I didn’t want it to happen, but it did.

At the start of this first week of law school, I was too terrified to speak up in class. Over the course of the week, however, I evolved from thinking about raising my hand to actually raising it above my head to reluctantly volunteer information.

That’s not necessarily a good thing.

Before I started school, I vowed that I would quash my Steve Urkel or Hermione Granger-like tendencies to raise my hand whenever the professor raised a question.

I vowed this not as a strategic move, but rather as a way to stop myself from buying into the mindset that I had to show my legal prowess in class in order to establish my place in the 1L pack.

I didn’t want to be one of those people who strutted around making their legal pecs dance in order to “sound smart”, because, honestly, even as a 1L I know that what matters the most is how one performs on that final exam and not how much of a wunderkind your classmates or even your professors think you are.

Those thoughts went out the door when I saw how eager some of my fellow classmates were to unzip their legal zippers and lay out their legal junk on the table to measure whose just happened to be bigger.

“Oh yeah? Take a look at this!”

I can’t attest to what my fellow classmates were thinking, but I think I know why I bought into the temptation to show just how big my law balls are.

Many of us 1Ls are accomplished enough that, when we go into law school, we know what it’s like to be the big, um, fish in each of respective disciplines. It’s only in law school that we learn just how small we are.

We feel compelled to perform and posture because of feelings of inadequacy, that maybe we’re not as smart as we thought we were, that maybe we’re not cut out for law school.

Let’s call it the 1L Napoleon Complex.

I have to keep reminding myself of that old adage that size doesn’t matter. It’s what you do with it that counts.

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If people tell you that law school work is a piece of cake, they’re lying. There’s reading. Tons and tons of reading.

But Teenie Me says she’s got it down. She read the first week’s worth of homework over the weekend.

Yeah. She’s a gunner.

Teenie Me is super ambitious. On the first day of orientation at The Blawgirl’s law school, the dean of students stated that there could be only one No. 1 student. Yup. Law school is kind of like Highlander, only without the kilts and big ass swords.

Teenie Me aims to be that student and has already threatened The Blawgirl, stating that she will hide case books toward finals.

The photo at the left was taken last week, even before the The Blawgirl had gotten her mile high stack of casebooks and supplements.

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Head on over to The Shark to read about The Blawgirl’s first day of law school orientation!

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One of my favorite things to do when I was younger was watch design shows, especially the ones that had episodes that discussed how to deliver a one-two punch of functionality and form in a small space. From those shows, I learned that in small spaces – and especially in studio apartments – you need to define areas based on their functions.

Apparently, doing so will make even a teensy space feel big.

Keeping this in mind, I made a list of the things I wanted to do in my apartment, and planned the space accordingly. I wanted a place to chill/read magazines/watch TV. I definitely wanted a place specifically for sleep, and not a futon sofa. I needed storage for my books and clothes. And I definitely needed a nice place to study and blawg.

As a result, the living area was divided into three corresponding spaces: a place to study, a place to sleep and a place to watch TV/catch up on the Jon and Kate tabloid fiasco. Take a look. (Note: sketch is not to scale)

apartmentlayoutMoving involved two days. The first day was devoted to putting stuff in the already-existing shelf space. Day two involved bringing in the bigger pieces of furniture. And thanks to The Boyfriend, my mom, dad and brother, things got moved in fairly quickly. Here are the results! (Click through the mosaic to get to my “Moving In” photoset on Flickr for more details on what went into the space!)


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notwantdecafI’m not sure exactly what law school will bring when I get started at orientation next Wednesday. I won’t get my schedule until then. I don’t know what to expect of the teachers I get. I don’t know if I’m going to kill myself over the work load.

The only thing I do know for certain is I’m going to be well caffeinated during the course of the next year.

That’s because there is no shortage of coffee houses in the general vicinity of the Chapman University School of Law, which I live just a block and a half from. On a recent walk to the local library, I passed by at least half a dozen coffee shops and even more restaurants that serve specialty coffee drinks.

Add those to the coffee maker I have at home, and you have a jittery Blawgirl. Hurrah!

Searched for “cafe” around Old Town Orange (Calif.) in Google Maps:


Photo: I Can Has Cheezburger

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teenieme_tobyTeenie me is like me only smaller. Much, much smaller.

In all other regards, we are strikingly similar.

We both wear glasses on occasion. We both have an affinity for messenger-type, cross-shoulder bags. We both love ginormous dogs. We both love chocolate, cheese and the TV show “Chuck”. We both think penguins – or “pengins” as Teenie calls them – have an evil, secret plan to take over the world.

Oh, and we both despise men who pop their collars, except European men because they can’t help it: They’re European. They come out of the womb equipped with Speedos and weird-ass shirts.

I first met Teenie Me several years ago at Anime Expo, where she was just chilling at a booth making snide remarks at all the girls dressed in Sailor Moon outfits who probably shouldn’t be wearing mini skirts and the gross amount of man boobs on display. I appreciated her candor and decided to adopt her then and there.

We’ve been inseparable ever since.

You can see where Teenie’s been so far on my Flickr photostream, and you can continue to follow her adventures here as she follows me into law school.

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yearbookjulie1Somewhere in the back of all our closets is a yearbook containing a photo that we hope will never see the light of day. Let’s call it the Bill Compton (or any other hunky vampire hearthrob, and, sorry, Edward Cullen doesn’t count) of yearbook pics.

But unlike Sexy Bill, these photos are decidely unsexy: your hair doesn’t fit in the frame, you blink at a bad time, you sneeze at a bad time, you wonder whether you left the crimping iron on in the bathroom, etc.

So why in the Flying Spaghetti Monster’s green earth would you want to see what you would look like in a yearbook photo from previous decades? Because it’s hella fun!

Yearbook Yourself allows you to try on different looks from many different decades. Want to see what you’d look like with a ‘fro? Check the 1970s. Want to rock a bouffant? Try a look on from the 1960s.

Try it out, and post links to your photo albums below! It’s groovy. Also, you can check out some more of my Yearbook Yourself photos here.

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kittyhomeAfter a bajillion and a half trips to Target, three local Goodwillls, Walmart, Ross Dress for Less and Marshall’s, and after sanding, priming and painting at least three pieces of old furniture, I have finally settled into the humble abode I will be calling home for, hopefully, the next three years.

And although humble is an apt term for my little studio apartment, I love finally having a bathroom, kitchen and living quarters all to myself.

No more knocking on the walls or floors to ask family members and their friends to please cease their crappy music and unimportant-yet-lengthy conversations because I have to work early the next morning. No more going to the kitchen or to the bathroom in my PJs to find a stranger wandering through the fridge or coming out of the loo. No more sitting on the bathroom seat and immediately sitting up because of some mysterious wet spot. *shudder*

I’m free!

Well, at least for the next week and a half until law school orientation starts. After that, I’ll be married to law school, who will be a bitch of a roommate.

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