Taco Party: East, LA

One year for my birthday, I threw myself an impromptu bash at our house. I text bombed my list of friends, announced it on Facebook, loaded up on supplies, and groved-it-with-the-movement until people showed up. I just wanted to dance, and so, I did. I kept groovin 'till the wee hours, and wouldn't you know it, everyone at some point, jumped in. It aptly became known then, and has been relived since, as our annual Dance Party USA.

My husband's birthday, however, calls for a different mood. He's not a a dancer. And while we may not all leave our blood on the dance floor, we have no problem finding common ground around a hot stove. So, this year, I threw us a Taco Party, and it was yesterday.

I'm not great at preparing for events ahead of time, nor at managing my time very wisely, so, at about 4:30 the afternoon-of, I found myself at the supermarket, calculating recipie portions, and haistily preparing a menu. I settled on a ground beef taco bar and 2 casseroles: a rotisserie chicken green enchilada, and my mom's chile relleno. As a birthday cake, this chocolate tort along with Charlie's standard dessert favorite: chocolate souffle's that I make from this recipe. We were expecting about 11 people, and that seemed like just a little bit too much food, which is my point of hostess nirvana.

I got home with a solid 2 hours, and threw together my mains in no time flat. Once dinner was done, served, eaten, and the dishes were clear, we spent the a little less than an hour throwing the rest of the desserts together.

I love cooking, and baking, so this was a night I can dig on. Below are the reconstructed recipies for my thrown together mains, and the links to my easy as pie desserts.

Taco Bar

This was easy, just buy enough of the stuff people throw into shells, and buy some shells--hard, plus some soft corn and flour tortillas. Make your taco meat and warm your tortillas. Done.

The casseroles were juuuust a little bit harder, because I made up the green chicken enchilada idea, and my mom won't give me her chile relleno secrets. So, I eyeballed it and came up with this:

Green Chile Enchillada Casserole

1 whole supermarket roasted chicken
1 large brown onion
1 large can of green enchillada sauce (mexican food aisle)
2 cups of grated sharp yellow cheddar
2 cups of grated sharp white cheddar
16-20 yellow corn tortillas
salt & pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 350

Dice the onion, and brown it in a large pan coated with oil and butter (1:1 ratio)

-If using white meat only, remove breasts from chicken, and hand shread the meat into a bowl.
(Set dark meat aside, keep bones and skin for stock.)
-Season the meat further, if you wish
-Add the grilled onions, any other flavorings you might enjoy
(diced green chiles, black olives, jalapenos, etc)
-Add one cup each of the cheese
-Mix ingredients together in bowl until the ingredients are evenly distributed

-Either butter, or coat w/ a non-cook spray, the bottom of a 11X9 pan
-Layer enough corn tortillas on the bottom to cover the pan
-Spread chicken mixture out evenly on the tortillas.
-Cover with 2/3 can of enchilada sauce
-Layer with another set of tortillas
-Cover with remaining enchilada sauce
-Sprinkle with remaining cheese.

-Place in oven at 350 for about 20 minutes, or until cheese begins to brown at edges.
-Let rest for 5 minutes before serving.

Easy, peesy.

Chille Relleno Casserole
2 large cans of whole Ortega Chiles
6 whole eggs
2 cups of grated yellow cheddar cheese
2 cups of grated white cheddar cheese

-Butter or coat with a nonostick spray the bottom of an 11X9 inch pan
-Drain the cans of Ortega Chile
-Layer the bottom of the pan with enough chiles to cover the bottom of the pan, then add another layer.

-In a large bowl, whisk the eggs, then, with a fork, whisk in the cheese, and evenly coat the cheese with the eggs.
-There should be just a little bit more egg than cheese in the mixture.

-Pour half of the egg mixture over the layer of chiles
-Add a double layer of chiles over the egg mixture
-pour the rest of the egg mixture over the chiles

-bake for 30 min, or until the casserole is firm in the middle.

No prob, slob.

We had a great time, and I confirmed the secret to a quick party: lots of cheese and chocolate.

AK Undercover

So, lately, traffic has been horrendous going home from downtown, and it makes no sense to leave straight from work. Usually, I can hang out in the office, read some Kitchen Confidential, peruse the internets, blogs, twitter, and whatever madness is popular on YouTube at the moment.

But yesterday, I got an itch to take my book to a restaurant bar, have a nice, but reasonably portioned snacky dinner, and let a few glasses of tannins relax my bod, and cradle me into a traffic free future.

Church and State was my first choice, but Daniel, my favorite server wasn't working, and as I drove by at about 5:15, they didn't exactly look open. I was looking to disappear into the background, not stand out, as the only patron, so, I kept driving.

Visions of Coles danced through my mind, but I know that I have no control at a whiskey bar, with all of my beautiful bourbon babies sitting there, staring at me, begging me to take a sip. Waiting out the traffic, then hitting the road after a few, or five shots, was a definite no no.

After driving in circles, and almost giving up, I looked up at a red light, and lo and behold...Yxta called my name. Perfect; healthy, authentic, Mexican food in bite sized portions. So in I went, Kitchen Confidential in hand, ready to suck down a few glasses of red, while waiting for the red on my google maps route to change to green...or even yellow.

The place was packed when I walked in, a perfect crowd for me to hide in, so I made a b-line for the bar, and sat down at the first stool I saw. In no time flat, I had my wine, my snacks, and my nose deep in my paperback. The noise of the crowded saloon hummed and buzzed in the background; a perfect soundtrack to the behind the sinks tales Anthony Bordain's pages told.

Between the older couple to my left, and the gaggle of beefy boys to my right, I had plenty of personal space to relax and get into it. Every once in a while their conversation floated into earshot, and soon enough...I gathered that the boys were law enforcement of some sort, celebrating someone's promotion. And I looked up...and realized...the place was FULL of 'em. I mean, PACKED. Every single person in the place was a thick-necked, hulking, blue-boy. Or in this case, green-boy, because they were sheriffs.

Now, to normal people, this is no big deal. Maybe, even...fun...? A group of rowdier by the minute cowboys, who enforce their own rules, cutting loose on a Tuesday night. Think of all the insight you could get as the tequila loosened up their lips...! All the sexy stories of intrigue and mystery...! But AK, my friends, is a Public Defender. The arch enemy, nay, the nemesis of a law enforcement official. They may hate ruffians, scoundrels, murderers and louts, but I can assure you, that they hate those who work hard to let those scum back onto the street a whole lot more. And here was AK, Deputy Public Defender, in the middle of them all, getting a nice buzz on before getting into the car and driving 40 minutes home.

I was safe in my anonymity, so I buried my nose farther in my spine and tried as hard as I could to block them all out. I checked my phone constantly, updating the real time traffic reports about...oh...every 30 seconds, and never once picked my head, weary of eye contact of any kind. And it worked, for a bit. But as the wine went on, the gaggle of boys started getting bigger and closer, and eventually, one couldn't let my quiet reading go on unencumbered anymore. "HEY, WHAT IS THAT? YEAH, I LOVE TAKING BOOKS TO BARS TOO, I DO IT, LIKE, ALL THE TIME...HEH, HEH, HEH"
damn it I looked up, smiled, even threw out a girly little giggle, and did a "heh...yeah...dorky, I know...just, you know...waiting for traffic to die down" and went right back into it.

And it went that way for a little bit...I'd read a few pages, then the boys would interrupt my flow a few minutes later...we'd exchange niceties, and I'd go back to my book. I checked my google map, sighed..and ordered another glass of red. They offered to buy my drink, I politely declined. They invited me into their conversation, I smiled, and said I was just trying to read and relax. They asked if I was reading a book about cooking because I was some sort of chef...I said no...they asked if I was in school...and when I took a deep breath and said "um...no...", I braced for the inevitable...but miraculously, they let me brush off the "what DO you do question" and didn't seem to notice at all that I changed the subject without answering.

After a few glasses, even I started to loosen up, and let them distract me for a while. The ratio of pages read to words exchanged started favoring the coppers a lot more. We chit-chatted, mostly about whether my wedding ring really meant that I was taken, how much a restaurant tab on a date with me would cost, how I knew enough about burbon to make fun of them for ordering Jack when Blantons was sitting on the shelf...you know, real classy topics.

After a little while, I excused myself to use the ladies room, wriggled out from my mile high barstool, and snaked my way through the crowd. And, while I was washing my hands, I noticed something...I was actually...kinda having fun... Yeah, I hate these guys on a regular basis at work, but what the hell, I was stuck here for a while, and they were pretty entertaining to knock back a few with, especially once you have a good buzz on. So, I took a deep breath, decided that it was okay to actually put the book away, just for another...what...half hour at the most...? and I made my way back out to the party.

As I turned the corner from the bathroom back to the bar, my path was cut off in no uncertain terms by a burly, broaaaaaad shouldered 50sish copper-type with a beat to hell nose and lilac shirtsleeves. "Ma'am," he stared down at me with eyes that knew how to scare the shit out of you. I smiled the "I wasn't speeding/weaving/talking on the phone/reaching for my purse, officer..!!!" girly default and waited. "Ma'am...while you were in there..." he looked and nodded towards the restroom "we all realized where we recognized you from".

shit...SHIT...SHIT SHIT SHIT...what the fuuuuuck is he talking about...? do they really recognize me from court...there's no possible wa....OH SHIT. I looked over at the bar and realized it. There was the rat, bright black and yellow, face down on the bar top. Anthony Bordain sold me out.

You see, I take my book with me everywhere...which oftentimes means I'm bouncing around from court to court, leaving a trail of my belongings along the way. many times I've lost a prized possession while covering someone's calender, and can't for the life of me remember where I was when I lost whatever it was that had vanished. So, it's imperative that I mark my territory with the appropriate return-to labels lest they get lost. Which, in this case meant that, in bold type, inside the front cover of my book, were the words: "Please return to Public Defender's Office if found-AK"

I giggled a whispery, nervous, half drunk snicker and pushed out a weak "...hhhh..yyyou don't recognize mehhhhh...." he cut me off and said, very...well...man-ly "MA'AM...PLEASE TELL US THAT YOU DO NOT WORK FOR THE PUBLIC DEFENDER'S OFFICE". Now...you don't know me, but I'll tell you right now: I can't lie. Especially when I'm in trouble. I just can't do it. I giggle, I turn red, I can't stop smiling, and, well, mostly, I giggle. A lot. So instead I said "WELL AREN'T YOU GLAD I DIDN'T LET YOU BUY ME THOSE DRINKS, NOW!?!?" and pushed my way back to my spot at the bar amid a chorus of "HEY! SHE'S A PD!" "SHE'S A PUBLIC DEFENDER!" and a lot of "well...well..."s.

I checked the traffic, hoping to God to get a green light...but, alas, it was red. Still. Goddamnit. Well, the crowd had turned, and my hopes of blending into the wallpaper had not only failed, but, a semi-truck just crashed into the wall I had been hiding in, and i was expoooooooosed.

So, for the next half hour, I suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous interrogation "how can you do what you do", "why do you hate all of us", "when are you leaving and going to the DA's office", "how do you look your father in the face"...and JUST when I thought I couldn't take another minute...GREEN!!! The 60 Freeway was GREEN!!! and just like that, I was off "thank you very much gentlemen, sorry if I hurt your feelings, nice chatting with you, I'm OFF!!!" "NOT SO FAST..." the lilac-ioed captain blocked my path again. "Listen...you're going to make this up to us" he said. "um...what...?" "Tuesday. Tuesday at noon. You're going to let Detective Noe over here give you a tour of the jail. You hear me?" I thought about it for the second...I have always wanted a tour of the jail, to see firsthand what my clients deal with every day, and I've never been able to get in on any of our office tours... "wait...you want to set up a jail tour for me?" "Yep. Tuesday. You're going. Got it?" "...um...well...yes, Sir... Thanks...?" "you got it, kid. You'll see...we're not so bad..." and he patted me on the back and sent me on my way.

So, ladies and gents...all's well that ends well...right...? And if I suddenly go missing Tuesday afternoon...don't call 911...I have a feeling they'll already know.

Jailhouse Pots...and pans...

Twice I've ordered books on Amazon.com, and twice, they have never appeared at my house. But being the extremely lazy and pro-inactive person that I am, I let my 24.99 drift off into the atmosphere and dissappear like a baloon. Twice. take a minute to react to that insane use of 50$ US...I'll be here when you're done.

Ready..?

So, today, I sat down to order Mark Peel's new cookbook, and finally decided to investigate this fraud on my checkbook. Uhhhhh...YEAH...Here's the issue: my default mailing address...? It's a P.O. Box at Terminal Annex which forwards to COUNTY JAIL!!!

I had completely forgotten that I once sent some books to a client who was spending a good deal of time, just...hangin' out.

So, congrats, buddy!!! Hope you enjoyed Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything, and A Day at El Bulli! I swear I'm not making fun of you!!!

Helloooo there.

I realized this week that blogging is a lot harder to do when you're trying to hide it from your husband. This isn't my first blog, I had one all throughout law school. I really enjoyed the catharsis of getting all of my rage out onto a page, and having a very very few close and overly supportive friends, read it. But, eventualy, I graduated, and my law school blog lost even my interest, and I eventually just stopped blogging all together. Once I stopped, I tried to ignore the blog, but late night drunk reading and re-reading of my posts became so unbearably embarrasing that I took it down.
So, I've decided to get back into it, and every day last week, I would come home from work...okay, FINE, I would come home drunk from happy hour...and sit down on the couch with the laptop. And my husband would watch the screen and try to read along to whatever it was I was typing. And it was unbearable. I couldn't even get a word to pop into my brain much less, to communicate a topic of interest from my brain to my fingertips. How ironic that in 7 years of Yoga class I've never actually managed to "clear all of the words from my brain...make it a completely empty space" but the one day all I want to do is talk, I'm slammed in the face with namaste.
So, I've decided to take my blogging elsewhere. And, here is where I will meet you.

That's MRS. Big Bad Al, to you.

Yes. I'm married. Wut wut. It's fun, I love it, and it's none of your buisness, so stop asking.

Now...Lets talk about work...

So, It' been hard for me to write lately, because, now that I'm stationed in one courtoom for about a year, I'm not sure how to write about work without giving away COMPLETELY who I'm talking about in my rants and raves these days. I mean, God forbid my "shmayliff" ever finds out about this blog, and reads what I really think about him every time he kicks a woman wearing spaghetti straps out of my courtoom without considering the fact that she's awaiting arraignment on a driving on a suspended licence case, which she picked up because she can't afford the insurance she needs to legally drive her childeren to school on the way to her second of three jobs of the day, so it's pretty damn likely that she can't afford court appropriate attire, either, SIR.

But, the alternative to potentially supresesd hostility in my courtroom is no stories, which is making me a grouchy, grouchy PD; a demeanor which should be reserved only for those grade II's over 50 years and 410lbs, of which, I am not.

So, I've decided to take the risk that I'm well hidden from those I want to hide from, and that, like McCain, my conservative and OLD bailiff won't follow me to the cave where I live.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again...I'm back. Bitches.

This is hard.

I haven't been a real lawyer for about 6 months, because the court I was in was BS. Long story, I'm not gonna tell it. Anyway, I've suddenly found that, in my first 4 days back at this "real lawyering" gig it's way harder to speak on the record than I remembered. It's like my tounge has crazy glue all over it, so it gets stuck to random places inside of my mouth when I'm trying to talk. And I'm not even nervous!

"alexannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngggggjjjjjjjjjra (last name here) Deputy p-p-p-p-public defennnnnnnnnnnnnnder for Mr. Sanchjjxjchjes." WTF!!!!?????

I can't even imagine what I look like saying that shit, since in my head I'm so pissed off for the like, 93 seconds it takes me to state my appearance. I MUST be rolling my eyes and contorting my face like the clients who need silence from me because I'm stirring up the demons inside their head and they're trying to listen to all 50 of them at once.

ug. I need some scotch. Happy freaking Friday, sheit.

waaaaaaayyyyyyyyyy TMI

This one's for all the PD's out there...(cue soft baseline)

So, ever start off a custody interview like this:

"Ok, so the cops say you walked out of your hotel room, didn't know they were there, walked towards them, they saw a gun sticking out of your waistband, you looked up, saw them, turned around, went straight back into your room, and then they arrested you." ?

And before you can even finish "so tell me what REALLY happ--" they explode with "THAT'S A FUCKING LIE!!!!!!!!!" or "ES UNA PINCHE MENTIR!!!!!!!"

And, have you ever felt so great, and validated at that moment, that you get completely carried away with the interview--like, I mean, take WAY too long, and get WAY too many details, and, completely disregard the "bad" facts as totally explainable, for, I don't know...like...an hour...?

And, then, you explode out of custody with a kick in your step, slamming the door behind you completely disregarding the "CLOSE DOOR SLOWLY WHEN COURT IS IN SESSION SIGN" becuase you are about to ROYALLY FUCK some dirty, dirty, stinking dirty cops who think they can push your client around just because he's poor, and you kind of want to take it out on the baliff a little bit by breaking a meaningless rule here and there, even though he has next to nothing to do with it.

And have you ever then been a little distracted for the next couple of minutes, visualizing all of the great impeachment evidence you're going to get from regular old basic discovery like MDT's, and replaying the AMAZING cross you're going to do in the trial---wait, screw that, the 1538 when you get the whole thing dismissed?

And then, while you're waiting for voire dire to be done so you can arrain this guy on this AMAZING case, so you can get his clock started and actually make this case a real deal, cop-fucking case, your colleage asks why you're so happy?

And have you ever had to hyperventalate a little just to catch your breath, because, in your head you're in the middle of accepting your "young PD of the year award" at the ceremony you didn't know they had, but they do, and it's for you this year.

And, so, you skim back down to the surface of reality for a second, just to rush through the facts, starting with the cops being HUGE LIARS, and ending with you proving it and winning everything.

...only to be brought crashing back down to earth when you hear your esteemed colleage from the Great Office of Real Windows say:

"...WAIT.
"so you're telling me...that your foolproof defense...is: I didn't have the gun, because I was inside the hotel room with a FRIEND WHO'S NAME I DON'T KNOW, WITH A PROSTITUTE we just picked up, the gun was HERS, and my prints are only on it because I WAS GOING TO BUY IT FROM HER, but I HADN'T YET...????? OH YEAH, THE JURY'S GONNA EAT THAT SHIT UP! HE'S WAY SAFE!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA!!!!"

sigh...yeah....me too. I hate it when that happens.

something's wrong...

it's friday...7:40pm....I'm here. ug.

New Years Res. 00001

OKAY. Let's do this. Seriously....ready....? I declare that 2008 is the year of Me on ME!!!!! ...ooh, that sounded a lot sexier than I meant it, but I'm keeping it. Word.

No, what I meant was....New Years Resolution #1: I'm back with a vengence. Seriously insane things have been happening in my courtroom, and I need to talk about them, so, my dears...if any of you are still out there....I make this solemn vow to you: You shall share all the madness that (in)justice breeds, right along with me. Cross my heart and hope to...cry. No sticking needles in my eyes, though. Seriously...don't.

I'm on Drugs

I slept 3 hours last night, mainly because we just came back from a 4 day holiday break, which makes it near impossible to go to bed at 11 and wake up at 6, since you've been going to bed at 3 and waking up at 12. So, long, long day short: I took 2 tylenol PM's an hour ago, which means that now, I'm flying high. Oh, so verry, veryry high. WOO HOO!!!!

"Al", you might say.
"Al. Those are sleeping pills. You need to go to sleep now! ...or, like, an hour ago", you might say.
and "pooh, pooh!" I would say to you. because this feels guuuuuuuuuuud. and I'm all about feeling gooood now. I'm an adult, now, people. I can do whatever I WANT. and I want to live a happy, stress free, high as a motherfucker life. So, thank you. Thank you tylenol PM for making my fingers and toes numb, my eyelids heavy, and for selling yourself over the counter.
Thank you, public defender's office for stressing me the fuck out to the point where I can't sleep without medication, so that I may be reintroduced to the beauty that are my T-PM's. and thank you, Dr. Chuck, for my chamomile tea which tastes so good before it runs slowly back down my chin when I fail to push through the haze and close my mouth fast enough to actually gulp down each sip.
Oh yes, thank you you all.
and to all, a good night.

ug.....are you serious...?

Hi. It's Friday. at 5:21. and I'm trying to go through my files for next week. I've been trying to do this since 3 and I've been through 4. Four. NO, you don't understand...that's FOUR of FIFTY FIVE. No...I don't have fifty five for next week...I have fifty five for the next month. But I have SIX for monday. ...and I"ve been through FOUR. why am I talking to you right now??? I have some serious SHIT to DO!

Holy Jesus Christ

Are you SERIOUS, it's been a year PLUS since I last wrote up here...???? omg. That is HORRIBLE!!!!!!!!! sheiiiiiiit.... Ok...let me make a weak attempt at catching you up. if you even care anymore. because you all might be dead by now. if there was anybody out there to begin with... ahem. SO: I'm engaged, passed the bar, a public defender, planning my wedding, being EFFING CRAZY at work (more on that later, uh...DUH) LIVING in my OFFICER (seriously, I'm here right now. at 8:FOURTY SEVEN), I just realized that I wrote OFFICER which is wrong...did my first trial, got EFFED UP at trial by a OLD judge, then lost my first trial, and am now drowning in my caseload. Welcome to the LACOPUBDEF's office, ladies and gents. at times it's really fucking horrible. Seroiusly. like, b-a-d, BAD. not Michael Jackson style.

But you know what...? Everyone who told me that, at exactly this point, I would be wishing I was back in law school studying for exams can fucking KISS MY ASS. Because they are sooooooooooooooooo motherfucking wrong. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFA KING wrong, dudes. WRONG to the ONG. Because NOTHING...I reapeat for emphasis....NOTHING...is that bad. nothing.

Good night. I'm back.

Behold, I will create new heavens and a new earth.
The former things will not be remembered,
nor will they come to mind.

Isaiah 65:17

omg...I'm being Punk'd, right...?

Come on...

People do NOT really act like this.

No they don't. I can't believe it, this bitch HAAAAASSSS to be joking...

So, for some reason I decided to study at Starbucks today. Yes, it's Thursday, the Bar is on Tuesday, I need to study, WHATEVER. I can't take the library anymore, my bed is way too comfortable to be in the same room with during these trying times, and I need caffeene, so here I am, rocking it like a hurricaine.

Um...apparently, I never noticed before, but EVERYBODY in Santa Monica is FUGLY as HELL and works in the entertainment industry. But, behind the scenes, because they're too nasty to be in front of the camera. Which, I guess gives people the idea that they can act like J-LO since they're SOOOOO much BETTER than J-LO.

Whatever, here's how it went down.

Me: (on the celly) Aww....thanks ass...I love you too...yeah, I'll be fine, Starbucks is cool, I have my earplugs...

BITCHOLA DUPREE: (audible sigh, grunting noises, clearing her throat)...

Me: um...ahem...whatever...no, nothing...yeah, okay, have a good day, ok?

WHORINA MCFUGLY: (COVERS HER EARS WITH HER HANDS LIKE A 6 YEAR OLD!!!!)

Me: WOW...I didn't realize how loud my voice is over the 15 people, Harry Connick Jr. and cappuccino makers! hahaha...no, it's cool, I have to go anyway...love you...

SUPER BITCH: UGGGHHH...(turns her back to me)

Me: click.
-------------10 minutes later----------------------------

After Fugly McBitcherson's friend meet her at the table next to me and they have a fucking 15 minute buisness meeting about how to cut producers fees out of a movie, while constantly checking to see if I'm listening LIKE I GIVE A SHIT..turns to me and says:

EXCUUUUUUUUUUUSE ME....

Me: (I just look at her)

F McB: Can I unplug your computer?

Me: No.

F McB: But I need to charge mine and you've been charging yours for like an hour. I'm sure you can go for a few minutes without the cord.

Me: I need it plugged in.

F McB: (GETS UP AND LOOKS AT MY FUCKING SCREEN!!!!!) You're playing solitaire.

Me: (X out the screen, revealing three split screen outlines on display) Actually, I'm studying for the BAR.

F McB: (noticing the flashcards, outlines, file folders, highlighters, pens, nail clippings, razor blades, mirrors, and thin layer of white substance covering my computer screen...) Oh.

---sits down, FIVE FEET AWAY FROM ME----

F McB: I guess she's in college. Taking some test or something...isn't school out for the summer...? Come on, lets go...

End Scene.


In retrospect,and on paper, it doesn't sound that horrible. But in real life, I almost put a screwdriver through her eyeball.

And that would be then intentional torts assault and battery.

How's studying for the bar...??? OH, IT'S GREAAAATTTT!!!!

Im back. Kinda. I took a nine hour practice test today. Whatevs. It's like totally cool. I don't even, like, care, man. Yeah, I mean, I was all like totally hungover 'cause my mom made me drink margaritas from her magic bullet, but, like, once I got into it, man, it was totally like, not even that bad. For reals. I don't know what everyone's freaking about, dude. It's just like...some stupid test or something. who cares....I like went to school for three years, so i had to learn something, right? Tootalllllyyyyyyyy......heh heh heh....

WHATEVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!! I swear to God you guys, if one more person tells me that it's all going to be "cool" or that it's "almost over" or that "if [I] just relax [I'll] do fine" I'm going to throw whatever is in my hand at their head. And if whatever I'm holding won't do damage because it's too light or insubstantial, I'll pretend to throw it and let my fist follow. BECAUSE IT'S NOT GOING TO BE ALRIGHT. PEOPLE FAIL THIS THING ALL THE TIME, MOTHERFUCKERS. Actually, assholes, FIFTY PERCENT OF PEOPLE FAIL THIS THING ALL THE TIME. Douchebags. and THAT is why people with the aformentioned continence become presidents, and not lawyers. Oh....why, you ask? Because there's not a 6 hour a day 3 day long test of your intellectual prowess/freakoutability-level prerequisite. So, from now on, STOP FUCKING TALKING TO ME ABOUT THE FUCKING BAR. PRETEND IT DOESN'T EXIST. DO NOT SAY ANYTHING TO ME if you see me out and about for the magical hours of daylight that I actually somehow allow myself to absorb every few weeks. Just FUCK OFF.

unless you want to buy me a delicious treat or rub my shoulders. Then, ask my boyfriend's permission and proceed if he so allows. Because I don't even want to hear you ask me if it's okay, and I've designated him as my gatekeeper. Because so far he's the only one I haven't had the urge to obliterate. yet.

Okay...so since the last year of law school, and the last semester especially, are completely boring and useless time sucks, and since, as a result, I'm bored out of my mind, have nothing to write about, and hence, spend my time paruzing YouTube to find the latest and greatest snuff/retard eating chocolate covered cherries/Paris Hilton stepping in puke videos, and then sharing them with as many people as I can via e-mail...which usually means Rober(silent t) and my mom, since emailing makes me tired, I'm going to start posting them here. So you can see what I do all day every day in class instead of studying remedies, since I'm going to be a criminal defense attorney and will never ever ever ever ever need to know how to sue somebody, and if I do, I'll just hire someone like the rest of you chumps will. I promise they'll be worth it though, and, more importantly, consistent with the "lets all laugh/spit on at all the small brains" mantra that this blog was created for in the first place, damnit. And...on that note....off we go!

Pardon me...?

I know that technically we speak the same language as the brits...but seriously...I have no fucking clue what they're saying most of the time. I've tried to watch BBC America a bunch of times because shows like The Office and Footballer's Wives are supposed to be "smashing". But I swear....its soooo DRAINING. I'm not joking when I say I'd rather do my Wills and Trusts reading. At least I can look up what "flummoxed" means. But, snogging? What the fuck is that? I mean, okay, taken in context, I get it. eg: I can't believe Brittany Spears is stillsnogging that greasy douchebag. Fine. But can somebody explain to me this:

HE'S only 16, but US heart-throb Chris Brown has already honed his blagging skills to perfection.

Blagging? WTF, mate? Seriously, I have not a clue what that could mean.

CELEBRITY FIT CLUB contestant Anne Diamond has been branded a cheat for having a secret op to lose weight.

op? What's an op? An operation? An opinion? A for-hire optometrist who fits her with special glasses to make her look even fatter, thereby tricking her into eating less?

and finally :

MADONNA'S hubby Guy Ritchie hardly seems keen to scotch those nagging rift rumours.

ugggg.......can't I just paruze English tabloid gossip without needing a decoder ring?

I AM Butthead.

So...I live in Santa Monica, and frequent the Malibu netherworld. I hate most of the celebrities that I've met and all of the ones I haven't. But there was one in particular that I didn't hate, and actually really, really liked...until this week. His name is...well...lets say it rymes with Shmike Shudge and lets just for now pretend that he created...oh...I don't know...say...such jems as Shmoffice Shpace and Shmevis and Butthead. And lets say he was a short little nugget of hotness with an awesome surfer's tan and a cute little bald head who popped into my favorite bar every once in a while and slipped away from his famously stoned/primped social circule to amuse me (yes, me!) with his extremely witty, intellectual, and seriously funny conversation before he dragged himself back to bask in the shadows of the Wilson brothers and their social kin. He was nice. He was smooth. He was a little dorky which made him endlessly endearing. and he effing created Shmevis and Butthead and Shmoffice Shpace for christsakes! Sigh..now lets say we, for the sake of whatever would make this appropriate, looked him up on the internet one day...and, lets also say that upon a thurogh googling of our hero we found he was married with two kids who lived in some cute little suburb in Shmexas and that in all the times he slipped away to flirt with us he never mentioned said fact. Now lets say that we mulled it over in our head, and although we were disappointed with our last bastion of normal-personed-ness on whom we had hung our last thread of "Some of them have to be great people, too!" naievite, we decided that it was cool, and that we were probably making a bigger deal out of the whole thing anyway, because for God's sake, woman, he randomly sees you at bars and talks to you for like 20 minutes at a time and then goes back to his coke-snorting 80lb. minions without ever giving you a second thought, and the most he's ever done in his whole life is text message you back AFTER you texted him first, so what the hell did he do wrong ANYWAY, you self important BITCH! ...ahem...so... Lets say that we got over all of that and then didn't see him for like 6 months and almost forgot about him until one night when we were out with our new hot boyfriend that we love and are going to be with forever and are going to have ten million babies with, and were a little bit tipsy and were caught off guard and saw him and were really happy again because we were totally over the internal monologue of a fight we had him and we wanted to let him know that everything was normal and okay again between us, and we were going to keep letting him be all of Celebrity's saving grace, and we were going to do this by saying hi again. But now...instead...lets say...we were drunk, yelled his name, slipped on the chair, tripped, got up, straightened out, yelled his name again, pushed aside our roommate, ran over to him, said the same EFFING THING 5 TIMES, watched while he was completely bored and OVER anything having to do with us, and then left. Whereupon we returned to the table with our Hunky boyfriend looking over his eyebrows to laugh AT US and our friends all avoiding eye contact in silence and pretending to eat the crumbs of the food we'd devoured the last of a good 20 minutes prior. AWKWARD MUCH??? JESUS EFFING CHRIST!!!

Moral of this story: I FUCKING HATE CELEBRITIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You might want to sit down...

...hi...um...I have to tell you something...and....sigh.....it's going to be hard...so I'm just going to come out and say it...

I have a boyfriend. I've been with him for a couple months now. I know I should've said something, but I just...the timing was just never right. But I realize now that you're still there, hanging on, and...well...I'm just not the same me anymore, and I think...well...I think the time for "us" has passed. What we had was beautiful, it really was, but...well...we thrived on my misfortunes, my self loathing, and my cigarette smoke-clouded reasoning, and...well...that's all passed now. I don't even smoke anymore! I guess what I'm trying to tell you is that...I'm happy. And what we have here...it isn't a "happy" relationship. So...well, I'm sure you've already realized it, but...well...I'm going to be around a lot less in the future. Maybe we'll meet again at some later point in our lives...like when I grow jaded and eventually despise my new job and want all of my clients to die of heroin withdrawls...but that time just isn't now. I mean, I'm sure that after a few months of inmates asking me out on dates to the places where they worked right before they were arrested for residential burglery at knifepoint IN THE CITY WHERE I LIVE, maybe then I'll have something to complain about once again. well...wait...actually, I guess I could tell you about the prick of a waiter we had yesterday who, after a wonderful meal of Slime-Fish Suprise in an off-color lemon(esque)-soggy-caper sauce, when I asked if they had any desserts with bananas, literally SCOFFED in my FACE and mused that I'd "just have to pick that up somewhere on my way home. ha ha." right before he sauntered off, probably with MY BANANA UP HIS A---ahem...sorry...where was I...? Oh, right...you know what, fuck it, nevermind. I'll be around.

SICK

SICK, dude. so sick. i'm sitting in my room so pissed off that this fucking EMO bullshit has overtaken the radio waves, with the STENCH of rotting feet permeating my nostrils because I have so much to do that I can't even take the time to wash my GNARLY feet after they've been stewing in my ugliest pair of shoes all day long. SO SICK. Seriously, it smells so badly that I'm almost hoping that it'll become so intollerable that I'll puke on myself so I can smell better. But back to the EMO, what the HELL is this?? The official description: The emotional side of punk. WHAT????? Because 4 guys screaming about wanting a full frontal lobotomy isn't emotional enough?? And this is so not punk. There is nothing punk about a man singing a song called "I'm Sorry" on an album called "Take me home". And if you're going to sing "somebodyyyyy killlllll meeeeeee" you cannot belt it out in a 13 year old pre-pubescent falsetto unless you're Morressy, who these fags are NOT. AND STOP WEARING EYELINER, YOU BITCHES! God, this fucking blows.

Why Does East LA Have a Coffee Bean???

Okay, lets get past the fact that I'm sitting here with pink earplugs, in my gym clothes and a ski jacket because I forgot to bring a sweatshirt, and get to the fact that I'm sitting in the East LA Coffee Bean. On my new computer. Stealing internet from somebody named TACOREAL which I can only assume is a fine mexican eateary, whose need for wireless I cannot understand. And I just want to know, who thought East LA needed a coffee bean? Because so far only "Joker" "Lala" and "Chuy" have walked in, a good 2 hours after me, and Lala was the only one to order anything, specifically, a peppermint mocha, after which she was loudly chastized by said hoodlums for being a "pocho", and who then slowly crept to the far side of the store at the sight of the Sherrif who pulled into the parkinglot, probably because he saw my car in the lot and became alarmed at the fact that somebody was actually inside. Like, really? THIS looked like a great market? Really?

Skuzby's Sucks

Okay, whatever, shut up about the book...listen...so, I've never gone to Busby's in Santa Monica because it's literally a concrete building with no windows at all, painted neon green with a cheezy neon sign hanging kind of askew, and it just dosen't look appealing to me at all. Call me a snob, but I like my bars a little less--in the words of a close personal aspiring comedian--rape-y. Anyway...as I was driving home from a previous engagement, I realized that I was about to drive by said Busby's and that there was a going away party for my friend Serge, going on within that commercial replica of Bagdad's own Green-Zone. So, not wanting to go to bed sober at 10:30 on a friday night, like the good alkie I am, I decided to turn into the drive and hand over the last four dollars I had to the sketchy vallet with the sweaty moustache. And I must admit...I'm glad I did.
While the first hour went by slowly and soberly, the alcohol my mom bought me, via her Target Visa, started to catch up to me, and the mass of too-old-to-be-here gyrators who were seriously attacking my eyes with a vengence at every turn, started blending into the scene, and the pop-y dance tunes started consoling my bitter, too-clean-to-be-here attitude. And that, my dears, is when the fun began. The place is really big and has tons of dimly lit nooks and crannies where I'm sure seedy stuff is attempted and accomplished every weekend without fail, so I lost my group a bunch of times, but in the process of rambling around aimlessly trying to re-connect, I got in more people watching than I've been able to in a WHILE. But, let me get to the basic point...while I was wandering around in the almost dark, could've SWORN I saw Cuba Gooding Jr. talking to some NASTY UGLY white chick and cheking me out. But I laughed it off, and kept walking. half way around my second lap, again, I see Cuba. Smiling in all his SHOW ME THE MONEY glory. and I think...smiling at me...? now...this would seem seriously rediculous, but don't forget that this is the same trashy dive bar that Brittany and K-fed frequented while the Pop princess was preggers with baby Preston, so I guess it could actually be Cuba...I mean...I know he lives in Brentwood, because I almost ran him over once...or...at least I thought it was him...FYI: I really almost did hit Ryan O'Neil once crossing the street. Seriously, I had to slam my breaks on because he decided to j-walk in the middle of San Vicente at like 5 o'clock rush hour, and once I did stop he SLAMMED his hand down on my hood and SCREAMED "NO!!!!" That freaked me the FUCK out, because Paper Moon is one of my favorite movies ever and I keept thinking that if I had my DVD with me I totally could've eased off the break real slow, and held him under my car long enough to get him to autograph it. how awesome would THAT have been??? anyway...back to Cuba...so after the second time I saw him I was just a little confused, but then I found my friends again, so I forgot about it...UNTILLL...I was back at the bar getting another round (thanks mom) and I glanced over at the corner booth, and THERE HE WAS with a new group of homely blondes, and looking my way, smiling all big again. well...I didn't want to be presumptuous, so I looked around, and realized that there weren't any other girls around...looked back at Cuba...and before I knew it, he literally LEPT over the side of the booth, glided over my way, threw his arm around my neck and screamed at the bartender "WE CAN'T LOVE 'EM ALL, BUT WE CAN CERTAINLY TRY, RIGHT!?!?!" planted a HUGE WET KISS on my cheek, and bounced back over to his seat in the booth. I swear. I mean, there's like 15 other stories I could tell about all the people I either met or watched barf in the bathroom sink at that skuzzbuckety place, but I think that one's the best. That one and the fact that I was sufficiently buzzed by the end of the night that when I felt bad for not replying to G's "where are you" text because I was on the balcony smoking, that I screamed "I DIDN'T GET YOUR TEXT" as soon as he found me out there. SMOOOOTH, Al. Real smooth. Anyway, just thought I'd share that with y'all.

AHHHHHHHH........

THANK GOD. I've found it. I found the reason for my writer's block, and have successfully obliterated it. Dear God, THANK YOU for this revelation. I feel like me again. You see, my lovely, lovely readers...all I needed was a block of time that I cleared out and dedicated to studying to re-ignite the plethora of imaginitive ideas that burn like a ever-raging-fire somewhere deep in the dense forest of my mind. That's right...now that I've sat down for a solid 20 minutes of outlining Community Property to the ever inspirational sounds of MTV Hits, a la J-Lo featuring Fabolous, I have sucessfully invented the entire setting for the book that I may someday (in the near future, I swear) write. it's all here, and I can see it. It's beautiful. Just like said J-Lo on mute. well...okay, probably less beautiful, more quirky, and definetly not betrothed to a skeleton, but pretty exciting none the less. Care to share..? I'm sure you do. soon, my sweets...soon. I promise. I've already got the new blog set up, it's just not ready for the public reveal yet. shhhhhh.....it's coming, I promise...

OKAY FINE!!!! NO, I HAVEN'T STARTED WRITING MY BOOK! SHUT THE HELL UP, OKAY!! I totally forgot about like 4 other writing assignments that were due TODAY AND I have a boyfriend now, which takes up like A LOT of time, okay? I have to text message, and talk on the phone, and go to the gym, and shop for cute things to wear, okay? GOD! Just BACK OFF ALREADY! Plus, that's all on top of the fact that I'm STIIIIILLL in law school, it's not like that just went away or something, alright? AND I still have to work at the court three days a week. Dude. I swear...sometimes you're so mean to me. Shut up, I'm not talking to you.

Writer's Block

Ok. So...I haven't been writing because I have a seriously mad case of writer's block. Like, bad. Like, I go through the day thinking of all these great things to write about, I sit down to pound it out...and it's gone. There's nothing there. Every day. for like 4 months. So, to rectify this harrowing situation--which it really is for me...I feel worthless and depressed every time it happens...like I went to go pick up my kid from school but just passed it by and drove home to lay in bed for 4 months instead. Anyway, I figured out how to rectify this. I'm going to write a novel in 30 days. No, really. Seriously. I am. I'm going to create a new blog spot and every day write about 1600 words. for 30 days. for real. I don't care what I write, how it sounds, what happens to my characters, etc. I'm just going to write 1600 words, even if they're seriously retarded and make no sense. You can have your daily dose of the madness inside my head, and at the end of it all, it will magically come together in book form. Likely, a crazy, homeless person's book form, but book form none the less. And you all should join me, you lazy nosey bastards. Consider this a challenge. Do it with me. we'll motivate eachother, and in about 35 days from now, we'll be authors! Really shitty authors of really shitty rough drafts, no doubt, but as Hemmingway said "every first draft is shit". and instead of being a "one day..." writer, you'll be...a writer. Now, I wish this was all actually my idea, but it's not. It's the brainchild of Chris Baty, founder of National Novel Writing Month, known to the rest of us as November, but known to those in the inner circle as NaNoWriMo. Seriously. I didn't make that up. So anyway, the concept is easy. I already told you. Write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. we're starting on October 1st. That is your assignment. you have 5 days from now to choose to accept. for more info, go to www.nanowrimo.org peace out, bitches.

WHAT THE F#&!

SERIOUSLY! WHAT THE FUCK?????? Apparently, all living with two hot roommates gets you these days is a bunch of dudes that want to meet your roommates. I mean, yeah, that'd be fine if I was like...oh...I don't know...A BOY NAMED ALEX...but since I'M NOT...I'm kind of getting tired of "Hey....you're pretty hot......I heard you got some hot roommates too! Well, introduce me already!" Or...."Hey Al! Long time no see! Yeah...cool....So...where are those girls?????" EFFF YOU, PEOPLE! I feel like one of those attention depraved mothers who turn psycho on their kid because all anybody asks them anymore is how much the whiny, cry-y, poopie, blob she popped out eats, shits and sleeps, and nobody cares about her new shampoo scent or the body glitter cream she purposly slathered on in excess just to see if anybody could even actually see her anymore. But nobody ever does. So she just sits there...glowing like a churnoble survivor while the rest of the world plays with their newest toy. Seriously, people. I have feelings. And unless you're Casino Dave, stop asking me about my roommates. And if you are Casino Dave, call Rhiannon. She thinks you're hot.

Back in Black...bras

So...yeah. I'm back. Back to the grind. Back to my future. Back in the saddle again, and this year I'm in it to win it. And by win it I mean not get kicked out for either a lack of intellectual capacity, or various and sundry acts. If, perchance, I get kicked out for any other reason, that's not my fault because, as I've already explained, my goals are quite narrow this time around. Yeah. So...lets see...about the new apartment. Well...I really thought it would be great for my writing, you know? Two loud chicks to mess with my privacy and butt their asses in where they don't belong, henceforth fueling the flames of my dark and brooding pen. But, alas, like everything else that should go so right in my cracked out little life, it all went wrong... And by wrong I mean beautifully right. These chicks are hot and they rock, I have next to nothing to complain about except for too much food whenever I want it, and a mass of beauty products at my beckon call. We have a fat patio with a chandelier...yes, I said patio with a chandelier...granite countertops, 95 bars within walking or a 3 dollar cab ride distance, and a 6'7'' handyman that flies down once a month to make sure we're set up with free TiVo. (Thanks, Snyder) Really, though, does life get any better than that? I'm sure it does, but only when you're counting on it to suck to fuel your only life-saving passion. Anyway, I just wanted to let all 3 of you know that I'm back and promise to be the same ol' Al. now leave me alone, I'm cramping to high hell.

I'm back, bitches...

SHIT! I almost forgot my log-in because I haven't blogged in so long...but you know what...I didn't forget, because I'm here for YOU. FOR YOU! that's right...I'm back. And this is a year to remember. You know why...? Because, last year I lived by myself, and only had the outside world to piss me off, but guess what...now, I have two other bitchy assed roommates to make my world a living hell. SEE WHAT I DO FOR YOU??? AND THAT on TOP of the gnarly...yeah...I said gnarly with a G...gnarly year I'll have at school, taking a class with the world renound...the one...the only...Kennith W. Starr. Oh yeah, the man, the myth, the penis subpeon..ith... that's right.

yeah...I know...

I KNOW...I don't write anymore. I KNOW, you're upset. You enjoy my rampages. You like watching me hate and vent and squirm and implode, you sick sick bastards....but you know what? Summertime means I'm not in law school. And THAT means my life is GOOD. no, my life is GOOOOOOOOOOD. That's right. My LIFE. Because I actualy HAVE ONE now. I go out with my friends. No, seriously, stop laughing. I mean it. I go out in public with my friends. For real. To parties, and lunches, and beaches, and bars... And I have a job. aaaaaaactually....I mean, I don't want to brag and shit, but...I actually have TWO jobs. that's right. TWO. Yeah. I KNOW only ONE pays, but fuck you, the other one's prestigious, okay? And a hell of a lot of fun. I like this shit. it's nice. no. I don't have a lot of free time, but it's okay, because I'm actually interacting with real people who aren't complete selfish competitive ASSHOLES, who lack social skills, and I'm doing something productive with the hours that I spend tied up. I LIKE MY WORK. AND I HATE LAW SCHOOL. So guess what motherfuckers? all that bullshit you're trying to spew at us..? all the "enjoy it while you still can because real life sucks" bullshit? IT'S A LOAD OF CRAP AND YOU CAN SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS. But fear not my passive aggressive vicarous haters...school will start up again soon, and I will once again be the self loathing hatemonger you all came to know and love. I promise. But in the meantime, take care of yourselves. And eachother. Now go fug yourself.

How I'm Spending My Summer

Ok, so here's the thing, I'm working for a judge now, so I can't tell you all the amazing things that are happening to me...like...well, lets just say that I didn't almost get hit by a chair by someone who wasn't a big fat jabba the hut looking Armo from Iraq who was representing himself, although he has no idea how the logical progression of subjects, nouns and verbs work in the English language, and therefore had to ask the same question in 5 different variations that were still unintelligible, while cross examining his sister who he did not hate and try to kill. But MAN I wish I could tell you all about it.
Instead I'll tell you why I hate to answer my phone...because I get involved in conversations like these...

ring ring.

Andy Calling.

Al: Yo, Andyyyyyyyyyyyy....what's up. You coming over?

Andy: Um...let me think....FUCK NO!

Al: Wow. Okay....um...why not...?

Andy: Dude. I'm tired as hell.

Al: Oh. why.

Andy: BECAUSE, MAN, I WORK UNTIL 7 AND I GO IN AT 5 IN THE MORNING! SHIT! I seriously have to go to bed like right NOW so I can wake up at like FOUR AY EM!

Al: then why the hell are you calling me? Just to tell me you're too tired to talk? I haven't talked to you in like 3 weeks, what the hell kind of call is this?????

Andy: Whatever, dude. I'm tired. I just wanted to say hi.

Al: oh yeah, well why don't you go ahead and do that so I CAN GO TO BED.

Andy: FUCK. FINE. HI.

Al: HI.

Andy: BYE.

Al: BYE.

click.


Or this one...

ring ring.

Beth Calling.

Al: Bethskaya!!!

Beth: Whatever, bitch. I can't believe you let your phone ring 3 times while you were staring at my name trying to decide whether to answer it or not.

Al: Um..no I wasn---

Beth: HAHAHAHAH! JUST KIDDING, HOOKER!!! WHAT'S UUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPP??????? What the FUCK is going on??? I MISS YOUR ASS!!! Where have you BEEN!?!?

Al: Well...you mean since last week? oh, I went to Vegas this---

Beth: WHATEVER, listen, want to go to the movies?

Al: ooh, yeah, wanna go see Mr. and Mrs. Smith?

Beth: YES. THAT MOVIE IS HOT. Figure out when it's playing, and lets go. call me back RIGHT AWAY.

Al: okay.

Beth: Click.

-------------------

Beth: hi.

Al: Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Smith is playing at 9:55. You wanna come here or you want me to pick you up?

Beth: yeaaaaaaaahhhhhh....uhhhhhhh.......I just turned on the tv, and "Dance with the Stars" is on until 10. I didn't know it was on that long tonight so........

Al: So you don't want to go to the movie that you invited me to and made me look up the time for.

Beth: no........

Al: Okay, fine.

Beth: sorrrryyyyy, Allllllll.......

Al: whatever, I'm tired anyway. I'm going to bed. Late.

Beth: byeeeeeeeee.....

Al: click.

I don't know......

You know what, sometimes I visit my own blogsite to see if there's any new updates. And then, when there's not, I get disappointed and I start thinking "what the hell, why isn't there anything new, that sucks." even though I'm the one that writes the damn blogs. I don't have an explanation for why I do that. Even though I do it over and over. Or if I don't do it, it's because I thought about doing it and caught myself and realized how skitzophreniclly insane that is. Imagine if I looked it up and there WAS a new entry that I hadn't seen...what the hell would happen then??? Would I be excited to read it and be all, "wow, I never knew that about myself? I'm so glad I wrote that?" What the hell? I am crazy. Goodnight.

Mr. Perfect

You know who my perfect man is? A guy that lets me get so trashed out of my mind that I rant and rave, curse and smoke, talk maaaaaaad shit to him, about him and pick fights with him, but doesn't get his feelings hurt and still holds my hair when I puke and rubs my back until I fall asleep at the end of the night because he knows I'll wake up, take 5 advil and make him pancakes and steak to say thanks. And he's the type of guy that only tells me how much he loves me when he's drunk or falling asleep, and then, only like twice in one night, MAX. But he's still affectionate sometimes, and buys me really good presents during Christmas, like box seats to 10 really good Dodger games, or a trip to vegas to watch a fight. With a fancy dinner. And diamonds. And when he's ripped he can go off about why he loves me all he wants, as long as it's not "because you're SO F-ING HOT" becasue that's a sucky reason, and if he's screaming that he probably so drunk that he can't even really see what I look like anymore. Oh, and he never tries to make out with me during a movie, because that's SO irritating. Sigh.....I love that guy. I had a boyfriend like that once. We almost got married in Atlantic City. But lucky for him, they don't have chapels like Vegas does. It would've been a great story though. We literally committed GTA to get there too. We stole a van from work and drove up there from DC with a bunch of other people. I swear. I have pictures with people I do NOT remember ever meeting. So why not throw a drunken suprr of the moment wedding in with the night of debauchery, right? now THAT's a story for the grandkids. But I don't think my dad or my uncles would've let either one of us live long enough to see any grandkids if we came back with that tale. You know, I don't think there's anyone else in the world who could put up with my shit the way G did. Or still does, actually. But if there is, the only way he could top G is to be George Clooney. Like actually be him. All "Hey Al, get a few of your friends together and lets go to my villa in spain or wherever for your birthday. You girls just lay around, drink vino, eat carpaccio, and get rowdy, and I'll massage you with tanning oil, okay?. Sure! Go ahead! No, really, I don't mind! I go swimming naked in the riviera ALL the time! I'll go call Angie and Brad. Sure! I'll tell Julia to bring the twins over, too. Hey, did I tell you? Here, put these on, and now, every time you take a sip of alcohol this little thing will sense it and activate the muscles in your abs, so instead of doing sit-ups you just drink to get a workout." But he wouldn't use half the exclamation points I did becase he's way cooler than me. Man. THAT would be the life.

10th Street Blues

So. Know what I hate? Well, yes...but guess again. Okay, yeah, that too, fine. But that's not what I'm looking for, try again. Ug, yeah! but no! I hate moving! Yeah!!! Moooving! Seriously. It blows. I wish I had enough money to light my apt on fire walk away, and replenish a new apartment with all new "valuables". That would be so awesomely cathardic. Imagine? Every time you moved to a new stage in your life you could just light your shit on fire and get new shit to replace it??? That would be HOT. You know what, I think I just realized why obscene wealth is not written in the stars for me. Because that's what I'd do with my J-Lo money. That, and adopt literally 10 kids from Armenia and give them only two bedrooms to sleep in. But really big bedrooms. like big enough to actually be ten bedrooms, but knock down all the walls so its like one big ballroom split in two. One side for the girls and one side for the boys. And then as they got older they could build walls around their spaces, so it'd be back to ten normal sized bedrooms. They would love me. And be super appreciative of everything I did (like installing convertable bedrooms) because they spent their first 10 years scrapping out a living for themselves and their families in Gyumri, so now they're so happy to be able to go to school that they never ask for anything, and I'm so happy that they never ask that I buy them everything, and then we get into fights because they're like "HEY! Stop buying me stuff! I know you love me and want me to have everything I want, but I really feel like I need to work for soemething before I deserve it, and all I do is go to school and study!" and I'm all like "Honey, school IS your job, and you do so well that you DO deserve everything you want, and I WANT to give it all to you so stop arguing with me, strap on that hangglider and go get some fresh air right NOW before your brother comes in her and starts bashing you with his new NERF bat!!!". And then every summer we go back to Armenia so they can visit with their real families. Ahhh...I love my kids. They're so smart too. Damn, I need to get rich.

Okay, Listen...

I am EXTERNING for a JUDGE this summer. EXTERNING is like interning. Which means I don't get paid. That, I am fine with. Because EXTERNING for a JUDGE is prestigious. That means it's impressive and will lead me to lots of contacts, and a better job when I graduate. Lots of people applied for and badly wanted the position I have, with the Judge I am working with, but they didn't get it because I am better than them. I rock. My resume says so, and my judge read it and agreed. However, some of you out there are under the impression that EXTERNING is like candystriping for the local hospital, or doing a ride along with the cops. Something that people with no life do to entertain themselves in order to pretend to be noble, and mooch off their parents for a little bit longer. WELL YOU'RE WRONG! YOU'RE SOOOOOOOO FUCKING WROOOOOOONNNNNNGGGGG! I DO NOT NEED YOU TO CIRCLE AVAILABLE SUMMER POSITIONS AT DISNEYLAND FOR ME, MOTHER!!! I DO NOT NEED TO GET A NIGHT JOB BARTENDING AT CHILI'S, PEOPLE! I'M FUCKING SMART! I'M ABOUT TO GRADUATE FROM LAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWW SCHOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLL SOON, I HAVE A JOB YOU'LL NEVER EVER BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND, REGARDLESS OF HOW MUCH, OR IF I GET PAID FOR IT. IT'S CALLED EXPERIENCE (ooh, the hot guy across the way just came home. Damn he's hot. ahem...) THIS IS WHAT PEOPLE IN GRADUATE SCHOOL DO! THEY GET EXPERIENCE AND THEN THEY GET JOBS WHERE THEY GET PAID FOR THAT EXPERIENCE. BUT IF YOU HAVE NO EXPERIENCE, YOU CAN'T GET A JOB IN THE FIRST PLACE!!! AND GETTING AN EXTERNSHIP WITH A JUDGE IS THE BEST EXPERIENCE YOU CAN GET BESIDES INTERNING FOR THE PRESIDENT, AND MONICA MESSED THAT ALL UP FOR US HOT CHICKS, SO THIS IS THE BEST FUCKING THINK I COULD'VE EVER DONE FOR MYSELF!!!! Do you understand yet? DO YOU? GOOD!!!! NOW, GET OFF MY MOTHERFUCKING BACK AND GIVE ME SOME MONEY!!!!!!!!!

New Post!

well hellloooo......oh man, I am SO TIRED. but it's such a great tired...oh yes...suuuuuch a great tired. It's a 4 days in rosarito/waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much tequila/came back and slept for 6 hours, then went to work/came home, did yoga/watched Carrie win prom queen, I mean Idol, and am ready to pass the FUCK OUT kind of tired. The yummy kind. Oh so yummy...like smooth, rich, expensive, dark chocolate truffles...mmmm..melting in my mouth, oh, wait, no, those are the smooth, rich expensive dark chocolates that my neighbor bought me for feeding her half dead fish. I should totally do more good deeds. Apparently, when you help somebody for no good reason, you get hooked up FAT for it. that's hot.
I started my externship with my judge today. He's cool as all hell. seriously. I know that sounds not cool at all, but that's the beauty of sarcasm, you gotta read into it. PAY ATTENTION, BITCHES!! Don't get all lazy just because school's out. Alright, so I'm tired as shit and have to go to bed, but just to let you know what's to come, the public defender in our court looks EXACTLY like Karl Lagerfield. No joke. I couldn't make that up if I tried. Ok, stay alert. We shall meet again. I hope...not...spoRADically!!!

Summertiiiiiiiimmmme....

Oh, and how easy the living is...

I'm sorry my bitches...I know I've been neglecting you. But it wasn't as hard for me to do this time as it was the last. Because, you see, I have been in a drunken stupor since Tuesday at about midnight. Yes, my friends, that is when I threw my hands in the air in disgust at the 12 page paper I had pounded out in no less than 4 hours--in order to fulfill my Islamic Law requirement--and headed on down to Q's with my girls. Well, actually, that's not entirely true. I threw my hands up and recieved a nice fat cold beer in one hand, and a bubbly blast of champagnie in the other, thanks to my Angel of an Energizer Bunny. That bitch makes sure I keep going, and going and going... And by going I mean drinking, and drinking and drinking. Anyway, after about 3 beers, 2 glasses of champaigne, and about an hour of useless banter later, we made it down to the bar and definetly made the best of our night. So, by Saturday night, even I was ready to take a fucking nap, which turned into a 12 hour grog-fest, since it's really hard to sleep with a blood acohol level higher than Charlie Sheen's, and, therefore, am only now, after a stunningly sober's night's rest, sufficiently coherent enough to face the world. And by the world I mean my computer screen.

Ahhhhh....how nice it is to have absolutly nothing to do....sigh........to sit around and watch, well, absolutly anything that comes on the tv...including reruns of good times and married with children...because there actually, really is absolutly nothing to watch on tv...pulling the shades down tight to block the increasingly annoying sunlight that persists in shinging relentlessly all damn day every day, searing my eyeballs, and turning my parent's house into an air-condition-less steam pit, so I have no option but to take 5 cold showers a day and soak through the 2 outfits that I brought with me from my apartment...OKAY, you want to know the truth??? THIS SUCKS. I bored out of my MIND, and there is nowhere cool to go drink out here! I miss LA, I want my friends, and I need some VODKA! My brother and sister won't stop fighting about missing underwear and t-shirts (I don't know, and I'm not asking) and I keep getting sent to the market every 15 minutes because nobody knows how to compose a GROCERY LIST. Seriously, people, I"m so bored. OUT OF MY MIND...and hot and sticky and hungry, but,despite the market runs, there's nothign to eat here except bread and mayonaise. Which sometimes sounds tempting, but I don't want to be that desperate. Oh God...somebody, please...help me.....

JackASSED

OKAY. JACK FM SUCKS ASS. Who the fuck's idea was it to play Funky Cold Medina after Nirvana's HEART SHAPED BOX?????? Kurt GoBang is clutching his chronically pained gut and writhing at the pain of having his EARS BLEED somewhere in the afterlife right now. The only thing that would perfectly top off this schitzophrenia plagued joke of a lineup is if they played Eddie Murphy's "Party All the Time" followed by something off of GWAR's greatest hits and finished up with the theme song from Ducktales. And I swear, if they did, I would not be suprised. I could totally see them having a "theme songs of the 80's weekend" where we'd all have to suffer through the opening jingles of such classics as "Just the Ten of Us" "Small Wonder" "Teenage Mutant Nija Turtles" and "Out of this World", intermittently peppered with hardcore NWA, Anthrax, and Megadeath, just for a chance to win tickets to the Pico Rivera Half-Breed Dog Show (longhaired cats okay), hosted by none other than the principle from Saved by the Bell. Yeah, I know, I could just turn this noise off. But you see, then I'd be left alone with my Model Rules of Professional Conduct book, and would have nowhere to focus my rage, except on the contents of said text, which I need to push through and retain some of, in order to not fail completely out of law school. Or I could aim my rage at my mother, but that just doesn't seem right, what with it being mothers day and all. Although it might be a cute nostalgic throwback to my entire childhood....hm....oh, and of course, Falco just came on...

It's okay...I'm here....

Hello my beautiful babies. Shhh...shhhh....I know....it's been hard for me too. I don't like being away from you. Really. It's true. Whether you know it or not, these bi, tri, sometimes quadra-daily obscenity/profanity/angst spewing sessions of ours are muy preciouso to me, much more than you'll ever know. Especially since I don't show appreciation to, pour affection over, nor ever thank the ones I love. But I do. I love. And how. You see, these hate fests we share are like cardio for my brian. They increase my heart rate while flushing my system of the nasty buildup crammed into my poor body during carb binges, alcohol-laden-rebellions against overloaded brain functions, and the law. Oh, how I hate the law...sigh...but I digress. These past few days...maybe even a week, I don't know, I have no concept of time anymore, I have been trapped away in my rat's nest of an apartment, desperately tryign to be all that I can be by learining tax, constitutional, islamic, and healthcare laws, while repeatedly attempting to make contact with the outside world, through this, my portal, but, alas, to no avial. On any of my missions. But most importantly to us, you see, to my utter horror and shock, I came to find out that my upstairs neighbor, who I've been stealing wireless internet from for the past year, has very incosideratly moved, and taken my free internet acces with her. That BITCH. I have therefore been forced to move back to my parents home for the weekend, where I can reconnect and paruse the hours of power I have neglected for so long, brought to us by the Fug Girls themselves, catch up on disturbingly raunchy e-mails sent to me by my alarmingly inappropriate Auntie KK, instant message with the likes of the adorable and intellectually stunning Private Parlow, and make feble and emaciated attempts at writing a paper and studying for Ethics, all while gorging myself on pizza, rice krispies treats, tortilla chips and creamy dips, unidentifiable pasta dish leftovers, hot dogs, ramen noodles, generic supermarket brand cold cuts,various frozen sugary treats, and random splatterings of tapatillo and tobasco. ug. I think I'm going to throw up.

I just wanted to let you all know how much I miss you all. You mean the world to me. You are my everything. I swear, the only thing that matters...that matters...to me. Oh baby, baby, baby, baby....baby, oh.

Nevermind.

Ok, I was going to write something, but I hate myself, and listening to the voice inside my head speak these words while I write and read them back is torturous, because it reminds me of my own existence, and that's seriously how much I hate me. Today my self loathing mainly stemms from my glorious scheduling skills, thanks to which I now have a Federal Income Tax final tomorrow, for a class taught by the man who still holds the record for graduating with the highest grades ever in the history of my law school, followed by a Healthcare Organizaton and Financing final on Wed, which was taught by a pulitzer prizewinner with no people skills whatsoever, followed by a Constitutional Law: Individual Rights and Liberties final on Friday, which was with a prof whose name is consistently floated as a likely candidate for the Supreme Court, and who uses the word "flummoxed" regularly. Yeah. GREAT IDEA, AL. Because these are totally guys who are looking for the bare minimum, and will totally let you get away with BSing your way through three of these tests in 4 days. SOOO FUCKING SMART. Seriously, though, I have a question...WHO THE FUCK LET ME INTO LAW SCHOOL????? Fuck this. GOODNIGHT.

DRUNK BLOG II: WTF, Mate?

wwwhhhyyyy issss itttt sssssoooo ffffffuuuuccckkkiinnnngggg cccccoollllldddd in ellllll fucccckkkkiiinnnggg AAAAAAYYYY innnn mmmmmmaaaaaayyyyy???? aallllll I wannnnt tttttooo dddddoooo issss ssssssmooookkkkkeee mmmmmyyyyy fffffuuuuuucccckkkkinnnnggg cccciiiiigggggarettttte bbbbbuuuttttt III cccccannnn'tttt bbbbeccccaaaauuussssse mmmmmyyyy ffffffuuuuccccckkkkinnnggggg haaannnnnddddsss arrrrrrre ffffffuuccckkkkinnnnnggggg shshshshshsaaaakkkkinnnngggg...
FFFFFFUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!!!

DRUNK BLOG!!!

Hey...did you know that Miller High Life is totally the champaigne of beersssssss? Well NOW YOU DO! DOUCHE! ok...now to the important shit...

Dear ERIC,

Ahhhhh....the number 38 has never looked so glorious. The way it hangs perfectly centered below your name on your hotter than hot back is pure Heaven. G-A-G-N-E spells LOVE. In a perfect world I could trick my dad into thinking that I went to law school for 3 years, and I would be able to put my mouth on yours whenever and wherever I wanted. Yes...it's true, I already can. BUT, I'm sure your lips are much more soft and supple than your 7-11 Bobble Head doll can ever represent. Oh youuuuuu....with your totally hot perscription sport glasses, which oh so conveniently latch on to your hotter than hot authentic Dodgers game hat. You complete me. Even though you're Canadian. The end. (Call me!)

Confessions

Dear Ray,

I'm sorry that I threw my coffe at you this morning when you told me I looked cute. I just didn't feel like being "cute" so when you told me that, I felt the need to retaliate. I know you were just being nice, and I'm sorry I made you cry.

I'm also sorry that I called your boyfriend a homo-erotic sexually frustrated yoga nazi. I just don't like the way his face looks, or the way his voice sounds. But I guess since I'm not the one in love with him, I could've kept that to myself. And I'm sorry that made you cry again.

I'm also sorry that Papadikulous and I offended the two douchebag--I mean, your friends at the restraunt by saying the F word too many times and too loud during dinner. We were just really excited that non-dairy-cashew-faux-cheese-spread could actually taste anything unlike bile. I'm really glad you didn't cry that time.

Please except my sincerest apologies. Lets stay friends. Pleeeeeeeeease......

-----------------------------------

Dear Douchebag Joe,

I'm sorry for calling you Douchebag Joe in front of your mom. Really. I am. I had no idea that was her.

I'm also sorry for asking to bum a cigarette and then throwing it at you after I realized it was a menthol. If you put vitamin e oil on the scab, it shouldn't scar. And guys with scars on their faces are hot anyway.

Thanks for your tax outline.

-----------------------------

Dear Fat Chick from Ethics,

You're just a bitch. I'm not sorry for anything, and I just wanted to tell you that you suck. T and I have tried to say hi to you like 95 times and all you do is look at us like we called you the Fat Chick from Ethics to your face. Which we so would never do. Unless you keep being a total bitch. Then we totally will and THEN you'll have a reason to bitch. But we haven't, so you don't. Stop it.

Blah

There are no words to properly state the level of hatred I have for the world at this moment. Yes, I know I said I wasn't writing anything because I have to study. But you know what, I don't fucking feel like it. I studied all goddamned day and you know what I accomplished? GUESS. So FUCK OFF and let me sit here and fester. Like the puss infected open wound on the ingrown toenail of existence that I have become. ALRIGHT? THANKS, ASSHOLE.


My brain is FUCKING fried. I have absolutly ZERO capacity for descision making. Even the thought of the most miniscule choices are painful to me right now. Don't ask me what I want to do, because I don't even want to make the effort to roll my poor overworked bloodshot eyebals over to where your sitting to acknowledge your existence. Because if I did, I'd have to trace through some sort of analysis as to what it is you're asking me, delve into my own psychee to access the appropriate emotion to envoke, and match said emotion to some string of words in an attempt to articulate some type of answer. And that process would lead me to a gaggle of options that I just cannot deal with, since I have never outlined, nor indexed, nor tabbed anything anywhere near that type of situation, and I'm sure nobody has anything from previous semesters that I could work off of.

Just leave me the fuck alone. I'm sure I'll eventually fall asleep/pass out in a heap/starve to death on my own. Then all you need to do is wake me up/insert an IV/alert my parents when you stumble across me in the morning. Or kick me. That would be fine. Because I wouldn't have to think about reacting to that. I just would. You know, curl up into a ball, hugging my wasted body towards my gut, choking on air, or heave the atrocities I've been ingesting all week into a pile of colorful play-doh on the carpet, and writhe in pain...whatever. At least it'd be some kind of reacton to an outside stimulus. You know, I think I understand now why people cut themselves. They just can't deal. And they don't have to if they're suddenly bleeding. Your body just takes over, which would be a welcome change from the vast expanse of DEATH inhabiting my entire existence right now. Now don't go geting your panties all in a bunch, dear friends. There's no need to worry about your good pal, Al. I not only lack the attention span and motivation to follow through with such a devious plan, but just the idea of having to chose a proper tool from a drawer FILLED with at least 10 different types of utensils of all shapes and sizes terrifies me. THAT's how unmotivated, insane, and detached from reality I am. You know what I feel like? Brad Pitt in True Romance. Except without the funny banter, or honey-bear bong. Just a waste of space laying on a couch, oblivious to everything around me. Fuck that was a great movie. I should watch a movie. Too bad my precious douchebag comerades are wasting perfectly good drinking time taking a practice exam. Ha. Ooh, they're going to get pissed that I called them douchebags. yeah, but look at them, all fucking typing their bullshit and going through their notes trying to find the right answers in a "simulated testing environment". THAT's crazier than I am right now. I'm not the crazy one, they are. Fucking bitches. ...Wait, I'm just kidding, you're the only friends I have left, don't get mad...wait, where are you going!?! I SAID I'M SORRY!!! UG! Fucking BITCHES. Shit. NOW who's going to kick me in the morning...ug....

ERROR MESSAGE

NOTICE: SITE TEMPORARILY CLOSED DUE TO SERIOUS NEED TO STOP FUCKING AROUND AND GET SOME ACTUAL WORK DONE IN THE T-84 HOURS TO FINALS, YOU STUPID STUPID MORON.

In the meantime-in-between time, please take this opportunity to paruse the similarly intellectually void and equally time consuming sites listed below.

Thank you for your patronage. You douche.


www.ebaumsworld.com
www.sinikian.blogspot.com
www.1540theticket.com(Petros Papadakis, weekdays from go find out yourself, lazy ass A.M. to do I have to do everything for you? P.M....okay, 12-2pm.)
http://www.1540theticket.com/petros_songs/
www.gofugyourself.com
www.tshirthell.com
www.gogortiloz.com

Oh, you want more...???

Dear fans (read: Mom, VSOP, and Sev. Angel you don't count because you're a slave driver and only read to make sure I wrote what you screamed in my ear during ethics class),

I am sorry to inform you that, because I am a completly insane and masochistic nutjob who voluntarily scheduled an absolutly unnecccisary interview for 9AM in Burbank on the first day of WWF Crampfest 2005, thereby forcing my sluggish and Orca-fied ass to wake up at the hairy asscrack of dawn (aka: 6AM) on a day I don't even have any classes,and should be in bed drinking hot chocolate,watching old movies and eating anything and everything I can find and/or buy, I shall not be penning anything today which would relegate a "Genius. Fucking Genius." response from the guy with the "Brief History of Pharmacutecals" blog and the picture of the FUCKED UP cat. So sorry to disappoint. But you see, this pre-finals madness, mixed with the self imposed sleep depravation, and wonderful rollercoater of womanly emotions, has placed me in this otherworldly dimention, wherein I do nothing but stare at my wall, somehow rationalize away the necessity for painkillers for the apparent CIVIL WAR taking place somewhere deep inside my body, and semi-lucidly imagine myself becoming that much nobler by sitting here, sufering through said RAGING FIRE IN MY LOINS brought on by my monthly lack of babyfiedness, a la Mrs. Spearderline. I have no idea why I don't just get up and throw a handfull of the advils that are resting peacfully in plain view on my bathroom countertop--probably surrounded by some heavenly aura, complete with the faintest sound of a joyful chior coming from deep inside its ibiprofined goodness by now--down my throat to quash the RAGING INFERNO in my belly. But probably for the same reason that I've powered through law school for the past two years. And by powered I mean sleep. Power sleep. or slept. WHATEVER. Becaaaaaauuuuuse...I hate myself and feel good when I'm being punnished. plain and simple. Hence the self imposed 6AM wakeup call and the refusal to accept solid medical treatment for horridly horrified pain like the good Christian Scientology Cultist I am not. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO........my point to all of this? I hate you all. The end.

My Life as a Douchebag Imposter

Douchebag: Hey, have you finished your paper?

Douchebagette: No, but it's not even due for like 2 more days. I have plenty of time.

Douchebag: ARE YOU CRAZY, DUDE, YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TAKES TO FINISH? IT TAKES FOREVVVVVER!

Douchebagette: Um, it's just a paper, it shouldn't be that bad...how long did you spend writing it?

Douchebag: Dude, it took me 5 days straight. Just straight writing. Seriously. Like the endnotes take like a whole day to write if you just do that and NOTHING else.

Douchebagette: Are you serious???

Douchebag: Yeah! You SERIOUSLY haven't started yet? That is ALL I did this weekend.

Douchebagette: yeah, well, I worked on it this weekend, but it didn't seem that bad. You think I'm really that wrong? you think I'm really screwed? shit, did I just screw myself? I need a good grade in that class! Shit, really, you think it's bad?

Douchebag: Yeah, man. I would NOT want to be you right now, HA! GOOD LUCK!

Douchebagette: Shit. Shit. Hey, Al, you're not finished yet, right?

Al: Yeah, totally finished. I was done like a month ago.

Douchebag: WHAT?

Douchebagette: Yeah right....you didn't even know what we were supposed to be writing about a month ago...come onnnnnnnnn......

Al: Yeah, I totally went in early and asked for the topic to get it over with.

Douchebag: So you're totally done with it? Wow. That's...cool I guess. So what, you're just studying for finals now?

Al: no.

Douchebagette: what do you mean no, then what are you doing?

Al: nothing. Just lounging.

Douchebag: JUST LOUNGING? WHAT THE FUCK?

Al: Jeez, chill out man. You really need to breathe, this kind of stress isn't healthy, you know.

Douchebag: What the hell are you talking about? You're done with your paper and you're not studying for finals? what are you doing?

Al: Just lounging. Hanging out.

Douchebag: COME ON. THAT'S REDICULOUS. YOU CAN'T BE JUST HANGING OUT THE WEEK BEFORE FINALS.

Douchebagette: She's just messing with us...why are you even taking her seriously...she's just kidding...right...?

Al: no. I'm totally serious. I'm done with my paper and I wrapped up all my studying last week. I'm just hanging out waiting for finals now. I wish they were tomorrow. I am SO ready for them. It's actually fun strategizing, you know...planning out my answers in my head and stuff...it's like a game.

Douchebag: YOU ARE FUCKING CRAZY. YOU'RE A FUCKING LIAR.

Al: don't get mad at me just because you slacked off, man. Seriously, dude, you need to go outside and like, appreciate nature and shit. You're going to turn into a nazi.

Douchebag: A NAZI???? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?????

Douchebagette: Come on, let's go, she's just tring to get you all freaked out.

Douchebag: IS THAT WHAT YOU'RE DOING? YOU'RE TRYING TO FREAK ME OUT SO YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN ME? THAT'S FUCKING SHITTY, MAN! YOU'RE A DICK.

Douchebagette: Come ON, lets just go...plus, I don't have time for this, I need to work on my paper...you really think it's that bad...? am I totally going to fail that class...??? Holy crap, I can't fail that class...oh man...oh shit...

Douchebag: Yeah, man, I told you, you should've been working on it a long time ago...you might be screwed.

Douchebagette: shit...oh man...shit....

Healthcare Financing and Organization Law

Class Notes:

Bla bla bla bla physician assisted suicide. (drool...how many tiles are in this celing anyway? because if there's like 900 holes in each tile and like...oh...65 tiles...that's like...a billion...?) bla bla bla bla, lethal injection, bla bla suicide? Bla bla Washington State AND New York bla bla. (my feet are really cold. Maybe I should've worn sox. But I hate sox. They make my feet sweat...wait...isn't sox spelled socs..?) bla bla court of appeals bla bla bla. bla nazi germany bla. Coalitions of Patients and Doctors bla bla VERY IMPORTANT FOR THE TEST bla. (SHIT) Bla People have a bla to control their personal bla and you have a RIGHT to bla bla Derek Humphries bla bla rifle to your head. (wait...WHAT?? SHIT.) BUUUUUUUT BLA bla bla very closely bla bla decisions bla cases bla unanimously supreme court, slippery slope bla. (okay. wake up, bitch, this is important shit. take some NOTES) OK..ahem...you have to draw some bright line and this is as bright of a line that exists even though souter said I wish there was a brighter line down the slope, but there ISNT. It's sort of overprotective (ooh, like Brittany...)(AH, SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU IDIOT, PAY ATTENTION!) Oregon can allow it and can probably go further bla. Bla bla..hahah...haven't done any lethal drug taking today? hahaha? Bring them to class if you do! Hahaha! (um...ok, I just remembered now why I don't pay attention in here.) Okay! Questions on the test? Q: "what's the test going to be like?" A: "HAHAHA, I'm SUUUUUUUURE You'd LOOOOOOOVE to know that, Huh??? Wow, if I just TOLD you That'd make your life EASY, wouldn't it??? HAHAHAHA. Yeah. Okay...ahhhhhhhh.....next question...." Q: No, seriously, what's it goign to be like, I mean, multiple choice? Essay? Both? Time limits? A: AHAHAHAH! YEAHHHHHHHH......let me just tell you what issues to study, TOO! HAHAHA...you guys are FUNNY! Okay, class is done, good luck with your FINALS! HAHAHAAHA."

The Anals of the Law...

So.....yeah...my book's been open to the same page for two hours. I think I've read all of 3 sentences. And you know what's sad? Tomorrow's issue is probably the most provocative topic I'll ever study in law school...our unalienable fundamental right to practice homosexual sodomy. Yeah, seriously. Lawrence v. Texas. Let me read you a selected paragraph....ahem...:

In Houston, Texas, oficers of the Harris County Police Department were dispatched to a private residence in response to a reported weapons disturbance. (yeah right) They entered an apartment where one of the petitioners, John Geddes Lawrence, resided. The officers observed Lawrence and another man, Tyron Garner, engaging in a sexual act. The two petitioners were arrested, held in custody overnight (I can only assume in seperate cells) and charged and convicted before a justice of the peace.
The complaints described their crime as "deviate sexual intercourse...with a member of the same sex (man)". The question before the court is the validity of this Texas statute, making it a crime for two persons of the same sex to engage in certain intimate sexual conduct.

Hot. Now if that can't get me interested in learning the law, there is no hope left for anything in this world. You know what I'm doing instead? Talkig to my friends online about what a tragedy it is that we don't have the requisite self restraint nor respect to develop eating disorders, and instead eat and allow ourselves to digest such delicacies as an ENTIRE large cheese pizza followed by a 2 liter bottle of diet coke. Yeah, I did that. All on my own. Sick. In one fell swoop I just negated every yoga class I've ever been to. Wonderful. I'm sure my mom's so proud of me. Ug. Fuck this, I'm going to bed.

Ahhhh...brothers...

How the HELL Can They be Twins? (see previous posting)

Horrid techno music blasting from bad bad speakers.

(Incomming Call: little brother...we'll call him...John)

John: Yo.

Al: Hey.

John: Hey. I'm lost.

Al: Where are you?

John: I got off at Highlands.

Al: Where are you going?

John: Universal Amphitheatre.

Al: You got off too early. You need to get back on and go about two more exits.

John: Oh yeah. I forgot.

Al: Cool.

John: Cool. Thanks.

Al: Your welcome. Call me if you get lost again.

John: Well, I actually wasn't lost. I just got off too early.

Al: Ok...well if it happens again, give me a call.

John: Ok.

Al: Ok. Bye.

John: HEY.

Al: Yeah.

John: um...I love you. Call me if you need me too.

Al: aw...thanks J. I love you too.

John: Cool.

Al: Cool.

John: Bye.

Al: Bye. Click.

Ahhh...sisters....

Ring Ring. (well, actually: Horrid techno music begins playing on a bad bad speaker)
[Incomming Call from (Little Sister...we'll call her....Nick)]

Sis: Hiiiiiiii Allllllllllsssssssssssss

Allllllsssssss: Hey Nick

Sis: Hey. You like the Dodgers, right?

Allllllsssssss: Yeah, why, you got tickets?

Sis: Yeah! Awesome, huh???

Allllllsssssss: Yeah! That IS awesome, baseball's the perfect escape...I can just taste the beer.....Dodger dogs....Eric Gagne's lips...mmmmmmm.......

Sis: ALS...HEY...

Als: Oh, sorry...Yeah. So when are the tickets for???

Sis: Right now! I'm on my way with Ashley! Her dad gave us tickets! Cool, huh???

Als: Oh. Yeah. Awesome.

Sis: I KNOW! Soooooooooooooo......howdowegetthere.

Als: Where are you?

Sis: Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm.........I don't knoooooooowwwww......ummmmmmmmmmm.......Hey Ash...EW! DON'T DO THAT! HE'S GRRRRRRRROOOOOOOSSSSSSS EWWWWWWWWWWWW I AM NOT TALKING TO HIM! EWWWWWWWW ASSSHHHHLEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!

Als: Nick.

Sis: AHHHHHHH!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAH!!!! OH MY GOD, ASHLLLLLEEEEEYYYY!!!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

Als: Sigh....Nick.

Sis: (unintelligible shreiking for 20 seconds)

Als: NIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sis: OH! SORRRRRRYYYYYYYYY ALLLLLLS! HAHAHA...ok....um...we just got on the freeway. Ohmygod, Als, Ashelyjuststartedtalkingtogheseguysinahondanexttous,
GROSSALS!AHONDA!andshewaslike,heywhatsgoingon,weretotallygoingtotheDodgergame
youshouldfollowusandhangoutwithusand--

Als: NICK! STOP!

Sis: --andiwaslikeallOMYGOD!AHSLEYSTOPTALKINGTOTHEMTHEYARESOGROSS
IAMNOTHANIGINGOUTWITHTHEM--huh? What?

Als: STOP. Man...ok, you need directions, or what?

Sis: Oh, yeah.

Als: Ok...stay on the 605 and go to the fiv--

Sis: OH!ALS!

Als: what.

Sis: you're totally coming this weekend to see me off for prom right?

Als: Um...shit...I don't know, nick, it's the weekend right before finals..

Sis: WHAT!IT'SMYFUCKINGSENIORPROM!ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS???? OHMYGOD,THATTOTALLYSUCKS!

Als: I'M IN LAW SCHOOL! I HAVE LAW SCHOOL FINALS!

Sis: FINE,FUCKSTOPYELLINGATMEI'MJUSTFUCKIGNASKING
BLABLABLBLABLABLABLALBALBWAAAAAYOUDONTHAVETOYELL
SHITSOMETIMESYOUREJUSTLIKEMOM,IDONTKNOWWHYYOUHAVE
TOYELLATMEIDIDNTEVENDOANYTHINGSHITBLABLABLBLABLBL
BABLABLA--

Als: ME!!??!! YOU'RETHEONETHATSTARTEDYELLINGFIRST!
I'MJUSTTRYINGTOTELLYOUTHATIHAVEFINALSOFCOURSEIWANT
TOBETHEREWHATSWRONGWITHYOU--

Sis: OH!!NOOOOOOOWAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYIWASTOTALLYLIKE
HEYAREYOUCOMINGTOPROMANDYOUTOTALLYSTARTEDYELLINGAT
MEABOUTBEINGINLAWSCHOOLANDSHITANDIDIDNTEVENDOANYTHING
EXCEPTASKYOUIFYOUREGOINGTOBETHEREOKAY--

Al: SHIT,FINE,FUCK,WHOCARESITDOESNTEVENMATTERJUST
STOPYELLINGALREADY,SHIT,THISISSOFCUKINGANNOYING!!!

Sis: ANDIDONTEVEN...sorry...imjusttryingtogotothe
dodgergamewithashleybecauseherdadcouldntgobecause
hesdepressedandhegaveustheticketsbecausewedoalot
forhimandhelikesusandhelikeswhenihangoutwithashley
becauseimagoodinfluencebecauseihaveagoodcarandajob
anditakecareofstuffandimtotallyresponsibleand---what? Oh, it's your dad? Does he know how to get there? Ok, Cool. We got direeeeections, Alllllllllllllssssssss......thanks anywaaaaaaaayyyyyy! See you this weeeeeeeeekeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnnnd for my seeeeeeennnnnniooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrr prooooooooommmmm! my laaaaaaassssssssttttttt oneeee evvvvvvvvvvvvveeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrr. BYE! EW!ASHLEY!STOOOOP!!!!!! click.

My New Best Friend

I have a neighbor. I don't know his name, I don't know what he does, I don't even know which apartment he lives in, even though there are only 5 apartments in my entire complex. And I'm sure I'll never speak to him again. But I love him. I love him like I've never loved any man before. Just the though of his existence makes me feel so warm and happy inside. If I was the Queen, I would knight him. He'd be Sir Dartagnion Best Man In The World, Who's Actually Pretty Cute Too, but I Think His Live-In Girlfriend Would Kill Me If She Heard Me Saying That Because She Looks Really Mean, De Santa Montegue. I didn't think much of his existence at all prior to five minutes ago, to be honest. But now...he flummoxes me. What ever did he do to procure so much gushing adoration, you ask? Well...as he came to check his mailbox, stationed approx. a foot outside of my open door--a task which he's successuflly accomplished ever day without incident for the past 9 months--he turned to me and asked "what are you studying?" while rifling through his pennysaver, gas bill, and other various and sundry items...I took a deep breath, tore myself from the beauty that are the section 162 Buisness Deductions, and muttered..."Federal Income Tax laws." He froze. He chuckled. He looked up..."Are you serious?" "Oh yeaaaaaahhhhh..." I replied. "And tomorrow, I'll be doing Constitutional Individual Rights, followed by a full day of Healthcare Organization law. Hot. I know." And do you know what this heaven-sent cherub of a man did? He guffawed. Laughed nearly uncontrollably and said "WOW. I'm SO Fucking glad I'm NOT in school! WOW! HA..." and shuffled his flip floped toesmobiles back, I can only assume, to whichever fluffy cloud he spends lounging his beautiful soul on. Siiiiiiiiiigggghhhhhhh.......
I can only hope that one day all of you out there feel the amazing glee and satisfaction that comes with somebody realizing that their life is SO MUCH better than yours, and giving you credit for the shithole that yours has become withought either condescending, offering mindless advice, or suddenly turning into Mr. Drummond, telling you to "Just stick with it, Champ" as if that actually means something. I love him. And I will never forget our 30 seconds together. It was sooooooooo beautiful.

Al Orders a Pizza

12:28pm. Al orders a pizza.


Pizza guy #1: Pissssa by de Eslice, khold plis.

Al: wha..?(CLICK. Dialtone.)

Al: ugggg...

ring....ring....

Pizza guy #1: Piiiiissssssaaaaa by de Eslice, khan I khelp ju?

Al: Yeah. Can I have a pizza delivered?

PG#1: Khooov Cours. Khwat kint?

Al: Large cheese, please. And a bottle of Diet Coke.

PG#1: Khoookayyyyy. Khow many cops?

Al: Just one.

PG#1: Jost wan? Ju chure? khoookay...Khwit ice?

Al: Yeah. Thanks.

PG#1: Chure. Jur name?

Al: Al.

PG#1: HAL?

Al: Yeah. Al.

PG#1: Heees chort for somteeen, no? Ju are girl, jes?

Al: Yeah. It's short for Aligator.

PG#1: ALIGAT...AHHHHHH.....chu are the foooooneeeeeeyyyyy....Khokay
HAL, ees comin in one khalf khour.

Al: Thanks.


One Khalf Khour later.

knock knock. Pizza dude shields his eyes as he tries to look into Al's window which she's sitting less than a foot away from on the other side. He sees her looking at him like the twerp he is. He scares himself, gets embarassed.

she opens the door.

Pizza Guy #2: Hey...You...uh..."Al"?

Al: Yeah.

PG#2: HA! REALLY?!?

Al: Yeah. What the hell?

PG#2: Oh, dude, I was totally expecting like a hairy lumberjack, not like
a 21 year old chick.

Al: I'm not 21. And I could totall be a hairy lumberjack for all you
know.

PG#2: Uh, Yeah RIGHT. You weigh like 100 lbs! and I don't see any
mustache or anything, dude.

Al: Ug. Can I have my pizza.

PG#2: Sure. Dude, you know our store is like across the street from you, right?

Al: Yeah.

PG#2: So like, why would you order a pizza that takes a half an hour to get here, when you can walk across the street and get one in like 5 minutes?

Al: Because I don't like being outside. It's much more convenient this way.

PG#2: WHAT? Dude...what kind of a thing is that to say, man?

Al: I just don't like being outside. What's the big deal.

PG#2: Dude...you're like a Nazi.

Al: A Nazi?!? What the hell are you talking about.

PG#2: Yeah, dude. They hated the outside. It was too unstructred.
That's why they wanted to take over the world. So they could pour
cement on everything and impose their crazy rules.

Al: (Sigh)...ok. Can I have my pizza.

PG#2: Dude! Don't you even care that you're totally acting like one of
them??? Dude, come here, take a look around, it's so beautiful!
Check it out!

Al: No thanks. Can I have my pizza.

PG#2: Come ON! The trees! The plants! The flowers, dude! Come
here! Come on! Come here! Check it out!

Al: No thanks. Can I please have my pizza.

PG#2: No WAY man! Are you SERIOUS? Just come out here for ONE second!
Check out what a beautiful place you live in! The sun is OUT!
Listen to the birds, man! It's NATURE!

Al: Give me my pizza.

PG#2: DUDE! You are CRAZY! It's BEAUTIFUL out here! And you don't even
need this thing, man, Pizza's baaaaaaad for you! Dude, look at you,
you look great, but if you want to stay that way you gotta eat some
good shit, man! And dude, you're all by yourself...you're going
to eat this whole thing, and sit inside like a big fat Nazi, man!
That's not healthy! Come outside for like a second, dude!

Al: GIVE ME MY PIZZA!!!!

PG#2: WOAH! DUDE! ALRIGHT! HERE! But, MAN! you have some SERIOUS
issues! You NEED to get out! This is not HEALTHY! Dude...here's
my card, man...I teach surfing lessons. Seriously, give me a call,
man. I'll show you how much you're missing.
I am seriously going to pray to the wind for you, dude.

Al: GREAAAAAAAAAT. THAAAAAAANKS. (Door SLAMS)

Pizza Guy 2 walks off muttering something about fat Nazis. Al sits on the floor, rips open box with right hand, burns mouth, hand and lips on cheezy deliciousness, fumbles with coke bottle with greasy left hand.

(End of Scene)