Spreading the holiday cheer

If you follow this blog (and if you're reading these words, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that you do), this post will contain absolutely nothing that you don't already know. However, since I didn't get Christmas cards out to everyone on my list, due to laziness and/or lack of addresses, here's the news in letter form, which you may or may not have missed out on...

The fridge is stocked with egg nog, the Nutcracker Suite is blasting from the stereo, and the Christmas tree has reclaimed its rightful place as the focal point of the living room. It must be that time again, time to look back on the year and report.
The year started off with the promise of hope and change, which we certainly embraced. For me, it was the last semester of law school. It passed in a blur, I suspect because I set my brain to auto pilot and fended off professorial interrogation by slouching stealthily behind my laptop screen. On May 17, surrounded by family and friends, a couple of scholarly geezers handed me my Juris Doctrate and sent me on my way with the anticlimactic understanding that my hard earned degree meant absolutely nothing until I passed the bar exam. Determined to reach its tentacles of misery into my life for as long as possible, law school continued for me until the middle of July, as I spent my days in the law library, engaging in the ultimate cram session: relearning everything I did or should have learned in law school for the bar exam. When I wasn't banging my head against walls of legal theory, I agonized over bleak job prospects, and began to get a little concerned when I started getting rejections for jobs I hadn't even applied for. One day, while skimming the want ads on the wonderful list of Craig, I found an opening for job as a civil litigator in Portland that sounded promising. I never, ever saw myself going into private practice, but desperation makes people do crazy things. After a few interviews came those magical words: "You're hired." Armed with the security of a firm offer, I was able to take the Oregon bar under marginally less stressful conditions, and even managed to pass the beastly exam. In October I became a card carrying ambulance chaser at last! The jury is still out on whether all the effort was worth it.
To speed the process of repressing my memories of law school and the bar exam, Scott and I grabbed a couple of backpacks and headed off for a grand adventure, European style. We spent two weeks trekking through Spain, Italy, and France, seeing the sights, wandering around more lost than not, and loving every minute of it. If any of you have any burning questions about how to ride the trains, or which hostel in Barcelona is the scariest, give us a call and we'll fill you in on all the dirt. I'm happy to say we made it two weeks abroad without being mugged or losing our travel documents, which in my mind was a major accomplishment. Although Scott did get interrogated by the police on a night train from Italy to Spain. Some people just look suspicious, I suppose.
Immediately upon our return to Oregon, we packed up all our earthly possessions and moved up the road to Portland. The new job necessitated a change of address, because really, who wants to spend two hours each day commuting on I-5 between Portland and Salem? The answer is no one. In the spirit of starting fresh, Scott also sought out new employment in Portland, and after interviewing with several banks for managerial positions, he accepted a transfer with Bank of America to a Portland branch. He is currently training to become an assistant manager. In addition to his aspirations for power positions in the financial sector, he is also eagerly anticipating, and diligently preparing for a triumphant return to the classroom in pursuit of an MBA. I suppose it's only fair that I too should experience the thrill a minute life of spouse to an overworked grad student. At least he knows I'll be sympathetic.
Survey says 2009 was a big winner. I am inclined to agree. In fact, as highlights go, I'm fairly certain we'll be hard pressed to have a better year. If I abruptly retire from the holiday newsletter scene in 2010, you'll know it's because my adult life of work and more work has become too boring to merit mention. We wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Nothing brings the Christmas spirit quite like...

"Dear Student,
For 126 years the Willamette University College of Law has educated, served, and led with dedication and distinction. We could not continue to thrive as we do without ongoing support from alumni like you. Your gift to the College of Law Fund preserves the variety of programs and opportunities that distinguish Willamette from other law schools.
In this season of giving, I hope you will take a moment to make a calendar year-end gift to the College of Law Fund.
Plan to contribute by December 31st to receive the tax benefit for 2009.
DONATE NOW
Many thanks and warm wishes for the Holidays"

The alumni donation solicitation email I just received from the law school from which I just graduated, 7 short months ago. Never mind the fact that it's incredibly presumptuous of them to think anyone in the class of '09 even has a job in this tanking economy. Never mind the fact that I hated every last second I spent in that soul crushing mental sweat shop. Never mind the fact that even with a job, I am broke beyond all reason because my student loan bill hovers around $1000 a month. It is my firm and unwavering stance that my mental anguish and emotional distress, and oh yes, the $30,000+ I paid in tuition each year should more than cover my expected contribution to my alma mater. Just to be clear, you will never, ever, ever get another penny from me, ever, so please take me off your "Potential Donor" list, and file me away under the "Disgruntled and Traumatized Former Student We Should Leave Alone" list. And a Happy New Year to you too.

My expert legal advice

Jim Carrey's beleaguered attorney in "Liar, Liar" is one of my all time favorite characters. And on days like today, when the phone is ringing off the hook with people making poor life decisions, I often find myself wishing I could dispense the same sage advice he does when he goes on his truth-telling rampage. STOP BREAKING THE LAW!!!!

Masters of the universe

For the last three years, I tried my darndest to be a walking public service announcement of the perils of higher education. Alas, the one closest to my insanity is the one who seems to have learned the least from my mistake. At this very moment our apartment is quiet. The silence is punctuated only by the clacking of laptop keys and the occasional heavy sigh. Scott is studying for the GMAT. And I'm getting a taste of what it must have been like to live with a test-crazed lunatic for three months. I imagine this is a prelude to what grad school will be like from the vantage point of the long-suffering spouse. We're all about equality in this marital partnership, with academic achievement being no exception, but really, why would anyone voluntarily subject themselves to what will surely be a spectacularly awful brain blasting stress fest after having lived through it vicariously already? I'm not entirely sure, but here we are: perpetual study mode, only the roles of participant and witness have been reversed. Props to you, my tenacious husband. Just be glad the MBA program is only two years.

...and the human response

Do you ever wonder what possesses people to do some of the things they do? Like incessant knuckle cracking, for instance, or compulsive hair twisting (that's me). Or perhaps leaving bags of dog poo on their own door step? I, too, have often pondered this mystery. Our next door neighbors seem like okay people. They're a young, childless couple, which already scores them bonus points in my eyes, having previously shared an interior wall with a young couple and their ever-screaming newborn. But our new neighbors have a dog. A pug, to be exact. Fortunately, the dog is quiet, so I never really fretted too much over their having it...until a few weeks ago. I started noticing small, green plastic bags sitting next to our neighbors' front door, which, in our shared entryway, is incidentally about two feet away from our front door. The bags would usually appear in the morning, and were usually gone by the time I got home from work. The bags were always tied off though, so we were unable to identify their contents. Scott and I, evoking the spirit of Billy Madison, joked that they were probably bags of poo. After all, they looked suspiciously like the doggie droppings bags that are available at the entrance to the running trail located behind our apartment. But seriously, people don't just leave bags of poo on their doorstep, do they? Of course not, I reasoned. It's not like we're living in a ghetto in Salem anymore; normal people put their dog's business in a trash can, preferably outside, like the dumpster that sits not 30 feet from our collective doorstep. Unfortunately for us, several days ago our neighbor forgot to tie off the bag, and our suspicions were confirmed. They've been leaving bags of their dog's doodie on our doorstep. Every day. And while it does make me laugh to think about setting said bag aflame and doorbell ditching our less than considerate neighbors, does anyone else think it's absolutely not socially acceptable to leave crap (literal) like that on your doorstep? Today I walked out of the house to find a bag of our neighbors' trash sitting on their doorstep. Really? Really. To my lovely neighbors with the lack of formal training in Things You Should Never, Ever Do 101, please take your trash to the dumpster!!! And take your bags of poo with you!

The news...

es·quire (ěs'kwīr', ĭ-skwīr')

Abbr. Esq. Used as an honorific usually in its abbreviated form, especially after the name of an attorney or a consular officer: Jane Doe, Esq.; John Doe, Esq.


And now, me.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

Each new phase in my life seems to always be accompanied by the same sense of anxiety regarding my capacity to adapt. "I've been a college student for so long, I'm not sure I know how to be anything else. "I don't think I can be a normal person after being a missionary." "I've been so warped by law school that I'm fairly certain I can't function as a human being." In a way, it's actually a little comical, because I do always adapt. But still, it remains nerve-wracking to go from one chapter to the next. I have found that the best way to transition is just to close your eyes and jump in, which has definitely been the case with this, the most adult phase of my life to date. Immediately following the bar exam, Scott and I grabbed our backpacks and headed off in search of adventure, European style. Ever since I returned from Spain 4 years ago, I've been looking forward to the day when I would be able to go back. For some reason, this always seemed like a pipe dream to me because traveling abroad is expensive and I'm painfully practical. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense to spend several thousand bucks on a vacation when there are massive loans to be repaid. However, I am fortunate to have a husband who, though every bit as practical as myself, convinced me that this was a new beginning worth celebrating in fine style. So after two years of saving our pennies, we spent two weeks blowing through our savings in Spain, France, and Italy. It was unequivocally the best two weeks ever, and the misery of the bar exam was almost completely erased from my consciousness from the moment I stepped off the plane. We saw the sights, rode the rails, got lost (okay, so we were lost pretty much the whole time), pretended to understand French, slept in the scariest hostel in Barcelona, sampled the local fare, and took the most amazing photos. I debated whether or not to post the detailed version of our travels here, because they are definitely hilarity filled, but so much happened during those two weeks that I haven't even finished writing it all down. The reason for that is the fact that, upon our return to good old Oregon, I immediately began a new job. All throughout my law school experience, essentially the only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that when it was all over, I would be qualified to work in a job that I would surely love. Though I would joke about aspiring to be an ambulance chaser, I have always wanted to be a public interest lawyer. I knew early on that private practice was just not for me. Well, three years later, my idealism has been replaced with debt, and in my desperation to get a job, any job, I find myself starting my legal career working in tort litigation and criminal defense. Gotta start somewhere, right? Even if it's at the opposite end of the spectrum of where I want to be. Over the course of my first month as an almost lawyer (bar exam results are still two weeks away), I have found that the trade offs aren't all that bad. I'm not practicing the type of law that I always thought I would, but I'm getting that all-important "experience" that employers are so insistent that you have. My boss is a stellar mentor and the firm, which is wonderfully laid back, doesn't require that I sacrifice my evenings, weekends and firstborn child to the pursuit of higher billable hours. So far, I'm really enjoying learning the ropes, and maybe, hopefully someday soon, I'll be able to look back on this all and say with a straight face that I'm glad I went to law school. Unfortunately, as long as my entire paychecks are going to pay off student loans, I don't really see that happening in the foreseeable future. The new job also necessitated a change of address, because really, who wants to spend two hours each day commuting on I-5 between Portland and Salem? The answer is no one. With Scott also transferring to Portland, it just didn't make sense to stay in Salem. So we loaded up our lives and moved to Beaverton, which is a suburb of Portland. Moving from our first apartment was a somewhat bittersweet experience. I definitely won't miss the ever-present firetruck sirens wailing as they leave the station (which was right across the street from our complex), the ridiculous neighbors who play their craptastic music at 4:00 in the morning, or the dysfunctional toilet that randomly decides to refill itself every hour on the hour. But at the same time, it was just the tiniest bit sad to move out of our very first place. After all, we did live there for nearly three years and it was filled with all sorts of fun memories. Fortunately, my sadness was short lived, as our new apartment is a definite step up. It's palatial compared to our old place, the neighbors aren't comprised of the dregs of society, and the location can accurately be classified as "legitimately nice." Which is a major improvement from "ghetto fabulous." And now that we're getting settled into this, the latest of many new phases in life, and I have to say, anxiety has been replaced with anticipation. It promises to be a great chapter.