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.

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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.

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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.