Tuesday, September 9, 2008

this also happened

I did not pass the MPRE. I missed the GA benchmark to TWO FUCKING POINTS, which equals ONE QUESTION.

Humorous Pictures


Here's the deal - if I'm going to fail, I want to really FAIL. I want to EPIC FAIL.
I don't want to fail by TWO EFFING POINTS. If I have to re-take that crap, it should be because it kicked the shit out of me, tore me up, I didn't know an effing thing. Instead, I was ONE QUESTION SHORT of being able to practice in my home, the least ethical of states.

















Oh, well. There has to be one ill-advised individual who fails every year. I had originally planned on keeping it a deep, dark secret, but after consultation with AK, (who, having been in the same spot a little over a year ago, said, "Man, you gotta OWN that shit") I have decided to go public. I figure maybe someone else might have failed, and maybe s/he will feel a little less bad knowing s/he is not alone.

Also, I know it will get out anyway, and I'd prefer people say, "Lori didn't pass the MPRE," rather than whisper, "OMG, Lori did not pass the MPRE!" So here you go. Lori did not pass the MPRE. Discuss.

yes, this really happened

Manufactured morality or not, I like donating blood. It's quick, it's easy, and I get free Nutter Butters. It's interesting; I would never actually buy Nutter Butters, but there's something about being a pint low on blood that makes them effing delicious.

That said, I often can't find the time to go donate, and I especially hate driving to the donor center because that means I have to drive away, hoping I won't pass out before I make it home. So whenever the Red Cross has a drive at school, I try to make sure I go donate. Last week was no exception.

So I'm standing in line, feeling all good about myself, woo woo, I'm gonna save some lives and eat some Nutter Butters, woo woo. Rob's standing next to me, and we've both got our lil' Reds Surveys in hand. So Rob catches sight of my weight, and like a normal person with a modicum of social skills, kept it to himself blurted at the top of his lungs,

"WHOA! You weigh A HUNDRED AND FORTY-FIVE POUNDS?!! WHOA!!!!!!!!"

To which I reasonably replied, "FUCK YOU, Rob!" in front of Red Cross volunteers, God, 'n everybody. So not only am I now a fatty, I am a foul-mouthed fatty.

This is where it gets good. In real time...

one Mississippi
two Mississippi
three Mississippi

*plink*
Rob bends down to the floor as I continue seething beside him. He stands up. Holds out a button. "Is this yours?"

Fuck. It's mine. It just fell off my fucking pants. (see: *plink*)

"YES, it's mine! Apparently I am so fucking fat, my fucking clothes are bursting apart! Fuck!"

I deposited the button in my handbag and proceeded to glare murderously at Rob for the following week.

(n.b. - Blood donation clearly does not create good karma. Perhaps there is something to the false morality. Must investigate - first step: determine if Nutter Butters are such a toothsome delight outside the Red Cross canteen.)