The guy in the stall next to me is one of those theatric public restroom users who is overly-loud about everything he does. He gets up, kicks the toilet handle with a little “Hi-Yah!” and then barges out of the [...]]]> So I’m sitting on the throne, trying to ignore the guy in the stall next to me.

The guy in the stall next to me is one of those theatric public restroom users who is overly-loud about everything he does. He gets up, kicks the toilet handle with a little “Hi-Yah!” and then barges out of the stall.

The problem is that our Kung-Foo-Fighter slammed his stall door so hard that it rattled the row of stalls and UNHINGED MY DOOR.

I,
was,
horrified.

And I am in one of those large handicapped stalls so I am NOT close to the door, which is opening, threatening to expose my goods Kim K. style to the entire restroom!

I grab by britches, jump up, and stop the door from completely flying open. But I am flustered and almost fall on my way back to the throne. What a disaster.

I went back to investigate the bathroom later. Turns out that the walls and doors that partition the stalls are not connected to the floor and not strongly bolted to the ceiling. So Kung-Foo-Fighter’s door slamming shifted the wall and unlatched my locked stall door. Ugh. I think I’ll save certain activities for home now.

Jack’s not taking passengers.

I wonder if we can turn this around and make it an art car? Earlier: The Garden Moose. ]]> So one of my neighbors used a bungee cord to hold up his bumper for the longest time. Now the bumper is riding inside the car:

Jack’s not taking passengers.

I wonder if we can turn this around and make it an art car?

Everything screams class about this picture, so the pawn shop/checks-cashed place next door was cropped.

And there was far worse advertising on Lake Street today, but I like to keep this site PG-13. ]]> When it gets above 80 degrees, pants become optional on Lake Street.

Everything screams class about this picture, so the pawn shop/checks-cashed place next door was cropped.

And there was far worse advertising on Lake Street today, but I like to keep this site PG-13.

Jill: “I think I’ve forgotten how to flirt. There’s no one to flirt with in law school. The guys are gross. I’d rather stare at a mirror and flirt with [...]]]> I discussed some of my dating prospects with Jill, a coworker, and then asked Jill if she had her eye on anyone. A law student maybe?

Jill: “I think I’ve forgotten how to flirt. There’s no one to flirt with in law school. The guys are gross. I’d rather stare at a mirror and flirt with myself than talk to these guys. It’s awful.”

I’m buying the first ticket for Jill’s post-graduation comedy tour.

Horrified that she was mistaken for “grimy mullet lady at bar”, my mother then posted a picture of herself on my wall to show that she does not, in fact, have a mullet:

The semester is almost over. Tomorrow I will take my 24-hour advanced estate planning exam, which is my last final. This is more exciting than a McFlurry in July. Bam-chicka-wow!

I finally cleaned my finals-ridden apartment after my exam and then socialized with RJ [...]]]> The corporate tax exam was a 3 hour typing contest. My goodness.

The semester is almost over. Tomorrow I will take my 24-hour advanced estate planning exam, which is my last final. This is more exciting than a McFlurry in July. Bam-chicka-wow!

I finally cleaned my finals-ridden apartment after my exam and then socialized with RJ and the Bretts.

We eventually end up at Brett #1’s apartment with Gumby and Gander in tow. Gumby is a random 22 year-old that Brett picked up in the bar, and Gander is one of Brett’s neighbors.

Gander lives near Brett #1 and was walking his French bulldog. We only ran into Gander because his bulldog decided that it HAD to go sniff the entrance for Brett’s apartment building.

Brett was all, “Who is this random hobo in front of my building??” and RJ was all, “HEY I KNOW YOU!”

So Brett invited Gander up, and his Bulldog inspected the apartment and promptly shat on the floor. Delicious.

The real entertainment of the night was watching Gumby hit on Brett #2, who is adorable, but painfully shy.

Gumby was crunk for Jesus¹ and Brett #2 tried to say “GET AWAY FROM ME RANDOM SLIMEBALL!” in the most polite way possible. It went something like this:

Gumby: “I really like you.”
Brett #2: “Thanks, well, uh, but…”
Gumby: “Lemme me kiss you…”
Brett #2: “Um, no… you see, I am not interested, and…”
Gumby: “But my logic is undeniable.”
Brett #2: “Actually it is, you see, uh…”
Gumby: “THAT DOES NOT CHANGE MY DISPOSITION!”
Brett #2: “What does that even mean?”
Gumby: “Hey baby, hey baby, hay…”
Brett #2: “Where’s my shank?”

Best post-exam unwind ever.

So I’m at the bar and a Music Professor approaches me. The Professor is tipsy, but friendly. We talk. After a half hour of conversation the Professor asks for a hug.

Professor: “Can I [...]]]> One of the challenges of being a relatively-young guy at a club¹ is fending off unwanted advances while not appearing conceited or condescending.

So I’m at the bar and a Music Professor approaches me. The Professor is tipsy, but friendly. We talk. After a half hour of conversation the Professor asks for a hug.

Professor: “Can I have a hug?”
Me: “Uh, why?”
Professor: “I just want a hug.”
Me: “I’m not a touchy-feely person. Swine flu and all that…”
Professor: “How about a back rub?”
Me: “Excuse me?”
Professor: “How about I give you a back rub?”
Me: “Um, No. I’m a law student. I feel better with the tension in my shoulders. Keeps me in fighting mode. Hiyah!”
Professor: “What about a hug?”

Ugh.

So this continues, but we eventually slip back into normal conversation with intermittent hug-pleas, but then:

Professor: “You’re very attractive.”
Me: “Thanks. But that doesn’t make me worth talking to.”
Professor: “But you’re also a law student.”
Me: “Again, another reason why I’m not a good person to talk to. We are a breed of ogre…”
Professor: “But one of my favorite movies is The Paper Chase!”
Me: “I know, you’ve mentioned this.”
Professor: “Go to my facebook page! You will see that I like the Paper Chase!”
Me: “Oh, I believe you.”
Professor: “Can I get a hug?”

The entire time this is happening, Jack and his clique are standing 5 feet from us, POINTING AND LAUGHING! The Professor is facing me so he can’t see the audience of ridicule.

The Professor eventually dived in for a hug and I gave Jack a frantic “GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW” wave.

Jack let me panic for a moment and then responded to my dark threats and rescued me.

Jack slid into the spot next to me. I gasped as if Santa had just arrived and then turned away from the Professor to latch onto Jack like a life raft on the titanic.

It took the Professor about 5 minutes of solid cold shoulder to get the clue, but he eventually left.

Me: “Oh my god. Thank you so much!”
Jack: “Your problem is that you are too nice.”

Hmmf. Maybe.

After a subsequent run-in with the Professor I decided to leave the Eagle and went to the Saloon. There was a little bit of drama at the Saloon – actually, there was a lot of drama. At one point there was a guy decked out on the floor because someone smashed a beer bottle of his head.

At one point there was a guy decked out on the floor because someone smashed a beer bottle of his head, proving once again that Minnesotans are not always nice.

I also spent some time ignorning Mittens.²

Mittens (and his female sidekick, Mittenette) always shoot unsolicited bitchy looks at Phillip and I. But a pair of contacts and a haircut later, Mittens suddenly wanted to talk to me.

Pfft.

I have a tumi bag. Tumi bags have way too many pockets. I’ve wasted many flustered hours in the parking garage, dumping my bag – legal pads and highlighters flying … and here I am again. Dammit.

I usually find [...]]]> So I am in the parking garage by school, digging through my bag for my keys. Again.

I have a tumi bag. Tumi bags have way too many pockets. I’ve wasted many flustered hours in the parking garage, dumping my bag – legal pads and highlighters flying … and here I am again. Dammit.

I usually find my keys after 5 minutes or so, but not this time. I’m fumbling through my bag and about to let out a Charlie-Brown style ARGG! when my ziplock bag of carrots pops open and unleashes a horde of cut carrots onto the parking ramp.

The chopped carrots race the ramp. Passersby dodge the carrots and avoid eye contact lest I’m as crazy as I look. This is shaping up to be a pretty solid fail moment.

So, after 10 minutes and two bag dumps, I feel defeated and head back across the street to the law school.

It was only when I got inside the law school that I realize:

1. It’s cold outside.
2. I came to school with a jacket.
3. My jacket is in my locker, and
4. My keys are probably in my jacket.

Well hot damn.

I had lunch at the Purple Onion to make myself feel better.

And yes, the parking ramp was still covered in carrots when I came back.