miss adventures

Serenity Now!

You see, it's almost 1:00 am, but I have been so amped for the last 4 days, that it all just blurs together now. I can't shake this crick in my neck, and there's something oddly unsettling about how fast I am typing right now and my urge to break out in legalese. But whatever, I'm home. Proof is that Dozer promptly got on my Marc Jacobs and took a nap.

I have a dark suspicion that this may not be the last. I constantly fret about the disaster that occurred ca. 10:00 am on July 26, 2005, which we will now refer to as the Property-Contracts-But-it's-Property Disaster of Bar 3. This morning, as I opened up Question 5 of the July 2005 Bar, I saw that we were presented with a contracts/remedies problem. Uh-oh, I realized, I guess on Tuesday, that shit really was property.

Later... after the professional responsibility question... after the South Beach Diet chocolate bar and fried Atlantic cod for lunch... after buying a discounted top at Max Studio... after a lackadaisically written performance test about civil forfeitures... I ambled around Old Town, disoriented. I had a few bags slung on my shoulder, carrying my laptop, my study guides, my shiznit... and the heat beat down, and I wasn't sure what I would do next. I have been a victim of Bar shellshock before. I looked curiously into windows and thought very plaintively, hmm, Pasadena sure has a lot of stuff I ain't never seen. I was entering vegetable mode.

Eventually, looking for a place to check my email, I resigned to go into the office. I mean, it was right there! So the irony is, after the hell that was the Bar, I ended up right back at the law firm. I saw a couple of the attorneys and we made animated small talk, since with all that containment I was starting to be Cheri Oteri on speed.

Later, I ended up all by my lonesome at the wine bar at Restaurant Halie. Everything had already been so weird that it didn't seem odd that I was sitting there with two old, single men. One had no chin and was already drunk. The other had a fiendish, would-be rapist look in his eyes as he asked me about my Montepulciano. "I just pick an Italian I recognize," I told him dully.

But my dinner companions showed up very quickly. And I turned down my cell phone so that I could have the first bit of repose in what has been an unforgiving, stressful week. Dinner was a quiet affair, of polite conversation and amusing tidbits. I had an aged steak, green beans, and au gratin, even though the menu said I would get cauliflower. There were some wonderfully steamed mussels in a spicy sauce of coconut milk. The waiter was a horrible sycophant. The warm chocolate cake was acceptable, but I privately thought I could do better with half a stick of butter, an egg, and a handful of Nestle Toll House chocolate chips. But all I would do is hold that large wine glass to my lips and then smile to myself. Because I was so, so happy. For now, this is fine.

The drive home was jarring. After a week of being ambulatory, I was paranoid of all the one-eyed vehicles and speeding beams of light on the road. "Negligent tortfeasors," I mumbled under my breath. I put in my Madonna Immaculate Collection, and wailed as if I had leg warmers and a torn t-shirt on.

Most of the time, it seemed like the most solitary thing I have ever gone through. It's hard to convey your anguish and disappointment. A couple of times, I sat in front of the Civic Center crying to myself. I put on my huge Gucci shades, my favorite ones from Bolaffi in Livorno, because they best concealed tear-stained eyes. I always remember what happened after Day 2 of Bar 1, when I was crying in sobs on the phone to my dad. And how I vowed to never cry to them again about it, because it was so silly, especially to parents whose education capped at Taiwanese high schools. My mom said to me a long time ago, "We worry about you. Because you are so emotional. And you may not succeed in the real world because of it." I felt so insulted that I may even have given her a dirty look, not bothering to assure her that I have a steeliness I didn't care to brag about. But that conversation has always stuck with me, that it is obvious to most everybody where my vulnerabilities are. And even if I don't want to appear weak, it is still comforting to know that's why you care.

I realized that it hasn't been the solitary experience I characterize it to be. After all, when I finally checked my phone after dinner, there were 5 missed calls. There were 3 voice-mails. And all the other people I have heard from this week. I do believe now I would do it all over again. (Ha, I may have to!) But I mean, reliving the past year -- the rare sense of fulfillment, accomplishment, and security, that really just comes from all the encouragement, if not a validation by the stupid CalBar website. I know I am corny all too often, but take it just one more time. From the bottom of my heart, really, thank you.

posted by Lucy Sloan @ 12:54 AM