Monday, April 28, 2008

I'm... moving out.

Just like the song.

During college, I lived on campus all four years, with some really great roommates, sharing a room, sharing a bunkbed, sharing a bathroom, and sharing a kitchen. It's great, but its hard, and it is a great teaching tool for how to interact, socialize, and behave.

When I came to law school, I frustrated my parents to no end by telling them no matter how much more money I spent, I was NOT going to have a roommate. I just knew that for me, having a roommate in law school would be a bad idea. And so, I've lived alone for two years, without even so much as a goldfish in my apartment.

I love my apartment. It was brand new when I moved in, so I know exactly what happened on my carpet. It's clean, it has just enough space, and all my stuff fits. I know exactly where everything is, and everything is where I want it to be.

Except. Except.

Except now, I'm moving out. I'm moving about an hour and a half away, and I will be commuting to law school. I'm moving to a beautiful old house, with all hardwood floors, a backyard, and a garage. And a fireplace. And a basement. And another person.

Hmmm. I've lived alone for so long, this might take some adjusting. I have to combine my dark cherry and mahogany woods with his light oak woods. Since we have three beds between the two of us, we need to decide which bed frames get used, whose hutch gets displayed, whose T.V. gets to be in the living room, and so on. The only thing I have absolute say over is the kitchen--I love to cook. That will be my knives, my pots and pans, and my Corningware. And Vor gets absolute say over the office room, since he is the only one out of us that actually works at a desk. So that will be his desk, his laptop, and his decorations.

So, goodbye apartment. You've taught me lots of things, such as where the best place to keep a flashlight is, how to keep the insects from coming in, how to change the air filters, and how to operate a dishwasher.

But I'm ready to start adjusting.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

Grace in the Confessional

I must confess.

Why am I back at this ridiculous blog again, twice in one day, after I have taken a grueling exam? No, not because I think I am so witty or insightful that the world needs to know what I am thinking. And certainly not because I have readers that are anxiously awaiting my words. I mean, have you seen my comments section? Zero, zip, nada, nil. Nix, nine, no, nuh-uh-uh, as my mother would say.

I'm here because I'm like Stella. I need to get my groove back.

Whoa! Not like that, people. I meant writing. I used to write ALL THE TIME. My mom pulled her hair out because there were papers all over my room, and she wasn't allowed to throw any of them out. I stuck post it notes to my walls because I would get good ideas in my dreams. I wrote in class, and I got in trouble for it. Except for Mr. V. He encouraged it, gave me a book to write in, and told me to major in English in college. Whenever my swim team or my homeroom or any other such group had secret santas, I would have a blank book. And I loved it! I wrote through college, and loved every paper. My poetry class was the most fun I had every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And my senior thesis...oh, Virginia Woolf. How I love thee.

Law school sucked the creativity out of me. I couldn't write, I couldn't read, I couldn't create. I didn't dream, except for those odd dreams of my contracts books eating my fingers off. Now that I am finishing my second year of law school, it has finally dawned on me what the problem is. I need interaction!

Yes, I have friends. I socialize. I talk to Vor every day. But in college, I was always volunteering, which brought me into contact with all kinds of people. I hadn't had time for that in law school until this past semester, when I joined a Clinic. Then, slowly, the writing came back. Little rhymes in the margin, little phrases on post it notes. Bliss.

So, I am here again. I'm the woman with whose going to disassemble the Great Wall of Writer's Block with my hands, even if it kills me (or breaks my nails).

Banned!

There are things in life that should just be banned. Fried okra, for example. Nails an inch and beyond. Cell phones on the bus. Loud people on cell phones in small spaces. Restaurants making chicken wings when they haven't been taught how to do it in Buffalo. Eight hour exams.

What?

Yeah, that's right. You heard me. Eight hours exams. Actually, that should be at the top of my list because I just finished one. Eight hours of sweat, blood, tears, furious typing, legal pads, post it notes, index cards, outlines, and more. I'm exhausted, and I can't believe I am even looking at a computer screen. But that's what law students do best--take the punishment and come back for more.

I think I need to reward myself for this, whether it's sitting on the couch for the rest of the day, drinking some wine, or going and playing on the awesome playground here. Seriously--you should see this playground! It has ten slides, a huge five layer spiderweb, so even if you fall through one level, you can't actually hit the ground, tunnels, bridges, and all the good stuff. You're never too old for a playground, especially when your brain has regressed to the level of a six years old. I'll fit right in.

That is, unless I become the next banned item--twenty-three year olds on a playground.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

The Wedding Planner

I have become a wedding planner.

No, this is not a job, or a hobby. This is necessity. I'm planning my own wedding, which, although many other brides do this every month of the year, is no small feat. I live in the Midwest, but my wedding is in Buffalo, my hometown, and where I met my fiancee (I'm going to call him Vor--for privacy's sake, and for our own inside sci-fi joke).

I'm not really a planning kind of girl. I don't like to plan the get togethers, the reunions, the nights out. I don't even like to make the decisions when we are already out. For example, I have two wonderful yet equally indecisive friends at the law school. We stood there in a parking lot, staring at each other because we couldn't make a decision about where to go next. We stood there for about five minutes without blinking. We were made for each other, I swear.

But there are so many things to coordinate, to decide, to organize... and so on. Flowers, invitations, wording, tuxes, colors, favors, napkins, chairs, cakes, flavors, food... it goes on and on.

Truly, I love the wedding that we are going to have. It'll be big, but I have a big family, and they'll all be there. Same for Vor; his friends and family will be there, en masse. It'll be at the church I was baptized in, made my First Communion in, got confirmed in, where my sister and brother were married, where my parents were married. The reception is on a back terrace of a country club, so we will be outdoors. And, we will take our wedding pictures in the park where Vor and I took so many long walks when we were first dating.

It sounds so idyllic--what on earth would I want to be different? Oh, a hundred million things. I would love to have had it be very small, to be in Colorado at the base of a mountain. Or to be in Ireland, and have the Irish side of my family there. Or instead, to invite everyone over to my parents and have a barbecue instead of something so formal.

But despite the hated planning, despite the wishes, and should haves, its really perfect. Really, not despite--probably because of. Its a product of decisions, his and mine, and memories, his, mine, and our families. It's all uniquely ours.

Meet Walks Like Elephant.

The weather has finally changed, and it was warm, sunny, and generally beautiful today. I thought, since I have a porch, I would make my exam studying more bearable by sitting on my porch and working. So at 8 a.m., I dragged my chair, my lap top, and my papers outside, complete with glass of water and sunglasses.

I was there for about ten minutes when my upstairs neighbor (who shall be referred to in this post herein after by her Indian name, "Walks Like Elephant"), dragged out her chair. Then her radio. Then her cigarettes. She turned that thing up so loud the bunnies in the bushes went running for cover, and began to puff like the puffer fish.

When she started tapping her ash onto me, I got pissed. Do I ask her politely to stop? No, because nothing can be asked politely when you have to scream over ten decibel music.

Then, inspiration struck. American Girl miraculously came onto her radio--a song I am rather fond of. So, I began humming loudly to the song. Then I tapped on my railing. And then, I began singing along.

The bunnies ran even further away, and Walks Like Elephant went inside.

This all probably makes me sound childish, but sometimes, you need to give into the urge to stay sane. Also, loud music at 8 a.m.? I wasn't the only one that was irritated. I could hear the doors slamming, the huffs, and the windows snapping shut. I was just the only one that was aggressively passive-aggressive.

I'll be nicer when exams are over. I promise.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

The Deep Breath Before the Plunge

I'm almost ready.

I have trimmed my nails down to a very low point, and lacquered them with clear nail polish. I have laid out my clothes for tomorrow, meticulously planned for the occasion. I will shower tonight, so my hair is easier to deal with tomorrow. I have been going to the gym for months, to make sure I am in shape for this.

What is this event, you ask? Prom? No, because I'm law school. Well, is it law prom then, better known as Barrister's Ball? Oh, no.

See, this is combat I am going into. In addition to the above, I also have a band aid wrapped around my finger where I get blisters from holding a pen, I have all my pencils sharpened, I have a new battery in my computer, and I have countless stacks of paper to aid me.

It's exam time. Tomorrow marks the beginning of the two week exam period, which will end in a miserable eight hour exam, a twenty-five page paper, and a ten page paper. Not to mention the exams that come before it.

So, hold your breath, plug your nose, and take the plunge. Wish me luck.

Friday, April 18, 2008

Dramatic Suspense

That's what I was going for. Really. I made a blog back in September, and waited until now to post another entry. It was all about suspense.

Now that I'm done lying to myself, I would like to point out that I experienced an earthquake last night! It was odd, exciting, and a bit scary. It woke me at 5:30 in the morning--it sounded like a garbage truck. When I got out of bed to see what was happening, the floor started to shake.

Now, I never lived in the Midwest until recently, so I never had to deal with tornadoes. I know, tornadoes are not earthquakes; but let me explain how they relate in my head. I have conditioned myself, as a newcomer to the Midwest, that anytime some strange weather thing happens, to run into my closet. So, when I felt my floor shaking (mind you, I am on the ground floor) what did I do?

That's right. I ran into the closet. Brilliant!

After being in there for about three seconds, it dawned on me that the closet was not the place to be, and perhaps I would be better outside. By the time I got to my door, it was all over.

Apparently, there is no link between law school and understanding what to do in an earthquake. Who would have thought?