Fig 1. Bad law

Fig 2. Bad ad

Last summer when I announced my decision to go on sabbatical from the real world in order to become a full-time law student it was met with understandable side eye. My close friends had known that it was an idea I had been incubating until the right time, but others were pretty stupefied. I had a fairly cushy, work from home if I wanted to,  position, and my clients were pretty cool, which almost never happens. Advertising is not the most lucrative position, but after years of scraping, I was freelancing on the side and was pretty financially comfortable going out most nights of the week.

Law school was such a seemingly unrelated, expensive, potentially useless career move that to some it made little sense. I mean, I was/am starting all over from square one. (Case in point: at the moment I am applying for unpaid internships. I am 30 years old).

Now it’s been a while since I’ve seen square one but its not a bad little place to hang out every once in a while. It tends to bring out the opportunistic idealist in all of us. (Case in point: I am applying for unpaid internships and am not totally hostile at the fact that they are unpaid because of the experience I stand to gain).

However, the further I get into my studies and understanding of the legal profession, the further I am realizing that advertising and law are kind of exactly, 100%, the same, except not. The language is different but the struggles are parallel.

Here is why*:

1. Advertising is primarily a client service industry.

If you don’t make clients happy, you don’t stay employed. In law, if you can’t make your clients happy, you won’t stay employed, either.

2. The billable hours are just as vast.

Christ if I could tell you the hours I used to work when I was a young, upstart account executive. Evenings, weekends, I occasionally even got up super early to get to the office and that is something I am pretty much abhorrently against.

Similarly, from my understanding, once you work at a big corporate law firm you are almost never heard from again.

3. The “work hard, play hard” mentality is thankfully also vast.

Of the people I know that can out drink my advertising friends, most of them are lawyers or lawyers-in-training. Thats a damn tall order too because you should see my advertising friends.

Additionally, never have I attended so many school-oriented functions that were centered around happy hour.

4. You work yourself to death for years to ultimately either make partner or go in-house.


5.  You speak in Greek.

This is a relatively inconsequential similarity, but often times advertising agencies will present concepts for mail pieces or artwork in which the copy is “greeked” in. This tactic is utilized to show the general layout, even if all the information needed to create the copy is not yet known.


Therefore, advertising clients are often actually reading Greek, whereas legal clients just think they are.

Har har har.

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It is fairly rare that I take pictures of myself, by myself, and post them on social media.

This is for 2 reasons.

1. Because of the obvious pandering involved. The subtext of every selfie is “Please remark on how wonderful I am and how beautiful I look. Thanks kbi” Not that I’m not a bit vain, because I totally am, but I just prefer not to advertise that quality.

2. And there’s also the fact that the amount of time that it takes me to get a decent selfie is prohibitive because I really suck at assessing my own flattering angles and lights (see above).  Thankfully, when a camera comes out I have one face and one pose that is pretty foolproof.

This  past year I realized that I look the same in every picture, though, so I resolved to try to be fun and natural and spontaneous anytime someone brought out a camera.

Like this chick, see…


This is a good photo-phor for what I would like my life to be.

Meanwhile, this is my actual life, and my actual attempt at fun and natural and spontaneous:


Fun and natural ≠ awkward and shapeless. As for spontaneous, I am spontaneously hunching so…perhaps that counts.

And then here was another attempt.

I succeeded in looking fun and spontaneous (there is nothing natural about gold sequined leggings), and also succeeded in looking 30 pounds heavier (there is nothing flattering about gold sequined leggings).

So… I went back to my one pose/one face thing for a while and swore-off stupid selfies, opting instead for another annoying instagram cliche:

Pictures of my dog!

Then a few weeks later when I was recapping everyone’s New Years shenanigans via social media, I had my first epiphany of 2014. Gold sequined leggings or not, I am 30 years old  and fine-line free!


I will likely never look as good as I do now, again.

As sad as that thought is, when I am old and wrinkly, I at least want to be able to remember how I looked in my (semi) youth.

I also want to be able to do this conveniently, without having to dig around a dusty attic for old photo boxes and albums.

Thus, I have resolved this year to take more selfies.

And whats more… I am kicking off this resolution with a big ole’ selfie-centric blog post brimming with narcissism.

I also just changed my hair, like in a big way, and there is nary a better excuse to post a selfie than with a dramatic appearance change.

After about 60 attempts (I’m getting better!) I managed to eke out a pretty good one:

God Bless you Instagram filters!

Thanks to you, none of us have to remember ourselves as we actually looked… 



Rather, we can remember ourselves how we thought we looked, in our own swollen heads.







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How I Spent My Winter Break




By Caroline Elizabeth Hubbard

Books read: 3.5

Wine Bottles consumed: 3-5

Days I did not get out of bed: 2.  I rationalized that this would probably be the absolute last time in my life when I would have so much free time and so little responsibility. I feel guilty for it though as I hated the me’s of the world and the flounderers when I was working 60+ hours a week for years.


It is now 2014. I can’t quite wrap my head around this. The older you get, the faster time goes, I guess.  Last year, at the dawn of 2013 I had decided to take a break from the whole resolution thing to just see where I ended up without thinking about it. I could never have resolved to have ended up where I am now anyway, it’s just too strange. Suffice to say, I made no overarching goals for 2013 but somehow managed to experience more  forward trajectory than the previous five years, easily.

So I’m sticking to that plan by not making any serious resolutions this year either.

Merely, I want to lose 8 pounds, get good grades, and visit somewhere else I’ve never been.

Also to take more selfies, but more on that later.



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Why I will never see Catching Fire

Or 12 Years a Slave

or especially not The Passion of The Christ

and probably not even Braveheart

I saw a whipping scene in a shitty reimagining of Little Red Riding Hood starring Isabella Rossellini and Craig T. Nelson from Coach* when I was about 6 and have never been the same. It was not particularly graphic or shot in close view, being a kids movie and all, but it did lead me to discover that I just do not process any scenes depicting torture, sadistic violence or corporeal human suffering like a reasonable person. Rather, I am seriously shaken and horrified for an unreasonably long, long time afterwards. It affects my ability to sleep or to think about ANYTHING OTHER THAN THE HORRIFIC SCENE I have just witnessed for a disproportionately long, long-ass time afterwards, too.

It’s weird, I know.

I suspect most normal people are actually able to separate reality and the movies. Not I.

I mitigate this defect with a combination of research and excuses. In 10th grade we had to watch Glory in history class and I told my teacher that I felt sick and got a pass to go to the nurse. I carefully read the synopses of Game of Thrones on prior to viewing any episode so I know what scenes to hastily excuse myself from when I do watch it. I look up other movies on random Christian sites because they are usually very explicit with a play-by-play about the violence depicted in each scene.

And most of the time I just ask my close friends who know of my irrational fear and see a lot of movies.

It really sucks sometimes, as in Catching Fire, because I really loved reading The Hunger Games book series but I don’t think I’ll be able to watch either of the subsequent movies. Also, it dawned on me today that I should probably give up my dream of becoming an E! correspondent because the prudent thing when interviewing a celebrity about their movie is to watch it before hand.

Sorry, Chiwitel.

My reaction to these kind of scenes, even mild ones, is obviously much stronger than normal, but in the case of movies such as 12 Years a Slave or The Passion of The Christ–movies that seem to exist specifically to give people the same kind of horrifying reactions I so fervently avoid–I am really freakin’ bewildered in addition to horrified.

Just like I abhor the sadistic violence scenes, I equally abhor the masochistic tendencies of people who seek them out because they feel it somehow enriches their human experience or something ridiculous like that.

When I was in college my roommate urged me to see The Passion of The Christ because she felt it was something everyone needed to see to better understand what Jesus went through. For the record, she was also a strong Christian, which colors her perception of the experience in a different way than mine BUT I disagreed with her logic anyway.

Ask anyone who has ever experienced profound suffering, if they had a choice whether to experience it or not experience it, I suspect most of them would choose not to. Thats how I feel about subjecting myself to The Passion of The Christ. I choose not to (suffer).

This goes back to why I disagree with the whole notion of any kind of religious self-flagellation or even giving something up for Lent. If Jesus suffered SPECIFICALLY so YOU don’t have to, isn’t that a slap in the face to then intentionally subject yourself to suffering in spite of that? (in the case of Lent the suffering is questionable of course–giving up carbs is hardly tantamount to Jesus’ experience, which in itself is, to me, an additional slap in the face but whatever) Lent post.

But back to the movies–people like my boyfriend, who approach them from an artistic standpoint, can sit through some seriously depraved shit and see metaphors (about Nazis ) instead of images (of teenagers getting mutilated). Meanwhile, I can’t unsee the teenagers.

He will watch 12 Years a Slave and The Passion of The Christ through that same lens and be totally fine, but I can’t say he thinks it will make him a better person to have sat through it. And I’m glad for that, because I don’t believe that it will, either.

So… ultimately, I say watch whatever you want but, for Christsakes (pun) don’t do it unless you enjoy it on an entertainment level.

And lastly, if you’re the type of person who truly gets enjoyment out of the prospect of human suffering, whether real or fictional, you’re everything thats wrong with the world and I hate you.


 * Ring any bells for anyone? We had it on VHS–taped off the TV, natch.


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Today “Hakuna Matata” came on the Sirius Broadway station and I cried

To be fair it’s a stressful time in a law student’s life when first semester exams are fast approaching. Honestly though, I can’t name a single exam, or– back in my career days–a single project/client freak-out, that has ever persistently impaired my life satisfaction.

Mufasa’s death, however…

Clearly, I have been stifling latent Lion King trauma, and that, coupled with the rapidly augmenting school stress, has unleashed itsself through a wild, passionate fit of nostalgia-induced sobbing.

Oh to be 11 again.

Seriously though, I don’t even like Disney that much. I definitely don’t like schmaltz, and I really don’t understand how fully-functioning adults can be so obsessed with vacationing at an amusement park built for small children (MIZ–I’m looking at you), BUT– The Lion King is an epically awesome movie.

After I pulled myself together I was so moved by my display of emotion that I promptly switched over to spotify so I could listen to every damn song on the soundtrack  even though it’s been like 20 years.

I still knew most of the words. But stranger still–I found myself drawing analogies from The Lion King to the law student life–a Circle, if you will. Har har har.

We arrive hungry and enthused about our futures. You might even say we just can’t wait to be kings.

…Oh god, I can’t believe I just said that. I’m so lame, y’all.

Anyways–then exam time comes. It’s pretty much terrifying; “Be Prepared.”

And finally we’re done. Fuck it. “Hakuna Matata”

I’m not really sure where “Can you Feel The Love Tonight” comes in, but I guess depending on how drunk my classmates get after finals it might factor in.

These are the things I think about when I’m actively not trying to study.



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Hard Truths

Did anyone see Don Jon? Smart movie. It relies on cliches and stereotypes, but only to add substance to a plot that is for the most part entirely devoid of cliches and stereotypes–romantic-comedy wise, anyway.

I liked it.

Still, the first half of the movie left me feeling completely worthless.

Without spoiling any plot points specifically, imagine the club-club-clubbiest male club rats that you can, and then imagine them having a series of conversations mercilessly objectifying their female club-rat counterparts.

And as a result of these conversations, I couldn’t shake the feeling that no one would ever value my existence unless I made myself pleasing to look at.

Because…I can’t not compare myself to what I see on film.


Its really freaking distracting, y’all.  Took me right out of the movie.

For the record, my brain tells me similar things when watching the Blurred Lines video ( GOD LAUGHS AT YOUR BOOBS!!!!!!) Or watching  Blake Lively ( WHY ARE YOU ALIVE?!!!!!!)  in anything.

 Strangely enough, society encourages us to blame society for this so… I dunno, whatever. The argument is that we’ve all been sold unrealistic images, and unrealistic expectations of women’s bodies from the media, pop culture, etc, and as a result of that we mentally flagellate ourselves for not living up to them.

Here’s my issue though, mind you print ads are just one piece of the puzzle, and arguably the most unrealistic. But Blake Lively? She’s fucking real. So are the incredibly thin and toned club rats in Don Jon, and that stupid bitch in the Blurred Lines video. These are real people, therefore their images are realistic… and their slight proportions and big hair are an attainable reality, also. For me.. for you, and for anyone else who is willing to try really fucking hard.

So there’s my first issue…”unrealistic women’s bodies” are quite realistic. If they weren’t, we wouldn’t covet them as much. This is why I don’t actively covet a pet unicorn (just passively).

My second issue, which I can’t quite reconcile, is that I seek out these images myself. There is some kind of masochistic joy I derive from constantly comparing myself to pop culture ideals.  I watch the movies, I follow supermodels on Instagram, and I aspirationally Pinterest high fashion photography.  So, society might be selling it, but it’s entirely my choice to buy it, and I do. BECAUSE I WANT TO BE THAT HOT AND I WANT TO CONSTANTLY BE REMINDED THAT I’M NOT THAT HOT SO THAT I HAVE THE MOTIVATION TO BE HOTTER. <–Brain

So there’s that.

The sad thing about this is that, biologically, all of it (ALL OF IT) stems from a basal desire to be, well, desired.   And, unfortunately, the brunt of that desire seems to fall on the females.

Heterosexually-speaking, men are attracted to different variations along a spectrum, sure, but, in my experience, there is a lot of overlap around this area of that spectrum:


Now, do I think that most men are as hard on women’s looks as the guys were in Don Jon? No…or at least certainly not out loud, but scientifically there are forces at work that all the diversity/size-acceptance training in the world can’t stifle.

So this really sucks, but:

1. Women, historically and now, derive a sizable percentage of their self worth from how they expect men to perceive their looks.

2. Women, historically and now, appropriate a sizable percentage of judgement on other women by how they anticipate men will perceive their looks.

3. Men don’t care as much. (That is to say, the specific percentage of a man’s self-worth that is based on how women perceive his looks is substantially less.)

I mean, I don’t know this for sure but I’m pretty certain that men don’t constantly have their own brains telling them they are not good enough because Bradley Cooper in a suit in The Hangover.

And on the other side of that… I want expensive shoes.

BUT– I don’t feel my self-worth substantially suffers  because I can’t afford expensive shoes;  and whether or not I can afford to buy expensive shoes for my boyfriend doesn’t even factor into my self worth.


1. Men, historically and now, derive a sizable percentage of their self worth from their ability to provide.

2. Men, historically and now, appropriate a sizable percentage of judgement on other men based on their ability to provide.

3.  Women don’t care as much.

I guess you could say that as a woman you have it harder because you can only do so much to add surface shine to your aesthetic reality, but then again, as a man if we’re assuming finances are correlated to intelligence, you’re flat out stuck with what you got.

So it sucks, yeah, but I guess take comfort in the fact that it sucks for all of us.






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Car Accidents Suck

If you are one of those sad, misfortunate cave-dwellers who still use the expression “thank you Captain Obvious” you might be tempted to utter it now in response to that headline.

Regardless… Oops I crashed my car…

…into another car. And the sad and embarassing fact is that it was undoubtedly my fault.

Here’s a play-by -play

1. I’m driving in starty-stoppy traffic

2. I zone out–no doubt lost in thought about starving children in Malawi and/or  inconsistencies in contract law– and don’t realize the car in front of me has stopped again.

3. Bang bang crash bang boom.

While the image at the top is neither of mine or the other parties’ vehicle it is a fairly accurate depiction of the results of this accident. Thankfully there were no injuries other than to myself (minor). The other car sustained rear bumper damage, but drove off after the police report had been completed.

Meanwhile, I need a new hood, front bumper and since the radiator got punctured probably one of those too, and I done got towed to the shop. Also, my knee hurts.

Now here’s the kicker:

I recently (last month) paid off my vehicle in full, and, being a full-time student on limited means, downsized my car insurance policy substantially. Most notably, by the removal of collision insurance on my own vehicle. My driving record was impeccable, I reasoned. I only drive to campus and back pretty much anyway, what could go wrong?

My mom warned me against this, she did. So let that be a lesson to you all to listen to your mothers.

Now I not only have to bear the shame and embarrassment of having failed miserably at being a competent driver and considerate human being, but I am also out an exhorbitant amount to cover the full cost of repairs for my poor, sweet little Mariner.


In times like this, I find it helpful to remember all of my greatest triumphs in life and physically list them out.

I shall do that now.


1. I am excellent at Candy Crush.

It has not come without practice  but I have a pretty solid strategy in place for even the most demanding of levels.

2. My 80s Gay List on Spotify is killer.

I started this list in 2011 based on the music I would have expected to hear at a Gay Club in the 80s. But its nostalgic appeal has far surpassed that. If you want to pretend to be a Delorean-driving hedge fund guy doing lines of coke in the bathroom stall at the most exclusive dance club in New York  in 1986, this list will evoke that for you too. If you’re like the average listener you will love and recognize the majority of these songs, but will have totally forgotten about them over the years. My aim is to help you remember.

This is probably the crowning achievement of my life come to think of it.

3. My cat’s name is better than your cat’s name.

Every time I think about my family’s pet cat, Mister Mittens, I am constantly reminded about how awesome the name Mister Mittens is for a boy cat. I came up with it in 2002 and continue to be proud of it to this day.


Welp, I think that’s everything I’ve ever done that I am suitably proud of. Although I guess I could say that I also continually triumph at reasoning negativity out of my head (such is the point of today’s entry) so I guess that’s something as well.


Posted in arbitrary, me me ME, Satirical Rant | 2 Comments

I went to Sweden and all I got was this lousy existential crisis


What should I call this piece?

There’s the one up there in the subject line…


I went on vacation to a foreign country and came back to a foreign world.



 I don’t know what to do with myself when I don’t have a job.


I know exactly why I feel so weird though. It’s because I quit my job, moved in with boyfriend, and am starting school (what?) all in the span of a month. So, basically, every significant facet of my life is vastly different than what it was six months ago—six weeks ago even, and   because I quit my job, I have way more time on my hands to sit and freak out about it.

I should smack myself for freaking out because I only have two weeks off anyway. Two precious weeks to sit around and watch netflix ponder my existence all day before I start the supposedly MOSTHIGHPRESSUREDIFFICULTYEAROFMYLIFEEVERRRRR  (according to the 1L hype anyway).

Additionally, at least according to Maslow, the fact that I have the time and headspace to sit around and netflick think about this means that my life is priveleged anyway.

So to that I say (to myself) fucking stop whining. I hate whiners (myself).

Here’s a picture of Finland. woo

Posted in arbitrary, me me ME | 2 Comments

Resting Bitch Face


I have it.

Some would call it unapproachable, but I just call it advantageous to my life.

Evolutionarily speaking, I think it serves as protection, as I feel like rapists and attackers would probably rather rape and attack someone who doesn’t look mean.

Meanwhile, I perpetually look like I’m going to punch you in the face.

Also, I don’t have to make small talk with nearly as many people as my warm and friendly-faced counterparts. This is awesome because I don’t like people or small talk.

The one drawback to being bombshell blonde though is that the societal perception of blondes is generally more bubbly than bitchy.

This softens my resting bitch face ever so slightly. But not enough that people in elevators feel compelled to talk to me so that’s good.







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An angry violent mob is no way to be.


This story broke days ago and I’m wondering why it hasn’t received more outrage. Cruelty, especially when it comes to bloodthirsty crowds,  sullies my perception of humanity, more than pretty much anything else.

I had a similar reaction to the gang rape in India, and Steubensville, Ohio a couple of months ago.

I’m normally a puppies and kittens and rainbows type of person in regards to the basic good in people, but shhiiiiittttttttt y’all….


No but seriously, I have to wonder if pop culture’s current fascination with apocolypse/anarchist/dystopian/zombie-infested programming comes into play here. Like, we watch these shows and root for these characters who go to plenty of immoral lengths to survive.

You can push a 7 year old out a high window one minute, and be the fan favorite the next minute, ya dig? In fact, it’s the honorable Ned Starks of these worlds that consistently end up getting the short end of the life-span stick.

I watch these shows and sure, I get it–morality is relative, but sometimes I feel like people need to check themselves. We don’t live in Westeros,  zombies don’t exist…yet, and that whole rapture thing from last summer was just a bunch of hooey.

So… I guess what I’m questioning is more or less “chicken or egg”-esque. Are these shows and movies accurately capturing humanity’s latent darker tendencies, or are they actually encouraging us to form, foster and accept them as absolute?

…thoughts…so many thoughts…

I guess history would suggest the former. After all, long before there was TV and movies to satisfy our sadistic inclinations with depictions of violence and cruelty, countries outright created them as entertainment spectacle— Public executions, fight to the death combat, etc.

But it’s not as if acts of brutality cum entertainment were spread evenly across the land. In fact,  if I had time, grant money, and a PhD in anthropology I might do an investigation into what factors go into making certain populations more hostile and murder-mongery, while others are happy to sit and ponder the stars. Off the top of my head I’m thinking of the Aztecs and Mayans here, respectively…or maybe even the Romans and the Greeks.

Sidenote: If you ever have time look up the punishment for treason in Elizabethan England–them’s my people–and them’s are cruel sons of bitches.

Whatever. Screw the ancients. On the world-wide level the human race is smarter and more educated, AND we have the internet. So why are we not more enlightened too? And by enlightened I mean sensible enough to not be a fucking cheerleader when witnessing a beheading or a rape.

In an age where fewer than ever are denying evolution (which in itself is a testament of our evolution, IMHO), have we not evolved past that?

I guess not…because perhaps HBO and it’s ilk has aided the manifestation of our erstwhile savage selves.

…Or, more likely,  people have always been dumb fucks en masse and will continue to act as such.

Except for me, I sure as hell will not.

Because 1. I will never, ever understand anyone that gets pleasure out of the pain of others and 2. I fucking hate crowds.


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