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.

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...

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.

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.

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 Life Mantra

"As long as everything is exactly the way I want it I'm totally flexible."

- Lorelai Gilmore. Season 2, Episode 13.

Because damnit, I deserve some takeout.

I've been trying to cook more and order less when it comes to dinner. Cheaper and healthier, right? However, like most Americans, I probably eat out (or order in) three times per week.

Sometimes, like today, it's just inevitable. Running around for 12 straight hours, from home to court, court to office, office to someone else's office, then wandering around in a feeble attempt at Christmas shopping (when the only things I ended up buying were for myself - oops), the last thing I'm doing is cooking.

I think I need a stay at home husband. Or at least one who will take pleasure in and enjoy cooking after his own long day.

Deep Breath

I got a raise. Not quite as much as I wanted, and I will have to work more as it involves a combination of base salary increase plus bonuses. But overall, it will allow me to move to a nicer neighborhood (although, as per nyc, my apartment will be smaller), keep paying my loans, and breathe (slightly) easier. At least for now. The whole "savings" and "retirement" thing will still be mostly on the backburner.

So. I did an incredibly difficult thing. Something I've never done before, and most of my friends have never done before. My bosses made it clear that they want to keep me and keep me happy. So why don't I feel completely satisfied? Is it our lot in life to always want more? And I'm not even talking about money anymore.

I clearly have nothing of substance to say.

The conversation happened yesterday. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't great. They didn't come back with a number, although they said they will asap. I still feel physically and mentally awful and haven't been this stressed out since the days before the bar exam.

Also, my ipod is officially dead, which means I've had to actually deal with hearing the assholes on the subway for the past few days.

Darkness Falls

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

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

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

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

People Don't Change.

At least, I don't.

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

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

Anyway, here it is:

12/19/92

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

Love, [redacted]

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

Am I Really This Boring?

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

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

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

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

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

There's really no PC way to say this.

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

So. Here's my gripe.

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

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

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

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

Sadness

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

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

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

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

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

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

Family Matters and Sprained Elbows

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Have a Window

And it closes by 10 o'clock.

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

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

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

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

Double Sigh.

The terrible horrible no good very bad day.

By the numbers:

2am time I woke up with the world's fastest landing supercold
6:45 time this morning my sister's flight arrived from SF
8:20 time my sister got to my apartment because of traffic and a crazy cabbie
9:30 time I was supposed to be in court
9:50 time I got to court
50 number of tissues I went through before 10 am
90 degrees in New York City
25 number of lbs my head feels like it weighs b/c of all the snot
3 number of times the tears began to flow at work
2 number of times I passed those tears off as sinus related
1 number of times I was thankfully outside when the tears flowed
5 number of different subway rides I had to take today
2 number of subways that actually moved for more than a minute at a time
7 days for extension to file habeas brief (the only good thing today)
3 hours in which I have to write another reply memo tomorrow
1 box of tissues I went through today at my desk
6 times my sister called me because she couldn't find something in the apartment
3 number of emails from Boss #1 from court where he's on trial within the span of an hour regarding research needed asap
50 copay at doctor's office
10 days to take Zithromax to kill the sickness

1 day left in the week. Thank God.

Breathing.

For what feels like the first time in weeks.

Some research needs to get done this weekend for a habeas brief, but it's not happening today. Today, I went running in the hot hot sun, bought some overpriced produce and scandalously good dark chocolate at Whole Foods, and am now vegging out 110% in front of the TV and air conditioner.

I made tentative plans for tonight, but I think I'm gonna be a hermit and continue the status quo. My couch has missed me.

Oh, I DID chat with some of the L&O crew last night when I got home from work at frickin 8:30, but alas, Detective Stabler et al. had already moved to a different area. If I had gotten home earlier I would have seen them. Curses.

I really need a hair cut. It's been about 5 months, which is clearly ridiculous. Too bad Manhattan salons charge nearly a down payment on a condo for snipping off a bunch of dead follicles.

One more bit of randomness. I find it completely infuckingcredible that I've been out of school for a year. Seriously. Being an adult is not so much fun as...well, laborious and confusing and hilarious and worrisome and thrilling and claustrophobic and uncertain and lonely and smothering and ludicrous, all at the same time. There, I'm done.

Cheers

Congrats to all law school grads out there this weekend. The hard part's over.

(Actually, that's a lie, but you'll realize that soon enough. Or, as soon as BarBri starts.)

Just think, in a year, you could be like me: drafting direct and cross outlines in her apartment on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon worrying about whether certain hearsay exceptions apply to so-called "less formal" arbitration proceedings and how to not look like an inexperienced buffoon.

In the meantime, enjoy the graduation gifts (hopefully fat checks from relatives who couldn't make it to the ceremony), dinners with family, inappropriate or boring speeches, introducing your favorite professors to your parents, and, if you happen to be so lucky, free cheap champagne at the post-ceremony reception.

Cynics Unite

I was devastated after the 1989 Exxon Valdez oil spill. I remember crying at the pictures of the dying seagulls drowning in black sludge on TV. Our class "adopted a whale" to save - we raised money, sent letters, and spread awareness, at least as much as a second grade class could.

I have a distinct memory of sitting in school, listening to Mrs. Rouche explain what happened to make all of these animals die. I raised my hand and asked, "Why wasn't the company more careful? This is serious!"

Yeah, I was an old soul.

Anyway, this article brought this memory to mind today. Things are still serious! And the people in charge need to stop behaving like alcoholic ship captains.