I’ve been out of law school for 2 years, but I remember it like it was yesterday. Like a war, a wedding, or a divorce, law school isn’t easily forgotten.
The most nerve-racking part of law school, of course, is grades. In most classes, your entire grade is based on your final exam performance. And you don’t get your scores back until several weeks after you’ve take your tests.
Well, the UNLV Boyd Law School 1Ls just got their grades back. So if you’ve noticed random shrieking and crying throughout the valley, you now know why.
My new 1L friends Emily and Lisa did really well, so we headed to Cosmo to celebrate with cocktails. First at Chandelier Bar, then at Marquee. (We were planning on drinking either way, we just didn’t know if we’d be drowning sorrows or toasting triumphs.)
Marquee was a madhouse. In a good way. From the line, you’d assume they were giving out free crack inside. The place was packed, packed with pretty patrons, prettier go-go dancers, and equally pretty bartenders. So much pretty it hurt. So much pretty it made me want to run back to the Midwest and admit defeat.
Now, I’m rarely surprised on a dance floor. (Few variables in freak dancing, you know?) But, I must admit, when Marquee’s mammoth gusts of frozen air ripped thorugh the dance floor, I was soul-refreshingly surprised. Never felt anything like that before. Well, not inside.
The Big Butt Book
(I’m told they did the same thing at Ice, but I haven’t been in Vegas long enough to know what that place is.)
At 3:00, my posse (which also a recent law school grad named Dan) moved up to the Library room for further cocktails. A bouncer gave us a copy of The Big Butt Book to peruse, and Emily and Lisa did just that for at least 20 minutes.
Can’t blame ‘em; come next week, when classes resume, they won’t have time for free reading.
But, if I remember law school correctly, there’s always time for cocktails.
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