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.

MBE Preview: They're Ba-ack!

Ok, I'm about 3 weeks into my substantive review. I have notes for blog posts about all the lecturers written. They will be posted. They may not be in the most edited format, but they will be posted. I am still deciding if I want to wait to post until the lecturer has done all of his or her subjects. I probably will be that lazy. So, stay tuned, I will organize and post. I will also take this time to rant about the fact that I am about 3 weeks into my substantive review, and I am yet to have a female lecturer. Um, what? Are the women-folk not good enough to tell stale jokes and throw out lame neumonics about a subject for three and a half hours? Screw you, Illinois. Grr...

And, without further ado, I give you: MBE Preview: Con Law and Evidence.

Con Law. Great. Crazy Torts Lady is Back.

She still has volume moderation problems. "Let's talk about the commerce clause. This is important. At my law school, we split up Con Law into ConLaw I and ConLaw II." Um, what? How is that important?

On The Marriage Ref: "I think it has Matthew Broderick." Or--JERRY SEINFELD? Please, I haven't even seen this stupid sow and I know that Matthew Broderick is nont involved. I get that she's trying to relate to current events, but she loses points for being wrong and loses extra points for sullying the good name of an 80's icon (Inspector Gadget notwithstanding). I judge her for that comment almost as much as I judged her for whining about memorizing the multiplication tables. Bottom line: according to her, ConLaw is going to be the easiest MBE subject. Which is a damn good thing, because I got zilch out of that lecture.

Evidence.
Oh, my crim law buddy is back! I like him because he gives an overview of how many questions will likely be tested and some general tips up front.
On character evidence: "Oh yeah, he's violent. But he's incredibly honest! He is honest in his violence!"
Ok, his "MIMIC" voice is a bit much for me, but oh well. He does a nice, simple review.
On the most ridiculous M.O. ever conceived by the national board of bar examiners: "I'll admit, this guy took it too far. I've got some personal experience, and the duck call really attracts the ladies." I actually laughed out loud at this. I know I'mwatching a video, but I just got an image of this nerdy guy yanking out a duck call and playing it seductively. I need a moment again.
His Lost tie-in was far superior to The Marriage Ref. Not because it was more on point. But because he had his facts straight and because Lost is so far superior to The Marriage Ref that it's not even far to mention to two in the same blog post. Bottom line: nice review. I won't be seeing you anymore buddy, so, fare thee well.

Dubba-Dee

Taking an idea from Amie, who got it from Laura, this one is about my grandmother.
Unlike Laura, I knew my grandmother very well when she was still alive. She and my grandfather took my mother, sister, and I in after my father left. My mom had to work when we were young (still does, actually), so my grandparents helped raise D and I. My grandma was the one who picked us up from school and embarassed us by doing it in her hair rollers. She was the one who made us dinner before dance class and broke up our arguments.

She died two weeks before Christmas when I was 15. It's a sad story, and one that I won't get into here. But the point is, I knew my grandma. Very well. But she didn't live to see me graduate from high school, much less law school. Theoretically, I have no idea how she would have felt about my becoming a lawyer.

Laura and Amie, according to their blog posts, had very conservative German Lutheran Grandmothers. And, here's where we differ. My Grandma was neither German nor Lutheran. Grandma wasn't born in Italy, but she was younger than most of her sibling (she was one of ten). Also, inexplicably, their family was Protestant---which denomination, I'm not sure, but she never went to church anyway, so I don't think it matters. She did convert to Catholocism after my Grandfather passed away, just in case, though Lord knows she found the entire religion bewildering. Whenever she came to mass with us (my Grandpa's family was the more typical Catholic Italian variety). She was bemused by the constant standing and kneeling, "What is this? An aerobics class?" she'd grumble. She soberly informed me that all priests are alcoholics (all that communion wine) and, thank to her vivid mental picutres about what I could catch from sharing the wine cup, I haven not taken communion wine, ever. Ever. In over 15 years. No wine. Me. Passing up free booze. That's power.

She was a powerful woman. Not in the conventional sense that you'd think of. She wasn't leading the charge into the workforce, busting the glass ceiling with a red powersuit and a briefcase. But she was ahead of her time. She was a stay-at-home mom who cooked and cleaned and raised the kids, but for anyone who met her and my mild-mannered grandpa, there was no doubt who really called the shots. She was a fiesty, outspoken little fireball who encouraged our independence, ruled her roost, and yelled at telemarketers, annoying neighbors, and any kids who messed with her grandkids.

Meeting her would probably explain a lot about me. We have similar sense of humor, thought it must be admitted she probably didn't joke about sex as much or say "fuck" quite as much as I do. And, her political views were not fiercely conservative (a note about my family: political views take sides rather than generations; my father's family= conservative, mother's family=liberal. I bet you can all guess what side I take after) . She always (probably facetiously) said that she voted for whoever was best looking. For eight years, that meant Bill Clinton.

She was not afraid or disapproving of strong women and she never expected us to shrink into the woodwork. In a lot of ways, I wasn't a typical little girl. A lot of little girls want to be nurses, teachers, or ballerinas. I wanted to be a lawyer. Early on, I was more comfortable with adults than I was with most kids my own age. As anyone who knew me can attest, I was a strange kid. She got me, her special little snowflake, and was unfailingly supportive. Though we never expressly discussed whether she was proud of my chosen career path, I knew she was always proud of my academic aptitude and ambition. Every time I (or any of the other kids) had some little success at school, she'd talk about it to anyone who would sit still long enough to listen--usually family members having coffee and cake on Sunday mornings.

The idea thatI was going into a "man's field" didn't seem to have occurred to her; or, if it did, it certainly didn't faze her. She was so proud of her granddaughter who was smarter than a lot of the boys she competed against. She loved her family, but I get the impression that if she'd been born 40 or 50 years later, things may have been different. I can only imagine her raising hell in a "man's world."

Grandma died before I got my driver's license. She did not see me graduate from high school. She didn't see me graduate from college. She didn't get to see me graduate from law school. But I don't have to wonder. She would be proud of me. So proud of her special, weird, little snowflake. She would be full-to-bursting with pride, smug-as-hell, driving her brother and sister nuts over coffee proud.

How to Deal

I always thought I'd hit the height of meanness, hatefulness, and deadness in the eyes some time in the middle of my third year of law school.
And then I yelled at my mother for suggesting I bring home a piece of paper.
In my defense, I started the conversation by telling her how overwhelmed I was and her idea of being helpful was to remind me of all of these other things I should be doing and telling me to do things I had already done (looking up the address on the piece of paper being one of them).
I swear, my poor mother probably thinks I have a brain tumor. Before law school, I had a pretty long fuse. Once I hit my limit, of course, I was, to use a friend's phrase, "fucking terrifying," but those moments were pretty few and far between.
And then I went to law school. And the weirdest stuff started to set me off. I'd be on the phone with my mother, yelling at the person driving the Honda minivan in front of me with the "Thank your mother for not choosing abortion" bumper sticker (I wish her mother had), who was driving too slowly through the roundabout and I just knew she was wondering what the hell happened to her calm, rational daughter.
I'll tell you. She went to law school. And we thought that was bad. And then, she started studying for the bar.
I'll refer you all to the excellent post by my dear friend Amie Kus Curie, giving excellent suggestions for how to deal when someone you know is taking the bar. As I am actually studying for the bar right now, I lack the energy to do it as well as she does. But, I'll give you the short version in case you're feeling lazy. The following is a list of Do's and Don'ts.

DON'T say "You'll be fine. You're smart." Yeah, I am smart. Smart people fail this test every year. There are "pass" rates for every law school in this country. Ever heard of a little school called Harvard? Their passage rate for the 2007 New York bar was 97%. Which is damn impressive. Guess what? It means that 3% of the Harvard grads who took the New York Bar Exam failed it. HARVARD GRADS. Understand why "you're smart," doesn't mean shit?

DO steer clear of your little BarBri drone if possible. Unless they are calling you. If you don't pick up your phone when they know you are just sitting around having a beer after work, it may just push them over the edge. They are only calling to talk and maybe blow off a little steam.

DON'T get all butthurt when your BarBri prisoner can't come to your birthday party/movie marathon/grocery shopping trip. Trust me, we'd all rather be watching you open an envelope than watching a man who resembles Vizzini from The Princess Bride on PCP scream about Federal Jurisdiction. Enjoy the fact that you have a life. Please let us study products liability without the additional guilt of missing out on the inagural run of your Popcorn maker.

DO try to laugh at their stupid bar-related jokes or impressions of the BarBri lecturers. It's all we've got. Please don't take it away from us.

DON'T ask when we'll find out if we passed. Imagine you were waiting for the results of a test that would tell you if the strange mass on your liver was made of cancer or gold bullion. Now imagine everyone you know asking you when you'd find out the results every time they see you.

DO take your soul-less Bar zombie up on their infrequent offers to relax for a little while. Take them to dinner. Or for coffee. Ok, maybe not coffee, maybe ice cream.

DON'T compare trying to pick paint colors for your guest bedroom or trying to find the best price on a part for your car or a nastily worded memo from your H.R. department to studying for the bar. I know that those things can be stressful. You get no sympathy from someone who spent three years and $150 grand on an education that simply did not prepare them to take the exam that will determine whether they can actually use their degree.

DO be flexible. Please.

DON'T say "It's just a test." Please. Just. Don't. We might pass the bar. But then we'll probably have a hard time passing Character and Fitness due to the brutal murder we've just committed.

DO keep that skin thick and be prepared for anything. Hang in there, this too will pass.

Bar Review: MBE Preview Day 1: Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

 

It's started. I officially have to start studying for the bar. Well, sort of. MBE Preview is pretty tame so far. No assignments, no reading; we just take a multiple choice quiz in the morning followed by a mini-lecture analyzing the questions. We take a lunch break and then repeat. I'm sure it's a trap, designed to lull us into a false sense of security. Many people tell me I'm paranoid. This isn't paranoia. This is experience. Three years of law school taught me this: if something seems easy, you're about to get jacked in the face by the brass knuckles of law school. When people tell me I am overly suspicious, I refer them to this short story: Once, while battling a sore throat and upper-respiratory illness, Dan recommended his mother's home remedy: a shot of vodka chased by a tablespoon of honey (I make absolutely no judgments about Mama Dan's parenting. But I bet her kids slept well). When I hesitated, and asked if he was sure he wasn't just recommending this to see what would happen if I actually did it, he responded: "You're very suspicious." I replied "I'm suspicious because I'm about to take a vodka shot with a honey back." Sometimes, suspicion is warranted. That's your better judgment helping you out and telling you to pay attention.

But, back to MBE Preview. I'll try to make these brief. Because lord knows the lecturers are not troubling themselves to do so. Our first subject is Torts, with lecturer Lisa McElroy (hereinafter Crazy Torts Lady). The first thing I notice is her sever volume control issues. Also, her plugs about how BarBri is the greatest thing since sliced bread and how if we follow the Paced Program, not only will we pass the bar, but we'll win a castle and a pony and win the Nobel Prize and have bluebirds sing to us in our baths. For the sake of expediency (and a troubling glimpse into my mind), I will reproduce the notes I made:

Torts with Crazy Torts Lady

Ok, enough about how BarBri is the bestest bar prep in the world. Give me the goddamn answer. Hey! I got this one right. It took me a while to even figure out what question she was talking about. (Some comment she made about law students being compulsive). Compulsive? Law students? Law students who graduated? Shut the front door!

She goes on a lot of tangents. I understand that she's trying to break this up and make things easier. Which would totally work—if any of her stories were funny or interesting. They are not. Now she's telling some story about how her daughters didn't want to learn the multiplication tables because there's no creativity in it. Lady, nobody here cares that your daughters' creativity was stifled by memorizing the multiplication tables. We're J.D.s, we had our souls crushed in a vise and pulled out of our noses first year and we all learned our multiplication tables in the third grade, without our mothers complaining that straight memorization crushed our butterfly souls. And we're going to be lawyers; if we need to do math, we pull out a calculator. So, please, just explain the products liability question again.

It's not even 11 a.m. We started at 9. I'm already bored to tears (as evidenced by my blog posts). Points for referencing the "Miracle on the Hudson" in a question about landing a plane on a freeway (Lola's note: How psyched were the bar examiners when something like that actually happened?). Though I do not believe for a second that she doesn't know Sully's name.

Bottom line: At the end of this 50 minute lecture, I fervently hoped that she wouldn't be lecturing ever again. On to the afternoon session! Again, this is mostly a transcription of my notes. I have preserved it in this form to allow you to see the evolution of my opinion of the lecturer.

 

Criminal Law and Procedure with Douglas Moll:

Ok, another "BarBri is awesome" plug. But he did break down what crimes would be on the exam and how many questions would be dedicated to each type of offense. He's a little dry but gets points for his commitment to saying "BARRK" with a long drawling "R" sound. (Note: this is a neumonic device for remembering which dangerous felonies count towards a felony murder charge. For your edification: Burglary, Arson, Rape, Robbery, and Kidnapping (and according to Professor Madden, Sodomy)).

Also, he does voices and impressions. And he just described a murder method as "delightfully absurd." And he pretended to stab an invisible person (Note: he was starting to grow on me). He doesn't scream into the mike as often as Crazy Torts Lady did. Fewer jarring journeys into the realm of inappropriate volume.

 

Also, fewer stupid anecdotes about his kids learning the multiplication tables (Lola's note: um, clearly her story had a great impact on me. I originally wrote my "butterfly soul" rant in this section of my notes. And this is not my last mention of that comment. Here is the original note-version of that rant: "No one here care if your child's creativity is stifled by memorizing the 10 times table. We're J.D.s. Our souls were squeezed out through our noses over the course of 3 years. We all learned our multiplication tables without our moms whining about our butterfly souls getting crushed. And really, how often do I multiply?")

He gets points for knowing what MadDog is and using it correctly in a hypothetical. (Apparently, according to Professor Moll, mothers are not impressed when you have MadDog in your wine rack). "Mugged my ass" (in response to a hypo defendant).

And, one of my favorite quotes: "A good, old-fashioned pistol-whipping."

Bottom line: He grew on me over the course of 50 minutes. I appreciate his commitment to recreating the hypos. Much better than Crazy Torts Lady.