Jul 29th, 09
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Right. So I was planning on writing a lovely post about having fun tonight! Enjoying yourself! Don’t get your wallet stolen like me some girl last year that I heard about. (What? Getting your wallet stolen the day you finish the bar exam & having the slime ball use all your credit cards in a twenty minute span including your parents leading to a drunken slightly tipsy 3 am phone call home isn’t good luck? Huh. Who knew?)
Right. Then I did some digging & checked out the rumor-mill for how those poor Illinoisans did today.
It wasn’t pretty.
Apparently Bar-Bri was a little off in their guesstimations. Apparently no one knew the essay topics. Apparently y’all went home and cried like little girls. (Can’t say I blame you. )
Right. About being uplifting…well some of you have to pass. That is just how it works. From the sounds of it no one knew what they were doing on day one so it has to even out the playing field.
That and Mayor Daley failed it twice. So really, don’t you feel better now?
Jul 28th, 09
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For most the free world, the last (consecutive) Tuesday in July bears no real significance. Its just that, a Tuesday near the end of the month. Soon it will be August- with August comes back to school sales, back to school itself, the impending finality of summer.
For the legal community the last Tuesday in July (on a Tuesday of a year that the following Wednesday is still in the month of July) it means one thing: the bar exam, day one. (Unless you live in a 3-day-bar-exam state and then, well, Tuesday could be your first day off, and in that instance I’m looking at you Louisiana.)
Day one of the bar exam is probably the most nerve wracking. By the Wednesday (which should be your last day unless you are doing that horrible NY-NJ dual test in the same year nonsense or you live in a 3-day-state) you are just ready to be done with it. You already love or hate your procter, you might have found out the hard way that flip flops are verbotten & you know your exam number by heart. You’ve figured out if your table wobbles, if someone in your room has an annoying tic & you’ve managed to survive at least one day without your cell phone ringing.
There is no helpful advice I can give at this point other than pack lightly tomorrow because as soon as it is done you want to go out and “going out” should never, ever be done with a Bar/Bri book or a baggie full of pencil grips.
Don’t go home & check your answers tonight or re-hash anything with your friends. Just get in the zone, have (one) glass of wine, eat a good meal, go to bed. The second day will pass in a bubble-filling blur (your hand won’t get nearly as tired as it did during the essays) and before you know it you will emerge from the haze that has been your life, blinking and realizing oh crap I don’t have a job, oh crap I have to start work soon, oh crap I didn’t do laundry for two months, hmm it appears I also forgot to pay some bills for a few months, oh hey look, my family is still here, and perhaps even a little bit of realization that you made it to the other side. Now all you have to do is wait. And wait some more. If you thought this morning was bad, you have no idea what “results” day is like. Trust me. And sharpen your pencil again.
Jul 27th, 09
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Weddings bring out the best in families. The dancing, the hokey traditions, the father of the groom changing into shorts but leaving his tux shirt on…. oh wait, that’s just my Dad? Noted.
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My Grandma lives in California & she flew to Utah with my Aunt, Uncle & cousins who live in the same area. My brother Bubba (the one getting married) is doing some contract work in California for a few months & has been staying with my Aunt & Uncle. Grandma arrived at their house bright & early to ride to the airport (she had been packed for a week!) and on the way out the door absent-mindedly patted their dog on the head.
“Who is going to watch the dog….. Oh never mind. I forgot Bubba will be here watching her.”
And that is how Grandma decided he should dog-sit instead of getting hitched.
* * *
The afternoon of the wedding my Dad came up to me in an attempt to make me feel better about what I thought was an unflattering bridesmaid’s dress. (Unflattering on me. Not so much on the 18 year old pencils I was standing next to.)
“Daisy, you look fine. The dress is fine. That said…you could really use some color. Have you heard of the sun?”
* * *
The wedding photographer was a horrible lovely lady who really liked me. And by really liked me I mean she could have cheerfully spit nails in my face. Something about telling her no, we will not be half an hour late to the wedding so you can take another photo because, in fact, I’m in charge of making sure the bride gets there on time didn’t sit well with her. Which was fine because I conveniently forgot to tell her how to get to the wedding so she instead had to follow the limo driver who wasn’t very good at listening to my directions. That or when I say “Go North” it sounds like “Go South” and when I said “turn left” it actually mimiced the exact sounds of ”turn right.” Anyway, the lovely photographer did not harbor the same feelings towards B. In fact, she downright loved B. So much so that she came up to me half-way through the wedding after we’d stared each other down (she was forcing the bride to take photos in the grass, which she was allergic to, and my brother pulled me aside and told me in no uncertain terms I was ending the photos and I was ending them now) positively cooing and said “Why, I had no idea you were engaged to Tom Cruise! I mean *giggle* your fiance looks just like him! I need him to do a Risky Business photo shoot with me! Oh and here is my business card, I’d love to come shoot your wedding. I do charge for travel but Savannah sounds like so much fun! I’d just love to shoot your wedding to Tom Cruise!”
And that is when I was overcome with the limo driver’s hearing problem and shot the photographer in the face.
* * *
(Ok not really. But I thought about it. Momentarily. And then I went and ate a granola bar because I missed all the food that I’d spent the previous 24 hours preparing.)
