tartly torts

Studying for the multi-state portion of the bar exam is a serious flashback to my 1L year. I can even hear the unforgettable voice of a certain professor whom I adore and who also happens to bear an uncanny resemblance to Velma from Scooby Doo.

I think you know who I mean.

Anyway, many of these quotes are readily available on my sidebar, but for your more convenient/immediate pleasure and because of my stroll down memory lane today as I re-pour into my brain information about assault, battery, false imprisonment, strict liability, res ipsa loquitor and let's not forget good old-fashioned negligence, I give you....

tidbits from my torts class.

The year: 2006.

My status: unmarried (engaged) and shellshocked (post-mission awkwardness at an all-time high).

My mood: awesome (by nature) and overwhelmed (by school).

"Punitive damages are un-freaking-predictable, but it's the consumer's way of saying 'corporate America, you can't screw me over.'" -- Prof

Prof: "And what did the court say about that?"
Student: "They didn't mention it."
(awkward pause)
Prof: "Actually, it's italicized. Hahaha!"
(as any classmate present will verify, it's the nelson-type pointing and laughing that really made this experience memorable).

"I don't know if any of you have neighbors with vicious boars, but if you do, you should probably move." --Prof

Student: “I would think so.”

Prof, incredulously: “You would THINK so?”

(awkward pause)

Student: “But I would obviously be wrong.”

“Companies respond! Hello! Why did Fisher Price make little people bigger? Because children eat them.” --Prof

Prof, when another law school class was scheduled to take place in our classroom during our classtime:
“No, we will not get up and leave, we will fight them. TORTS IN ACTION.”

Prof to student: "What, you can't write this down? You don't have hands??"
(long awkward pause) "Well, I guess you do have one arm in a sling. Never mind."

“Assuming you have a head, you should be able to write like the whole time.” --Prof's advice on taking finals

Student A: The thing speaks for itself, don't you think?
Student B: Then I want to know what the hell it's saying.

Student: I give up.
Prof: Actually, only I get to decide when you give up.

argh blech grrr and so forth

My last semester of college, I took a tele-course for some stupid art history requirement and when I say "took" I mean signed up for. No offense to Austrialian Megs the art history master, but this class was dumb. At least, I think it was, though how the freak do I know bc I never went.

It was one of those courses you supposedly watch on TV but (shocking, I know) I never did. Ever. It was on public television at something ridiculous like 10 PM on Fridays, and we didn't even have channels at our apartment (seriously...we had a TV but just for movies, make sense?). You could check videos out from the library which I always planned on doing to catch up but it just never happened. I'm a pretty good student most of the time but this was a glaring exception and you know how the less you do, the less you want to do? Yep. So, when I got an email telling me it was time for the open-book midterm I figured, "Uh oh, better pull something out." I hadn't thought AT ALL about the class...in fact, I didn't even own the book. The morning of the midterm, I went to the library thinking I'd check the book out and fake it.

Of course, the book was checked out.

I scurried to the bookstore to buy it (20 minutes before the exam) and OF COURSE, they don't have it. So what do I do? Why, what any self-respecting BSer would do...I show up to take the open book exam sans book and WITHOUT ONE RELEVANT PIECE OF INFORMATION IN MY BRAIN.

I walked in a little shy bc I didn't know if the man standing there was a proctor or actually the teacher, since I'd never watched the class. And then I just made stuff up. I got an email a few weeks later saying I could pick up my midterm, but I was scared to go, so never found out what I got on the exam. Naturally, I swore I'd salvage in time for the final.

(In my defense I'll say that in my other classes, I was attending, doing well, "learning," etc.; this one was uniquely impossible for me to feel motivated to do anything for. I promise I have a brain and, minus several glaring exceptions, am a responsible, reasonably good student).

Well, the final rolled around, and I still hadn't purchased the book,and I still hadn't watched a single class period. Luckily he emailed a "study guide" pdf out that looked like it was from the 1950s, Xeroxed or something so it looked all old-fashioned and smudgy. So I showed up armed with that.

45 minutes late.

All the doors were locked so I had wandered around the building for a while and finally got in, sat down, realized I had been really, really, really awful about this whole thing and just hoped for a miracle. I was about to graduate and just kept thinking, "Well, it's a general requirement, so if I get a C- or better I'm fine. Visualize a C. Visualize a C," and just started word-vomiting on the page. Good, old-fashioned make shiz up type word vomiting from someone startlingly unprepared for absolutely no good reason.

What did I get?

An A-.

Well, tomorrow morning I have an eerily similar situation and as Jennifer says, I'm alternating between panic and apathy. I'm just banking on the planet sending me the gift of bullshit. Though I have a sinking feeling United States bankruptcy code may be slightly more difficult to pretend on than the History of Art in Utah.

However, at the risk of sounding like TAMN, it's not my fault this guy made class too mind-numbingly boring to attend. In the words of the illustrious Rachel Williams, may I say, "Passing finals this year will be a Christmas miracle."

Here goes nothing.

generally...

I'm a pretty easy going person, but just as a warning, if you:

-send me condescending lecture emails
-ask me to do something you can obviously do for yourself just as easily
-scoop my kid up without asking, especially if we hardly know each other
-explain anything obvious to me, e.g., "The bar--that's the exam you take to become a lawyer--is..." or "In Brazil, they speak Portuguese..."
-make fun of my mission
-refuse to my eye contact with me and instead talk to the only other person in the room as though I'm not there
-treat me like I'm twelve
-think that reading Time and People means you're "up on current events"
-act like my cute baby's cooing is an intolerable pain in your butt
-mock me for going to law school THEN ask me for legal advice not two seconds later AND use the term "supposably"
-choose the only day I'm in an uber-hurry to BOOT MY CAR in the very lot I've been parking in the last 2.5 years, and when I call the number listed, tell me I have to walk across campus to talk to an overweight cop even though it's 2008 and there's no reason you can't just transfer me to him.
-in giving directions to said parking office, if I tell you that I never leave the law school on principle so I don't know where anything is across the street, yet you insist on speaking in nonsensical code, e.g., "It's by the swicket" (despite the fact that I keep saying I DON'T KNOW WHERE THAT IS) or or "over by the Helaman Smith Cannon Don Carlos Memorial Tower" or "just north, and then west up a ramp by the square building" (THEY'RE ALL SQUARE).
-treat me like I'm a moron in any way,

I will squish you like a bug.
(insert evil laugh)

glimpse of awesome, or, quotes of the day

One of my favorite law classmates just said the following about her boyfriend:

"That's the problem with being single and thirty. There's a much greater likelihood you're an a**hole."

Another classmate, about a kid in a suit with a bright pastel dress shirt:

"Look! A jacketed Starburst!"

the mighty ducks + politics

Oh man, did that debate put anyone else to sleep? Hub and I were snoozing 15 min in and we're INTO politics, so the rest of the country must have been snoring before it started. This looks way more fun than, you know, ISSUES...

insightful little bastuhds

"What're you doing, goin' to work?" asked the grumpy, slightly rough-looking 50ish man at the cash register as I was grabbing a bit o diet cola at a gas station the other day. "Kind of, I'm going to study," I explained nicely, though a bit warily considering my history of awkward gas station conversations. He proceeded to tell me how he is a nurse so he knows how hard it can be to study. (Question: why do you work at the gas station if you're a nurse?) He asked me what I was going to school for, and when I told him I was in law school, he said (direct quote):

"Fight injustice, lady. Fight the cops. Fight the pigs. They make shit up all the time. We need you to fight 'em! WILL YOU FIGHT 'EM FOR US??!" He got a little loud near the end, so I politely responded with, "I'll do my best," and scurried off.

This is a great blessing in disguise because people are always asking me what I want to do, and now I have a good, short, vibrant answer: "Fight the pigs!"

Also, today in Sunday School we were talking about the Anti-Nephi Lehis burying their swords and the teacher said, "What swords do we have that we need to bury?"

Huge pause.

Husband says, "It's mostly guns, these days."

with a kiddie root beer, please

Today involved one of my favorite outings: a little lunch date with Supa-ironwoman-linds. To my delight and amazement, as I walked into the good old Red Butte with cute baby, the nice gentlemen working there kindly showed me to my seat and proceeded to ask me if we wanted a kids' menu.

A kids' menu.

She's ELEVEN WEEKS OLD. If there's ever been a time for a grilled cheese or bite-sized corndog, it's now.

Thanks but no thanks, man. I AM her kids' menu.

more reasons the internets are awesome

I recently discovered (shall we say, MUSIC-overed??) a real e-treat. If you ever want to listen to a combination of say, calm gospel, funk and folk music from, say, 1954, it's only a click away! Style, mood, year of your choice, any combo...Choose Your Own Adventure! What a beautiful change this will be in the law library; no longer will I have to peruse random shared itunes libraries and bust a gut over how many people have tracks of THEMSELVES SINGING (not a joke). It's blowing my mind. Knock yourself out.

In other news, in 9th grade, two cowboys got in a "planned fight" by my locker right after school and it was awesome. People were climbing on top of lockers to watch. In the crowd, all you could see were two cowboy hats slowly coming towards each other, then hair flying.* It's all anyone talked about all day, because everyone knew the rumble was planned. The two-hats-approaching-each-other-in-slow-motion phenomenon was incredible. Like any good 14-year-old cowboy worth his belt buckle, they had awfully tight pants on (the tightness of which led some of us to believe they put potatoes in their pants), and I remember that one of them had gum on his bum, shaped exactly to the cheek because of the jeans' tightness. Anyway, I share this beautiful memory because it turns out, PLANNED FIGHTS ARE STILL HAPPENING.Awesome or what? These cowboys were mad, but they sure as hell didn't STAB EACH OTHER. IN THE EYES. (insert shudder). But, if you're going to get in a planned fight, at least make sure you get a gross headline out of it. Way to go, guys.

*denotes falsehood

treat

You know how sometimes you get a little treat in your life that reminds you all is well in the world, that God exists and things are good and people are awesome and life is beautiful??

I know, I know, you're wiping a tear while you think about your own "tender mercies." Today, cute baby and I had to wait for 100 years (LITERALLY...literally...) at the clinic for her to get a blood test since she is 2 weeks old (timeout to brag and say she is packing on the pounds, er, ounces thanks to mama's cream). She's napping, I'm wishing I was asleep, and I'm staring out the window when TO MY DELIGHT AND AMAZEMENT I see two 'heavy-set' or 'plump' or (insert politically correct term for chubby here) women in their 50s come out of the lab. And they are twins. And they both have dyed red-but-also-slightly-pink hair. And they are WEARING MATCHING CLOTHES, khaki pants and navy t-shirts.

And....

they are both in jazzies.


God bless America.

My feelings exactly

Overheard when I was stopped at a traffic light yesterday, with my window rolled down as two boys walked by me, on their way back to elementary school after getting some laffy taffys at the gas station:

8-year-old street urchin to 6-year-old street urchin: Yeah, school's a hassle, but if you wanna get a decent job, you gotta go.

Pure Gold

I know all I'm blogging about lately is baby...don't worry, I still do things like go to law school, watch LOST, attend Relief Society, surf the Internet, you know, the Important Things in Life. So I'm trying to stay balanced. But this post has given me the heavy duty giggles....

turns out all our kid needs is boobs. "Everything else is just marketing."

feline AIDS is the number one killer of domestic cats

Meet Debbie Downer.

You know, the person who manages to take every opportunity in a conversation to be an enormous downer and makes you want to pound your head into the wall. Doesn't matter what you say, or what anyone else says, a good Debbie Downer will bum everyone out by talking only miserable talk. What bright side? To Debbie, there IS no bright side. You've seen the hilarious skits about how Debbie manages to throw something somber into every conversation, talking about high divorce rates at weddings and mad cow disease at the family dinner table before a sad trombone noise comes in (waaa, waaaa) and we get an up close and personal shot of her sad face. Watch more here.

Anyway, real life Debbie Downers are the best. Interacting with them is pretty funny in general, but especially funny when you are very pregnant and you have conversations with Debbie Downers that involve the following statements (please note that all these statements have ACTUALLY BEEN MADE TO ME, by several people, over the last few weeks, and the best part is that none of these Debbies even have kids):

DD: Ugh (looking me up and down). You must be MISERABLE.
Me: You know, I'm actually still feeling great. Maybe the miserable part's still coming, but I'm not uncomfy yet. I've had a great pregnancy.
DD, with a grimace: Ugh. How are your stretch marks? And are you still pretty confident you can handle all of this?

(bwahaha! Where should I take this conversation? "Nope, forget it. I better throw in the towel. Thanks for talking me out of being 8 months pregnant. " WTF. You know, I DO have a really hard life...you know, a champion husband, a healthy body, a supportive fam, a great education, a place to live, decent insurance, etc....WHOA. Now that I think about it, no one has ever had a baby in harder circumstances. WHAT AM I THINKING???)

---
DD, with a knowing nod (even though she has no kids): Wow. That baby's gonna be EXPENSIVE. Hope you guys can afford it.
Me: (awkward laugh) Well, she'll eat for free for a while, so that'll help out.
DD: I guess it just depends on your baby. She'll probably be colicy. Hope she doesn't have tons of health problems. You just never know.

---

DD: How much longer do you have? (as though I'm about to go to jail and these are my last 30 seconds of freedom and fresh air)
Me: Well, we'll see! Another month or so. I guess she'll join us whenever she's ready.
DD, with a grimace: EVERYTHING will be different. EVERY. THING. I guess I'm just not ready to give up my whole life and identity yet. And it totally ruins your body.
Me, laughing politely: Well, I figure it's a small price to pay. Big bum vs. new member of our family, you know? I'm happy to fatten up a little to bring a new little life into the world.
DD: Yeah, I guess. I hope you took a good long look in the mirror before you got pregnant, because your body will NEVER. BE. THE. SAME. (insert sad trombone).

Me, to a fashionable Debbie Downer: Hey! Look how cute you are!
DD, touching my stomach: And look how huge you are.

Now with the blogs, you can share your thoughts with up to 10 people, using the Online Blogopolis.

I'm looking at getting into this, considering I'll have some free time this summer as I hang out with da baby. Sounds lucrative.

Barack Obama held your hand when you were frightened.

I know this has been floating around for a while, but it is cracking me up and making me want some cookies and a robot and an origami crane. Just keep hitting refresh and you'll find all sorts of information.

UPDATE: She drank from my glass??? And eating all my conversation hearts?? Grrr...

letter from a concerned citizen

Dear John McCain,

I respect your willingness to fight a losing battle, since Obama will be our next president and you must realize that the next 9 months won't be very fun for you, getting squished like a bug and everything. It's noble of you to persevere uphill against all the odds. But I'm having a hard time taking you seriously with the 3-4 distinct rivers running through your neck. What's the story? Gastrobybass surgery? A treasure map? Were you attacked by a fork?

Sincerely,
Gurrbonzo.

What the hell.

I forgot to mention that these signs are everywhere around Virginia Beach.

Totally makes me want to drop the f-bomb.

or something

Today I had to go gulp some nasty orange drink a la 1980s McDonald's with triple the carbonation for some sort of glucose test to make sure baby and I don't have diabetes (or as husband likes to say, "live-abetes," because there's no need to use such negative language), and then I had to hang out for an hour, then have a couple needles poked in my arm to test my orange-drink-ridden blood.

Well, nice, clever Mr. Phlebotomist pretended he had the shakes when he was putting my tourniquet on and then proceeded to get all chatty with me. Our conversation proceeded as follows:

Phlebotomist: So, what do you do for a living?
Me: I'm a law student.
Phlebotomist: Cool. So you're like a lawyer's assistant or something?
Me: No, I'm in law school.
Phlebotomist: So you're going to be a paralegal? That's cool.
Me: No, I'm in school to be a lawyer.
Phlebotomist: Like, real lawyers will let you help them?

Do you think I'd be more successful at avoiding this problem if I started calling it "real lawyer school"?

"Slice of life"

Be nice to your spouse or significant other. This is not only an inherently good idea, but will help you avoid the following situation, which I just read about for Wills & Estates. From 1993:

A man who was nagged by his wife to stop smoking has left her everything---but only if she takes up his habit as punishment for 40 years of "hell." Marin Cemenescu, who died last week at age 76, stipulated in his will that to inherit his house and $30,000 estate, his 63-year-old wife Aneta must smoke five cigarettes a day for the rest of her life.
"She could not stand to see me with a cigarette in my mouth, and I ended up smoking in the bathroom like a schoolboy," he wrote in his will. "My life was hell."

what. the. freak.

Ladies and gentlemen, if this doesn't prove the Internet's value, nothing does. Husband just sent this to me and I knew, again, that I made the right choice in marrying him.

Schmelz revisited

Dear Readers,

I realize now that I have done a disservice to you and all who like fun by burying a glorious link in a long public transportation-related tirade below. So here is the Schmelzy video, in its whole own post, here for your viewing pleasure. I wish I could somehow hold it up like Rafiki holds up Simba on the Lion King, because deep down I think we all want a gem sweater.