I'm alive.  Yes, I too was beginning to wonder.  After many request to get over my laziness and put my fingers to work ... well, this isn't too spectacular, but it has gotta count for something.  Let's see, what have I been doing whilst not blogging: 

Oh, right, I went to China.  That was pretty huge.  Couldn't have asked for any better way to spend my summer.  I met some amazing people, and made some fantastic friends, and actually did learn a few academic things (do you know what a Flag of Convenience is?), and discovered parts of myself I knew where there, but needed to unearth.  It took going around the earth to do it, too.  Worth every penny.  And, not to ruin a good thing, but you should all know that while getting to China costs somewhere in the neighborhood of a small child, once you get there your US dollar will get you around 8x what it does at home.  Am-az-ing. 

What else - oh, yeah, I spent a week at Holland again.  This year the little bro's couldn't make it.  I never thought I would say this, but being an only child would SUCK.  My parents are boring.  Don't get me wrong, they are ultra-dynamic in other ways, but they are still adults.  Turns out, we were right all along: adulthood is boring.  Dudesicles, I missed ya - never leave me alone with them again.  Short stints like dinner or an afternoon is fine - an entire week in the woods just ain't even cool.  All they do is read and nap.  Hello!  You're not even retired yet ...

School started - that's my most recent life event.  2L life is f*ing busy.  I can't believe how quickly school can eat up all your time.  I haven't seen Dr. Keith in weeks ... I mean, this is important stuff here! 

Speaking of, I have class in a precious few minutes.  Gotta run! 

After an excellent IM session, K-Dub and I have decided it’s just so lucky we have dead week. I mean, when else could we catch up on all this important stuff like finding inappropriate graphics to throw in to our conversations, write pointless blogs, work on sewing projects, drink ourselves out of coffee creamer while we go on caffeine overload to stay up and play spider solitaire ‘till 12:30, or finally get that junk drawer organized? It’s not as though I have a 200 handwritten pages of notes to type for Torts, or 191 to type for CivPro ... I’ll do that next week ... during finals.

To really kick it off right, we had to go out and close down the bars on a Monday too. ‘Cause nothing says 1/3 Lawyer quite like being hungover on a Tuesday - at 3:00 in the afternoon. Work hard, play hard - isn’t that the cliche? Small problem though: none of us have been working all that hard lately. We’ve been operating on a skeletal schedule. Bare minimum. Least amount of effort possible to stay above water - not even on land, just not sinking is all we’ve been striving for. Except to be honest, none of us care all that much. Mostly we’re not looking at this as being adrift at sea in a storm. I think most of us are just wishing we’d have brought an extra jug of gas for our jet skis so we could play a few more hours while we pretend we’re not about to get struck by lightening. Ineffective metaphor maybe - turns out, I don’t care though.

K-Dub also provided me with a sex-ellent mood-elevator. Unfortunately, it will not parlay into this blog for some reason (damn you MSN!!). But I found a reasonably good substitute. Feel free to insert faces on these guys as appropriate to your situations.
Myspace Layouts

God, this is just soooooooooooooooooooo much better than doing my torts outline - which isn’t really an outline, it’s more like a stream of consciousness entry laced with some cases and key terms. Good chat. Gotta get back to it ....

Will it ever not fucking suck?  This shitty, unknown, unanswerable, unacceptable HOLE in my life?  I get all the cliches - and the wisdom in them.  I truly GET it.  Really.  But, fuck, if it doesn't hurt to be reminded. 

I'm minding my own business, typing ("respondeat superior applies because the employer you're my best friend ..."), and the effin song comes on.  Always reminds me of Tyler.  The first time it came on today in the car on my way to the coffee shop, I smiled and thought to myself Can't win 'em all.  Good part of my life. [stop - don't go there.] Oh well.  Move on. 

Then it comes on again, and so this time I'm gonna have my little rant and that's gonna be okay.  See I feel better already. 

What's the cliche I'm always telling you?  Oh, right: there is a difference between getting over it and moving on, sometimes you do one until you can do the other.  Right now, I'm just going to move on .... because right now, I'm back to being not over it.  WHATEVER. 

Okay.  I'm done now. 

When we lived together, Sista K and I would have these random meetings in the kitchen.  Typically one of us would sit, the other would stand – we’d be there at least an hour.  One such evening she tells me about the recent break-up of a friend.  I offer the story of someone else.  We start to share our favorite break-up remarks.  A theme emerges.  As far as we can tell, there is some kind of rehearsed speech floating around among all the exes in our lives.  We call it “The Break-Up Script.”  It’s that unoriginal, bullshit, sermon that men think makes you feel better while you’re getting broken up with.  If we’re so fabulous ......Whatever.   

Anyway.  Thus the birth of a favorite phrase, “The Break Up Script.”  I kinda like throwing it out there.  It’s prolific – needs no explanation, we’ve all heard it, it’s been around forever.  Blah, blah, blah.  

I almost shouldn’t find this funny.  But, I gotta tell ya … this song is the break-up script.  I actually laughed when I first heard it.  I thought to myself:  Wow, someone put it to music.  Now it’ll never die.  Some poor, heart-broken girl can listen to this on repeat for h..o..u..r..s.   The lyrics are literally the line-by-line monologue of countless cowards.  

Here’s to The Break-Up Script!

Better Than Me by Hinder
I think you can do much better than me
After all the lies I made you believe
Guilt kicks in and I start to see
The edge of the bed
Where your nightgown used to be
I told myself I wouldn't miss you
But I remembered
What it feels like beside you
I really miss your hair in my face
And the way your innocence tastes
And I think you should know this
You deserve much better than me

While looking through your old box of notes
I found those pictures
That you were looking for
If there's one memory I don't want to lose
That time at the mall
You and me in the dressing room
I told myself I won't miss you
But I remembered

What it feels like beside you
I really miss your hair in my face
And the way your innocence tastes
And I think you should know this
You deserve much better than me

The bed I'm lying in is getting colder
Wish I never would've said it's over
And I can't pretend that I won't think about you when I'm older

Cause we never really had our closure
This can't be the end
I really miss your hair in my face
And the way your innocence tastes
And I think you should know this
You deserve much better than me
I really miss your hair in my face
And the way your innocence tastes
And I think you should know this
You deserve much better than me
(And I think you should know this)
(You deserve much better than me)

I just saw an ad discussing "Boyfriend Season." 

Now, I would consider myself a reasonably well-informed dater.  However, I was unaware that there was an entire season devoted to boyfriends.  I'd like to know more about this.  Is there permitting involved?  How long with this last?  Do I need to get a tag?  Where? Do boys know that it is boyfriend "season"?  Who is regulating this?  Is there a tip line for reporting skanky girls? If there is going to be a season for boyfriends, does this mean they'll be getting an "off-season"? 

Did you know there was a season?

Ok - one of you has to leave me a tag ... I am tired of loading my blog and seeing that note from the philandering pharmacist.  So until I can figure out how to delete it, somebody MUST enter something on my tag board so he's not on the top.  *shivers*  Please.

... With law School

10 reasons to break up with law school:

If my friends talked about their boyfriend’s the way we talk about law school, I would advise them to break up. Hence the following.

10. We have bags under our eyes from the lack of sleep - and not in a good way.

9. The lack of green leafy food means we bruise easily.

8. Law school controls whether we can see (& even talk to) our "outside" friends.

7. It has ruined our ability to enjoy bad writing - we mark in the margins of everything.

6. Our wardrobe has been taken over by pony tails and sweatshirts - even blow drying our hair and applying mascara merits a compliment.

5. Thanks to law school, our clothes don’t fit the same.

4. We pick fights over everything, mostly without even noticing.

3. The syllabi are akin to the cycle of abuse:

* you get the assignment (tension building),

* you attempt to not flunk the exam, or blow the paper’s fine points (abuse),

* they try to give you a ‘break’ with a few extra days on your next assignment (make-up),

* you think you have time to do stuff like, I don’t know, sleep (calm),

* the next assignment looms (tension building)

And yet, like all the great bad relationships, we fell in love with the thing in the beginning and just can’t leave ...

2. Our lack of outside stimulation has lead us to find not-funny-stuff to be worthy of gut-busting, roll-on-the-floor laughter.

1. Law school has f*ed with our sex lives.

Feel free to add to the list ...

(Yes, I did this instead of homework.  I proudly admit it.)

"Nice guys finish last." Seems to me the cliche ought to be, "Dumb girls finish last." Correct me, please do - but the vast majority of guys are (duh!) of course nice to girls they like. Most men are not utter jerks to a woman they are hoping will go out with them. That’s been my experience, anyway. So yeah, when you like a girl and you’re nice to her ... and she doesn’t like you back, you feel like you’re in last place. But really, what you’re complaining about is that the person you like doesn’t like you back. And that SUCKS. Doubtlessly. I completely agree. However, lets not fall down on the sword with the martyr’s statement: Nice guys always finish last. Look, wallow around in it, feel sorry for yourself, and then get the hell over it. If you can’t, okay. I’ve had plenty of relationships fail to go my way, and I’ve thrown a barn burner of a pity party. But lets maybe not use the broad sweeping statement that just because you’re a nice person you must be in last place. Mmm’k?

The person in last place, is the one that let you get away.

You mean jerk. Did you ever stop to think that your sparkling personality doesn’t lend itself to vibrant expressions of personal opinion except by those wearing kevlar? Any chance it ever occurred to you that people aren’t copying you or kissing your ass, but are perhaps genuinely interested and do actually have experiences they undertook of their own accord, completely separate from you, which are similar to yours? I suppose it’s also safe to guess that you are unaware that what you consider accommodating is more-accurately people placating your bullshit rather than deal with the fall out from your crabby personality? Get oooover yourself. My god.

`"Guys act all sweet, but it soon will fade // For all they are doing is trying to get laid."

There was a phase in my life when I could’ve authored that poem myself.

For years I boycotted, or more accurately mourned, today. Until five years ago when my godson was born on February 14, I wore black, head to toe, and a scowl. My view seems to be evolving though. I was telling Joelle yesterday I was going to make the radical choice and go a traditional Valentine’s Day route. Why? Perhaps my disdain is like pouring coffee in the office plant - I'm helping to kill the thing I long for. A blooming love-life. Has our cynicism made men lazy? Has asserting our total independence given the impression we don’t want a man?

Let me start at the beginning.

Phase I - Naivete (5-13):

Little girls everywhere dream of being swept off their feet by nice boys. They are inundated with messages, images and examples of ... unrealistic expectations. But we don’t know that yet - we still get a valentine from every person in the class. Usually one, and sometimes three, that declare your crush likes you back and wants to hold your hand on the playground. Bliss. Untempered daydreams. Oh, if only it could last!

Phase II -Boycott (14-20):

Valentine’s Day is a cruel and shitty reminder of what I "don’t have." Life isn’t perfect, it’s life. But Valentine’s Day was supposed to be the one day it is - the one day life truly is coming up roses, filled with romance, peppered with red hearts, and declarations of love. But for most of us, us real girls, the beauty of February 14 is directed at someone else. Or in my case, comes in a coffee cup from the parental units. God bless them - I’ve had some great mugs with baby roses over the years. There was this icky, almost sad feeling that came as I read the card. I’d dash to the office in high school (or down the stairs to the rose table in college) to see who sent me something. I knew it was a sweet love note from the one guy I count on: Dad. Secretly, and vainly, I hoped it wasn’t from him. But there I was, with my flowers, and every time someone asked who they were from - an excited curious look on their face - I had the unadulterated pleasure of saying, "Oh, just my Dad." How awful of me! I’m lucky to get flowers from my Dad, I’m lucky to have my Dad. I had a sinking feeling, though, that I was being reminded he might be the one guy I can depend on. I decided to ignore the holiday. Enter the phase where I wore all black. Today is not happening. Boycott. I was a one-woman cynic.

Phase III - Independent Woman (21-24)

Not one to wallow, I embraced the "reality" of Valentine’s Day. I empowered myself. I decided the day was a woman’s reminder that being happy ain’t tied to havin’ a man. Nope, I’m complete in myself. Of course, this empowerment was also coupled with an underlying bitterness. "F*&K ‘em. Who needs men? Boys are just jerks who break your heart. Why would I even want one?" I told myself. February 14^th became my personal holiday for hating men. (Well, save for my perfect godson who was born in 2002 - bless his sweet, heart-breaking smile. Melts me.) It was the day my feminism became angry separatism. Not only are women different, they’re better. I don’t need a man. I don’t need a relationship. I am woman, hear me rage! (Admittedly, there was a small relapse in 2005 when a cute boy took me to the movies that night - happens to the best of us.) I no longer ignored the day. I celebrated it loudly. I declared my independence, I disavowed the bullsh*t "man-on-white-horse" myth, and I spent the whole day announcing my pleasure in being a single woman.

I still like this phase. I like celebrating women on day commercially designated, err I mean devoted, to girls. My friend S’MacK jostles between Phases II and III. She has a major distaste with dedicating a day for men to remember to tell a woman how fabulous she is, and that he loves her - this from a girl who’s had a valentine for the better part of a decade. And I don’t necessarily disagree. Why does there need to be a day for people to say "I love you?" Why is there a day when some people feel more special than ever when "he" does say the magic words, and the rest of the special people are confronted with what society tells them to want but they can’t get? She doesn’t celebrate. Instead, we sing Happy Birthday to Andy - surely a birthday is worth celebrating.

Phase IV - I Want It All (25):

Damn. I’m just going to lay out here (after all, it is my blog): Inside me is a naive little girl who believes in true love, big romantic gestures like a single rose or a simple phone call, and is too scared to call her crush by his real name. Inside me is an adolescent drama queen who thinks ignoring what the whole world is doing will make it not so. Inside me is a young woman who believes in feminism, the power of women, the importance of celebrating femininity, and has never thought herself incomplete without a boy. Ever. Some remnant of every phase remains with me.

I am all the things I ever was. I’m a girl who likes boys to use the phone first, hold the door open, and look at me before they lean in to kiss me. I’m a girl who doesn’t always need the pomp and circumstance. I want honesty and respect. I don’t want pretense, but neither do I want crass, presumptive moves. I am independent. Wanting a relationship doesn’t change that - and it’s taken me a long time to realize it.

This year I want it all. I celebrate being a woman. I relish my singledom. I dream, out loud, about hearts and flowers and I won’t be told to be realistic. I admit I want to be swept off my feet and be in love. I admit I like kissing boys for the sake of kissing boys. I deserve romance. I declare that I want what I don’t have, and cherish all that I do.

I was telling a broken hearted girlfriend about my favorite book: He’s Just Not That Into You - The No-Excuses Guide to Dating. It got me thinking. In the interest of easing a few dating situations, here are a few signs I’m just not that into you:

*It’s been more than 4 days since you’ve heard from me.

*You kiss me, I kiss your neck.

*I haven’t asked for your help.

*You can’t communicate - basic concepts, emotions, or plans.

*I wore white socks on a date. (OR you wore white socks on a date.)

*You’re elitist or homophobic or extremely republican.

*I introduced myself as Abby.

*You’ve ever attempted to pre-empt a "relationship" because you think I’m into you.

*I order a third beer - for both of us.

*You have a girlfriend.

... and really, the biggest sign of all:

*You can’t remember hearing me say your name.

Do you pray? If you do, I know some people who could really use it. My aunt and uncle’s house burned down last Friday. Without detailing the brevity of their poverty, let me just say that their family of six was living in a four room cabin – and now all that remains is a pile of ash. If you pray, would you please pray for them? In particular my two female cousins, ages 17 and 14. Their little brothers (ages 5 months and 3 years) are surely confused as well. The girls are old enough to truly miss their possessions and try to take on the stress – stress too great for adolescence.

I pray to give them strength, perspective, acceptance, and hope at a time in their lives when judgment often comes quickly based on appearances.

This is the story from Saturday’s Independent Record: http://www.helenair.com/articles/2006/12/02/helena_top/a01120206_04.txt

No matter what Wall Street says, I say the economy is GREAT!

I have: one dead battery. You have: jumper cables. I need: help. You need: parking spot. Lets trade!

I’m telling you, I don’t have a freaking cent to my name, but in the economy of my life, things worked out perfectly tonight.

Didn’t get their names, but an extremely nice couple earned themselves a truckload of great karma by saving me from the bitter cold. THANK YOU!

I had another episode. I still don’t know how it happened. But there I was, waiting for a webpage to load (since I’m borrowing the neighbor’s wireless signal, I can’t complain about the speed), and I fired up a game of solitaire. Then ... *wham* ... suddenly 45 minutes have gone by without so much as blinking an eye. Okay, once was sort of funny - an ADD attack in the wrong direction. Whoops. But twice (and perhaps a third bout lasting a half hour)?! No. No more. Unable to control myself I have taken the games off my computer entirely. Sad but true.

I got hijaked again.  Life just keeps getting in my damned way.  Sorry - I'll get it together and write again soon.  I should have plenty to say, especially since the election cycle went my way.  Watching the election results come in was like watching a damned Cats game. 

Yes, I realize it was almost a week ago - and yes, I also realize 2/3 of you have no clue what the eff I'm talkin' about - but DAMN am I happy to be done with Libra.  Enough of that partnership, duo, justice, airy, wishy-washy, love-and-commitment-obsessed bullshit.  My god, it's exhausting.  No disrespect to my vast collection of fabulous and vitally-important Libra friends.  Ya'll are wonderful - but I don't know how you live in your own skin.  F*  How's this for comical (and also ironic)?  I spent almost the whole transit busy ignoring all the relationships I'm NOT in.  So bent on not bowing to the pressure and influence I he-toxed my way through it.  Very successful - attempting to avoid the partnership obsession, I accidentally obsessed right into. Gah!  I don't think I've ever been so damned happy to move into the brooding, sexy, deep dark control of Scorpio - and I even like Scorpios!  *big sigh*  AT LAST!  Something I can handle ... a moody, unpredictable, intense, sex=control, possessive sign.  Room to breathe!

Also, a quick political rant: there is a fatal flaw in the newest label of "Brokeback Democrats" slamming Tester supporters.  Those of us flaming liberals you want to lambaste with that uncreative stroke of stupidity are proud to be associated with what you're trying to drag around through the mud.  I think now we can safely say it's gotten "nasty."  When we're down to the wire and the best you've got is an emotional ploy aimed at sucking the last ounce out of your pissed-off base all you've really done is illustrate your sad faith in humanity.  People have their minds made up.  For the 5 people left who haven't, you're only insulting them by inferring they either (a) can't or (b) shouldn't make a decision based on issues and performance.  I don't even think I'll issue an obligatory "Good game," for that one. 

Really? One of the nastiest political campaigns? Honestly, that is your assessment? See - my feeling on this election cycle is that it’s been damn good politics. People fighting about the record, the issues and the societal values. We ought to talk about how a candidate feels about taxes, health care, public access. How? Well, dig up voting records and legislative proposals. Of course, then the strategists will apply spin by hiking up the tally of "bad" votes to include every procedural motion on record - whether it was to amend, pass, table, or, God forbid, second a motion to extend the time for public comment. Dirty rotten ------!

Lately it seems the talk is more about who has said what, on behalf of whom, rather than what actually matters. There is equal guilt - be assured. I can appreciate the importance of this Montana race for the respective senatorial campaign committees. However, what ticks people around here off more than the idiocy of a given candidate is the implication they can’t fight their own fight. I wanted to scream (well, and laugh) when the Republicans put out that ridiculous commercial about Tester’s haircut and alleged tipping practices. His hair? You’re attacking his hair cut? Yes, I realize this is a thinly veiled attempt to imply something else - duh. But then in come the Democrats as of late with some big money of their own. What do they do? Drag up Abramoff again. We get it: he’s scandalous, Burns took tons of money, when put to a sniff test the smell makes you vomit. It won’t be forgotten, don’t worry. Tell us something we don’t know. The response to it all? A silly playground retort of "Teacher, teacher! He has big city friends too!"

Sure, the candidates have lobbed hard balls. There are damn weighty questions to answered. These are public officials - they theoretically answer to the public. What’s the old chestnut? By the people, of the people ... against the people? Is that it? No, no, I remember: For the people. Everybody is for the people of Montana. The candidates each have a plan for implementing their version of "for the people." Yay! Ideas, options, proposals, suggestions! Therein lies the reason I love politics. Turns out there are lots of good ways to get from where we are, to where we want to go. Politics is the public forum for meting out these ideas. Just ‘cause your idea has some holes in it doesn’t mean the other guy is playing dirty.

Nasty political races involve people lying on their taxes, driving drunk, marital scandal, thirty year old statements taken out of context, personal attacks - ya know, dirty little secrets used when the ideas are gone or the beans too fabulous not to spill. This isn’t nasty. This is good, old-fashioned debate. Around here it seems to me–and, hell, I could be wrong–there aren’t a lot of minds to be changed or inspiration to be sparked by worn-out labels. Most Montanan’s are hard and fast on what they believe. Not much to be gleaned by reminding us that Republicans think the Democrats tax too much and vote pro-choice, and the Democrats believe the Republicans are mishandling the war (and its little bro national security) and vote anti-choice. Neat ... and fatigued.

The nasty part, if you ask me, is all that racket by out-of-staters is drowning out our voices.

Here’s my plan for the next three weeks: I’m only listening to ads paid for by the candidates, featuring the candidates. Enough with the big guns. Quit resorting to your association with pretty people in powerful places who half of us hate - anybody can name drop.

I’m ready to vote. If for no other reason, so that instead of being told what our values are, I can go back to living the Montana values everyone believes in: be nice to your neighbors, do the right thing, kill something this winter, take your kid and hunting license with you, and mind your own business.

I love to run!  Yes!

When I walked out of the law school yesterday chilled air hit my skin and prickled me.  It felt inspiring.  Fresh.  I couldn’t get home fast enough.  I started to disrobe at the door and by the time I reached my bedroom I was but a few articles from run-ready.  Five minutes later I was out the door, iPod strapped on and hair pulled back.  

God it felt so great!  Law school has taken over my life and everything else has taken a back burner.  By “everything” I admit this sadly includes eating more than cheese and crackers.  I can’t believe I forgot how important the road is to me.  It’s Me Time.  All me, all my own.  Someone asked me if it was like meditation.  I think it might be.  My mind goes blank (and believe me, this is nearly impossible to do these days).  My heart feels relieved.  My body thanks me.  I feel fabulous.  How could I forget this?!

Run, run, run.  Yes!  I am soooooo hooking up with Pavlo again today!