Future Esq.

Here’s a quick life update for those of you who care (anyone? world?):  After deciding to forgo law school in pursuit of the written word, I was waitlisted by Harvard.  Apparently, my rude email and brash personal statement were not enough to actually get me denied from America’s favorite ivory tower.  Apparently, Harvard likes a girl who talks dirty.  Touche.

In the name of keeping everyone abreast of the events of my life, below is the actual Letter of Continued Intent I’m sending to this hallowed institution.  I can’t wait for the forthcoming comments from the haters on this one.

What a funny run we’ve had, Harvard.

Just over 6 months ago, I wasn’t even planning on applying to matriculate with your class of 2013. Smart as I think I am, my scores just weren’t there, resting, tauntingly, at the 95^th percentile. Good enough for a top 10, perhaps, but certainly not for Cambridge.

Then, one day, I received a recruiting email from your Dean of Admissions. What luck! I thought. They see potential! A closer read, though, suggested that perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you were just preying on the insecurities of all Harvard-hopefuls with my stats so as to keep your exclusivity up and your endowment stable.

I was not to be made a fool, so I lashed back. I called you out on your impersonal flirtation. I wanted you to know that I wasn’t just some pretty girl in a low-cut shirt at the bar, willing to throw myself at you only to be disposed of in the morning. I was different. I wanted to be treated with respect.

And then you surprised me, Harvard. You responded. You gave me a kind word and a loving embrace. That was impressive. Maybe there is more than the good looks and cool demeanor, I thought. So I decided to give you a chance. Skeptically, I decided to apply.

You know what’s happened since then, Harvard? You’ve rumbled on unassumingly, and I couldn’t help but notice you. First there were a couple of articles from your business school that validated my viewpoints on the current economic crisis. Then there was a visit to your campus, where I felt warm and snuggly on your tree-lined paths. And just a few weeks ago, I read about the undergraduate course you’re planning on offering, bringing together some of the greatest chefs in the world to talk food science in one of your physics labs. I read that and thought to myself, now there’s an institution with which I want to be associated. There’s a school that knows what’s what.

That’s when it dawned on me: beneath that cold ivory exterior, there is something beautiful afoot. There’s something I want to know; something I want to regale with sappy love letters and flowery descriptions. At that precise moment, I just couldn’t help falling in love with you.

I’ve been just sick about it, Harvard. I’d already decided to defer law school for a year, pursuing instead managing marketing for a start-up nonprofit and, well, writing (mostly food and restaurants in the greater Denver area). But when you waitlisted me, you gave me a glimmer of hope. You gave me a vision of life beneath your romantic canopy. Perhaps my love does, in fact, love me, too, but is waiting for me to prostrate at his feet. Well, here I am, Harvard. I’m prostrating. And I’m willing to offer my services, painting you in the most beautiful of lights for my blog or yours, pitching press coverage to any publication you’d like, in exchange for three years in your company. Perhaps even a best-seller on our relationship is in our mutual future.

We’ve really had a storied relationship, Harvard. I scoffed at your advances, took notice, fell in love, was waitlisted by your esteemed committee, and now… you’re the only school I would attend.

Is this fate, my beloved scarlet society? Or merely another tease?

Only time will tell. If our love is indeed mutual, I’ll see you in the fall. If not, well, we’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.

With warm regards,

Laura Elizabeth Shunk, future esq. (?)

It’s officially Spring in Boulder. You know what that means? Barring the occasional irritating March snowstorm, the sun is shining, the streets are filled with happy people and their dogs, and I, of course, have been fully embroiled in an all-encompassing crisis of faith.

This should, by this juncture in my young adulthood, be predictable. I don’t know if it’s a pressure change or a harkening back to school days of yore, but my itchy feet get especially bad in the Fall and Spring, and each season brings a prolonged period of listening to my Pensive mix and telling everyone ever all about every convoluted and conflicting thought passing through my head about some life-path-altering decision. Proof, starting in 2007 (it should be noted that this pattern could be seen as early as 2003 after I broke up with my stable high school boyfriend and, thus, my stable high school perception of who I was):

Crisis of Faith (COF) Fall ‘07: “I should go consult in New York City in January 2008 when no one’s moving there because I hate Denver and I want a great deal on an apartment!” vs. “But wait, I kind of like my job and Denver! I should wait to move until June!”

COF Spring ‘08: “I love burritos! I should totally work on burritos remotely from NYC since my boss will let me! I don’t need financial analysis skills, those are for boring people, and I’m not boring!” vs. “Financial analysis skills are for sexy people, burritos are for silly people. I really want financial analysis skills so I can be sexy! I should totally work in finance-light!”

COF Fall ‘08: “I hate finance-light! Imma work in marketing!” vs. “I really want financial analysis skills! I should definitely tough this out!”

COF Spring ‘09: “Everyone should be required to live in New York for two years! I’m going to do that!” vs. “I’m moving back to Boulder immediately because I hate finance, but I loooove wine! Also mountains!”

COF Fall ‘09: “I’m sick of wine! I miss the office and being able to afford dinner!” vs. “I love wine! I should work in another restaurant and get my sommelier certification!”

That list exhausts me, maybe because of the schizophrenic exclamation points, but not as much as my brain is exhausting me right now. For every side presented on that list, I had a fully crafted poetic argument that I gave to each and every one of my friends and acquaintances who, in turn, wanted to lock me in my room for a week or six until everything blew over.

I blame my generation. A hundred years ago, when I was but a rosy-cheeked youth, I read an article in Time about defining characteristics of my age group. As opposed to our hippy-dippy parents, we want to grow up fast, stepping right into solid careers and adult lives. A lot of my friends have done that. They’re now in year three or four of their stable careers in banking and consulting and publishing and coffee. They own houses and cars and significant others. They know what a 401 (k) is, and they use it. This is fantastic for them. Their parents are very proud and happy that someday their kids will have the means to pay for a nursing home.

And while my friends have been building their solid lives and solid long-term careers, I’ve been trying to decide what my long-term career is going to be while dabbling in every field that exists. Hence the convincing arguments for both sides of the coin: do I cut my losses at this early stage of the game, or do I stick something out for a lifetime? Hey, I fully acknowledge that a lack of patience is my greatest weakness in each and every one of my 20 interviews per year. This is obviously very black and white. There’s clearly absolutely no gray area here.

So guess what’s been happening for the last week or six? Yep. Yep. 2 sides of an argument surrounding what my next (and final this time, no really) life move is.

Here are the details, little people in my laptop who still read my blog. Back in COF Fall ’09, I decided I did, in fact, want to pursue the old childhood ambition of a fulfilling career in law. I did my prep work. I took the LSAT. I spent a million dollars and devoted hundreds of hours to applying to schools. I even got accepted to some of them. And I started making shiny happy plans for a move back to the East Coast.

And then March started. And the first 70 degree day happened. And I met a new friend or two after whining for months about the size of Boulder. And I realized there might be a couple of restaurants in Denver I haven’t experienced. And COF Spring ’10 started in full.

Do I REALLY want to be a lawyer? I mean REALLY? Willing-to-take-out-$180,000-worth-of-student-loans want to be a lawyer? Haven’t I been saying the whole time that I want an unconventional law career? As in not being a lawyer at all at the end of the day? Maybe I should be a writer. Or a non-profiteer. Or an astronaut! That sounds like a fun plan! I haven’t tried space yet on my list of career prospects! I wonder if NASA is hiring people with my qualifications!

But wait. Even though my eventual goal is to do something outside the realm of law, a few years of practice will help immensely. And the legal field does play to my strengths. And my smarts. And my love of sexy suits. And my love of affording sexy meals. And I spent millions of dollars and hundreds of hours on getting accepted. And I already have a delightful roommate lined up for Boston.

Flip. No flop. No flip. Flop.

You know how I know I should be a lawyer in the end? Because I can fully convince everyone, including myself, of either side of my personal fence on any given day, even if I’ve already completely proved, case-closed style, the other position (no, but now I know FOR SURE that the OTHER WAY is the way to go). Gray -> black and white. Hello, law school (no wait!).

I’m going to be 24 tomorrow. That’s firmly in my mid-twenties. That’s firmly in the age group where it’s suddenly not as okay to be talking about a lack of life plans. Here is my happy birthday to me post.

I’m just gonna say it, graduation was a hoax.

I’ll never forget how I felt that day. When I was walking across the stage to receive that diploma cover (I’d get the real thing in the mail after my final grades were entered), I felt cool, calm, collected, and ready to take on the world.  I was leaving an epic 4 years, childhood, paper-writing, exams, terrible hangovers, and bad decisions behind to embrace the world of finance and my future.

That feeling lasted maybe 6 minutes.  Now, it’s about 3 years later and I feel more like this:  hey college, you warm, snuggly, slightly alcoholic blanket.  Take me back.  Please?  Turns out paper-writing and exams beat actual work work, and the terrible hangovers and bad decisions don’t go away.  Plus now I just live with this incredible uncertainty wondering if I am in fact moving myself toward a fulfilling future.  That’s fun.  I’m sure it’s doing wonders for my health and well-being.

Perhaps you have been better about post-graduation plans than I have, but I’ve spent the past three years chasing a whim, declaring I’ve learned a lesson, and following another whim. My experiences are varied:  I’ve led a culture and language team, crunched numbers for a financial consulting company, sold wine to consumers, sold wine to restaurant and liquor store owners, scrubbed ovens, reviewed restaurants, made reservations for luxury hotels, incorporated a business, and cocktail waitressed.  As my grandma says, I’m going to have to start carting my resume around in a wagon.

Varied though these experiences may be, the result is always the same:  decisiveness in pursuing a whim, euphoria at my impulsive actions, irritation over the fact that whatever I pursued wasn’t the magic happy bullet.  So, you know, repeating a decision over and over and over and expecting a different outcome.  I think that’s actually the definition of insanity.

Because I can, I’m going to blame this one in some part on my parents.  “You can do anything,” they’d tell me, “You’re so smart.  You can be a doctor or a lawyer or a politician or a professional athlete or an astronaut.  You want to fly?  You want to get a superpower or two?  You can do it!  You special girl, you.”

Assholes.  How in the HELL am I supposed to weed through the myriad of choices that I have in order to derive a career that will sustain me for a lifetime?  That’s a big old commitment to make.  And as I’m an experiential learner, I’m doomed, because I’m not really going to know if I’ll like something until I start to do it.

Add to this wealth of choice the fact that I don’t have just one motivation.  I’m so jealous of my friends who just want to make a lot of money.  Or just want to advocate on behalf of the less fortunate.  Or just want to take over the world by usurping political power from others. What I wouldn’t give to have one overpowering desire that would lead me toward venture capitalism, non-profit work, or politics.

But as it is, with no family business, overarching goal, special talent, or independent wealth, I have to navigate the trenches of indecision with just my cunning to protect me.  And that totally sucks.

I don’t think I would be concerning myself with any of this if it weren’t for the fact that I experienced a very real panic attack this summer.  Suddenly, after months of doing whatever I wanted to do at the very moment I wanted to do it, I became disgustingly interested in where I wanted to be in 10 years.  This is gross.  Mostly because I feel like the inevitable boring conclusion to that envisioned future is something along the lines of “living in a family home rearing kids while balancing a boring work-person job that involves a lot of conference calls.”  I hate conference calls.  And I also don’t really know how I feel about family homes, particularly if they’re situated in the suburbs.

I’d much rather picture myself jet-setting around the world, the key executor of some major component of a deal, only to get home to my swanky West Village apartment in time to cook dinner, talk to my kids about cultural outings and appropriate wine pairings for whatever dish I was preparing, and welcome my deliciously attractive husband home from his grueling day.  This would all probably take place in French, or maybe Italian.

As I write this, I’m mere months away from yet another life-changing decision. After a lot of soul-searching and plenty of irritating conversations with various sages in my life, I came full-circle to what I’ve always inherently known would be the last step along the way:  I want to be a lawyer.  Thus I’m going to law school.

I know what you’re asking in your brain because sometimes I ask it in my brain:  Is this really different?  Am I merely taking the plunge into another field, hoping it will be the magic bullet? Well, gentle reader, at the very least, I’ve exhausted all the other options, and I’m still back where I started. And happy bullet? Absolutely not. I’m expecting to hate moments in my law career. I’m expecting to write a lot of posts about the misery of my life in law school. Rather than acting on impulse, I feel more like I’m grudgingly at the end of a whimsical era, succumbing at last to the inevitable.

The school era closed with a cap and gown and crisp diploma, but this era will likely close much less ceremoniously. In a sense, I’m going to miss it. I can already tell I’ll be looking back at this period of my life thinking about how great the carefree journey really was. But as on that stage, I’m feeling cool, calm, and collected, ready to leave the hangovers behind. That’s probably not going to happen, but maybe I’ll at least be drinking more adult appropriate alcohol.

Quick update:

I have some good news for those of you close enough to me to fall victim to my inability to talk about anything other than law school in the course of normal conversation:  I’ve received my first acceptance.  With it, my craziness level has gone down a notch, substituting the calm of knowing I’ll be attending law school SOMEWHERE (and somewhere cool, at that) for the restlessness of having no firm plan.

Turns out there’s no collusion across the Charles River– despite my nagging fear that I’d blacklisted myself at every law school ever for my little Harvard Law stunt, my first acceptance came from Boston University, a mere stone’s throw from my offendee.

All you haters will likely scoff; BU isn’t Harvard, after all.  It is and was, however, one of my original top 3, from way before I knew my fate on the LSAT (the other two are NYU and Georgetown, in case you haven’t gathered that).  And now that I’ve crept over every inch of the law school’s website (as well as every inch of every Boston tourism website even though I’ve been to the city quite a few times), I’m thoroughly obsessed with it, particularly for its year in Paris and delicious location.

Regale me with tales of things to do out there, particularly if those things are restaurants.

And Happy Holidays, BU.  Thank you for responding to my shout out.

Dear Admissions Committee,

I’m writing to express my concern with the notion of you using my personal statement as grounds to accept me to or reject me from your university. Let me preface this open letter with the fact that I am one of those unfortunate candidates who has stats that in no way differentiate her from the rest of the middle of the pack: we are a group of smart young adults that must rely on our ability to portray our experiences through the written word in order to gain admittance to your fine institution.

My issue does not lie in the idea of you getting to know me. I’d like to have a cup of cocoa (perhaps laced with a shot of bourbon or peppermint schnapps) with each and every one of you as I charmingly regale you with tales of my 23 years of life, each strategically presented as a subtle way to show you how qualified I am to be a lawyer, how wonderfully I will perform in your classes, and how I’ll be rich enough someday to faithfully meet your requests that I donate to my alma mater.

My issue also does not come from some insecure idea that I cannot effectively express myself in writing. I can wax poetic on my life all day long, and I often do, indulging in my narcissistic tendencies by maintaining a humor blog (www.imjustlaura.com). People seem to think this is well written and funny, especially if their name is “Mom” or “Grandma.”

On the contrary, my issue lies in the fact that I am denying you the POSSIBILITY of getting to know the complete me because I am limited to sending you a neatly packaged essay outlining a selected story and a choice quality or two. How am I to choose a story with which you’ll identify? How am I to select amongst my abilities and highlight one that will give you anything more than a one-dimensional view of who I am?

Maybe, dear committee, you’ll like my cleverly-crafted tale of my first day in wine sales, when, not knowing what the BBC-sitcom-character-like Master Sommelier meant when he said a wine was “light in the mid-palate,” I had to quickly muse that people who are spending less than $10 on a bottle of wine aren’t really looking to talk about the wine’s complexity, anyway. After all, it shows gumption, humor, and a quickness of tongue, all qualities that will benefit me in law school and beyond. Plus, hey, I know stuff about wine. I’m clearly going to be a valuable associate someday, impressing clients with my ability to order a perfect pairing that’s expensive, but not gaudy.

Trying a different tack, maybe you’d prefer me to write about my adventures in Latin America, living in developing countries and initially struggling with the language so much that I told a girl stuck in an elevator, “Hope here! I will to go to find the man who is to let it out to go dancing!” I overcame the language barrier and made international development my lifelong intellectual passion, after all. Maybe you’d like to imagine me forging new legal pathways in the global arena, wearing my shiny institutional pin like a badge of honor (and a way to give you a shout-out, naturally).

Better yet, perhaps I should talk about my entrepreneurial endeavors, the trials and tribulations I faced in starting my own business, and how I was able to apply that to helping someone else grow a small business. That tale says, “Look at me! I’m a risk-taker! And I learn so well from my mistakes that I can teach others from them!”

It’s possible that all you really want to know is that I’m not just another liberal arts grad, flitting off to law school because I have no marketable skills other than “I’m smart,” and I have no idea what to do with myself now.  In that case, I should probably write one of those I’ve-wanted-to-be-a-lawyer-since-the-other-kids-in-my-kindergarten-class-were-saying-they-wanted-to-be-fairy-princesses-when-they-grew-up kind of essays.

Or maybe I should just try to make you laugh, telling you about one of my many epic falls/embarrassing moments/heinously awkward situations from which I picked myself up, learned a lesson, and kept on trucking. The metaphor in that is truly beautiful, and though it may not speak to my law school qualifications, it’s sure to stick out in the sea of personal statements you’re reading about how great everyone is, and how they’ve overcome all kinds of adversity to get to where they are.

So you see my dilemma, members of the admissions committee, and you see that I cannot possibly show you what I’d like to show you through two pages of the written word.

Luckily, I have a couple of solutions to the problem we’re facing. Proposal one: let’s go to lunch (I’ll buy!), and I’ll do my best to win you over with my charming personality, articulate nature, and taste in restaurants. That’s what lawyers do when wooing prospective clients, after all. If it doesn’t work, you’ll at least have gotten a free meal out of the deal (no such thing as a free lunch- ha!). Proposal two: in the event that you don’t think it’s fair to grant me an audience (I understand if your definition of “interview,” vague as it may be, encompasses lunch meetings with applicants), I’ll send you a compilation of my best stories from my blog (www.imjustlaura.com). None of them end with explicit paragraphs describing why I’m qualified to be a lawyer, but they’ll at least give you an accurate picture of who I am. And that’s really what you want to know, right?

So what say you? Does either one of those proposals work for you? If so, I invite you to contact me at your leisure, and I’ll be happy to provide details you may need.

Thanks, and I look forward to speaking to you soon.

Sincerely,

Laura Elizabeth Shunk, future esq.

Below is an actual email I received from Harvard Law School via the LSAC recruiting system, a wonderful little program that helps schools send fee waivers and indoctrination to students they’d like to apply.  Subtle as the arrogance is, I think Harvard’s abusing that system.  So following that email, you’ll find my response, which I’ve actually sent to admissions.  Hopefully this doesn’t completely blacklist me from getting into law school, but I can safely say I’m not Harvard-bound.

Dear Prospective Applicant:

The Law School Admissions Council has informed me that you may be considering law school this year. I invite you to take a closer look at HLS and the unparalleled opportunities that are available in our legal ?metropolis.?

Harvard Law School is a dynamic, vibrant, and energetic place to study the law. HLS is home to the world?s most intellectually interesting and diverse law faculty, leading an incredible array of courses, seminars, and reading groups, which cover every major substantive area of legal study. Our size is our greatest strength. For example, Harvard Law School offers over 300 courses (150 with enrollments of fewer than 25 students), 30 in-house clinics, and over 90 student organizations ranging from the Scales of Justice (our a cappella group) to journals like the Environmental Law Review.

In addition, Harvard?s focus on public service and international legal studies means that our students are part of the world and having an impact on its many communities.

Admission remains highly competitive at Harvard Law School, but each application receives individual consideration by our team of faculty members and admissions officers. We believe that a student body with a wide range of experiences, interests, and backgrounds helps to create the best teaching and learning environment imaginable. While this message in no way ensures your admission, we encourage you to apply. Every year, we end up admitting students who never thought they had a chance at getting into Harvard.

Please visit Harvard Law School online at www.law.harvard.edu to explore the extensive resources and opportunities available to J.D. students, or follow the links below for more information on specific topics that interest you.

Sincerely,

Josh Rubenstein

Assistant Dean for Admissions

And my response:

Dear Prospective Law School (which I will henceforth refer to both affectionately and professionally as “Harvard”),

Thank you for your note in which you encouraged me to apply to your hallowed institution. While it “in no way ensures admission,” it was wonderful to hear that you “end up admitting students that never thought they had a chance at getting into Harvard.” Incidentally, I think you meant “had a chance OF,” as you’re referring to the verb “getting in,” but I’ll let that one slide. The implication here is that I am not qualified enough to grace the halls of your fine school, and I’m clearly too stupid to catch that nuance.

You almost got me, Harvard. When I opened your email this morning, I have to admit I had a few gloating moments believing that with my 167 on the LSAT and 3.68 GPA, I am qualified for a YHS (Yale Harvard Stanford) institution. I had eagerly settled on attending someplace more like NYU or Georgetown. NYU and Georgetown are more my style, anyway. They’re schools in glamorous cities. They have international programs that make me rabid with excitement. They take time to answer my questions. They send me letters actually addressed to me. But the idea of being a Harvard (wo)man… who can turn down that delicious possibility?

That’s what you’re banking on, isn’t it, Harvard? You’ve been hanging out with your friends over at the business school, and they’re advising you to prey on the insecurities of candidates just below your qualification level so they’ll submit that $85 application fee even though they’d already succumbed to the idea of attending another law school. Touché, Harvard, touché. It’s a tough economic climate, after all, and how are you going to fund the bright futures of the future J.D. candidates who commit to your delightful Cambridge campus? How are you going to pay to prove that you’re better than Yale or Stanford to the applicants who have been curing cancer, feeding orphaned HIV-positive children out of their hands in Africa, and starting multi-million dollar businesses?

Unfortunately, Harvard, I think that’s fraud. As you well know, fraud is defined as a false representation of a material fact- whether by words or by conduct, by false or misleading allegations, or by concealment of what should have been disclosed. What should have been disclosed, Harvard, is that applicants like myself, with an LSAT score and GPA that barely scratch the 95th percentile, are about as likely to get into Harvard as the Pope is to accept abortion into Catholic doctrine. It’s possible, sure, but probably only when hell freezes over.

Tsk tsk, Harvard. You, the center of law and justice in this country, are inaccurately representing an opportunity to thousands of hopeful applicants across the country. How many thousands of dollars are you making off of that scheme? Is it fair to say at least $250,000? That’s 2,941 young men and women who send in an application and get rejected. It’s only $85 to each of them; well worth it if they just wanted to be sure they couldn’t get into the school of their dreams. On what will you spend that money? Computers? Library books? Bribing the next Nobel Prize winner to choose you over Yale?

I have half a mind to file a class action lawsuit on behalf of all those sent this letter. I’m above that, though, Harvard. I’ll passively decline to participate in your brilliant plot, choosing instead to merely forgo applying to your institution. I may not be YHS bound, but at least I’ll enter law school sure I can do what lawyers do– see through fuzzy claims to what’s actually true.

Sincerely,

Laura Elizabeth Shunk, future esq.

PS. I’ve blind copied about 100 people on this response and posted it conspicuously at www.imjustlaura.com.

… and now likes to compulsively update the blog.

Bring on the Cats

During this year’s annual month-long chick flick marathon usually undertaken to allay my fears that I’m undatable, I’ve had an interesting realization: recent (if you can call the past two years “recent”) antics suggest I relate most to the cold-hearted bitches doomed to lose the dude and die alone. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Those girls probably just weren’t feeling it, but as they were flattered by the attention, they chose to leave their relationships in a comfortable gray area so as to hold on to some hope of friendship and not step on any delicate emotional toes of a dude that’s probably good in bed, good at choosing restaurants, or a good response to the nagging question, “Who are you dating these days?” Though Hollywood oft portrays those girls as crazy and desperate once their man runs off with Cameron Diaz or Julia Roberts, what’s probably the case is that they’re happy to finally be out of the mess, and they’re shaking their heads knowingly, having accurately guessed that their mediocre man would be lured in by good looks and mediocre personality. Just saying.

Harvard (wo)Man

Harvard Law contacted me encouraging me to apply because “every year [they] end up admitting students who never thought they had a chance at getting into Harvard.” Obviously, this immediately inflated my ego and made me reconsider my prospective school list, until I realized the email was addressed “Dear Prospective Student.” Apparently, Harvard Law has been taking lessons from Harvard Business School, feeding on the insecurities of barely unqualified candidates in order to collect the $85 application fee. Well played, Harvard, well played. Economic times are tough. I applaud your ingenuity.

America. F- Yeah.

I was combing my childhood home for a car title and savings bonds yesterday when I stumbled upon a tasty little artifact from culture-shocked life in Argentina: a hand-written, cleverly decorated list of things about America that I will never take for granted again. Most of these were food, horrible cultural stereotypes, and political issues, all of which I, of course, immediately resumed taking for granted upon my return to the states. Some highlights: Jelly Belly (which I have eaten about 5 times in my whole life), Texans, healthy not skinny (ha haaaaaa… right), children flying kites (what?), things that close early (note that this is NOW one of my biggest irritations in life), Taco Nazo (pre-hepatitis scare, natch), and a good New Yorker (what foresight). A little too much Jeff Buckley, if you ask me.

Bad question gets bad response.

I’m tired of the question “what are you training for?” This is an appropriate question in zero situations. If you ask me at the gym, I’m going to be irritated that I have to slow down the treadmill before I finish panting out my mile run to tell you “nothing.” If you ask me while making small talk, we’re both going to feel incredo awkward when I tell you “nothing,” and we’re also going to have nothing else to talk about. If you ask me while hitting on me at a bar, I’m going to wonder if you’re subtly making a jab about my lack of shape. Anywho, I have a new response:

“What are you training for?”

“Not being a fat ass. It’s a long hard road, but I’ll get there.”

It probably goes without saying that law school apps make anyone a glass case of emotions. All the workings of a nervous breakdown are present: the prospect of major transition, the torture instrument called the LSAT, and the scramble to get apps sent as early as possible. But here’re the stupid things I’ve done to further toy with my feelings: signed up for the recruiting service and researched schools.

The recruiting service is a nice idea. It theoretically gives schools access to candidates they’d like to see gracing the hallowed halls of their institutions. Schools often show their interest by waiving application fees, an extremely delightful feature for any applicant dreading shelling out thousands of dollars to electronically submit a couple of pieces of paper. Most of the schools that have waived my fee are schools I’d likely never attend because they’re in places like Tulsa. Given my compulsion toward international law, I have a hard time imagining any international experience happening in land-locked states. But a couple of schools in the top 20 (and on coasts!) have sent me a treasured email noting they’ve waived that fee. Sure, it makes me feel good. Sure, it boosts my ego. If they’re waiving my fee, they totally want me to come there, right? Except that this false confidence is inflating my hope of where I get in (I’m OBVIOUSLY Harvard-bound if I get my fee waived by a top 20 school, right?), so when the rejection letters come back, I’ll be especially crushed. Cruel, cruel world.

The research is my own fault. There are a couple of international law programs out there that have especially extensive and especially geeky courses. Of course, that makes me foam at the mouth, staring at my computer screen slack-jawed enjoying the intellectual foreplay. So I get obsessive. I want to know EVERYTHING about those schools. I read all the profiles, watch all the stupid little videos, and memorize the school stats so I can throw them into everyday conversation:

Person: “How’s it going today?”

Laura: “Oh, not bad, but did you know NYU was founded in 1835?”

Person: “What?”

Laura: “Oh, no big deal, I was just thinking about the fact that the Georgetown Law Library has 1,075 seats.”

This extensive obsessing leads to finding out things I don’t want to know. For instance, perusing some profiles of current students at NYU made me realize that while I’ve been screwing around in the world of wine, business, and burritos, my fellow applicants have been curing cancer, studying soil in Antarctica, feeding orphans by hand in Rwanda, and learning to speak every language in the world, ever. It’s cool, though, I can totally tell you the difference between California and Burgundy Chardonnay. I’m sure that’s going to speak to my future success as a lawyer. I obviously am as qualified to attend the schools of my dreams.

Bear with me, dear friends, in this period of darkness. Someday I’ll represent your interests as you navigate the legal ropes and all this law school drama will be behind me. But until then, tread lightly. My ego is fragile.