It Was The Only Choice Left

So I guess some of you are wondering why I decided to be a lawyer in the first place. Well the obvious answer would be BECAUSE I HATE BEING A BUSINESS MAJOR, and the other answer would be BECAUSE MY MOTHER TOLD ME TO. But I also had to figure out the hard way that I wasn’t good at anything I really wanted to do. As a child, everyone has dreams…so did I. But unfortunately, my dreams of a future career weren’t as realistic as I had hoped. For example…

When I wanted to be a GOGO DANCER

And my brief stint in wanting to be a HAIR DRESSER

And then there was the time I wanted to be a NINJA

*sigh* So you see, my only alternative was to be a lawyer. That and sumo wrestling, but that is still a work in progress!

71 days until the LSAT

My Weapon Of Choice: The Rubber Hose

If I had to beat someone to death, I would chose the rubber hose. Yes, I would forgo the bat, the golf club, my fists, and—dare I say it—even the torn-off arm of the person I was beating (can you imagine that? Beating someone with their own arm…hilarious).

So why the rubber hose? Why not use a weapon that actually has some merit? Because the rubber hose has the INCONSPICUOUS value. If I were carrying it around no one would be suspicious, and no one would know that I was going to beat someone with it. It would just look like I was going to water my garden or wash my car. And the marks that appear on someone who has been rubber hosed resemble those of a whip, so detectives would look for someone with a whip rather than someone with a hose. And even if they determined it was a hose, what are they going to do? Question each one of the millions of people who own one? Hahahaha…FOOL PROOF!

Let’s not forget the satisfying noise that comes from beating flesh with a hose. Music to the ears, I tell you…music to the ears.

I Hate The Beach

Everytime I come home, someone always makes the assumption that all I’m going to do is lie on the beach all day. And to those people having that “luxury” makes me lucky. However, I see a growing need to clear up this grossly incorrect assumption because contrary to popular belief, I HATE THE BEACH. I refuse to go anywhere near it unless it’s just to sit far, far away from the ocean where no water will touch me. And why?!? BECAUSE SAND ALWAYS GETS UP MY BUTT.

Don’t think I go into the ocean all free-balling or whatever. I wear my swimsuit, and I take extra precaution to ensure that none of that crusty sand goes anywhere near me. But despite all that…NO! Something in the current will always bring tiny granules where they should not belong! And that leaves me feeling DISGUSTING AND DIRTY AND VIOLATED!

So hell no…NO BEACH FOR ME~! If you like, you’re just crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy…AND you like the feeling of sand in your crack.

73 days until the LSAT

Why Can’t We All Just Get Along?

(during high school)                  (after high school)

If patience is a virtue, then I am one of the most unvirtuous people around. I have so little patience that it’s amazing I haven’t already killed myself out of frustration. This lack of patience stems from my carrying obscenely long grudges against people. For the most part, I don’t tolerate mistakes…particularly the mistakes that are borne from a person’s lack of social skills. If you need a clue as to how I think a person should act, then my answer to you would to THINK OUTSIDE OF THE ONE-DIMENSIONAL PLANE. See, the problem with some people is that they think only about the immediate affects of their actions, and not the long-term consequences that result from how others react to those actions. That’s how you trip up. Thinking too much about yourself, basically. My dislike for people who do crap like that comes from ALL OF MY HIGH SCHOOl “PEERS.” Those losers…if you’re looking for the most superficial high school around, that would be MY high school: Kaiser High. If you wanted to measure your popularity, then you would have to count how many breaks you spent smoking in the bathroom. The more you smoked, the more friends you had. And to become prom queen, all you had to do was spread your legs. Despite all their stellar behavior, for some reason, all those people thought that they were better than people like me—and that meant that they wouldn’t really associate with the “out crowd” unless it was to try to borrow homework.

So imagine how GREAT it is to go to a restaurant and be served by one of the former popular elite of my class. They pretend as if they never looked down on me before, and all they want to do was be my friend. They make crappy small talk and try to build some sort of foundation between us while they’re pouring me water and giving me bread. But I hold long grudges, people, and when the opportune moment to bite back is presented to me like that, then there is no way I’m going to let it slide. Many a good laugh came at the expense of others, and I expect many more to come.

Yes, I should be better than that, and yes, I shouldn’t begrudge them for something that happened many years ago. But like I said earlier, I am without virtue. If you make a social mistake, then you pay for it. And I would like nothing more than to bestow upon you the gift that is my social punishment. So what does being the bigger person matter to me? IT JUST DOESN’T.

Tra la la~!

74 days until the LSAT

Childhood Memories…

My house has four huge mango trees, and every season it bears us some pretty nice pieces of fruit. We had never really had mango trees before, so imagine our surprise when we noticed our delectable bounty….then imagine our utter disdain when we realized that other people were eyeing our mangoes too.

I was only 9 when my parents decided to let my sister and me stay home by ourselves. We knew it was illegal for parents to do this, so we never went outside where people could see us and figure out that we were alone. All we would do is sit in our room and watch television. The rest of house remained empty.

Then one day we hear some voices in our yard, and we immediately get scared that someone is trying to break in or something. So we hide under the desk and listen for the intruders. They were talking and stuff, and we could hear our mango trees rustling unnaturally. Those people weren’t burglars: they were MANGO THIEVES.

But we were too young to do anything. Calling the police would mean implicating our parents, so we just sat there and waited for the thieves to leave. Sometimes there would be one or two of them, other times there would be WHOLE FAMILIES. One family actually sat on our walkway after they picked our mangoes and started eating food. Like we were just a public park, and they were having a picnic.

Years later, I am reflecting on these memories and it makes me angry *turn into the Hulk* When I see them picking our stuff nowadays, I usually go outside and say something to them. BUT THEN NEVER GIVE US THE MANGOES BACK. They just act like PUSSIES and drive away.

So in my fury over these snippets of my past, I have come up with an invention. I call it the Extendable Pitch Fork:

HAHAHAHAHA! Tell me I’m not the best…BUT YOU’D BE LYING! MWA HAHAHAHA~!

Yeah Grand Big…I know you’re going to think I have too much time on my hands. But you’re proud, no?

75 days until the LSAT

Entrepreneurial Skills

I have seen way too many crappy “Boys Are Like” keychains to last me a lifetime…the worst one by far is that one where there is a half-eaten gingerbread man with a very aghast expression on his face, and a caption underneathe that says something like “Boys Should Be Eaten.” PLEASE~! I could come up with better keychain slogans than that…AND I HAVE! BEHOLD THE POWER OF CREATIVITY…with a little help from Microsoft Paint (my favorite!).

Keychains You Wish You Could Buy

Or…

Man, someone should give me money for these ideas…I tried to come up with a “Moles are like Christina Aguilera…dark and fat” keychain, but that has nothing to do with my Boys Are Like product line. Maybe next time.

*NOTE* The general sentiment displayed in the above artwork does not apply to my male aquaintences, friends, or other…it’s intent was just to capitalize on the angst of lovesick adolescents who shop at stores like Claire’s and Icing. Suckers.

Jibber Jab

I don’t know what a verb or an adjective is. Can someone please explain it to me?!?

76 days until the LSAT (thanks for reminding me to register, Patrick )

The Term “Walk Your Bike” Has Never Applied To Me

My name is Sylvia, I’m 21 years old, and I don’t know how to ride a bike.

……..There I said it! I just couldn’t take it anymore! All you people who thought I walked to my classes because I was healthy or because I wasn’t lazy…you all made me feel so guilty with all your compliments and admiration. But little do you know! Oh so little do you all know! I was a prisoner to my own disability! Always having to leave my apartment 20 minutes before my class would start, and speed-walking across campus. Or dreading the days where I had to wear a business suit to class, and knowing that I would be crushing my toes in my boots as I trudged down to Hoffman or the accounting building. And I couldn’t wear anything but sneakers or my slippers because anything else would just tear my feet to shreds. How I longed to be 5’8″ instead of 5’5″ sometimes! It would have made staring people down so much easier!

Some people say that it’s kind of funny that I can drive a car but can’t ride a bike. Well haha! FOOLED YOU THERE DIDN’T I?!? Because guess what…!

6th Time’s The Charm

The average person I’ve talked to got their license after their 1st try. If it’s not the first, then it’s the second. To be in either of those groups would make you a conformist. Lucky for me, I am unique in my own group of individuals who didn’t pass their driving test on the first or second time…or the third…or the fourth…or the fifth…

My name is Sylvia, I am 21 years old, and I had to take the driving test 6 times before I got my license.

*brief pause for laughter*

Okay fine! So I may have parked too far from the curb, and forgot to pull my emergency break and turn my wheels towards the sidewalk. But who does that anyway? And yeah, I don’t usually turn my head when I switch lanes because I think everyone should be looking out for ME and not the other way around. I think for my benefit we should consider the pertinent facts: the same guy failed me three times and he was already expected me to fail (therefore, biased opinion!), one tester was having PMS symptoms, and another guy was just too lazy to let me drive the whole block. I think all those reasons show without a doubt that I was unfairly graded and rejected.

I am a safe driver, I swear! I’ve only driven on the divider twice!

Bad Pick Up Lines

Saw a commercial for a new show that MTV is producing called Busted or whatever. It’s supposed to be about girls who expose these guys to be losers or something. Anyway, this is one of the pick-up lines a man tried to use on a girl…

Are your parents retarded? Because you seem like you’re a special girl.

What an amazingly sad-ass line! I literally sat there for a few seconds, trying to absorb the depth of crap this man was probably swimming in, and I just started to laugh…and laugh…and laugh…

Stuff That I Feel Like Jabbering About

I went to the dentist’s on Tuesday and the X-rays showed the my bottom two wisdom teeth are GROWING PERPENDICULAR TO MY OTHER TEETH! That means that I am screwed, and have to get them removed before school starts because if the messed up teeth grow out, they could potentially cause the teeth around them to rot. This is what I think my evil wisdom teeth look like:

Bastard teeth!!! ARGH~!!! MY dentist has referred me to a specialist, and I’m hoping that this guy has some hard-core drugs that’ll knock me out…so around the end of July, I will have four stitches on my gums, and a mouth full of misery.

79 days until the LSAT

Music Notes

“Hey baby, here I am…Come rub up on my belly like GUAVA JELLY.”

That, my friends, is an actual line from an actual song that I heard on the radio not too long ago. What appalling visuals do you get?  I don’t find rubbing on any belly that resembles any kind of gelatinous sustance to be sexy AT ALL. I like my men firm, fit, and healthy…not fat, jiggly, and blobbish. Can you imagine using that as a calling card? “Hey baby…come rub my disgusting belly because it looks like the chutney you spread on your toast this morning!” WER-WER!

Vegetable Rights

While I believe in animal rights, I also believe in having meat as part of your daily diet. That is probably just my being a hypocrite, but there is scientific and historical data that suggests that we are supposed to eat meat despite what those health-food nuts might suggest. But while they are too busy advocating animal rights at restaurants and fashion shows, they overlook the fact that plants, too, are alive. Plants might not bleed the way mammals do, but they breate and drink just like the rest of us. And since no one has proven that plants don’t think, there is no reason not to assume that plants have no perception of consciousness. Therefore, I will be advocating PLANT RIGHTS. Down with murderous salad bars and grass skirts! When I order a hamburger, I only want to see meat and cheese! And let me inform you all that “veggies” is a racial slur for “vegetables”! No more will my chlorophyll-celled brothers be subjected to the tortures of being consumed by self-proclaimed vegans. Salvation now for the Plant Kingdom!

82 Days until the LSAT.

A glimpse into my distant past…

Horsey was not a nice girl. She was obsessed with her skinny, unattractive, baggy-pants-wearing-fake-Asian-gangsta-wannabe boyfriend, so she used to treat his female friends with absolute disrespect and loathing. Sometimes it would just be a simple scowl whenever girls were around, but other times her jealousy would cause her to act out in violent trantrums. It was very annoying, especially since this girl was a year younger than us.

In my senior year I had a confrontation with Horsey in the school parking lot. I had just finished graduation practice and was heading back home at around noon. As I was driving out of the lot, towards the street, this blue PINTO or something speeds up next to me and cuts me off. I recognize the car as being Horsey’s, and it’s apparent that she’s cutting class to hang out with her icky boyfriend that I was barely aquaintences with. Her rude driving habits MADE ME WANT TO THROW MACHETES AT HER FACE…and the incidence became burned inside my memory.

The next morning I had graduation practice again. The way our parking lot was structure made it so that kids coming from the west side of the island had to merge into a lane with the kids coming from the east side. As driving etiquette goes, one car per lane takes turn merging in…that’s just how you do things, right? NOT IF YOU’RE HORSEY! I’m pulled into the merge lane with no one coming in from the East-Kids’ lane, and right as I was speeding up this damned blue PINTO sped up and CUT ME OFF AGAIN, nearly SCRAPING MY CAR. I was so mad now…very, very mad. It’s one thing to cut me off once, but to do it again out of spite is enough. Three strikes you’re out, my ass…this bitch is going down.

I waited…I waited about 3 days after my graduation ceremony before I enacted my revenge. After seniors leave school, the underclassmen have about 2 more weeks of the year before their vacation starts. Poor things…I took advantage of this two week period and drove up to the school an hour before the ending bell rang. No one was in the parking lot, so it was easy for me to find Horsey’s ugly pinto. And WHAT LUCK! There was an empty space next to it! I parked beside her car and what I did next can be summed up in a song…

ME CHINESE, ME PLAY JOKE, ME DRIVE TO SCHOOL BEFORE YOU GET OUT OF CLASS AND KEY YOUR CAR UP!

Stupid bitch. You got what you deserved. I was thinking of putting an orange or a potato down her exhaust pipe, but why waste good food? Nonchalantly, I drove away right after. A few months later, I was on my way to the greener pastures of USC…and she is most likely still here, working at McDonald’s.

85 days until the LSAT