Rants and Ramblings

Rant # 1. It was/is waaay too cold outside today to be April 27th. This is Nashville, not North Dakota. Where the heck is the warm weather?

Rant # 2. As of late, this army of strange insects has been lurking around my yard, just waiting for me to open my door so they can fly in to my lovely and preferably insect-free home. These bugs resemble mosquitos, but I think they only look like mosquitos, as I have yet to show any trace of mosquito bites. Usually, those things are drawn to me like I am drawn to the nearest mall. The only comical part of this is that Stella (my pit bull) has observed me trying to kill these bugs and has decided to help me in my endeavors. She has made somewhat of a game out of jumping into the air and catching these bugs in her mouth with one fell swoop of her giant pit head. Good dog.

Rant # 3. I spent practically my entire weekend (other than that one night that i might have ventured out to Taco Mamacita with the bf for a tasty mojito) writing my trial brief, which I had to do in lieu of a final in-class exam. The idea sounded nice at the time, but I must have forgotten my procrastination habits. It. was. miserable. The bright side: two finals down, two to go, and then I am officially a 2L!! :)

Really Long Rant # 4. Sooo, my mom teaches an inner city ministry class at the church that my family attends. I taught the class with her for a couple of years, but the class meets on Monday nights, which now conflicts with law school. Boo. Anyway, she and another lady have been teaching the class this entire school year. My mom loves the fact that she has the oldest girls (ages 12-14) in her class, as she feels that they are the most capable of being influenced for the better, especially with a lot of the temptations that they face (I know age 12 sounds young, but it's not in the area that these girls live).

When I helped teach the class, I constantly had to remind myself that although these girls are 12 and 13 years old, they have almost certainly seen more in their 12 years of life than I have at double their age. These precious girls don't need to sit and down and be lectured, nor they need to have Bible verses spoon-fed to them. They do not respond well to that. What they need most is a friend. A role model. A mentor. An example...someone to love on them, to listen not talk, to hug, to just be there.

Admittedly, we liked to have fun in our class. Perhaps a little too much fun (the Cupid Shuffle may or may not have been performed on occasion), but our motto was, if it's getting these girls off the streets and surrounded by good, caring people in a good environment, it's beneficial.

Well, things have apparently changed, as I learned from talking to my mom today. I could tell that she was miffed about something, but i had no idea what, until she broke into her rant about last night's class. Evidently, some of the teachers approached her (let me add that these are teachers who are frustrated that they only have 3 girls in their class because all of the girls prefer my mom's class) and said that they had a problem with her "teaching style." More specifically, they felt the need to complain to my mom about the fact that she brings candy to them, which they labeled as "bribery." Excuse me? This is not politics. This is people volunteering their Monday nights during the school year to teach these precious, fabulous, underprivileged children with the hope of making just a small impact on their lives. It gets worse...

Following the "bribery" nonsense, another lady graciously offered her two cents by saying, "Yeah, are you even a teacher?" I know my mom was probably biting her tongue at this point. However, being the respectable woman that she is, she calmly responded that, while she may not sit the girls around a table and teach them a Bible lesson, she talks to them about practical, real-life situations that they either are or will be confronted with, and she offered the example of the proper way to act on a first date...

Well, the comment that really crossed the line was made by the same old biotch that accused my mom of bribery. She said, "I mean, you don't think these girls actually date in the projects, do you?" W.T.F. ?!? I could brush off the other comments as just being the product of narrow, ignorant minds, but this went far beyond that realm. I was absolutely speechless when my mom told me what that old bitty said.

I will be the first to admit that my mom is a far better person than I am. For instance, if that comment would have been made to or even within earshot of me, I would have said "You're exactly right that the girls in your class won't date, because you don't have enough faith in them, nor do you have enough common sense to teach them any different." Better yet, I would have gone straight up Jerry Springer on her ass and given her a swift kick into the church parking lot. I'm not above a girl fight. You better not mess with my mama, but you're a fool if you mess with this girl. :)

Finals: Day One

You know the feeling you get when you wake up and realize that today you have to make a presentation in front of 15 executives? Or 5 minutes before you walk in to a job interview? Well, take that feeling, multiply in by 10,000, and that is me today.

You see, tonight at 6:00, I embark on the final leg of my journey through the first year of law school, and what better way to start things off than with a Contracts final that contributes to no less than 80% of my grade. And I thought the midterm was a monster...pshhh. I would give anything to take that midterm again.

As my friend MC and I were discussing various contract theories such as the doctrine of promissory estoppel, the necessity for the statute of frauds, and a party's options following anticipatory repudiation (don't I sound smart?), we both realized that we have come a LONG way since that 10th day in August when we sat in the auditorium as mere peons before our professors...when we didn't even know what a "tort" was...when the concept of unjust enrichment seemed too difficult to ever grasp...when the road toward second year was set before us - winding, rough, and...okay, you get the point.

Well, it was on this fateful day that MC and I also assumed the role of fashionistas of the 1L class. That's right, ladies (and gentlemen?) we have the highly esteemed (self-appointed) honor of being the law school fashion police, and believe me...it is NOT an easy job. To make my case, I offer up evidence of the fashion felonies that we witness on a daily basis.

A "quiet" day for the fashion police consists of the perpetration of various misdemeanors such as wearing white linen pants after Labor Day (we issued multiple citations for this one), toting zebra print bags while donning leopard print tops (I detest mixing and matching animal prints), etc.

However, on those raucous days when the 1L's become a little too expressive, MC and I have a full docket. We witness lace mixed with neon, floral prints that look like your grandma's curtains reincarnated, Japanese cartoon logos, and the list goes on. Not to mention the trucker hats and man purses that infest the classrooms like the sketchballs fill the courthouse on order of protection day. Honestly, I wouldn't put anything past these fashion felons.

Don't you worry though...out of the kindness of our hearts, MC and I offer free fashion advice to those multiple offenders who are plagued by colorblind-ness, mis-match disorder, and a sheer lack of taste. We even bestow good graces upon those who commit intentional crimes of fashion with the requisite mental culpability.

Please do not mistake our kidness as a lack of care. While we prefer to stay away from retribution, we will always offer what I like to think of as "Fashion Rehab" where we introduce these multiple offenders to foreign concepts such as "simple is best," "go easy on the plaid," "polka dots in moderation", and many others.

Bottom line: with such a great injustice at stake in the fashion world, we are just doing our job the best we know how. Who else is going to make sure that higher education and fashion are not mutually exclusive?

Pardon my ignorance...

While perusing the internet over lunch yesterday, I came across a term that was foreign to me...the "bumpit". After questioning a wide variety of people - male and female, fashionable and unfashionable, gossipers and wallflowers - I soon realized I was in the minority on this "trend", if you can even call it such.


Even my boyfriend, who, bless his heart, has a fondness for cargo shorts and often wears long-sleeved white t-shirts under polos (that was very hard for me to type...we are working on his sense of style) was familiar with the term. Shocking. To supplement my understanding, he offered the example of Snookie on the Jersey Shore. I immediately lost interest in the conversation.


You see, I am not an advocate of this Jersey Shore business. In all fairness, I have actually never watched a full episode and hope to goodness that my life does not become so monotonous that I am forced to succumb to frivolous television. On a sidenote, I do not lump "The Bachelor" into the frivolous category. That is TV at it's finest and I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

Back to Jersey Shore...call me cooky, but I think that 30 minutes (I guess that's how long the show lasts - surely it's not an hour?) featuring raging meatheads, guidos, guidettes, fake bakes and general trashy nonsense is absolute wasted space. Furthermore, if I wanted to watch this Snookie character and her "bumpit", I could get in my car and drive to second avenue, where I would encounter no less than 200 highly intoxicated, overly tan, loud, obnoxious girls sauntering around in their pleather/sequined/mesh concoctions that they have stuffed their bodies into - muffin top and all. No. Thank. You.



As far as bumpits are concerned, I have decided that I am indifferent. Admittedly, I do like big hair. After all, I am a southern girl; it is therefore inherent from birth that I will exhaust an entire can of hairspray in one night if that's what it takes to prolong the volume. However, since I am not a Snookie supporter, I have an automatic aversion to any resemblance thereof. What are your thoughts on this anomaly that is "the bumpit"?

TLC

This officially stands for Tebow love and care. Let me explain. So, if any of you read one of my recent posts, you may remember me mentioning that I broke my ankle about two months ago. I wish I could tell you that I broke it during a ski trip or doing something at least half-way daring, but no...I was working out. Actually, I could argue that that in itself is daring, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, I was working out at my gym in a small community south of Nashville, and this gym is no YMCA. It's a training complex that Peyton Manning started several years ago to help build talent among future star athletes. If you're wondering how the heck I would fit into that category, stop. I don't. I just wanted to get my butt in shape when I moved back from college a couple of years ago, so I signed up for the boot camp class at this gym. Honestly, I swear by their classes, as I can go for one hour and burn almost 900 calories. NO. JOKE. If you are like me and love you some good southern food, then you find this method of burning calories to be far superior than dieting. I can say with confidence that I was in the best shape of my life until about two months ago when I broke my ankle. I won't tell you how I did it because you will think that I am the most uncoordinated person on the planet. It was just one of those days. I will tell you, however, that I fell on my a** in front of approximately ten NFL hopefuls that happened to be training for the Combine at my gym that morning .

Before you start feeling too sorry for me, let me get back to the Tebow comment. Yes, Timmy happens to be among the Combine athletes that have been training at this gym. As fate would have it, the doctor that performed the surgery to put my bone back in place referred me to the physical therapist whose office is in the same complex as my gym. Well, I walked into physical therapy a few days ago, and who do I see sitting there? Timmy and his super fine brother. What a scene. Poor Timmy had a problem with his shoulder and he was seeing my therapist. I actually had about a 5-second conversation with him that was the best part of my day/week/year. I could tell you about how he asked me for a recommendation on local restaurants and how he asked me to come with them, but then I would be totally lying. That's how the conversation went when I dreamed about it that night.

I Have a PROBLEM...

With swimwear. What's new? I don't have body image issues, but I do have issues with the way certain bathing suits look on my body. I mean, some bathingsuits just should not be made or sold to anyone other than Lindsay Lohan or the Olsen Twins. I hope you know what genre I am speaking of. Even on the days I am feeling super-skinny, I can try on one of these suits, and boom...my confidence is shot.

Prime example: I stopped by Target after work yesterday evening to look at their swimsuits. (I get ALL of my swimsuits at Target after ordering one too many from V.S. only to find - surprise - it only covers 1/8 of my rear end. Reallllly? I digress.) Now don't get me wrong...Target generally has a great selection, and I can almost always find something I like. However, the problem that I have is that the cutest options, in my opinion, are all the same style - the bandeau-like top that makes my already flat chest look like the chest of a twelve-year-old boy. Ugh. Here is an example of the style I am talking about:

As much as I despise Heidi Montaug and all of her fakeness, the image of me in this style of bathingsuit is enough to send anyone straight to the operating table for implants. Okay, obviously I am exaggerating a tad, but please...come out with some cute "triangle" tops that don't feature skulls and crossbones or scream "I heart Avril Lavigne and all things punk." Please.