My mother, the witness

Been doing shittons of research and lawyering in the past week and a half, including filing craptons of stuff in the one case I'm working. I love research and I love preparing and figuring out details to be discussed in hearings, but let's be real: the Rules of Civil Procedure, service requirements, and deadlines (or, in reality, the fact that I might fuck them up entirely) terrify me, y'all.

That's why it was nice reading my mother's deposition for a case in which she's currently a party--it made me feel a little more competent as an attorney. Two particular gems from the depo, which involve litigation arising from her being hit from behind while at a stop light:

(Q) When was the first time you saw this truck?
(A) When it hit me.

And let's not forget this one, which tickled my funny bone and for which my mother didn't even offer up an answer, although I can imagine VERY CLEARLY the expression on her face:

(Q) When is the first time you became aware of this accident?

Wait, WHAT?

I get it from somewhere. Clearly. 

Boomerang Generation, or as my mom put it: "Welcome home; now get the fuck out."

Happy Thanksgiving to all! I'm done moving out of my old apartment, which (if any of you read my Twitter, know) was a horrible terrible HORRIBLE ordeal. Mostly because I was packing it all myself. Thankfully, my dad came up at the last minute and helped me drag the last of it to storage and transported what I wanted to keep back home. And when I tell you that man can PACK a truck, I do mean it. I thought it would take three or four trips to get all my crap to storage. One, guys. ONE. And when we got there, he strung up rope and hung my clothes from it like a clothesline. Because my dad is obviously a genius.

I owe my dad in large part to fitting entirely too much shit into such a small area 

I want to say I was really sad about leaving my apartment, but really I was so friggin' tired of moving and so overwhelmed by tiredness and dust, that I mostly said good riddance and got the Hell out of Dodge. Regardless, I still took some "reminiscent, empty house" photos. Whatever.

An empty house never looked SO BEAUTIFUL.
(Also: bye F-town. You've been good to me.)

So....I've now been officially inducted into the Boomerang Generation. I'm crashing with my parents until I can find a job, which hasn't been forthcoming as of yet. Today I applied for a job about seven states away today, and will snap it up if I am offered the chance (which will almost assuredly not happen, given the fact that I've been so ridiculously un-hireable as of yet). I've also been applying for science jobs across the state that may or may not utilize my legal "prowess," and haven't heard back from any of them. Yesterday, I finished finding, printing, and highlighting all the classes I'm using to claim eligibility for the Patent Bar (it took a couple of hours), which I credit in large part to the workspace I've set up in my parents' new house. I'm in a closet y'all, which is ideal for me. Not too much room, not too many distractions, but not so small that it makes me feel like stabbing my eyeballs out. 

Behold....the glory.
(Also known as "where the magic happens.)

In order to keep myself further occupied, I've been planning out my mode of attack regarding getting into shape/becoming a super-sexy-beast. I hate the routine I've managed to get into, but hadn't changed it due to my life being in flux and the inability to plan more than a week into the future. Now that I've moved, though, and am settled into a place I'm likely to be for a few months, I'm ditching the excuses and recommitting to being a sexy mid-twenties lady. I refuse to allow unemployment, laziness, and advancing age turn me into a bigger slob. Now I'm trying to figure out the perfect cardio playlist. Do y'all have any suggestions?

I hope y'all have a wonderful holiday, eat until you can't move, and take long, tryptophan-induced naps. 'Tis the season. 

STFU

Tonight, while on the phone with my mother, I was offered a big cup of shut the fuck up.

I think I'd prefer a shot, wouldn't you?

Don't worry; it comes in all flavors.

"I'd rather have a full bottle in front of me than a full frontal lobotomy." --Fred Allen

Not enough hours in the day.....

The end of school is rapidly approaching, and I'm confronting life with all the grace of a lumbering wildebeest and the social skills of a velociraptor.

I have three finals in the course of a week, six memos to finish for ONE clinic, final hours for a judicial externship, a 10 page paper for the aforementioned judicial externship, and OH MY GOD WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE..................

My heightened surliness was recently remarked upon by my mother, Mad Maxine, who has a velociraptor approach in every avenue of life (thus making her observations that much more poignant).

Max: you've gotta relax a little bit. You've been bitchier than ever lately. What calms you down?
Me: Tequila.
Max: No, seriously.
Me: I am being serious. Tequila.
Max: Okay....
Me: So what do you suggest?
Max: Tequila.


If you need me, I'll be under my desk clutching my bff bottle.

Thanksreceiving

It's been a really great day. A really really REALLY great day. I've washed about a quatrillion dishes and gained about eleventy billion pounds, but that's okay.

I'm thankful for my little brother, who keeps torturing my poor dog. I'm thankful for my parents, who drove to ME to prepare and devour our delicious meal. I'm thankful for Leonidas, who was unable to be with his family today and has been stuck at work unable to leave for the past fifteen hours. I'm thankful my football game isn't until tomorrow, and hopeful the Hogs play the second AND the first halves to their greatest potential (here's looking at you, Aggies).

I'm thankful to be able to represent children who might not otherwise have an advocate looking out for them. I'm thankful for the opportunity to plead down two felonies to misdemeanors yesterday for one of those clients. I'm thankful to have the chance to present a full Crawford v. Washington confrontation clause defense before I ever graduate law school. I'm thankful for two more weeks to cram in all I need to do before finals start.

I'm excited for Christmas. And Christmas trees. And Christmas decorations. And purchasing and wrapping cheerful presents for other people. And possibly dressing Crackers in a silly Christmas costume and posing with her in front of the aforementioned Christmas decorations.

I'm fearful of the next few weeks and the incredible amount of work I have to accomplish before it's all over (I equate it to childbirth). But thankful....because I have an amazing support system, a roof over my head, a dog that loves me unconditionally....

and about three weeks of leftovers. YAY FOR TURKEY (and dressing, pie, casserole, and other soon-to-be-frozen items)!!!!!!

Meet Calvin

My little brother, who I have fondly nicknamed Calvin due to his insatiable appetite for the Calvin and Hobbes comic strips (although now he also claims he loves Garfield as well), was not raised in the church. You'll find that this is in direct conflict with my upbringing (see previous post about my thoughts on marriage). My parents also apparently decided they were tired when they brought him into this world, and decided to not beat his ass anytime he acted up. And since he was raised around a household of adults/young adults, his vocabulary is heads and shoulders above other kids of his age. Oh yeah, and he also likes to do different impressions of movie characters (including, but not limited to the three little Bavarian pigs from Shrek).

What does this add up to? A kid who is entirely too smart for his own good, and who should probably get spanked more often than he does. And pretty funny on top of it all.

One such conversation which proves how succinct (and unintentionally endearing) he can be:

Me: How do you get to heaven?
Calvin: You die.
Me: Close enough.

I'm looking into vacation bible schools in the area. Especially since he's also taken up imitating a demon voice while saying "Praise me." (He got it from some weird TMZ prank in which a woman was punked in an operating room by the emergence of a demon-like midget with horns and a tail.)

Yep. Have I ever mentioned we aren't heatherns heathens?

Conservative upbringing, liberal application, moderate success

I grew up in the deep south, where most people I know consider "liberal" to be a dirty word (including my father, Danny, although I won't go into that). I was raised in the Baptist church, largely synonymous with Bible-thumping, brimstone preaching, and evangelical savings in the summer. I was dunked in eighth grade, STILL have t-shirts with my 6-year old handprints on it from Vacation Bible School, and drew the line in the sand regarding racism prevalent in our youth group in ninth grade. My parents brought me up in a small town, and I had the same elementary teachers as my father. My hometown, to this day, celebrates a Civil War reenactment once a year where men march for 20 miles to get to the battle field, ride horses while shooting pretend guns, and blow up the pond (rain or shine). I have gotten lost in the woods in my backyard, had poison ivy more times than I could count, and nursed baby animals back to health with my parents' help. I've gotten my ass whooped by my parents (who didn't pretend that this was going to hurt them more than it was going to hurt me), and on occasion, had to pick out Cyd's switch while he picked out mine after particularly nasty rounds of fisticuffs. I grew up with everyone knowing my name, in a tolerant family who didn't use race as a determinative factor of character, and will be the first lawyer in my entire family.

I'm proud of my roots, and I carry a lot of the same views as my parents. However, some of my views are inherently different than theirs, though we try not to hold it against each other. My dad and I, for the sake of not fighting, do not argue about religion or politics, because nothing good will ever come out of it (Danny is a birther, and apparently thinks Obama is from Africa, even after the "fake" birth certificate was released--not going to touch that with a ten foot pole). I didn't vote for Obama...I'm more of a Hillary kind of person, myself, which my dad will never.ever.get. My mother is more liberal than my father, but still drives me crazy because she doesn't believe in donating her organs because they might kill her for her body parts (and always thinks she's right, but again, not going to touch that). Regardless, I'm thankful for them allowing me to make my own decisions and form my own viewpoints, which is more than most kids have going for them.

I began this particular blog to discuss the issue of marriage, but instead, I think I'm going to use it as a prologue for the next couple of days' entries. I'll use it to preface my thoughts regarding a few different topics I believe in, and let it stand as is.

Unlike many moderates/liberals, I'm not ashamed of my conservative background. I may not be jumping on a tea party bandwagon, but I definitely think there's a lot to be learned from either side of the party lines, and am glad I was raised with an open mind and the chance to cut past the partisan bullshit. It's important to have a dialogue in order to grow, and I have the chance to engage in that dialogue every time I go home.

Thanks, Danny and Maxine, even if I sometimes think you're kinda crazy.

If my life were a play....

Normally I write every single day. It's very cathartic and a great way to get rid of things that are bothering me. On the other hand, 14 hours of sleep does roughly the same thing....the only casualties of my hibernation was a missed call to my boyfriend and a half-finished "Earl the Squirrel" story I was making up for my brother. This leads me to my topic of discussion today: I've somehow neglected to name some of the main characters of my life, and I'm pretty sure calling my peoples "the boyfriend" and "my mom" will eventually get old, so I'm going to engage in a (drum roll please) SUPER AWESOME NAMING EXTRAVAGANZA.

In the interest of anonymity, I will not give official or even semi-close names for my peoples. I also will not give them names of inanimate objects (because that would just be weird). So without further adieu, here are the main characters of my life and many of my stories:

My mother (aka: sometimes will be referenced as crazy, ridiculous, or lacking in superior mentality): she is a source of a great many stories, many of them told from a frustrated point of view. She calls me at least 50 times a day (seriously.not.joking) and many times just doesn't get it. She can also be quite witty, although I find she's generally funnier when her barbs are not aimed at me. I think I shall call her Maxine, after that mean lady from the cartoons who is occasionally funny. Apparently she prefers Irma (seriously, WHO PREFERS IRMA?!?!?!) but Maxine it is.

Brother #1: he is not too much younger than me, and favors sleeping to being awake. However, when he is awake, he has a wicked sense of humor that girls generally turn and run from. It's like garlic to a vampire. He is literally the equivalent of a human sloth. I therefore shall call him Cyd. (My mom would also have you know Cyd is creepy and, if he weren't her son, she would seriously question his lack of a criminal record.)

Brother #2: he is quite a bit younger than me, and a lot like me. He's incredibly smart, but lacking in common sense to a degree that is hilarious and very endearing (note: I am neither incredibly smart or hilarious/endearing....I meant in the sense of personality). He likes playing video games to a point where he should technically be blind, but somehow he managed to escape from the terrible fate of blindness I have inexplicably been given. In light of all these facts, I think I shall call him "Calvin," after his favorite comic strip (although I'm pretty sure he prefers Hobbes).

Boyfriend: he has somehow managed to put up with me for quite some time now, and doesn't show any signs of giving up on me. He's funny, likes reciting movie scenes in the shower, and is a serious car enthusiast. I also suspect he hates my cooking (although he professes to love it), simply from the sheer amount of times he opts to go out for dinner instead of staying in. From here on out, he will be known as Leonidas, the character he probably quotes the most in the middle of his showers. (Note: this was a tough decision, because he also loves quoting the movie "Troy" and might have preferred another name. Too bad. Leonidas stands.)

I have another friend who follows my blog that I shall simply refer to her name she has already given herself: "Blog Creeper." Her biography can come at another day, although I may allow her to write her own, if she so likes.

My dad doesn't really come up a whole lot in my stories, but he's pretty damn funny too when I actually get to hang out with him. He likes fishing, working, and sleeping (though not to the extent that Cyd does). I say this because any time we go on vacation, we end up staying in the hotel more than leaving...because it's his "damn vacation too, and he deserves a break." I think I shall call him Danny, due to his very minimal resemblance to Danny Tanner from Full House. Maxine thinks this makes no sense. I don't care, Maxine. (She's pissed I gave her a shitty name and gave him a decent one. Like IRMA was any better???)

So, there are the main characters in my life, although I'm sure the secondary ones will come up from time to time, and I shall name them as they come. As for me, I'll just refer to myself in the first person rather than the third, thus taking away all need for one. However, Maxine thinks I need a name for the conversations I have with her that I sometimes illustrate in third person. She hereby has deemed me "Fidget," the bat from The Great Mouse Detective (apparently because I'm blind as a bat)...although I do NOT have a gimpy leg. (I can do a great impersonation of him though, if you ever want to hear it.) I guess Fidget is a decent enough name.

I think that about sums up the vast ridiculousness of my life....Maxine, Cyd, Calvin, Leonidus, Danny, and Blog Creeper.

And me....Fidget.

May God have mercy on our souls.

Forget LSF's....I CAN'T SEE!

That may be a bit of an overstatement. I've always had a really difficult time with the whole seeing thing. This was blatantly obvious to me tonight, as I couldn't see the road in front of me. DAMN YOU, lacking night vision! Although I'm (thankfully) not legally blind, when I'm not wearing corrective lenses, my vision is generally about 20/800. Just for those of you that don't know, there is a big E at the top of the vision chart. For those of you who didn't know that, you most certainly will not know that there is a HUGE A above that.

Folks, I can't even see the A. 

Now, how does one become so utterly lacking in vision? When I was younger, I used to read voraciously. I would read at the dinner table. I would read during class, hiding the book under my desk. I would read in the dark with a flashlight. Notice how that last sentence is underlined? Yeah....I think that's why I can no longer see. My mother likes to tell the story of the first time she noticed I couldn't see, which was when I was in third grade. At the time, I had a (moronic) teacher who, TO THIS DAY, I remember could not differentiate between the pronunciation of "broad" and "board." (I am still pissed about her marking my spelling wrong when I TOTALLY spelled the word she announced to the class, but I digress...) Every day, my mom would drop me off at school then head back home, but this day, I forgot my lunch and she had to come in to drop it off to me.

::CUE SCENE::

My mom arrives at the classroom, where I am literally a foot away from the board writing down our "DOL" (Daily Oral Language or something stupid like that) problem.
My mother, to the teacher: "Why is Erica so close to the board?"
The moronic teacher: "Oh, she does that every day. She says she can't see the board."
My mother: "And you didn't think to tell me?"
The moronic teacher: vacant smile

Later that day

Mom: "Why were up at the board this morning?"
Me: "Because I couldn't see the board."
Mom: "What else can't you see?"
Me: "I dunno...if I can't see it, how do I know it's there?"
Mom: (backing up) "How many fingers am I holding up?"
Me: (squinting really hard) "Two?"
Mom: "I'm calling the eye doctor."

::END SCENE(s):: 

As an aside: I was an overachiever even back in grade school. When the school administered the hearing and vision tests, I literally thought I was being graded on them. So when I misidentified the panda bear as the birthday cake (how ISN'T that a dead giveaway, people?!?!?!), I totally played it off, like "Oh yeah, that's what I meant." And somehow, they believed me.

Just recently, my dad told me "the rest of the story," as Paul Harvey (may he rest in peace) would say. We were talking about my pitiful vision skills and he said, "I still remember the day you got your glasses." Your mom took you to the eye doctor, and when they gave them to you, you told her "Wow....I can see!!!!" Your mom told me "_______, I felt about two inches small." That still makes me laugh, because she needn't have. I literally didn't know what I was missing...because I just couldn't see it.

To this day, my mom tells me I owe her my sight. She fed me so many carrots and sweet potatoes when I was a baby, the palms of my hands and the bottoms of my feet turned orange. She swears without this extra beta-keratin, I would have been doomed to spend the rest of my life with a stick and a dog. My mom...the optimist.

Doing anything but studying

Over the years I have come to the conclusion that my procrastination skills are quite good. Law school has done wonders at honing these life skills. Take today, for example: woke up; spoke on the phone; played on the internet; ate; napped; played on the internet; cleaned my house; watched part of a movie; spoke on the phone; played on the internet; ate. Are you sensing a theme? Now if only I could figure out a career where I play on the internet, talk on the phone, and take long naps, I'll be set! (Unfortunately, being an infant does not count as a career.)

I'm also an old lady. Demonstration:

**On the phone with my mother**
Mother: You're a shut in.
Me: Just because I can't go on vacation with you doesn't mean I'm a shut in!
Mother: You're an old lady. All you need is a cat and you can retire in peace.
Me: I am not an old lady! I lead an active and productive life!
Mother: Your thermostat is set to 72, you walk around your house wrapped in a blanket, and you nap more than any person your age should.
Me: Yeah, I totally was napping earlier when you called and I told you I was studying.
Mother: I rest my case. You are a granny.

Granted, I do participate in all the things she mentioned above. I do love naps. I may keep my house at a sub-tropical temperature. But by God, I'm not a fan of cats and I work REALLY hard during the week procrastinating so I can sleep on the weekends.

A crazy bird lady, though...that's a role I may eventually be willing to play.