[Ed. Note 1: For today’s “The Best of the Bitter: 2009,” we’re revisiting the three most popular lists from 2009. Seven Women You Sleep With in Law School by PhilaLawyer was hilarious and obviously number one (his previous piece, Eight Billable Hour Scams, was hugely popular too). In second place was Eight Real/Fake BigLaw Criteria, and third was Seven Signs of a D-Bag Lawyer.]
[Ed. Note 2: We are happy to welcome back our friend, the ever-vile, occasionally insightful PhilaLawyer. His literary masterstroke, Happy Hour Is for Amateurs: Work Sucks, Life Doesn’t Have To, is being released in paperback October 13, which means the original hardback version was a publishing success. Jealous? We are. You can order a pre-release copy on Amazon
“One of the meaner realities you run into the first month of law school is the dating pool. Like college, the place should provide all the opportunities you need. I say should, of course, because in reality, law school is actually the photographic negative of college, an anti-beauty pageant in every regard. And I’m not being sexist here. In fact, the law school singles scene is probably a lot crueler to females than males. A lazy woman looking for anything from a fuck buddy to Mr. Right is faced with endless varieties of Dustin Diamond, Beavis, Bobcat Goldthwait, and the guy who played the subway ghoul in Ghost. Whatever your sex, living in this world your standards drop like an anchor.”
—Happy Hour Is for Amateurs
That’s how I saw the dating scene after my first month in law school. It’s true. The potential DNA mash-ups floating around a law school would bring most geneticists to teeth-chattering piss shivers. Nevermind the towering collection of dysfunctions and malignant paranoias—the aesthetics alone raise compelling arguments for the forced sterilization of the profession. But that description always seemed a bit incomplete, aimed solely at the male side of the class.
The good folks here at Bitter Lawyer and I have attempted to remedy that. So, in the spirit of incisive analysis, crack reporting and, as always, crude and juvenile generalization, we analyzed the side we know in more detail: The Seven Types of Women You Sleep With in Law School.
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1. MRS. ROBINSON
The older, second-career lawyer who’s somewhere between the high end of the “dirty thirties” and mid-forties. She’s seen it all, done it all—without a hint of a stress hormones anywhere in her bloodstream. This woman knows how to fuck and doesn’t want anything from you but an orgasm.
Upside: Never an awkward exit; she throws you out when she’s done.
Downside: You kind of want to stay.
5 GAVELS
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2. THE LIBRARY JOCKEY
Lives in the tombs of the library, studying tirelessly. Never goes to the bars, never goes to parties. So how does she blow off steam? By blowing you until you’re rawer than an Indian burn. Just as the quiet mousy chick in your freshman dorm hall screamed, “In my ass… Yes… Oh, God… Harder!” and tested the stress rivets on her mattress when her hometown boyfriend visited, the Library Jockey’s a closeted sex fiend and full-on four-star deviant.
Bonus: You also get all of her outlines.
Downside: And genital warts.
4 GAVELS
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3. THE STATE POLICEWOMAN
Been pulled over by a female cop? Then you get the analogy. You’re walking the white line and tongue-kissing the breathalyzer, even if you’re three houses from your driveway. No quarter, no mercy. Only ice water bathing her nerves. Her counterpart in the law school world is an equally obsessed, equally ruthless rule custodian. Either by nature or overcompensation, she has a need to appear more coldly analytical and rational than any male around her. She’s drawn to the rigid aspects law, following the black letter rules to their every picayune syllable. Reads the actual casebooks, as opposed to the Emmanuel’s outlines. Writes all her briefs from scratch, actually knows how to Sheppardize. The Japanese Army had less deference to procedure and rote, mindless execution.
Not-Unexpected Upside: Closet BDSM freak.
Downside: You’re the gimp.
Unexpected Upside: You like it.
3 GAVELS
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4. THE SOCIAL WORKER
Sixty percent of law students come looking for money. Twenty percent figure it beat playing Dungeons & Dragons and masturbating to MrSkin.com in their parents’ basements for the rest of their lives. Fifteen percent picked their heads up from a bong senior year of college and were struck with the epiphany, “Shit… I need a career.” All are deluded, of course, but none as much as the type of woman you’ll find in that last five percent: The Social Worker. She came to law school seeking to change the world. And now she’s facing the cruel realization that if there’s one place this will never happen—somewhere terminally, absolutely constipated on a ceaseless diet of risk aversion, mental masturbation, pettiness, tradition for tradition’s sake and senseless worship of precedent—it’s Law.
Upside: She’s earthy and in touch with herself.
Bonus Upside: She let’s you watch.
Double Bonus Upside: Scores excellent dope.
Downside: Makes you smoke it with her at Phish shows.
3 GAVELS
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5. THE HEAD CASE
She’s attractive, but a stress bag. A walking, breathing car wreck. Intelligent enough to be proficient, not quite smart enough to be calm. Obsesses over every assignment or exam. A nattering, nail-biting wreck. Everyone she knows is her therapist, which is generally you more than any of the others. Why? Because the two of you got together after an exam, threw back a dozen vodkas and wound up screwing on her couch.
Downside: Perpetually in some form of dire crisis, and you have to save the day.
Bonus: The solution’s always sex.
2 GAVELS
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6. THE STALKER
Sleep with her and you own her. You’re stuck with her, just like breaking a piece of fine china in a store. The quest for a man defines her existence. Which is why she can never keep any. One drunken fuck, and she’ll follow you like a predator drone. Any time you’re talking to another female student, in the corner of your eye, barely in your plane of vision, she’ll be there, staring daggers into your spine like Sissie Spacek in Carrie. “You’re mine, you understand that?” You can all but see her mouthing the words.
Dangerous Downside: Her self esteem’s so low she’ll stoop to any level to keep you.
(“We’re not exclusive. You can’t show up at my place when I have a date over.”)
Hidden Upside: Her self esteem’s so low she’ll stoop to almost any level to keep you.
(“Unless you want to participate.”)
2 GAVELS
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7. THE ‘MRS.’ CANDIDATE
She’s hot. And she has to be for what she’s seeking, which isn’t a JD. Daddy has a few bucks, enough to pay her way through grad school. And McKinsey wasn’t interviewing any Interpretative Dance majors. She thought about medical school. She thought about an MBA. Both required actual work. So she took a Kaplan course, pulled a decent score on the LSAT and here she is, looking for the “Mr.” to her “Mrs.” If you’re a half-decent-looking law student with a thimble’s worth of charm (otherwise known as one of the twelve normal guys in the class), you’re in the midst of her “no less than two karats” crosshairs.
Upside: She looks great naked.
Downside: She screws like a Real Doll.
Morning-After Downside: Her birth control pill caddie has an undisturbed wrapper around it.
Extra-Horrible Morning-After Downside: So does the condom in your wallet.
1 GAVEL
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My advice? The same sage wisdom you’ve heard a million times before. Never dip your pen in the company ink. It’s not that you’ll screw up your future career. That’d be a blessing in disguise. It’s that you might screw up everything else.
The Philadelphia Lawyer lives outside Philadelphia with his family, including his non-lawyer wife.
Read other Bitter Lawyer posts by PhilaLawyer.
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“One of the meaner realities you run into the first month of law school is the dating pool. Like college, the place should provide all the opportunities you need. I say should, of course, because in reality, law school is actually the photographic negative of college, an anti-beauty pageant in every regard. And I’m not being sexist here. In fact, the law school singles scene is probably a lot crueler to females than males. A lazy woman looking for anything from a fuck buddy to Mr. Right is faced with endless varieties of Dustin Diamond, Beavis, Bobcat Goldthwait, and the guy who played the subway ghoul in Ghost. Whatever your sex, living in this world your standards drop like an anchor.”
—Happy Hour Is for Amateurs
That’s how I saw the dating scene after my first month in law school. It’s true. The potential DNA mash-ups floating around a law school would bring most geneticists to teeth-chattering piss shivers. Nevermind the towering collection of dysfunctions and malignant paranoias—the aesthetics alone raise compelling arguments for the forced sterilization of the profession. But that description always seemed a bit incomplete, aimed solely at the male side of the class.
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