And I'm spent....

So I survived the bar exam. I can't think of anything to say about it, but I do have a few highlights:

On the way down to Columbus, the Subaru in front of me had a license plate that said JJH 778. JJH are my initials, and 778 adds up to the same number that my exam number (958) adds up to (22). (I like adding numbers when I drive). I thought this was a good sign.

I had a kingsize bed. I have never had a kingsize bed. I slept sideways in my kingsize bed because I could.

I sat next to Perpetual Sigher. Every five minutes or so, Perpetual Sigher would heave the heaviest of sighs. They were seriously like he was taking a last breath, but then he'd do it again so I knew he wasn't dying. By the end of the first hour I had to restrain myself from shouting "Shut the fuck up! At least let me read the question first before I get your commentary on it and we can both fucking sigh together!!!". There is a rule against talking during the exam; I think that statement would be considered talking.

Perpetual Sigher was taking the bar for the fourth or fifth time. Daniel and I figured out that the odds that two people at the same table will fail the exam are roughly 6000:1. Oddly enough, I don't like those odds. :heavy sigh:

32 hours to go

So this is it. Thirty-two hours until the bar exam. I feel like an alien is going to pop out of my stomach, like Alien or Spaceballs, but in my case it will not kill me or start singing Al Jolson but will instead recite the rule against perpetuities ("no interest is good unless it must vest, if at all, not later than 21 years after some life in being at the creation of the interest") dressed in a black robe and a white barristers wig while banging a gavel against my forehead before preceeding to tell me that its been weeks since I've had my eyebrows done and I should really think about doing something with my hair because it has absolutely gone to shit.

Ugh. Tell me when it's over.

You'll Love David's Bridal

So I heard today what was quite possibly the most uncomfortable one-sided conversation I have ever heard in my entire life. I was waiting for the salesman at David's Bridal (yes, I said salesMAN) to give me my dress for Kathy's wedding when I overheard him on the phone.
"Hi, can I speak to Sharon, please?"
Silence.
"Hi Sharon, this is Mark from David's Bridal. I wanted to see if you wanted to schedule an appointment to come in and look at some of our dresses for your upcoming wedding."
Silence.
"I see that you have a wedding scheduled in February."
Silence.
"Oh, well what is the date for your wedding?"
Long silence.
"Oh. Well. Um, if you ever do get a date for your wedding, please give us a call so that we can--Hello? Hello??"

Poor Sharon. She's better off without him.

Rain drops keep falling on my head

So I never thought I'd say this, but....yesterday I hated the rain.

I had to go to the post office to put something in the mail. First, an explanation: I live under the delusion that if I actually go into the post office and put my letter in the slot, it will somehow be delivered faster than if I put my mail in the little blue drive up mailboxes. I know it's silly; I know there is no Sméagol-like creature back there whose only job is to wait for me to put my mail down the slot so that he can grab it and scan it and run it to the mail truck as fast as his spindly legs can carry him all the while stroking it and calling it his Precious. I realize all of this. But it makes me feel better to physically take my letter into the post office--I feel like I have done something constructive in getting the letter to its final destination.

So anyway, I went to the post office. Of course, the minute I pull into the parking lot the heavens open up and Perfect Storm erupts. Hail, lightning, torrential downpour...and me in a white t-shirt and straight hair. After a few minutes hoping in vain it would let up a little, I decided I was just going to leave the car door unlocked, run in, and run out. Once I had settled on the dash and deliver approach, I prepared myself to go outside. Just as I was placing my hand on the doorhandle, Zeus hurled a huge lightning bolt in my general vicinity. I screamed and instinctively locked the car door (as if to keep out the lightning?). I ran into the post office, slipping and sliding and finally placed the more-trouble-than-it-was-worth letter in the slot (from which I did not hear a comforting gollum). I waited in the doorway of the post office for a few seconds and, realizing the tempest was not going to let up, I ran to the door and tried the handle. No dice. I ran around to the other side. No such luck. I tried the rear doors. Nothing. Through the pouring rain I looked through the window and realized to my horror not only had I locked myself out of the car, I had also left the car running. Through the wind and rain I could hear Howie from the local talk radio station warning everyone of the severe weather and telling people to get inside. As I was already completely soaked, I walked slowly into the post office to see if I could use their telephone. It was then that I had a second horrible pair of realizations: 1) I didn't know anyone's phone number but my mother's; 2) I had talked to my mother earlier in the day and she said she was going to be gone for the afternoon doing errands. I called my mother anyway and tried to leave a calm message while I kept the string of obscenities in check.

Two hours later my amazing sister came with a spare key.

I hate the rain. In limited circumstances. And I'm thinking of getting my keys grafted to my wrist. And I may just start using those little blue drive up boxes instead.

Here comes the bride

So I think this story is a good example of my attitude towards weddings.

I was at the wedding of my friends from college Jon and Hallie. Gorgeous wedding, gorgeous couple, etc., etc. I am there (of course) with a gay man because that's just how I roll. The food was good, company excellent, the music was fun, but then came the part that all single women HATE at weddings.....the bouquet toss. I had not planned to go up: I didn't know anyone besides the bride and groom and since I was not family I was not required to participate in the sardonic ritual. But my darling friend René was also a bridesmaid, and she dragged me out to the dance floor with a dozen little 14 year-old cousins of the happy couple. Right before the toss, René looked at me and said "Jessica, you know you're going to get the bouquet." "I'm not even going to try." I replied.

When the bride tossed the bouquet it made a bee-line for my head. In an effort not to get clocked in the head by orchids, I instinctively put my hands up to protect my face. In the confusion, I somehow ended up holding the bouquet.

I apologize in advance if the wedding video shows me mouthing the words "Oh, fuck."