Monotone repetitive use of the word "Right"? Check
Namedropping obscure band names? Check.
Meet the Indie Rock Band Loud Talker! ("IRBLT")
Oh, I love him! He's just so... eccentric. And so smart about, like, garage bands. And music fests. And "The Scene"
He knows how to get on the list at clubs that no one has heard of. Except people on the El with him. Because he's talking so loudly.
Last year IRBLT worked at XXX Music Festival (I'm not giving it free publicity) and he was the assistant music technician at one of the smaller stages. But this year, he's the head tech guy on the MAIN stage!! Woohoo!!!
But it's really hard, Bro, because he's gotta, like, say no to a lot of his friends. Because everyone wants in. Because like 20,000 people are going to be there.
But IRBLT can totally get "Bro" on the list.
And then IRBLT kept on saying "beats, overdubs, beats, overdubs, beats, overdubs." I don't know what that means or what he was referring to. Because I'm just not cool enough.
So, the bar exam is coming up. I know this because people keep on googling "Bar Exam Advice" I also know it because a couple of my favorite bloggers, Daisy and Anonymous Hottie, are getting ready to take it.
I have no advice. I have absolutely NO clue how I passed the bar. The whole thing freaked me out so badly, that a few weeks before the exam, I asked my friend to hit me with his car. Not so badly that I'd die, but just badly enough that I wouldn't have to take the fucking test. Being a good friend, he did not hit me with his car. (If you're reading this J.M., thanks!) So this is what this post is about.
This post is advice on how to deal with someone you care about who is taking the bar. Not about how to pass the bar. Because, again, I have no fucking clue. So, I am re-posting something I posted last year about this time. But I also really want other people who have recently taken the bar to give advice on things that maybe you shouldn't say or do to someone for the next month if they are taking the bar.
Actually don't answer that. I know I'm retarded. My dog tells me that every day. So, I just now signed up for Facebook. Well, that's not exactly true. My alter ego "Grace Law" has had a facebook account for quite some time, but it's not really fun because "Grace Law" doesn't exist. So therefore, "Grace Law" doesn't really have any friends on Facebook.
But now, I have a facebook account under my real name, and I have friends, and people are sending me welcome messages that say things like "When *** and I start sending you hatching eggs, just accept them. Trust me." I have no idea what that means, but I am going to accept the crap out of hatching eggs.
ALSO. I can now properly stalk my ex AND the one girl I hated in high school! Yippee! I've already found them both. It's really delightful. And, um. Completely inappropriate for the workplace. Which is why I would never ever ever do that. --------------
On another note, tons of people have sent me sweet/worried/thoughtful/supportive emails regarding my last post. Thanks. It's awesome. And I certainly didn't mean it to sound as ominous and evasive as it did. It's all going to be ok. Hopefully. And I am sure I'll talk about it all as soon as the dust settles.
This is not going to be a great summer. I'm just going to say that right now. It's going to suck. This summer is going to suck because of one day in July that I am 100% certain will be one of the worst days of my life. And I can't get out of it. Or control it. Or make is suck any less. Or predict how long it's going to haunt me. I'm really just going to have to deal with it and try not to let it kill me or taint my sunny fucking disposition.
I also can't talk about it. Yet. I know some of you who read this blog who know me personally already know. You just may not know that it's coming up. So, now you know. It's coming up. You can all start the shipments of pills and booze to my condo anytime now.
But the summer is going to suck for a lot of people. Namely those taking the bar exam. And me. And I guess other people for their own various reasons. So, in order to cheer me up, and maybe others, and make the next 30 days or so less vile, I am going to try and be all happy and upbeat on my blog. I'm going to try and tell stories of good and fun and funny times and times that make me believe in higher powers, and ghosts, and love. It's probably not going to last too long. Because I hate just way too many things, but I'm going to take a stab at it. I'm gonna stab the shit out of positivity.
Here's my first story:
Many years ago, I was camping outside of Barcelona and I got bit by a poisonous spider. Seriously. I have a nasty ass scar that looks like a small gunshot wound to prove it. I also got really sick. But, I'm one of those "ignore the problem and it will disappear" kind of people. So I kept ignoring the fact that I was feeling really sick, and my arm was swelling like crazy, and I left Barcelona and continued traveling. Until 2 days later when I arrived in Lisbon and I completely collapsed, and woke up as I was being placed in the back of a 1970's Van/ambulance, and was driven to a low income housing project/hospital.
To be fair to the hospital, I'm sure that they were very competent. I was just a young, dumb, and very scared American traveling alone who had never been seriously sick or injured, let alone in a foreign country where the only word of the language I knew was "thank you", let alone be able to explain to any of the medical staff how to say "I'm allergic to aspirin. Please don't give it to me."
So, the first chance I got, I snuck out of the hospital, and took off to the train station. My goal was to get back to Paris. I figured thart since I spoke some French, and so many Parisians spoke English, I would be ok. I also thought that it would be easier to get one of my parents to Paris than it would be to get them to Lisbon if needed. So I hopped on an overnight train that went from Lisbon to Madrid. The ride itself was fairly uneventful, although now I definitely knew I was really really sick. And I was really scared.
By the time we were in Madrid and I was getting ready to board the train to Paris, I was a wreck. My arm was swollen to the point that a man's t-shirt wasn't fitting around my forearm, and I normally have pretty thin arms. My fingers on my right arm were all numb, and I had what I assume was a pretty high fever.
As I was getting on the train, I looked over at the train car behind me, and I saw a tall, blonde older woman. Something about her seemed familiar to me. I actually thought she looked a little like my mother. She was boarding the train car behind me with another woman. I don't know what made me do it, but I turned around and got on the train car she had just gotten on. I sat kind of close to the two women, in a seat facing them. I sort of thought that if I got really scared, I could squint my eyes, and she might look enough like my mother to relax me. It didn't really work. I eventually just put my sunglasses on and tried to read and tried not to cry.
"Hon," I heard someone say in the thickest Chicago accent you ever heard. "Are you ok?"
I looked up at the woman, who, close up, looked nothing like my mother, but sure as shit sounded like her. What are the chances? On a train from Madrid to Paris?
"No!" I sobbed to her, and proceeded to tell her the whole story. (this is where you're going to be tempted to not believe me, but I swear it's ENTIRELY true)
Turns out, she's a traveling nurse. She's on a vacation with her sister but totally knows how to help me. She gets a hot rag for my arm, and a cool wrap for my head, and gives me a couple of pills. Then she gets the train conductor to contact the American embassy. Then she makes me sit with her and her sister. We talk for awhile, about the places we've travelled, and the places we're going to travel. Then we talk about where we're from. I'm from Chicago. She's from Chicago. I was raised on the North Side. She was raised on the South Side. My mother was raised on the South Side. I asked her where she went to high school. She said the name of a prominent and popular Catholic girl's school. Same prominent and popular Catholic girl's school my mother went to. She was my mother's age. I asked her the question, but I already knew the answer.
"Do you know my mother? Mama Grace?"
"Oh my Heaven, of COURSE I know Mama Grace. Everyone knew Mama Grace! She was class president. How's she doing?"
"She's...awesome" I said through sobs.
What are the chances... on a train from Madrid to Paris? There's just no way that was coincidence.
We finally arrived in Paris, and an ambulance was there to take me to the American Hospital in Paris. The very hospital, my new savior's sister pointed out, that Princess Diana was taken to after her fatal car accident. Poor Princess Di. What a sad and complicated life she led. And it ended when she was so young.
I ended up staying at the hospital for a few days, and then had to stay in Paris for a few more days to get my arm checked and the bandages redone every day. It put a little damper in my travel plans, but as my mother pointed out, there are worse places to be stuck than Paris. My mother sent the woman a thank you gift for helping me.
Things I learned during this time in Paris. And this is obviously not a complete list:
1. Mom's are very powerful people. And I love mine a lot.
2. Strangers can be good.
3. Don't expect good things out of a hotel called "Mr. Le Bed"
4. If you choose to stay at a Mr. Le Bed, don't get so depressed that you decide you should get drunk and cut your own hair.
5. If you choose to stay at a Mr. Le Bed, and choose to get drunk and cut your own hair, make sure not to use the handy scissors on your Swiss Army Knife.
6. In so many ways, I am luckier than a princess. -
I only brought one shoe to the gym today. I have no idea how this happened. Anyway, I decided that since I already went all the way down to the gym, I should probably get a workout in, and I had my swimsuit with me, so I figured I'd swim laps.
Now in order for a girl to put a swimsuit on, she needs to remove all her clothes. Because normal people don't wear underwear under their swimsuits.
Wouldn't it be just my luck that for the 3 seconds I am completely in the buff, some dude accidentally wanders into the women's locker room? And at the exact moment I notice him, he notices me, and TOTALLY freaks out? Yep. That happened today. And before you assume it wasn't an accident, and he was just a big perv, I already thought of that. But actually I really think it was just an accident. Nonetheless, it was disturbing.
Oh. And even though I was wearing those rubber things on my head that's supposed to keep hair dry, when I took it off, my hair was soaking wet. Is there a trick to putting these things on, or did I just buy a bad one?