my overpriced legal education...

I'm tired. My son didn't sleep at all last night, which meant for the second night in a row, neither did I. I'm feeling a little bitter about being at work... Don't get me wrong, I love my job and I love being a lawyer. But for now, let me introduce you to: The Top 5 law school lies

1. Law School Prepares You for the Practice of Law

YEAH RIGHT!

Law school is designed to teach you to think like a lawyer. Three years and a hundred grand just to teach you how to think.

You learn how to read case law. Sometimes this is like learning to read a foreign language. Especially when dealing with mysterious things like the rule against perpetuities or subject matter jurisdiction. You learn to write like a lawyer, which is amazingly difficult for English majors and journalists who steadfastly insist they know how to write and don't need to change for anything.

Law school teaches you general concepts. Best case scenario, you come out knowing how to read, write, think and sound like a lawyer. But when it comes to actually knowing what to do, you're pretty clueless.

2. Law School Prepares You for the Bar Exam

HA! You learn everything you need to know for the bar exam through your 2 month long bar review course. Yes, that's right. Three years of law school crammed down into 2 months and a few grand for the study materials. And that's EVERYTHING you need to know. That overpriced education really comes in handy right away...

3. What You Learn in Law School Translates to Other Professions

I don't know why anyone would spend the time and money going to law school if they don't want to be a lawyer. But what law school REALLY does is ruin you from ever having a normal conversation with anyone. EVER. You look around and find possible liability everywhere. And when it doesn't really seem to exist, believe me, you'll find a problem somewhere.

And forget about trying to talk to non-lawyers when you're in full on lawyer mode. I once had a client -an exceptionally bright, Harvard educated businessman- tell me that I had to dumb things down for him and "stop talking all this legal mumbo-jumbo." Legalese is our language. And why should we explain things in English? Do you expect your doctor to tell you that you have radiating pain down your lower back and the treatment is sticking you with needles? No. His job is to tell you that you have L4-L5 radiculopathy and you need trigger point injections... It's the same thing with lawyers. Let us feel important by using the big confusing words!

4. Law Students are Mature Adults Focused on Learning

Let's face it - going to law school is like reverting back to middle school. Cliques form by the end of the first day of orientation. Rumors fly fast and furious. Did you know that I had 15 children by the end of the first month of law school? Two of these imaginary babies were with my FEMALE roommate. You show up to school once in leather pants and a tight black t-shirt and that entitles everyone to invent your past, present and future... Though I suppose the leather was a bit risque for Concord, NH...

We rip pages out of books in the library so that other students can't find the answers. We team up in study groups only to screw each other over by the end of the semester because someone inevitably feels their outline is the best and why should they share it with the rest of the group?

Maybe the people up in the front of the room are paying attention to the professors. But those of us in the back of the lecture hall have a completely different experience: passing notes, endless IMs, playing games and watching movies on our laptops. I suppose I perfectly lived up to (or down to, depending on your perspective) my dad's reputation at our law school - we were both total degenerates. :)

5. Learned Professors...the Best of the Best

Okay...I'm generalizing here. Some professors are excellent. But when your torts professor only teaches you to "back up the money truck" and forget about the merits of the case, just go for the deep pocket - what are you really learning? Or how about when your constitutional law prof decides to tell the class more about her trip to walmart at 1 a.m. to buy $500 worth of underwear instead of bothering with silly little things like TEACHING? And is it REALLY going to be on our contract drafting final that our professor has a place in P-town and his last lover got so painfully sunburned all over his body that our poor prof couldn't get laid for a week?

Is it any wonder that law school doesn't prepare you for the bar or the practice of law?

how was your day dear?

I spent the past two nights in the city at the w tuscany. Fabulous suite. Enormous bed. Huge tub. And no one to share it with...No one except the couple next door who from the sound of things were having an amazing time...all night long.

I've been excused from today's dep prep as a cost savings measure... So I stumble out of bed pull on my suit and check out. In room check out is broken. I call the front desk. Love how they address me by name and ask "what do you desire?" (Hmm... what i desired was a full night of sleep. or an incredibly sexy man to service me like the woman next door was being worked over.)

It was pouring. I had to walk to grand central before finding a cab. The cabbie proceeds to tell me how his last fare wanted half the city exterminated because there are too many people. This was more than a little concerning... I think the fare had given way too much thought to how to wipe out the city.

Got to penn station just in time to miss my train. So now I'm stuck on the local. We're stopping every 30 seconds and I probably shouldve waited the extra half hour for the next express...I'm on one of those damn double decker trains. I have 3 bags weighing in at a combined total of 75 lbs. You can't pay me enough to go up and down the stairs with these things.

ah...handicapped seats. Hopefully no real handicapped person comes along and makes me forfeit my seat . Nope. But 20 nonhandicapped folks are crammed into this space the size of a large shoebox. I have a woman who can't speak english next to me who is basically sitting in my lap. At least she showered this morning...which is more than I can say for the heavily tattooed kid wearing his gang colors standing in front of me staring me down.

Creepy!!! He got off the train without killing me or stealing my purse. Half the section cleared out. So why is this damn woman still sitting on my lap brushing her hand against my thigh???

I make it to metropark without further incident. Step off the train right into a massive puddle which soaks my shoes and my pants up to the knee. I have to pay $16 to bail out my car... How does THAT math work? It costs $5 to park there for a day. 3 days. Last time I checked, 3x5 does not equal 16.

It's now snowing. SNOWING. in october. I left New England because I didn't want my winter to start this early.

Almost two hours later (of what should be a 45 minute ride), I'm driving past my son's day care and the need for an Andrew fix was overwhelming. At this point, my clothes are soaking wet, my hair is so drenched it looks like i just stepped out of the shower and my mascara has run half way down my face. This doesn't bother Andrew, whose face lights up the second he sees me. He has a smile that just melts your heart. And as he throws his arms around my neck, nuzzles against my cheek and lets out one of his big happy sighs, I know he's right. Nothing else matters.

It's good to be home.

Life in Six Minute Increments

Like most associates, my life is ruled by the billable hour. Not meeting the yearly billable requirement means no bonus and the threat of no raise. Meeting the requirement means you get the nod for meeting the bare minimum. If you're crazy enough to exceed the quota for the year by more than 100 hours, you get a few extra bucks...

1960 hours for the year. 163.3 for the month. which breaks down into roughly 40 hours a week and 8 hours a day.

Everything is recorded down to the nearest tenth of an hour. It's amazing how quickly your mind adapts to thinking this way. I get pissed off standing in line for 15 minutes waiting for my morning latte knowing I'll have to make up this .3 somewhere during the course of the day. If the waiter is particularly slow bringing the check and lunch takes 1.2 hours instead of an hour, he gets a smaller tip. In the morning as I roll over to slap the snooze button, I think to myself "it's okay. It's only a .1."

And as I drift back to sleep, I can't help but think how life is so much better, so much sweeter, so much more enjoyable when it's not lived in 6 minute increments.

Perfectly Imperfect

I am an overworked, underappreciated, sleep deprived attorney who also is the mother of an amazing 10 month old baby who still doesn't sleep through the night and wife to another wonderful overworked, underpaid, sleep deprived litigator...

Having two lawyers in the family is both a blessing and a curse. Since we both get paid to argue for a living, it's not fun when those skills get turned on each other.

I horrified my mother in law by buying a sign that says "The only reason I have a kitchen is because it came with the house." I prominently display this sign next to my almost new, rarely used stove.

I would rather make reservations than cook dinner for my boys. If I only have an hour at the end of the day for dinner (and sometimes that's a strech), I'd rather pay someone else to cook and clean the dishes.

I don't clean as often as I should. I'm busy. I'm tired. And what's the point? As soon as I clean up, my son comes along and decorates the floor with papers. He finds papers everywhere and then proceeds to crawl around the floor with them, fling them with amazing force and pull them down onto the floor before jumping into the piles like a little kid jumping into a pile of leaves.

I'll never be perfect. I try, but there just aren't enough hours in the day. And some days there's just not enough caffeine in the world.

This is me...for better or worse...perfectly imperfect.