father thought I hadn't caught anything, and it was just the result of eating bean soup for lunch on Tuesday. I missed a CHADD meeting, and did absolutely nothing of any consequence.

Even though I'm obstensibly well, I still feel completely low grade. I seriously got stressed out over calling my cousin who's supposed to help me with appartment searching, in part because my mother was screaming directions to me while I was on the phone. I absolutely despise that, and it takes all my self control not to bite her head off.

Later, I called Croissant to see if she wanted to go out for a walk. She declined saying she was waiting for some guy friend of hers to call her back so they could decide to go hiking that day. Typical. She says it wasn't S, but who knows. She sounded drained or sad, and I did say, "You sound sad". She says she got taken off her diet pills, "because they were messing with [her] mind", and she was off her diet.

I went inside to change to go the park myself, but completely decided against exercising, when my mother started going on about how I was wearing such an ugly hat, and how I really needed to press my t shirt. For mucking around and getting sweaty in the park! Really, I wonder what she would have thought of Croissant's perfect lipstick and eyeshadow after a five mile job last week. Perhaps she would have demanded I put on makeup too? At any rate, I took it to mean that I was too hideous to go outside in public, so I went downstairs to the treadmill, and promptly lost any interest in exercising, went back up to my bed and slept for about four hours.

My mother wanted me to go out with her to walk in the park at around sunset and eat at the restaurant in the park, but I declined, and she said I was purposely trying to hurt her feelings. I mentioned Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and my mother asked, "Why didn't you want to go out earlier at one?" Whatever. I've asked her five times and she has always declined on some pretext or the other, and I've been wanting to see the movie for about a month. No offense, but if she was going to complain about my fitness wardrobe choices, I had no interest in talking to her today.

I need to make a decision about Widener, and what not. Florida Coastal is still sending me mail, and I need to get into some other schools, 'cause I'm sick of everyone assuming that I'm already going to Hilly even though I'm probably going to go there. I might just go to Widener just so she'll leave me the hell alone -- and that what's so wrong about this.

I'm facing the same damn dilemma I did six years ago. I went to Ohio Wesleyan because they were nice, they gave me money, and it was the furthest I could get from my parents. They haven't loosened up a bit -- sure they've given more to do, but I certainly have less freedom than many people in high school now.

Pretty much every school that I could apply to and reasonably expect to get into has been some rural or exurban place. If it's even in the Mid-Atlantic states. Widener in Harrisburg is just some wealthy guy's gift of his various homes. People aren't kidding when they call Pennslyvania Pennsyltucky. On the way over the reststops were filled with books on how to be a perfect Stepford wife and talk radio was filled with how one should vote for Toomey, 'cause Specter isn't enough of a conservative. I forgoed applying to Dickinson, because the things I didn't like about Widener, even more so applied to Dickinson ("the alma mater of Tom Ridge and Dick Santorum!"), and there weren't any decent schools in Philly that I could get into.

While I was clutching my stomach on the way home from the office on Tuesday, I thought of how I used to make myself retch right after lunch in fourth grade. I used to do so because I just wanted to avoid math class with Sr. Vivian at any cost, because I hadn't done my homework. I ran and ran until I puked, and then I'd be excused. I would sit in the office, bored out of my mind waiting for my mother to pick me up. She knew I was faking it, but I don't think she ever stopped to question why I didn't do my homework or why I wanted to avoid that class. After all, I was bad about my English class too, but it never inspired the same amount of dread in me. I wonder why nobody ever picked up on this obvious phobia of mine.

This doesn't sit well with the discovery that my mother was ignorant of vast swathes of the time I spent at Carlow. It came to a shock to her that Mass was pretty much compulsory, that I sat through two months of Advent and Lent rituals, and that we sat through daily prayers at least three times a day. And I got constant questions as to why I was in an Catholic school. I know my mother went to perhaps the most non-Catholic Catholic school ever, but this is ridiculous. She said that if she had known about it, she would have pulled me out of that school. I was not a confiding child; I seriously thought my mother knew and she had her own reasons for what she did, and that this was normal. Just as it was normal for the guys to have Flip Up days and for the girls to wear boxers, and for noone to ever raise a stink. I truly think this is a case of my stupid brother hogging all of the care and concern.

I hope I get insurance this year. I need treatment for this stupid disorder that nobody in my family believes in or I'm going to flunk law school.

Croissant

2004-04-17T19:36:00.000-05:00

Croissant's aunt died last week after a long battle with cancer. I sent a card of condolence to her parents' house, as her mother spent practically every minute with the aunt before she died. Croissant's cousin lives in the house now and Croissant herself has finally gotten back to living at her appartment now that her stalker is nowwhere near the premises of her appartment or her gym.

She spends a lot of time at the gym nowadays. She says she spends anywhere from two to ten hours a day there, and has lost over a stone in about a month. The Xenical helps too. Today she walked ten miles and decided that she wanted to walk some more.

I called her back today after my cell phone got recharged and I was able to be in range again. She was driving around and showed up at my door with perfectly made up lips and green eye shadow, despite the fact that she had just walked five miles in the park. She wanted to use my dryer to dry her jeans. While her clothes were drying, we made our plans. Croissant wanted to walk some more and go to the Olive Garden and get a salad for dinner. The first we did, the second, we didn't becase Croissant couldn't find the twenty dollars in her car, and refused an offer from me to treat her, and drove off, furious at herself.

I know Croissant is not the most reliable person, but still, something like this always happens. She can't find this, she has no money, or finds a reason to call off at the last moment. I forgive her, but I'm not close to her, because I don't think she'd be helpful in a pinch.

2004-04-10T17:16:00.000-05:00

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
From the fecund loins of Rum and Monkey.

2004-04-07T18:14:00.000-05:00

You are a GRAMMAR GOD!

If your mission in life is not already to
preserve the English tongue, it should be.
Congratulations and thank you!

How grammatically sound are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

May Day

2004-04-03T14:19:00.000-05:00

Decisions, Decisions. I just got accepted to Widener -- both the Harrisburg and the Delaware campuses. They want me to decide which campus by tax time, and they want a deposit right by May 1st.Hilly wants me to send in my first nonrefundable deposit in less than a week. When I didn't know that Widener would accept me, I just knew that between Florida Coastal and Hilly that I wanted to go to Hilly.

My mother's advice, "Visit Widener, rule it out, and put down the money to Hilly. I feel like I have a duty to visit Widener before I rule it out, but I haven't been able to really call, because I'm not sure which campus to visit, or both. Also important but significant is that every single campus office is only open from 9-5, and Puppy Love and Blondie have both complained to me about the other person using the phone for personal calls.

I also know that I do not want to live at home while I go to law school. My mother is talking about how that if I don't get a room on campus that I should really stay home, since Downtown is a big bad city with black people. She said that, not me. And that I wouldn't be able to keep my car there. I'm not really enthusiastic about Widener even on paper, but I feel like I shouldn't bias myself just because the Hilly people are friendly. I made that mistake with Ohio Wesleyan, so I'm not going to do the same thing again. My mother doesn't want me to put down money on Hilly before I rule out Widener because I wouldn't be losing money that way. Please keep in mind I only got the acceptance on Thursday. I haven't even gotten a peep out of my reach school yet, Flat, or a peep out of my favored school on paper, Dickinson. My cousin says that in my shoes that she would put down the money, and if I get into Flat, that it would be "money that I'd be happy to lose". I don't think Dickinson will move more quickly than the rest of my schools at all.

I talked to the housing people at Hilly and they said that they'd take $300 nonrefundable to place me in a single or double in Scrapers, and they sent me over a contract. I want a freaking single if I can swing it if I'm going to live on their campus -- I've had too many run ins with the stupidest roomates for otherwise. Their website only has 15 places that are advertised, and the nicer ones are immediate openings -- and I can't commit to any housing anywhere until July at the earliest.

I really need to talk to someone who isn't in favor of me staying home. If I stay home I have the ten pm high school girl's curfew until I move out and get married. But in other words the advantages of staying home are two: free rent and homecooked meals. I'm just convinced that I'll go insane trying to study Torts while sitting at home and my parents are yelling at my brother for doing something stupid or they're yelling at each other over something or the other. It will severely hamper my social life if I'm forced to do something like ask my mom if I can go see the study group late at night or something. My cousin says I shouldn't worry about my parents being in my business if I'm going to school in the city; she says they slacked off on her once she went to college here. But that will not happen if I'm living at home. It hasn't happened since I came home from Ohio Wesleyan and there's no reason in the forseeable future for them to back off. I really need to think of a way to convince them that I should be in an appartment even if I'm not in a dorm for Hilly. They won't buy "I need independence". If I could find a way to work the "not living at home is better for my study habits" angle that would be good. Because Hilly is a commuter school for most students there who aren't in college. Besides living at home while going to law school would subvert one of my very stupid reasons for going to grad school -- getting space so I can have people over without having to clear it with Mom and Dad. Of course with Flat, should I get in -- (not likely) -- I have the built in argument that I will kill people if I have to commute and park every single day from the suburbs.

And what should I give my professors? As thanks? I obviously can't give them cash -- that's insulting. But I really don't know them all that well.

2004-03-27T23:00:00.000-05:00

So far, I've heard from only two schools out of seven that I've applied to. I've been accepted to Hilly and Florida Coastal. I hope to hell I get into Dickinson... or some other schools. I I visited Hilly and attended a CHADD meeting at which a very cute Kurt Cobain doppelganger was present. The mock trial was very interesting, but the combined needs of eating, needing to pee, and needing to get to my CHADD meeting on time got to me. I initially was really happy about Hilly -- then realized that at this point I'll probably end up going there with my parents all up in my business ALL the fucking time. I mean, everyone else is moving out, why can't I? But at least the school doesn't suck, so thank goodness for that.

My mother had used the opportunity last week to tell me that I had wasted my life over a couple of years and that I really didn't try to get into law school and this therefore proves that she and my father are always correct at all times and I have no judgement whatsoever and I should bow to theirs at all times. Whatever. I refuse to cry at all.

As for the portrait of my grandfather she basically turned me into the junior draftsperson. She rejected all of my creative ideas as to how the caricature should be drawn. She kept asking me for title ideas and editing advice on her essay, but I demurred. Her ideas sucked all the life out of the portrait and made it static. After being called first thing in the morning on Tuesday at work to be yelled at for executing an eleventh hour scan job because it wasn't done her way, I had had enough. I wasn't going to write my own essay, because she would certainly edit out all of the interesting stuff that was there and add her own sentiments, and generally make the whole experience miserable. I wasn't going to tell her that her essay, although deeply felt, only talked about my grandfather in the most general of manners. She tried to get my dad to accept editorial suggestion, but he said, "Why don't you write it and put my name on it." The deification of _______ is complete. We might as well bronze the man and put him up on the family altar; he will be 75 years old after all.

My cousin is now working at the Limited. I had gone there to meet a friend for some half assed time together before May. My cousin has been looking for a job since December and decided to take this job so she wouldn't be hanging out in the house all day. She's lost fifteen pounds since I last saw her. She saw me, congratulated me on getting into law school, and said that although I don't show tons of enthusiasm, I really do "jump up and down on the inside. " My enjoyment of the whole experience was hampered by the fact my contacts were severely bothering me, so much so that my cousin offered to drive me home. I hope my cousin finds a job, as well as my other cousin. The economy is shit here. I did have plans with H, but she bailed on me at the last minute, and the friend was on her way to meet more important friends and was fifteen minutes late.

Speaking of jobs, I'm completely bored out of my skull by mine. So much so that the highlight of my week working at my father's office was drawing an Easter scene starring a bunny who was about to be beamed up by aliens in front of a ring of fire while children were running through a meadow on an egg hunt. I had originally drawn flames in the bunny's eyes, but Puppy Love objected to bunny possession. It was either that, karoake, or a Bunny Evel Kenievel. I drew Tudor fashion gowns on sticky notes as if I'm some Ren Faire costume designer with an unlimited budget. Too bad that imagination doesn't pay the bills.

2004-03-27T22:51:00.000-05:00

Furnulum pani nolo.
"I don't want a toaster."
Generally, things (like this quiz) tend to tick you
off. You have contemplated doing grievous
bodily harm to door-to-door salesmen.

Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

2004-03-27T22:27:00.000-05:00

Fight Club!

What movie Do you Belong in?(many different outcomes!)
brought to you by Quizilla

2004-03-07T13:10:00.000-05:00

I went to Curves on Friday night. The gym was tiny, consisted only of a half a dozen circuit machines and platforms, and was filled with happy Japanese pop interrupted every thirty seconds by "Change stations now". And I'm apparently a full inch and a half shorter than I really am, five pounds heavier, and 36.7 % fat. I really don't think I can do their version of circuit training -- to go as fast as the machines would require for me it to be hard to lift is too hard to do. Plus the gym proprietor wouldn't let me try one full workout before signing up, and as it was, I've gotten more winded walking up the eight flights of stairs in my office than I did that day. Aerobically challenging indeed. The gym owner was very nice though, but it's not something I'd want to pay over three hundred dollars for in a year, because if I'd get bored of the workout much before then. And although the proprietor said that women of all ages work out there, all the women I saw were over thirty. And this was after work. At least I know exactly how blubbery I am.

2004-03-07T12:37:00.000-05:00

I'm just not very much of a consistent blogger. I suspect it may be after my particular time. When I was in high school I made a crappy zine, and just wrote frequently, but blogs and livejournal didn't exist then. And now that I'm working at one of the most boring jobs known to man, I really don't have time or inspiration to write. Besides it's one thing to jabber on about how miserable you are in private; it's another to share your thoughts with the whole entire world (potentially). I wrote lots of bad poetry with people dying in the hospital or attempting suicide, and listened to lots of depressing music, like Nine Inch Nails and Nirvana. I once gathered up all of the pills in my father's medicine cabinet, lost my nerve and spent a semester working on a heart shaped box decorated with the expired pills and pierced by a hypodermic needle. Never really worked out. My art teacher was afraid that people would snap off the hot glued pills and munch them like Flintstone chewables.

I'm still depressive, don't get me wrong --- I spent a half hour in a dark bathroom with a skylight clutching a sweatshirt, but I'm so far from suicide. Which brings me to Olympe. Her posts seemed full of blinding undending misery, and then she stopped posting in December. It was hard to read her posts; and I'm not sure we could have helped her. I just found out she killed herself. Rest in peace; what a waste.
Black Hole Sun

2004-03-07T12:32:00.000-05:00

Which 1990's Subculture Do You Belong To?

[Another Quiz by Kris
@ couplandesque.net]

Bad June Rising

2004-02-29T12:07:00.000-05:00

Dilemmas, dilemmas. I can never decide what to do, or when to do it, so I waste so much time.

Ma mère has just decreed that we will all go to attend my grandfather's 75th birthday celebrations, since she has never been one to miss a big party. "The public wants to celebrate", she says. Keep in mind that Ajja has had a long distinguished career, which I won't get into right now, cause it might identify me. Anyway, my brother caught wind of the words, "tickets" and "India" as he was waking up and was promptly upset. He started ranting and raving about how he didn't want to go because he didn't want to miss work, and he'd be bored there. Ma mère promptly said that we would not be there a month. That really didn't mollify my brother. I know we won't be there for a month unless we go early, because after all, I'm sure mère is planning to whisk me off to Atlanta to yet another convention at the beginning of July so I can be looked at and look at the eligibles.

Going to India doesn't upset me as much. It's the "I need to talk to you about stuff" which is upsetting. I'm sure that within two or three weeks, my parents will have me attend the wedding and also have me meet eligibles and get lectured at about how it's high time I got married to an eligible and had some kids to continue the dynasty. Between grand-père's command of the oratory, and grand-mère's probable plea of "I want to see you married before I die", its going to be pretty hard to resist. Or my mother will reveal that I have a not so secret lover or something to me tonight. Truthfully, my life is so dull, I don't know what she's thinking.

I really need to find out where I'm going to law school so I avoid these family discussions soon. I just hope I don't end up in the City or with no place to go. The City's great, but that means I either commute ( #&*$^@ university drag commute and parking) with a ten pm curfew or have my parents pull an "Oh, we were just in the neighborhood" all the time. Just eight more weeks.... eight more weeks....(crosses fingers)

Puppy Love sings the blues

2004-02-29T11:42:00.000-05:00

Puppy Love used Friday to mess around. She came into work on Friday hung over from her night of bowling and basically used the time to answer the phone, read Cosmopolitan, and regale me with all of her drunken stories. She slept so soundly that her beloved puppy Bailey's constant diarrhea couldn't wake her, and neither could her mother. Here are some of her stories:

Once she was so drunk at Bradford she sleepwalked down the hall naked into one of her guy friend's bed. She says nothing happened, because she trusts her friends, but still. And the night before Friday, she drunkenly filled out a bar application she didn't remember filling out. Shades of my father's last medical assistant there. Puppy Love also drank a bottle of Chardonnay every single night in Hawaii. Whether she shared it with a table or just drank it herself is not particularly clear. Oh, and Puppy Love is back with her boyfriend who's a recovering alcoholic, and is currently unemployed -- she doesn't think she'll be with him longer because she wants things and doesn't think he can provide them.

Puppy Love also chose this day to detail her complaints or gripes about her current job. She complained that Blondie didn't follow up on billing(wrong addresses), had her do stupid onerous chores, (like collect tons of EKGS), came in late to work all the time, got paid more as a part timer than as a full timer, and delegated all the crap work to her, like phone call answering. I agreed Blondie detested answering phones, but said no more. She also made it clear that as soon as she goes back to school and finishes her nursing degree (she hasn't started that yet), she's out of here.

I don't blame her, but I honestly don't know why she started complaining about this stuff and talking about her drunken escapades to me. Does she think I'll keep a secret? Does she subtly want me to prod the boss about a pay raise? Does she secretly want to be fired? I told some of this stuff to a friend, and his reaction was to want to send her to AA.

outtake

2004-02-28T12:27:00.000-05:00

I'm getting really tired of The Passion of the Christ and my coworkers' attitudes toward it. They are all apparently going to see it, except Blondie, and even then probably if she can leave her kids at home.

One choice quote:
"The Jews really killed Jesus!"

Now that bothered me, and I'm not even Jewish.

Well, actually it was a little more complicated than that. People forget the complicated interplay between colonial elites and the ruling governments and the bargains people make. Pontius wasn't bullied into doing anything he didn't want to do. But I didn't tell them that -- no sense in antagonizing them.

I also didn't tell them that the whole ressurection & communion business looked like a holy zombie film or a case of symbolic cannibalism when I was six years old.
But I digress.A tortured man on a cross? A blood thirsty goddess wearing a skull necklace? Squeamishness is just cultural, after all.

But I prefer other quotes:
"the most macho jesus film ever made"-- Stephanie Zacharak, Salon
"religious splatter art" --Richard Corliss,Time

Jason Mattera -- token Republican minority spokesperson

2004-02-15T15:43:00.000-05:00

College Republicans offer whites-only
The Associated Press

Feb. 15, 2004 | BRISTOL, R.I. (AP) -- A student group at Roger Williams University is offering a new scholarship for which only white students are eligible, a move they say is designed to protest affirmative action.

The application for the $50 award requires an essay on "why you are proud of your white heritage" and a recent picture to "confirm whiteness."

"Evidence of bleaching will disqualify applicants," says the application, issued by the university's College Republicans.

Jason Mattera, 20, who is president of the College Republicans, said the group is parodying minority scholarships.

"White kids are at a handicap," Mattera told The Providence Journal. "Handing out scholarships based on someone's color is absurd."

The stunt has angered some at the university, but the administration is staying of the fray. The school's provost said it is a student group's initiative and is not endorsed by Roger Williams.

Mattera, who is of Puerto Rican descent, is himself is a recipient of a $5,000 scholarship open only to a minority group.

"No matter what my ethnicity is, I'm making a statement that scholarships should be given out based on merit and need," he said.

It's not the first brush with controversy for the group. The school temporarily froze the Republicans' money in the fall during a fight over a series of articles published in its monthly newsletter. One article alleged that a gay-rights group indoctri nates students into homosexual sex .

They might as well have called the scholarship the "KKK" scholarship. As parody it isn't very clear -- and it's not ridiculous enough to pass muster. I'm not sure whether or not Mattera is aware of Harvard's entrance tests back in the 19th or early twentieth century designed to weed out Jews who would presumbably would not have been familiar with the habits and culture of WASPs. I wonder if he's ever heard of the "brown paper bag" or the "oak plank" tests, some of the more exclusive black upper crust clubs or groups used to employ. He might be a journalism major, but he hasn't paid any attention to history.

I wonder if Jason Mattera is aware that he's getting extra attention not only because of the "scholarship", but because he's Puerto Rican and a recipient of a minority scholarship, the existence of which he despises. I don't see him, saying, "Unless you give me a non-raced scholarship based on my merit, I'm not taking any scholarship." He sounds like the son of a family with lots of money or very little, who was brought up strict Catholic or evangelical Protestant. He sounds like the Puerto Rican Dinesh D'Souza, which I'm sure he'd find an enormous backhanded compliment --- he'd rather be Ralph Reed.

This is the key to his notoriety --- after all, liberal Democratic leaning minorities are a dime a dozen; competition to be a minority spokesperson for them is a lot stiffer than that for fundamentalist Republicans. I don't think he'd get a call back from the Nation even if he did happen to share their views

If you'd like to go to law school, consider Regent Law as a backup, Jason. You might be Yale material, but Regent really really needs minority students to put in their brochures.

impulse red!

2004-02-15T11:04:00.000-05:00

I've been working at my father's office for a couple of weeks doing receptionist type duties and filing charts and coding EKGs and whatnot. Pretty dull stuff, but I'm paid. I'm filling in for Puppy Love while she's out catching her alohas and waves in search of her Hawaiian hunk. However I think the only Hawaiian hunk she's going to find is a hunk of pineapple. Plus I'm not sure she wants to leave her dogs.

On the twelfth, I finally got my own spanking brand new Toyota Corolla. It's red, naturally. I think I made one of the salesmen uncomfortable by staring at the fascinating hair plug transplant on top of his balding head. Mom made the sales people uncomfortable by demanding an additional reduction of 1000 dollars, and demanding a rider written on saying that we get our deposit back if for example the car sounds funny or is damaged. We pick it up next week, but I need to be happier, cause feeling entitled really sucks. Nonetheless, I'm happy I don't have to share the car with anyone. (dances around like an idiot... Yay!)

On Friday the thirteenth, I went to quiet my nagging intuition. I honestly think I'll have to put this moment in fiction someday. (starts humming "You've lost that loving feeling")

Yesterday, I worked on apps, slowly, and went to dinner with my parents where my father had yet another idea for my mother as a restaurant entrepeneur, and my mother vehemently turned it down as too much work. As usual, she commented on the typical rajastani mughal painting decor.

2004-02-08T22:23:00.000-05:00

How evil are you?