Phone Contacts and Miscommunications

The other night I was wrapping things up at Hula Hula and a friend txted me. She's a friend of Heels and has been going to school somewhere in eastern Washington, so she's been AWOL for a while. AWOL has made a few trips back to Seattle, and the previous time she'd been here she'd criticized my karaoke singing and chastised me for not writing enough blog entries.

In spite of this, I wanted to see AWOL and say hello to Heels and her. So we txted back and forth a few times and she let me know where they were gonna be, and I said I'd txt her back.

So fast forward 20 minutes or so, and I started a new txt and sent it off. But not to AWOL. I sent it to Salsa, who I had not seen nor spoken to in about 30 months but had a first name quite similar to AWOL.

The following txt exchange happened as I was walking to meet Heels and AWOL:

Salsa Txt: Who is this?

My Brain: Oh, damn. Wrong friend.

My Txt: Oh, no! I'm sorry! This is Ed. We went out a couple times like two years ago. I'm sorry for waking you up!
Salsa Txt: What's your last name?
My Brain: What? She was dating so many Eds two+ years ago that she can't keep us straight?
My Txt: [Last name]. We met at salsa on Capitol Hill. We went out, like, four times. I have lots of cats and I wear Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

Fortunately that triggered her memory (probably the underwear part). She seemed unperturbed that I was txting at 2:30. I still hope I didn't wake her up.

This paled, though, in comparison to a similar mix-up that a waitress I met yesterday at lunch experienced over the weekend. Here's (a paraphrased version) of her story:

"I am, like, so hung over right now. I am not even trying to think about it. But last night (and I have to tell you what I drank, because it was such a copious amount) I had two [some random cocktail] and a chocolate sea salt martini (I didn't really need it, but it sounded so good, you know?) and, like, three glasses of wine and I was all, like, [staggered around to demonstrate].

I've recently been dating David, I call him big David because he's got a capital "D" in his name in my phone. I dated another David before him, and I call him little david because he's a lower-case "d" in my phone.

I txted little david late last night and asked him to come over and he, was, like, "Are you sure?" and I was, like, "Sure!" but I'd intended txt big David... so when little david showed up, I opened the door and asked him what he was doing there, and then I told him to go home."

That's cold. First he's known as "little david" and then that. She is one loquacious food server, though...

Halloween

(This will be the fourth Halloween I've been on my own. I'm gonna ramble on its importance to me a little bit.)

Halloween is a holiday that gets slighted by many people. Most holidays seem to involve purchasing lots of gifts and/or a mish-mash of Christian concepts and pagan rituals, but Halloween is pretty simple: dress up and eat candy. I don't know how people can fail to see the elegance and, after recognizing it fail to participate.

Now that I think about it, most people do participate, but it's like a karaoke bar.

When I started going out and singing karaoke, I assumed that people went there to sing. It seemed reasonable, right? As it turns out, while there are plenty of singers, most people go there to listen to others (friends/family/strangers) sing. (Actually... most people go there to drink, but that's beside the point.) Halloween then, at first glance, seems to be an opportunity to dress up and get candy. The thing is, though, that (like the karaoke listeners) there is an opportunity for people to participate by giving candy.

I remember as a kid dressing up in various costumes with plastic masks that never quite fit right--you know, the kind with the rubber band that fastens the plastic to the front of one's face? I also remember going to my grandparents' store and seeing, every Halloween, the display of the masks he sold. It's possible that there were displays for other holidays, but nothing sticks in my memory like the few dozen masks elevated, attached to a string near the ceiling, colorful and full of possibility.

For some reason, my Halloween ardor faded for more than a decade. I rarely dressed up, and when I did it was half-hearted and lacking in focus.

Halloween four years ago I had the least-pleasant conversation of my life and everything changed. The next year I was on my own for the first time in a LONG time and I got a costume and went out... I was a vampire and it was fun, although I couldn't get the stupid fangs to stick to my teeth for longer than 20 minutes at a time.

In 2007, I took it up a notch. I bought a Musketeer costume and I bought a wig and I applied guyliner. I went out in the same costume three nights in a row, and I was ... popular with women. It was awesome. Here are some sample statements I heard from chicks:

Woman One: I am so attracted to you right now.
Woman Two: Leave the wig on.
Woman Three: Where's your sword? Oh, there it is!

OK... so only two of those are actual quotes. But, still... two of those are actual quotes! Current Ed O is a little jealous of Past Ed O right now.

Last year, 2008 of the Common Era, I went in a different direction. Force of Nature and I dressed up in an undead motif the first night: he was magnificent as a zombie, and I leveraged 2006's costume, added some white face makeup and going as a vampire (the teeth still didn't stay in!) Unfortunately for us, we were two of the about five people who had dressed up on a weeknight, and it was sort of lame and I looked sort of like a crappy Joker from the Dark Knight.

The second night, though, was when I was breaking out the big guns: I was going to be a creepy jester. I bought a colorful jester outfit (with hat and shoe-covers with bells attached!) and I bought black and white makeup... you know, to be creepy.

Force of Nature helped apply the makeup, and we succeeded. We succeeded as I'd hoped.

But... you know that saying, "Be careful of what you wish for... you just might get it"? Well... I got it, and I did not get it. If you know what I mean.

Women did NOT want to talk to me. By that I don't mean that they were not falling over themselves to complement me (as in 2007)... I mean they wanted nothing to do with me. They wanted at least a meter of personal space. They wanted to remove me from the premises and/or punch me right in my creepy jester face.

At least that's what I intuited. They really weren't telling me what they were thinking. I don't have two "top quotes" to intermingle with a fake one because, well, I don't think I had two sentences said to me by women all night.

This year? My current plan is to be a celebrity that's a little bit famous and a little bit gay. OK. A lot gay. But he's a little bit famous.

Someone tell me: why am I going to be Adam Lambert again? I guess we'll wait and see if it's more "Fourth Musketeer" or "Creepy Jester".

Ed (O) Hardy Party I Recap...

They said it couldn't be done. Who is "they"? StuffWhitePeopleLike, for one. Actually that's pretty much it. And I'm not sure they were serious.

As I detailed some weeks ago, I planned an Ed Hardy Party. Well, I threw one.

The party was pretty straightforward, as far as an event goes. When it comes to me and my odd form of social retardation, of course it had its ups and downs.

First off, I wasn't sure who I should invite. I have a rather small apartment, and my cats take up about 3/7 of the livable space, so I couldn't invite everyone that might, possibly, enjoy it. My first step was to email some of my buddies to see if there was any interest. F-Bomb, to his credit, was in from the get-go. Flowers and TM-2000 gave some lukewarm interest, and I figured that was good enough for me to proceed.

I chatted with Fleahops about it, and he was extremely excited, and I hadn't seen his wife in a while (that reads weird; even making some statement about platonicism might not salvage it, so I won't make one) so she was invited.. A2 and I discussed it, and she was in. She wanted to bring The Roomie, so she was in. Dos Claves enthusiastically declared her disdain for the brand and said she'd be there, too. Big Red was in.

So, adding in Ice and F-Bomb's and TM-2000's significant others, that's an even dozen guests. Plus me and three ferocious felines. My apartment was gonna be stuffed to the gills, I thought. So I privatized the Facebook event ("The Reagan Solution", I like to call it (as of right now, when I just made that term up)) and thought that 13 was plenty to hang out at my place, drink drinks, and go sing karaoke.

I'm not experienced in organizing parties, but I was angst-ridden that I didn't invite some people and I was worried that there wouldn't be enough space in my place. And I was worried about what I was going to wear.

Because, after all, what I was gonna wear was the key. How outrageous could I look?

As someone who has been known to wear white jeans (after Labor Day!) and/or patent leather high tops, I am not always dressed understatedly. I'm not exactly Oscar Wilde, but I am willing to take risks.

There's taking risks, though (going on a new roller coaster/wearing white jeans), and there's taking risks (skydiving/wearing multiple Ed Hardy items). This party was, for me, about taking risks.

I only had two items, but what items they were...

• a black t-shirt with 
• art of a great cat with a band-aide and a crown
• "Ed Hardy" in bright red, shiny font (front and back)
• an attached "undershirt" that was long-sleeved featuring
• a roaring tiger on each arm
• a purple skull with red eyes
• lots of flames and plants and weird stuff taking up space 
• blue jeans that
• were really REALLY baggy
• had the biggest front pockets ever
• had pretty intricate stitching on the backside, with
• a roaring tiger
• a Japanese woman
• a dragon
• "Japan" in some sort of rope font that is nearly illegible
• lots of flowers and other bright, aesthetic effluence

If you think reading that list is exhausting, that's nothing compared to typing it up... which is, in turn, nothing compared to seeing it.

I was, of course, delighted by my acquisitions (thank you, Internet!)

Back to my party-goers. The Roomie was the first to bail... she had to work Saturday nights. Dos Claves begged, off, too (something about a family dinner). Fleahops was going to have to work for part of the night, at least, so his little lady decided not to attend. A2 was sick, and was out.

So down from 13 to nine, and perhaps eight--if Fleahops didn't get out of work. Further, F-Bomb and his little lady were gonna be late because of a wedding. I was staring at a healthy half-dozen people at the party, assuming everyone else showed up.

Big Red never did. He didn't cancel, he didn't say anything. Two negative kudos to him.

Fortunately, everyone else did. In fact, Raftmate showed up with Ice and Flowers (making me feel terrible for not inviting her, especially since my primary concern--no space in my apartment--looked pathetic with the thinned-out participation) and a couple of other people, too. Raftmate wore an Ed Hardy bandana (for at least a bit; I've seen a pic of her at Ozzies with it removed, for some reason!). Ed Hardy hats and shirts and a purse were in attendance.

TM-2000 had also purchased a set of four Ed Hardy Highball glasses. It was ridiculous and it was great. And we were thirsty/slightly alcoholic, so we planned on using them before karaoke. After adding the ice and the various liquids, TM-2000 placed his glass on my end table. He noticed, before he even took a sip, that some had leaked onto the end table... and when he picked it up it broke. Cracked in half, horizontally. We gathered the two pieces and put them in my kitchen (where they've continued to fracture occasionally; there are now about six pieces) so he could return them to the place of purchase at a later time (oh, how I love my TM-2000!)

The outfits were great. We looked marvelously ironic, especially since we knew (as we'd hear repeatedly) "Ed Hardy is going out."

I heard that I was "very colorful" from one chick. I had another take a picture of me with her (actually several pics, I guess) as her girl friends all snickered. If they got the joke: great. If they didn't get that I got the joke, then the joke was on them. Or there was no joke.

I hope those who attended had fun. I hope that those who did not are either regretful or sympathetic (depending on whether they were invited or not, respectively). Overall? Good time for me. There was angst and there was uncertainty and there was mockery, but there was also vodka and Jager and a lot of bright colors.

It Was a House Party, Y'all!

I am, lest ye forget (or lest ye never knew), new to drinking. I have only been consuming alcohol for two years, and it's been fewer than four years that I've been going out and, as we kids say, "Kicking it." My previous life was not without its benefits, but partying was definitely not on the agenda.

This goes back to high school and even college. I did a lot of weird things (some of it recorded for posterity on video) but I didn't go to a lot of parties. In my new life, even as I've spent an inordinate amount of time in bars (karaoke and otherwise) I still have precious little experience in one of the staples of kicking it: house parties.

Music. Alcohol. Party. House. You get the picture.

Not that my lack of house partying experience is necessarily a negative. I don't feel like I could be either Kid nor Play if I only had more House Party experience. I wonder, though, if I've missed something. I also wouldn't mind getting a few under my belt so I can be just a little less uncomfortable the next time I go to one. Lest ye forget, I get uncomfortable with things that I don't do often (e.g., spelling mistakes, laughing at funerals, double dutch).

I got a chance to take the edge off that discomfort on Saturday night. A2 invited me to a housewarming party for her and her three roommates. I'd met one of her roomies (The Roomie) and I learned that Dos Claves might be in attendance, so I decided to attend in spite of a lingering sore throat and the inevitable HPD (House Party Discomfort; look it up on WebMD). These are a few of my misadventures from that night.

Fuck You Douchebag

The misadventures actually started before the party did. I had chatted with A2 late Thursday night after spending some quality time around my neighborhood. No big deal. I was waiting out my semi-drunkeness and practicing my typing skillz. She clearly had a fully charged iPhone and time to kill.

We were chatting about something or other when this (slightly edited transcript) occurred:

2:12am Ed I look forward to hanging out again.

2:12am A2 fuck you douchebag

2:12am Ed not to be all weird

2:12am A2 ok not me

2:12am Ed haha

wait

I dunno if the "fuck you douchebag" was like 95% joke

or 95% serious

can you let me know?

it will dramatically influence how I

as my currently drunk self

and future sober self

will interact with you

[A2 is offline]

Uhh... yeah.

As it turns out, A2's story is that she was hanging with buddies and one of the buddies got all protective (protective of ME? Does he know who I am?). Also, I learned that he was gonna be at the house party.

Beautiful.

As it turned out, things were fine. He seemed like a nice enough guy. And I am kind of a douchebag.

Hidden Tequila

Part of the reason, perhaps, that he seemed like a nice guy was because of the amount of the amount of alcohol that I consumed (this also had a downside; see the section below). The party's event description mentioned that there would be tequila tasting, so house partiers were encouraged to bring some to share.

I, of course, obliged. I enjoy demonstrating my weak sense of taste in front of other people, and tequila's a great opportunity to do so. I actually brought two bottles of the stuff... partly because I was feeling generous, but also because I didn't want to drink more than I brought. It was less to feel uncomfortable about.

When I arrived, there were about three bottles of half-consumed tequila, and my bottles were placed on the table along with the chips I brought. The half-open bottles went pretty quickly, and at some point A2 and I put our heads together and decided to stash one of the two bottles I'd brought for later in the night; The Roomie was working late and we'd consumed the bottle of champagne she'd had in the fridge (that's right! Champagne and tequila... what are you gonna do about it?) so we wanted to make sure she had something to drink when she got back.

A2 was in charge of hiding the bottle of booze and decided to place it on the couch by the dart board (that's right! Champagne and tequila and darts... what are you gonna do about it?) underneath the center cushion. I protested at first, thinking it might be sat upon and broken.

Fast forward an hour or so. I decided to take a bit of a walkabout, so I went from the kitchen where most people were hanging out to the couch with the stashed tequila hidden in it. The Roomie is still not back, but all of the tequila had been consumed. Somehow, some of the (thirstier) party-goers had noticed that "my" second bottle of tequila had gone missing, and somehow they had been informed that it was under a cushion on the couch.

The timing of the thing was beautiful. I had just sat down about a minute before they came out from the kitchen. I could feel the bottle on my lower back. They literally turned over each of the other two cushions, and I initiated this conversation:

Me: What are you guys doing?

Dude 1: Looking for tequila.

Me: What?

Dude 2: Yeah, we heard there was some stashed out here.

Me: What? In the couch?

Dude 2 (hesitatingly): Could you, uh...

Me: What?

Dude 2: Uh.... maybe under you ... ?

Me: Huh? What?

Dude 2: ...

Me: ...

He didn't know me and I played on that lack of familiarity to protect the precious, precious hard A. He eventually gave up looking. A2 joined me on the couch and we smuggled it about eight feet away, hidden in a place they had already looked. The tequila was safe and sound and, after The Roomie arrived a VIP crew sequestered ourselves in a bedroom and took pulls.

House party, indeed!

Definition of Insanity

Benjamin Franklin once said "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." As often as I clash with his alleged wisdom (don't even get me started on the American Philisophical Society!) I tend to agree with him here. At least intellectually.

Of course, after a combination of tequila and champagne, intellectualism sometimes takes a back seat.

(And, yes, before I go on: I understand that Rita Mae Brown might have actually come up with that quote; I wanted to make some Franklin comments, instead. Don't even get me started on the turkey as our national bird!)

As you may recall, when I was back in college I liked to kick ceilings and top of door jams and whatnot. As you may also recall, I tried to relive that back in August to impress Dos Claves, but only succeeded in turning my left ankle and bruising my left buttock.

This was the first time I'd seen Dos Claves since that fateful (or at least bruise-ful) night, and I suppose after some champagne and some tequila, I became insane. I tried, again, to kick the top of the door frame.

Normally--even in the midst of heavy drinking--when someone asks me, "What were you thinking?" I have an answer. It might not be one I share out loud or on a blog or with anyone, but I know the answer. When it comes to door frame-kicking, though? I honestly don't know. I think about it now and I remember I put my champagne glass on the counter, kicked up and... fell right on my butt.

That's right. Fail. Again.

I learned something, though: not to jump. I failed and avoided turning either ankle and was able to distribute the bruising equally between both butt cheeks.

The party was fun. The people were fun. I had a relatively painless failed door frame kicking attempt. I'm not quite a house party pro, but I'm getting there.

My Favorite App

I do not own an iPhone, and I might never (I really enjoy having a qwerty keyboard (by the way, is there a more fun word to type than "qwerty"? I defy you to find a more fun word to type than qwerty... qwerty)) but I understand one of the reasons the kids love the iPhone is because of the ability to have applications on it.

"Apps" can be a compass or a game or any number of things. Apps are available at Apple.com and they allow an iPhone user to customize their phone. The user can then give feedback on the app to other users and so the community helps determine which the "best" ones are.

As an owner of a Sidekick (which has had tremendous technical issues in the last week or so) I should not really talk smack about other phones, but... I just don't buy into the app hype. I might change my tune when I get a smart phone, but I've never really seen someone using an iPhone or seen an app and thought, "Damn, son, I gots to get me one of them." Nor did I think something more grammatically correct and/or consistent with how I actually speak (even internally).

But this morning I read about an app that I consider to be awesome. Not because it would change my life. Not because I ever even see myself using it (if I had an iPhone) but because it's a pretty funny idea and I like how the app is willing to step on the toes of those who don't get the joke (and/or think it's funny).

What is this app? Pepsi makes AMP, evidently. And AMP is, evidently, an energy drink ... ? I have never consumed it nor ever really spent much time thinking about it. Until now.

Check out the "AMP UP Before You Score" iPhone app:



That just strikes me as funny. Women are, of course, much like snowflakes (unique, cold, etc., etc.) but they also can be loosely categorized. It doesn't diminish the singularity of the individual, and if a person (be he a man or a woman) relies purely on archetype to make decisions about the woman then he/she might be making a mistake... but some women DO dress alike. Some women DO have similar interests. And these similarities, when taken to extremes, are funny. This app will be an ongoing source of (branded) entertainment, poking fun at perceptions of groups of single women.

Some people/party poopers are evidently upset about the "poor taste" of the app. Fuck that. It's not about being cruel to women--it's about being cruel to PEOPLE (and it's only light cruelty... not fingernails have been harmed in the making of this app). A male version of this would be just as funny (types of guys that will hit on you, how to understand and stave them off, etc.) but it wouldn't be as applicable to the target audience. Because the target audience is extreme. And male.

If it's not a popular app: that's fine. Vote with your... hmm... vote. I don't see how outrage should have any place in this analysis and I don't even need to make any hormone jokes to support my position.

So I say, as a relatively non-extreme non-AMP drinking non-iPhone user: never apologize for being awesome, Pepsi. You're lucky that MTV didn't think of it first.

Advice

For whatever reason, I enjoy giving advice. I think it's based on three things:

• A genuine concern for my friends and people in general,
• My fascination with drama, and
• My know-it-all nature.

Hopefully it's primarily the first bullet, rather than the first bullet being a rationalization rooted in the other two.

Irrespective of that, I have a penchant for building relationships with great people. Maybe not Great, but smart and good people. Giving advice to smart and good people is pretty easy, because things tend to work out for those kinds of people, whether the advice is full of pith and Truth or not.

A case in point is two of my friends who got job offers this week. I was funemployed/funderemployed for some time and still am savoring the feeling of being gainfully employed and working it. I mean, I work it, but working it for money. Gainfully working it. In any event, I'm jazzed for Big Apple and Big Red (is that his codename? I need that stinking Ed O Blog Guide that my fan club claims to be working on!). I am also relieved that my advice did not render them entirely unemployable forevermore.

I ask for advice sometimes, too. Not very often, and it's even loss common that I plan on doing whatever the advice-giver recommends, but I figure since I have surrounded myself with smart and good people I might as well ask for their input occasionally.

The funny thing about that is when I ask a question and I get an opinion that has great merit, but is not the question I asked. By outlining the rest of this blog, it's not my intention to discredit the advice of these two guys, and I definitely appreciate their insights.

Flowers and TravelMate2000 are, like me, INTJ. We tend to be analytical and have "an unusual independence of mind, freeing the INTJ from the constraints of authority, convention, or sentiment for its own sake." We also can understand why other INTJs think like they do, for the most part, and so we can discuss things without (permanently) pissing each other off.

I've had two things where I've asked rather specific questions and wanted their advice over email. Let's look at them quickly (paraphrasing):

Question: My car died this morning. It's gonna be expensive to get everything fixed, but I've already started repairs. It's going to be $[really expensive] to get it up and running, and the car isn't worth that. I've never bought a car on my own, and I'm thinking about buying a replacement in a month or two. How should I finance it, do you think? What kind of car should I look at buying?

Flowers' Answer:

1. Don't get it fixed! Or get it fixed elsewhere. Call and have them stop fixing it.
2. If you let it stay dead, get a ZipCar for a few months since you don't drive much.
3. You can probably get along without a car. You can take the bus and save on car insurance, gas, etc.

My (internal) response: Great points (and they are). But I asked specific questions, dammit. Answer them!

TM2000's Answer:

1. Fix your car now to get it running.
2. Get the rest of it fixed later elsewhere (somewhere cheaper).
3. Don't buy a new car. Drive this one into the ground.

My (internal) response: Great points (and they are). But I asked specific questions, dammit. Answer the--oh, wait! That's a great idea. I don't need another car just yet.

They didn't answer my question, but they helped out. Let's see how they did with a question I asked them the other night.

Question: I am going to be dressing up as a celebrity for Halloween. The celebrity is [deleted to retain surprise for blog readers]. You guys know him quite well, and I want to buy a leather jacket for the costume. Do I buy this one, which is black, or this one, which is white? [underlines were links to eBay auctions]

Flowers' Answer:

1. Wow. That much for a jacket you will wear once?
2. I don't even own a raincoat. I'm too cheap to help.
   

My (internal) response: Cheapy McCheaperson is supposed to be the subject matter expert here! Boo!

TM2000's Answer:

1. Go big or go home. Get them both!
   

My (internal) response: I rarely need encouragement to buy more useless crap from eBay, but ...

In the end, I decided to get the cheaper jacket and see how it fits before springing for both.

I love these guys, and I can't wait until I someday ask them this question:

Question: So, as you know, [wife's name] and I have been trying to conceive for some time. We are finally going to have a son! What should we name him? We are considering [Name #1] and [Name #2]. I'd love to get your preferences...

Flowers' Answer:

1. A kid? That's a mistake.
2. Didn't you already name that Guatemalan bastard [Name #2]?
3. It it too late to abort?
   

My (internal) response: He knows about [Name #2]? Damn TM2000 and his gossiping ways!

TM2000's Answer:

1. Agreed with Flowers. Abort. Too many kids and not enough oil in the world.
   
2. Name him both [Name #1] and [Name #2]. Or combine them into [Le#2Name#1Name].
   
3. Consider not naming the child and letting him choose his own name when he turns seven.
   

My (internal) response: Haha. Those answers are hilarious. I'd never be able to think them up on my own.

Maybe I should have asked if they'd mind me writing about their advice in this space. It might have a chilling effect or feel like I'm picking on them. I'm not... I'm much more explicit when I mock people.

Law School Reunions?

So it turns out that my ten year law school graduation anniversary is coming up. (Is it an "anniversary"? Whatever...)

I know this not only because of my wizard-like arithmetical skillz (2009-1999 = 10 ... give me a cookie!) but because efforts have been made by the law school to organize a pair of reunions. The first one is odd for a pair of reasons:

• It was meta-invited, and
• It is a virtual reunion.

I know that being meta-invited to a virtual reunion is pretty standard, but let me explain. The "virtual" part is evidently an effort to reach more people by placing the reunion (which I keep typing "reuinion", for some reason; I'm not going to fix it the rest of this blog, just FYI) on Facebook. I'm not sure exactly how this would work, but it sounds virtual. I suppose we could post pictures of ourselves now and make wall comments about how little law we've practiced and embarrassing drinking and dating (and drinking while dating) stories. That's what it'd be, right?

The "meta-invitation" part is that I learned of this virtual reuinion (see? dammit) via an email. The email said that I had just been invited to the Facebook group. But I hadn't been. It was an email about how I was invited.

It's conceivable that I will meta-virtually attend.

The second reuinion (I wonder if I keep typing that because it's more like "ruin") is one that will be in person, and I actually received an e-vite to it! Unfortunately--at least for me--it is rather specific about what the reuinion will entail:

LET'S GET TOGETHER FOR AN EVENING OF FUN-
LOOK BACK AND LAUGH AT THOSE END OF SEMESTER MARATHON STUDY SESSIONS, SHOW OFF PICTURES OF YOUR FAMILY OR JUST RECONNECT WITH OLD FRIENDS.

At first glance, that it a solid call-to-action, with a reasonable plan based on nostalgia and shared experiences.

The reason that it is unfortunate for me is because I never had end-of-semester marathon study sessions, I don't have pictures of my family to show off (my cat pics need to be updated), and I didn't make any friends in law school.

I didn't make any enemies, either, and I'm not trying to be a prick (for once). I just rarely studied with anyone else (I think I might have, once, in the second semester for a single session for Crim) and I almost never lost any sleep due to academic demands of law school.

I'm not really bragging--my GPA wasn't anything fantastic, and I didn't end up practicing--but I just didn't have many shared experiences with my fellow graduates. My law school experience was doing the reading (most of the time), showing up for class (some of the time) and seeing how much I could understand when I was there.

So will I make the drive down to Portland later this month to attend the reuinion (dammit!) that I was actually invited to? Probably not. If I can ever procure an actual invitation to the other reuinion? I'm so virtually there.