Letter to Myself at 22

This is me at 27 years, and 1 month old.  So far, so good.  I like 27. Twenty-seven is my lucky number!  It's also my golden birthday this year.  (You know, you turn the age of your date of birth.  My birthday is July 27, so hence 27 on the 27th).  

Today is actually one of my long-time friend's birthday (Happy Birthday, Dani!) and I awoke to one of the best presents she could give me on her own birthday in my inbox.  It was a picture of me at 22 that really made me stop and think of all that has occurred in my life in those 5 years and how much has changed.  I had the sudden urge to want to tell that bright-eyed, rosy cheeked past version of myself how it would all be okay and to help calm her fears of the future.  My thoughts went a little something like this:

Dear Me,

I know you might feel like an idiot right now, but cheer up buttercup! Life is going to get so much better for you!  Or at least your life will one day be better because of the things that will soon happen to you.  You know all those nights in the Dungeon studying and missing out on fun stuff with your friends?  They will pay off!  I hate to break it to you, but soon you're going to move somewhere far away from your life that you've established for the last 22 years.  And you won't enjoy it as much as you thought you might.  And, uh, law school kinda blows too.  

But there are totally a bunch of awesome things you find out about yourself!  Totes!  You know how I said you'd hate law school and Miami and all that stuff?  Well, it turns out that you're one tough chick and are strong enough to weather that blustering storm that most of your experience turns out to be.  

You know what else?  Despite how you feel at the moment in this picture, you are one smart cookie!  I know we doubted it all those years, but law school will really whip your mind into shape and give you the confidence to utilize this one of many genetic gifts that you possess!  It takes about two years for you to figure it out and BELIEVE it, but it will happen soon enough  :)  

I'll leave some mystery to the next 5 years of your life, but you should go visit Grandma and Grandpa more often.  You already know they won't live forever.  

Oh, and one last thing.  Continue to buy Crest with Baking Soda and Peroxide and say, "YES!" when someone suggests you buy Crest Whitestrips at Costco on that trip in Miami.  Even though you don't use them for very long, they get 'er done.  Avoid red lipstick until this occurs.  

Enjoy the next five years, Jessica at Twenty-Two!

"You'd Make a Lovely Cocaine Dealer"

So, at my current place of employment, there are two floors, and there are about 100 employees who roam around during the day.  Needless to say, there are some interesting folk.  As the receptionist, I happen to see most of these people on a daily basis, some more often than I'd care to.  One colleague in particular happens to have the most off-the-wall sense of humor I've encountered in a work setting.  Wait, did I mention that he's really good looking?  Like, he-looks-like-Matt-Damon-good-looking?

I should preface these little gold nuggets of wisdom with the fact that I only run into Matt Damon Look-alike if he brings his milkshake to the reception yard or if we are both in the lunch room together.

These conversations speak for themselves.  You're welcome.  Behold:

Scene 1: Matt Damon-Look-alike (hereinafter MDL) appears before me at reception while I'm still studying for the bar exam at work.  (God, I love this place.)


MDL:   "How's the studying going?" (Everyone apparently caught wind of the fact that the receptionist had a law degree. I told a few people and found out how quickly intraoffice instant messenger creates rumors. I actually happened to tell him personally, however. Some people took a real interest in it and were very sweet about it, including him.)

Me:       "Alright, just trying to read as much as possible."

MDL:   "The test is about memorization, right?  You should try that ginko biloba stuff."

Me:       "Well, the memorization isn't the hard part, it's just trying to find the time."

MDL:   "Or you could try cocaine?"

Me:      I smile sarcastically.  "That's an excellent suggestion, I'll try that."

MDL walks away pleased with himself.




Scene 2: MDL appears before me at reception.  I pretend to act non-chalant.  You'll see why.

MDL:  "So, how's it going?"

Me:      "Good."

MDL:   "You glad to be done with the test?

Me:       "Very!  Except that now I don't know what to do with my life."

MDL:    Pauses briefly for thought.  "You should take the MCATs, that test to get into medical school?"

Me:       "Nah, I already have enough debt as it is however awesome it would be to be both a lawyer and a doctor."

MDL:   "No, not to actually go to medical school--" (I have a bad habit of interrupting.  Note to self:  work on that!)

Me:       "--oh, to just take the test?"

MDL:   "Yeah, you should just take every standardized test there is!"

Me:       "That's a horrible really good idea."

MDL:   "Or!  You could get a truck driving license and haul 10 ton gasoline tankers and have a barbeque on the back!"

Me:      "You know, if this law thing doesn't pan out, I should look into that.  Maybe the hazard pay will pay off my student loans faster than working at McDonalds."

That's all I remember from that conversation.  I think it ended in awkward laughter and hurried footsteps down the hall.


Scene 3:  I feel the urge to say, "Hi," to MDL at his cubicle and feign poor cell reception in an effort to cleverly disguise said urge.


Me:  "Oh, so this is where you sit!  Wait, you sit here alone?  Why isn't anyone else in these cubes?"

MDL:  "Every time someone sits near me they mysteriously leave.  Be careful over here, you might get fired if you're here too long."

Me:     "I'm a temp, I'm leaving anyway."

MDL:  "Well, just be careful."

Me:  Noticing a suitcase next to him. "You going somewhere?"

MDL:  "Yeah, I'm going to a wedding and then to Texas for work."

Me:  "Oh, I'm jealous!  I've always wanted to go to Texas!"

MDL:  Examines state of black, beaten up suitcase.  "Look at this thing, it's so beat up, the zippers are all gone.  I borrowed it from my gir--- a girl who used to be my girlfriend."

Me:  Trying to hide my shock at awkward moment.  "That's nice of her."

MDL:  "I use it more than she does.  I should just buy it off her!  You know, you should never let me borrow your luggage."

Me:  "Mine's pink.  I don't know that you'd want to."

MDL:  "It would be easy to spot."

Me:  "It is quite helpful at baggage claim."

MDL:  "So, how's the studying going? (Again, a very common question during those two months.)

Me:  "Well, I get two weeks off starting Monday and I'm really starting to feel the heat!  I'm commuting and it's really hard to get all the studying in that I need, so I basically live with my face shoved in that giant book I'm always reading."

MDL:  "You know, you should get out, take a walk, change gears for a while.  That helps me when I'm stressed.  Or there's always cocaine."

Me:  "I have absolutely not considered this option.  Except that I don't know where to get it."

MDL:  "I could always put you in contact with one of my dealers.  I know a few people here.  America's Sweetheart is one of them.  (Sidebar:  America's Sweetheart is one of our co-workers who happens to be one of the nicest people you'll ever meet.  She's always putting others first.)

Me:  Distracted momentarily by America's Sweetheart's hubby walking down the hall.  (Yes, America's Sweetheart and her husband are both employed at the same place.  As the same occupation.  It's like eating an entire chocolate bar and falling into a diabetic coma it's so sweet. )  "....as Mr. America's Sweetheart walks by...."  

MDL:  Eyes Mr. Sweetheart as well and beckons him over to his cubicle as I inwardly wince in anticipation of the following conversation.  "Mr. Sweetheart, wouldn't you say that your wife would be the top of the list of people who would be least likely to sell drugs?"

Mr. S:  Appears dumbfounded and at a total loss for words.  He recovers slowly.  "You mean would she be the first person you'd go to to buy drugs?"

MDL:  "Just the opposite.  Wouldn't she be at the top of the list of people least likely to sell drugs?  I mean, she's like the nicest woman in the world."

Mr. S.:  Finally catches on.  "Well, what kind of drugs?"

MDL:  "Cocaine."

Mr. S:  "Mmm I don't know about cocaine, but maybe marijuana.  She'd probably be the one to make sure everyone else was having a good high and that they had enough munchies."


Not only did this conversation truly occur, but it occurred on two other similar occasions within a three week span.  It may or may not have involved America's Sweetheart herself.  Hey, at least he keeps us on our toes!

Receptionist, J.D.

As with all recent graduates at any level, but probably more specifically at the college level, there is a certain culture shock that comes with finishing one's education.  For several (seven and a half) years, I dedicated my life to making my brain sharper, honing my lawyering skills, increasing my earning capacity, all for the goal of making this world a better place.  My bedroom in college was lovingly refered to as The Dungeon because I gave up so many evenings and weekends burning the midnight oil so that I could get sufficient grades for law school admittance.  Luckily, this trick worked.  So when I returned home from my lavish European vacay my last summer of law school in July 2009, I thought it would take a couple of months to find some sort of employment.  I knew the state of the job front was horrid but I was prepared, or so I thought.

With the knowledge that I was embarking on my endeavor to pass the bar exam in February 2010 and would need to start studying January 1 (okay, January 2), 2010, I had a hard time figuring out what type of job I should be looking for.  I can hear you asking now:  "But Jess, didn't you take out a loan the size of a mortgage for a mansion on the rolling plains of Kansas in order to learn how to be a lawyer?  Shouldn't you be looking for a LEGAL job?"  Well my friends, you would be correct in your line of questioning (court room reference not intended), however I only have a law degree.  Which, apparently, is insufficient these days. . . overly sufficient is more accurate.

I read an article in some legal publication noting how law firms who promised employment to their superstar summer associates upon graduation from law school were postponing their start dates for at least a year.  365 days.  A whole rotation around the sun.  It's not like receiving an education qualifies you for unemployment!  That's an eternity to wait to begin your legal career.  I was not offered employment (although I am a superstar), but from this article all signs from my awesome powers of deduction are pointing out that I ain't getting a job as a law clerk.  This is what I would normally expect to do upon graduation were this a normal economy. 

As I'm scouring Craigslist and Monster, I'm quickly realizing that all notions of beginning a career as a Legal Secretary are out of the question as well.  Sure, I am familiar with interrogatories, requests for production of documents, appellate briefs and how to format them because I WROTE THEM IN LAW SCHOOL.  But do I have 3-5 years experience doing this?  Not a chance.  My dreams of being someone's personal assistant are shattered.

I'm also realizing that I can't even become a paralegal because I need a CERTIFICATE for something I'm already very capable of doing because I WENT TO LAW SCHOOL.  Paralegals are fake, baby lawyers who do more grunt work like call for couriers to file pleadings at the courthouse, schedule motion dates and possess a far more cursory knowledge of the law because they didn't go to law school.  However, the level of knowledge of the paralegal is dependent upon how stupid the paralegal is to begin with.  But such is life, and also an excellent reason why I'd be a far superior paralegal than most paralegals.  I digress. 

So what do I do with this newfound knowledge?  Immediately begin filing out 45 applications to Starbucks. Turns out I'm not a desirable barista either, despite my daily Skinny Vanilla 5-pump Latte consumption. 

I also turn to my network, beginning with my biggest networker in the entire world--my mother!  As an animal groomer, she has a bazillion clients and she tells every single one of them that her daughter is in law school with such pride.  You can't pay for that kind of advertising.  Luckily, one of said clients is a legal headhunter in San Francisco and she hooks me up with a job!  Woo hoo!  The prospect of working at Starbucks was pretty grim, but the networking hath saved my unemployed soul! 

I was warned the job wasn't glamorous and was only two days.  No kidding--we worked in a storage warehouse assisting the records clerk of a law firm in finding three files out of 1,000.  However, it did turn into a month-long position because the records clerk loved me and the other temp so much!  Oh yeah, and I guess she needed more help, too. 

After that stint in the vicinity of the legal field, the job blotter fell silent.  I had the records clerk position in September, and was still unemployed in November.  I even applied as a Dog Walker, Extraordinnaire.  Finally, I got a call to work as a seasonal employee at Macy's!  Hooray for a Macy's discount!  I had the good fortune of working at the Clinique counter and not some loser brand like Origins.  Or that one they discontinued that I can't recall.  Oh well, not my counter, sucka.  Unfortunately, there is no discount on makeup.  Boo. 

Then I took the bar exam (the first time), blah, blah, blah, and voila! I am temping for four months, bitches!  Thank the unemployment gods for this thing called receptionists on maternity leave!  I actually took the job three days before I discovered to my utter horror that I failed the bar exam and had to study again, but that's a whole other blog. 

I really love it here as the people are so wonderful.  I think I may cry on my last day.  No, seriously.  I even mentioned in my interview (against all reason and recommendation from said headhunter) that I may fail the bar exam and would begin studying again.  They said, "No problem, we'll work out time off for you."  Glorious, unbridled sympathy.  And my bosses let me study during work.  How awesome is that?!  Pretty fucking amazing, let me tell you. 

You might also be wondering, "Hey, aren't these jobs, like, beneath you, or something?"  My response?  Hell to the no!  Am I capable of writing a 30-page appellate brief with enough bravado and legal expertise to get an immigrant detainee released and allow him to continue living his life in the United States?  Of course!  Do I miss contributing to society on this level?  Most certainly.  Am I able to help make the world a better place, one scanned PDF of a fax at a time?  You betcha!  My work ethic is such that I make it my goal to do the best job possible at whatever job I do so that I'm proud of myself at the end of the day.  Until I pass the bar exam and until I find an attorney position thereafter, I will happily work as an overqualified receptionist while wearing a smile.

The Tale of the Midget Mallet

My first semester of my 1L year (aka when I was in my first year of law school, for those who are of the non-legal begal variety) was nothing short of boring and terrifying with intermitten spurts of fun all wrapped in one sweaty, humid tropical cloud.  Reading for class for the first few months was like reading Spanish; I speak Spanish like a kindergartener, if you're picking up what I'm putting down.  In all fairness, I did manage to get around Spain and Italy on my ordering and directive Spanish skills.  Can I speak 100% of this romantic, beautiful language?  Hell no!  And so it was with the law.  I had to look up every other word, substitute its meaning and then read, re-read, re-read, and read aloud until something made sense.   It was terrifying because of this stupid thing called the "Socratic Method" where law professors call on students at random and ask questions to get to the point of the day's lecture.  Socrates must have been pretty bored with talking and just decided to force his students to talk to prevent himself from developing laryngitis.  Did I mention that you didn't know if you were getting called on EVER?  See?  Terrifying.

This is where the boring part comes in.  Do you know how boring and frustrating it is to read something you can't understand?  You know, like IKEA furniture directions?  What's far more boring is that reading law is not a social event.  You can't have casebook clubs and all read aloud and drink coffee and eat pastries.  In this rodeo, you're the lone cowboy.  I thought this until I learned better.  Moreover, it takes FOREVER to read something until you DO understand it.  For instance, I had 2-3 classes per day.  I don't remember my exact schedule, but let's say I had Civ Pro at 9am then Contracts at 11, then Torts at 3.  In order to be prepared, one is expected to have read all the material assigned for the day, which is around 30 pages.  FOR EACH CLASS.  After a few weeks, I learned that I could average 10 pages an hour while reading.  So, 10 pages per hour, 30 pages per class, that's 3 hours per class.  I'm no mathematician, but that's a long fucking time to read for all three classes.  They want us to read 9 hours a day AND show up to class AND sleep?  Where was this in the brochure? 

I think you get the picture of how miserable my life was for a few months until I figured out that a) I wasn't going to read all the material every day, and b) I needed friends so that I wouldn't continually have the urge to stab myself in the eye with a fork.  I moved to Miami not knowing a soul except for my roommate, whom I only met while looking at his house for all of 2 hours.  This was rough for Miss Social Butterfly McLawyer pants.

While I was in Miami, I eventually met a great group of friends and some of them have grown to become people I keep in touch with almost daily.  Okay, I only contact one of them daily, but who's counting?   We'll call him Irish Whimsy.  I finally realized that studying at school in the breezeway in the center of the law school provided far more entertainment and opporunity for conversation than my lovely lavender bedroom wall.  One night, we were far past being noobs but still struggling with our current legal writing assignment.  We were partnered in our legal writing classes and turned in one document for one grade.  The deadline was looming, and my partner (we'll call her SuperStar because, um, she was?!) and I began staying after school far past dusk until we were welted from all the fucking mosquito bites just so that we could perfect our Motion for Summary Judgment, as did the rest of the 1L class.  (For all you aspiring Grammar Whores such as myself, "judgment" only contains one "e".)

One such night, Irish Whimsy and I are packing up, and walking to our cars in the same area of the parking lot.  I should mention a few tid bits about Irish Whimsy.  One, he's Irish.  Two, he's really, really tall.  Like 6'2 or something.  To me that's like Shaquille O'Neill tall, and I've stood next to the hoop star in person.  Should I mention that I'm 4'11"?  Probably.  So we're walking to our cars, 50-pound backpacks and laptops in tow when Irish Whimsy looks down at me and the following occurs:

IW:  "I think I'm gonna call you Midget Mallet from now on." 

Me:  "Um, what?  What the fuck is a midget mallet and why are you going to refer to me as one?" 

IW:  "Because you look like you got hit with one!"

Me:  (With a seriously quizzical yet amused look on my face) Seriously what is a midget mallet?

IW:  (Aglow with whimsy)  You know?!  A mallet that you hit people with on the head to make them midgets?!  You're so short it looks like you got hit with one!!!!


He wasn't kidding either; he not only called me that but it caught on throughout our group.  Now it's lovingly evolved to just Midge  :)