Sadness

Lily, the calico I adopted six months ago from the ASPCA, was put to sleep today. She had not been eating or drinking water very much for the past week or so, and then the past couple of days she stopped completely, and was very very weak. I was so focused on Chloe over the past few weeks and her doggie menopause (she's absolutely fine) I hadn't really considered Lily could be sick.

She had been lethargic but seemingly ok, but today she was unable to walk and visibly not ok. I rushed her to the vet, and the doctor performed one test, and knew right away that she had Feline Infectious Peritonitis (FIP), for which there is nothing to be done. She most likely contracted it in the shelter, and had it when I adopted her but only recently became symptomatic. I know there was nothing I could have done, and I only had her for 6 months, but it's still obviously extremely upsetting and painful.

I've clearly been a mess all day, on the phone with my mom (who was about to get in the car and drive 4 hours to NYC until I convinced her not to - I had been planning on going home next weekend anyway) and various friends, two of whom immediately got in a cab and met me at the vet's office.

I decided to stay in the room with Lily and the vet while the procedure was done, and although it was very difficult, I couldn't bear leaving her alone, although I'm sure it's a choice a lot of people make. I remember when Velvet, our family cat who was the same age as me, had to be put to sleep when I (and she) was 16, my mom stayed in the room with the vet but I couldn't do it. I guess we grow up.

And now I have to actually be a grown up and go to work tomorrow and get on with it. I may tell people first thing in the morning what happened, just so they don't wig out if/when I randomly tear up over the next few days.

Chloe better get used to my being clingy for a while.

"I don't think I've actually gotten to my life yet."

That statement made my friend spit out her drink in laughter last night. I wasn't trying to be funny, but apparently I'm a hoot.

Mid Week Musings

The TSA has announced that would be terrorists may be doing some dry runs in preparation for something big. I'll never look at a block of cheese the same way again. So naturally, because they're so focused on identifying bomb-making components, it's a great time to also let people bring lighters on planes again, right? Right.

I've had a charlie horse in my left calf for 14 hours. It first bit at 6:30 am (what a way to wake up), and has lingered ever since. I need a massage.

I was absorbed in my own little world on the subway ride home when a man sat down next to me, and I was instantly transported back to the summer before 9th grade. This man wore the same cologne/aftershave/something that my first real boyfriend wore that fateful Summer of the First Kiss. He was a good guy. I probably shouldn't have made my best friend at the time break up with him for me right before Christmas by returning his varsity hockey jacket in a shopping bag.

My sources have informed me that the first essay on the NY bar exam was on commercial paper. Ouch. But I'd bet 75% of test takers bombed it, so the curve will work perfectly well.

Excuses 1, Responsibility 0.

Finally, I just got an electric bill for $113.48 because I refuse to let Chloe and Lily suffer in the hot weather every day. And how do they repay me? By knocking over the garbage can and snoring next to my head.

Update: I've just watched 15 minutes of F/X's new show Damages. It has indeed damaged me, as I'll never get those 15 minutes back.

Untitled.

There are productive days. There are not so productive days. And then there are the I'm-so-annoyed/tired/confused/worried-about-X that I'm just gonna sit here and pretend to do work days. Today was one of those. Not sure what exactly prompted it, except I kept picturing myself lying on the beach and reading Nora Roberts "novels", which isn't going to happen for another 3 weeks. So maybe I just need a break. After 7 months. Ha. At least Lindsay Lohan kept me entertained.

And now for a nonsequiter, am I the only one who didn't think the CNN You-tube debate was a big deal? Or even remotely more interesting than the other platitude-filled old fashioned debates? Am I supposed to think it's edgy that the candidates could potentially be flustered by Dan Dumbass in Utah? I miss the days of Al Gore and his locked box.

If you want to smile for a solid two hours,

go see Hairspray.

Seriously, it's the most joyous movie of the summer, and you will leave the theater skipping.

I don't wanna go to work tomorrow. But I'm not going to complain (much), because I know for a bunch of you out there it's Bar Week, and not in the hopping kind of way. I won't say good luck, because it's pointless and you don't need it, but I will say this: even when you leave Day 1 feeling like shit, stumble though Day 2 feeling like you're going to vomit, and for anyone lucky/stupid enough to have a Day 3, somehow make your way through it despite having felt like you've entered some parallel universe and have ingested almost nothing besides Diet Coke and a huge soft pretzel at Penn Station by that point (maybe that was just me), you will be done very soon and will join the ranks of those of us on The Otherside.

"I don't need any new ideas. I'm confused enough already."*

I was standing in line next to this guy at the Bed Bath & Beyond near Lincoln Center today. I wanted to say "Hey weren't you in those Edward Burns movies?" But I thought that would be kinda mean, so instead I just stared and smiled. He did smile back, but I don't know if it's because he was a) being polite, b) thought I was cute, or c) just thought I was retarded. I'll assume b.

*If you haven't seen The Brothers McMullen, go forth and rent.

If it weren't for those pesky rules of ethics...

I met a beautiful man today. Handsome, well-spoken, fit, intelligent, with an impressive career. I was smitten.

Unfortunately for me, he was sitting on the opposite side of our conference table while I deposed him.

I had to concentrate twice as hard as usual on my questions because I kept getting lost in the calming sea of his blue, blue eyes....sigh. I'll just say that he's in the NYC version of the Navy Seals, and damn, are they impressive. He wasn't actually in one, but I do love a man in uniform.

I usually try to be somewhat skeptical of whoever I'm deposing because it forces me to ask follow up questions and probe as much as possible. With this guy, I found myself simply nodding and believing everything he said! And then after a split second I would mentally slap myself and ask another question.

If I responded this way, this guy's gonna make one hell of an impression on a jury...

Random Thoughts.

So Chloe has a hormone imbalance. Loss of estrogen or some such thing which is common in older female dogs. I almost lost it when the vet called her old. So from now on she'll take a pill twice a day and hopefully everything will be fine.

I spent three hours in court this morning for ABSOLUTELY no reason. My adversary didn't show up, and when I finally called his office before the final calendar call, a secretary spoke to me like I was an idiot saying why was I in court when they faxed us a signed stipulation yesterday withdrawing their motion? And then I didn't quite yell at her, but very strongly told her that SHE MUST BE A FUCKING IDIOT BECAUSE WE NEVER RECEIVED A FAXED STIPULATION YESTERDAY. And then she went to check, and sure enough, it had never been faxed. Jackasses.

This article makes steam come out of my ears. It's nothing I didn't know regarding the absurdity of large firms, but the arrogance and smugness makes me want to shoot myself.

Thankfully today's explosion in midtown wasn't terrorism. But the fact that we have steam pipes down there from 1928 pretty much means that that they will likely keep exploding. Makes traveling underground in the subway built in 1904 really appealing.

How do lonely lawyers spend their Sunday nights?

Apparently, they sip wine and watch Angels in the Outfield on the Cartoon Network while theoretically reading over deposition testimony.

Go home.

Listen up, Manhattan tourists. It's time to leave. I know you contribute millions of dollars to the city's economy, but if you don't stop pissing off the people who live here, we're gonna organize some kind of revolt. This week alone, you subjected me to the following displays of stupidity:

1. Walking down the street side by side is usually ok. But when there are 7 of you moving at the speed of molasses and you're all taking pictures (of really ugly window displays, by the way. wtf?) it's very hard for the rest of us to get by you without getting hit by a cab.

2. I realize the subway is confusing. I got lost on the F train the other day myself because I thought I'd try a different route back to the office from the courthouse in Queens. But holding the door open for whole minutes while one of you attempts to read the great big map on the platform is unacceptable. There are also maps inside the train cars! Or you could just ask someone! We won't bite. Well, most of us. Just let the train get on its way.

3. This is still America. If you don't speak English, don't start screaming at the poor tired waiter who doesn't understand what the fuck you're trying to order. Point to something on the menu, or to a plate at another damn table if you must, and be happy with it. (Was that ethnocentric and/or racist? Sorry. No wait. I'm not.)

4. Don't. Steal. Other. People's. Cabs. Ever.

5. Finally, contrary to popular belief, the giant construction site that used to be the World Trade Center is not, I repeat, not supposed to be a tourist attraction. It may have turned into one, because of natural curiosity and interest, but it still deserves some measure of respect. Therefore, it's not an appropriate spot to pose for pictures WITH YOUR ENTIRE POSSE GIVING A BUNCH OF "HANG TEN" THUMB/PINKY GESTURES TO THE CAMERA. Again, wtf.

In sum, spend your money, take your buggy rides in Central Park, and then do us all a favor and get the hell out.

I'm all for crackdowns...

but DAMN, this is harsh. Although, if I were one of the pet owners whose beloved dog or cat died because of tainted food that this guy had something to do with, I'd say the punishment fit the crime.

Speaking of my pup, I'm trying not to get too worried about this, but she's been exhibiting a bit of sleep-induced incontinence lately. She's going on 14. I know she's no spring chicken, but she seems her general chipper self and doesn't seem sick other than the 3 occasions of peeing during her sleep. So I made a vet appointment for Thursday evening. I'll freak out then if I have to.

And just because she's pretty: I present Chloe.

Family Matters and Sprained Elbows

This may turn into some sort of rant. I suggest you get a drink.

I had a very long and not very pleasant phone conversation with my sister today. It started out well enough. Chatting, gossiping, whining, as per usual. And then she made a joke that...didn't go over well with me. I'm not gonna get into the substance of it or why exactly it bothered me, at least right now. Maybe later. But it opened up a can o' worms that has stayed pretty well closed the last, oh 8 years or so. It rears its ugly head now and then, but we overeducated supposedly emotionally open and available liberal thinking heavily self-analyzing types quickly push it back beneath the surface before things get too tense. But my sister and I didn't do that today. Things were then said on both sides that needn't have been said. Truths were spoken.

Now we all know that sometimes speaking the truth serves no purpose other than to hurt or piss off the other person. Like when a friend asks how she looks and you say fine (read: you lie) but then suggest she wear X instead because right now she looks totally hideous/frumpy/stupid/inappropriate. But the tables turn when you're talking about people and issues that have and will continue to affect your entire lives. Is it really better to lie and let your loved one continue to delude themselves and refuse reality? I don't know.

There was some eventual crying. And some cursing. And some rationalizations. (A lot of rationalizations. They're more important than sex!) And some realization. And some more cursing.

We didn't exactly end the call on a warm and fuzzy note. But I said "I love you" because I'm paranoid that the one time I don't say it the other person is immediately going to be hit by a car/struck by lightning/killed by terrorists or the like and I'm never going to get over the guilt of not telling him or her "I love you." But that doesn't mean I have to like them.

Jesus christ I'm sick of the iphone commercials. Yes, they're neat-o. We get it. Yes, I kind of want one. When the price drops and the kinks are worked out. They're fucking awesome, ok? WE GET IT. Now shut up, Apple.

My right arm fucking hurts. The majority of the soreness from that maniacal body sculpting class the other day has subsided (although I'm sure I looked like a retarded monkey while out running yesterday), but whenever I straighten my right arm I feel the need to scream. Fab.

I also found out today that a young man I once knew, not knew well but knew nonetheless, who joined the army after he graduated college in some warped attempt to please his military male heritage (I'm sorry. But it's true.) was killed in Iraq last week. I don't have anything to say about the war that hasn't been said by those who are far more eloquent than I, but the immense sadness, frustration, and pure anger that I can feel on behalf of someone I didn't know that well makes me weep for those who have lost so much more.

I miss the summers of my childhood. Which is funny, considering I've always preferred winter to summer. Maybe they're fake memories, conjured up from media-based images of lazy summer days where children frolic around barefoot drinking lemonade and slurping ice cream and sneak into movie theaters to escape the heat. I miss that. I'm not sure if I ever did it, but I miss it.

I Have a Window

And it closes by 10 o'clock.

This is why I sometimes hate people in their twenties. At least the people I know. They are incapable of making plans ahead of time.

Let's do something on Saturday!
Yeah, let's go here.
No, let's go here.
Calls, texts, and emails abound during the day. Here? Nah. Here? Maybe. What time? Time?? Hello??
I hear nothing between the hours of 6 and 10. Because apparently everyone has fallen off the face of the planet. Including me, because I fell asleep. On my couch. On a Saturday afternoon.

And then, a few minutes ago, I get the word that people are meeting somewhere at 10:45, and I should get myself off the couch and into real clothes and into a cab and get over there.

And you know what? NO. It would have happened at 8. Maybe even at 9. But no more. I can't do it. I CAN'T DO IT. And don't tell me to come on! and rally! and I can sleep in tomorrow. I can also sleep in tonight. Yee. And haw.

Double Sigh.

ooh. ahh. oww.

I've been in a workout rut lately. So I decided to do a body sculpting class at the gym today, figuring I would break the rut and get my money's worth considering the cost of my membership is ridiculous and it includes all the classes.

And now, thanks to the Nazi instructor, I can't move.

Unfortunately, the massage therapy offered at the gym is not included in my membership. Figures.

I'm hoping what I heard last night was fireworks and not gun shots.

I've never been a huge fan of the 4th of July. It's hot (although this year isn't bad), I once got scarily close to some fireworks as a kid, and as someone who has never eaten a bite of red meat in her entire life, bbqs don't do much for me. Oh, and of course I obviously hate America*.

However, the fact that I got to sleep until 10:30 on a WEDNESDAY is flat out awesome. Never will I disparage a day off.



*Kidding. Kind of.

---------------------------------------------

Update: 10:50pm

Well, I attempted to be patriotic and watch the fireworks from my friend's apartment building rooftop overlooking the East River. But it wasn't just raining. It was pouring. So we lasted all of 20 minutes before deciding the better view was actually from our respective couches. Oh well.

Now the oh-so-brilliant drunkards outside my building are having their own fun with fireworks. I'll give them another 15 minutes (because I'm such a fun loving gal) before I start to wish that they blow up a body part or two in the midst of their celebrations.

How to Lose a Girl in Ten Steps

1. Catch her in a weak moment at a bar when she's feeling generous with her phone number.
2. Cancel on her twice, each time the day of the planned drinks.
3. Never actually call her on the phone, since communicating by text message is obviously so much clearer and less ambiguous.
4. Be shorter than her. (Sorry. I just can't deal.)
5. Show up 20 minutes late when you finally do make a plan for drinks that sticks.
6. Wear some kind of weird gold bracelet that's definitely not a watch.
7. Regale her with some nonsense about how you can read her mind.
8. Grab her hand in feign attempt to mentally obtain her "answers."
9. Say you Tivo Meet the Press in an attempt to impress her, but then have no idea who Doris Kerns Goodwin or even Mary Matalin is.
10. Make repeated vague references to future get-togethers, even after she doesn't respond to your first vague reference.

Sigh. My dear, you know who you are out there - why aren't you here?

In less self-involved prose, I'd say it's pretty much a sure thing that Scooter Libby is in fact having the Best Week Ever. Sonofabitch.