I'm Very Excited to Be Here

Picture it: 2,000 lawyers in one giant room, waiting to take a big test.

C'mon people... I'll wait while you make all the jokes you can. (Points for the funniest one!)

But seriously, can you even picture it? Let me answer that for you. No, you can't picture it. Why? Because that's 2,000 people who wear black when no one's dead; 2,000 people who neurotically answer "it depends" to the simple question of "have you decided what you'd like to order?"; 2,000 people who routinely keep highlighters in their purse/briefcase/manbag; and 2,000 people who are so completely superstitious that they feel a wee bit nervous when they pretend they're too cool to be superstitious. But I'd bet my legal education on the fact that every single person there was wearing a lucky shirt and pretending it was a "this old thing?" kind of shirt. Yeah, I spent my entire day with THOSE people.

To be fair, no one was wearing black. Oh wait! Except that one guy whose t-shirt bore the words in the title of this post. His t-shirt was black. But it made me giggle. And even though he was on his way to the bathroom mid-test and laughing out loud earned me a stern look from one of the Thomas Jefferson/George Bush spawns, it was totally worth it.

But we were all there, just about the whitest crowd you've ever seen, anxiously waiting outside of the test center at 8:29, because they told us to be there by 8:30, no later! We were instructed to bring earplugs, erasers, pencils, pens, and lunch, but no highlighters, cell phones, or a beverage other than water in a clear plastic bottle. So that meant that we were also a group of 2,000 (mostly white) people with about 10,000 pencils; 5,000 erasers; 40,000 earplugs; 4,000 pens; 2,500 sandwiches; and nary a highlighter, cell phone, or diet coke to be seen. It's a trippy experience to hang out with 1,999 other people, all carrying a clear plastic bag full of proof that "I like coloring within the lines." Truly, we're who you want when you're life goes ass-up.

The worst part is over (for me, anyway), and tomorrow is the part I affectionately refer to as "write for your life." I've got 10 essay questions to answer on topics I know precious little about, which, if you calculate it out, is EXACTLY 36 minutes per essay (no more, no less!). So my hand is going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow night, but, if I do it right, so is my liver.

Those of you who were rooting for me today, sending me your smart vibes, I can't promise that I used them to their full power (those questions are HARD!) but I can tell you that I felt all of your love and energy, and that I just can't do this without you.