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December 26th, 2009

The Grabby Professor

One of the challenges of being a relatively-young guy at a club¹ is fending off unwanted advances while not appearing conceited or condescending.

So I’m at the bar and a Music Professor approaches me. The Professor is tipsy, but friendly. We talk. After a half hour of conversation the Professor asks for a hug.

Professor: “Can I have a hug?”
Me: “Uh, why?”
Professor: “I just want a hug.”
Me: “I’m not a touchy-feely person. Swine flu and all that…”
Professor: “How about a back rub?”
Me: “Excuse me?”
Professor: “How about I give you a back rub?”
Me: “Um, No. I’m a law student. I feel better with the tension in my shoulders. Keeps me in fighting mode. Hiyah!”
Professor: “What about a hug?”

Ugh.

So this continues, but we eventually slip back into normal conversation with intermittent hug-pleas, but then:

Professor: “You’re very attractive.”
Me: “Thanks. But that doesn’t make me worth talking to.”
Professor: “But you’re also a law student.”
Me: “Again, another reason why I’m not a good person to talk to. We are a breed of ogre…”
Professor: “But one of my favorite movies is The Paper Chase!”
Me: “I know, you’ve mentioned this.”
Professor: “Go to my facebook page! You will see that I like the Paper Chase!”
Me: “Oh, I believe you.”
Professor: “Can I get a hug?”

The entire time this is happening, Jack and his clique are standing 5 feet from us, POINTING AND LAUGHING! The Professor is facing me so he can’t see the audience of ridicule.

The Professor eventually dived in for a hug and I gave Jack a frantic “GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW” wave.

Jack let me panic for a moment and then responded to my dark threats and rescued me.

Jack slid into the spot next to me. I gasped as if Santa had just arrived and then turned away from the Professor to latch onto Jack like a life raft on the titanic.

It took the Professor about 5 minutes of solid cold shoulder to get the clue, but he eventually left.

Me: “Oh my god. Thank you so much!”
Jack: “Your problem is that you are too nice.”

Hmmf. Maybe.

After a subsequent run-in with the Professor I decided to leave the Eagle and went to the Saloon. There was a little bit of drama at the Saloon – actually, there was a lot of drama. At one point there was a guy decked out on the floor because someone smashed a beer bottle of his head.

At one point there was a guy decked out on the floor because someone smashed a beer bottle of his head, proving once again that Minnesotans are not always nice.

I also spent some time ignorning Mittens.²

Mittens (and his female sidekick, Mittenette) always shoot unsolicited bitchy looks at Phillip and I. But a pair of contacts and a haircut later, Mittens suddenly wanted to talk to me.

Pfft.

¹ Talking 21+ bars here.
² We call him Mittens because he always wears ridiculous half-gloves like an extra in a Lady Gaga video.

September 29th, 2009

Keys and Carrots

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So I am in the parking garage by school, digging through my bag for my keys. Again.

I have a tumi bag. Tumi bags have way too many pockets. I’ve wasted many flustered hours in the parking garage, dumping my bag – legal pads and highlighters flying … and here I am again. Dammit.

I usually find my keys after 5 minutes or so, but not this time. I’m fumbling through my bag and about to let out a Charlie-Brown style ARGG! when my ziplock bag of carrots pops open and unleashes a horde of cut carrots onto the parking ramp.

The chopped carrots race the ramp. Passersby dodge the carrots and avoid eye contact lest I’m as crazy as I look. This is shaping up to be a pretty solid fail moment.

So, after 10 minutes and two bag dumps, I feel defeated and head back across the street to the law school.

It was only when I got inside the law school that I realize:

It’s cold outside.
I came to school with a jacket.
My jacket is in my locker, and
My keys are probably in my jacket.

Well hot damn.

I had lunch at the Purple Onion to make myself feel better.

And yes, the parking ramp was still covered in carrots when I came back.

September 6th, 2009

Reputation

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I’m walking through my intern farm at work with a stack of cases.

Jack is the only other intern at work today, so of course I have to trip right by his cubicle. My cases become airborn and crash everywhere.

I’m scrambling to pick up the cases when Jack spins around in his chair with a huge Cheshire Cat grin:

Jack: “You do that a lot don’t you?”

Ugh.

August 30th, 2009

The Window

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My bedroom window was stuck open for most of the summer.

I was too lazy to call the maintenance people, but this wasn’t a big deal because my apartment is not air conditioned and my windows are open most of the time.

I only had the urge to close my window in the middle of the night when there was thunder or police drama outside. These midnight fix-it attempts always failed because there is only so much wrestling I can do with the window before I remember that I’m exposing my underbritches to the entire neighborhood.¹

So, I would give up, and forget about the window problem.

The low point was a few days ago when there was a huge storm that blew directly into my window.

It was possibly the most pathetic scene ever: It was 3am, and I had towels spread on the window sill. The towels were weighted down with chicken noodle soup cans.² The only thing that was keeping my bedroom from flooding was the cover of a plastic storage tub that I held against the window screen with both hands.

Every gush of wind rattled the blinds and flung water onto my bed. I felt like I booked a room on the Titanic. The dog wasn’t amused.

This lasted for about an hour and I felt like a royal idiot.

But then I forgot about the window the next day.

What finally made me fix the window was a radio report that the temperature is going to dip to 46 degrees tonight.

The little Miami-boy in me said “Hells to the nah!” and I attacked the window when I came home from work. After pounding the window and pinching my finger, I finally got it to shut.

There was no way I was going to have a 46 degree wind blow on me all night. No, no, no! And my window will stay shut for the rest of the summer, because I’m not reliving my Titanic experience.

¹ It’s dark outside, my bedroom light is on, and here I am in my undershirt and underwear rattling the window…what better way of getting the neighborhood’s attention. “HELLO!”
² Can which are probably rusting now…

August 20th, 2009

Mystery solved!

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There was a notice posted on the front of my apartment building for several weeks. It was from animal control. Someone’s dog and cat had been impounded.

Exactly which neighbor had their pets confiscated was a mystery until yesterday when I ran into Maggie.

Maggie lives down the hall, right next door to Yesina. Maggie is always aware of all the building gossip so of course she knew whose pets were taken:

Maggie: “Oh, that was the guy who lives above me. You didn’t know?”
Me: “No…”
Maggie: “Yeah, he was this morbidly obese guy who would never walk his dog. It was a sad, deranged looking thing. He would only let it pee and poop right in front of the building and never let anyone pet it or touch it. It was strange.

Well, he died. And god knows how long he was in there because they had to go in with hazmat masks and everything. I think the pets were in there with him for several days. I called the animal shelter to make sure that the poor thing wasn’t going to be put down but some rescue group had already snatched him up…”

Oh my goodness.

August 13th, 2009

Got my face cracked

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My second visit to Dr. Cranky was a deep lesson in fail.

I needed a second optometrist appointment because my right contact was somewhat blurry and my left contact was completely useless.

I couldn’t believe that in addition to being unpleasant and cranky, the optometrist managed to mess up my prescription too! And Target optometrists are all independent, so if I switched doctors I would have to repay for an exam.

So I go to Dr. Cranky’s optical and get reexamined:

Dr. Cranky: “Uh, here, try these contacts.”

I pop the contacts in.

Dr. Cranky: “Better?”
Me: “Yep!”

Dr. Cranky looks awkwardly at the ground.

Me: “Should I reorder the contact boxes that I ordered during my first examination?”
Dr. Cranky: “There’s no need to reorder. It’s the same prescription. You switched your left and right contacts.”

My mouth drops.

Me: “Oh excuse me, can you please lift your shoe? Because clearly a piece of my cracked face is under it…”

Continue reading “Got my face cracked” »

July 4th, 2009

The Stupidest Thing Ever

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June 30th, 2009

Fatty

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I’m driving to work when I realize that I forgot to bring my water bottle, so I decide to pull into White Castle and order a large drink, so I had something to use as a water-cup later…brilliant right?

White Castle Employee (through the drive thru speaker): “Thank you for choosing White Castle, what are you craving today?”
Me: “Uh, may I have a large diet coke?”
Employee: “Okay.”
Me: “That’s it.”
Employee: “That’s it?!”
Me: “Yes.”
Employee: “What about a slider?”
Me: “No. Just a diet coke.”
Employee: “Fries?”
Me: “No thank you. Just a diet coke.”
Employee: “You’re not craving any food?”
Me: “Nope. “
Employee: “None at all? Onion rings?”
Me: “Uh. No. I am only craving a Diet Coke today…gotta watch my youthful figure.”
Employee: “Uh?”
Me: “Nothing. JUST THE DIET COKE PLEASE.”
Employee: “Fine. Pull up.”
Me: “Thank you.”

So I pay for a Diet Coke and a nasty glare, and then drive off to work.

Although I forgot my water bottle, I did remember to bring my coffee tumbler. So I march up to the office building, cup and tumbler in hand, in my professional Express slacks, with a briefcase stuffed full of snacks (like unsalted peanuts and apples) feeling thoroughly prepared for my day. Que bring it! Si si si!

So of course the hot mess starts in the elevator…

I’m in the elevator with three people, and I sense the small Indian woman in the corner staring at me – or rather – staring at my butt. She looks confused and shocked.

She catches me giving her the “what the hell?” look and says,

Woman: “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just that your peanuts are sticking out!”

So, of course everyone in the elevator stops and gawks at the big can of peanuts that is precariously hanging out of my briefcase.

And then they all watch me awkwardly juggle my coffee tumbler and White Castle cup so I can cram my peanuts back into my food-stuffed briefcase.¹ A flap on the briefcase comes open, revealing more food, and I get the “Fatty!” look from everyone.

And yes, they totally started snickering when I left the elevator. They couldn’t even wait for the doors to close.

Ugh.

¹ I was wearing a shoulder strap, so the briecase was on my side, hence why it looked like she was staring at my butt. Although nice thing about working at a ginormous company is that it’s unlikely that I’ll ever see those people again since they don’t work on my floor.

May 17th, 2009

Harley vs. Beebee

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The food poisoning has not gotten better…at all.

But there are clothes to be washed, a dog to be walked, and Erie analysis to be relearned.

Now I usually look proper. Not slovenly, not stinky, etc. But I figured that it was okay to look a hot mess for at least one day since I’ve been studying civpro with a stomach¹ verging on 1.5.

So, I’m in the stairwell, wrestling Harley in one hand, and carrying a fist full of stinky socks that I wanted to add to the laundry…and of course I run into Mr. Big.

Mr. Big is the smooth upstairs neighbor. Think Hugh Jackman with a deep Barry White voice. Oh my goodness… Mr. Big also has a pissy boxer dog, who I call Bitch Boxer, or BeeBee.

Mr. Big was walking BeeBee so, BeeBee and Harley had to do the obligatory crotch inspection. Mr. Big started talking when Beebee was all up in Harley’s nether regions:

Mr. Big: “Has your dog gotten any bigger?”
Me: “Oh, he’s filled out but he’s full grown.”
Mr. Big: “Oh, I thought you said³ he was going to get much bigger…”
Me: “Oh…erm… well he was underweight when I got him, but I want him to get obese so…”

Just then BeeBee completely snapped⁴ at Harley and almost bit his face off. Harley bounced back, and Mr. Big and I were both shouting at our dogs and attempting to pass each other in the stairwell. It felt like a bar brawl and ended with Harley and I tumbling down the stairs….

On the continuum of “bad interactions with hot neighbors” this was somewhere in between inappropriate hallway flatulence and my dog mauling the neighbor… but at least I didn’t drop any dirty socks!

¹ Oh yes, I went there…but it’s part of the story.
² As Kimora Lee Simmons always says, “Dress like you’re going to meet your worst enemy.”
³ Apparently Mr. Big remembered my description of American Mastiffs… which Harley isn’t…oops.
⁴ Out of the 100 or so dogs he’s met, I’ve never seen him snap back at a dog. Beebee is special.

May 10th, 2009

Best Week Ever #16: yellow love and the creep

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I think that thing they call spring is here.

The grass started turning green a month ago, but the trees have remained leafless – until this week. Sometime overnight all the trees decided to blossom.

It’s as if the mayor pressed some secret spring button.¹

I feel like I’m in some parallel Paula Dean Garden universe. I got so used to winter that I forgot that there are other seasons…

Harley and I spent the week exploring the extensive park system in the neighborhood. The amount of parks, lakes, and nature trails surrounding downtown is ridiculous.

I suspect I moved back to Germany and no one has told me yet, especially when I look at the Fachwerk houses in the neighborhood:

I need to stop bringing coffee on these walks. The same thing happens every time: I start the walk with a cup of coffee and when we are 4 or 5 miles from home I realize “oh shit, I need to pee.”

This is of course the point when Harley gets tired and is all, “wait, why are we rushing all of the sudden?”

He then decides that every tree, squirrel, and gardener is worth inspection.

My bladder starts crying…and disaster strikes.²

And don’t be fooled by the “Minnesota Nice” stereotype – even Minnesotans will give you filthy looks when you’re raging down the street, screaming “GOD DAMN DA COFF-FAAAY!!!” while grabbing your crotch and dragging a 100lb dog…

There have been plenty of times this week when I’ve wanted to scream upon getting home. Harley has started trashing the apartment.

I tweeted about the destruction and was directed by @Karpul to this article on the Humane Society Website. The topic? Dog Separation Anxiety. The gist? He’s destroying the apartment because he misses me and loves me.

Now before you say “awe” remember I am not seeing love when I’m cleaning up shredded novels marinating in puddles of piss.

No. That ain’t love.

And of course the article says scolding the dog will ONLY MAKE IT WORSE!

Well… crap!

You mean I come home to a destroyed, pee-soaked apartment and I can’t bitch at anyone? This is supremely unfair.

And the most ridiculous thing is that Harley didn’t start this chaos until recently. I guess that means he didn’t like me enough before…

In order to help him adjust, I decided to study at Dunn Brothers today. I left Harley a pork bone and hoped for the best. Of course he completely demolished the kitchen – broke dishes, dragged the trash everywhere, and then pissed all over the front door.

And no, he did not need to pee – we had gone on a two hour walk this morning. Minneapolis is perfumed with this dog’s pee. It was pure spite…or according to the humane society, yellow love…

One redeeming thing about Harley is his “don’t mess with me or I’ll eat you” size. He even keeps Meth Molly away.

However, Harley’s size did fail to keep the crazy away this week – we were walking in Uptown (on Lyndale) when I saw this sketchtastic guy sitting at a bus stop across the street.

He was bald, pasty-white, emaciated, and had no eye brows ala Alexander Litvinenko (or Powder) and of course STARING RIGHT AT ME.

So I smiled politely and directed Harley down the street. Of course a few blocks later I see that powder had crossed the street and was storming down the sidewalk right behind us! I have seen waaay too many zombie movies for this to be okay. Seriously, this guy looked like the last day of chemo…or day 28…

So I took a sharp turn and literally RAN down the block as much as I could before he made it to the corner. What the hay…

The sprint worked, but I ran into the creep at another bus stop on Hennepin. He glared at me from across the street. I wondered if Harley would catch whatever that guy had if Harley decided to eat him…

In addition to running from zombies and cleaning up pee, I took my first final exam this week. The subject was Property, and it was not as horrible as everyone expected. My only grief is that there were NO future interests/estates problems! Not a single one!

All that time spent on learning the vesting categories? A waste.

The $20 I spent on the supplemental future interest book? An utter waste…especially since I barely looked at the book…

Tomorrow is my Criminal Law Final, and Friday is Corporations. Crimlaw is strangely pleasant to study…which is odd given how incredibly dull that class was…

I’ve also spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about “what kind of law I want to practice” and decided that it’s a silly question. I am not so limited in my interests that I wouldn’t be perfectly content practicing in most fields. I know that seems sacrilegious to say, but I don’t think I’m the only person who likes law enough to be happy in most fields…

Heck, I think most students at my school would be open to most areas of law. And most of us feel silly when lawyers (and parents, and friends) ask us what field we want to practice in, since the first year of law school gives us no clue of what private practice is actually like.³

There are a few former Business School kids and future public defenders who know exactly what they want to do (to the exclusion of all other opportunities) but most of us have no idea…

The real question is what type of firm will hire me? I love my school, but I’m aware of its limitations. UMN is reputable enough that nearly everyone will pass the bar, but not so prestigious that everyone will have a job upon graduation.

I have decided that the answer is not to claw my way into the top 5% since even biglaw has its problems.

The point (for me at least) isn’t to get a prestigious job just because that’s what everyone else is doing. My goal is to have a career that allows me to do challenging work and pay off my student loans before I’m 40.

…oh, and a job that allows me to afford dog training…since I’m sick of this yellow love business.

¹ I’m pretty sure it’s between the “easy” button and the Taco Bell button.
² And I can’t tie him up and run into a coffee shop or something because I always feel like a horrible dog owner doing that… plus I’m sure there’s some sort of ordinance against that.
³ I think that’s why next year’s 1Ls will be required to take a “work of the lawyer” course.

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