First Post Ever From Work

I know. I KNOW. I shouldn't blog from work. But you know what? No one around here cares. We don't have an IT department (unless one guy who comes in randomly to fix network problems counts), I'm on other people's blogs, Gawker, and Facebook all freaking day anyway, and really, I get my shit done so no one is the wiser when it comes to my internet procrastination tools.

It's pouring rain and sunny outside right now. Wtf. I'll be in Philly for the long weekend, and will probably leave after I finish writing this even though my train isn't for another hour and a half. Sheryl Crow is playing before the fireworks at the Art Museum on Saturday. I really want to go, but I have a somewhat irrational fear of crowds. It's not crowds so much as, um, dirty people being too close to me, haha. I was at an Explosions in the Sky concert (they're so good) the other night and almost couldn't breathe from the mixture of BO and marijuana.

I digress.

I can't decide which one of these clips made me laugh the most.

Happy Independence Day everyone. God save the Queen.

Wait. That's not right. Damnit.

I almost didn't make it out alive.

There was pushing. Yelling. Shoving. Death stares.

It was scary. Beware.

Of what, you ask?

The Victoria's Secret sale at 86th and Broadway.

*Shudder*

This may be a stupid question.

But since when has that stopped me?

I'm not a huge police procedural fan (L&O reruns while cleaning/cooking notwithstanding), but I occasionally enjoy an episode of Without a Trace. It's good, right? Except, here's the thing. Doesn't a person have to be missing for at least 24 hours before the police start looking for him/her? Why is it in this show that "Missing 10 hours" will flash across the screen while a team of supercops/investigators swarm all over someone's home/office looking for clues? I'm not talking Amber Alerts here - these are adults who are potentially playing hooky for the day. Why the fuss? That being said, it's still good. And Poppy Montgomery is pretty. The end.

It gets rid of icky spiders - what are you complaining about?

The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout.
Down came the rain and washed the spider out.
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain.
And the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again.

Rainiest June on record, huh? Bring it on! I love it. Running in it, curling up listening to it, dashing through it, losing three umbrellas in a matter of weeks in it, etc. I should really live in Seattle.

I feel like my blog is drying up. I don't mean for that to happen, but every time I start a post, it's lame and I delete it. I just didn't delete this one.

Also, does anyone know what's going on with Thinking Fool? The site has been eerily blank for days! Did he leave us?

I'm rocking out to MJ's greatest hits while cooking spaghetti and drinking wine after a frustratingly long day. And I have a 9am dentist appointment. Funnnnnnn.

Things I Don't Understand

Why it takes me an hour to fall asleep every night.

Why a certain very large bureaucratic financially stupid client expects that a complicated summary judgment motion can be completed in 8 hours.

The Duggar Family.

Spending money to have another woman paint my toenails. (Sorry. I just don't like it.)

Iran's "free" elections.

CNN's obsession with Facebook and Twitter.

Why people in my building do laundry (the machines are 10 feet from my door) at 2am.

People who have cars in Manhattan.

Why Season 3 of "Once and Again" isn't on dvd.

My dad.

Hoda Kotbe's decision that the fourth hour of Today would be good for her career.

Why I love Edward Cullen.

Water to Wine. And other things.

It wasn't too long ago when a cup of tea after a long day would (temporarily) solve all my problems. A glass of wine has replaced the cup of tea. Is this a problem? (Aside from the extra 120 calories per day?)

I ran in a downpour this morning. Cats, dogs, birds, and snakes. (Or at least worms. Ew. I hate the post-rain wormy ground.)

I miss Chloe resting her head on my ankle and snoring.

I can't get enough quality time with the boy. Which consists of spooning, watching movies, cooking dinner, and forcing myself to keep up with him on a run.

I'm on auto-pilot at work. I'm doing it. I'm doing a lot. But I don't care about it. Shouldn't I care about it? Am I $150K in debt (principle balances never to decrease) for something where I don't care about the outcome of a case as long as my work product was up to par?

John and Kate and the Octomom? They should all fall off a cliff. What about the kids, you say? Well, I was never one for the importance of biology.

Heidi and Spencer should also fall off a cliff. Into a river of crocodiles. And acid.

I'm usually ready for winter by July 4th. It happened about a month early this year. Fuck.

September 29, 1993 - May 21, 2009

We will always love you and miss you. Have fun jumping up on kitchen countertops and over baby gates in doggy heaven. (Yes, she really used to do that. Most useless purchase of a babygate ever.)




Chloe went to sleep in our arms, in our home, where the wonderful vet came to make it easier for all. It was terribly difficult, but she's ok now. And I will be too.

I can't sleep.

I got about 4 hours last night. I've never had sleep problems before, so I'm a little worried. Because the not sleeping leads to feeling terrible which leads to not getting work done and barely being able to work out which leads to anxiety which leads to more trouble sleeping.

Tylenol PM? Doesn't work. But I'm gonna try it again right now.

I guess I just have a lot going on, and change, whether good or bad, is still change. And I suck at change. Like, big time suckage.

The boy is coming to visit for the long weekend. We'll get some sleep. *Maybe*

Dear Carrie Prejean,

Go the fuck away. Seriously.

Thanks.

Well Judge, that's because because plaintiff's counsel can't count.

A motion to dismiss based on failure to commence before the statute of limitations expired is not a complicated one. Yes, there are procedural loopholes which may save an action, but 9 times of out 10, Mr. Plaintiff is simply screwed. When you represent a large entity which is unfortunately often mistaken for a similar but different large entity with a longer statute of limitations, you can make these motions in your sleep and calculate expiration dates in your head.

So it's amusing when you get opposition papers which yell! and taunt! and threaten! And which make it clear that opposing counsel is, well, an idiot who not only doesn't do the proper research and investigation prior to commencing an action, but who simply. can't. count. Time to go back to 2nd grade.

The very good and the very bad.

Crickets. Yes, I know. Have I been missed? For my ego I'll assume that's a yes.

Why the lull? Well, lotsa things happening around these parts. The highs and lows, people. I've been a bit bipolar lately.

Let's start with the good, shall we? For the past month, I have maybe been dating a real live boy. I say maybe because, well, I am 28 but feel about 18 when it comes to this crap. It took me a while to get comfortable saying this, but I like him! I do! Hooray! The fact that he has liked me for years at this point is icing on the cake. He is the childhood friend of one of my best friends from college, and lives in Philadelphia. Not too far. We're running the Broad Street Run together this weekend. Ten miles of fun.

And now the bad. My beloved perfect wonderful cherished dog, Chloe, very likely has (hopefully early stage) lymphoma. She is a rocking 15 1/2 year old pup. She came down with an eye infection last week, and, not thinking much of it, we (I was visiting the parents for the weekend) took her to a vet to have it checked out. It turned out her lymph nodes were enlarged, and the vet did a needle aspiration, and told us she was pretty sure it was cancer. Obviously, the rest of the weekend consisted of crying. Chloe is doing better, and the antibiotic is clearing up her eye, which may have been a stress reaction to whatever else is going on. However, the pathology reports came back as "inconclusive", and now the vet wants to do another aspiration next week. It is still likely lymphoma, and while we don't know the prognosis/possible treatment options yet, it appears to be an early stage, for which we are grateful. I am trying to be realistic and realize that she was born during Clinton's first term. However, when you've had a pet since you were 12 years old, things get rough.

So. Yeah. Excitement and romance! (He made sure he has Equal on hand because he knows I don't like Splenda. Good lord.) And then, sadness and uncertainty and fear.

There' s a lot going on at work too, but that takes a back seat as far as I am concerned right now. Life. It's happening.

Why unlikely?

The title of the article says it all. If you haven't already watched the clip, it is embedded in the article. Here's what bothers me. Why is Susan Boyle an "unlikely singer"? An unlikely celebrity? Maybe. An unlikely pop star? Sure.

Now, I love Britney and her very mediocre voice as much as the next red blooded westerner, and I'm not trying to get all "oh the media is so unfair and we're all ageist and superficial, etc." I buy $25 face lotion just like the next girl and obsess over my looks just like the rest of us. (Actually, $25 is probably on the low end of the spectrum, but it's still kind of a lot.)

There's just something highly disturbing about the unquestioned notion that youth and beauty automatically mean someone is talented, and that not being young and beautiful means you are dog poo. Haven't we all known so called beautiful people who we want to spear in the eye with a fork after spending five minutes with them? Susan Boyle, even before she sang, seemed like a sweet kinda goofy lady who probably never harmed a fly and yet people were already grimacing.

There is nothing unlikely about her being a singer. Simply by looking at her, is she an unlikely neurosurgeon? An unlikely astrophysicist? An unlikely serial killer? How the hell are we supposed to know?

End rant.

TAXES BLOW.

The end. Yes, I owed. Apparently because I filled out my W4 as "single 1" when I should be "single zero." Yeah. Let's ponder that one.

I am Derek Jeter.

"You're like the Derek Jeter of the firm." - Partner

"Um, what?"

"You know, the go-to person. The MVP."

"Isn't he supposed to be kind of an asshole?"

"Well, maybe sometimes I guess."

"Gee, thanks."

County General's doors are closing.

*tear*

I know, I know. You stopped watching when Dr. Ross left. Or when Dr. Benton left. Or when Dr. Green died. Or when Carter left. Or when Luka almost died in Africa. Or...

It's been on for 15 years, people! More than half my life! I was 13 years old when this damn thing started. Clinton was in his first term! And I've seen every episode. Many episodes MANY times. Remember when Carter and Lucy got stabbed?!

It's the end. THE END. I haven't begun watching the clip show yet. I can't start it because I don't want it to end! A friend is starting the whole series from the beginning (I also record the reruns on TNT) and he's so excited and enthralled and I LOVE it.

Ok. I'm gonna have a glass of wine and order some takeout because I just got home (let's not even talk about work and the fact that I HATE EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING) and start watching. Let the meltdown begin.

Claustrophobia

I've been feeling it lately. In the subway. On the street. In bars and restaurants. In the courts. The fact is simple: there are too many freaking people in this city. I snapped at a crazy bag lady on the subway yesterday because she kept telling people to move into the train (usually a sentiment I agree with) except there was nowhere to move. Usually you just roll your eyes and plug your earphones in against crazy bag ladies. But I couldn't take it.

Maybe it's spring fever and I need to just get away for a few days. Do people really take vacations by themselves? I'd love a spa weekend with girlfriends but totally can't afford it. My loan payments are going up by $76 this month. Awesome.

I saw Duplicity yesterday. Disappointing. Maybe I was expecting too much after reading a few glowing reviews. Despite the witty banter and star chemistry, I think I just can't get into things that are all about money. It's everywhere and nowhere at the same time. You can't turn on the news without being bombarded with dire predictions about how we're all financial idiots, and yet, the next segment is about recession-priced vacation packages.

Haven't done my taxes yet. Gah. Clearly I'm not as Type A as I pretend to be.

On a random positive note, who knew that Grey's Anatomy still had the ability to churn out a damn fine episode?

Dear law students on the #2 train:

I may be in sweaty workout clothes with my hair in a ponytail, but I'm still a lawyer. And I will still snicker and roll my eyes at you when you talk about how so-and-so TOTALLY didn't know the answer in Trusts and Estates the other day because she was TOTALLY on facebook when the professor called on her. Also, yes, you may have gotten free drinks at a law firm event (where you will probably not be hired in this economy) and now you're TOTALLY going to be hungover for moot court tomorrow, but you know what? It's good practice for rocking motion arguments while hungover like I did last Friday.

Keep studying. Just shut up about it, because the rest of us don't want to hear it.

Xoxo,

HE

P.S. You, with the bad dye job, you TOTALLY had a run in your stockings.

Blogging from my phone during CLE.

I hate CLE requirements. They are useless and stupid and solely moneymaking entities. I'm a lawyer. The whole point is I'm educated enough to look up what to do if I don't already know what to do.

Oh. My. God. Has anyone ever died from boredom? I would review cases I have shoved in my bag right now but I think if I billed for the time I was in CLE my boss might get concerned that I wasn't paying attention in the overpriced class he paid for. Not that I didn't have to practically threaten to quit to get them to pay for this crap. Jeez.

I am definitely not the only one glued to his or her phone right now...

"Ghosts definitely live here," I say.

I was ten years old and packing up my room in the house I was born in. We were moving from the countryside of Connecticut to the suburbs of New Jersey, and I was not happy about it. I loved our house. It was roomy and roamy and airy and light. And old. Very, very old. A few years earlier my mother had seen a ghost in the window in the living room. I was a realist/cynic even as a kid, but I believed her.

"What was it Mommy?"

"She was nursing her baby before they had to leave and keep moving."

"Where were they going?"

"Wherever they could I guess."

Our farmhouse was a bona fide stop on the underground railroad. It's included in the town records as a place where "the coloreds gathered" in the 1850s. Seriously.

When I was packing that last day, bitter and teary over leaving my house and my friends and my roaming backyard and field, I saw him. A little boy in the window, for the briefest of seconds. He flashed me a smile and disappeared, and I ran downstairs in fear and exhilaration.

"Ghosts definitely live here," I say.

___________________________________

The above is a wholeheartedly true story, and I stole the first line of this post from "You'll Never Eat Lunch in This town Again," by Julia Phillips, as part of Grace's awesome series. Aside from the obvious, it's awesome because there is no deadline and I can do it a month later than everyone else.

Taking A (Slightly) Sick Day

This is my second sick day in over two years of work. Not bad, right? There have probably been some times where I should have stayed home and didn't, so the fact that today I really COULD go to work and am not...balances out. I do feel like crap - overly tired, three day old dull headache, stuffy, but it's probably not enough to truly take a sick day. And yet I do not care, because, seriously, one sick day in 2+ years, remember? And on the rare day where I have no court appearances and would just sit in my office staring at the brief on my computer screen, billing 8 hours of "administrative time" for a sick day is surely the better choice.

The 102nd Street Transverse

I'm watching an episode of 20/20 (it's on the WE channel now - who knew?) about the Central Park Jogger case. It was a big case, a big deal, everyone knows about it in NYC and probably around the country. But until now, I never really thought about the fact that I pass that spot in the park almost every time I'm running there. I was there 10 hours ago.

I don't know how I feel about whether these confessions were coerced, but I also can't really argue with DNA evidence. Anyway, it's a lot to think about. And I'll probably think about it the next time I take that shortcut in the park.

Wine and chocolate.

I am not Catholic, or anything really, but I wonder each year, if I were, what would I give up for Lent?

The concept makes little sense to me. I know it's a religious thing, and actually stands for and means something, but what's the big deal about giving something up for 40 days? (It's 40 days, right? Am I making that up?) Why isn't it that you have to give up something FOREVER? Maybe by the time you reach middle age you'd have nothing left to eat besides spinach and nothing left to do besides work.

I've read a bunch of facebook status messages that people are giving up facebook for Lent. I think if you are writing that, you're probably too addicted to facebook to give it up. Then there's the obligatory food issues. Chocolate, carbs (ooooh! evil! wtf I hate everything), white flour, white foods, etc. And the drink. All alcohol, wine, whiskey, etc. Again, if you think you need to give up alcohol for Lent, you are DEFINITELY drinking too much.

I am currently drinking an extra large glass of wine. What of it?

Thoughts on the eve of my 28th birthday.

I just found out that one of my best friends from college, whose wedding I traveled to in Austin, TX less than a year ago, is pregnant with her first child.

I am back to having my own office at the firm.

I am now officially the only one in my immediate circle of friends without a significant other.

I like my job maybe 50% of the time. And I put in a lot of time.

I have a wonderful slightly to very crazy family, and I'm lucky to have them.

There's something I really want to do, something I think I'd be really good at, but I have about a 1% chance of doing it.

I don't picture my wedding the way most girls picture theirs as they get older. I just picture being married.

I've been thinking of leaving New York. I just don't know where to go.

Sometimes I can picture myself being a judge. Sometimes I can't imagine practicing law for one more week let alone many, many more years.

Happy birthday to me. Here's to getting tipsy and kissing a cute boy.

Next up: Yes, ghosts really do live here.

This is the most useless post ever.

But I have no one left to complain to.

I have had no heat or hot water in my apartment all day.

I have only one Duraflame log left.

I have not taken a shower.

I worked out six days this week, have no desire to work out right now, but don't want to go to the gym only to shower.

If the problem isn't fixed tonight, which doesn't seem likely even though the entire building has called the super and the landlord, I will just be dirty and go to the gym in the morning.

I pay too much in rent for this bullshit.

At least I don't have to go to work tomorrow.

Although I will be doing work most of the day.

How many pots of water would I have to boil to take an old school style bath?

My ire is so raised.

I know it's been discussed to death, but this is my blog and so I get to discuss it my own way. What, you ask? The crazy psycho mentally unstable definitely had plastic surgery mom of the latest octuplets, Nadya Suleman. Here's the latest.

I guess it's all been said, but here's one thing I haven't read that seriously bothers me. First of all, if I am not able to have my own children, I would adopt before getting in vitro treatments. Hell, I plan on adopting even if I can pop them out one after another. Not that I'm likely to find this out any time soon. So here's the thing: this woman would NEVER have been able to adopt one kid, let alone 14. Unemployed. No degree. Receiving disability payments from a "work related injury." Single. Of the previous six kids, one is autistic and one is showing signs of cerebral palsy. (Let's not even discuss the developmental challenges the octuplets will face.) These things by themselves would not necessarily disqualify someone from adopting. Together, they would. (I know people in the know when it comes to this stuff.) Why is it that we think everyone has the god given right to reproduce yet we make adoptive parents jump through eight million hoops to get a baby? Yes, I realize there is no better choice, but it's still totally fucked up.

Back to Ms. Suleman. If she ends up with her own reality show, I'm jumping ship. I can't take it anymore. I'm moving to Antarctica or something.

Let's go with "flattered" instead of "freaked out."

I was dropping off my dry cleaning and looking hot as usual. By hot I mean having the dog leash wrapped around my legs (because someone refuses to stand still) and wind-whipped wet hair plastered to my face.

I hadn't been to the cleaner's in about two months for a number of reasons - winter work clothing can go longer between cleanings, I'm not made of money, and I discovered Dryell. However, certain items needed the professional touch, so there I was. Usually, a customer provides his or her phone number, the guy pulls up the account, prints out a ticket, and sends the person off. So I'm standing there, chatting amicably, and am handed my ticket. But..."I, um, didn't give you my number, did I?"

"Oh, well, I just knew who you were."

"Oh! Um, ok! Have a nice day."

I'm thinking that Dry Cleaner Guy and I will be very happy together.

A support group?!

Are you effing kidding me?

My favorite line: Another wrote, fearfully, that her beau had told her to make a list of their favorite New York restaurants before the bad market forced a move to the Midwest.

Um, I live here, and I one of my secret dreams is to pick up and move to Montana/Wyoming/North Dakota, meet a soulful cowboy/rancher and practice small town law while basking in the wide open space.

These people are the suck.

This started out as a different post.

But I kept erasing it because I couldn't find the right tone. So I don't think it was meant to be.

Instead, I'll relay a dream I had last night, more for me than you, so I can later try to figure out what it all means.

I was sick. Not cancer, but something really bad. Something without a cure. In the hospital. But the hallway. Not an actual room. On a gurney, in the hallway, between two rooms where two other people I knew were also staying. I'm not sure who they were.

My entire extended family showed up at one point or another during the sequence. Hushed whispers abounded, and I saw my mother looking worriedly at the doctors.

Suddenly, we were all at a party. At some lavish mansion in a warm climate with a lot of people I didn't know. I was still sick, but this was some kind of fundraiser for my treatment. I did my best to put on a smile, but inside I was dying. Literally. I excused myself to the spa-like bathroom where I curled up on the cool tile and listened to the rhythmic sound of the bass from the music downstairs.

I have nothing to say, but in the interest of keeping readers...

The season premiere of Lost started five minutes ago, but I hate commercials, and am therefore waiting to begin watching until 9:30.

Like Grace, I too have a thing I am not going to talk about until it is resolved, but let's just say it's the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. While Grace's appears to be a negative thing, mine is more neutral at this point and could go either way. I'm waiting and seeing for now.

I've realized that Yellow Tail Shiraz might be the only red wine I really like. Classy taste I have, no?

I'm sad ER is ending. And I kind of think Clooney is a dick for not doing one damn guest appearance. I mean really. Do you not remember your roots, George? Where it all started? Pleeeeeeeeeze.

I'm still on an Inauguration Day high. Although I can't believe John Roberts fucked up the oath? Someone's bitter President Obama (it sounds good, huh?!) didn't vote to confirm him...

I went to a dinner party tonight.

I arrived late.

Because I spent a solid half an hour hyperventilating and slightly crying in my apartment prior to leaving. Why?

Because I couldn't put on a bracelet that I got for Christmas. It was one of those things where you realize you just NEED another person to help you do something like fasten a clasp because you can't do it with one hand. I don't have another person. I'm nowhere near having another person.

Yeah. So that happened. After I spent the previous night and most of the day comforting a good friend who is wrapped up in a total shitshow of a relationship. She got locked out of her apartment after a fight with the on again off again boyfriend and spent the night on my couch.

But I bet she doesn't have any problem wearing a bracelet with a delicate clasp.

January is rough.

There's snow everywhere.




However, the cold has won out over my fear of burning my apartment building down.



There's also this.




She makes the cold warmer and the heat cooler. Yes she does.

(Yes, I have bars on my windows. I live in a nice neighborhood, but it's still on the ground floor, ok?)