How to Spend a Saturday

Sleep very badly for various reasons on Friday night.

Somehow stumble out of bed at 8 and go running in cold. Feel invigorated.

Spend 11-3 being a mentor for impressionable youth. (If they only knew.)

Browse Sephora for 30 minutes because when you only actually needed mascara. Buy said mascara and overpriced Philosophy shower gel.

Come home and crash on the couch for a few hours, dozing and screening calls.

Make some peppermint tea, and manage to somehow spill near boiling water on your toes.

Explain to friend that an apartment party in Brooklyn where you are bound to run into the one person from college you swore you'd never intentionally see again is not how you want to spend your Saturday night.

Instead, spend your Saturday night making breakfast for dinner (veggie omelet and toast) and re-watching season 2 of Alias, even though you have movies from Netflix which you've never seen before, because you prefer the familiarity of sexy spies kicking ass.

I Think I Might Be a Tease

I don't mean to be one. It might be because I possibly have some, um, intimacy issues? Well, issues of some sort. Let me say that I know people hate Meredith because she's dark and twisty and whiny and can't commit to a perfect neurosurgeon who loves her. But I totally get her. Although I guess she's more of a slut (in a nice way!) than a tease. Like me.

Gym Ettiquette 101

Or, How to Lose a Not Even Potential Client.

Bottom line: I don't like personal trainers. They're overpriced and overly excited. I can copy the exercises I see them showing other people. For free.

So, this morning at the gym, I'm stretching on the mats following 40 minutes of hill intervals and a few sets of bicep and tricep curls. It's approaching 8am, and I'm about to make my way to the locker room. Suddenly, "Tony" (I bet they're all named Tony) starts chatting me up about my workout habits and whether I've had my free fitness assessment and I should come to his kickboxing class on Friday. After I took my headphones out to feign interest/be polite (headphones! the international sign of "Don't talk to me"), Tony inexplicably says, "You're what, 21?"

Oh Tony. I admit, I may look young for my age. Especially redfaced with my sweaty hair pulled back wearing college mesh shorts and a t-shirt. But really Tony, you're not doing yourself any favors here. And you're going to make me late for court.

Darkness Falls

I hate to steal the title of some stupid slasher flick I've never seen, but there you go.

The fact that it's 5:30 and pitch black makes me so tired. Although I may just be tired because I've literally spent the entire day freaking out about my career. Some friends at BigLaw have given me the names of headhunters and recruiters who I emailed today and hopefully I'll be able to meet with at least one of them. I don't necessarily want to switch firms, and have no idea if a large firm would even hire me (or if I want to be there) even though I have the credentials and more hands on experience than the nitwits who've been sitting in windowless offices for a year. All I know is I need more money, and in order to bring bargaining power to the negotiating table with my current bosses, I need some options under my belt. I've been putting this whole thing off for a couple months now, out of fear, confusion, and uncertainty. My negotiation class in law school was a complete joke (and after this whole process I may write a letter to the school about what they should really teach in that damn class that will actually be useful for graduates). I'm up against master negotiators who do it every day for clients. And it's worse for women.

Sigh. I planned on sending an email today asking for a meeting for sometime this week. But now I think I should wait until I have some concrete information in my grasp. But then we'll be smack into the holidays. Is that a bad time to do this kind of thing? Or a better time?

The whole thing makes me want to crawl into my mother's arms and stay there until she makes it better.

In No Particular Order

Things that are currently freaking me out:

1. Lance and Ashley. Ew.
2. It's November. And yesterday was July.
3. I can get drunk off a single glass of wine.
4. My dog is currently having some kind of dream in which she is running, but she hasn't woken up.
5. My lease is up in January and I really want to move.
6. I need a raise in order to move.
7. I have to ask for a raise. Like, now.
8. What happened to Tim Gunn's Guide to Style? There were only 4 episodes!
9. When I was 10, I thought 15 year olds were damn worldly. When I was 18, I figured I would have my life TOGETHER by the age of 25. I'm almost 27, and am now slightly terrified of what lays ahead. (This probably deserves its own post. But not now.)
10. There's apparently a hurricane headed for all of the northeast. Or something.
11. I don't think I'm gonna make it t0 November 2008. I feel like the entire country may implode by the time the election actually rolls around. And since the past two election nights involved heavy drinking and, at least in 2004 when we really knew what we were dealing with, heavy crying, I'm not really looking forward to it.
12. My slightly slutty sister (many a time have I heard "what? I just like sex") has two dates this weekend with two different guys. I have tentative social plans that probably won't come to fruition.
13. I've been going to see movies alone lately. Sunday afternoons, when people cancel on me because they're a) hungover, b) flaky, or c) no one wants to see what I want to see. I'm trying to view sitting in a theater alone as decadent rather than pathetic. It's not like watching a movie involves talking to another person anyway, right? Shut up.
14. I'm willing to pay more rent to live in a smaller place. Manhattan sucks.
15. I miss Julia Roberts. Where'd she go?

Trick or Treat.

I luuuurve Halloween. I saw Pet Semetary when I was 8 years old (parents? yeah I don't know) and have been a horror movie freak ever since. Many a night was obviously spent on my parents' bedroom floor or in their bed, but I just love being scared. There's probably (definitely) something wrong with me.

Aww. Poor Chloe is losing her voice (bark) from saying hi to the adorable costumed children coming to the door.

The "Are You Fucking Kidding Me?" Moment of the Day

Subway. Express train home. Headphones in. Michael Jackson is telling me that it's close to midnight and something evil's lurking through the dark.

Suddenly, a tap on my shoulder. I turn, and see a tall thin 45-ish nerdy guy. I say, "Yes?" Dude goes, "It's too loud. Too loud."

Um, excuse me? Are you fucking kidding me? First of all, the volume on my dam ipod wasn't even turned all the way up. Second, it's the subway. 98% of people have earphones in. Sometimes, yes, a person's music is loud, and you wonder how his or her eardrums are handling it since you can hear it from the outside. But mine wasn't that loud. Aside from that, who the fuck is so bothered by that as to tell a person to turn it down? Um, move away if you're bothered. Jesus.

So, I say to the doofus, "What song is playing?"

"Huh?"

"If it's so loud, you must know what song is playing. It's a pretty famous song that anyone who's been alive in the past three decades should know."

"Uh, well I don't know. But the drums are just too loud so could you turn it down?"

"Um, no."

Nerdy guy looks flustered and embarrassed, as people around us start to snicker. He got off at the next stop. Another guy who had heard the whole exchange then says to me, "What was that?"

I have no idea.

How Boring Am I? Here Are The Answers. Tagged - 38 Questions.

Via Zuska:

1. Name one person who made you laugh last night? Tim Riggins. (Whatever. TV characters count.)

2. What were you doing at 0800? Hitting my snooze button.

3. What were you doing 30 minutes ago? Arriving home.

4. What happened to you in 2006? Graduated from law school, passed the bar, got a job.

5. What was the last thing you said out loud? Thank you.

6. How many beverages did you have today? Coffee, lots of water, few sips of wine at post-session happy hour for the mentoring program I'm involved in.

7. What color is your hairbrush? Pewter. Fine, gray.

8. What was the last thing you paid for? Getting my hair cut.

9. Where were you last night? Home on the couch with my dog.

10. What color is your front door? Cream.

11. Where do you keep your change? Except for precious laundry quarters, in a jar on the counter.

12. What’s the weather like today? Rainy, humid, too warm.

13. What’s the best ice-cream flavor? Anything with brownie or chocolate candy bits.

14. What excites you? Lots of things. Politics. Hot men. Good movies. Good food. Leadership. Generosity. Celebrity gossip. Sometimes, even "the law."

15. Do you want to cut your hair? Just did so today. Looks pretty damn good too.

16. Are you over the age of 25? Yep.

17. Do you talk a lot? Depends. Around family, can't shut me up. With my friends, yes, but not more than anyone else. At work, a normal amount, except when I have to be really assertive in court or a deposition. In social situations where I don't know anyone, barely at all.

18. Do you watch the O.C.? Every single episode.

19. Do you know anyone named Steven? I can think of three right now.

20. Do you make up your own words? Nope.

21. Are you a jealous person? Is there a difference between jealousy and envy? I'm envious of certain people for various reasons sometimes, but the feelings don't fester and simmer.

22. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter ‘A’. Got two of these.

23. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter ‘K’. Got three of these.

24. Who’s the first person on your received call list? My sister.

25. What does the last text message you received say? "Take your time - I'm not there yet either."

26. Do you chew on your straw? Ew, no.

27. Do you have curly hair? Straight as straight can be.

28. Where’s the next place you’re going to? Unclear at the moment.

29. Who’s the rudest person in your life? Everyone in my life is screwed up in his or her own way, but thankfully I wouldn't classify any of them as rude.

30. What was the last thing you ate? A bowl of golden grahams with skim milk.

31. Will you get married in the future? God I hope so.

32. What’s the best movie you’ve seen in the past 2 weeks? Gracie. I'm a sucker for a good inspirational sports movie.

33. Is there anyone you like right now? Sigh. After a long period of nothingness, I think I'm starting to like someone, but it's slightly inappropriate and he probably has a girlfriend anyway because anyone this perfect has to.

34. When was the last time you did the dishes? Last night. The sink must be empty for me to go to bed.

35. Are you currently depressed? Questionable. I don't think so, at least not enough to prevent me from living and being and doing. But could I be happier? Hell yes.

36. Did you cry today? No. But I did yesterday.

37. Why did you answer and post this? Zuska asked me to, so why not?

38. Tag 5 people who would do this survey. Meh. I can't decide. I invite you all to prove you're more interesting than me.

At Least I Have My Priorities In Order

My work wardrobe is in need of some beefing up. I need at least another suit, maybe a few pairs of pants, skirts, and tops to mix and match. So I went shopping after work today. In the rain. I went from one trendy store to the next, but didn't love anything I tried on. I just wasn't feeling it. And then I ended up in TJ Maxx at 18th Street and 6th Avenue, where I've occasionally found a diamond in the rough, or at least a needle in a haystack. But again, nothing. At least, nothing for work.

However, I did end up purchasing two pairs of lounge pants capable of doubling as workout wear, two sets of comfy pajamas, a synthetic long sleeve running shirt, and a fuzzy hoodie. All at very good prices. Of course, I really did not need ANY of this, as I had lots of comfy loungy fleecy things already. Oops.

I wouldn't call myself a feminist per se...

(I mean, I am, but in the good ways. The label has taken on a pejorative meaning over the years and so I can't associate with it. Anyway, a subject for another post.)

But here's the thing.

Despite the fact that the number of women in law school has outnumbered men for at least a few years now, old school attorneys (men) still draft correspondence and discovery demands as "Dear Sirs" or "Sirs" or "Attention Sirs" all the freaking time. I get at least one a week. I'm not a Sir. If you're not with it enough to use my real name, or you don't know exactly who to direct something to in the firm, how about just "Dear Counselor(s)"?

It pisses me off.
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A 10:47pm complete nonsequiter: Watching Game 1 is really making me miss Boston.

An Epiphany Regarding the Male Species

So I was flipping around and stumbled upon Beautiful Girls, one of the most underrated flicks of all time. Maybe I just hadn't seen it in a while, but the scene in the bar when Uma Thurman walks in for the first time struck me as quite informative. For those who haven't seen it (go! rent! now!), a group of high school buddies in upstate New York, all now pushing 30, are in their local hangout when Uma Thurman's character, a cousin of one of the guys, comes in to visit. The guys are literally dumbstruck by this beautiful girl. Upon being introduced to her, each one of them barely smiles, mumbles, and stares while trying not to stare.

Now the epiphany. This exact same thing has happened to me! Many times. But with my level of neurosis and self-esteem issues, I've always thought the awkwardness was because they immediately saw/guessed/knew there was something wrong with me. But it's not!

It's because I'm a beautiful girl. At least, that's what I'm gonna try to tell myself from now on, when the bubbles of doubt inevitably rise to the surface.

I suddenly don't feel as strapped.

Well, I'm still in a shitload of debt. But I'm not stupid.*

My tivo-ing of Oprah has been established.

Today's show was about personal finances and the idiots who are digging themselves into poverty. $135,000 in credit card debt. Two mortgages of $700,000. Stay at home mom who spends $4000 on a birthday party but doesn't have health insurance for her kids. $900 shoes. $400 a month on Starbucks. Yep. All on your husband's middle to upper middle class salary. Not a millionaire's salary by any means. And your "my mother never believed in me, and I've never felt any self worth and wah wah wah"...give me a fucking break, lady. Your $60/week hair extensions are ugly and sure as hell aren't giving you any self-worth either.

Financial Guru Suze Orman: "I've been doing this for a long time, and I've never seen a family in such a terrible financial situation." Yikes.

Then there's the couple expecting a baby who aren't answering the phones when their student loan providers are calling but who are paying $2600 per month on two luxury cars, but, ha, "not to impress anybody." Fuck. You don't deserve a child. (Sidebar: I have ALWAYS wondered why you need a license to do almost everything in this world except be a parent. Don't give me the "it's a natural human right" stuff. Intellectually, I know that. Morally, I want to sterilize a lot of people. Maybe the "intellectually" and "morally" should be switched. I don't know.)

Did anyone else know that Washington state has no income tax?! I've always wanted to visit Seattle. Now I may have to move there.

*I'd like to thank my parents for instilling within me a life-long stinginess.

Pooped.

I was gonna post about the bench TRIAL that I got roped into doing today. About which I was handed a whole 15 hours before it was to begin, 6 of which I spent alternately wigging out and preparing for.

But I'm too damn tired. And, at the judge's repeated strongly worded instructions, we were able to settle it. So no trial for me. Yet.

I Am So Not Sophisticated.

I'm gonna admit something that most educated professionals would decree as unacceptable. I don't love traveling. Whether it's Mexico or New Mexico, Alaska or Africa, I don't really want to go. It's not that I don't appreciate and value other cultures, traditions, cuisine, etc. I'm just kinda neurotic. I like routines. Schedules. Plans. And my money. I'd rather spend it making my home the most comfortable place it can be rather than deal with shitty exchange rates, jet lag, and geographical confusion. I think if I ever (and this is highly unlikely) have the means to not really care how much I spend on traveling, I'd probably enjoy it. But that hasn't happened yet. The two weeks I spent in Europe after the bar exam were nice, but the little "you're spending too much" bug never stopped buzzing around my head.

I do want to see this country before I really explore other countries. And I have freaking FAMILY in another country. A lot of family. Who I've never met. For various reasons having to do with my degenerate yet workaholic and brilliant yet crazy father. But I want to see Idaho. And Montana. And the fucking Grand Canyon. And actually, yes, Alaska. But when's it gonna happen? I go from one coast to the other and that's it. I'm a boring born and bred northeast chickadee who would rather spend $1000 on a TV (not that I have yet, but I'm saving) than a plane ticket. When a plane crashes, you die. When your TV crashes, you call the repair guy.

"When a girl walks in, I just don't see color." I call bullshit.

I don't watch America's Next Top Model. I don't usually pay attention to fashion news. But in an age where there seems to be a resurgence of nooses (NOOSES!) appearing from rural Louisiana to the steps of Columbia University, this article, while ostensibly limited to the fashion industry, is more than a little disturbing.

Top Five Reasons I'm a Dork

Tagged by my favorite resident of the windy city, Grace.

I'm not sure if these make me a dork or just a loser. Potentially both.

1. The only way I discover new (or sometimes old but recognizable) music is by hearing a song in a show or a movie or a damn commercial, liking it, googling it, and downloading it. (Before the digital age, buying CD singles.) I don't think I've listened to an entire album by one artist in a long time, if ever.

2. Nine times out of ten, I would rather spend a Saturday night with takeout, wine, and a dvd than be social in an actual public place where, instead of being the hot 26 year old attorney that I am, I feel like a shy 18 year old freshman at a frat party.

3. I play with my hair a lot. At my desk when I'm thinking. In court when I'm nervous. I twirl it. I flip it. It's my security blanket. My very...unprofessional security blanket.

4. I love peanut butter and jelly. I eat it for lunch like three times a week. Not just because it's cheap (and a good source of healthy unsaturated fat!) and I can then feel ok about spending money at places like Sephora, but because it makes me feel ten years old again. Ten years old with a hot new eyeliner.

5. Whenever things feel way too out of control, as soon as humanly possible I watch The Family Stone. I sometimes put it on just to help me fall asleep. I'm not sure why I feel so connected to this damn movie.

I know, I know. Therapy.

Zuska and Elle Woods, you're tagged.

Nothing a hot shower and a glass of wine won't fix.

I hate the subway sometimes. Hate. It. Maybe because I'm semi-constantly on it going from home to office or this courthouse or that courthouse. Today I was on the subway for a total of 3 hours. At least some of that time gets billed. But it doesn't make up for the inexplicable asshattery of...people. They're just people. But they suck. Standing smack in the fucking doorway when I'm trying to get on with an umbrella, files, and heels, and then giving ME the evil eye for pushing them out of the way?

Then there was the twitchy guy who kept inching closer and closer, despite it not being rush hour and thus giving each person skads of personal space. Closer, closer, closer, his arm touches my back and WHAT THE FUCK GET AWAY FROM ME ALL I WANNA DO IS MAKE IT BACK TO THE OFFICE WITHOUT CONTRACTING A DISEASE.

Sigh.

Gulp.

TV Review Time

I had a craptastic day at work (sidebar: clients who expect you to win motions should send you the signed affidavits you need to serve the motion on time, right? God.), but instead of whining (at least more than I just did), I present a review of the season's new shows:

1. Pushing Daisies: Adorable, whimsical, original, and colorful. I just don't know how long they can keep the "I want to touch you but I can't" thing going.

2. Big Shots: So, so bad. Bad writing, bad stories, not funny. But. The Pretty. Michael Vartan is pretty pretty pretty. I love the pretty, and will watch him read a phone book.

3. Journeyman: Meh.

4: Gossip Girls: Probably the worst thing for the youth of America ever. I love it.

5. Bionic Woman: Now, I'm dark and broody too, so I should like it. Secret government agencies. Girl kicking ass. I love Alias (the pretty!), but this lacks heart so far. We shall see.

6. Dirty Sexy Money: Definitely lives up to two of those three words. The middle one, not so much.

7. Private Practice: Maybe I'll catch it online. Probably not though. Because it's the suck.

And now for our returning favorites:

1. Grey's Anatomy: Does anyone else miss snide asskicking Callie? I hate whiny Callie.

2. Heroes: Where's Kristen Bell?!

3. Ugly Betty: I'm not sure why I watch this.

4. ER: Yes, I realize I'm the only person on earth who still watches ER. You know why? Because it's still excellent.

5. Brothers and Sisters: ABC should patent its wondrous ability to emotionally manipulate/abuse its viewers.

And now, once more with feeling:

The best show you're not watching.

Those Entertaining NYU Kids

So I was at a rooftop party last night. Some would call it "taking advantage of the last summer-like weekend weather." I called it "being a plus one for my friend who wanted someone with her while she made googly eyes at some crush." Too bad he didn't show up. Of course she still managed to find the one straight guy in the bunch (it was a housewarming party for a gay interior designer friend) and I'm 90% sure either went home with him or at least made out with him. This friend is kinda slutty. I love and hate her for it. Although I must say, her standards are...lower than mine. Which is why I'll die alone.

Anyway, at some point while I was mixing myself nice little cocktail (yay for gay guys an their liquor selections! So much nicer than "the beer's over there.") to keep myself entertained enough not to feel bad about the fact that the guys were dressed better than I was, I heard some hooting and hollering. Turns out there was a huge freshmen NYU dorm across the way, and those kiddies hadn't learned the most important thing about living in New York:

Close your blinds/curtains/shades.

They were going AT IT. Two boys. Imagine the excitement over on our roof. I don't think I've ever seen a bunch of people in their 20s and 30s SO RIVETED before. And kudos to those kids. It's only October! They've known each other, what, a month?

Then again, they are guys.

Would somebody please leave me a fucking comment?

I'm beginning to feel quite unloved.

People Don't Change.

At least, I don't.

A book arrived in the mail from my mother a few days ago. This book was at one time my grandmother's journal, and it contains numerous entries over the years during which she lived with us when I was young. None are very deep or interesting, mostly things like "kids opening Christmas presents. Lovely." "They're not home yet. It's getting late." My poor grandmother - she would have been the FIRST old lady with a cell phone on the block.

Anyway, later in the journal is an entry that I wrote, about a year after she passed away. It's dated December 19, 1992. I was just shy of 12 years old. Neither my mom nor I can figure out who I wrote it to or what prompted it. But what strikes me is that in 15 years, my core thoughts and emotions haven't really changed. Neither has my handwriting.

Anyway, here it is:

12/19/92

I did a lot of things that I shouldn't have done. I was selfish. I wanted too many things at once. I have to learn to be patient. But it is hard for me. I was born that way. I am and will try hard to keep what I have to say that is rude bottled up inside me. When I get angry, it's because I have my own ideas about things. I will not say anything rude to anyone. I should think before I say things, and not jump to conclusions. I should think about money before I get my mind set on buying that. I am sorry for being a "snothead" today.

Love, [redacted]

Still doing things I shouldn't? Check.
Still selfish? Sometimes.
Still impatient and wanting too many things? Yup.
Still a snothead? Absolutely.
Thinking before I say things? Well, sometimes. Professionally, and with my friends? Of course. Absolutely. Naturally. With my family? Sometimes not so much.

To the jackholes playing football in the middle of the street:

I'm trying to go to sleep at a decent hour. So please, please shut the fuck up. If you happen to be shut up by being hit by a car, even better.

Of All the Things to Say

I had a light hearted post planned earlier today, but I witnessed something today that I feel demands immediate attention.

I went to see The Kingdom this afternoon. It's a rock 'em sock 'em yet thought provoking political drama about terrorism in Saudi Arabia. Basically, anything Peter Berg does I love. The movie ends on a morally ambiguous yet poignant note that implies, however cheesy it may sound outside of the movie's context, that we are more similar to "the terrorists" than we might like to admit.

Upon leaving the theater, two couples got into some kind of scuffle. Not sure what it was about - maybe someone stepped on someone's toes. The men started to raise their voices, and, in a moment to pure fury (which I was close enough to witness), one said to the other, "Why don't you just go back where you came from!"

It was visceral. And a slap in the face. Not just to the other man, but to the rest of us. I felt it. The communal experience of sitting in a darkened theater for a couple hours was ripped away, along with everything the film tried so earnestly to impart upon us.

Friday Dog Blogging: Happiness is a Warm Puppy.

Yes, I've stolen it from Legally Blonde and E. McPan.

I've think I've lost the battle of trying to keep this throw pillow a people pillow.



And then there's this. I'm not really sure what's going on here. Although, I was making oogly googly noises at her, so it's probably something like "oh my god I've had a long day of napping and grazing and watching Bruce on the Today Show (thanks for always leaving the TV on for a little while in the morning!*) so now I'm tired and tomorrow's my birthday so would you please just shut up?"



*I put it on sleep for an hour. Otherwise she gets vocally angry when I leave in the morning.

How awesome is the NYC dating scene?

So, so awesome. An example from an email exchange today:

Me: Did you have drinks with that guy yet?
K: Drinks were last night. It was awful. The guy was awkward, and very negative, and maybe kind of racist? It was weird. Glad it's over.

Yeah. Like I said, awesome.

Also, a shout out to my Law School Alumni Association: fuck you and your request for any more of my money.

xoxoxo,
Me

I HATE unseasonably hot weather.

More than I dislike hot weather in general.

It's almost October. It shouldn't be 87 degrees today. As per usual, I'm blaming George Bush. My air conditioner had a nice week long break, and I was looking forward to the lower bill, and now I have to turn it on again for poor little furry Chloe. Yes, she has plenty of water, but she's 14 (in three days - ah!), and I'm a sap.

I've waited 4 long months.

But it's finally here, you guys!

That's right...season premiere week! If you haven't already, set your DVRs...and check out my recommendations to the right...

God damnit, Hillary.

Didn't you criticize Bush for not being able to apologize or admit he was wrong? They why the fuck can't you do it? Your vote for the war was wrong! And still you keep spewing the "if I had the information then that I do now I wouldn't have voted that way blah blah blah". You're a politician, no different from the rest of them. I don't care if you have the most relevant experience of the democrats. I hate you.

And Tim Russert, you need to stop letting people, especially the candidates, get away with bullshit answers.

"I'm just so tired, Billy. I never thought I'd be so tired at 22."

Um, how about at 26? Am I allowed to be so tired now?

Probably not, considering, unlike Jules, I'm not a party hopping cocaine snorting fashionista of the '80s who's sleeping with my boss and contemplating how to dispose of the remains of my stepmonster while downing vodka like water.

Wow, Rob Lowe's eyelashes are out of control in this movie. As is Ally Sheedy's hair, in the not so pretty way.

Dear "Homeless" Guy on the Subway,

I usually tune ya'll out when you tell your sad stories and beg and plead for money, but today something caught my attention about you. I'd seen and heard you before. Telling the same story about how you and your wife just suffered a fire in your home a few days ago and now you have nothing and are waiting for help from the Red Cross. About how you were just given the clothes you are wearing by a kind samaritan but have nothing to feed your children tonight. About how you know we work hard for our money but any little bit will help, "even just a smile."

You may think that ending is sweet, but it's a dead give away when it absolutely confirms to me that I've heard it before. Months ago. Did you and your wife suffer another fire in your quickly rebuilt house? I don't think so. You're a fucking liar.

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In other news, I'd like to thank the Kentucky Higher Education Loan Servicing Corporation and The Student Loan People for increasing my monthly payments by $120 as of October 1st. Golly, you guys sure know how to turn a girl on.

Live Blogging The Emmy Awards

Full Disclosure: When I had roommates, and could skip class the next morning if I wanted to, I used to actually watch these award shows with people. Not anymore. So I have to get the comments out of my head somehow. Clearly I watch a lot of TV. Not too much. I do have a job. And kind of a life. And some of it's on while I'm doing other things. But there's a lot of good TV. I don't watch the bad TV.

However, it must be said, the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences has had its head up its ass for years. But that doesn't stop me from watching the beautiful rich people congratulating themselves.

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Terry O'Quinn? Yay Locke, you infuriating mindfucker! Academy, am I wrong about you?

Katherine Heigl, I love you. You're so pretty. And not a stick. (sidebar: the sight of Felicity Huffman's ribs through her skin really saddens me.) And you brought your mom. But if Izzie doesn't get her shit together this season, I'm gonna start holding you responsible. Talk some sense into the writers, please.

Remember when Christina used to be jealous of Britney? Hee.

Kiefer's a horseman? I wanna go riding.

I should watch Roots. I love me some miniseries. I own The Thorn Birds. Shut up.

Hayden Panettiere, you are young and beautiful. Why are you wearing what appears to be a maternity dress?

And the Emmy goes to The Sopranos. Shocking. (Peter Berg, I will love you 'til the end.)

And the Emmy goes to The Sopranos. Academy, clearly you're still lobotomized.

The Daily Show rightfully wins: "This year we actually got to send a couple guys to Iraq. And they found laughs in hell." 'nuff said.

Who watches Criminal Minds? Anyone? Bueller?

Christ. The show is over. It ended on a big fat note of suckage. Let's move on. Stop clapping. Everyone off the stage. You too Gandolfini.

How long will The Age of Mirren last exactly?

Lewis Black is a fucking genius.

The less Ryan Seacrest is actually on screen, the better.

God, Felicity, do you have a tapeworm?

Yay Sally Field!! Um, wait a minute? Did they just BLEEP OUT Sally Field because she was talking about how if mothers ruled the world there would be no war?! Fuck you, Fox.

Shit, I have to be up mad early. Why are these things so long?

Oooh, Debra Messing looks hot. (Clearly any wit I had has devolved with tiredness.)

Ugly my ass. America Ferrera is drop dead beautiful.

FUCK. James Spader. Again. So over-rated. And he's aged badly. Kinda marshmellowy. Was that mean? Fuck it. He has more money than I or anyone I know ever will.

I really gotta get on the 30 Rock bandwagon.

Aaaaaaaaaand The Sopranos. Knock me over with a feather.

Although, David Chase did have a last good line: "If this nation were run by gangsters...well, maybe it is." Heh.

Fuck. Tomorrow's Monday.

Am I Really This Boring?

Well, yes. But it's actually kind of pleasant, so I don't mind.

Yesterday, I came home from work, spiffed up the apartment (what is it about Lemon Pledge that reminds me of Grandma?), gave Chloe a desperately needed bath, took a nice hot bath myself, ordered some Thai food, gabbed with an old friend while watching recorded episodes of Buffy, and crashed at 11 pm.

Today, I ran for an hour in Riverside Park, enjoying the crisp air and first falling leaves, cooked an awesome breakfast burrito (why do I always feel the need to list the meals?), will likely finish the pot of cinnamon spice coffee I brewed, and am watching Alias on Fox 5 even though I own all five seasons and have seen every episode multiple times.

Ahh, and here's a text message about going out plans for tonight. Sigh. I'm gonna go, because I need to keep up some semblance of being a social individual. But I find myself wishing for the Saturday nights I had way back when. Going to the movies, sleepovers, cookie cakes (kudos to those who know what I'm talking about) playing dumb games or making up dance routines in someone's awesome finished basement where we felt secluded and special, and no one whined about which bar they did or didn't want to go to because he or she might run into so and so and we can't have that now can we?

I'm an adult. I know. Damn it.

Head screwed on? Maybe. But not tightly enough.

Good news: I had to throw on a hoodie over my t shirt to take Chloe out this morning because of the chill.

Bad news: I walked out of my apartment in said t shirt and hoodie. And underwear and flip flops. And that's it. Because sometimes I sleep in just the t shirt (granted its kind of a long t shirt).

Two seconds after the door shut I realized I'm an idiot and scooted back in to put something over my little flowered cotton briefs.

Sheesh.

It was a Tuesday then too.

But it was dark and threatening and raining today, unlike Tuesday six years ago.

My office overlooks ground zero. And this was the first year I've been in New York City since 9/11, when I got out of the subway at 8:45 to get to my internship 3 blocks from the WTC. When I heard a loud buzzing, looked up, and saw the first plane hit. When I was so confused thinking to myself "why are there feathers coming out of the building?" when it was thousands of pieces of paper. When something like that happens your brain does funny things at first. I finally got in touch with my family 4 hours later, and I was literally scared my mom was going to collapse out of relief from hearing my voice.

It's different outside of New York. It's different within New York. Midtown is different than downtown. Yes, everyone should and has moved on to some extent. But 9/11 did affect the entire world. Not in the way George Bush says it did. But it did.

I'll save my whining and crazy dream for tomorrow's post. Cuz it's not about me today.

I Never Knew What "Goosebumps" Were.

Until I read this article this morning. (To note, I do read the rest of the Times as well. I just read the style section first. While the coffee's kicking in.)

I've started and erased a few posts today.

Just my usual Sunday overthinking thing that I do. Gotta stop that.

_____________________________

And now I've edited this tiny post twice. This second time because I just saw that I went to school with one of the happy brides profiled in the weddings section. Fuck. As if I need another reason to feel bad about myself. Then again, my former classmate (who I remember as sweet, intelligent, and pretty and I really should be happy and not bitter) could always wind up here.

Giving

So I was watching Oprah a little while ago.

(Sidebar: No, I'm never home at 4pm. I Tivo Oprah. Shut up. I don't watch every episode, but a lot of them are interesting, inspiring, hilarious, or downright practical. So yes, I record Oprah.)

A couple days ago Bill Clinton was on the show promoting his new book, and they did a little segment about a young girl who has undergone a shit load of medical problems in her own life and yet focused her energy on raising money for kids who have been orphaned by AIDS in Africa:

Anyway. Tears. I have a little volunteer project of my own in the works, but it's not a done deal yet, so I don't wanna jinx it.

Also, I miss you Bill. A lot. I'm still not so fond of your wife though.

Tell Me I'm Pretty.

Because sometimes I need to be told. Like when I see a bunch of perfectly coiffed female attorneys with perfect hair and perfect suits and perfectly professional looking makeup and gorgeous jewelry and well, I could go on.

I often air dry my hair on the subway. It's still shiny and healthy and nice. I do actually rejoice in my hair. But there are fly aways. And I throw it up in messy buns and knots almost every afternoon. My eye and lip makeup usually consists of mascara and lip gloss, and I own maybe three nice necklaces and pairs of earrings. Rings? Never got into them. And clearly the left ring finger will be bare for the foreseeable future.

I have nice suits. And nice shoes. And a couple nice bags. Yet I can't seem to put it all together without looking like I'm trying too damn hard instead of looking effortlessly perfect.

And the nails. Oh, the nails. I. Just. Don't. Care. I think spending money on manicures is a big fat waste. I've always been a picker - not a a biter, a picker. But it's produces the same effect. Bad nails. I occasionally brush some innocuous color on them, and have made sure my toenails have been colored and presentable in summer shoes for the past few months. But again. I don't care about my damn nails.

All in all, over a year out of school, and I probably still look like a law student pretending to be a lawyer. Maybe when I feel more lawyerly (which is definitely happening slowly over time), I'll gain that effortless physical coiffed-ness I admire in others.

Or I'll just have fly aways and bad nails for the rest of my life.

Tuesday Tidings

I think my air conditioner is making me sick, but I can't figure out how to change the filter in the damn thing. Phhbt.

This arrived from Amazon today. I really had to force myself to not rip it open and insert a disc into my computer at work. Season premiere October 5th. Be there. Or be dead to me.

I was at a karaoke bar until the wee hours of Labor Day morning. I am just fully getting my voice back now. Along with my sobriety.

I'm going to a CLE course Friday and Saturday from 9-5. Do I take notes? Like school?

"Counselor, would you PLEASE stop yelling at me?"

I said that about 10 times during today's 4 hour deposition. Other versions consisted of:

"Sir, there's no need to shout at me or anyone else here." Both the court reporter and interpreter were getting bitchslapped as well.

Attorney JackAss (AJA) is nearly 82. How do I know? He yelled it at me: "I've been doing this for 55 years! I'm going on 82!"

Um, then I really have no idea how you haven't been disbarred yet.

Aside from the blatant unprofessionalism, I know more about deposition practice in my 8 months as an admitted attorney than he has learned in 55 years.

A) You can't testify for your client. It's a big no-no.
B) If your client isn't answering my question, I can re-ask it in as many different ways and as many times as I please until I get a responsive answer. Just because your client has the IQ of a gnat doesn't take away my right to strike her answers as non-responsive.
C) "How much longer is this going to take? I have other things to do today." is a fucking retarded thing to say to the attorney taking the deposition. The answer? "As long as it takes. And longer if you keep interrupting me."
D) Just because you're 82 does not mean you can disregard new NY State Rules Regarding Deposition Conduct (enacted because of these kinds of abuses). Snidely remarking that my reading the rule into the record is "a waste of time" will not make you look any better in front of a judge.
E) Yelling at and accusing the interpreter (who I've worked with before and kept sharing sympathetic looks with) who has been sworn in to translate honestly to the best of his ability of misleading and confusing your client, who, again, is about as intelligent as the subway rat I saw get run over the other day, is not going to do anything for your case.
F) Words have distinct meanings. "Asked and answered" means shit when I'M ASKING A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT QUESTION.

We took a number of breaks when things began to boil over. I found myself in the restroom where I strongly told myself out loud to 1) not tear up in frustration and 2) not stick a pen in my eye.

And AJA hasn't even deposed our client yet. That should be fun.

After regaling Boss #1 when I got back to the office, we decided we will be moving for sanctions. I hope this case does go to trial. Aside from other legal arguments we have on our side, I can't wait to see the shenanigans AJA tries to pull in front of a jury. I sooo want this to be my first trial.

The Ex Speaks

People throw around the word "coincidence" way too often. When you truly experience one, it should be somewhat shocking. Like mine tonight.

I met a few girlfriends for post-work drinks and snacks (why do women always insist on ordering "a few appetizers to share"? For the record, I just scarfed down some leftover pasta at 10:45 pm.) Anyway, after discussing work, friends, family, real estate (?!), etc., we not surprisingly made our way to what each of our ex boyfriends are up to these days. Now, in all honestly, my friends have had much more relationship experience than little old me, and their ex r'ships were all multiple year dramas that even I know inside and out at this point. I've had one real relationship that lasted less than a year, but naturally my thoughts drifted to this man and the fact that I truly had no idea what was going on with him. I felt a little sad about it.

And then, on my walk home, my phone rings, and who is it? None other than Ex himself showing up on my display pad. Still slightly buzzed, I look hard at the screen. Definitely him. I answer somewhat shakily and surprised, and he says he was thinking about me and wondering how I was doing since we haven't talked for at least 6 months. Even then, I think it was just a few emails. Anyway, we had a nice long conversation. Easy, comfortable, catching up on this and that, joking, etc.

But I must be careful. Because I remember why I broke up with him. Being lonely right now does not change that.

Home

Spending nine straight days with your mother, sister, stepfather, and various others who make short appearances can be trying. But it can also be just what you need in order to relax. Because really relaxing, at least for me, requires some measure of regression.

"Mommy, will you ...."

"Karate Kid or Jerry McGuire?"

"Karate Kid."

But then of course there were the inevitable squabbles, eye rolls, and "you don't respect my life choices" type statements. As expected.

Anyway. Rested, (mostly) refreshed, and although I did mutter "I don't WANNA go to work on Monday" more than once, ready for a busy fall.

I made an executive decision.

My sunburn is making wearing a bra very painful. Therefore, for the rest of the week, aside from the time during which I drag myself out for some degree of exercise, I will not be wearing one.

Is it September yet?

I've been to the beach once since we arrived. And got slightly burned. So the fact that it's been 65 degrees and rainy for the past two days doesn't bum me out too much. What does bum me out?

I'm not exactly sure. There are a number of possibilities:

1. My cold is still hanging on.
2. Jason's hair is really bad. (I'm watching General Hospital for maybe the third time this year.)
3. When I actually have the time to go on long runs during the week, I can barely move. I almost died after 20 minutes today and came back and took a nap. Maybe I should just stay in a constant state of stress and anxiety constantly since I run so much better during those times. Bar exam? I could have run a marathon the day before.
4. This beach house, while adorable and lovely, has nothing more than 5 basic tv channels. Shut up. I'm on vacation.
5. Notwithstanding number 4, there are certain worries which don't go away even when you're away from work and city-induced craziness. I'm not sure what to do about that.
6. Living in an enclosed space with my family for more than a couple days never fails to induce a certain level of hysteria among each and every one of us. Query this: do you think you'd be "friends" with your sibling(s) if you weren't related? Honestly, I don't. That doesn't mean I don't love her unconditionally and more than any other non-blood related person. But fuck. She pisses me off to no end. I assume she feels the same way.

"I'm the best God damn dancer in the American Ballet Academy. Who the hell are you? Nobody!"

I'm really glad I don't work at a place where I have to bill every minute (we do some billing, some retainer, and some contingency fees). Because what did I do all afternoon as I was counting down the minutes to my vacation?

I read this. All 38 pages of it. Read a page, research on Westlaw, read a page, deal with a phone call, read a page, make a to do list for when I get back, etc.

Unfortunately, I'm getting sick. At the start of my vacation. Awesome. If I could have every symptom of a cold besides a sore throat, I would take them all. My damn sensitive throat.

Now I'm doing laundry, cleaning my rat hole apartment so I don't have to come back to a mess, and cleaning The Two Coreys out of my dvr.

There will likely be some posting during the week, as I tend to get bored quickly and easily.

If US scientists and engineers are so fucking brilliant,

why can't they figure out a way to prevent any more people from getting trapped and killed in coal mines?

Sad.

Also sad, the fact that Anderson Cooper, who I used to love but who lately seems to have become less ballsy, is doing an entire show on these poor miners when there were a lot of other deaths today in Peru and Iraq (like that's anything new, I know, but still).

It's probably 1, 2, and 3.

I noticed a number of attributes of other people today that scared/disappointed/annoyed me to an extreme. I chalk my observations up to three possibilities:

1. My brain is so frazzled and ready for vacation that I am singularly focused on anything other than work.

2. People are incapable of following the orders and advice of millions of dollars worth of research, media portrayals, medical care, entertainment sources, fashion magazines, etc. that aspire to make our country prettier and healthier.

3. People are just idiots.

So here's what I noticed today:

A) There are still a hell of a lot of people out there who smoke. I mean a lot. In 2007, I have absolutely no sympathy for anyone who croaks of a smoke-related disease.

B) A bra has a purpose. If it's not doing its job, get a new one. No one wants to see that.

C) Wearing a tiny dress that is about 6 sizes too small and made of unforgiving fabric when you are about 100 pounds overweight INVITES people to stare at you and (silently or unsilently) judge, especially when said dress allows everyone sitting across from you on the subway to see your hoo-ha. There are many ways to fix this problem. Choose one or all of them. Now.

D) Ordering a side of mayonnaise for your french fries in a relatively nice restaurant should require you to be booted out the door.

In conclusion, people are freaks.

JT at MSG

I'm gonna hate myself in the morning.

But right now, I'm still kind of dancing.

And my ears are still kind of ringing.

There is no concert venue like Madison Square Garden. And seriously, there is no singer/dancer/guitarist/pianist (who knew?)/performer like Mr. Justin Timberlake.

We were all of 30 feet from him all night, because my friend had an "in" through work.

Twas fucking awesome.

Monday Musings

4 days til vacation. Buying a bikini online from Lands End was quite the smart decision. End of summer sales + natural lighting make girls happy.

August in New York City is a drag. Well, August in general is always kind of a drag (I am so ready for sweaters and scarves), but when there is no breeze and the heat from the sun simply refracts off the concrete and glass there is no release.

Practical Magic might be the dumbest movie ever. Yet I haven't turned the channel.

I have to be in court in the morning, do a deposition at 2, and deal with a conference call with an opposing attorney and a judge at 3:45. Boss #2 is on trial, so I thought Boss #1 would at least handle one of these. Nope. He'll be chilling in his office all day while I run around like a chicken with its head cut off. Grr.

Another reason women are freaks.

First I read this. And rolled my eyes.

Then I read this. And cheered.

The Best Wednesday Ever!

My day at a glance:

8am: get out of bed. (happy that I had the chance to sleep in because of today's deposition at which I had to arrive at 10.)

8:25am: hear on TV that the 1,2, and 3 lines are shut down because of flooding.

9am: leave my apartment planning on walking to the A/C lines to get downtown.

9:15: arrive at the A/C lines to discover that they are not running, but the #1 train is.

9:25: get on the #1 downtown.

9:45: arrive at Columbus Circle, an announcement is made that no trains are going any further downtown, and commuters should try to take a bus.

10am. 10:15. 10:20. 5 bursting full buses pass where I and many others are waiting.

10:30: Boss #1 calls me while walking (and walking and walking) to the office. He tells me to sit tight while he tries to find out if the deposition is going forward or whether I should just try to make my way to the office. Not that I could hop a cab anyway as they are all full.

10:30-11: I "sit tight" (read: standing, sweating, dripping, muttering) and chat with others who are similarly stranded.

11:10: I haven't heard from anyone. I walk to Times Square and take the N train, which seems to be the only one going anywhere further downtown.

11:30: get out at City Hall, after witnessing a fistfight on the subway platform. Contemplate jumping into the fountain in the middle of City Hall Plaza.

11:35: Check my voicemail, which tells me to forget the deposition and just get to work when I can.

12pm: arrive at the office, pant cuffs rolled up to capris length, glistening with my own sweat and probably that of other people (ew), and sit down in my nice air conditioned office.

12:45: we get a call that someone needs to appear in criminal court on a case. Fuck. Immediately I know it's gonna be me.

2:15: show up in court, call out the client's name (because I've never met her) in the hallway and softer in the courtroom.

2:30: Call out the client's name again.

2:45: Client shows up.

3:45: get back to the office. Realize I may die of starvation, having eaten nothing but a yogurt and way too much iced coffee all day.

4pm: Scarf down a quite delicious and hearty salad. Definitely the highlight of the day.

6pm: Arrive at the gym. Work out for all of 40 minutes.

7:45: Arrive home. After a very slow subway ride. But at least it was running. Proceed to crank up the air conditioner and take a long cool shower.

Attention, MTA New York City Transit: the terrorists are taking notes. You fuck up this badly because of some rain, and you expect us to swallow a fare hike in the next year? Please.

Also, there shouldn't be tornados in Brooklyn. Ever. I'm blaming George Bush. As usual.

There's really no PC way to say this.

But being PC is so '90s and totally overrated and unhelpful.

So. Here's my gripe.

I have a problem with Latino men. Not all of them. Only the distinct subset who adhere to the machismo mindset that it is perfectly acceptable to make physical, visual, and auditory references to girls and women who are simply walking down the fucking street. I realize that all men check out women. We do a lot of checking out of our own. Believe you me. However, I cannot describe how much I prefer the subtle once overs and subdued eye contact to the in your face bullshit that seems to only come from Latino men.

Has living in New York made me a racist? I don't think so. This is how I feel. I had a conversation with my mom about it. My mother. Who has been on many national panels and given presentations at numerous conferences about her work in all things race-related. We came to the conclusion that as long as I continue with the meta-awareness, I shouldn't feel guilty about my thoughts and feelings. So I don't.

And I didn't, again, when just now on the way home I was faced with another example of pure cultural indecency. Assholes.

To end on a less inflammatory note, The Bourne Ultimatum was not exactly excellent, but highly entertaining nonetheless. It's rare that people actually clap both during and after a movie.

Getting Out of Town

does a body (and mind) good.

I went to visit the 'rents for a few days to be taken care of, and it was glorious. And then I got back to the muggy smelly city to get through the next two weeks until I can spend a week lying on the beach. Ahhh.

The only thing that sucked about the weekend was Amtrak. I feel like it used to be somewhat highbrow, and now it's as shitty as the rest of the country's modes of transportation. Unexpected and unexplained delays, overcrowding, bad customer service, etc. And I fell asleep with my right leg bent in some awful position and now my knee really fucking hurts. (I guess that's not Amtrak's fault, but I'll blame them anyway.)

Only in New York

I'm doing better. Still sad, but you good people don't need to hear more of that. So instead, I'll share this little tidbit with you:

I was standing in line at the drug store around 3pm when a very drunk and quite well dressed gentleman stumbled in, proceeded to come right up to little old me (dressed in business casual - not exactly looking like a store employee) and slurred "I just closed a million dollar deal and had a 4 hour lunch. Can you tell me where the aspirin is? And some water?" I simply said "Um, I don't work here." And what did he say? "Well, in that case, whaddya say you and me go start having an early dinner?"

After not so delicately extricating myself from the situation (i.e., cutting the line to quickly pay for my shampoo and magazine) I went back to the office and saw that this was the #1 most emailed article in the Times today.

Huh.

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.

Dear Subway Preachers,

You seem to be multiplying. Have you figured out a way to clone yourselves? Clearly you would never engage in the old fashioned method of sex. Now, occasionally I find you amusing. But lately, you've all taken to doing God's work during the morning commute.

Let me tell you something. THAT is sacred time. We may be all squished together like sardines, body parts unavoidably (or, avoidably, in the case of certain men) touching, but the silence of the morning commute is an unspoken code that you have broken. And we're getting really pissed. We can hear you shouting fire and brimstone over our ipods. When the first words out of my mouth in the morning are "Jesus Christ", and believe me, they're not spoken in the way you would hope for, you've crossed the line. Subway rage has been pretty rare in the past, but I'm quite certain it can and will happen again. To one of you. So shut the fuck up.

Love,
New York City Transit commuters

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

Do these crazy fucks only exist in New York? In an age where I honestly worry about getting blown up on the subway, and am all for the checking of bags and don't give a fuck whether it violates the 4th Amendment or not, can't we just prohibit all religion-based speak in these enclosed underground and sometimes under water areas?

Pick one subject. And say "fuck you."

All of these bar review postings have brought last summer's anxiety, which I had hoped was dead and buried, to the surface. So, to make those of you who are suffering through it feel a little better (superior, even), here's my low point:

I'm in the kitchen of my apartment in Boston, where many a day and night was spent fretting over the bar exam. I'm making Annie's mac and cheese. Because I barely cooked during those few months. It's a Saturday night, somewhere around July 15th. Crunch time. I'm staring into the boiling water, letting the steam rise up into my pores like some makeshift facial treatment to erase the dark circles and worry lines. My two roommates are in the living room doing practice questions. They get into a discussion about the rule against perpetuities. I didn't understand it first year. I didn't understand it during Barbri. I didn't understand it when anyone explained it to me. I just. didn't. get it. But the worst part was that I was taking NY and MA. And NY, bastard state that it is, not only reserves the right to test people on the RAP, but also the rule against suspension, some bastard cousin of the RAP. I literally have no idea what it even refers to anymore. Anyway, the roomies are chatting about the RAP, and about how they hope they get an essay question on it because they both actually understand it.

And that was it. The swirling boiling water started to get fuzzy, and the tears came. I couldn't stop them. What the hell was I doing? How was I ever going to pass two bar exams when I didn't understand one of the most important concepts in property law? Who was I kidding?

My roommates tried and failed to calm me down. I poured the boiling water down the drain, rifled through the medicine cabinet, and took one very large sleeping pill from a stock I had left over from a very long flight. I figured they would come in handy from time to time.

The ensuing 12 hour blackness helped. My advice? Get your sleep.

And of course, not once, on either state exam or the MBE, from what I remember, did RAP or its bastard cousin make an appearance.

In other news, I'm slightly in love with Jeremy Piven in Entourage. Who ever said being "laid back" was a highly attractive quality? (Actually, I suppose the above diatribe pretty much establishes my lack of laid back-ness.)

Will my law license transfer to Canada?

Because, seriously, I'm done with this country. I know I sound elitist and snooty, but really, it's only because 41% OF THE POPULATION STILL BELIEVES THAT SADDAM HUSSEIN WAS DIRECTLY INVOLVED IN 9/11.

Breathe. In. Out.

Today, Christie Todd Whitman, former governor of that great state west of the Hudson, testified at a congressional hearing (read: lied) about the federal government's claims shortly after 9/11 that the air was safe to breathe.

Let's not forget that a current presidential wannabe who is basing his entire campaign on one day also lied. Because they wanted to reopen the stock market as soon as possible. Because in response to the worst terrorist attack in the nation's history, George Bush's response was not "do some volunteer work" or "spend more time with your family." It was "go shopping."

Those of us who were there that day, who saw firsthand the absolute insanity up close, and who continued to breathe that air for weeks and months, are sick of the spin, the lies, the half-truths, and the shameful silence.

(This may read pretty incoherently. I don't really have a point. I'm just mad.)

Boys, indeed.

Does anyone else think that these men are sad and pathetic?

(Terrifying thought: am I going to end up a hypocrite at one of these parties when I'm 38 and single and desperate?)

Hump Day Musings

1. Note to self: the next time you find yourself at the gym for a post-work run and realize you forgot to pack socks, take the extra ten minutes to go to the drug store and buy some, even if you're already half undressed in the locker room. The alternative is painful. I may show up at tomorrow's deposition in flip flops and bandages.

2. I ended up sitting next to Danny from the Real World New Orleans on the subway today. I stared unabashedly against my better judgment, and upon exiting the train car, softly said, "yours was the last good season." And I got a big old smile...

3. I'm a sucker for these AFI's 100 Years 100 Movies lists. Always good for updating and adding to your Netflix cues.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Update: Liveblogging the AFI list:

To Kill A Mockingbird is number 25? Oh I don't think so.
I really need to watch ET and The Sound Of Music over and over again. Like right now.
There are a hell of a lot of Vietnam movies that I've never seen.
Chinatown is overrated.
Would the world be any different if I had never been born?
Marlon Brando is scary.
We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven't you?
I used to have nightmares about the Death Star.
And the flying monkeys.
I was 12 when Schindler's List was released, and vividly remember going to see it with my parents, and my mom broke down and had to leave the theater. I didn't know then that I had relatives who were part of the story.
Scarlet O'Hara is a whiny little bitch.
Could Ingrid Bergman's skin have really been that flawless? Casablanca was way before air brushing, right?
I repeat, Marlon Brando is scary.
If I'm gonna call myself a connoisseur, I suppose I should see Citizen Kane.

Sourpuss

It was almost funny. Almost.

I wanted a bowl of cereal when I got home from work. Just a little snack because I didn't feel like cooking dinner yet but was too hungry to wait. So I took out the half gallon of milk that I bought a few days ago. The sell-by date was tomorrow. But as soon as I opened it up, the stench hit me. Ok, fine, I poured it down the drain.

Then I went to the corner market to buy another carton. $2.50 and 5 minutes later, I poured the milk into a full bowl of Cinnamon Life, took a bite, and almost vomited. Sour. Again. The expiration date said June 26th.

Muttering, I marched back to the little market, plunked the just-bought but bad milk on the counter, and stated my claim. The owner, after smelling it and making a face, simply shrugged a "eh, it happens" and gave me a replacement carton.

Now, in hindsight, I shouldn't have left the store without opening the third carton up and smelling it, but of course I did not.

And then it happened again. This time I was not so nice to the little old man with the health hazard dairy products. I was starving, grossed out, annoyed, and had to throw out two bowls of cereal.

Turns out his entire batch of skim milk was bad. So he gave me my money back, a free half gallon of 1%, and a couple bite size snickers for my trouble.

But still. Blech.

The Best Complement I've Ever Received

Despite the fact that he admitted it came from a 90210 episode:

"How many other girls can I enjoy looking at and also look up to?"

It's 11am and I just rolled out of bed all the way to the couch...

Does anyone love the movie Keeping the Faith as much as I do? No, I don't think so.

*Love it*

"But your honor, she's been attending meetings for three weeks"...or, How to Think on Your Feet.

In my short time as a practicing attorney, one of the most important things I have learned is the following:

Clients lie.

Plaintiff, defendant, injured, criminal, law-breaker, scapegoat, harasser, or harassee. If you need a lawyer, you've likely told a fib or two.

Today's example of the lying client resulted in my being blindsided in court. The judge was not happy. I was not happy. The DA seemed quite happy.

So yes, clients lie. The problem is, probation reports and drug tests don't.

In the fake and therefore more fun world of television, due to the crappiness that is the summer schedule (whatever happened to good old fashioned repeats? I hate reality tv), I've been recording old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Practice, which are on at 7 and 8am respectively on F/X. I forgot how awesome they both are. Now I just need LA Law and Thirtysomething and I'll be a happy camper.

Dear David Chase,

Fuck you too.

Love,

Loyal viewers of The Sopranos

Hey loud annoying guy, do you really have to order the lobster?

And, you, drunk girl, we REALLY don't need another bottle of wine.

This happened last night. And I hadn't even met the damn birthday person before. I was annoyed. Again. It's not that I'm cheap (well, no more than necessary). I gladly buy presents for people I love. But being forced to plunk down $60 for someone I don't even know when all I ate was a tiny piece of chicken, about two pieces of lettuce, and one glass of wine makes me absolutely crazy. Honestly, I think the friend I was with should have offered to pay for me, considering I was only there to support her because she has a stupid crush on the birthday boy, who I don't think is good for her anyway (but that's neither here nor there).

I guess I do sound cheap. But that's what happens when you grow up with parents who spit out the phrase "We can't afford that" or "That's too expensive" 20 times a day. Arrgh.

So what is MTV's target demographic these days?

After watching about ten minutes of the 2007 MTV Movie Awards, I realize I am about 87 years old. I was never a big MTV person, but this crap is unbelievable. Also, movie spoofs are only funny when celebrities appear in them. These "home-made" you-tube snippets are not funny.

So I flipped the channel to Inside the Actor's Studio with James Gandolfini, who had this gem to pass on: "When you're young, you're pissed off, and you don't really know why." Thanks, Jim. I guess we know how how you got your anger out all these years.

I'm going to a birthday party today on Long Island for some random guy who my friend has a big crush on. What better way to spend a Saturday than as a wingman?

Going running.

Shut up, AJ

I'm an episode behind in the Sopranos countdown, but that's pretty much all I have to say.

(Two TV posts in two days? I guess I'm sick of bitching about work. For now.)

Let's hug it out, bitch.

Somehow, I've missed Entourage all this time. People have been telling me I'd love it, so I 'flixed it, and I DO love it. Yay.

The flooding problem stemmed from Mr. and Mrs. Asshole upstairs who "forgot" to turn off the water after taking a shower. Um, stoned much? Also, since when does water come through light fixtures? I'm still a little scared.

And this is my life.

I had a nice relaxing day.

And then, as I was getting ready for bed a mere half hour ago, MY CEILING BEGAN LEAKING HEAVILY. Thankfully (if there is such a thing), it's in the hallway and the front of the bathroom and not in the bedroom or living room. But jesus fucking christ. I called the 24 hour building management hotline, but it seems as if this doesn't qualify as an emergency.

It's 98% stopped now. I don't know if it's the rain or some fucktard upstairs who flooded their tub or something. In any case, my ceiling needs to be fixed. If not now, tomorrow, at which point I will be washing a bunch of nasty towels and disinfecting some pots that are now on the floor.

It's gonna be a great fucking Monday.

She must be a tiger in bed.

Mary Matalin is amazing. Not only is she sporting the hair style of a 20 year old, but the insanity spewing out of her mouth is crazier than ever, and the amount of eye-rolling towards her husband definitely speaks to the idea that James Carville looks like a skeleton lately because she's withholding food until he says something nice about George Bush. Even Tim Russert gave James a look of "Damn, that's rough, man."

One of Mary's gems:

"There is great affection for Bush amongst the people who are going to make the decision in this primary... the people who are in this myopic mindset should read [some new book*]. If we looked at contemporary public opinion we would be a slave-holding British colony today and we'd probably be speaking German and the rule would be totalitarian."

Huh?

James Carville spoke at my college graduation in 2003. His basic message was "You should prepare yourself for failure in life because when it happens most people aren't ready for it." Yeah, not so much "inspiring" as "shit, I need a drink." But, being the cynic that I am, I appreciated his unblinking wisdom about our future.

But now, I'm thinking, that speech was probably written after some deep thinking about the state of his marriage. How can two people who disagree with each other's fundamental beliefs spend their lives together? James must have realized this, and he implored our young souls to think hard before making the same mistake. Thanks, dude.

*The book Mary so lovingly recommended to us ill-informed Americans is presidential historian Michael Beschloss's Presidential Courage: Brave Leaders and How they Changed America 1789-1989.

As the Amazon reviewer notes, "Beschloss outlines how several occupants of the Oval Office—including Jackson, Lincoln, Roosevelt, FDR, Truman, Kennedy and Reagan—combined courage with wisdom to change the future of the country, notwithstanding the slings and arrows they earned...None of the author's heroes were saints, but rather flawed men sustained by friends, families, conviction and religious faith. With contenders for 2008 already lining up, this well-timed book might, the author hopes, persuade some to take the kinds of "wise political risks that Presidents once did." Perhaps. But knowledgeable readers should look elsewhere for genuine historical insight. The author's broad brushstrokes necessarily restrict him to painting nuanced individuals and complex times in only basic primary colors."

No wonder Mary Matalin wants people to read this schlock. Who wants genuine historical insight when you can paint nuance and complexity with the colors of fingerpaint? Oh right, George Bush Republicans.