Archive | July, 2009

Work Appropriate?

30 Jul

I get the distinct sense that when deciding what to wear in the morning, the word “prostitute” should not occur to me, especially when connected with the phrase, “This makes me look like a..”

Ditto for the words “tramp” and “sixteen-year old mother.” 

Considering throwing out the clothes that I could successfully turn tricks while wearing.

Lifestyle Changes: Chapter One

29 Jul

Vegetarian for four days. Well, technically “fishtarian,” because I have been eating salmon, and I ate shrimp today. But let’s not split hairs. Besides, I think that if I tried to cut all living animal flesh from my diet at once, I’d probably die. Or at least quit altogether, and failure looks about as good on me as fat does. So I may eventually phase out seafood. That or I will try another week-long experiment: meatarianism. (You know, simply forgoing any plant products for one week. Easy-peasy.)

Noting that I have been eating “living animal flesh” at all makes me want to vomit a little bit. Of course, when I do not think about my food in those terms, fried chicken sounds very, very awesome.

The Personal Statement Revisited

29 Jul

“Tell the admissions committee something about yourself that is interesting, insightful, funny, charming, smart, and will convince the committee that you are better than the thousands of other people who will also be writing such essays. 

Note: When composing your statement, please take into consideration that if you have not cured HIV/AIDS, you are not special or impressive.”

Fat is not a good look on me.

26 Jul

I am considering vegetarianism.

 

 

[I also briefly considered becoming a masseuse once upon a time.] 

Thank God vodka, gin, and tonic water are not meat products.

Obsessive and compulsive, but not obsessive-compulsive.

21 Jul

When I was four, I spent an afternoon kneeling in the lawn outside my house, looking for a piece of the stringy stuff that comes between a banana and its peel. I was terrified because I couldn’t find a small piece of biodegradable matter. I had peeled off and dropped the piece of the peel in the grass because I found it disgusting (and still do); my brother, who was nine or ten at the time, depending on the time of year, saw me and decided to inform me that I was littering and that the police would come after me and make me pay one thousand dollars, except that because I was four and didn’t have one thousand dollars, they would just take the money from our parents and we would be poor.

So I stayed in the grass all afternoon, hysterical, until some other member of my family, I can’t remember who, found me and enlightened me to the fact that my brother is an ass. 

This episode is the earliest and possibly most representative anecdote suggesting my approach to life. I am a worrier. More accurately, I am a paranoiac. Not in the sense that I assume people are out to get me (I don’t), but in the  “I-must-control-for-every-possibility” sense.

So this morning, when I went to speak with the Office of Student Ethics at my university, I did so with the intent of controlling for a particular possibility. Now, rationally, I know that the Office of Student Ethics deals with incidents like mine all the time; that is, after all, its job. So when I went in with my detailed explanation and detailed expectation of how the office should address my issue, I shouldn’t have been surprised when they seemed slightly exasperated by me. (The question was also raised in my mind whether I have a faintly manic gleam in my eye when I conduct application business. When I approach anyone about anything application or law school related, I get the distinct sense that, before I even open my mouth, they are holding me at arms length and eyeing me askance, not unlike the way in which one would handle a potentially rabid hampster.)

The student ethics office apparently has a standard procedure they follow in sending out letters regarding student records. Nothing much I can do is going to change that, but I tried. I suppose I should relax and let people do their jobs, but I really need to see proof of competency before I will feel comfortable doing that. Until then, I will probably remain paranoid and obsessive. On the bright side, though, I have relaxed enough in seventeen years to comfortably drop bits of banana peeling on the ground.

At least I have cute new clothes.

3 Jul

Long day of shopping. I don’t want to answer e-mails. I don’t want to research Penn Law looking for things to put in a “Why Penn” addendum.

Also, I am at home in the rural, ass-backwards wilderness of a fly-over state. All of my energy is currently focused on not letting the inherent depressing qualities of my hometown combine with the antics of my psychotic family to ultimately crush my soul.

MCAT, LSAT, and all the other acronym-identified tests

2 Jul

Twelve hours ago, my roommate was mid-MCAT. Fifteen hours and fifteen minutes ago, my alarm went off, I dressed in my workout clothes, and then I drove my roommate to the testing location. We talked a bit about the test on the way there, and I saw her slightly nervous about the MCAT for the first time. Ever.

She is a very different person than I am, and her approach to graduate school testing was also very different than mine. But my response to her nerves about the MCAT was the same as her response to my nerves about the LSAT: I told her she would be fine, that she was prepared for the test, and that she wouldn’t get in there and lose her head and thus fail the test.

And I genuinely believed those things that I told her. But I knew that hearing those things makes zero difference to a pre-test taking mind because she, and many others, had said the same to me. In other words, it is easier to believe in others than it is to believe in oneself.

Or maybe it is just easier to be optimistic about a test that won’t change one’s life personally.

Things I shouldn’t be worrying about yet.

1 Jul

My fears about law school, ranked in descending order:

1. Cracking under the pressure of extreme competition with people whom I’d prefer playing drinking games with to playing “My grades are blasting your grades out of the water, and I will have eight jobs lined up before you have your first interview” with.

2. Not being smart enough to actually be a student at the schools I will likely be admitted to.

3. Getting fat.

 

..wait.

3. Getting fat.

1. Getting fat.

Exercise in Futility

1 Jul

I can see where this is going. I’ve tried to fight it, but expecting my blog not to go the way of my non-Internet [real] life was wishful thinking, at best. 

From now and into the immediately foreseeable future (or until I feel like writing about something else and can actually do so intelligibly), I will be posting about law school: the application process, admissions decisions, and if I keep this up long enough, about law school itself.

Welcome to Vodka Sours: The Law School Edition