Thursday, August 15, 2013

Accounting 101

Under 12 weeks until the end of the law school journey. I embarked on this process skeptical as to wether or not I will see it through. I have a long history of giving up and moving on to the next thing. How else could I have been a chef, real-estate agent, mortgage broker, direct sales man and other minor roles?

With only a few weeks separating me from the biggest achievement in my life it is almost a certainty. Almost. I am not going to jinx it! 

I will be able to look back on the last five years and smile, I have enjoyed the large portion of my time at university. The highs such as getting on the Jessup moot and the moot itself, the lows including a almost total breakdown over understanding contracts. Good gracious part performance and warranty law have left deep scars on my brain. 

I have become accustomed to being faced with challenging concepts and working through them to understand and apply the law. This semester to push myself I decided it was a good idea to take accounting 101. I am such an idiot. 

I think accounting is more frustrating then first year law. I hate numbers, I hate math and I loath accounting logic. Numbers posses a deep black magic that strikes terror into my brain. After hours and hours of attempting the same fucking problem the answers are not correct. This is driving me bat-shit. At the end of this semester I am going to follow through with lighting a fire and feeding it the devils work that is the accounting text book. One page at a time. 

My shift as a market researcher (telemarketing without the sale) is about to begin. I was feeling pretty pissed off about my situation until a lady mentioned she has a masters in criminal law and starting a PHD is also working here. At least we can hate the job market together. 

Balance this you fuc*#r - Obiter 

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Short story assessment

I am taking a subject the requires a short story. I have never written one before. I don't know how I feel about it... I had only 1,500 words to play with. Here it is. 


As oblivious to my surroundings as ever I failed to mind my step, tripping into the homeward bound train. After locating a seat between a portly man with a slightly offensive odour and a goth chick reading fifty shades of Grey I planted my ass. 

Fat-Mans' odour was wrongly assigned, typical, blame the fat one. Instead the mushroomy cross sneaker smell was wafting off Miss Manson. Actually, Fat-Man smelt like Ck Obsession, my favourite cologne. Defence lawyers should know better then to judge on appearance. 

Defending criminals I have learnt to stop thinking about the acts of my clients and look to the mechanics of the law to find the gaps. Instead, seeking loopholes and missed procedure to put my charge back within the law or outside its sphere of punishment.

Taking out my copy of some top 100 classic I read with only half interest. Preferring instead to think of more interesting ways to pass the time such as perving on any captive trade.

Warm bodies flooded into the carriage at the next stop. As seats were at a premium people were standing in the isles. This suited me perfectly as some handsome man with an ass tight enough to turn coal into diamonds in a flattering and expensive suit is now standing inches from my nose. 

 Thinking scenarios more suitable to the novel Miss Manson was reading I attempted to return to my crusty Literature. Nope.

My attention was squarely at the gentleman's fun zone questioning if he was a tightie-whitie or boxer brief kind man. Damn it. Focus, read your book I scalded myself. 'It is quite true that I have worshipped you with far more romance of feeling than a man usually gives to a friend.', even the old book was conspiring against my attempt at mental purity.

I resigned to taking in the view, casually slipping my sunnies down to conceal my cheeky pondering. Nothing inconspicuous about sunglasses at 6pm. On a train. Would there be a trail of hair? Does he "manscape", he is definitely not a manscaper, well not for the purpose of my escapism.  

'Hey, do you mind?' Mr Stunning asked. Crap, crap, crap how could he tell?
'Do you mind if I could read the blurb of your book?' he asked again with a rum and honey voice. 

About to apologise for my inadequate camouflage I thrust the book up to him, lord knows what may have come out of my traitorous mouth. 

'Actually you can keep it, I am finished' fell out. Our hands didn't touch but the heat radiating off his arms had my hairs standing on end. Unkindly, the pre-recorded train voice announced my station. 

'Hey! Can I get your number to return the book?' Called Mr Tight Ass.

I was half way to the door when I fell over Fat-Man and landed on Miss Manson's lap. Managing to catch a few words of Miss Manson's book on the way up. She flushed red when we made eye contact. I had been thinking quite similar things only moments before. 

Mr What's-In-Those-Pants handed me a pen and the book, quickly jotting down my mobile and a winky face. I am not limited to the verbal shits, it extends to written form. 

A few weeks go by, I hang about the same carriage as when I saw Mr Top-Gluteus the first time. Maybe I would see him again. 

Today I spied Mr Sexy-Pants across the carriage reading my book. It could have been chance and it could have been my intense starring that caused him to look up and make eye contact. There was what could have been a wink but probably a blink followed by him retuning a downward gaze. All in my head, much like the things I have done to him. Nothing creepy about that.

My phone vibrated with a message, it was from an unknown number 'morning handsome'. Who? What? Oh... Mr Dashing has my number from my first "appraisal". 
'Coffee?' faded up on the screen. 
'YOLO' spoke my fingers. YOLO? what am I? some vapid 13 year old Belieber? With that my "coffee" date with Mr Probably-Tighty-Whities was set for tonight.  

On my schedule is the courts for criminal call over on my sexual assault file, Mr Binder. The client will be there for the first time to give instructions as to what happened. It will be easy enough, stand up before the judge and request a month to do something it will take me about 10 minutes to do.

From the file I can see various defences, both legally and factually. The assault was on a young man after a hook up at the Beat. The complainant alleged he was tied up and beaten. The witness's statement lacked internal logic and read more like a work of horror fiction. I will make him out to be a drug addled twink should it go to trail. 

After an accusation is levelled most people see a single act as defining a person. The criminal stops being a father, brother, husband and pillar of the community. After a few years this shifted and I see the majority of my clients as people with a history and circumstances. 

It is only a short walk to the courts, however it is time enough for me to drench myself and the file in coffee. Busy cursing my propensity to be graceful like a bush turkey and as elegant as a rhino I did not see Mr Porn-Star approach. 

'Here, your tie is all drenched, have mine', with that he took his off and handed it to me, exposing just enough chest to leave me wanting his shirt too. Traces of CK Obsession left from where it rubbed his neck touched my nose. Any chance of actually drinking coffee on our date is dwindling away. 

Discussing the news and other comments an eaves dropper would mistake for respectable conversation turned a touch filthy.
He asked 'do you like baseball? Are you a pitcher or catcher?' in a leather and velvet tone. We shared a mutual preferred position, in baseball for the unknowing passer-by. Our banter became pre-text discussion for acts to be committed later.

'This is me' I shrugged as we neared the court. 
'Oh, me too!' Mr Smutty replied. According to Mr Next-Notch-In-My-Belt he had a criminal matter on today. Another lawyer, that explains the suit. 

We entered the complex and parted company. I head towards the men's room to dry off the remaining coffee. The door swings open, he has followed me in. 

It is just Mr Filthy-Things and I. Pushed up against the wall he presses into me while kissing me hard. His trimmed stubble grazing my face. He tastes like maple syrup and cinnamon. 

His abs have a downy coat of hair. Just as I had hoped. As interested as I am in answering the underwear mystery, call over starts in 2 minutes. We are cut short and head to court 18. 

'All arise' called the bailiff. Judge Bat-Crap-Crazy entered the room. 'Good morning, Ms Prosecutor who is first today?'. The excitable new prosecutor stood up and called 'the matter of R v Binder'. 

Making my way to the front of the court Mr Binder joined me, it is quite usual for clients to meet their lawyer on the fist court date, at the bar table. Turning to tell the client to sit down I was somewhat taken aback to see Mr Not-Really-Coffee was Mr Binder. 

A date was set and Mr Binder, first name Benjamin and I went to a small private meeting room to talk about his defence. It was all business now I represent him. Lawyers are not to sleep with clients lest a conflict of interest arrises. 

Benjamin expressed his innocence and having read the statements I believe him. After explaining the law and his options the conversation turned to 'Coffee'. Fuck it, fuck the rules, I want to feel his skin against mine. 

It was pretty clear our interests were not going to conflict, competing desires perhaps, but not conflict. The need to explore the curvature of his wast line into his pants became a persistent and consuming insatiable craving. 

From court we went to his house. Benjamin goes commando. The sex. It was not sex. It was the satisfaction of a hunger that had been eating at me for weeks. After much competing I passed out from exhaustion. 

I woke up tied to the bed, bound and gagged, not a bad thing in and of itself. I have read fifty shades of Grey, I am open to a second round with Benjamin.

Life is not a romance fiction. The accused can be guilty. If I live how will my witness statement read? With what he has in his hand who will believe it?

Friday, August 2, 2013

Last semester

Been a while... So much has happened. 

The Moot: 

It happened, under a series of events I did not end up speaking in the competition I spent thousands of dollars on and many, many hours away from my loved ones and partner. In addition I missed out on two further interviews for positions as a judges associate. I will probably always be bitter and twisted about that. Still, it was an amazing experience that I would do again in a heart beat. 


As is my custom I passed everything, not a credit in sight. I would have failed two subjects had I not fought the justice school at the third level of appeal for remarks. Fighting for marks is not something I thought would be a common theme in my degree, thank goodness for my legal education! 

I can't help but wonder what my marks would look like if I did not spend so many hours on the multitude of extra curricular activities in the LLS? There are those super human beings that can maintain superb marks, work and study. I am not one of them. However, if I were to do it again I would not change a thing. 'Giving back' through running competitions, peer mentoring or mooting have been the highlights of the last 5 years. 


Shortly after returning from mooting in Europe I was made redundant. The job I was supposed to graduate evaporated into thin air. Consequently I am working in a call centre and at the door of the Cackle Berry. Not ideal, actually it sucks. A lot. Years ago I had a motto that encapsulated how my life seemed to work 'when I am low I always bounce back higher than before', we will see if this remains true. I have something quite exciting in the works... When the papers are signed I promise to tell you immediately. 

Last semester:

I am on the home stretch, 11 weeks until I am finished my law degree. Last semester I finished all the requirements for the Justice Degree, it was only a week after the last exam did this dawn on me. There was no excitement only the small feeling achievement. As much as I value my Justice degree, the real prize is the law degree. 

With only one law subject left I have taken various electives from other schools. As a requirement for a popular fiction subject I get to read Tarzan, Twilight and The Hobbit. Warm happy feelings fill me every time I read curriculum enforced fiction. To balance out the finger painting subjects I am taking accounting. Math is a evil, wicked nasty thing. You can't argue with pure logic, 1+1 will always be 2, no matter how hard your argue. 

Perhaps I might just blog again before I graduate - Obiter