I'm so flattered!

So, today, I was sitting in legal research techniques, and we learned how to search recent blog entries. So, because I am a narcissistic schmuck, I decided that I would look myself up - how many superbees can there be bouncing through etherspace... I came across a blog page that talked about how funny I was! Yes, it also discussed my strange post about not having a job...that's actually probably one of my best posts, by the way... But the bottom line is thank you, to the countless numbers of you out there who are apparently reading this, that I don't know exist. Oh, the page also thought I was a chick. I guess that could happen...even though it says my name is (SOMETHING) ...maybe I'll have to insert more references in about my wang, my chest hair, and using tools...

It got me a lil' scurred though.

I mean... I've talked a little shit in this blog. I wasn't aware that anyone would actually care what I wrote, but apparently people do. I have a few blogs that I'm addicted to - and it's very funny those that draw our attention, no? A blog that I make sure to keep up with is published by a suburban mother in Alabammy. Although I venerate and adore my mother (how could I not? The lady's kept me in fancy jeans, education and good advice for the last 24 years) and obviously think of her as an incredibly intelligent and capable being, and while she has plenty of outlets for her creativity, I wonder what it'd be like to have a window into her uncensored, unedited, and bare thoughts. So I read this other mother's blog, because although I realize that my mom thinks, it's strange for me to realize that all of her thoughts aren't...centered...around me!

The Southern Mother is the polar opposite of my mother in just about every way, but the two have similar writing styles, and so I read her blog, and am usually captivated by her lists, or her topic du jour and whatever she writes, because it is so different from what I grew up with. And yet in some senses the same. And it's fascinating to me to get a glimpse into a solid Southern Christian family (I will fiercely defend my name as a Yankee, despite being from Maryland) when I grew up in a family with a decidedly New England twist on good ole' boring Judaism.

I don't know. 1) It's interesting the people whose blogs we read 2) It's interesting to think that anyone would find my ramblings and bumblings worthy of being read and 3) Oh, god, if I'm talkin' smack, there is simply no way it's not going to haunt me eventually. Ho-hum. I suppose I could get out there and delete anything that I've ever said that might offend people, but nah.

So. Another thought - today was my last day of school. Ever. I am not going to go back for an LLM and I don't want to get a masters. I am almost a doctor. A Doctor of Juris.

That reminds me of a hilarious story, that will doubtless not translate well in blogform. Second year in law school, many of us went to Vizcaya's annual Halloween Gala. At 100 bucks a ticket, with an open bar, you'd better believe all of us were gonna drink our faces off. My costume that year was a jellyfish. I spent hours painstakingly spraypainting my clear dome umbrella blue, and taping shiny metallic blue and silver streamers to it, along with opalescent cellophane. I made a little necklace out of sponge fish that I was "eating" and wore all blue. We got to Vizcaya, my awkward costume in hand, trailing streamers, and looking generally...ridiculous (Has there ever been a Halloween where I didn't look like a total retard? Last year was the worst, when I ran into all the lawyers from my firm, drunk on Lincoln Road, while I was dressed like a camp counselor from 1981 -- short shorts, high socks...amber glasses...a whistle... it was a bad scene.) Of course the Miami police department confiscated my entire costume because the umbrella was a "Poking hazard metal spike" and I could get it when I left (ha!).

Dejected from the umbrella snatchery occasioned on me by the corrupt Miami Dade Police Department, who were zealously safeguarding the corneas of every Halloween reveler at Vizcaya that night, I got...wasted.

No, wasted doesn't begin to describe what I got. Triple fisting for hours on end, I eventually found myself separated from my friends, wandering down U.S. 1, bleeding, and with no phone. After I walked a good 5.5 miles, totally ham-tarded, shitcanned, and fucked up, I realized that I simply could not walk another step in my uncomfortable Diesel sneakers (Erik, sorry. I like Diesel...) (Never go for a long walk in Diesel sneakers. They're not made for it.) and after searching in vain for my phone, which had been lost, I threw myself on a cab, got home, and passed out.

The next day, as I counted my numerous U.D.I's (Unidentified drunken injuries) which still mark my skin to this day, the most serious of the injuries appeared to be that I had somehow broken my nose (I'm betting that was when I fell face down on the coral steps at the mansion). My friend Alexandra, upon hearing the news of my broken nose exclaimed, "Let us look at it! We're Doctors! Doctors of Juris!"

Aren't you glad you read through that entire entry for that feeble punchline? Heh. heh. heh.

Well, I'm about to become a doctor of juris. I wonder, though, do I get to start attaching Esq. to my name when I graduate from law school? Or after I pass the bar? Hmmm... social conventions... I'd better check on that...

And something else that I've realized as I sit here, wasting precious hours that I could be using to study Federal Income Tax - this blog blows unless I'm talking shit on people. So, from now on, it's all shit-talking, all the time. It's the only thing I'm really good at. :)