The perils of living alone.

Law school prom is coming up, and so I needed a new dress.  I ended up rocking my junior year high school Homecoming dress last year, but this year I figured I’d wear an actual grown-up dress.  So I ordered this really cute dress from anthropologie, and it came in the mail today.  I immediately put it on because 1) I wanted to make sure it fit and 2) I get overly excited about new clothes.

After I was satisfied that it both fit and was sufficiently cute, I tried to take it off.  And promptly jammed the zipper.  The zipper ran up the back of the dress, so I couldn’t see it.  The zipper was also stuck in just that place between your shoulder blades that nearly impossible to reach.  I couldn’t slip out of the dress, nor could I turn it around to get the zipper in the front.  After a few minutes, I was about ready to put on my shoes & walk down to the front desk to ask the doorman for help, but, as luck would have it, the zipper became free.

 

Further proof that I need a censor

I shouldn’t post after taking SoCo & lime shots all night.  I am impressed, however, at my ability to properly spell & capitalize, and I also take comfort in the fact that I didn’t spam a listserv.  (That’s actually not directed at the fact that someone spammed the law school listserv after apparently drinking; it’s more directed at the fact that I used to spam the Panhellenic listserv in college — not my finest behavior.)

Anyway, now I’m working on the third draft of my comment.  Yes, I’m working on my comment on New Year’s Eve Day.  I’m lame, I know.  I just want to get it done.  I finished adding and touching up the sections my professor suggested, and now I’m doing a run-through to check for spelling, grammar, and poorly numbered footnotes.  On the first page I have a phrase that my professor told me she likes, but she’s not sure the journal editors will be down with: “boozed-up sexual deviants.”  I kind of can’t wait to get my comment back and see what the journal thought about that …

 

Mad River is the new Station.

Mad River is the new Station.

(If you didn’t go to University of Illinois, please know that I mean I spent my night posturing, checking out other chicks, smiling at boys I had no intention of speaking with, and trying to determine at what angle I looked less fat.  It’s a stressful way to spend a night drinking.)

 

Overheard in the local bar

“Hey … didn’t I used to see you at the jail around visitin’ time?”

 

Reasons why I love being home

1.  My family inexplicably is using a pineapple as a Christmas centerpiece.

2.  At 3:15 p.m., my dad says to me, “Well, how about a martini?”

 

3 semesters down, 3 more to go

This semester is over.  Finally.  I think I finally stand a shot at regaining my sanity.  But, hell, who knows, it may be another three semesters before I get that back.  Or maybe it’s just too far gone.  Either way, I can safely say I get a chance to breathe again.

Ok, to be quite technical, I still have to turn in one more draft of my comment to say this semester is really in the bag.  My comment isn’t due until the end of the month, though, and I have very minimal work to do on it, so I’m considering it done.  And it’s been an eventful full week.  I studied until I thought I was going to go blind on Sunday and Monday, I finished up my 24-hour take home exam on Tuesday (3-hour final my ass!  That thing took me literally all day), I had my last day in court on Wednesday (traumatic — my attorney was late and the judge started without her), I abused my body with a work happy hour, pre-party, and bar review on Thursday (and lost my bar coat in the process), and I reorganized my apartment furniture on Friday (only to move it all back — I decided trying to get my bed away from the wall next to the crazy neighbor wasn’t worth having an awkward furniture arrangement).

This morning I left my apartment at 6:30 a.m. to make the 8:00 a.m. to my hometown.  I could launch into another diatribe about Amtrak but I won’t.  I’ll just say all three self-service machines were broken and let you draw your own conclusions about the madhouse that was Union Station this morning.  We were past LaGrange before I managed to get my first (and desperately needed) cup of coffee — after waiting in line behind a ton of people who were ordering both those damn pre-made breakfast sandwiches that the guy had to microwave individually and Miller High Lifes (in cans, no less — and at 9:00 a.m.).

But I finally made it home.  And I got to go get lunch at my favorite restaurant and have the tasty salad with buckwheat noodles & edamame & peanut dressing.  (And I’ve really been craving edamame, which I could not make because I melted my colander trying to fake-steam some broccoli.)  And then I got to go to the organic grocery store where I found that vegan mozzerella I really like.  And then I helped Mom make vegetarian Mexican casserole for our fake Christmas dinner tonight.  And now … I’m just sitting by the Christmas tree (which is fake but my mom has been spraying it repeatedly with this fake pine scent so it has … a scent) with my dog.   Life is good. 

Do I have to go back to school?

 

Reason to question your fashion sense.

I walked into a meeting with my professor and she exclaimed, “I love your boots!  Where did you get them?  I might have to get some for myself.”

 

Note the Au Bon Pain on Madison:

There is a reason I order a lettuce & tomato sandwich.  That reason is I don’t eat meat.  Consequently, finding bits & pieces of shredded turkey clinging to the bread makes me not happy.

 

Don’t cross me when I’m sick.

I don’t feel well.  Apparently that correlates with me being an irritable bitch.  I’ve been irrationally competitive in bus lines today and I stopped mid-cross in the middle of Michigan Avenue to yell at a cab driver who honked at me.  I was a little too aggressive with a classmate who gave a presentation on his personal (ridiculously ludicrous) theory of remedying the adversarial system in our country.

And my crowning achievement?  I body-checked a tourist.

 

My life is boring.

The only thing more mind-numbing that spending an afternoon writing “no time for file review” on bluebacks in file jackets is writing an entry in my government practicum journal about it. 

This does not bode well for my grade in that class.