Tag Archives: Law

Paranoia, Pessimism & Prescription Medication

28 Jul

ImageI have returned from a full-blown mid week mini break vacation (by myself) to the sad reality that I start the post-graduate law program tomorrow. My subsequent state of disarray finds me lacking previous paralegal employment (having quit a week and a half ago), in possession of no relevant textbooks (see aforementioned unemployment) and no boyfriend (read current position: bath with wine, soon to be: bed with wine and sleeping tablet).

* No, I’m no one’s wife, but oh, I love my life! *

My delightfully named “suicide holiday” in the mountains consisted of me watching movies, ordering room service and reading J.K Rowling’s rather expensive new book (expensive insofar as I had to buy a Kindle to read it as it was sold out in print). I did manage to get out for a nice walk with some tourists past some rocks and a missing person sign only to return a couple of hours later with cheese, crackers, olives and wine for a little indoor picnic. Not satisfied with eating a wheel of brie I cooked some noodles in the kettle and watched Seinfeld. Cut to me being woken by housekeeping at 8.30am with food scattered everywhere and the TV still on. I asked her to come back later and quickly got up and packed. It turned out I hadn’t finished the wine from the night before so I decided rather than let it sit in my bag and sweat or leave it at the hotel I’d just polish it off (all part of a balanced breakfast). Then I checked out and came home. A solid two days of masquerading as a shut in.

* There’s always going to be a part of me that’s sloppy and dirty, but I like that. With all the other parts of myself. *

At least I wasn’t the couple in the next room having furious coitus to Somebody That I Used To Know.

* That’s all I have to say about that. *

About a week prior I realized it had been far too long since I’d been intoxicated in a social setting. So, when I was a few bottles deep in slut juice I decided it was time to make like Beyoncé’s shoulders and Emma Watson’s eyebrows and get fierce. My friend hid our bags in a locked cubicle like they were Jaden and Will Smith and we partied till 5am. As it turns out I may or may not have met someone (who we shall call Josh Duhamel) and we have been texting him on the regular ever since.

* You know how it is. New school, new babe pool. *

I’ve noticed that I’m the type of person that likes to play games with other people. Not just because I’m manipulative and enjoy feeling superior but also because I like to feel as though there is some set of rules governing the awkwardness that dominates the majority of my attempts at general human interaction and by extension my recent endeavor to woo Mr. Duhamel.

* I’m gonna go talk to some food about this. *

I’m not, by way of association, proclaiming a love of sports. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. You’d think I’d share the plebian fascination with meatheads and a large variety of balls, but alas, those two things are only amusing in a metaphorical sense. Perhaps this dislike stems from the time my father heckled me when I accidentally landed, posterior first, on a soccer ball shooting it into the air like some horrible parody of a Ping-Pong show. Or more than likely it’s because the people who play professional sports seem to be only a couple of evolutionary steps away from flinging poo at each other.

* Hammer-throw. Definitely. *

Either way, I suppose what I’m trying to say is I don’t enjoy playing games unless they’re on my terms. Going from texts that make Yao Ming look short to absolutely nothing is making me worry. As my friend succinctly put it “we’re smart and therefore impatient  – we don’t want our time wasted because we’re busy gals!”

* Is there some reason that my coffee isn’t here? Has she died or something? *

He’s still pretty cute though.

* One time, she met John Stamos on a plane and he told her she was pretty. *

I also had a very satisfactory encounter with my ex a couple of evenings after meeting Mr. Duhamel. Emilio Estevez (formerly knows as “the ex”) literally threw himself at me yelling “you’re my favorite person!” and “I miss you!” He even went so far as to text me (in a ham-handed attempt at making me jealous) later in the evening, telling me that the guy he was there with is “100% the biggest straighty 180. I would never flaunt. Or be a big fucker.” To which I replied with a picture of a takeaway restaurant and a happy emoji.

* Farewell, mortal bus-boy! *

Seeing him realize what a huge mistake he made dumping me in the first place is almost as satisfying as mixing prescription medication and alcohol. I do feel a bit bad for him. I mean he does have a lot of emotions. They’re just bottled up with the issues surrounding his parent’s divorce and his ability to talk without shattering glass.

* Big mistake. Big. Huge. I have to go shopping now. *

Really though, emotions are just like a big crying baby vying for your attention. They wail and wail until you pick them up to find they have carefully concealed a diaper full of poop and you’re stuck with the thankless task of cleaning them up – having all of your senses violated in the process.

* Smells like Bigfoot’s dick! *

Whatever, I don’t need emotions or a boyfriend anyhow. As Aristotle said “The law is reason free from passion.”

* Wish me luck, Bruiser. *

23

5 Apr

Image

Two days after turning 23, Friday night finds me alone after half a bottle of red, crying in the shower with sour cream in my eye. Let’s shift it back about half an hour before I had visions of the same scenario 30 years on where I break my hip and drown childless and alone smelling like a Cabernet cream sauce.

* This is worse than the time the raccoon got in the copier! *

I’ve just finished the four-course dinner I’d made for myself: bacon and eggs, crackers and dip, after dinner nachos followed by ice cream covered with the remains of a Lindt chocolate bunny. Lying on my bed, shirtless, but still in my work pants and shoes. I get some cat hair up my nose and start sneezing. Rubbing my nose and then my eye. I begin to feel a white-hot burning sensation. Lucky for me I was typing at the time. So in between realizing it’s not chlamydia and running to the fridge I managed to record my stream of consciousness:

THERE’S DEFINITELY SOMETHING WRONG…IT FEELS LIKE MY EYE HAS BEEN COVERED IN TABASCO SAUCE THEN ROLLED IN GLASS! IS THIS WHAT CHILDBIRTH FEELS LIKE?! IS THIS WHY WOMEN HATE MEN FOR GETTING THEM PREGNANT?! THERE’S DEFINITELY A GIANT FIRE DEMON BEING BORN FROM THIS PAIN IN MY EYEBALL! IT IS THE EYE OF SAURON!!!!!

* A woman’s whole life in a single day. Just one day. And in that day her whole life. *

Not to mention I’ve already put off exercise for a week because I’m now two years shy of a quarter century and my best years are behind me. I also feel like I’ve just killed Santa Claus. And not in the funny “I’ve got a new job ho-ho-ho” Tim Allen kind of way. The “I’ve just found out my childhood has been a cluster-fuck of lies and now I’m old and jaded and I look like a Salvador Dali painting without my clothes on” kind of way.

* Your life is like Gossip Girl, only everyone is old and poor. *

Even the angry 13-year-old girl that is my subconscious wants me to suffer. The two dreams I can remember having since Wednesday include:

  1. Going back in time to find my ex boyfriend, using my knowledge of future him to make him fall in love with me before telling him I was, in fact, from the future. Rookie error. Don’t ever stop giving them the love potion just because you think that they actually love you. That’s what the potion is meant to do. So of course, he tries to kill me.
  2. I meet a hot guy at a bus stop (I know, I know. My dreams may not be glamorous but they are realistic and depressing) who I try to flirt with and get shut down. He then proceeds to tell me he is in fact gay but not interested. Preferring instead to prod my body that wasn’t sculpted in the gay steel mills of America and giggle.

* I suddenly realized that unless something changed soon I was going to live a life where my major relationship was with a bottle of wine.[1] *

But enough of the self-pity, I also did stupid things while intoxicated:

  1. I swapped shirts with someone
  2. I played a version of 3 Men 30[2]
  3. It was 4 Men 30
  4. I got a bus home because I was saving money
  5. I fell asleep, drooled on myself and it looked like pee
  6. I sent an oddly coherent and cutting message to Mitch Buchannon
  7. I threw up in the shower
  8. I did some drunk online shopping[3]

Oh and then I applied for postgrad law.

* Do you think she just woke up one morning and said, ‘I think I’ll go to law school today’? *

Yep.

Time to put on Bridget Jones’s Diary and play my favourite game: Reciting all the lines word for word and finishing my bottle of wine.


[1] Coincidentally a close friend sent out invites to her party asking people to let her know if they wanted a plus one for their partner or in my case if I wanted to bring a “significant bottle of wine.”

[2] A game invented on the night of my 21st birthday where 2 friends and I had to hook up with 3 different guys in under 30 minutes.

[3] I really don’t need a minimalist poster of Finding Nemo or an UP Grape Soda pin replica. I blame it on listening to my Disney mix before bed.