Beyond Here Lies Nothin'

10:38 p.m. Central Time.

It's go time.

I arrived in Chicago last night, at the home of the amazing Amie Kus Curie, who had battened the hatches for the arrival of Hurricane Lola. This meant stocking the Homestead (which is fabulous by the way, townhouse, near public transportation with central air, four flours, two decks, a garage, 3 bathrooms, a huge kitchen with granite countertops and a washer dryer. Please take a moment and feel what I think Amie wants you to feel: jealous. Jealous of her kick-ass house and awesome life.) with supplies for her crazed bar examinee: bacon, toaster struedels, and vodka.

Amie well knows the insanity that is the bar, and so, her sacrifice is not to be diminished. Pete, who probably heaved a big ol' sigh of relief after Amie's bar hell was complete and never imagined he'd have to deal with it again, has displayed incredible fortitude in agreeing to walk through the valley of the shadow of bat-shit crazy by hosting me. Apparently, upon arriving home today, he saw that the door to the guest bedroom was closed and retired to another room to do something else, anything other than risk a run in with the Hurricane. Pete is wise. And he brought us pizza. Yummy!

As it transpired, I was watching the essay lecture, which I realized I never saw. Mostly because I was drugged and drooling on my couch the day it aired, and because the notes seemed to be pretty basic (The bar exam consists of two days? Shit, I better write that down!) But, I thought, "better safe than sorry. Maybe I'll pick up some tips." And maybe I did. But I also picked up some misinformation. Por ejemplo, she informed us that we would be provided with writing utensils for both days, so we couldn't bring any. WRONG. We will be provided with pencils on Wednesday when we sit the MBE (Aside: special thanks to the ass-goblin who found a way to cheat by bringing in his or her own pencils. Now, we all suffer because of you. Well done, dickwad. With all that time you spent figuring out what must be a ridiculously complicated method of cheating, you could have just, you know, studied.). I cannot imagine the rage of all the poor souls who listened to her when they show up tomorrow and find that writing utensils will not be provided for the essay exam. On the other hand, I judge them heavily for trusting anything not handed down from IBABY.

I did my dry-run this morning, as suggested and found a lunch place, a back-up lunch place, and a back-up for the back-up. Upon my arrival at my building, I noticed that the law school is hosting some sort of "Law Preview."

Dear God. WHY? Why in heavens name would you allow prospective students/tuition checks in the same building as people who are about to take the bar exam? My family has studiously avoided me except for text messages, because I can't yell over text messages (yet). In the past month, I have gone from getting carded constantly, to never getting carded at all. I look like a zombie. I sound like a schizophrenic person in the throes of the active stage. I alternate between stress-starving and scavenging through the fridge/pantry like a raccoon in a garbage can. I simmer so close to the surface that I almost cried last week when my iPod froze. And then almost cried again when I found out how to reset it. Those kids will go running. And you, fancy-pants law school will not get their money or the souls you need to power your building of doom. Fail.

I ran into someone clearly administering some program as I wandered the halls looking for my testing room. "Oh, are you here for the Law Preview?" he asked. Um. Not even close. But I'm flattered that I still looked human enough for you to assume I hadn't yet been to law school.

"Oh, no," I replied, "just doing my dry run for the bar tomorrow."

"Oh my God!" He exclaimed, clearly terrified (I'm surprised he didn't cross himself). "Good luck with that!"

It was like I had announed to him that I was getting a lethal injection tomorrow. I appreciate his sympathy, but so not helpful.

I'm actually not doing too bad (I don't think. I showered. Which is probably better than some people. George's stinky friend, I'm looking at you.). I had pizza (new Domino's is surprisingly tasty) and smokey treats and Madonna wine. I'm hoping that my new policy of not thinking about what I'm actually doing and just trying to write each esssay as it comes will work.

And as Nikki pointed out, what I do today is not that important (I mostly watched "Flipping Out," so, that's a good thing). It's what I did over the past three years and two months. I've worked my ass off, and so have most of the people I know taking this thing tomorrow.

So, to them I say, it's time to kick ass and take names. I'll see you on the otherside.

A Pep Talk

I'm up to it in Equity, Contracts, and Real Property. At this point, I'm going to be lucky to get through the rest of my outlines and do a few more practice problems, let alone staying on my PACED Program. My diet of coffee, nicotine, and toaster struedels is eating through my stomach lining. And I'm neurotic. I'm absolutely terrified that I will fail this exam. But, I don't really have the heart/time/brain power to write a proper post. So, I will take an actual AIM conversation (yes, some people still have those) between myself and the Amazing Amie Kus Curie, Esq., in the hopes that it will bring peace of mind to some of my fellow bar-takers (Amie, incidentally, is boarding me for my bar exam sojourn. She should be canonized as a saint. She knows what I'm like under normal stress and is still willing to let me into her home under bar exam stress and is buying me toaster struedels on top of it.). So, with proper credit to Ms. Curie, I present, a pep talk:

____________________________________________________

Lola: I am so in the weeds as far as bar review

Amie: psht. you are not

Lola: I'm behind. Not sleeping and being doped up on pain meds has not been helpful

Amie: psht. do you need a pep talk? because I can totally give one

you're lola fucking lawless.

you are not behind.

barbri is full of shit.

their schedule is a damn joke.

it is only mid-june.

you're smarter than most of the people taking the bar.

multiple choice? bitch, please. just practice them over and over and over and you'll be fine.

and the multi-state practice thingy or whatever the fuck it is - EASIEST THING IN THE WORLD. worth twice as much as an essay. just follow the rules. I literally didn't practice any of them, and thought it was so easy.

and, because it bears repeating, you're lola fucking lawless.

you don't drop the ball.

Lola: except when it's an actual ball. I'm terrible at sports

Amie: you have crazy hair and carry lots of books and make yourself sick and power through it and fucking turn around after the most devastating breakup ever to get published and graduate summa and utterly destroy the competition.

shut up. I'm talking. you're listening.

and you do it all while having fun and making friends and slaying men.

so to sum up: you're lola fucking lawless. it's early. you're not behind.

your crazy mind might make you THINK you're behind, but your behind is other people's keeping up or being ahead.

Lola: you give awesome pep talks

Amie: your behind is getting the second best grade in a class.

your behind is graduating summa cum laude.

your behind makes men drool.

(see what I did there?)

Lola: I did. it was awesome. a triumph of word play.

Amie: thanks.

so- shut up. you're not behind. you're lola fucking lawless. you will work hard, you will hate it, you will take the test, you will hate it, you will wait, you will hate it, and you will pass, whereupon you will stop hating it.

Lola: sounds do-able. Now I am pumped to destroy practice essays

Amie: marvelous. do it rockapella.

Lola: And now I have the Carmen Sandiego theme song stuck in my head. Which is even more awesome.

very motivating. I shall look it up on Youtube.

this is so awesome

ahhhhh, how can you not want to be smarter when you think about the awesomeness of Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?

Amie: it's true.

Lola: did you ever play the Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego computer game?

Amie: OF COURSE I DID. second only to the oregon trail!

Lola: YES! I have the overwhelming desire to play all of those games now. Who cares about my crim law drill?

Amie: damnit woman! you're lola fucking lawless.

Lola: that's right. I will find a way to do both.

So, get out there, fellow bar-takers, and let's kick some ass!

Rise of the Machine

Everyone knows that Computie and I have a complicated relationship. Sure, we've been together through thick and thin; Computie even bounced back after that time I accidentally dumped a cup of coffee onto her 1L year. Sure, she makes it a point to update when the Exam Software is trying to reboot for a test, but I know that it's all in good fun. Sure, she occasionally makes screechy noises out of nowhere, causing people in a 10 foot radius to jump back in shock and shout, "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" and then look scared and pitying when I explain that it is just my computie. But, she has also safeguarded all my outlines, papers, articles (even though our Macro continuously froze her), and pictures. She and I have journeyed into the most pointless realms of the World Wide Web together. And she has (inadvertently) shared snacks with me. We're a team, dammit!

I got Computie as a bribe (ok, part of my scholarship package) from ThirdTier Law. Computie came fully loaded with all sorts of software necessary to the study of law and the avoidance of the study of law by dicking around on the interwebs. Computie used to run fast and amaze me with all the nifty little perks of my new operating system. Like the way-cool Google Toolbar that I had such fun customizing until its mysterious disappearance midway through my first year.

Computie is feeling her oats. I had to replace her power supply (well, my warranty did that), her keyboard (my fault, after the whole coffee incident), and her battery (which I had to pay for. Boo.) No matter how many times I clear off her disk space, I get a message 10 minutes later that I have low disk space. She freezes for no reason at all, and has started blocking "start up programs" (whatever those may be). Also, my Anti-virus subscription mysteriously expired almost immediately upon my graduation from ThirdTier Law (thanks, you cheapos).

But sometimes Computie does things that simply cannot be attributed to her age or my somewhat negligent computer ownership (I used to constantly put her to "sleep" and then forget she was in my backpack. She retaliated by burning my hands when I yanked her out). Some times, she just doesn't feel like doing something. No matter how hard I beg. Most of these things are just a matter of simply inconvenience or my annoyance (Google Toolbar=gone, baby, gone; and she never would do that cool thing where you switch between windows by looking at a stack of mini-windows). Some of these things, however, are really, really important.

I am behind in my bar review, between the move and apartment hunting, and so desired to watch my BarBri lectures at 1.5X speed. It shaves off about an hour from a three hour lecture. E, who has the same computer-bribe, informed me of the process. We have the same computer, same operating system, same softwear, same default factory settings. Her computer will allow her this amazing time saving technique (it also forces your concentration. Even if a lecturer is on a tangent, it doesn't last long, so you can't zone out). Computie, no matter how exactly I follow the directions, or try some of the tricks to make it work, will not comply. She'll run the lecture at 1.5X speed--but with NO SOUND. Or, I get a slow-ass lecture with sound. Sigh. I guess Computie believes that revenge is a dish best served cold and I'm finally getting my comeuppance.

She is in a state of revolt against me. And, if I'm ever found dead with mysterious electrical burns or a power cord wrapped around my throat, you'll know who did it.