appreciating filth

At lunch with my handful of law school friends, we ended up joking around about how we were convinced one of our professors ate crickets all day [yeah, don't ask]. A girl at the end of the table - one I had never spoken to before - shrugged, saying:
"Well, I bet there's a lot of protein in crickets."
"Yeah, but you can say the same thing about jizz too; doesn't mean both aren't completely disgusting to consume," I responded.

Her jaw dropped as I managed to finally snap mine shut. Oh shit, was I not in a bike shop?
Hang out at a bike shop for long enough and you end up in a blissful bubble of bicycles and jokes that go beyond "dirty" and enter into the realm of "completely socially unacceptable." Loiter constantly at one and you inevitable end up joining in on the crude jokes. Conversations concerning various bodily orifices and fluids become the norm. Nothing is off limits.
Which is a problem [apparently] when you have to go back to the professional graduate school environment of law school.

Not to mention that, on top of all trying to adjust to the school work, classes, and the concept of no free time, the last thing I needed to find out was that my sense of decency was as calloused as my hands. Sure, my go-to group of friends are all male; but that doesn't mean they aren't sometimes staring at me in disbelief. I hate to admit it, but even after a mere three months away, it takes a little time to adjust to social situations in which I'm actually the most obscene mouth around, not the least.
So, mindful of the company I'm in, I've been trying to keep things civil, muting my inner sailor while minimizing human contact. I feel like a fish out of water.

But just when I was trying to come up with a bike part or accessory that would lead me into the comfortable depths of a bike shop, and consequently the warm embrace of inappropriate jokes, an email popped into my inbox. Subject line: "quote of the day..."
"...from Brett..." it continued. Sent from inside a bike shop, I was immediately crinkling my nose is disgust. But smiling too. It's good to know [at least some] bike people share my disgustingly crude sense of humor.

beating bikes

School's officially starting on Monday
I use the term "starting" loosely, because I've been going to school almost every day this week. Mostly to hunch over a computer, hand poised over my mouse, cite-checking and making sure things are in correct Bluebook form. At least I'm not alone, though. A journal mate occupying the desk next to mine turned to look out the window, saying:
"Man, it's such a nice day out today too...Well, judging from the walk from my car to the school."
He turned to me when I laughed in response, adding,
"At least you bike here; you get to enjoy being outside a little."

True, but for how much longer? With the prospect of bike rides limited mostly to my pathetic commute to school, and concerns of what exactly I could write about every single day, by the end of the day, I was feeling as crumpled as the drain that I park in front of. And while the rollers are keeping my thighs on the firmer side of flabby, winter always seems to turn me into a mushy, stiff mess.

But climbing that hill on Comm Ave, and slowing to a crawl on my new-ish gearing, I almost laughed. A year and half ago, I was walking up this thing, with gearing that was significantly spinny-er. And I just rode down this same street no-handed. Something I couldn't do even two months ago.
Hopeful that the sun bathing the backs of my calves will somehow even out my ridiculous tan, I ran some errands around town in the last hours of daylight. And my bike luck turning, I ran into Boston's Cutest Messenger, riding, as usual, on the insane side of dangerous: clipless, brakeless, and helmetless.

Trying to keep my inner cougar from pouncing on him [he's 19. sigh. SIGH.], we rode for a few blocks together, me just a little ahead of him. And turning my head when he called out goodbye, I heard a bro-dude shout:
"You can beat him!"
Actually, I couldn't even if I tried. I was also furiously winded after trying to actually stay ahead of Boston's Cutest. The planned attack on the following hills were done with half-hearted enthusiasm between slightly uncomfortable gulps of air. Man, I'm slow and weak.
School's only going to make all this worse. But surprisingly, I think I'm okay with that. At least for [right] now.
I'm a busy girl. And perfection's tough, you know?
[And yes, it is Rapha Scarf Friday...]

this is taxing

In T minus too few hours, I'll be going Chernobyl on a tax exam. Or more accurately, I will be attempting to survive the nuclear winter that will be my tax law exam.
I'm in good company, at least. Misery, a common theme this time of year, still manages to make itself useful by forging bonds of solidarity. As a few friends and I navigated the intricacies and tiny little details of the tax code for a few hours this morning, fluctuating between comprehension and utter confusion [yes, even with the exam less than 24 hours away], there was the unspoken understanding that if we fail, we'll fail together. And until then, we were going to pretend that that just wasn't a possibility.

Dragging my feet back to my carrel after the study session, a friend who sits at the carrel next to mine spotted me in the hall and held up a hand for a high five. I reciprocated weakly, half missing his hand, mentally thanking God it wasn't Zack at Cambridge who would undoubtedly make me do it over and over again until my palm was numb. I sighed at my ineptness and stepped to walk past him when he asked:
"Do you know why I just gave you a high five?"
"No." [I mean, did there have to be a reason???]
"You're getting published."
He took three steps past me before I realized what that meant. I shrieked a little too loudly, and attempted to hug him before he pushed me away in feigned disgust, muttering something about how he now needed to take a shower. The failed hug was made up by a subsequently successful one with another friend and journal-mate who was also selected for publication. My fantasy of getting my name [and note!] in the Westlaw database is actually coming true [in Spring 2010].
That means more work, more time in the library, more pounding my head into walls over the issue of homonymous names of geographic indicators of cheese in the European Union. But those are things to worry about next winter. For now, as taxing as my current situation is [pun totally totes intended], the news gave me a much-needed academic ego boost and sort of hinted at the possibility that maybe I don't completely suck at all things legal.
...Well, that might not include tax law, though...
[And yes, the pictures of papers all over my desk will stop soon.]