And, it's over.

That's pretty much all I have to say about that.  I have NO idea how I did; I couldn't even hazard a guess.  I will say that MBE was much harder than ANY practice questions I worked on.  I just hope I guessed right.

Anyway, the bar itself is quite the experience.  First off, we woke up around 5:15 on Day 1 to leave by 6.  We had to be there by 7:30, but I had no idea if we'd run into stupid traffic or encounter livestock blocking the highway or some other bizarre event that would ONLY happen if we didn't give ourselves enough time to get to Jeff City.  Anyway, when I say "woke up", I mean actually got out of bed, because I didn't really sleep at all Monday night.  I rolled around, staring at the clock, browsing Facebook on my phone in the dark, telling laws and rules to myself...I'm pretty sure at one point I even played the "what if I won the lottery" game in an effort to chill the eff out.  But, nothing worked.  I think all in all, I got about 2 hours of sleep spread out throughout the night.

A few of my favorite fellow bar takers:

1.  Bat shit crazy girl who told us her life story over the course of the three days.  She was one of the first people I saw on day one, and with one glance at her Shape-Ups, I knew she was something special.  According to Scott, the only people that wear Shape-Ups are old people, crazy people, or Joe Montana.

 Sup?

This girl was #2.  While we were passing time, she started talking about how she was surprised she passed her character and fitness because her husband lost his job, they had no money, they had tax problems, loan problems, and they had defaulted on several of their credit cards.  Um, hi, I'm Nikki, and I hardly know you.  And all these people around you?  They don't know you either.  Maybe you keep your real-life secured transaction problem to yourself.  She continued this for the duration of our time together, at most points just talking to the air and looking around at people to see if they were listening.

2. Meltdown girl.  I'm sure there's one (or more) every year.  This year she sat by me.  She had a constant leg twitch to begin with, and it just got worse as the day went on.  I looked over at one point and she was gripping clumps of her hair so tightly that her knuckles were ghost white, her head shaking like she was about to have a full blown-exorcism in the midst of essay number 9.

3.  The 44-year old who finished everything several hours early.  I hope it was because he sucked.  I'm a nice person, but I need to be better than some people to pass this thing.

Today sucked.  No two ways about it.  Both Scott and I were somewhat pissy during our lunch break, having just been quietly and discreetly molested for 3 hours, and facing 3 more.  We went to Chipotle for lunch, and horror of horrors, they were out of chicken and wouldn't have any for 5 more minutes.  Sadly, we didn't really have a lot of time, so Scott had to settle for barbacoa.  This did not please him, and he had some snide remarks to me about the chicken situation.  They weren't directed to Chipotle, but they were overheard by the burrito-maker.  Comments such as "they're already out of chicken and it's not even the lunch rush.  That sounds like good food management"...and the like.  He knows he was a butt, but at that point our brains weren't firing on the same cylinders as our mouthes.  Anyway, they comped his burrito, so one was free.  And then, to top it off, while we were eating an employee came over with two cards, good for two free burritos on our next Chipotle visit.  Moral of the story- be an ass, get prizes.

After making it through that, I wondered what would be the best way to illustrate my general brain function.  So I made a picture of myself.

Tiaras, unicorns, centaurs, and smeared lipstick.  A good combo.  For the record, when I was trying to come up with centaur I googled "manotaur", which is not the same thing.  But I did learn from Urban Dictionary that "a manotaur is a female that is highly fit and displaying a high level of muscularity.  A manotaur is not unattractive per se, and can still be thought of as hot to some.  However a manotaur will not fit the expected cultural norms for what a female should look like."   I know a few manotaurs myself.

After coming up with that pure masterpiece, I decided to do a representation of my dearest Scotty.

A suave man, running the rose through his moustache as he tilts his pilgram hat to one side.

As you can see, I've lost it.  I should probably stop talking.  I'm going back to relaxing now.  

Ok, I can't let this slide.

I know I said I was signing off until after the bar, but I just couldn't ignore the atrocious state of my animals.   Here's the rundown:

Our dogs needed to be groomed.  They needed a bath and they needed to be trimmed.  Last summer we took Truman to this crazy woman who lived near us, and while that time she didn't do a terrible job, we elected to go elsewhere after that.  Well, we found ourself in a bind lately trying to make sure we got them groomed before we left Columbia, because it's cheaper here and we don't know of anyone in St. Louis yet.  Our normal groomer, Groomingdales (so witty), didn't have any availability.  So we called this woman again because we were like "well she wasn't great, but she could at least trim them up to give us time to find a new groomer in St. Louis." 

For the record, this woman is a bit off.  She grooms dogs out of her house.  Her house with a poodle mailbox.  She also frequently wears shirts with poodle murals on them.  Looking back, I should have been alert to these...oddities.  But I was like "well she obviously loves dogs, so it can't be THAT bad."

I was so wrong.

Here are the before shots of our beautiful pups:

Such a handsome man!

 Aww.  My Cherry.

And....the after.

Oh. My. God.  Where did he go?!?!

 The only difference is her shaved face.  That's all she did.  And she's about 12x poofier now.

WTF?!  They look like morons. Truman looks like a retarded horse (if she had saved his mane we would have a Bernese lion) and Cherry looks like a Stegosaurus (tiny head, giant body).

I'm a true artist.  Yes, that's a saddle and reins.  And no, his tail has not in any way been digitally or physically altered.  That's actually what his tail looks like in comparison to his body.

This is my rendition of a Stegosaurus.  It's pretty close to a real one:

So, needless to say, I'm mortified for my poor animals.  Truman more so because he looks so stupid.  I feel like I love him even more because I feel so bad for him.  (Like when you look at a despondent ugly kid and feel like "I should be nice to him").  He's so self-conscious now.  He just hides behind the table, or sits quietly.  If I'm a dog groomer, and I don't know what a particular breed is supposed to look like, I GOOGLE it.  I don't just grab my electric razor and go to town.  I was so shocked when he came out that I might have even said "holy shit" in front of the lady's kid.

I know this isn't really a big deal in the giant scheme of life, and there are so many other important things going on for not only me, but everyone, but holy butt nuggets.  What a disaster.  

I guess he won't need to be groomed for about a year now.  

And with that, I'm really signing off until after the bar.

The....bar.

So, this is a little "side-note" entry.  It's not about anything that happened to me when I was little.  It's not about me narrowly avoiding the ol' rabies.  It's about what's been on my mind for about 2 months now (at least directly on my mind.  It's been in the back of my mind since I was 17 and decided I wanted to be a lawyer).  And...it all comes down to Tuesday and Wednesday.

It's a big frickin' deal.  And with that being said, it's natural that I'd be a little more on-edge than normal.  So, I present to you my list of things and/or people that I want to feel my wrath for the next 50 hours.

1. Nonsensical red light systems in the city of Columbia.  I don't understand how, when my light turns green, the light 1/4 a mile down the road turns yellow RIGHT AS I GET TO IT, to the point where I will surely run the light if I don't stop.  That's terrible planning, and as a result, you will have to deal with me flashing the bird to the innocent red-light camera watcher (if there is one, I'm sure at some point someone sees that footage).

2. The woman who was more concerned with eating her sandwich like she wanted to have sex with it than being even a decent driver.  I was following this shitty early 2000s VW Beetle- the kind normally driven by girls who have just gotten their license and want a "fun" car.  Anyway, the speed limit is 50 and this person is going maybe 35.  After a few miles of this nonsense, where she would randomly hit her brakes, because going 35 was apparently too much for her to handle, she FINALLY turned into the left turn lane at a light.  As I passed by her, I got a good look.  My god.  She was probably in her late 40s, incredibly unattractive, with mayonnaise and other assorted condiments ALL over her face.  To top it off, those same condiments were all over her hands, leaking from a disgusting, overstuffed sandwich.  Neither hand was on the steering wheel, and she had a look of pure lust in her eyes.  Now, I love food.  But I've never looked at my food like that (ok that's a lie, but it's never been food that I could eat in a car.  I like Melting Pot...what of it?).  I was beyond repulsed and it made me hate her even more that I was stuck behind her for several miles while she was trying to molest her lunch.

3.  This one's a bit bitchy, but right now I can't stand people who think their freshman summer English/basic math/sociology test is anywhere CLOSE to the bar exam.  People who are like "oh me too!  I'm so nervous about my final!"  No.  Not the same thing.  Not even close.  You and I both know that unless you're an utter moron, you can probably pass that test in your sleep.  If you can't, then it makes me seriously wonder how you got into college.  Meanwhile, while you're pondering the meaning behind Walt Whitman, I'm going to frantically try to make sure that I haven't missed anything of the approximately 500+ pages of crap I was supposed to memorize for this test.  Go away now.  Bye bye.

4.  U-Haul.  One would think (and I would say it's a correct thought) that if you have a guaranteed reservation, that meant you were all set and you just had to pick up your moving van the day you needed it. Wrong.  Apparently U-Haul decided it would be cool to overbook their reservations on what they know to be quite possibly the busiest day of the year.  So I get an email today saying I might have to "travel" to get our equipment.  I'm sorry, what?  So Scott calls and she tells us we might have to go to KC or St. Louis to pick up the truck.  Um, HELLO?!  We're moving to St. Louis you asshat.  This isn't like "oh we might need you to pick up at a different location in the city that might be a little further from your house."  This is like drive TWO HOURS to get a damn moving truck.  Unacceptable.  I'm curious to see how this works out.  But, if you're going to start a business, I don't recommend running it like U-Haul.  U-Hate making money (burn!)

Other than that, lately I've just been dealing with the general annoyances created by studying for the bar, such as having to stop to eat or shower, or the constant failure dreams I keep having where I wake up listing off the elements for PMSI priorities.  Sigh.

That being said, I have a great support system to counteract all the bad stuff.  I have wonderful friends and family.  Friends and family who understand (or at least try to understand) the stress I'm under.  Friends and family who don't try to undermine the difficulty of this by saying "you'll pass for sure!' or "don't even worry you got this!".  Friends and family who say "I have faith in you" or "I believe in you."  It makes a difference.  Because I wonder how someone is certain I'll pass when I myself don't even know.  But, when they say "I have faith in you" it lets me know that they GET me, and they get how important this is.  Even if they don't know what all it means, and what all it involves.  I'm so lucky to have people who care about me enough to think of me as I go through something completely foreign to them.  So, thank you.  All of you who have said kind words to me.  It means so much to know I (and everyone else like me) have the support of people like you.

And with that, I sign off until after this dreaded event is over.  Wednesday at 3:30pm can't get here fast enough!  Let's do this.  Good luck to all my fellow bar takers.  We can do this.


Right?

My Little Red Jeep

So here I am, studying for the bar.  Warning to those contemplating law school, or signing up for the bar- don't do it!  In the meantime, I will regale y'all with another story from my delightful childhood.


These days, kids have all sorts of crap that us 80s and earlier babies didn't.  Like multiple styles of Power Wheels Jeeps.  You know what I'm talking about.  The awesome, battery-powered, midget sized toys that little kids can drive around.  Today, there are so many different styles...Hummer, Barbie, Corvette, monster truck, I could go on.  In my day, there was either Barbie or regular old red.  When I was about 3, I found myself the proud owner of a red Power Wheels Jeep.  I remember thinking that I didn't want the Barbie one, because that didn't look like a real car.  I wanted something that looked street-legit, so if I went for a toole in the neighborhood, people would think it was a real car ("Hey what's that?  Oh my, Nikki got a new car!  How fantastic that a 3-year-old can drive a real car!").

Ok, that's obviously not me.  But, you get the idea. I could have picked up so many dudes in that ride.

It was also beyond adorable that my dad had an identical, adult-sized red Jeep at the time.  We took many a picture with our Jeeps.  We were flippin' precious.  

Anyway, I had a whole alternate universe worked out in my yard.  The front porch was my house, and I had various points throughout the front yard that were stores and things of the like.  In the back yard was the amusement park, also known as the swingset, with the swinging monkey bar that would later lead to my broken wrist.  (Swinging monkey bars are my arch-nemesis...more another time).  I made a lot of trips to the "amusement park" because it was the only imaginary place that was actually a place.  Every other place was just a random spot in the yard that I'd walk on while talking to myself.  

As for my driving skills, they were serious.  The Jeep had two gears...reverse or drive.  I was a huge fan of having the Jeep in reverse and then switching to drive without stopping first.  I enjoyed the whiplash.  Anyway, my cousin came to visit once and he HAD to drive it.  I didn't want to share, being an only child and all.  But, I caved.  After riding around with him when he went slow, even on Power Wheels terms, I showed him what was up.  I told him to park it, like one would park in a parking spot.  Then I told him to sit down and hold on.  (I don't remember the actual conversation because I was 3-4, but I'm sure it was some sort of assertive, intelligent toddler speak).  I reversed, and, without taking my foot off the gas, threw it into drive and we took off at the speed of light.  He started freaking out pretty much right away.  But that didn't stop me.  I guess top speed of 5mph was too much to handle because he started crying, and then because I was distracted by his sniffles, I was focused on him and not the yard (distracted driving at an early age!) and I crashed right into the rock circle that enclosed the well in our front yard.  He was already crying before that.  When I hit the well, he started wailing.  I just stared at him like "wtf is your problem?" He took off running into the house, and after that I didn't have to share my Jeep.  If you can't handle my style, don't get in my ride.

Anyway, Scott is looking for recliners on Craigslist, and he came across this gem:

Seriously? 

Wtf?!  SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS!  (EDIT: They apparently lowered the price.  But I still wouldn't pay 400). Who the hell needs an electric recliner?!  Are you seriously so lazy that you can't either a) push back on the cushion, or b) pull the little lever to recline yourself?  It looks like a tacky Indian souvenir shop threw up all over it.  But, then you see the surroundings in the picture, and it sorta makes sense.  

Anyhoo, I hope to update more often once this frickin' test is over.

Here's the picture of the day:

Love our pup!

Let me just repeatedly bash this random pipe with my heavy machinery...

Ok, new post.  Here's what's been going on lately.  I've started P90x and it's really hard, blah blah blah, let me get to the thrust (I just said thrust) of my entry- the asshats that are building the unnecessary roundabout near my neighborhood.  Now this project is already beyond annoying to begin with, because they closed the main way for us to get downtown, or basically anywhere.  They also have the second best way to get anywhere closed.  So, basically we have to chug along down a two-lane road with all the other suckers who decided to live up here.  Then, you add the disastrous events of these week.

Father's Day night Scott and I were driving home from St. Louis and I got a phone call from a 573 (Columbia) number at about 8:30.  They didn't leave a message, so I had no idea who was calling me.  Meantime, we go about our business.  On Tuesday, I get another missed call from the same number, again no message.  And when I tried to call back it was a dead line.  So like two hours later the SAME number calls again, and this time I answer.  It's an automated message from the City of Columbia telling me to disregard the all-clear phone call that I had gotten earlier in the day, because they had broken another water main.  At this point I was like wtf is going on?  So I log into the city's website to find out that a water main broke Sunday night, and they had issued a boil-alert for everyone in our area of Columbia.  Well, since the automated message didn't leave a voicemail, Scott and I had been drinking dirty poo water for about two days.  Then, they fixed it, only to break ANOTHER water main 2 hours later.  So, we stuck to our bottled water.  I briefly worried about the dogs drinking the water, until I remembered they drink lake water and eat cat shit.  They're probably fine.

Apparently it takes two clean water samples (aka two days) before they can lift the boil alert.  So we lived like 1700s pilgrims for a few days.

It's Scott and me.  I swear.

Thursday arrives, and I wait in gleeful anticipation of the "all-clear" automated message.  And this guy doesn't disappoint.  I imagine the guy who recorded the message looked like one of these hotties:

 "Good evenin' Columbia utility customer.  The boilin' order is over.  You can resume drinkin' yur water like normal."

Hooray! We were free to drink our water without boiling it 3rd world slum style.  And then yesterday happened.

After an intense 90 minute P90x workout, and an even more exhausting 2 hours in the 95-degree heat mowing the yard, I was in dire need of a shower.  So I turn on the bathtub faucet and after a few seconds of clean water, I get the air pressure sounds, and then nasty brown water comes shooting out of the faucet and into the tub.  Oh. My. God.  It was disgusting.  I ran to get my camera, running right by the front door butt naked as my neighbor was walking her dog (awkward), and all for not.  By the time I got back the water had cleared.  I let it run for a few minutes before I showered, and as I was drying off I got another automated message call.  The twatwaffles (I owe that new fun word to my dear friend Leah...shoutout) broke a THIRD water main in less than a week.  How does that happen?!?!  How hard is it for whoever is driving the giant ass bulldozer to NOT stick the shovel thing so far into the ground that it breaks pipes?  Look at me, sitting here right now, not breaking things.  If I had the skill and mental capacity of the dudes working on this project, I would have thrown my laptop into the wall and claimed I was trying to set it on the table.  Imagine if this was ok in other professions.  "I'm sorry, I was trying to demolish Texas Stadium, and instead I blew up all of Irving.  We need two clean air samples, do don't breathe for a few days."  So, I email the city, asking if they have any idea who is working on this project, because it seems beyond ridiculous that anyone who was remotely competent would have let this happen THREE times (I'm pretty sure I called them circus clowns.  Stinging insult I know).  I guess they're embarrassed by this situation, because I got a reply at 6pm on a Friday. (can we say damage control?)  The reply assured me that they have confidence in their personnel and that they were working to resolve all issues.  But, in the meantime, I've got my revolutionary war hat on again.  Sigh.

Grand Theft Auto?

For the record, I have to write this in an email because the one time in the past few weeks that I sit down to write a real entry, "blogger service is unavailable."  Well, that pretty much defeats the entire purpose of a website called "blogspot.com" doesn't it?  Fortunately, because you're reading this, they were able to get the site back up and running so here I am.

A few years ago, Scott's car key broke so he could no longer use the remote to unlock the doors.  Instead, he had to manually unlock the door, throw it open, and start the car quickly because once you open the door, the alarm would go off.  Then, once you started the car, everything was fine.  We made up a little game to coincide with everytime we had to get into the car.  We called it "Two Horns or Less", and the goal was to unlock, open, and start the car before the alarm horn could go off twice.  Scott got really good at it, and he had it down to 1 1/2- 1 1/4 horns sometimes.  (I'm sure you're wondering how I know what 1 1/4 horns is.  I don't know how I know, I just do.  Since this is my blog, I can say pretty much whatever I want).  Anyway, the game was fun, but eventually Scott got his key fixed.  I was really bummed, but it made sense because you get some pretty ridiculous stares when you look like you're breaking into a car everytime you get in.  Little did I know that MY turn to play Two Horns or Less was only a few years off.

Last week, before bar review started in earnest, I was running some errands, and I went to Target.  I do love Target.  I went to Target for some pens or something, which naturally meant I had to start at the very front of the store and make a full loop to look at anything and everything in the store.  By the time I got to the pens, I had a basket full of random shit.  This always happens to me (see Wal-Mart examples).  Anyway, I pay for my pens and other assorted unnecessary purchases, and I head back to my car.  At this point I'm juggling about 4 different plastic bags, and trying to rummage for my keys in my purse because I was too stupid to get them out before I decided to take home the store.  I finally get them out and hit "unlock".  I had no idea it didn't work, but soon find out when I try to open the door that the car was still locked.  I try my key a few more times and nothing.  Having known what happened to Scott, I was already aware that it was my turn to play Two Horns or Less.  The only problem was my massive collection of bags.  Instead of putting them down and taking care of it, I decide I can maneuver just as quickly while holding them.  Wrong.  I manually unlock the door and throw it open, to which the alarm starts blaring.  I then try to quickly get into the car, and fail miserably when one of my bags gets caught on the door handle.  So instead of the car already being started, the alarm is still going off and I'm in a wrestling match with a freaking plastic bag.  I yank really hard on the bag in an effort to set it free, but instead it rips and the contents spill out all over the pavement.  By this point it has literally been about 17 horns, and I've miserably failed at the game.  People are staring.  Some out of curiosity, others out of annoyance that I have yet to stop the alarm.  I momentarily abandon my pavement-splattered merchandise and start the car to get the gaping to stop.  Then, just like a scene out of Liberty City, I take off.

I immediately drive to the Jeep dealership to get it fixed, because I don't want to deal with it any longer than necessary.  When I arrive at the right place (the dealership had moved without my knowing, despite the apparent mailing of several notices, and billboards all around town that I never paid attention to), I have this conversation with the service employee:

Me: Something is wrong with the remote on my key.  The key itself works fine, but the remote no longer unlocks the doors.
Man: So your key isn't working?
Me: The key works.  The remote to unlock the doors doesn't.
Man:  Let me take it, I'll be right back.

I wait.  7-10 minutes later:

Man: Well, I don't see any problem with the key itself.  It still works.
Me:  Yes, I understand that.  It's the remote.
Man:  Oh, the remote!  You should have said that to begin with!
Me: .....ok.  How can I fix it?
Man:  Well, usually it's just the battery, or it needs to be reprogrammed.  That should fix it right up.  I'll be right back.

I wait.  19 minutes later (I counted):

Man:  Well, it was neither.  Turns out you need a whole new key.
Me:  Soo, it wasn't the easy to fix thing?
Man:  Nope, isn't that funny?
Me: Hilarious.

So, I need a new key.  They don't have the key in stock so I have to play Two Horns or Less all weekend (and Monday since it was Memorial Day).  Tuesday morning, I come in for my appointment and of course none of information about my appointment or what I need is in the system.

SAME Man: How can I help you?
Me:  I have an appointment to fix my key.
Man: Oh yes, hi! What was your name again?
Me: D-R-A...
Man: Ah yes, Nikki.  Hmm, your information is in here but nothing about your appointment.  Who did you speak with to make the appointment?
Me: ....Um, you?
(Long pause)
Man:  Oh, ha.  Yes.  Well let's just look this.  Hopefully we got the key ordered, amiright?
Me:  Yes, hopefully.  (At this point I give him the "Nikki stare."  People who know me well know what it is.  For those that don't, it's a combination of exasperation/total bitch).
Man:  Ah, here it is.  Looks like this was just not entered properly, but we're all set!

And turns out, we WERE all set.  Despite having NO recollection of me making an appointment with him, the service guy managed to order the right key and have it waiting for me.  And now I no longer have to play Two Horns or Less.  Nor do I have to look like I'm stealing my own car.  Hooray!


Pic 'o the Day (on a more serious note):

I know I'm a day late, but I don't think it's ever too late to remember what happened on June 6th, 1944.  I'm pretty sure I took this picture while in tears, and I will never forget my emotional experience visiting the cemetery and the beaches.  To all who fought (and still fight):  Thank You.

I like pictures.

It's Friday!  I've just numbed my brain with almost four hours of a commercial paper and negotiable instruments lecture (it's definitely as exciting as it sounds).  Sigh.  I guess it's good that I at least now know what commercial paper is.  So that's a step in the right direction. 

On another note, I got a brand new camera for graduation.  Here are some pics I've taken lately.  They're mostly of my dogs, because the dogs make excellent photo subjects, being all cute and playful and stuff.  These are also on my facebook, but since some of my loyal readers have released themselves from the vice grip of facebook addiction, I will post them here too.  Enjoy!

"I know I'm cute."

 In addition, she should probably play basketball.  She could dunk for sure.  

(Maybe not, but I'll pretend).

 She eventually caught the ball, and showed it who was boss.

The best-behaved dog.  Pretty much ever.

 So coy.

Aww.  Love.

So, I actually took this a while ago when I studied abroad for a summer, but

I edited it with my fun new editing stuff.

Hope everyone has a good weekend!  I know I said last entry that I'd be back soon with actual entries...and that's still true.  For the moment, I need to unscramble my brain.  So I'm off to do that.