Confessions that no one should be surprised about....

I'm about to drop a little bit of truth on you.....

I dress like a 90 year old woman.

No, really. On my first date with my boyfriend of three years, he made a quip about me suffocating him with my "Bill Cosby sweater." (And here I was thinking I looked snazzy.) When I was a kid, I used to circle turtlenecks and those shirts made out of the long underwear material in the JC Penny catalog. And then I wore them every day. One Christmas, I distinctly remember begging my mother for weeks for a pair of penny loafers.

(I'm going to let that soak in for a minute.)

In high school, I wasn't much better. I shopped at Goodwill. I chose things that made me laugh, and made others laugh. I didn't give a flying flip about what others thought. (And still don't, honestly, which isn't always necessarily a good thing.) I opted for outfits that were outlandish. Garish. And I still loved turtlenecks.

Nowadays, I resemble a librarian. The unsexy kind. I live in cableknit sweaters. Hugemongeous cardigans. Sweater-set cardigans. I layer them over camis. And over turtlenecks (obviously).

I love fashion. I really do. I like trendy clothes, and cool makeup, and funky styles. I follow fashion bloggers and drool over their outfits. I participated in pageants and have the 29 LBDs and 50+ other cocktail dresses to prove it. I wore false eyelashes. Rocked the five inch pumps. Know how to dress for every occasion. (And I'm honestly not making that up.) I own no less than 13 Antonio Melani Suits. But when it comes to picking up an outfit for my day-to-day non-career wear? I'm cheap. I hate spending money. And I hate cheap clothing. Which is a catch-22. You can't hate them both.

Which means I'll probably die wearing the same cardigan I almost suffocated my boyfriend with on our first date.

But at least I'll die warm.

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.

Back that ass up

2011 was a good year. 2012 is going to be even better. 

Because I said so, dammit. 

I've been spending a lot of time doing nothing the past couple of weeks. And when I say nothing, I mean not even feeding myself (although I have, admittedly, been showering). With the new year comes new responsibilities, however, and there are some big changes I am looking forward to in 2012. In 2012, I graduate from law school. I will hopefully pass the Bar. I will also hopefully land a job. That is a shit ton of hoping, children.

With a new job presumably comes a move. I'm not sure where I am moving. I am not sure if I will even be hired. Which means I'm designating 2012 as:

THE YEAR OF THE BACKUP....

A backup plan if things don't work out how they should. A backup plan to ensure my continued sanity. A backup plan that somehow doesn't involve my parents paying for my bills and gas.

Because we all know that stripping is a totally legitimate backup plan, right?

Right??????

What my Netflix account says about me....

Netflix tracks the types of movies you watch. It asks you to rate them on a star system as well. And then it generates lists of more movies you may like. Since I have put my movies in, and added some Leonidas would like, then topped it off by placating Calvin (remember, my little brother?) with some weird-looking cancelled-after-ten-episodes cartoon, I've got a pretty random array of suggestions.

And I'm trying to not let my feelings be hurt.....which is pretty hard, considering they've pegged me as liking "Understated TV dramas featuring a strong female lead." Their main suggestion? MURDER.SHE.WROTE.

You know, the show with the seven hundred year old woman? (I think she was in Hooke.) Or maybe the Bible. Who knows?

Another suggestion? MISS.MARPLE.

Don't be worried folks, because I apparently like "Raunchy Dysfunctional-Family TV Comedies" too. You know, like South Park (which I do), the Cult of Cartman (which I was unaware of until this time but just added to my instant queue), and Family Guy.

Wait...what? FAMILY GUY? My hatred is best summed up by the South Park episode that makes fun of Family Guy under the guise of an old Laverne and Shirley episode. And seals.

I'm going to ignore the "Inspiring Coming of Age movies for 11-12" like Free Willy and the Black Stallion....when I was 12 and now, I still felt like killing myself while watching those movies. Wild animals in captivity? No thanks.

I'm pretty sure the first description is meant for me...a 90 year old woman confined to her home, sitting on her couch with a blanket in her lap, with her humidifier on, watching Murder She Wrote.

Although maybe I could pretend to be the 11-12 year old that needs some inspiration by seeing animals caged much like I'm metaphorically caged in by overbearing parents that don't understand anything?

Or maybe I'd prefer to be the immature 15 year old guy sitting in the basement, huffing paint, and watching Family Guy (because frankly, that's probably the only way that show will ever be amusing).

Netflix, I'm afraid you know me too well.

And that, quite frankly, is terrifying.

The only thing worse than law school finals....

is WAITING FOR THE GRADES from the law school finals.

Let me clarify: I'm pretty sure 1Ls have it the worst the second semester of each school year, because their professors literally wait until the very last day to submit their grades. 2Ls are lucky in that they take classes with 3Ls, which means the professors have to turn in their grades so the 3Ls can graduate. 3Ls don't have it that bad in terms of waiting....unless they have to pass a particular class to graduate and have to wait to see if they will be walking down that aisle.

But the first semester of a school year, we're all on even footing. This means we are suffering, and I don't know about you, but a five week wait for your grades is excruciating to me, not because of the worry I may not pass a class, but because of the ANTICIPATION of awaiting my grades. This stress and anxiety is amplified a quatrillion times by the system we have to use to collect these grades. We can only sign into this system between certain hours of the day (which means weekends are even worse! Damn you, 12-12 availability). We must then click on an option to view our grades. But no, this is not it. We must THEN select the semester's grades we want to see (as if to say, no, Ms. Dr. J, we don't have your grades now, but would you like to see that C- you made last year?). May I also impress upon you how difficult the selection process is while using a cell phone? My fat fingers cannot manage to navigate this process smoothly. No....it requires about three "refresh" clicks, a couple of "back" clicks, and a shitton of cussing.

And then, what do I see?

A BIG FAT TON OF NO GRADES.

Excruciating, I tell you. There should be an easier option. I mean, WHY is my grade from a totally multiple choice scantron final examination not posted? Why do I have to jump on one foot while rubbing my tummy to see these grades (or lack thereof)? WHAT ELSE DO PROFESSORS HAVE TO DO THAN GRADE MY EXAMS? (We all know they live at the school and don't even go to the bathroom).

But then again...maybe it's just better not knowing.

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.