Healthy Ty Bipolarism ... or, It's Okay

It's Okay ...

... to instantly regret buying the Boot Camp deal on Living Social.

(but be kind of excited too)

... to have more nightmares post-bar than I did pre-bar.  I wake up thinking it's D-Day and then spend the first ten-and-a-half minutes of the morning having a panic attack and clawing my eyes out.  EFF.

... to have an epic, never ending, bloody, gory mind war between pinning delicious nommy goodness and random fitness routines.  That might actually define me perfectly.  Que sera sera.

... to have thought spring cleaning was a lot cooler in my head, back when I was making lists of craps to organize and not actually scrubbing baseboards. Ain't that some shit.

... to have sat on the edge of my seat smiling like an asshole for two hours watching Mary Poppins.

... to reeeeeally want this coffee cup:

... to be so sickened by the extreme rightists' views of birth control that I can hardly watch the news.

... to know that I'll need to have nine children - all girls - to use all of my baller kids names.  Let it be noted that boys will be sent up the river, as my awesome nameology skills only extend to females.

... to have fallen back in love with Gilmore Girls, thanks to ABC Family.

... to have spent an hour watching Gilmore Girls instead of spring cleaning.  Oops.

The Saga of Bella and Such ... or, How Young Adult Fiction May Have Stolen My Kid's Name

I'd love to honor my Memaw and have a kid named after her.  

For a while, I was going to use her middle name (Bell), but I've always liked her first name, too.

Which is Effie.

However.

What if Effie turns into the new Bella?

Where every kid in the graduating class of 2028-30 is named Bella or Effie?

Did Hunger Games back me out of a kid name?

Damn.

The Saga of Le Bar and Its Aftermath ... or, Things To Do Between Now and April 6

Well, I'm alive.

Technically, I've been finished with Le Bar since 4:30 on Wednesday.

However, I'm just now shaking the mental hangover.

For anyone wondering, it's the most mentally grueling activity I've ever done.  My brain cramps thinking about it.  

And for those wondering further, I have absolutely no friggin' clue whether I passed.  Part of me thinks I aced it and part of me thinks I'll be saying bonjour, y'all to the Peabody once more in July.  It's insane.  I really have no idea if I passed or not.

Elliot Stabler said I'd pass, though:

Yeah.

For anyone that doesn't follow me via Twits or Le Book of Faces, we ran into Christopher Meloni in the Capital Hotel on Monday night.  We didn't bother to ask him WHY he was in Little Rock, but I don't really think we cared.

I mean, that had to be a good sign ... right?

(PS - I know I look dead and you can see my underroos right through my shirt.  EFF.)

However, it is OVAAAAH.

And in honor of that, I've started making a list of things I can do in between right now and getting my results.  I like lists.

Here We Go:

Nothing.

Nothing.

Drink wine.

Nap.

Watch movies.

Sit.

Nothing.

Get back on the half marathon training (for March 31, oops)

Razorback baseball

Nap more.

My taxes (d'oh)

Find a big kid job!!!!

Nothing.

Refinish my entertainment center, dresser and end table.

Paint my bathroom.

Deep clean.

Nothing.

*********************

The End!

Panic, Puke and Pain ... or, That One Time I Took the Barzam

Welp.  Here we go.


I'm scared pants-less.  However, this had to have been a good sign.

(don't mind my grossness)

Yes, that's Elliot Stabler from Law and Order: SVU.  We ran into him at the Capital Hotel.

That had to be a good omen, right?

*sigh*

In any case.

Eye of the Tyler, bitches.

Faith, Hugs, and Popsicles ... or, How To Help Me With My Barzam Madness

My sweet friend (and fellow Barzam-er) Ressie sent me a link to this blog post today.

I read it and I cried.  

Because I'm in a panic now.

*********************

I am not a panicker. I never have been. I'm a major proponent of the Seriously Just Chill The Hell Out school of major life event prep, and I've been known on more than one occasion to tell 1Ls, OLs, and everyone else who will listen that they need to stop taking life quite so seriously. But right now? I'm panicking. Ten days till the bar exam, and every time I start to think about it, I feel like I may break out in hives.

I suspect this is the case for most of my fellow test-takers. Yes, we need to stop taking ourselves so seriously. But also? Even for the most chill among us, this is A Really Big Fucking Deal. $100,000 in loan debt and three years later, this is the test that will determine whether we actually get to be a lawyer. And no, 2Ls, I am sorry to inform you: that $100,000 that you'll be paying off till you're 50 did nothing to actually prepare you for this exam. So here, in this 2 1/2 month timeline, you must cram everything there is to know about this state's law into your head, and hope that most of it sticks come exam time. It's an extraordinary amount of pressure, akin to nothing else I have done in life.

To varying degrees of certainty, we all think we're going to fail. One good friend of mine called his mother this week, to tell her he thought maybe he should just give up now. Clearly, he wasn't going to pass, and it seemed like a waste to ruin the last few days of his summer working for something he wasn't going to get. Another friend has been waking up in a panic for nights on end, because she keeps having nightmares about the MBE.

If you've not studied for the bar exam, this may not make sense to you. It's just a test, after all. And that's true. If you don't pass, well, you'll take it again. Perhaps I'm an unreliable narrator, being in the thick of it myself (and having just had a hyperventilating panic attack because no. I do not have 45 minutes to make dinner. Must. Study. More.), but I have to reassure my readers who are not in the thick of it: these are not neurotic people. These are normally sane, sweet people, who have a great sense of humor about themselves. People who are B students not because they can't hack it, but because sometimes, it's sunny out, and going golfing seems like a better idea than Tax. We are not, generally speaking, panickers.

Still, to a (wo)man, we're all pretty sure we're going to fail.

When I say to you, "I am going to fail the bar," I don't mean it the way a nerdy college sophomore proclaims "omg! I am totally going to fail this chem exam." I don't mean that I might get a C, or I might not be the smartest kid in the room. I mean that, come November, I. Might. Fail. The. Bar. In fact, there's a 50% likelihood that I will. When I tell you that I think I am going to fail, I'm not saying it because I need affirmation that I won't. I'm not kidding. I'm not over-reacting. When I say that, I'm trying to warn you of what might come.

Darwin asked me a few days ago if I would check to see if some of my Least Favorites from law school had passed the bar. Surprisingly, I found myself answering in the negative. Let's make no mistake. I am a mean, spiteful person, who on more than one occasion has wished that members of my class got hit by a bus. I'm not nice. But this experience? It's so miserable, I don't even have the heart to wish it on someone else.

Here's the horrifying thing about bar results: they're spectacularly public. Unlike the LSAT, you can't hide out, and pretend that your score wasn't totally shameful, or that you aren't studying for the test, or that you didn't really care. You do care. Unless you live in a cave, everyone knows that you're studying for an exam, because you look haggard, miserable, and short tempered, and they never see you anymore. The list of bar passers is publicly posted. So, when the final results come out (in California, that's November: just in time to ruin both Thanksgiving and Christmas), and your name isn't on that very public list, everyone knows. In that one epic moment, it's awfully hard to get away from the nagging conviction that's been chasing you all summer: You're not as smart as you thought. You're not as smart as anyone thought. You're a failure.

Now, lots of smart people fail the bar exam. For a variety of reasons, it happens. These people are not failures. I can look at these people---people who I know and respect, and consider them bright, competent, amazing attorneys. The younger ones, I love and respect. I don't think they're idiots. For the older ones, it's a war wound, and a mark of character: proof that they really do "get" the real world. But if I don't pass? You guessed it. I'm a failure. Nobody said this psychology made sense.

The non-lawyerly types won't check the bar passers list, of course. Probably. But they will ask, with gleeful anticipation, if you've gotten your results in. And they're happy to ask, because these well-meaning family members and friends really do believe that you will pass, and their faith in you will be vindicated. Here's the trouble with that, though: if you've been saying, over and over again "Oh don't be silly! You'll pass!", when I have to face facts with you that I, in fact, did not pass, I'm going to have to face that ominous and awkward silence, followed by your condolences. I will then have to have this conversation with every person who asks.

And here's the thing about that: there's no getting away from the fact that you failed the bar. You can't even claim that you just got desperately ill halfway through and couldn't finish, because Jan Honisberg has been telling us BarBri kids all summer about all the appendicitis-ridden, in labor, concussed bar-takers who have taken the exam and passed. This, ultimately means that not only are you a failure: you're less competent than a concussed person. Fantastic. 

When I hear someone tell me, offhandedly, that oh, of course I'll pass the bar, it only increases my anxiety. I want to grab them and shake them, and explain that really, my terror is valid. I need you to understand that. If (or when) I fail, I need you to get that these things happen. I'm afraid that you're expecting too much of me, and that if I fail, your impression of me will be irreparably damaged. I don't want to fight with you about it. I really, truly, do believe that I am going to fail. If I don't, it will be by the skin of my teeth.

So, friends and family of the bar-takers: I extend my condolences to you. I know we are just miserable to be around right now. But we do need you. Not to tell us that we will pass, but to tell us that you (as Darwin so eloquently put it) have faith in us. Even if you're certain that we're out of our minds, you won't change them---to me, the specter of failing is just as real, and just as terrifying, as a child who's been left at a grocery store, convinced he's alone for good. No, your parents haven't left you forever, and no, you may be right. We may pass. But in this moment, we feel alone, and overwhelmed, and totally terrified. The bar exam is in 10 days. We don't need assurances that we'll pass, we need your help to mitigate the crazy. We're looking for damage control. Tell us you understand how we're feeling, and you think we're smart. Give us a hug.

When BarBri has robbed us of our confidence and left us as pathetic messes on the floor, tell us you believe in us. Buy us a popsicle.

And hopefully, when it's all over, you can tell us that you always knew we could do it. And if you can't? Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

Battling My Bipolarism with Wine ... or, It's Okay

Linkin' Up With Neelykins!

It's Okay ...

... that the Arkansas Bar Exam results are posted at 4:00 p.m. on April 6.  THE DAY BEFORE MY BIRTHDAY.

... to live on cantaloupe and coffee (for now).

... that my dog has started acting out because he needs more attention from his mama.  He ran into the street last week and was subsequently beaten (out of fear and love, duh).  He spent the next two days laying under the chair making sad eyes at me.

... that I gave said dog to Nana and Poppy for about a week for lovins.

... to have cried because I miss him so much.

(twice)

... to be a big dork when naming my Apple products.  My iPhone is the tyPhone and my iPod is the tyPod.  I love plugging my stuff in.

... to walk my fat ass up to the gym.  Solely to sit in the sauna for 30 minutes.  Whatev.

... to need a glass of wine every night to put me to sleep.

... that no matter how nice and sweet and non-creepy a repair or maintenance guy is, I still text my mom or sister or John to let them know he's here, just in case he gets a wild hair and decides to skin me and make me into a lampshade.

... to still be yearning to get my nose fixed.  Breathing's important, yo, but even with insurance, it's $2Gs out of pocket.

... to still not have a big kid lawyer job.  Hopin' and prayin.' 

... to have been told that my house has asbestos siding.  Baller.

... to need to simultaneously cry and break shit.  And then cry more.  And then break more shit.

(I am a veritable oasis of bipolar emotions right now)

... to adore Jenna, Mr. Marbles and Kermit.  Like, LOVE.  I think we coud be biffys.

... to just want to sit and do tomdickery and jackshit for about a month or so.

... that this is the last It's Okay before Barzam City.

Eff.

Your Newest Presidential Candidates, via Hollywood ... or, Why I'd Take Harrison Ford

After yesterday's political post, I had a few conversations on the topic.

I ended my conversation with John the Conservative Boo with, "Why can't Bill Pullman from Independence Day just run?"

I started thinking ... we've had some GREAT presidents on film.

Bill Pullman as Pres. Whitmore in Independence Day

Harrison Ford as Pres. Marshall in Air Force Once

Michael Douglas as Pres. Shepard in The American President

Morgan Freeman as Pres. Beck in Deep Impact

Jack Nicholson as Pres. Dale in Mars Attacks :)

Dennis Haysbert as Pres. Palmer in 24

Martin Sheen as Pres. Bartlett in The West Wing

Or, for British flavor, Hugh Grant's Prime Minister

As you can see, we've had some pretty decent leaders through the magic of Hollywood.

Who would be your President?

An Interjection of Some Important Political Matter ... or, Why Rick Santorum Is Friggin' Crazy

Note: I typically try to keep politics outta the blogosphere (well, you know, minus my gay love), but some things just have to be said.

My apologies to any readers who are staunch Republicans, but it's gotta be said: y'all ain't got a snowball's chance in hell.

All you got is a bunch of greedy, radical, misinformed substitute teachers.

It's no surprise to anyone that I'm liberal. I'm young, I'm poor, and I love the gays.  I don't think anyone is shocked by the announcement that I'm a registered Democrat.  I don't, however, vote party line.  I vote candidate.  I look for someone who represents MY needs and MY ideals, to the extent that anyone actually can.  Too often do people just check the box because the candidate is an elephant or a donkey.

Between what is happening in Oklahoma's personhood law and Virginia's forced ultrasounds, I fear a little for the overreaching conservatives who are looking to run a country on the basis of the Old Testament.

I believe that American politics were founded on Christian ideals.  That doesn't mean, however, that you can assert Biblical principles into politics.  You don't have to associate as a Christian to know that killing is wrong.  There are certain ethical tenets that step outside the grasp of religion.

My point is that Christian ideals can be applied in a non-religious context.

I say all of this because Rick Santorum is bat-shit crazy.

Here recently, Santorum stated that Obama's agenda is "not about you.  It's not about your quality of life.  It's not about your jobs.  It's about some phony ideal.  Some phony theology.  Oh, not a theology based on the Bible.  A different theology."

This should turn people off.  Anyone throwing in religious tests to win elections should be looked upon with caution.  However, Santorum opened the door to question his own grasp of theology by inquiring to the President's ... and then he kinda screwed the pooch.

When explaining his position on income equality, Santorum said, "There is income inequality in America.  There always has been and hopefully, and I do say that, there always will be."

Coming from a rich dude.  Duh.

Perhaps Mr. Santorum should be a little more careful when using Biblical mandates to score campaign points in the same week he shows such callousness toward the poor.  I've said it before, and I'll say it many more times: you don't get to cherry-pick parts of the Bible to suit your needs and completely ignore the others, especially if your campaign selling point is to return America to a Christian nature.

The separation of church and state exists for a reason.  If everyone will recall, that's kind of how America started: a bunch of Brits were tired of being shoved around for being of a different belief than the ruling class.

Sound familiar?

Even outside of that, spirituality is a very personal issue.  Everyone decides for themselves how to see God.  I still like to think Heaven is full of cloud-shaped trampolines.  To me, that is Heaven.  A country cannot and should not force whatever religion they follow on their citizens.  That is not their place.

As a woman, let's just pretend we elect Santorum.

(*shudder*)

I'm denied the opportunity for birth control.  The government has now mandated what I can and can't protect my body from.  I shouldn't be having sex anyway, since I'm not married, and birth control is just completely against the church's teachings (not MY church, but since when does that matter?).  When I inevitably get knocked up, I can't have an abortion, even if I know I'm unable to care for the child.  I'm denied prenatal screening, because Lord knows, that leads to abortion as well.  I don't even have the means to raise a perfectly healthy child, much less a special needs child.  It could also show problems that, caught early enough, could save my child's life, but who cares?

When my child is born, I'll have a hard time paying bills, so I might apply for government assistance: WIC or EBT.  You know, because I'm a slacker who wants to mooch off of hardworking, tax-paying rich folks.  That probably won't be around long, though, so I may just be out of luck.  President Santorum doesn't really give a shit because he openly supports the wealth discrepancy in America.

Oh, and then he'll tell me that in the midst of all of this, I need to home school my child.  Since the public schools are a sham and teaching things other than blanket creationism, he wants to abolish all of those anyway.  Because that will be easy with that child I'm raising and working my ass off to support.

And if I tire of that, I can find the first man I can who'll have me and marry him, even if he beats the hell out me me, since that's the way my president values a woman's services: by relegating her to the home.  He's openly said it - single mothers can help their chances by just getting married.

Yeah.  No shit.

As a woman, that thought should scare the pants off you.

I don't care if you're Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Green Party, Tea Party, House Party, Throw a Party.  Whatever your affiliation may be, that doesn't matter.

Whether you're red or blue, you were a woman first.

And as a group, we need to start making some serious decisions before someone starts making them for us.

Cue The Rocky Theme Song ... or, How A Text Can Renew Your Sense of Self-Worth

You know those moments in life when God hits you in the mouf and reminds you of all the blessings He's given you?

Yeah, I got one of those on Valentine's Day.

This is my biffle Amber.  I talked about her and all of our amazing toys a few days ago.  We've basically been BFF-Rainbow Brite-sparkle pals since before the start of recorded time.

She is such a strong person.  Since forever, she's always been the one who can stand tall in the middle of the crazy.  She's fiercely protective of the people she loves, and I know she's got my back. Which is always such a good feeling.

Plus, she always knows exactly what to tell me, exactly when I need to hear it.  

Natch, I cried for a while.

And then I picked myself up with a renewed sense of confidence.

That I'm kicking the bar's ass.

Because everyone thinks I can do it.

And I'm not letting anyone down.

Least of all, myself.

Watch out, Arkansas Bar Exam.

Here I come.

Countdown: 8 days.

(thank you, best fran.  Love you past the sky!)

Rhianna Is SUCH a Lucky Gal!! ... or, Why America Can Be a Shitbox of Stupid

I know I'm Tyler-Come-Lately on this issue, but damn.

I saw this on the interwebz a few days ago.  It's basically screenshots of girls tweeting on Grammy night.  Who would let Chris Brown beat the crap out of them.

Wait, what?

If this is the next generation, the bright future of America, the one that I'll be forced to rely upon when I'm old and senile and tired, I'll just go throw myself off a bridge at the first sign of incontinence.  

*************************

I realize these young women probably saw it as a joke, but isn't that indicative of a much larger problem?  They aren't in a vacuum, and we all live in a world in which domestic violence is routinely swept under the rug.  It's a taboo subject that no one really wants to address.  The world is telling you that you can beat the shit out of your girlfriend, and if you tweet an apology, you can hop on a stage and we'll give you some Grammys.  Chris Brown got off easy.

Even he doesn't care.

If that doesn't make your blood boil a little, I don't know what will.

The problem is huge, much larger than I have the time or mindset to address at the moment.  

But Lord.

In the words of the maître d from Ferris Bueller's Day Off:

I weep for the future.