Hello Aught-Six!

It's finally here: the year of my law school graduation. This phenomenon always freaks me aht...when you start a new degree, they assign you this seemingly arbitrary futuristic title. Class of 1997. Class of 2002. Class of 2006. And semester after semester, this year seems so far, far away.

Then one night, you are hanging aht...

and BAM - 2006!

When the mysterious graduation year sneaks up on me it I want to celebrate the fact that I survived this far. But it also saddens me because the sily, crazy, stressed-out, laughin'-so-hard-I-nearly-pissed-my-pants...wait-I-DID! trip is almost over. The Class of 2006 will get its time to bask in the glory for a few days (specifically, May 27, 2006), but then it's back to the grindstone. The bar. Yea.

This correlates to how after the new year, everyone dates their checks and notes wrong. Our minds, fingers and souls seem to reject the unknown of the new four-digit demarcation at the end of the date. (That is, except for you savvy laptop Mircosoft Word note-takers, who don't even have to know what date it is because your computer's got your back.) So, what I'm saying is that New Year's always alerts me to the fact that I will need more Wite Out to fix my mistakes.

So, whatever yinz are doing for this ridiculous calendar holiday, I hope that you do it safely so that you can be around to see us rock 2006.

Love to all,
Dice

Fanwich

During the fourth quarter of Saturdee's Steelers - Brahns game, a fan ran aht onto da field an got a fanwich from James Harrison.

Please note: This was not shown on TV even though the announcers were howling as they watched it. They claimed that network policy prevented them from showing it because they did not want to encourage others to follow suit. It was shown on the local news last night.

P.S. The Steelers won, 41-0.
Merry Christmas.

The Chronic - What? - cles of Narnia

I forgot to tell yinz about the best SNL skit I have seen in years...Home alone last Saturday night (exam-time, people), I watched to see what Jack Black (my hero) would do as the host of SNL...I was kinda disappointed in his work, but then a two-minute short came on the screen & it fucking rocked! Laffin aht lahd, biiiaaches.

So, if you haven't already been forced to watch this (& even if you have, you know you wanna watch it again), check out the video for "Lazy Sunday"...
http://www.youtube.com/watch.php?v=zLElfJ9YCh0

You won't regret it. And you will thank me.

365 Days 'Til Next Christmas...Wahoo!

OK, I know, I haven't been keeping up with the Joneses (in blogging, that is). And certainly, this isn't the first time in my short blogging career that I have neglected my Butter duties, but please forgive. Seriously, I just studied for 18 days straight, took 5 exams, shopped for over 20 people & still was able to force smiles for 30 hours over the holiday events. But, I digress with my self-rationalizations...

Let's begin at the beginning. Two Sundays ago, I was in the middle of editing my 8-page, 48-hour take home exam (Legislation, suckas) when I planned to take a 3-hour break to watch the Stees beat the Bears. A half-hour before the game began, I stopped editing my exam & began blogging. About three paragraphs in, I dumped a half cup of pumpkin spice coffee on my laptop. Yes, the laptop in which my Legislation exam lived.

Holy fucking shit!

And I fried my barely-one-year-old Dell Inspirion 5160. Truly sizzled the fucker.

The (X-mas?) miracle of the situation was that I had, five minutes earlier, printed out a draft of my exam to measure the fucking margins. I was a half-page over the limit & Taylor is all about following directions/specifications to a T...or else. So, it was ruler & margin-fudging time. Obviously, someone/thing was watching over me; or, then again, wait, I don't believe in that shit...it was fate, right? Alas, I had a hard copy from which to retype my answer after the Steelers game. A-mah-zing.

Next exam disaster: fast-forward to Tuesday, 4pm, after my breezy & relaxing Spanish (make-up) exam. Hemingway's, dollar pints (Molson, yuck), nufff said. Since many of my friends had just finished their last exam & all I had left was a 24-hour take home Ethics - sorry, "Legal Profession" - exam, I was ready to drink in earnest.

Just one shot of Cuervo and about five to seven pints later, I was drunk. And, do I have to mention that I hadn't eaten anything that day except a Pamela's breakfast (around 11am)? That's kinda implied. Anyway, I ambled to the bus stop around 9pm & rode the 54C home to meet two friends for our weekly viewing of Nip/Tuck...OK, I have to back up a bit. I had forgotten in my stupor/exam chaos that the TWO HOUR SEASON FINALE of Nip/Tuck was that night. That is, until I listened to a voicemail from Danny Boy while at the bar. So, back to the story: I got home, Dan & Stan came over & we began to watch this fucking great episode. Being as drunk and hungry as I was, I couldn't handle the graphic nature of the show without puking, so around 10:30pm (1/2 hour into the show), I told them that I had to eat or pass out immediately. And I opted to pass out. Being respectable house guests, Dan & Stan finished watching the episode & let themselves out. BTdubs, I got to watch the rerun of the finale Friday night...transgender genital mutilation and the Carver revealed - N/T never disappoints.

The next morning, I woke up around 9am & felt like death. Not the archetypal hangover headachey thing; this was feverish chills coupled with nausea, a racing heart beat and dizziness. I was a complete wreck. I knew that I had to eat ASAP, but the thought of any kind of food just made me iller (sweet word, right?). I tried to feed Daisy around 10am & it was nearly impossible to get dog food & water into her bowl without passing out. Then, I puked up a bunch of stomach bile. Ahhhhh, the beauty of the morning-after puke. Did I mention that I had to get to Oakland before noon to pick up my Ethics take-home? Right. The 54C was eliminated as an option. I was in no way going to stand at a bus stop today. Even driving seemed like a bad idea; I was not concerned about finding a parking spot, I just felt too sick to do it. So, around 11am, I called the two people that I knew always have my back: Timmers & KB. Messages were left & I went back to "sleep." T called me back 15 minutes later & came through with flying fucking colors, ribbons & sparkles.

Timily is the BEST.

She went to the Barco, got my exam (not without an attempt at some ill-advised trickery & a call from the Registrar herself) & picked up provisions from Pantera. She came over & got me to a state where I could sit up & have a conversation. After she left, I forced down the bagel & OJ & took my first shower in five days. And, yes, then I took the Ethics exam for the next ten hours.

Painful? A little. Boring? You could say that. Annoying? Fucking right. I was completely out of gas, brain-wise. I would type sentences like, "Depending on the type of information that A is interested in relaying, a noisy withdrawal may work or not." Come on. I know that I can express my thoughts in a better sentence than that. But, by 8pm on December 21st, I really couldn't.

So, it's over. 5 down, 1 to go, semester-wise. That's another thing. While studying for exams this December, I realized that I would never have to try to juggle X-mas duties & law school exams ever again. Like, this time next year, I will be a working (knock on fucking wood) attorney. Christ.

Right now, I am decompresing from the whole X-mas thing. I got some sweet presents; thanks Santa (read: Mom & Dad). One gift worth mentioning was from my sis. She was just in Beaver Creek, CO for the Birds of Prey downhill & grabbed me up some souvies. She bought me a hunter green T-shirt that has a beaver on it & sayz, "Save a tree, Eat a beaver."
OK, I am a hippie, tree-hugging enviro. We all know that. But, Nikki, I am not a lesbian. I believe that this shirt is geared toward straight males or lesbians or anyone who is typically interested in eating pussy & proudly announcing it via fashion. I really like it but fear that it will send the wrong message. Please advise.

I have more to say, but I have the next two & one-half weeks to catch yinz all up on the Dice. Peas aht. And thanks for the gifts, y'all.

Ahhhhh...Summertime.

Ahoy, matie.

My State of Mind Exception: FRE 803(3)

In response to the recent Evidence exam fallout, I would like to state my position. First, I know that this whole situation is the result of some sad shit, namely, cancer & Katrina. That said, I believe that we all (meaning law students) wanted to get as good of an understanding of the Federal Rules of Evidence as possible before we are in some job & our boss asks us to draft a motion to supress or exclude. And we respond by looking completely confused.
But, alas, White became very ill & Katrina screwed Newalins. Thus, we were faced with a new professor who kept comparing us to his Tulane students & bitching about the cold weather in P-Burgh. Well, all I can say right now is that the snow that falls here might have some pollutants in it & further, snow only falls when it is colder than 0 degrees Centigrade, but we are not conducting classes in a building that has been submerged in toxic, human & animal wastes. So, let's move on.
The exam. It was tricky. And I kinda like tricky, even when I get the answers wrong. It shows that the Prof. put some effort into the exam. Now, there were some tricky questions on it, including the repetition of multiple choice answers such as: a) it is hearsay, but falls within the exclusion for party admissions; and b) it is non-hearsay, as it is a party admission. See, this is OK. He wanted us to understand that party admissions, by their defintion, fall under 801(d) and are non-hearsay. But, questions where the fact pattern relates the actions of three people (e.g. Tom, Dick & Harry) and the call of the question asks whether Charlie's testimony will be admissible ARE INEXCUSABLE. Pig slop. Crap. Totally unacceptable law professor work product. So, that's what I think.
Should we complain to the Admin.? Maybe, but just to the extent of bringing it to their attention, not to substantively change the way the exam will be graded or curved. We all got fucked. Together. As a group.
Happy finals, biiaaches.

The Little Tommy Gun that Couldn't

Well, well, well. It's really happening. The Steelers QB situation is a disater. Where the fuck is Brian St. Pierre? Flirting in the Parisian riots? Fucking seriously, we need someone to step it up besides little old Tommy Gun. BIG Ben is aht until the HUGE Monday night game v. the invincible Colts, complete with Manning sauce all over it. T.Gun is simply petrified to play QB...I can see it, the announcers can see it, and I am convinced that every defense in the league knows it. Granted, that sad day three years ago when he was temporarily paralyzed was extremely frightening, but if you are getting a phatty paycheck to be the No. 2 QB for a crazyass NFL team, then do it with confidence.
Or else you are just going to be raking up more garbage from your lawn along with the dead leaves.
Personally, I do not have the time nor gas money to go to TG's house & fuck up his curb appeal, but Stees fans collectively do. You've been served, dude.

An Extraordinarily Uneventful Weekend

So, here I sit impatiently awaiting for halftime of the Stees/Brahns game to end so that I can witness more of this delicious smashmouth rivalry in action. Meanwhile, I think that it is important to add that I am doing so quietly and alone (Daisy Dogg is here, of course). This is very unusual, but I am finding it to be theraputic tonight. My typical schtick is to be around the Steelers "crew", drink I.C. Light to excess and down shots of red-headed sluts to celebrate each and every Stees score. It is really a brutal weekly tradition. Especially during late-night games, such as tonight's. Oh, one more thing about tonight's game. It's on ESPN and the intro that came on at 8:30 was a rap/opera to the tune of that "Lean Back" song that was popular this summer. One of the lyrics went like this, "Oh, no, it's gonna go down; Pittsburgh Steelers against the Cleveland Browns." Down rhymes with Browns...How fucking creative can you get?

But, as this weekend was pretty low-key altogether, it seems appropriate to fly solo tonight. First off, PSU had a bye week. This in no way detracts from our No. 5 BCS rating, but it simply delays the inevitable trouncing of Michigan State next Saturday, clinching the Big Ten & generally rocking the BCS. JoePa for PA Supreme Court Justice (Justice Nigro, I sure voted to keep your ass in black robes).

A great shaht aht to T-dizza for her wonderful company at the Handmade Arcade Saturday evening (hipster craft show in Point Breeze). Oh, BTW, thanks Kels for the idea. Good times had by all.

I NOW INTERRUPT THIS BLOGGING TO INFORM YINZ THAT THE SECOND HALF HAS BEGUN AND...CHARLIE BATCH HAS A BROKEN HAND!!! He actually broke his hand before he squeezed into the end zone for the last second TD. What a warrior.
MADDOX IS IN.
I've got to go...damage control time. Holy shit.

The First Rule of Fight Club is...

When I was a wee 1L on my second day of Pitt Law orientation, a 2L bequeathed to me an amazingly important piece of advice. As a matter of fact, it may have been the most crucial piece of advice that I have ever been fortunate enough to receive.
And the very, very few times that I have violated this rule, I have always felt like a complete assmunch. So, Pete Smith (St. Louise de Marillac 8th grade class of 1993 & Peters Twp. H.S. class of 1997), wherever you are, thank you for passing along the Golden Rule of Law School.

The Golden Rule of Law School is: don’t fuck/hook up/make out with other law students.
The only exception is if you believe that your insalubriousness will result in a long-term thing/marriage.
It may sound matronly, but it is tried and true. At first, I thought that this was a ridiculous suggestion. But, as time has passed, I have seen how this rule has prevented many awkward situations. Not unlike today.

The Second Rule of Law School is: keep drinking and it’ll all be over soon. (That's my own personal advice.)

Batch You Think That Farve Sucks!

OK...it's official: Charlie Batch is a much better (backup) QB than Tommy Gun.

But, we all knew that, save Coach Caher. But, still, watching the game was difficult. I mean, Hines had his first reception of the game in the second half. That is re-god-damn-diculous for a pro bowl receiver who needed just four receptions (today) to surpass a Stee's all-time record!

Charlie Batch deserves my love for two reasons. No, three. One: he is a hometahn boy from Homestead. Two: he wears my lucky number (16). And three: he won his first start today since the year 2000. Christ, since then, I've graduated college, held multiple jobs, completed 2.35 years of law school and lived in this god-foresaken city for four years!

Onto things other than the lovely Stees. After being sick for like two weeks, I still do not feel like myself. I feel rather unattractive, disorganized and generally lame. How do I kick this crappy outlook? I know that for starters I should clean my apartment, as a clean apartment always makes me feel better. Did I mention that I hate cleaning? Many of my friends think that I am a clean-freak. They are wrong. Actually, I am really fighting my genetic OCD. Go ahead, laugh. No, please, piss your pants if you'd like. I clean because I would rather look at an uncluttered place than a shithole. And a few weeks after I clean, the shithole begins to reappear.

Abracadabra! Schzamm! Fuck, magic won't clean my apartment...It was worth a try.

Like a Virgin

So, this is it: my very first blog post ever.
Which I suppose comes at a very interesting time because yesterday I defended my very first deposition ever. There's a first time for everything "they" say.

First, about the title of my blog: I once was on a date at a fancy restaurant in East Liberty where everything was just a tad bit too gourmet. But, hey, I didn't pick the joint and I wasn't the one footing the bill (and I did have the chicken). Anyway, when the server brought out the bread and butter, I immediately began laughing so hard that I nearly soiled myself. The butter was flamingly hot pink. Really, really pink.
When I shared this information with a friend, he told me that the phrase "hot pink butter" could be mistaken for a description of a vagina. And I was forever sold on the phrase.

OK, as far as things in my life that are worthy of typing out and publishing on the internet, here goes:

Law school is dumb. The students are either completely lame or supersweet and married. Not that I am using the hallowed concrete halls of the Barco as my personal meat locker, but I spend so much time there that you'd think that I'd be attracted to at least ONE man.

The Steelers have to come up with something that makes Big Ben bionic. Seriously, what the fuck? How are we supposed to win a freaking Super Bowl for the Bus' last season when Ben is injured every two weeks? I am by no means a "fair-weather fan." I can not even remember the last time I missed watching (or listening to) a Stee's game. And, as far as that term goes, there is very little "fair weather" in the Burgh O'Pitts. All I am saying is that we should give Ben some more padding or more protection.

Oh, and my alma mater just beat Wisconsin. Hell yeah! Eat shit, U of Pitt.
We ARE Penn State.

Last night, I was in my PJs, sippin' a cold IC Light pounder while making fun of Amy Grant's "Three Wishes" on TV. Very comfortable and satisfying, really. Then, my friend called to tell me that she wanted me go go out to Lava for "one drink" to meet her new friend. (Note: Lava is within 500 feet of my apartment.) I (of course) protested and told her that she was too late; I was already in for the night. Lame, I know. But, she transformed this request into a "favor" and the guilt trippin' began. Before I could put an end to her pleading, she was parked outside of my place. I let her in and, well, within 15 minutes, I had jeans and a T-shirt on. So, long story short, I had more than one drink. I met some new people and had a boatload of fun!
The moral of the story is: don't put up such a fuss when your friend(s) try to get you to go out, even when you feel poopy.

One more thing, my fish tanks are completely going south. At the same time, I am very proud of myself for breeding my first generation of snails. Breeding snails is (in the fish business) considered to be as easy as falling down the stairs whilst wasted. But, I've never been able to get them to fuck each other. See, I bought 3 yellow snails with the optimistic view that they could not all possibly be of the same sex. And they weren't. So, a few weeks ago, I noticed what seemed to be egg pouches stuck to the tank wall above the waterline. And they hatched. Oh, did they hatch. Now I have over one hundred tiny little snails in my fish tank. And, I think that they are somehow polluting my fish.
In the other tank, there is no snail problem, but the fish seem to be dying nonetheless. I am sick of scooping out fish carcasses. It's depressing.
You might be thinking that I am simply a negligent fish mother. I assure you that I have been maintaining tanks for close to six years & this is a historic time of death and disease.
If you have any good ideas to stop this plague, please advise.

I'll shut up now. Go Pens!