I'm making a law-related in-joke. Please shoot me now.

If asked to come up with a two-word phrases that will someday be very important in their lives, pretty much the last one most people will come up with is "international shoe."

Some of these people will eventually go to law school, and there they will discover that they were very very wrong.



In totally related news, the Civil Procedure exam is tomorrow, after which I will offically be Fucking Through With This Shit. Until late spring, at least. I cannot wait.

A redeeming feature of Southern boys is that occasionally, even when you're just standing around at a bar and no one's hitting on anyone, their sense of manly duty inspires them to buy a girl a drink.

This is quite refreshing, especially compared to the boys at college, whose manly duty inspired them mainly to make us drive their drunk asses home.

It's like Eggs Benedict, minus all that Benedict crap.

• Get out 2 eggs, some butter, 2 slices of bread, and some lunchmeat ham.
• Put a skillet on, highish.
• Put the bread in to toast.
• Put two slices of ham in the skillet; turn them when they look like they need it.
• Take them out and put them to the side. Preferably on a plate rather than the empty Domino's box, you walking health violation.
• Put some butter in the pan and fry the eggs. Try not to break the yolks.
• Arrange the sandwiches, toast+ham+egg, from bottom to top.
• If you want, you can pierce the yolk and let it drip onto the bread before you put the ham+egg on there. Egg yolk butter, mmmm!
• On the other hand, if you threw up in your mouth a little at the thought of yummy liquid yolks, you probably should have fried the eggs longer anyway. Or pierced the yolks while they were still in the pan, that works pretty well.

• Even better: add in mustard and tomato slices. Oh hell yes.
  

A final warning: don't eat this in front of someone that you're trying to impress with your suavitude. It's on the drippy side. Then again, the right kind of person will be impressed anyway, and now is as good a time as any to find out which it's going to be.




How are exams going? DON'T EVEN ASK. Contracts. Breach. Remedy. Searing pain.

"Empfindlich" is a German word that's translated as sensitive but actually means you're easily injured

So I'm shotgunning a Coke because I've hit the WALL on Criminal Law but THAT CAN'T HAPPEN because it's nine p.m. and I've miles to go before I sleep, if I sleep, but while I'm drinking it I have to keep my tongue glued to this one spot on the roof of my mouth because I've got pizza burn there from dinner because why can't I ever wait 2 minutes for something to cool off? And the thing is that lifting my tongue up like that means the icy and prickly beverage gets down around my bottom teeth where it's sensitive, and holy crap I am a hot-house flower if ever there was one.

Plus pizza burn always makes me think of Krakow and sitting on the Glowny Rynek on Holy Saturday and biting into a kielbasa that turned out to have the same interior temperature as the sun, and then walking around on the banks of the Vistula watching the punks with their mountain bikes and JPII's first parish on the other side of the river, all with actual weeping blisters on the roof of my mouth.

And really the only reason I'm sharing this with you is (a) it's a prime example of my wussitude, plus a chance to once again shoehorn Eastern Europe into every damn thing I write, and (b) I wanted to think about something other than MOTHERFUCKING LAW for four straight minutes.

Ok. Back to work.

Go home, pointy head!

To the gentleman on the bongo drums at tonight's Mass*:

If you're going the mohawk route, you have to own it. Make it skinny enough. Shave the sides. Consider dying it a primary color.

But what you've done is gelled your normal haircut into a widdle tiny hawkie-poo on the top of your head. This does not qualify as a mohawk. It qualifies as lame.

Therefore: gel it down again or man up and mohawk it, but stop this foolish play-acting.





Anyway. Now that I've dealt with young 2MySpace4U. The question you've all been dying to ask: how are exams going?

Well. When you realize that you're kind of wishing you had less time until the exam rather than more, so you could fucking stop studying for it already, this is when you realize that you might have sort of a Motivation Problem. And also an Attitude Problem.

(Hi Mom! Just kidding! Doing great!)

No, seriously. Doing great. Dandy, in fact. Eight days from now, and it's all blessedly over.


*and yes, the very fact that I am able to address him that way is a sign of deeper problems. Bongo drums, forsooth.