Third Day at Work.

So I finished summarizing a depo this morning and am now revising the memo I completed yesterday about waiting time penalties and yada yada yada.

More importantly, I had an inkling of this yesterday, but confirmed it today, even the receptionist at this little office is packing a rockin' bod. No matter where my future takes me in relation to this firm, the least I should do is stay in touch if for no other reason than to make sure I have close access to all the babes this guy hires.

Bossman won't be in until 2. Once I finish revising this memo, I'm not sure what the hell I'll be doing.

Side note: A man wearing a v-neck t-shirt tends to prove that he is more likely than not a turd. That is all.

Second Day at Work.

Further proof The Boss is a hornball: I get in today and meet the contract attorney he's hired. She doesn't look a day over 26, her body could stop traffic, and she has a nice eastern European name to go along with her central European face.

And I forgot to mention about lunch the other day, he also asked me if I "smoked dope." I don't, and I figured it was some sort of "you look like a lil pot smoker!" question, so I didn't hesitate in saying "no."

"Do you drink?"

"That I do. I prefer to have just the one vice."

"Oh ok. Well ____ (sub-tenant attorney friend of his) and I like to smoke a little dope after a good victory."

Good to know.

First Day at Work.

Either my boss is incredibly loose with the language, or he feels immediately comfortable with me. I'm thinking it's a little bit of both.

So today was my first day at The Office. I feel somewhat douchey even using that phrase, but I guess it was inevitable that I would have to actually start working at a firm, as opposed to just reading and talking about them endlessly. My boss is old, like wrinkly balls old. His lunch-date canceled on him today, so he offered to take me out. As soon as the elevator door closes and we're out of earshot of the other folks in his office, he says to me, "I'm really hungry. I had some great sex last night and played tennis this morning." I've never heard someone so old talking about sex other than Dr. Joyce. I had to chuckle. I mean I wanted to anyway because I think it's funny that he even said something like that on my first day in his office, but to not would red-flag him that I'm some sort of uptight asshat that I'd like to think I'm not. $10 bowl of beef noodle soup later, we're walking back and he's telling me about a twice-widowed Romanian ex-girlfriend of his that he hasn't seen in over 20 years and who happens to be coming into town soon, and how he's sure he's "her primary motivation to come visit." Had a good chuckle about that too. Then he did a 180 on the sidewalk to scope out a passing woman.

Kids, I might just be working for one of the bigger hornballs in this town.

And what better way to cap off a day at The Office? How about 3 chicken strips, 2 cheese sticks, 1 slice of pizza, and 1 Bud Light. Yup, just livin the dream.

The Beginning of the New.

School ended. 2 years down. Job starts tomorrow. Unpaid. That sucks. On Union Square. That's cool. California legalized gay marriage. That's awesome. The rest of the country will probably take a while to follow suit. That is not awesome. Beat the shit out of my liver this weekend with old friends. Old friends were cool, the beaten liver sucks. Broke the no-sex-streak. Only took 11 months. Hopefully the next streak doesn't last as long. Boring entry. This sucks. Dexter is cool though. Later.

Evidence Update.

I take back what I said. Sleep is not overrated. I'm realizing now just how fucked I am for this exam. It is a little under 2 hours away and I feel lost. Not that there was any doubt about how terrible my study habits have been this year, but this feeling is an overwhelming confirmation that I did not properly apply myself this year. Every day was a new chance to change, and nothing ever did. 9 months of skating by, and for the first time, I actually feel hopeless about my chances on an exam.

Not to be dramatic, but if I believed in a god, it'd be about this time that I'd start calling in favors. The only good thing about the situation is that it will be over in 5 hours and be nothing more than another log on the pile of scholastic regrets, hooray!

Assert This Truth!

Sleep is so overrated. Who wants to catch Zs when you have an evidence final to take, now only 5 precious hours away.

I've been especially lax in my preparation for this final, which is incredibly counter-intuitive and downright retarded as it is a 4 unit bar class that makes up almost half of my graded units this semester. Meh, too late to worry about that part, I'm doing what I can at this point to salvage my grade. I'm shooting for a B and I'm banking on 3 things:

1) Very few gunners in the class - Most of the real hotshots on my class opted to take evidence first semester, so I'm getting off a little easier as far as competition is concerned.

2) Anecdotal evidence - Many people have told me they also didn't feel good at all about the material going into the exam and it turned out fine for them. Of course, this is likely the case for a few people for every law exam and there is the distinct possibility that the people who told me they "didn't feel comfortable" still knew a shit-ton (that's a term of art) more than I do right now.

3) Sheer consistency - No matter what level of preparation or comfort I've had with the material for any of my classes, almost all my grades have been in the B range. I study my brains out, B, I slack ass, B.

And on that note, back to the material.

Cobs For the Bums.

While taking a break from "studying,"otherwise known as playing N game, I decided to hit up a BBQ place on one of the mecca-streets of homeless people in this city. It's full of "culture," as long as you like your culture to come in the form of dog shit, panhandlers, and shadows of former selves that smell like gin. I order 2 skewers of the Texas BBQ chicken, which comes with some cobbed corn pieces. The corn was not grand. In short order, I slid those bits off, consumed my chicken, and washed it down with some mac 'n cheese and mashed potatoes. It was sweet.

So I'm sitting there finishing up my delicious glass of water, enjoying a conversation with a babe (ok, so she's only a friend, but I was still seen in public with her, so points for me), when I spot these two street people walking by staring into the restaurant at the various plates of food. They walk to the window closest to my plate, stare down the cobs, and immediately the female half of the duo walks into the joint. She comes to my table, points at a cob and asks, "Can I have one of those?" Knowing I wasn't going to touch any of them, I told her she could have all 3 of the remaining pieces. "Really?" - "Sure" I said. I was impressed with the skill it took for her to snatch all 3 in one greasy palm, but kudos to her, she did it. She said thanks, I told her to "have fun." It was the closest thing I've known to what it must feel like to give out candy at Halloween. Except it was corn on the cob instead of candy, street kids instead of real kids, and a restaurant instead of a private residence. Other than that though, just like Halloween.