My Bad Timing

The internet is down in the law school at the moment. It is 11:37 am. I have one of those colds that just keep on running, and I took some stuff that seems to be making me feel numb. Or else that’s the disease doing its thing.

I tried to get a haircut today. I have a job interview at 4pm, and my hair has reached the point of unruly. I’m reasonably certain I can get through this interview; I just wish it had occurred last Monday, rather than today.

Back on point, I tried to get a haircut. It seems allocating an hour to get a haircut just isn’t enough. If I don’t have an hour and ½, I’ll never get the cut done.

Speaking of which (for want of a better transition), what do I want to talk about today?

It’s funny. Ever since I changed this into an officially titled law blog, I’ve been talking less and less about the law. Perhaps that’s part of the point, whether I knew it or not, of the use of the word “casual” in my title. If nothing else, this blog is the document of a guy going through law school, not because he’s in love with the law, but because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.

Of course, that could just be the drugs talking. (A.k.a. cold medicine. Seriously people, what other terrible things will you believe about me?)

Today I think I’d like to talk about my bad timing. Sounds like a Scrubs episode title. My Bad Timing.

I’m a bit of an oddball. For whatever reason, I’m significantly better at talking to women who are in relationships than I am with women who are available.

This was the primary thing I considered as I drove home from Law Prom last weekend. It’s been revolving it in my mind for a few days now, and I’ve come up with a few possible reasons why this might be.

Reason #1: I hate competition. Pretty, single girls get talked to a lot. I don’t do well in pressure environments where I have to try to compete with guys around me.

Reason #2: I’m not an especially attractive man. Oh, sure, I have some nice facial features, but the weight thing is the real elephant in the closet. Women in relationships don’t care about this, because they’ve finished looking, at least for the present. Single women who clearly haven’t found themselves in my friend zone yet; however, don’t have this luxury. I am an unknown factor. I am a threat, in the same way that I feel threatened by large, ugly women with wide mouths, when they start giving me the moon eyes.

Reason #3: Self-fulfilling Prophecy. I believe reasons number one and two with an unshakable conviction. For this reason, I shoot myself in the foot every time. If a woman is looking at me from across the room, I instantly assume she is looking at me for the same reason I’d be looking at an unattractive person: I just can’t help it, like a car wreck.

Regrettably, this all puts me in some pretty awkward positions. At the moment I’m interested in three women in the law school. Obviously, there are a few others that are more or less attractive, but these three all meet the all-important personality requirement. For those of you curious, there is no hard and fast rule for the personality requirement. Chattiness is usually good. An interest in politics is always a plus. The ability to start dancing in an area where dancing isn’t especially encouraged is neat. Hell, a cute laugh is effective. But, I guess, if I had to point to one thing, it’s probably the exact same thing that the ladies look for in men. I like it when women take an interest in me.

Unfortunately, the first girl is in an extended relationship. She’s not married, and it sounds pretty rocky. It’s just pretty hard to compete with extended relationships. The second girl just started a relationship. No love is more difficult to break than young love. This one may be the most frustrating, because I started being interested in her shortly before she started being in this relationship. Timing is frequently a bitch for me. The final girl is something of an enigma. She’s single. Thing is, I can’t tell if she is hung up by my weight, or just really into me and overly shy about it.

You can probably guess which one I’m guessing.

Life is Moments

You know that terrible moment when you step on a scale for the first time in months after having thought you were doing pretty good this week, and you actually weigh a few pounds more than you expected?

I hate that moment.

Law Prom

It's official. I now live at the law school. Most weeks from now until early April, I'll have to be here until around 8 on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Freaking ridiculous.

But I guess that's what becoming over-involved does to a person. Maybe I should try to learn from this and grow.

I think I've decided to go to the Barrister's ball. That's basically Law Prom, to those outside of the know. People dress up all fancy and go to some place where we eat hors d'oeuvres, drink wine, and pretend like we're 18. Hopefully there will also be a breathalyzer, otherwise I'll feel like something is missing.

Anyway, last year I had boycotted the event, because I hated going to these painful date things without a date. This year, shockingly, I still don't have a date. AM, however, wants to go and offered to do the friend date thing. It could be that the only the more painful than going dateless to a law prom is going with a friend date. Nevertheless, I'll probably end up going now. I'm just that way.

On another note, I've recently begun hating looking at pictures of me. Specifically, I hate pictures of me in judge robes.

Seriously, I look like a beach ball. Or a mole. Not the best look for me. Perhaps I should consider losing a bit of weight. Anyone have any ideas that I haven't already heard a thousand times?

A little honesty

I hate to admit this, as I think a stigma still exists about it, but I am currently a member of an online dating service.

For about one more week.

So far, I have netted zero results that have amounted to anything, and I'm getting tired of paying for essentially nothing. I can get no play for free in the real world!

Anyway, in my last week I've decided to have fun with the site, rather than actually try to get somewhere.

Recently, I was progressing along the conversation path with a girl who, in her "can't stands" list included "excessive overweight." Regrettably, that almost personifies my outward appearance.

For a while I was furious after reading that statement. I mean, I have two pictures uploaded on the site! It's pretty freaking clear that I'm not Mr. Skinny. Why would you drag me through these introductory stages if you were just going to deny me after wasting my time? There's a freaking reason I put my pictures up.

Those were my initial thoughts. Honestly, those are still my thoughts, but now they are less filled with rage. The next step was for us to ask three open-ended questions of each other. I didn't really intend to move to this stage, since I didn't see the point.

A day passes. Suddenly, she initiates this section by asking me the three questions. At first, I figure that I'll just ignore her. I mean, honestly, why waste a few seconds typing when I could be doing something useful? Like horticulture? Or toe nail maintenance?

But then I recall that I enjoy writing irritable and ironic prose, so I choose to answer her questions. Plus, since this isn't going anywhere anyway, I said screw it to the carefully couched phrasing. I was going to answer them as honestly as I could. Brutally so, even.

Anyway, the second question asked me to describe my personal style. Clearly, this girl had a thing about appearances. So... I let her have it. The following was my answer.


I think it would be fair to say that I don't have a personal style. I dress in what is comfortable and available. I only have one ironic t-shirt. I dress up when the occasion demands and down most of the rest of the time.

I let my hair grow until I feel uncomfortable, then I have it cut short.

I've never intentionally torn a hole into my jeans.

I do enjoy looking good and, when the occasion demands it, make an effort in that regard. Though I must admit, that's only when the occasion demands it.

I own a pea coat, dark jeans, and skater shoes, all of which I wear frequently.

I'm very friendly in person, though that tends to keep my "getting to know you" conversations, at least at the outset, on a surface level.

I'm highly involved in the world around me and frequently a member (and usually the VP) of groups I agree with.

Ultimately, I'm just this guy, though.

[end reply]

Regrettably, I was going to keep going off like this for a few thousand more words, but the program limits how much you can say. Regardless, I feel like I got my point across.

Another question asked me about physical activities that I participated in, so I talked about occasionally swimming and playing racquet-related games. Then I said, "That said, I'm neither a meathead nor particularly skinny, so if either is the goal, I'm not gonna be the answer."

Seriously, how much fun is that? I should be this direct more often. Screw building bridges. People aren't made out of glass.

When NJ met D.

Um... Yeah. So today is better. It always is.

Oooh. Also, I had dinner with D. If you don't know who D is, I can drop a few hints.

1. Her first name starts with D.
2. I've known her since the Warren.
3. I've inexplicably been able to maintain contact with her through the years, to the extent that she is probably my longest female friend who didn't go to Andale High School.

Anyway, I had dinner with her, and I came away thoughtful. See, D is an interesting character. We're very different. For instance, she's conservative, and I'm liberal. She is uncomfortable letting other people help her, and I practically demand it. She isn't great with authority, while I'm very greasy and subservient.

The thing is, if I'm going to have one of those When Harry Met Sally relationships with anyone, it has to be her. We don't see each other for six months at a go, but then we're very amiable again, but nothing ever comes of it.

Anyway, I had dinner with her, and she was just about as pretty as she's always been, but as the dinner went along I got two very different impressions. On the one hand, we're different enough - socially, religiously, and politically - that I don't think a real relationship would ever actually work.

On the other hand, I get the impression that, over the last 2 or 3 years, D has really matured an awful lot. I wouldn't like to say how I think this has happened, because I'd be betraying confidences, but it seems like she learned how to open up at some point.

There was once a time when D was like a wax figurine. She had this very pleasant, outside self, and there was absolutely no way to know what her inside looked like.

I think that's gone now. In fact, I think, at some point, she actually matured past me. Who would have expected that? D? More mature than myself?

Anyway, much like When Harry Met Sally, I don't think I'm really gonna work for this one. If we end up living in the same city, maybe we'll end up together. If not, then it won't be a huge deal.

Of course, it could be that this thought process is entirely one sided, and D couldn't even conceive of any of this.

Either way, it's something to think about.

These are the things I hate

You know those moments where it's late at night, you're really tired, and suddenly you are struck by all the things in your life that aren't going right?

I hate those moments.

I hate retreating. I hate not realizing what I have. I hate doing poorly at something and thinking, I guess I better give up and try something else.

I hate wondering what I'm doing wrong, then finding untestable hypotheses that could be the answer, and so I assume they're right. Furthermore, I hate assuming these hypotheses are right, when there's a very good chance that the problem, as I see it, doesn't really even exist.

I hate being fat. I hate thinking I'm fat. I hate believing that this fatness is an impediment in life.

I hate going to sleep, certain that I'm floating through life, and I hate having to assure myself that it'll all be better in the morning.

I hate the fear of being poor.

I hate being a snob, and I hate that I don't have the resources to justify being a snob.

I hate that reasoning through every element of a problem does not come naturally to me. I hate that I invariably stop when I know the right answer, before I know the complete right answer.

I hate that I'm not creative enough to be an artist, hardworking enough to fix or produce things with my hands, and personable enough to excel at interacting with others.

I hate that I don't have the guts to always be closing.

I hate being afraid.

I hate being afraid. That one is worth saying twice.

I hate that I don't come off as a self-possessed leader of men.

I hate that the grin that works so well upon first meeting can really only be interpreted as the grin of a fool.

I hate that I don't follow through on things. I hate not finishing. I hate having only enough drive to know that I don't have enough drive. I hate my mediocrity.

I wish that being 27 meant I was grown up. How is it that I don't have this switch that so many other people seem to have that makes them responsible adults?

You know what the nice thing about having something you've never done but wish you did? Like sky diving? Or writing a novel?

The nice thing is that, for all that it is a regret, at least you aren't/haven't failed at it.

Because what then? A failed dream is basically the same thing as lost hope.

Alright. It's 3am. Time to recite that mantra that proves true every time (except the time my advisor yelled at me in Bozeman, but that's another story).

It'll all be better in the morning. Screw tiredness and whatever bizarre chemicals are coursing through my body. It'll all be better in the morning.

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Mind you, you need not click on the link and sign up, but then I would be less likely to be bumped up to the top of the beta users list, and then I'd probably cry.

Also, I spent half an hour today listening to some woman give this downer talk about how her step father doesn't love her. It made me realize that I try very hard to avoid giving downer speeches in my life, saving them, instead, for you lovely people.

I'm not sure why more people don't thank me for that.

P.S. BTW, those of you who guessed that the date mentioned did not exist were correct. The British finally adopted the Gregorian calendar in 1752.