Wall Street

First of all, I'm not going to pretend I understand much beyond the basics about this financial crisis. Except for the fact that no investment banks have been housed on Wall Street for the past 15 years. They're all in midtown. Anyway.

Who am I supposed to really feel bad for here? Certainly not these jackoffs who have made New York City somewhat of a nightmare for the rest of us. I keep hearing, "god, it's so sad, we all know someone who lost his or her job, right?" Well, maybe. I definitely do, but those people (at least those I know) still get three months of bloated severance pay and have enough saved at the age of 27 to support themselves for a long time. So really, no, I don't feel bad for you.

Yes, the banks should not have loaned every single American and his poodle money for a mortgage. People with a miniscule income and no foresight should not have thought it was a grand idea to Become a Homeowner! with no down payment. The government should not have allowed the market to take care of itself. Because the market is run by greedy assholes who are rewarded with billions of dollars for complete and utter failure.

And now I have to fucking pay for it.

20 Miles. By The Numbers.

Miles: 20. Duh.
Gu Gels consumed: 4
Ounces of Gatorade consumed: ~ 16
Ounces of water consumed: ~ 32
Time: 3:55
Number of times I elbowed idiot tourists who shuffle along staring upward without a care in the world: 6
Temperature when I began: 53
Temperature when I finished: 64
Minutes it took to hail a cab to take me home because I couldn't walk another step: 10
Ounces of chocolate milk I drank post run: 8
Inches of a Subway sandwich I scarfed a few minutes ago: 12

For those who know NYC, I mapped out a pretty decent route (thank you Google maps!). Down the west side Hudson River parkway to the World Financial Center, across lower Manhattan at Chambers Street (past the courthouses I frequent all the time, which were kind of cool to see on a quiet empty Saturday morning), through part of Chinatown (where the majority of the elbowing of the tourists occurred), up the FDR Drive to 72nd Street, across the east side to Central Park, up 5th Avenue to 86th Street into the park, and a 4.5 mile loop in the park to finish. Yeah, there was no way in hell I was walking another 1.5 miles back home at that point.

Time to rest up, ice the shins, clean out the DVR a bit, and then drag myself up and out for a birthday party at which I will likely stay until 10:30 pm when I turn into a pumpkin.

This is my life?

I ran ten miles this morning.

I billed ten hours today.

I found a ten dollar bill on the sidewalk. (Wheeee!)

I'm now eating pizza and drinking wine after venturing to the corner store in my pajamas, Panther Football t-shirt and ponytail and being given a "Hey, beautiful" by a stranger.

I still hate Sarah Palin. Just putting it out there. Sorry. Can't help it.

Have we learned nothing?

Well, some of us haven't anyway.

Something happened today which I think will unfortunately affect my relationship with my new office mate. I know I don't need to have anything other than a working relationship with her, but let's face it: I like to chat about the news and politics. I don't need or want everyone to always agree with me, but I expect the level of discourse to be up to par. So. Behold:

I had to show ID at three different checkpoints in order to get into my office building today. There were more people in general and more security than last year. I didn't mind the inconveniences. Clearly, it's not a day to complain about the minutia of your own life. I had a 10 am deposition at the office, but because of the ceremony and resultant mass of people literally 15 feet from my building (the area for the families is separated from the area where the general public could be), the other parties were somewhat delayed getting through and getting upstairs. So I'm sitting there in the office chatting with Office Mate about how many people are outside. She says, and I quote: "Why are they even here? They're all foreigners - why do they even care?"

Breathe.

Me: "Uh, what do you mean? How could you know that at all?"

OM: "Oh I overheard a lot of them talking and, you know, just by looking at them."

Sigh.

That was the majority of our conversation for the rest of the day.

I emailed one of my best friends about it later on, and because she's awesome, here's part of her response:

whoa, WHAT? i'm glad you emailed me bc i was actually going to email you and ask how it was down there today, but WHAT?! first of all, her question is like asking why people who weren't personally affected by the holocaust visit auschwitz. um, they're there because it's a historical day/place and they're in the city and they're paying their goddamn respects and they want to experience it and be a part of it. second, by her logic, wtf does SHE care? does she have some personal tie to the attacks? it's like those people in the middle of missouri who have those goddamn stupid "never forget" bumper stickers. yes, as americans, we all experienced the effect of 9/11 to some degree, whether it's as little as your experience going through the shitshow that is airplane security nowadays or as great as the fact that you were actually fucking there (in WTC, or you, or my friend [X]). bc the people with closer ties to the attacks obviously felt/the effects deeper, how can you try to characterize or judge anyone's reaction or feelings about the attacks? it's unfair and everyone's allowed to feel exactly how they want to feel. it's a fucking tragedy. it's also retarded to think that it didn't affect people outside of america too--world's greatest superpower attacked on its own soil? helLOo, it's a big deal. slash, were these "foreigners" americans speaking another language (shock! we have a few of those in nyc!) or foreign nationals?

you didn't tell me she self-identifies as conservative. which is fine (i'm dating one! liberals are tolerant of conservatives!). but given the level of your interaction and the kind of relationship you have (pretty purely professional), it's inappropriate to talk about shit like that at work. you need to shut her down (nicely) if she brings it up again.

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

So. We'll see. For now, I'm wary.

Maybe I am smart?

So I won a pretty big summary judgment motion today. The 5 page decision by the judge said that my arguments were "some of the most well-reasoned and articulate" that he had ever read on the issues involved. And then I got a congratulatory email from my boss (to the whole firm) as well as one from our client.

Basically, I kick ass.

There is no logic to my brain.

I had one of those unsettling dreams where people from various parts of my life are all interacting with each other and I don't know what the hell is going on. Why are my boss and my friend from middle school talking to each other? Huh?

Our new attorney started this past week, and while I'm STILL not happy about sharing an office, it's not horrid so far. She doesn't seem like an idiot as far as I can tell, so I think we'll be ok. Then again, it's been a week.

This whole "Sarah Palin doesn't need you talk to you media types - she can talk directly to the American people!" thing is bullshit. Unless I myself can ask her directly why she thinks we're doing "God's work" in Iraq, I have to rely on the media to question her. Get her on a Sunday morning talk show. Stat.

I did 18 miles yesterday in the horrible humidity of the pre-Hanna downpour. It was pretty terrible. But I did it.

It's fashion week in New York City. Which means I get to feel even less stylish than normal. Yay! It takes way too much effort to dress like a grown up professional. If I had my way I would get to wear jeans, tank tops, hoodies every day.

I want pancakes. Correction. I want someone else to make pancakes for me. Mmm.

Can someone explain to me why John McCain is such a "maverick"? I don't get it. Also, it just makes me think about Top Gun, and then I get sad remembering how Tom Cruise used to be awesome. Speaking of McCain, he's using the whole "I was a tortured POW" thing the way Giuliani used 9/11. An answer to every god damn question he's asked. It's really not ok. Yes, both men were faced with something extreme and horrifying. It doesn't make you qualified to be president.

Obama and McCain will appear together at Ground Zero on Thursday morning. Great. Which means I'll probablyhave to show ID thirty times in order to get into my office building. Is Andrea Mitchell wearing a brown LEATHER suit? Yikes. Alan Greenspan is a lucky guy.

Don't Leave Me.

I've had a bit of the writer's block as of late. Not that I've ever been interesting, but I've been feeling less able to articulate my thoughts lately, and basically want to respond to everything with gems such as "gimme a break", "nah ah!", "whatever", and "screw it".

So yeah. I suppose I'll watch Sarah Palin's speech tonight and try to refrain from rolling my eyes (too much).

And Daisy, if you're reading this, I'm a terrible person and am about three quarters through Beach Music, which I get to read only before bed each night because of all the damn legal crap I have to read during the majority of my waking hours. I hope to send you my comments within the next week. I do love it so.

DOES JOHN MCCAIN THINK WOMEN ARE STUPID?

Because I find nothing but insult in the argument that disaffected Clinton supporters will vote for McCain simply because he picked a woman for the VP slot. Let's not even discuss the fact that she appears to be even less qualified for the office than Harriet Miers was for the Supreme Court. Seriously. It's certainly a role of the dice, but I wonder whether the Republican operatives are on acid.

I've been "working" at home today, and have gotten close to nothing done thanks to this insane announcement.

Apparently my blogging will be in list form for the foreseeable future.

I have less than zero energy but lots of random thoughts, so here goes:

1. Watching a woman pop her boyfriend's zit on the subway was probably the most disgusting thing I've ever seen up close. *Shudder*

2. Michelle Obama rocks the sheath/shift dresses. Screw suits!

3. I really hope that moment when Sasha Obama grabbed the mic to speak to her daddy was unscripted and unplanned. Because it was totally adorable.

4. I was THIS CLOSE to walking out the door at 5pm with visions of pajamas and a glass of wine awaiting me when OF COURSE I got sucked back in by a phone call which took two hours to fully deal with and will make my day sucktastic tomorrow.

5. September? Next week? What???

Five reasons why the suburbs are awesome.

1. Falling asleep to the sound of crickets is way better than falling asleep to the sound of traffic.
2. Target.
3. Supermarkets where more than one cart can fit down an aisle.
4. Soapnet. (Which is not included in my stupid NYC Time Warner Cable package. Damnit.)
5. Driving to restaurants instead of schlepping around on the subway.

Oof.

So, I got to interact with this man again today. Mmmm. All aflutter.

And now, at 9pm, I get a heads up phone call that the bosses have rearranged our entire suite of offices, and starting tomorrow I'm in a different office, where I will be sharing with the new attorney when she starts after labor day. This wasn't a surprise at all - it's what I've been mad about for weeks - but I didn't think they were moving stuff around today. Apparently they got in the zone and decided to stay late and be manly and move furniture. I can just see them shedding their ties and rolling up their sleeves.

So why do I feel a little violated? Because I wasn't ready for it? Because they moved all my stuff and files and papers which were in semi-messy but still organized-to-me piles which I'm now going to have to go through and organize AGAIN tomorrow before I leave for my mini-vacation of all of three days off?

I have to run 8 miles in the morning and be at the office (in my NEW office, ugh) at 9 to prep a witness before a 10 am deposition. This means I have to get up at like 5. Awesome! So excited.

I'm going to bed.

So. Freaking. Tired.

I'm definitely not eating enough. What seemed like 7 easy miles yesterday morning followed by a crazy day at work and barely any lunch plus working late resulted in leaden legs this morning for what was supposed to be the easy 4 mile run. Shit. This does not bode well for 15 on Saturday. I really have to pay more attention.

Also, everything just sort of aches. I may need to splurge for a massage.

Gymnastics final tonight in the all around competition. Does anyone else want to just give Alicia Sacramone a big hug? The fact that those girls (and Marta Karolyi, who you KNOW was doing the whole smile and hugging thing ONLY because the cameras were in her ugly mug of a face) were disappointed in the silver medal is, well, sad. However, I also think it's fucked up that no one is really questioning the Chinese girls' ages. I don't care what you say about ethnic differences in body types. A few of those girls are NOT 16 years old.

God. Are you ever so tired you want to cry? The fact that when my head hits the pillow I start thinking about motions I have to write does not help.

Because I'm Lazy.

10 things you didn't know about me:

1. I have a debilitating fear of the ocean. Seriously. It's big. And scary. And dark. The ocean at night? I would sooner commit murder than go near it.

2. I quit gymnastics when my sadistic coaches tried to make me do a back handspring on the high beam before I could really do it on the low beam. Visions of a split skull invaded my 7 year old brain, and I knew this wasn't for me.

3. One of my fondest memories of childhood is watching 20/20 "with Hugh Downs and Barbara Walters" with my grandmother on Friday nights before she passed away.

4. Sometimes, when I feel stress/worry/fear/anxiety overtaking my psyche, I hit play on one of my DVR'd episodes of ER (TNT, 10 and 11 am weekday mornings) or The X Files (SciFi, 2am and 4 pm weekdays) and watch while simultaneously reading along to that specific television without pity recap. It calms my mind and makes me smile. Yes, I'm a dork.

5. My first kiss was perfect. (And it's all been downhill since.)

6. My right thumb is about half an inch shorter than my left thumb. No, I never sucked my thumb. I think it's a sign of intelligence.

7. Unless we're talking about a month long monsoon, I generally prefer rainy/cloudy days to overtly bright and sunny ones.

8. I have never eaten a single bite of red meat. Ever.

9. My torts outline from 1L year is floating around on the internet, and I have no idea how that happened considering I was not an outline sharer.

10. I truly need 9 hours of sleep per night. I'm pretty sure I'm not meant for this world.

Yeah right.

Has anyone seen the McDonalds commercials that are running non-stop on NBC, in which Olympic athletes are espousing the wonders of some chicken sandwich which NONE OF THEM HAVE EVER OR WILL EVER EAT?

It really fucking bothers me.

8.8.08

Ok, I totally wish I could be there. Instead, I'm here. Sniffling with a cold in August. Who gets a cold in August? Me.

John Edwards may be a douchebag. But he's still a smart one. Finally coming (semi)clean on a) a summer Friday, b) the day the Olympics start, and c) appearing only on Nightline at 11:30 pm? Yes, it will run continuously over the weekend and coming weeks, but it's no Elliot Spitzer press conference.

Back to the opening ceremonies. I'm sure I will cry at some point over the next two weeks of these games. Why not start now?

Oh man. Chicago's up for the 2016 Summer Olympics, which is AWESOME. But you know what would be more awesome (and really only because I live here)? NEW YORK CITY hosting the Olympics. Maybe someday.

Dog Days.

Literally. Chloe had a vet appointment yesterday for her annual shots and check-up, and while the vet proclaimed she is very healthy for a girl of her age (15 in September! and hell, she was walking better than I was yesterday after my 13 miles), I agreed that she should undergo yearly blood tests to make sure everything is on track. So, $360 later, we left the vet's office. Now, granted, this included the exam, regular vaccines, three months of worth of Frontline, plus the blood panel. But. Jesus. Christ. For years she had been going to a family friend near my parents' house who charged us well, family friend prices. Now I have New York City prices. Hmmph. But, she's my girl. What can I do, right?

It's August. As in, I need a vacation. I haven't planned to go anywhere, and truthfully, can't afford anything lavish (see above) and have reached an age where going "home" for a week...doesn't sound very relaxing. Is it wrong to want to take a few days and head to a bed and breakfast all alone and do nothing but sleep, eat, and read (Beach Music!)? Yes, and run. Do single people really take single vacations? Or is that something we only see at the beginnings of sappy movies where the heroine laments her lonely life before meeting the perfect guy? See, Under the Tuscan Sun, Message in a Bottle. Ok, so they both loved and lost in those movies, but at least there was some adventure and drama in the middle.

Even Congress is on vacation. Not that they get much done when they're in session, but for the next five weeks they don't even have to pretend to get stuff done. Speaking of talking about doing stuff but not actually doing it, the election is soon, people! Like, really soon. We've been campaigning for basically for years, but the big day is 3 months away? How'd that happen? Shouldn't we have running mates at this point? Who? What?

Mad As Hell.

and a little bit drunk.

and i still have to run four miles in the morning.

fuck.

however, congrats to those done with the bar exam. and if you were rocked by an earthquake during your first day of essays, at least you'll have a good story to tell.

....

I've started receiving Lucky magazine - "the magazine about shopping and style" - in the mail for the past couple of months. I never subscribed. Not sure what's going on. Does someone in my life secretly think I dress badly and I should, as the July cover exclaims, partake in the "625 Secrets to Looking Great"?

I want the Cohens to adopt me.

Does anyone else have a sneaking suspicion that this whole "work" think isn't all it's cracked up to be? I'm not unhappy - things are going relatively well and I have tons of responsibility and trust from the higher ups and yada yada, but it just all feels so...sigh-worthy sometimes. At least right now. Maybe I need a summer vacation. Too bad I have no plans to take one.

Chloe has a doctor's appointment (yes, a vet, but it's her doctor, so whatever) on Saturday. Nothing but an annual check-up, but as she nears the ripe old age of 15, I can't help but be an overprotected unreasonably worried mommy.

I really need some more variety when it comes to my work clothing staples. Too bad I've spent all discretionary funds in the last few months on cute running apparel instead.

Finally, you don't need it, but GOOD LUCK to all bar-takers this week. You've heard it before, but I'll say it again. You WILL be FINE.

You mean I get to keep eating?

12 miles. Toast with peanut butter, coffee, and water beforehand. Water, gatorade, and a gel pack during. (I should have brought two - last couple miles were brutal.) Ice bath followed by warm shower. Then, more food. I went for a scrambled egg plus two egg whites with shredded cheese and salsa wrapped in a tortilla.

It's barely 1pm. I've already eaten 800-900 calories. But I burned 1200. SO WEIRD.

I'm not doing this to lose weight. I've been in reasonably good shape for years, and just wanted to undertake the challenge. Certain pants do feel a bit looser, which is always nice. But this whole knowing how much to eat thing is worrisome. People tell me to "eat more than you think you should" but I've also heard about how some people actually gain weight during marathon training, strange as it may sound.

Fuck, things hurt. Left hip flexor. Right knee. Left baby toe. Right shin. HEELS. I'm gonna ice, watch the rest of Save the Last Dance on TBS, and possibly take a nap so I'll be ready to take on the dinner and party I have to attend tonight. In flats.

So the bar exam is next week, huh?

I thought it was this week, and then when my office started scheduling interviews for a new attorney (yay for underlings!) for Tues, Wed, and Thurs, I piped up with "Um, people are taking the bar exam this week!" and was then informed that the bar exam is in fact next week and I am clearly an idiot.

An idiot who passed two bar exams, though. And believe me, if I could do it, so can you!

Picture it. Third weekend of July 2006. I had to get out of my apartment in Boston (and my two crazy bar studying roommates), so I drove to my parents' house a couple of hours away. Where I proceeded to alternate between studying, screening frantic phone calls (whatever you do, do NOT compare your last minute study habits to others or you will drive yourself crazy) and eating whatever wholesome goodness my mother cooked for me.

Saturday afternoon, I fell asleep in the backyard while going over some outline or another for the thousandth time. And I got a sunburn. Yes, I was tanning. Hey, two birds, one stone. But I didn't mean to fall asleep. No one came to check on me for hours because they thought I was studying and didn't want to be bothered. Yeah. I'm pretty sure they just couldn't stand being around me by that point, for which I can't blame them.

Nearly thirty-six hours and a bottle of aloe vera later, I drove back to Boston in order to get on Amtrak on Monday and head to NYC for the first two days of the exam. Somewhere on the MA Turnpike, there he was. The police officer whom I will love forever.

Here's the thing. I um, didn't realize the officer was pulling me over. For, oh, a good three to four minutes. Going nearly 85 in a 65 zone. There were flashing lights. Don't ask me why or how I didn't realize I was being pulled over. I just didn't. My thoughts, inexcusably, were elsewhere. Eventually I realized what was happening, nearly peed in my pants, and pulled over immediately.

When he walked up to my window, I could tell he was expecting a confrontation. Instead of giving him one, I immediately burst into tears and began apologizing profusely. In between my sniffles and pleas regarding how I was broke, so so broke, and could he make it a small ticket, and his "Ma'am, it's ok, calm down", I must have gotten to him. He pointed at the Barbri books scattered on the back seat, and asked when the exam was. "Two days," I replied.

I didn't get a ticket. He told me to slow down and take it easy, wished me luck on the exam, and proceeded to get into his cruiser and take off....into my heart forever.

Moral of the story? If, between now and the start of your bar exam, you find yourself in a situation totally of your own making, and you would never otherwise stoop to such a level, I give you permission to MILK IT FOR ALL IT'S WORTH.

The end.

P.S. The Dark Knight? Effing awesome. Witnessing an assault at a NYC multiplex because some "fucking ho!" (his words, not mine) wouldn't get in the back of the line? Priceless.

P.P.S. This? Double effing awesome!

Who wants to go back to high school?

Next spring will be my ten year reunion, but it certainly doesn't feel that long. I doubt I'll go to the reunion itself. I speak to one person on a semi-regular basis and keep up with the rest on Facebook only. As in, we never actually have to converse or interact with each other. I mean, really, do I want to?

Tomorrow there is a NYC alumni happy hour thing (I was a scholarship kid at an overpriced private boarding school where I felt out of place for 4 years, ok? shut up) happening which I haven't RSVP'd to but someone emailed me and asked if I was planning on going. Um, no? I'll get a drink with you but I don't really want to stand around awkwardly while everyone downs at least two drinks before they feel comfortable enough to approach that guy/girl who they sat next to in some class 10+ years ago. Other than this one person who emailed me, I don't know who I would really talk to. I was the girl everyone thought was smart and nice and no one had a problem with, but no one really noticed me one way or the other either. At least that's how I saw myself.

Maybe you all have close friends from high school and don't understand what I'm talking about. If so, you're clearly not my target audience. (Kidding! Keep reading! I love you!) But my close friends are mostly college and some law school based people, and thinking about the years 1995-1999, well, it pretty much seems like a lifetime ago.

So I don't think I'm gonna go. Tentative dinner plans with a real friend have just been finalized, and honestly, a real connection beats a fake trying-too-hard one any day of the week.

Coming up: a post for all the bar exam takers out there. To give you something to look forward to: it involves the police. And a sunburn.

How to Tire of Music.

Seems difficult, huh? Well, train for a marathon, and the same 1000 or so songs get old quickly. I haven't decided whether I'll be using the ipod during the actual marathon (Born to Run v. the cheering crowd?), but for now I've discovered the joy of audio books. I'm currently half way through one of James Patterson's Alex Cross murder mystery novels (I love them), but I feel the need to venture outside the box.

So, I'm taking recommendations. It needs to be engaging, intense but not requiring TOO much brain power, and possessing some quality which will make me focus on the story images in my head and not my breathing or the eventual ache in my legs, neck, shin, etc.

So what should I "read" next?

Wednesday Wonders

Every New Yorker who braves the subway platforms during the month of July deserves a medal.

Every wide eyed camera-toting tourist in New York in July deserves to be pushed/elbowed/yelled at for getting in the way of those of us who are trying to get somewhere on time.

Going on "vacation" and emailing me once an hour about X/Y/Z does not qualify as a vacation, and when I take my vacation, don't expect any emails. Or responses.

To the bar exam studier who cut in front of me on the line at Whole Foods last night because you were too absorbed in your BarBri notes, you're lucky. Once you pass, all bets are off and your ass will be kicked to the back of the line.

I feel the need to rearrange my already organized closet so that my work and casual clothes are lined up by color in addition to type.

I forgot my shoes and ended up wearing flip flops to court today. I was prepared to be all chagrined if necessary. No one cared.

Law & Order on TNT never gets old.

Super special cushioned synthetic socks - $15 per pair. The absence of debilitating blisters? Priceless.

Right on schedule.

I get this way every year around the 4th of July. I'm ready for fall already. Sweaters, crisp air, crunchy leaves. Ahh.

And it's so far away.

Cringe

In honor of our nation's independence, I slept in:) Training-wise, Friday is a rest day. Which are "just as important as hard and easy days." So I'm taking full advantage. I may venture out to a bookstore later before trekking across town to join a million people to watch the fireworks (weather permitting), but mostly I will be napping and watching bad TV.

Speaking of which, has anyone ever watched that 4th hour of the Today Show? With Hoda Kotbe and, ahem, Kathie Lee Gifford? It doesn't just make you roll your eyes. It's more like wincing. No one ever said Kathie Lee was brilliant, but um, did anyone ever notice she's a kind of a racist idiot in that ever-annoying innocent kind of way? There's not only this, but also this morning's god-awful imitation of her Chinese driver's accent and how they have scintillating conversations because he barely speaks a word of English. Hey Kathie Lee, I'm pretty sure he's faking it. If I had to drive your sorry ass around town, I would pretend I didn't speak English either.

On that note, happy 4th everyone!

Well, that's about par for the course.

My air conditioner just died.

Along with that little piece of my soul which takes note of every penny ripped from my bank account.

Welcome to The OC, Bitch.

My sister, in what may be her most awesome act of sisterly love to date (kidding), bought me this, supposedly because she never bought me a birthday present back in February and needed to finish using an Amazon gift card that she had for a while.

It's fucking awesome. All 92 episodes. Remastered. Commentaries. Retrospectives. Deleted scenes. Music compilations. Totally cheesy and awesome packaging.

This definitely beats the motion I won today on the excitement scale.

Also, unrelated, this makes me sad. And mad. And, fuck, really mad.

What also makes me mad? The fact that a bug just landed in my glass of wine. Serves me right for trying to save money on my Con Ed bill by opening the window and giving the A/C a break.

This might be why I'm probably going to die alone.

It's 7pm on a Saturday evening. I'm exhausted. I have ice packs on my shins, a bandage on my blistered baby toe, a glass of water on one side and a glass of wine on the other, delivery menus at my disposal, and I'm watching Ghost on HBO2. I'm wearing loungy capris and a tank top that has been washed so many times it's practically tissue paper, and having worn a suit for the past five days straight, the thought of changing into something more appropriate in which to leave my apartment makes me want to stick a needle in my eye.

I'm not a total loser though. I went to an improv show at the Upright Citizens Brigade last night, which was so freaking hilariously awesome my stomach hurt today from the laughing.

Hee. God, Whoopi is the shit in this movie. I love it.

Newsbreak.

Has everyone heard about this case?

I hope this doesn't out me in any way, but considering I've already said I went to law school in Boston, and Boston has numerous law schools, I'm gonna admit that I worked for Mr. Entwistle's attorney while I was in law school. He is a formidable man. I remember a trial I second sat with him, my first real trial experience, and what did he drill into me more than any other legal concept?

The prosecution has the burden of proof and production of evidence in a criminal case.

If you've read/scene any of the coverage of the verdict, you'll see he's stuck to this concept. I mean, it's obviously correct, and he is an excellent attorney, but it just shows that, boy, they had NO CASE.

And what does this semi-criminal defense lawyer say? Good riddance, Mr. Entwistle.

Really, VH1? Really?

I freely admit that I have spent, well, more than one weekend afternoon over the past few years watching VH1's "I love the 80s", "I love the 80s 3D!!!", and "I love the 90s." (I skipped "I love the 70s" because, um, I wasn't born yet.) They are fantastic time suckers. Current bar studiers, take note.

I thought we were done for a while. At least until 2010, when there would be another 10 year block to deal with. But no, as I realized tonight while channel surfing, the bright minded execs over at VH1 have apparently decided that we couldn't wait that long, and so they have given us..."I love the New Millennium." 2000-2007.

Am I watching it? Duh.

The Olympics are coming!

Full disclosure: I LOVE the Olympics. The drama, the pain, the triumph, the heartbreak, the excitement. All of it. I can't wait.

The Olympic trials for Gymnastics were on this weekend (finishing right now), and I am SO HAPPY that the girls look - dare I say it - healthy! Muscular as all hell, obviously very low body fat, but not stick thin little twigs circa 1992 Bela Karolyi-style gymnasts with constant expressions of terror and hatred for what they were doing. Old Bela's now an NBC sports contributor. Ew. But at least he can't dominate the girls anymore. I quit gymnastics at age 8 (and took up skating) when my sadist coaches tried to make me do a back handspring on the high beam before I could really do it on the low beam. And then at some point, shortly after I stopped skating competitively, I read this (it's pretty accurate), and my hatred for Bela was solidified.

But anyway. Olympics! Yes!

Reason # 5,097,286 why I'm a dork.

I love love love love the AFI movie lists. I literally look forward to them all year (there seems to be one every June).

Makes me happy.

Dear Dad,

When I called you on Father's Day, I thought I was being a nice person. A good daughter. Even though I had called my stepfather first. You didn't need to know that. I asked you how the baby was doing, how you and his mother were doing, and you sounded tired but genuinely happy. And for what it's worth, that made me happy.

You asked me to come visit you all sometime, and while it would be a doable overnight trip or a very long one day trip, and frankly is not something high on my list of things I want to do, I said I would think about it and left the door open.

You asked about me and my life, and I had nothing to say considering things are pretty much the same as the last time I saw and spoke to you. I work, I run, I try to relax with my friends and by myself. You asked whether I had made plans to see that old family friend who I hadn't seen since I was 12 and who is now a 29 year old investment banker. I didn't tell you that I went out with him on Thursday night and basically wanted to kill myself for a three hour period of time. Let's just say it wasn't a love match. Yes, I may be 27, but I'm nowhere near over the hill and I don't need you to set me up anymore.

I'm not sure why, but I blurted out something like "Why haven't you told Mom about the baby?" Which really meant, why have you cut her out since you got remarried? You had a relatively civil divorce, you definitely spoke over the years since, you would always forward your flight information to the three of us if anything ever happened, and now you pretend like she doesn't exist. You said it's because NW (new wife) doesn't feel comfortable about "the situation." You mean the situation where you were married for 23 years and had and raised two daughters? That situation? Sorry, but if you ever expect me, or my sister, to have a relationship with NW or our brother, let me tell you something. You both had better get the fuck over it.

Because if I have to choose, it's not going to be you. I've never been very traditional, so it won't pain me (very much) to not have you walk me down the aisle.

So thanks. Thanks for making me basically hang up on you when you put NW on the phone when I was still talking to you about "the situation." Thanks for the future therapy bills I will eventually incur but continue to put off. Thanks for loving me so much that you won't speak to my other parent anymore.

Thanks. And Happy Father's Day.

Tim Russert: 1950-2008

This man was pretty much my idol. A lawyer, the best journalist around, and, from all accounts, a hell of a great guy.

I'm pretty sure he'll be watching from above on election night this year, giddy as a kid and wishing he could be on the air.

If Tom Brokaw breaks down again, I may lose it.

Three Glasses of Pino Grigio Later

I hate Murray Hill. HATE. I'm never going there again. In fact, I may never leave the Upper West Side again. Ugh. I need to take a shower.

I really don't want to go to work tomorrow. And I have a lot of work to do.

Scratch what's above. I want to pick up and go to Montana, live and work on a horse ranch, and fall in love with Robert Redford. Ok, a younger Robert Redford.

Thoughts.

1. It feels like August in NYC. In June. I'm not ok with it.
2. I've spent the past two hours preparing for an oral argument that I will definitely lose. I hate having to advocate what are essentially stupid arguments.
3. A friend of mine got a ticket and summons at reunion for...wait for it...smoking pot in the dorms. I was asleep at the time, and while I wouldn't have been there anyway, I'm sad I missed the ensuing hilarity.
4. The woman ahead of me at the dry cleaner's today yelled at the cute elderly owner because the cover for her dog bed was not ready yet. First of all, anyone who brings a dog bed cover to the cleaners is an idiot for not buying one that can be machine washed. Second, despite my love for all things canine, they do not actually need a dog bed, contrary to this woman's assertion that Fido "needs somewhere to sleep!" What a bitch. The woman, not...oh whatever.
5. Celebrities need to stop naming their children after intangible desirous traits.
6. A male friend-but-really-more-an-acquaintance of mine, who less than one month ago told me that he was way too immature to get married any time soon, and who I found out this past weekend has been cheating on his longtime girlfriend with another friend of mine up until last summer, proposed to said girlfriend yesterday, and she said yes. Strike 8 million for monogamy and positive role models on love.
7. I still want to see Indiana Jones, Sex and the City, The Strangers, and now also want to see The Happening. One of those has to happen this weekend.

College. Reunion. Weekend.

Leaving after work today. 5 years. I feel old. Three days of debauchery to come, although I am in marathon mode already, so not too much for me. I'll take incriminating pictures of everyone else though. Cuz that's what I do.

Maybe when I get back I'll have something to post that's actually worth reading.

It's Over.

Thank the lord.

Can you imagine the hard on Wolf Blitzer is gonna have on election night? It's only the end of the primaries and the guy is in rare form.

Also, "Simply the Best" by Tina Turner as your campaign song when you DIDN'T WIN is, well, arrogant as all hell.

LOST

I...um...wow.

I need to watch it again.

Dear Netflix,

I totally appreciate the recommendations based on my past rental history, but I think you need to retool the way your choose these items. For example, just because I rented various seasons of One Tree Hill and The OC over the past year does not mean that I want to watch "After School Specials: 1976-1977" any time soon. Come on now.

Love and kisses,

Harmless Error

I'm not superstitious. But this is ridiculous.

This morning, when I was running in Riverside Park, moving to the music and enjoying the warmth of the sun on my shoulders, I stopped short because of something in my path.

A crow. Just sitting there. Chilling. Not picking around or eating. Sitting. In my path. Usually birds/squirrels/small children move out of the way when a person/bike/bigger animal or child comes whizzing by. Nope. Not this bird. He eyed me for a minute, turned around 360 degrees, and flew off, his black feathers gleaming in the sunshine. I began moving again. And suddenly I was cold.

I may have to do work tomorrow.

But I don't have to go to work tomorrow. And that makes all the difference.*

I've been a bad blogger this week. Family drama is uninteresting to anyone else, and nothing else has really held my attention lately. I almost went to see Indiana Jones today and would post a (probably tepid) review, but both the 7 and 8 pm shows were sold out and we didn't feel like waiting or seeing anything else. So we went to the nearest bar and flirted with sailors instead. Quite unfortunately, there was no dancing to Al Green. Honestly, I don't think these boys (and I do mean boys) would know who Al Green is.

Sigh.

Update: 12:35 am. Why am I unable to turn off The Silence of the Lambs on TNT and go to bed? Fuck. OOH! Catherine Martin, a/k/a the Senator's daughter who gets kidnapped by Buffalo Bill a/k/a Brooke Smith, is Dr. Erica Hahn on Grey's! Talk about learning something new every day. I want to join the FBI. Will they pay back my loans?




*In all honesty, Memorial Day is the one "yay it's a Monday holiday" for which I actually try to think of the purpose and meaning behind the day off. We all should. But I'm still glad I don't have to dress up and go to the office.

I'm 27.

And, for the first time in my life, I'm a big sister.

My father, age 67, and his 37 year old second wife, had a baby boy last night. I know this doesn't sound like anything out of the ordinary for those of us with screwed up families. But here's the kicker.

No one knew a baby was on the way.

Granted, we don't talk much. But these are the sorts of things you're supposed to, I dunno, TELL YOUR CHILDREN, right?

I think my sister is cracking up. She's been going through a very hard time at work, and this morning when I called her and told her that we have a baby brother, she laughed for about ten minutes, and then stopped abruptly and immediately said, "wait, you always wanted a brother, right?"

Yes, I did. WHEN I WAS TEN.

I know a birth is a wonderful wondrous miraculous amazing thing. I know that. But this is my fucked up family we're talking about. Anyone who knows me and us, and I've talked to many of them today, has had the same reaction: You're fucking kidding me/what the hell was he thinking/Are you high?

I realize I may see the kid and fall in love with him, but that doesn't change how I feel right now. Unbelievable.

Something big is coming.

Stay tuned.

Westlaw + Wine = Shenanigans

All I can say is it's a good thing my firm has a flat fee Westlaw account. Because when I type "bad ass" instead of "bad acts", hilarity ensues. No joke.

Hopefully no one will be checking my research trail history.

I don't know that many people.

So when someone adds me as a "friend" on Facebook, I'm able to identify that person right away as a remnant from the cornucopia of my life 99% of the time. But today I got an email that, let's call him "Mike", had added me as a friend on Facebook, and, as you know, I need to confirm that we know each other. I have no idea who this person is. Do people do this now? Has Facebook crossed over into the realm of networking with people you don't even know? Because the only reason I liked it to begin with was in order to keep track of and keep up with people I otherwise would never see again.

So I investigated a bit, and it turns out we went to high school together, and in fact have three mutual Facebook friends. However, I definitely don't remember him. And my high school was not big. I've never rejected a Facebook friend request, but there's a first time for everything I guess.

What do I do? I'm not saying I have to be close buddies with everyone I'm Facebook friends with. But I think I should at least remember, you know, speaking to the person.

I know I'm supposed to be anti-violence and all...

but can we just assassinate the leaders of Myanmar already?

Ya know, cost-benefit and all.

Sunday Soliloquy

I always read the NY Times' Modern Love columns on Sundays. They're full of angst, desire, regret, briefly held joy, but ultimately some kind of disappointment. Always a good read for the closet romantics out there. Today, the editors began running the winners of their College Essay Contest.

Here it is.

Finished? Ok. Something about this girl's essay makes me very uncomfortable. She's a decent writer - I'll give her that. But I kind of think she...might be a slut? (I know you judge people all the time so gimme a break.) She's a junior in college, so she's what? 20 or 21 years old? Unless she's exaggerating the number of guys she has [insert euphemism here - it is the subject of the essay], the girl has been... active. For a long time.

Now, I admit I'm on the low end of the spectrum when it comes to relationship experience. As someone in her late 20s, I alternate between thinking this is perfectly fine and I'm just one of those people who will meet someone fabulous at some point or another and know immediately that it's right, or on the other hand, there is desperately something wrong with me because I don't jump at every guy who smiles, winks, or nods at me.

Still, even this girl with all of her "experience" and whimsical yet disconcerting stories doesn't seem to have any more insight than I do. So what's the point? Those times where I have met someone and then a week later felt only longing and disappointment haven't propelled me any closer to what I want.

Moving on, I'm contemplating whether to join a running group for my training. I'm following an 18 week program, which doesn't technically begin until the second week of June. Right now, I'm just working on keeping my base steady. Yesterday I decided to just go out for as long as possible at an easy pace to see what I can do, which was about 7 miles. Decent for not having trained for anything in a few years, right? The benefit of the training group would only be for the long runs on the weekend. Although, at the height of training before the taper, I'll be running 10 miles on a Wednesday, which boggles my mind right now. The thing is, which I said to my mom yesterday cracking her up, I don't really like people. That sounds worse than it is. I have many friends who plan to be at the race cheering me on with T-shirts reading "Kick Ass Phault, [Harmless]". I kind of feel like no one's going to be running the marathon with me, aside from the thousands of other people around me who will also be in essence, alone, so I might as well get used to being on my feet by myself for hours at a time.

Finally, I'm refusing to post about work until I have something nice to say without immediately following it with something not so nice. Posting may therefore continue to be light for a while...

I've clearly lost my mind.

I signed up for the ING Hartford Marathon. Saturday October 11, 2008. My only goal, other than to simply finish, is to beat Katie Holmes' time. I've been in a rut lately - mentally, physically, and emotionally. While this will be 90% physical, the other two will definitely come into play. So that's what's happening. It will be a long sweaty summer.

I really need to stop reading Nicholas Sparks books.

Why? Well, because I'm running out of tissues, and I'm starting to think I should move to a small town in North Carolina or some such place.

You know what's kind of awesome?

A glass of wine after an evening workout before eating dinner goes down like it's really two glasses of wine.

Ok, I realize this sounds totally weird and slightly alcoholic and unhealthy, but I swear I drank a lot of water too and whipped up a fabulous tofu and veggie stirfry.

10 ways to rock a weekend wedding.

1. Buy a new camera to replace the one that was stolen.

2. Curse JetBlue and their never-working Direct TV.

3. Spend an hour in line to pick up the rental car even though the website said your online reservation guaranteed quicker service.

4. Watch your friend (not the bride) make out with some random guy in the bar during the bachelorette party.

5. Take another friend to the emergency room at 2am after he jumps from one hotel bed to the other and doesn't notice the low-hanging beam between said beds on which he slices open the top of his head.

6. Flirt with hot Texan ER doctor.

7. Get tan lines which look totally strange with your strapless dress worn to the wedding.

8. Cry when they say "I do."

9. Take 150 pictures with your new camera.

10. Sit near Stephen Baldwin on your flight back to NY. (Guys, he is totally weird looking. Billy definitely got the hot genes in that family.)

Dear law school,

I've dealt with your annoying letters asking me for donations for the past couple of years. I simply throw them away. But tonight you crossed the line. When you call me on my cell phone at 8:45 pm and ask me for money when I'm standing in line at Whole Foods, and at first I politely decline to which you proceed to badger me about how "even five dollars can help", I will in fact lose my shit and become extremely irate about the fact that I will be paying back my overpriced tuition for basically the rest of my life and therefore you can go shove your donations up your smarmy asses.

So, in conclusion, while I'm happy to participate in surveys, alumni functions, etc., please do not call me again asking for money.

Sincerely,

[redacted]

Ha.

Hahahahahahahaha.

Sorry, dude. What goes around comes around.

Why I'm a bad blogger.

1. I'm boring.

2. I work too much.

3. Happy hours.

4. When I get home it's all I can do to watch an hour of TV and fall asleep.

5. My brain is too full to be witty.

6. I was assigned another trial, which puts everything else on the back burner.

7. Dick Cheney. Whatever, he deserves blame in general.

8. I've been trying to "put myself out there" with little to no results. (Although I now realize I haven't posted about the crazy lawyer who hit on me in court and emailed me the same day asking 20 questions...that post will come.)

9. I'm boring. I know I already said that, but it bears repeating.

Nine reasons. I can't even come up with something to make it an even 10. I suck.

Nectar of the gods.

I've had a sore throat for a week. I thought it was a cold, but now I'm thinking it's spring allergies. Not that it feels like spring - it's damp and dreary here.

However, the only thing that makes my throat feel better is Haagen-Dazs fat free mango sorbet. The fact that I've eaten two pints of it in one week is surely not good on the sugar scale, but when you have difficulty swallowing much else it's probably ok. Hey, it's what I tell myself.

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

Postscript: If you missed Tom Brokaw's special, King, on the History channel tonight, try to catch a repeat airing. It was excellent.

Best Saturday afternoon ever?

I know all you other Type A people probably had your taxes done by February 2nd. And I bet you all got refunds too. Well you can all go to hell. I owe the federal government $168. Before the student loan interest reductions, Turbotax told me I owed over $600. At that point I took a shot of the raspberry vodka tucked away in my freezer. But then I got to the deductions section and the number went down. So I suppose I should be thankful my loan providers are basically enslaving me. Thanks, fuckers.

Oh, but I do get a refund in NY state taxes. How much, you ask?

$2.

I am so fucking rich.

I just have one question.

Why, in the name of all that is pure and holy on this earth, do men insist on grunting while lifting weights?

Huuuuuuuhnnnnn!!!

Errrrrrrrrrrrgh!!

Seriously, it's not attractive. I don't care how much you're lifting. Oh, you went to X University too? Great. Well, your receding hair line tells me that you probably weren't in my graduating class. (Tangent - I signed up for my five year reunion today. Wine tour included. It will be slightly ridiculous.)

Anyway, guys at the gym - calm down, take a breath. Don't give yourself a hernia. That's not attractive either.

Figures.

Arguing a motion when you have no voice and are blowing snot everywhere? This is gonna be fun.

Yes.

I have six hours to bill tomorrow, and I'm done for the quarter. Ahhhh.

I ordered Mexican food for dinner, and have season 3 of Party of Five on DVD.

The cute guy in my building who I've never spoken more than "Hi" to knocked on my door and asked to borrow measuring cups...

Yes.

it's 12:25. I just got home. I need to drink at least two glasses of water before I go to bed. i have a 10 am deposition.

fuck.

Frus. Trate. D.

I have a conference on a case tomorrow that is the bane of my existence. Literally. I'd rather claw my eyes and dunk my head in acid than deal with the judge, clients, issues, attorney, witnesses, and bullshit that is this case.

I have to go to a somewhat swanky fundraiser tomorrow night where the majority of women will probably be dressed like baby hookers and, not that I would dress like that, but I don't have time to go home after work, change, and get to the damn thing in time for the free drinks.

I've been stressing out about, wait for it, the high school sophomore who I mentor and the fact that she hasn't been doing what she's supposed to be doing to get into a good summer academic program, i.e., get her father's tax returns to the appropriate financial aid people. If I get attitude from anyone about this, I'm this close to dropping out of the damn program. Like I need this.

Every bone in my body aches.

I have to bill 33 more hours between now and the end of the month, i.e. 5 days from now, in order to meet my quota to get my first quarterly bonus. I know that's doable - I just don't fucking want to. If shit doesn't HAVE to be done RIGHT NOW, it pisses me off that I have to work on the weekends. I don't think I'm cut our for lawyering like this. Can I just work for the Center for Constitutional Rights and write briefs all day and have long constitutional arguments with coworkers? No? Well, fuck you too.

One of my very best friends is leaving New York for a bigger better job in Chicago. I'm quite sad. Although, I will now have an excuse to get my butt to Chicago to visit her, and when I'm there, I'm totally calling on Grace, Namby, and any others of you who are in Chicago but I don't know it.

The fucking dry cleaners LOST my beautiful knit merino sweater that I've had since high school. They said they would give me $75 as payment. I don't remember how much I paid for that sweater back in 1998, but $75 isn't nearly enough to cover the sentimental value.

Sunday nights suck.

But long bubble baths are a wonderful thing.

The end.

Procrastination.

I ran six miles.

I scrubbed my bathroom.

I went to Gristedes to buy the special Swiffer Wet-Jet Spray for Hardwood Floors. And I swiffered.

I took Chloe out. Twice.

I'm doing my laundry.

All of my friends went home/out of town. Again, even the non-Easter-celebrating ones.

I really have to work. I really don't want to work. My father and his new semi-new wife who I've never met are coming to visit tomorrow. I'd like to just relax today so I have the strength to deal with that. I want a massage.

Ok, a few hours of work. I can do that.

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

Um, I got distracted by A Walk to Remember on TNT. Shut up, you know you watch those movies when they're on TV. You have to, right? It's like a disease. Ok, back to work.

I will be the only person in my office today.

Everyone else is taking a long Easter weekend. Including the Jewish people. I don't have to be in court. I'm totally wearing my favorite ratty jeans, a hoodie, and Uggs.

And even if I bring work home, I'm leaving by 4.

I sobered up a long time ago.

I've just been busy.

So, my judge was a 90 year old slightly deaf guy who even a court officer told me "is crazy" when we broke for lunch the first day of trial. Awesome, right? He ended up precluding one of my witnesses who was supposed to testify regarding a BIG part of my overall theory. The judge was completely wrong on the law, and after a long argument on the record, he pretty much accused me of trial by ambush and he wouldn't allow it.

So that sucked. And totally freaked me out. But we kept going, and I recovered. My summation was kind of done on the fly because of the aforesaid hiccup, but the jury was still out all of 15 minutes before rendering a complete verdict in my favor. My heart was LITERALLY jumping out of my chest before the verdict was read. Afterward, the judge who had screwed me over winked at me. In hindsight, he probably knew the jury would go my way, and precluded my witness to either a) fuck with someone he knew was doing her first trial or b) assert his idiocracy on a somewhat basic point of law.

One of my firm's partners was in the courtroom when the jury came back, and although I was still in shock, I remember him giving me a hug afterward. Which is something I NEVER would have expected he was capable of doing, so it was pretty nice.

Our client was happy, and of course later told me she had been "a bit nervous" about it. Well, hell, so was I. But I proved myself at least on the first one. I'm sure the next one will be harder, but at least I'll have a base of confidence to go on.

In other news, a homeless woman on the subway today told me I was a "fucking fucking whore fucking slut" because I demurred when she asked for some change. Nice.

Not everyone wins her first trial.

But I did.

Details to follow when I regain my sobriety:)

It's not as bad as the night before the bar exam, but it still kinda sucks.

I'm revising my last analysis by a smidge after making certain other connections among the evidence, but I still feel...decent about it.

I'm having a glass of wine with dinner and I'm going to bed in one hour. I'm getting up at 6 to run, getting to court by 9 to meet my witnesses, and hopefully we'll start at 10.

Here we go.

A tip to future trial lawyers of America...

Always go visit the scene of the crime/accident/incident/lie/whatever before your trial starts.

You may discover something wondrous about your case...

Although it doesn't mean my nervousness has vanished, given this piece of information, if I don't win this thing I'm turning in my law license.

Spring Fucking Forward.

Of all the weekends for me to lose an hour...

I'm too tired to go to sleep.

Have you ever been too tired to do all of the stuff you need to do to get ready to go to bed?

Do the dishes
Take the dog out
Wash my face
Brush my teeth
Calm my mind enough to actually be able to sleep

I'm pretty sure just lying on the couch is a better plan.

Uh, John McCain probably looks young to you too.

So I picked a jury. I don't think I looked like a total idiot, and I'm generally happy with the people I got, so that's that. Also! I can confidently say that I did not violate the Constitution. Yay. Now of course the hard part begins. Opening statements are next Thursday, but I have a shitload to prepare before then.

I did get called out for looking young. By a, literally, 95 year old judge: "Well, hello missy! And how long have you been practicing law?"

Internal dialogue: do not roll your eyes, do NOT roll your eyes, just smile nicely and respond.

Thankfully, this wasn't the judge who will preside over the case. If he were I'd be afraid he'd give me a damn lollipop on our first day.

Jury selection = a slightly racist* chess game

Or at least this is how is how the process sounds as described to me. Even though I really only have a rudimentary understanding of what I'll be doing tomorrow, I'm not overwhelmingly nervous, which is good. I had a few moments of impending doom and dread earlier today, but they passed. Now I'm simply resigned to my fate. You know, kinda like a prisoner heading to the executioner.

Whoah, a rush of dizziness just came over me. Maybe because I've eaten nothing all day but a cup of dry cheerios, a yogurt, a luna bar, and a couple hershey's kisses. I meant to eat lunch, but had a fucking deposition in the middle of the day and never got around to it because every other minute was taken up with trial prep.

So now I'm scarfing down leftover pasta and contemplating whether I should make some more notes for tomorrow or just give up and go to sleep.


*Note to future practitioners: always have "another" basis for striking someone just in case you're faced with a Batson challenge. Ahh, what a fantastic system we have.

In like a lion.

I'm picking a jury on Wednesday.

I don't know how to pick a jury, but apparently I'll learn all about it tomorrow.

I have a pit in my stomach that is growing bigger by the minute.

But there's nothing I can do about it right now, so I'm going to have a glass of wine and watch Oprah's "The Big Give".

The title of this post has no relevance. I just can't believe it's March already.

UPDATE:

Yeah, that lasted all of ten cringe-inducing minutes. Wedding Crashers is on TBS. I feel better already.

It's been a while.

Time for more subway tales.

3 pm. Post court appearance. Waiting for the #4 train to get back to the office. Police activity on the platform. It's unclear what the hell is going on, but when the train arrives, no one is allowed to get on. Why? Because, according to the esteemed NYPD officers on duty, there has been some kind of "immediate threat" that warrants action.

Or, inaction, as you will. The train sat there empty for nearly 30 minutes. Now, I was perfectly happy to wait because I get to bill all travel time, no matter the clusterfuck that is the NYC subway system. So I'm standing there, leaning against the wall tapping my foot to my music and browsing some paperwork, when one of the officers taps me on the shoulder and says, "Ma'am, we don't know how long this is going to take so you might want to take a different route." My reply: "Oh, that's ok, any other route would take twice as long anyway so I'll just wait here."

And then there it was:

"Well, if you want you could come wait in the police booth with me. Those shoes sure don't look very comfortable."

Ok, they weren't very comfortable, but I wasn't about to reciprocate any flirting just because my feet were about to fall off.

Another 10 minutes passed, the train left empty, another one arrived, and I was on my way. Frankly, a little freaked out hoping I wasn't about to be blown up, but on my way nonetheless. And then, walking up the few steps in the lobby of my office building, I TWISTED MY ANKLE IN THE DAMN SHOES I WAS WEARING.

I think God is punishing me for rejecting a man's advances.

I'm now Facebook friends with people I went to elementary school with.

Weird.

Live Blogging the Oscars

I'm not gonna lie. A few people were supposed to come over and watch with me, and for various reasons they're not coming. (Fine, one of them had to go to the ER with another friend. I GUESS that's a good excuse.) But I have a lot of wine and a lot of bitterness over reading deposition transcripts all day, so you all are going to be the ones I take it out on. Ready set go.

Barbara Walter's Special: I now realize that Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus are one and the same. My life is complete.

8:32 pm:

Jon looks yummy. George Clooney's girlfriend is... kind of ugly. At least weird looking. Am I alone in this thought? Ooh, lawyer joke! Jennifer Garner! I love you. Be my friend. Even though your hair is confusing me right now.

8:47:

80 years of Oscar. With ET music! And...Celine Dion. Ann Hathaway is taller than Steve Carell. Hee. Katherine Heigl has so much old school glam I can't stand it. Amy Adams is absolutely adorable. As was Enchanted.

9:10:

The Rock is an Oscar presenter? Um, really? Is The Golden Compass one of those Christian allegory stories? Am I thinking of Narnia? I hated those books. Whatever. Cate Blanchette, you're very pretty, but you look like you have a snake around your neck. Should I add Sweeney Todd to the "saved" section of my Netflix queue?

Oooh the first acting award and we need...a clip show introduction? Fine. Oh my god LETS GET ON WITH IT. HAHAHA Cuba Gooding Junior! How are those Hanes underwear commercials coming? Oh, Jennifer Hudson. That dress...

Javier Bardem is...sexy. I should see that movie. Although I hope he's not sexy as a killer. Aw, his mama! Love it.

9:24:

Aww, Hi Felicity. Keri Russell is pretty. Owen Wilson! Hey buddy! You look good. Hope you're feeling good. And the winner for Best Supporting Actress is...Alan Arkin? No. Tilda Swinton? Really? It was a nice performance, but I call bullshit. Amy Ryan all the way.

9:44:

"The always fabulous Jessica Alba." Hee. Who thinks that pregnancy was planned? Raise your hand. No one? Best screenplay: Not Atonement not Atonement not Atonement not Atonement not Atonement...and the winner is... phew, not Atonement.

When is the In Memoriam tribute? I LOVE that part. I know, morbid much? Heath is gonna be at the end, right?

John Travolta is a member of the actors' branch of the Academy? Hmm. Is Tom Cruise a member too? Is L. Ron Hubbard telling them how to vote?

Wow, Kristin Chenowith should go back to Broadway. Aaron Sorkin is at home crying right now.

10:01:

I think winners for Sound Editing should sound better in their acceptance speech.

Oooh Best Actress! Marion Cotillard is very pretty too. I don't really care about seeing that movie though. Although I'm sure it's better than that dreck she did with Russell Crowe a couple years ago. I want Juno to win something.

10:20:

Once. That's a sweet song. Ugh. Jack. 80 years of Best Picture. Someone I know who does magazine retouching said Renee Zellweger is the one who needs the most touchups. Aww. Nicole Kidman is regal. I don't care what you say. Someone needs to tell this honorary Oscar winner (I forgot his name already) that he doesn't need to wear the scarf indoors.

During commercials I'm switching to ABC Family to watch The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. The sequel arrives this summer. Don't tell me you're not excited.

10:41:

I wonder what Penelope Cruz thinks of Tom now? I'm guessing something along the lines of "thank god I got out alive."

Patrick Dempsey! Hey Derek! How's Meredith? When are you guys coming back with new episodes? Aw Enchanted has to win for one of the songs. Alan Menkin wrote Aladdin's songs, which I think might have been the first soundtrack I bought at 11 years old.

Ladies and gentlemen, John Travolta. Stop dancing. That gravy train has passed. Ok...no Enchanted songs. Once. HAHAHA I love Jon Stewart.

10:56:

Aww, she got a chance to come back out and give a speech! Yay. Hillary Swank is pretty. OOH IN MEMORIAM TIME. And Heath as that angsty cowboy dude brings up the rear. No pun intended. Fuck it's 11 pm and I feel like some of the big awards are still to come.

11:08:

Best original score...ok Atonement sucked donkey balls, but the score was very good. Probably the only reason I felt something throughout the film. I give it my vote. Yay I won! Oh Tom Hanks, you two time Oscar winner. Your hairline is receding big time. Hello Soldiers stuck in Baghdad! Vote for Obama and come home soon!

11:24:

Harrison Ford mmmmmm. YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY JUNO!! Diablo Cody is a former stripper! Yay strippers! Yay Ellen Page! Yay Jason Reitman! And I want to thank my family for loving me exactly the way I am! Holla!

Wow. Helen Mirren is beautiful. Daniel Day Lewis seems like such a nice man when he's being himself, but the rumors that he never comes out of character when he's doing a film is...weird. Cameron Diaz said she never knew him as anything but Bill the Butcher when they were filming Gangs of New York. I can't decide if that's just plain strange, or conceited, or both. I'm not an actor, so I'm gonna say both.

11:40:

Another montage? THIS IS WHY IT'S SO LONG and we're all gonna be tired tomorrow at work.

Do you think Martin Scorcese's optometrist ever suggested he get contacts? I bet Marty shot him.

Can the Coen brothers do anything without each other? Come on guys, even Mary Kate and Ashley have made the break.

It's difficult to say this, but Denzel isn't really rocking the shaved head look. A symmetrical face doesn't make up for a large head. Ok ok ok.

Best Picture: The Coen brothers again. And they'll be snarky and not have anything to say again. A complete surprise? Shut up and don't be fake-shocked. Yes, I'm gonna see your movie now.

Fuck I have to work like 8 million hours tomorrow. Kill me.

My fever is down! Happy birthday to me!

I've been dying a slow and painful death the last few days with a nasty stomach flu. Scary hallucinatory dreams, hugging the toilet, the works.

But I went to work today, for all of a few hours.

Hence, my billable hours for February are pitiful. March is reallllly gonna suck to make up for it, although maybe I won't have to make up shit to do half the time because I'll be starting MY OWN TRIAL in a few weeks. Yes, people. The time has come. The thing is, although we all know there are now more female lawyers than male ones, the trial still unfortunately seems to be a man's arena. I shouldn't worry about this - clearly there are lots of things to worry about - so I'm just gonna have to be the one to break the mold, right?

I canceled birthday dinner plans because I still can't really eat anything. Saltines and gatorade it is.

Tagged! A meme.

Courtesy of Grace.

I'm afraid this is going to be really boring because I'm not all that interesting, but here goes:

The Rules: Pick one past posting about each of the following:

Family.
Friends.
Yourself.
Something you love.
Something you choose.

1. Family: God I hate them sometimes. But sometimes is better than most of the time, right?

2. Friends: Okay, it's more about a guy than my friends, but my friends are just too cool for school, ok?

3. Me: Because if I post one of the worst, it can only get better. Or worse. Whatever.

4. Something I love: Um, this one's easy.

5. By Choice: because this one inspired some funny comments.

See, I'm fucking boring. But I'm going skiing in the Poconos this weekend with some friends. Hopefully I won't fracture anything. See, I'm all about the positive thinking.

I'm tagging all of you. Do it. DO IT.

My birthday is next week. I think I'm turning 80.

I'm pretty sure it's not normal that my leg feels better when running than when walking or going down steps. Apparently I'm potassium and calcium deficient. But I kind of hate bananas (it's not that I hate them - they just have to be eaten at the perfect time - over or under ripe bananas are gross) and don't drink milk outside of cereal. Spinach has calcium, right? Why isn't that enough?

On another note, I dvr old episodes of ER that are on TNT in the mornings. I erase most of them, but do watch the classic ones. Like the one that was on today, when Dr. Greene goes to Hawaii with Rachel and dies and it's quite possibly the saddest thing I've ever seen ever and it was such a momentous event that NBC allowed Anthony Edwards to say the word "shit" on network television.

This was a very boring post. Then again, I am almost 80 years old.

This has nothing to do with what I posted earlier. But, no matter your view on abortion, it's a fascinating article.

I definitely made the right decision. I think.

During the winter of my senior year of college, I had the world's most perfect kiss. I was at a party, and I spotted him across the room. He was sitting in a reclining chair, with his leg propped up. He was on the soccer team and had broken it scoring the winning goal of a game, although I wouldn't find this out until later.

I kept staring at him, and eventually he motioned me over to sit down next to him. We talked for hours, although I don't remember anything except his blue, blue eyes. Eventually he offered to walk me home, and although I demurred due to his broken leg and crutches and the fact that it was 20 degrees outside, he insisted, and so we walked. Well, I walked. He hobbled.

And outside my door, in a simple and natural movement that both took me by surprise and swept me off my feet, he kissed me. And I felt myself float upward. He wrote my number on his hand, smiled, and hobbled down the street.


I never heard from him again.

Until Friday night at my friend's birthday party. I recognized the guy in an instant. It took five years of overlapping social circles, but there he was.

And I didn't go near him this time.

I'm all for this cliche.

When my mother is sending me the Obama "Yes We Can" video, you know it has made the rounds. Of course I doubt she knows who half the people are who are in the video.

I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off today. And will again tomorrow. If all works out, I'll tell ya'll about it then.

It's Super! Tuesday.

If I hear "we can now project that Clinton/Obama/McCain/Romney/Huckabee will win the state of X" one more time, I may throw something at my new TV. So I should probably change the channel and check back in later.

I'm supposed to be finding caselaw for my boss for trial tomorrow. But he only called me an hour ago, after I had just gotten home and poured myself a glass of wine.

I'm clearly not pouring the wine back in the bottle.

This title means nothing.

I've started and erased about three posts in the last few days. I'm not sure what's going on with me. I have too much to say and nothing to say at the same time. I could bitch about work, or my friends, or my family, or the fact that I should know better than to watch Mary Matalin on Meet the Press if I want to have a pleasant Sunday morning.

I turned down an invitation to a Superbowl party where, although it would be full of objectively horrid people, at least there would be people. But why should I subject myself to a bunch of guys who haven't surpassed the mental age of 20 even though they're creeping up on 30 and girls who refuse to eat a slice of bread but eat cereal by the boxful (uh, it's still carbs, you know), drink like fish, and for some godforesaken reason still manage to incite jealousy within me over their ability to seem perfect and carefree. I had lunch with a friend yesterday who has recently become involved with a guy she works with. And she's lost, at least for now, all of her sarcasm, cynicism, and everything we used to bond over. It's like Miranda turned into Charlotte. And I hate Charlotte. I guess I'm happy for her. But I kind of don't want to see her for a while.

I took Chloe on an hour and a half walk today (hence the current snoring on my leg), and stopped for a while at the pier near the 79th Street Boat Basin. I sat there, sort of outside myself, and marveled at the fact that I had become a movie cliche. I half-expected some warbled-voiced songbird to start singing over my head like in those movies where the plot development sucks but when serious music plays you know you're supposed to be feeling something. And just like in those movies, I'm sure I felt SOMETHING but I don't know the hell what it was.

LOST

Enough said.



On a totally unrelated note, which deserves its own post which may or may not happen, I realized today that I'm officially estranged from my father. I don't know how to feel about this.

A new record for me.

I billed 12.4 hours today. Not by choice, but because my boss decided, at 7pm, that he needed a motion in limine for trial tomorrow. Which he could have decided and told me at say, noon. But that would have made things much too simple. Obviously.

And I have a constant cramp in my right calf. If it doesn't go away soon, I may just chop my leg off.

Hip Hip! Hooray!

I haven't watched the State of the Union Address for the last few years because, well, let's be realistic. It's not healthy to be that masochistic. But seeing as this is THE LAST ONE OF THE WORST PRESIDENT IN HISTORY (everyone: hip hip hooray!), here's a little drinking game to make it an even happier occasion:

When George says:

Iraq: one sip of whatever you're drinking
economy: two sips
American people: one gulp
war on terrorism: half a glass

Check back with me later. Hopefully I'll still be upright.

Also, I won a motion today. I guess I'm not getting fired. The judge's decision reads, and I quote, "Defendant's well reasoned and articulate argument clearly mandates suppression in the instant case." Yay.

I've Never Been so Relieved to Wake Up.

I had the worst most terrifying panic inducing dream I've had in quite a while last night. The last one was a few years ago when I had a dream that my sister died. I've also occasionally dreamed that Chloe died. And while those are incredibly awful, and I wake up and pull her close so I can make sure she's breathing, it's a different kind of awful. (Caveat: I know she's going on 15, but she's very healthy and spry, so I don't want to hear it, mmkay?)

So here was last night's dream.

I got fired. It was only a dream. It was only a dream. It was only a dream.

I flipped out during a deposition. Started yelling at everyone, crying, a real two year old temper tantrum. I can't really say for sure what sparked it. In the dream. It was only a dream.

Then I went outside and took a walk in Central Park (here's where I should have realized something was up - my office is not walking distance from the park and it was spring outside). When I gained my composure and went back inside, my boss was clearing out my office and I started crying "no no no no please please no i'm sorry please please no." My other boss came in, said, "it is what it is" with a shake of the head, and my entire life (and what I was about to lose) flashed in front of my eyes.

And then I woke up. I took a couple deep breaths, rubbed my eyes, and had a severe WTF moment.

I'm still shaken up. And in a couple hours, after brunch with a friend where I'll pick her brain as to what this means, I have to do work. And I'll do a really good job.

Why is it not Friday. Seriously.

Does seeing Heath Ledger's body being rolled out of the apartment building make anyone else a little queasy? Just me?

I'm buying a new TV this weekend. I've wanted to for a while, and I rearranged the furniture in the apartment last weekend, and while the layout is much better, the TV is about 15 feet away from the couch, and I'm squinting to see the damn channel guide. Time to upgrade. HD. Flatscreen. Psyched. Is is sad that this is what I'm excited about in life? Hmm.

Aches and pains.

I think my knee is fucked up. It doesn't quite hurt. It just feels stiff with a little hint of achiness. I know, go to the doctor, get a referral for a sports orthopedist, etc. But I hate doctors. I still don't have a primary care doc in the city after 13 months of living here. Can someone just do it for me? Find me a good doctor, make an appointment, go, deal.

I've had a spot under my left shoulder blade my entire life that flares up when my stress level rises significantly. The last major episode was while studying for the bar, and it got so bad I could barely lift my left arm at times. I've noticed it over the past week, and today sitting in my office I felt the need to stretch every few minutes and pop a good deal of advil.

I shouldn't feel this way at my age, should I? It is a lawyer's lot in life? I work out a lot, but maybe I don't stretch as much as I should? I've never been able to fully relax in yoga classes, but maybe I should give it another whirl. Considering my body is rebelling against me.

If there was ever a reason to ignore what's being said during CLE classes..

There I was, sitting there covertly reading my Westlaw printouts, when I got a text message from my sister that Heath Ledger died. (She loves him.)

Over the next ten minutes, there were literally audible gasps from female attorneys across the room as things popped up on their blackberries.

Quite sad.

Happy Blue Monday! Er, I mean, whatever:(

It's officially the most depressing day of the year.

Especially for those of us working.

There's always tomorrow.

The 'rents are visiting this weekend and they went to some boring museum while I would (theoretically) stay home and do work. Obviously hasn't happened. Instead, I've done two loads of laundry and reorganized my drawers. Winter pajamas take up way too much space.

And I'm really hungry. I can't do work on an empty stomach. Oh well.

I've never called in sick, so I shouldn't do it as an excuse, right?

Today is reallllly gonna suck. I'll report back later with results.
---------------------------------------------

Update: 9:10 p.m.

So it wasn't as bad as I expected because my case got adjourned, although I did get hung up on by an irate witness and, completely unexpected, realized that I have lost my watch. Which I loved. Which I purchased in Greece during my post bar exam vacay a while back. The clasp had some issues, and I never got it fixed, so I guess it's my fault. Bummer.

Also, while The Sarah Connor Chronicles is ridiculous in an awesomely absorbing and bring-me-back-to-1992 way, Cashmere Mafia is by all means ridiculous in a roll your eyes so far back you might swallow them way. However, so as not to fully judge without all of the facts and circumstances (a good motto in general, no?) maybe I should give it a few more episodes to make sure...

How am I supposed to make fun of the dresses?!

God, this is embarrassing. Why am I even watching this "news conference" announcing the Golden Globe winners?

(Sidenote: I finally saw Juno yesterday and YAY! Go see it right now.)

I can't even tell you all how sick of the fucking writer's strike I am. I don't care how it ends or who "wins". Just get back to work. Now. Or I swear, after the eighth episode of Lost airs and there's no more, Hollywood may be bombed by pissed off former fans.

In other news, I billed about 6 hours today and managed to take Chloe on a longer than usual walk in Riverside Park, where she basically ignored other dogs in the dog run and people probably thought I raised a snobby dog.

And now I'm drinking a glass of Pinot and contemplating how much I hate that Larry King is announcing the winners on CNN's airing of the "press conference." I hope one of his suspenders snaps and whips him in the eye. Or knocks out a tooth so he can't talk.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

That is, me being tired and slightly bitter.

I still haven't bought a damn bathmat since I moved in. (I figure you get a new apartment, you get a new bathmat.) Or called my super about the broken knob on the oven and the door lock that sticks.

I was in a very long meeting today with a bunch of government attorneys. Just them, me, and my client. And damn did they swagger. Swaggered in, swaggered around, attempted to bully us a bit, and swaggered out. Now I worked for Uncle Sam during law school a lot and never really noticed this. But now, being on the opposite side, it's really fucking annoying.

Another reason to love NYC: my neighborhood wine store delivers.

After a very long day, do I want to watch the New Hampshire primary returns or the season premiere of One Tree Hill?

I think we all know the answer.

Leave me alone. And go back to Portugal.

I am the first person to say that the United States is far from perfect. We have serious problems, and we need serious people to solve them.

But when an obnoxious foreigner, who has no investment in the future of this country in the same way I do, engages in the world's worst pick up attempt by telling me how horrible my country is, especially when it's 1:30 am and I'm tired and want to leave but I can't find my friend who's crashing at my apartment, there's really nothing to do besides "accidentally" spill my drink on him.

Brain Dump

I'm not gonna pretend that I understand why Iowa is so damn important. I'll just say this: it shouldn't be. There are 49 other states. Although I will admit that I don't think some of those other states should count as much as they do. I know we had this collective discussion 8 years ago, but the electoral college is still fucking retarded.

I was trapped on the subway this morning with what I SWEAR was a dead body. Or if not, the worst smelling two sleeping homeless men I've ever come across. And unfortunately you still come across a lot of them in this city. It was so bad they pretty much had their own car because no one wanted to be that close. Someone complained to the conductor, who basically snapped at the person with "Well lady where do you expect them to go when it's 14 degrees outside?" Ok, fine. But it was not pretty. Or fresh.

I didn't stay up for the return of Leno or Letterman last night (although I will for Jon Stewart because AHHHHHH), but the clips I watched today made it seem like they were...not really worth watching anyway.

God I hate Wolf Blitzer. If CNN has this much of a hard on for the Iowa Caucuses, I think my TV may explode on the actual election night.