Lawyering Through Life

New Digs

2008-05-08T18:37:00.002-04:00

Not that anyone checks this anymore, but if you do, and you want the new locale, email me at jerseyblogs@gmail.com and I will pass on the new address. I know, I know, I could just post the new address, but I want to make you work for it a bit. Indulge me that, 'kay?

When asked...

2007-06-15T15:29:00.000-04:00

How I’ve been doing lately, the following is my standard answer:

“You know that expression ‘burning the candle at both ends?’ Well, that’s what I’ve been doing and I am rapidly running out of wax.”

So, yeah. It has been a little crazy.

About two weeks ago, I boarded a plane [with the aid of some good anti-anxiety medication] and completed a half marathon in Vermont. Said half marathon was completed a solid twenty seconds faster than the goal I had set for myself. Said half marathon was also completed despite the abundance of large inclines, humid weather, and with blurry vision for the last few miles as my contact fell out around mile 11. When I went to sit down to remove the computer chip from my shoe, the blurred vision caused me to miss the chair by a few inches and fall over. I then spent about 20 minutes wandering around the post-race area with one hand covering my blind eye, searching for the three people I knew in a crowd of several hundred. But at least I finished that dang race.

And in some weird way, I got addicted to road races and have since signed up for two more. Which means more training. Which means more nights at the gym. After incredibly long days at work.

The jury was finally set in the capital murder case and they are currently deliberating the first phase of the trial, which is just straight up guilt/innocence. Will they go capital murder? Or just first-degree murder? I honestly have no clue. I’ve watched the vast majority of the trial, heard all the witnesses, the arguments, the evidence…and I have no guess as to the outcome.

Well, I did miss part of the trial. Because Judge asked me to take his car to get inspected. And of course, I said yes. Even though he told me I could say no. Could I really have said no? I mean, what would he have said if I said no? How awkward. What was also awkward was that it cost me $28 and I needed to get paid back. Thankfully, he remembered pretty promptly but can you imagine having to remind your boss that he owes you money?

So, that’s pretty much my story for the last few weeks. I sit in court all day long [OH! Point about that. My Judge is an awesome guy who sometimes drives me crazy, but really he is a great guy. He has set me up in court so I am actually sitting on the bench, right next to him. So, I can hear all the bench conferences, see all the evidence up close, and still e-mail during court. The funny part is that there is a sketch artist in the courtroom who has been drawing me! You would think that would inspire me to get up early and actually blow dry my hair, but so far, it hasn’t.]. Besides work, and now running, I don’t have much to report.

I will try and work on that.

People will say just about anything...

2007-05-29T20:19:00.001-04:00

to get out of serving on a jury for five to six weeks.

"I need a cigarette every few hours."

Upon reading this, Judge remarked, "Well, I think maybe it is time we help this guy quit smoking." No release for Smokey McSmokerson.

"I am in the middle of planning a wedding."

Upon hearing this, I could only think "Seriously? Do you use that excuse to try and get out of assignments at work?"

"I am planning on going to China."

Upon reading this, the prosecutor inquired as to how serious those plans were. From what I could tell, the plans were made right after the woman read the part about the trial being five to six weeks.

"I need to be in West Coast City on X day during the trial to witness the settlement of a class action."

Upon hearing this, I chuckled to myself and thought this guy was screwed. At least Judge would want to hear why his Big Firm couldn't send someone else in his place. But Judge released this guy without blinking an eye. Lawyers watch out for other lawyers, I guess.

Judge was pretty tough on the potential jurors. The questionnaire required the potential jurors to identify why it would be impossible to serve. And he really harped on that word "impossible." Five to six weeks is a tremendous time committment - talk about disrupting your life. I get it. But at the end of the day, jury duty is important. Our judicial system can't function without the crucial role that jurors play. I guess that is why I can make light of these excuses - from what I learned today, I just need to write some high-brow lawyerly nonsense and I will be released without question. Which is incredibly ironic to me - all the lawyers I know would love to serve on a jury, but very few ever will.

Oh and for those looking to get out of jury duty, the following reasons (besides being an attorney) resulted in immediate release:

1) any invocation of hearing problems
2) any reference to anxiety attacks or depression
3) interestingly enough, only a limited number of other medical reasons - seriously, one person indicated that he/she had knee surgery coming up and the attorneys wanted further explanation as to how invasive the knee surgery was.
4) those who are truly self-employed but again Judge was a bit of a stickler about this.
5) on-call doctor

Yeah, I am cool

2007-05-26T21:54:00.000-04:00

I am spending my Saturday evening watching one of my favorite movies. A Time To Kill. Though it doesn’t live up to the book, I do think it is the best book to movie of all of Things Grisham.

Watching this movie is rather appropriate as on Tuesday, my judge begins a seven week capital murder trial. Jury selection should take a few days and hopefully by the end of the week, we will hear opening statements. The case is being tried by the Top Dog from the prosecutor’s office and the defense attorneys are highly reputable. This is Top Dog’s last stand before retirement and only a capital conviction will satisfy him. There will be no last minute plea offers as once the defendant finishes with us, we send him back to California where he will return to death row. Yep, this is not a John Grisham novel where the reader sympathizes with the defendant. I am vehemently opposed to the death penalty and this case presents a rather interesting issue. I mean, the defendant faces a death sentence in California and has come to Virginia charged with a murder that occurred almost 20 years ago. When he finishes the trial in our county, he will go to another county in Virginia and face another capital murder trial. The amount of money being spent by the Commonwealth of Virginia to try and also defend as the Commonwealth is footing the bill for his defense is astounding. I understand that he must answer for every crime he has committed and that the family members of his victims deserve to see him be held accountable for their loss. I just wonder when this will all be over.

In other news, I have made it halfway through the weekend and have not consumed any alcohol. I decided to have an alcohol free weekend for a number of reasons. One being that I am exhausted and going out will just exacerbate that problem. Two was just to test myself to see if I could do it as the last few weekends (okay, pretty much every weekend in recent memory) have centered heavily on alcohol and my body needs a break.

As an aside, while I absolutely love this movie, two things drive me absolutely crazy. One being that everybody is sweating through the entire movie. Dripping in sweat. I realize it is Mississippi and it is July, but I was in Mississippi in July and I managed to keep it together better than these people. The second is the complete lack of Ashley Judd’s southern accent. Everyone else in this movie layers the twang on thick, but not Ashley Judd. I guess since she grew up in the South but doesn’t have a thick Southern accent, she felt she didn’t have to fake it for the film.

Tomorrow, I am taking the two kids I tutor to the Mall. [That’s capital M mall, so not shopping.] Last week, after I accidentally locked the kids out of their apartment and had to drive the boy, O, to get the keys from his mom, he said something about how their last tutor used to take them places. Ouch! I suggested the zoo and O told me that he has been to the zoo seventeen times. Doubtful, but I guess the zoo’s out.

Oh, now Jake Brigance is giving his summation. I must go and get a tissue because I am about to cry. What a great movie.

Without speech

2007-05-22T21:32:00.000-04:00

DISCLAIMER: This post is not very well-written. From the title, you can probably guess that I am speechless. The speech I managed to string together in this post is barely coherent and most certainly not eloquent. But I am enraged. Outraged? Whatever – there are not enough words to describe how incredibly angry I am at the ridiculous workings of the Universe. Because frankly, this is all just a bit much.

Yes, I expressed frustration last week about the SK parking at my house. I chalked it up to coincidence and tried to let it go. But, of course, that wasn’t enough. I ran into him on Friday night. The conversation was incredibly awkward. He couldn’t look me in the eyes, mumbled something about my being Catholic, and our connection, while obvious, had been deemed not capable of longevity. Okay, fine. Not the nicest thing to say to a girl, but at least I could put it behind me. My feelings were rather hurt, mainly because in my opinion two dates is not a whole lot of time to invest in a connection before writing off its potential distance. He also mentioned something about having two friends on my street. And my being worthy of an explanation. [If the details of the conversation are rather vague, it is because the conversation took place around 1:15 a.m. and following the consumption of a good deal of alcohol. Hey, it was Friday. That’s how I roll on Fridays.]

Saturday morning, I pieced together what I could from the conversation and concluded, while it sucked, at least I could put this whole thing behind me. If it was indeed a religious difference, that’s fine. If he is just a jerk, then better to find that out now rather than six months down the road.

But this, my dear Universe, this IS THE LAST STRAW. The two people he knows on my street? The two guys who live below me. And so when I got home tonight, I saw his car again parked in front of my house. I rolled my eyes and decided to just let it go. Until I noticed three guys hanging out in my driveway. And, no I am not kidding you. He is hanging out in my driveway with my downstairs neighbors. My mouth drops open to the floor and I can barely contain myself. What are the odds?? What are the effing odds??? I mean, it is just too much of a coincidence. I walk into my apartment absolutely dumbfounded and Roommate and her Boyfriend proceed to find the whole thing hysterical. And it is. Because, really, who does this happen to?

Me, PEOPLE. Apparently it happens to me.

Conversation with Confrontation

2007-05-17T12:18:00.000-04:00

I was griping about my need to have a difficult conversation with someone and how much I hate difficult conversations and even though I am an attorney and thrive on legal confrontation, I like to live a peaceful, non-confrontational existence outside of work but why does everyone make that goal so ha-ard [that's me, champion whiner with my ability to turn a simple one syllable word into two] to realize? And she sends me this:

I want you to meet someone. Here is your introduction:

J: Hi, my name is Jersey.

C: Hi Jersey, my name is confrontation.

J: Oh no, I don't like confrontation.

J: Well that isn't very nice, and was somewhat confrontational to say to me. Sometimes I can actually be very helpful and cathartic, just give me a chance.

J: But what if someone gets hurt?

C: That is always a risk, but if you avoid me, you might end up hurting yourself.

J: Why Confrontation, that is a very good point. I will think about it and get back to you.

C: Okay, but don't wait too long, otherwise I'll track you down and confront you and accuse you of ignoring me, 'cuz that is what I do, I'm confrontation, and I don't take things lying down.

Dreams

2007-05-17T09:29:00.000-04:00

I had a dream last night that I had a baby. And my baby of unrecalled gender had problems sleeping. So, I put said baby under the kitchen table to convince he/she that it was night time and he/she should go to bed. I do not think this dream bodes well for my maternal instincts.

So, the Youngun...

2007-05-15T11:23:00.000-04:00

…Is most certainly young. While we had a good time at dinner, not a fabulous, I am so completely blow away with our compatibility first date, but a good time, I am just not chomping at the bit to see him again.

[And yes, chomping at the bit is a horrible phrase and while I am rather annoyed that I couldn’t come up with something better, my writing confidence took a beating on Friday at the writing class I attended at Big Firm. This snooty, hoity-toity professor person lectured us for approximately three hours on the finer points of legal writing. And while I am willing to admit I learned something, I had some reservations as to whether I belonged in this fancy Big Firm conference room with its unlimited supply of coffee, a variety of soft drinks, and four types of sugar. I had to stop myself from walking out with a can of Coke for the walk to meet KS for lunch. Until September, I am banishing all doubts about my new job as there is simply nothing that can be done between now and then. I need to give it a shot – I will not be intimidated by spiral bound notebooks and Blackberries and the seemingly unlimited beverage supply.]

[As another aside, I just walked by the elevators, where a repairman is hard at work. He is standing with his back to the elevator, which is halfway opened and stuck between floors and is surveying the parts and tools in front of him. He notices me and calls out, “I am just so confused!” and then laughs a bit. Um, yeah. Officially avoiding the elevator on the right.]

[And final aside, this guy decided to park in front of my house last night. See, my street is just a few blocks from restaurants, bars, shops, etc. Oh and of course the quintessential yuppie gym. It is not unheard of for yuppies to park along my street rather than fork over $1.50 for a spot in the numerous parking garages. And yes, I find it incredibly ironic that a person can shop at Pottery Barn, Jos. A. Bank, and Williams Sonoma but cannot spare a few bucks for a parking garage. So, people park in my neighborhood. BUT I think there should be a prohibition against people who you went out with, had a lovely time with, and actually were chomping at the bit to see again from parking in front of your house. SK, there is most definitely a parking spot reserved for you in the incredibly affordable parking garage around the corner. So, please consider this a warning – the next time I come home to find your car taking advantage of my house’s prime location to neighborhood establishments…okay, I admit it. I can’t figure out an appropriate threat to end this sentence. I am certainly not going to damage his car, nor am I going to wait for him to return to his car and then confront him. I am neither violent nor confrontational. But I will be annoyed. Of course, that annoyance will not affect you in any way. But it will be your fault.]

I guess the brackets were unnecessary as really, the asides were the substance of the post.

With Youth

2007-05-08T09:42:00.000-04:00

Comes persistence.

I am going out with the Youngun on Thursday.

Comments like "I may be a few years younger, but I read at a 30 year old level" were witty enough to secure himself a date. He wanted to meet up Saturday night, then asked again for tonight, and after two rejections (for legitimate reasons, mind you), the plan is Thursday.

I plan to leave all my pre-conceived notions about age at home and just try to have fun with a very cute, very tall, and very witty boy. FROM CANADA! What an adorable accent.

Oh, and one more funny thing: he asked me to go to a work dinner with him tonight. I declined, not only because I have a meeting, but because I am pretty sure you are supposed to know where someone works before you agree to accompany them to a work function.

Emails

2007-05-04T13:19:00.000-04:00

Slightly edited between KS and myself today:

For context, Crazy BT is approximately 75 years old, a divorce attorney, and a raging b*tch. I worked for her for approximately three weeks until I was told not to return (I am pretty sure that means I was fired). She has super bleached blonde hair, she clearly still goes to the tanning bed, and spoke to me like I was about 5 years old. Even though I was a second year law student. The entire office had white furniture and we actually had to walk along throw rugs that were placed just so across the white carpet. The entire office treated Crazy BT like she was a goddess, but to me, she just seemed mean. She rarely smiled, she permitted no one to address her by her first name, and she refused to let anyone consume food with even slightly noxious orders. Seriously, yall she is wack.

Me: "Crazy BT is wearing pink jeans. TO COURT? I mean, really. Pink Jeans. I am speechless."

KS: "Pink jeans? Is she serious? And is that any better or worse than wearing white jeans to the courthouse? I think it is worse. White jeans are marginally stylish, colored denim died back when I was a freshman in high school. I know that b/c that was the year my dryer caught on fire and my absolutely favorite pair of light yellow jeans from Express and matching plaid flannel shirt got destroyed. It was traumatizing."

Me: "I love my white jeans! But yes, colored jeans went out with wigwams and big bangs."

Although now I wonder if with the resurgence of the 80s onto the fashion scene, if Crazy BT isn't incredibly hip and I should possibly be asking her fashion advice. Then again, I just looked at her again and she is wearing frosted pink lipstick. I should point out that the pink jeans are actually less offensive than the white skirt suit with matching gogo boots I last witnessed her wearing. Shudder.

Work Gripes

2007-05-03T17:11:00.000-04:00

I am one of 15 law clerks that clerk at this courthouse. Although we all work for different judges, the law clerks function at their best when they are working as a team. Getting 15 people to always work together can be a challenge as there are fifteen different personalities, work styles, work ethics…the occasional conflict is inevitable. The group is not perfectly cohesive, but things have been relatively smooth for awhile now. We have four months left and the attitude seems to be let's enjoy our time together.

But I found out something yesterday that has me feeling disgruntled towards two of my fellow law clerks. You may recall DailyOrderGate. Daily Orders are a fact of life here and after that infamous meeting, Daily Orders are also a source of tension. See, the thing is that we are supposed to pick them up every day. Hence, the Daily. Sometimes, though, on rather busy weeks, it is easy to forget to check your Daily Order box. It is two floors down from your office, your arms are already full when you do make it down there, you are already overwhelmed by the amount you currently have in your office and increasing the pile will only result in a panic attack…a law clerk may have legitimate reasons for not picking them up every day.

The person in change of Daily Orders is this super nice woman who tries to evenly disburse the orders among all 15 law clerks. She has a system – she tried to explain it to me, but I quickly lost interest. Suffice it to say, she has a system. She is not trying to screw anyone – she is just trying to do her job and go home to her adorable kids. Who sometimes come to work and I may or may not be obsessed with how adorable they are. The point being, that Nice Daily Order Woman has no favorites and simply does her job.

Yesterday, another law clerk informed me that two other law clerks have decided to create a spreadsheet of how often law clerks pick up their daily orders and how many daily orders each law clerk receives from the NDOW. Apparently, they are feeling put upon by the rest of the “not exactly every day checking our daily order boxes because sometimes things come up and really, I am working pretty hard here so take your spreadsheet and shove it up your behind” law clerks. Whew. Sorry. That last part may be a bit much.

When I found this out yesterday, I was stunned. What gives them the right to keep tabs on my productivity? I answer to my Judge and I answer to Cool Mom, who is my direct supervisor. I do not answer to fellow law clerks that are going to spend their days counting stacks of daily orders rather than just doing the three or four extra they might occasionally receive for being so on top of their game. Because here’s the thing – we are all a team and team members help each other out. So, if you happen to be a Daily Order Rockstar and the NDOW occasionally loads you up, well, good for you. That just means you excel at your job. And maybe others drop the ball occasionally. And when they do, Cool Mom and the Judges will address it. It is not for us to point fingers at each other about slip ups. I have been asked by Judge about certain other law clerks and every time, I have stood by my co-workers. Because that is just what we do.

From an outside perspective, it is easy to understand that one could be frustrated if she feels she is doing more than her fair share. That her fellow law clerks are neglecting their duties and creating more work for her as a result. I get that, I truly do – but first, I honestly don’t believe anyone is getting screwed by the system. And second, I don’t think that this is the way to address a potential problem. To go behind the backs of your peers and track their progress? Based on their spreadsheet, the two law clerks have already identified law clerks that they feel are offenders of the daily pick up rule. So, now what? Are they going to turn in their spreadsheet to the Chief Judge? Who will most likely laugh in their faces and inform them that if they have enough time to count stacks of daily orders and update a spreadsheet, they certainly have time to process a few extra orders.

My gripe is not with their concerns about getting screwed by co-workers because that may be a legitimate concern. My frustration is with how they’ve chosen to address their concerns. Resent is too strong of a word, but I really don't appreciate people keeping tabs on me like that. People whose job is to work with me, not against me.

But a number?

2007-05-01T17:11:00.000-04:00

Last year, I went through a bit of a younger man phase. The cut-off was 25, which was approximately two years younger than I was at the time. Now, I am a year older, but apparently still only able to attract significantly younger guys.

Case in point: Saturday night.

I entertained friends with homemade sangria, peach and brie quesadillas, roasted tomato salsa, and the Editrix’s guacamole that most definitely contained some crack-like substance that made it positively addictive. After the pre-Cinco de Mayo feast, the group headed to a local bar, at my insistence, to see a Journey tribute band. I love love love Journey. And I am okay if you choose to mock me.

During the show, a few of us decided to get right in the midst of the crowd and rock out with other fans. At one point, I noticed a tall, very cute, but very young looking boy behind me. We eventually made eye contact and he came up to talk to me. We started trying to talk over the loud music and he asked how old I was. I narrowed my eyes and rather than answer, turned the question back to him.

He answered that he was 28. My mouth fell open slightly as he didn’t look a day over 22. After confirming with my friends that it was acceptable for me to talk to him since he was 28, we continued to talk/dance. At some point during the night, we were at the bar and he said, “Well, okay, I am actually 26.”

Slightly indignant over the lie, I asked if this time he was telling the truth. “Yes, absolutely”, he promised this time was the truth.

And you guessed it – about 15 minutes later, he knocked it down to 25. At this point, we were back with my group of friends and I drunkenly announced that we were right to doubt his age because he kept changing it. Lil AG demanded to see his driver’s license, but frankly we were both a little unsteady at this point to read his DOB. KS came to our rescue and declared that he was indeed born in 1982. And wasn’t yet 25.

Right then, the band launched into “Any Way You Want It” so I decided the Great Age Debate would be postponed a few minutes. After the show, we wound up talking so more and he continued to apologize for lying about his age. And he seemed so sincere. And incredibly into me. Which I don’t encounter very often. So, do I judge him by his age? (Putting aside the whole lying thing, of course) I guess if I am just looking for a fun guy to hang out with and exchange silly text messages with, I should be all set. But is that fair? To think that is all he is capable of because of his age? Part of me thinks that I shouldn’t concern myself with age – I want to meet someone nice and great and fun and if he is older or younger, what doe it matter? I have imposed these age cut-offs because I think I need them. And maybe because I think that a 24 year old is just not looking for a serious relationship right now. Which bears the question – am I? I think I might be. And if I am, isn’t age a very easy and appropriate measure of who I think I can get serious with?

Great. Now my head hurts.

Blow out

2007-04-26T22:38:00.000-04:00

“The only times I really wish I had a boyfriend? When I am moving or my car breaks down.”

Red said this to me a few years ago while we were in the process of carrying (okay, pushing, OKAY…dragging) her large sofa down the hallway of her apartment complex. It was a fit of human strength to hoist it into the elevator only to have it take it out ONE FLOOR UP. Yes, the old “moving on up” move that is a huge gargantuan pain in the ass.

But, I digress. Red is incredibly independent – she has tons of friends, she functions quite well on her own, has a full social calendar – a lot like myself actually. But yet those two times in life are the times when being alone and being a girl can really stink.

Tonight, as I cruised home from the gym, patting myself on the back for actually going and picturing a frozen pizza, I heard a loud THUMP (sorry for the use of caps tonight, yall) and the thumping continued and my car, all of a sudden, felt very weird. Now, most of you have probably figured out that I blew a tire, but I honestly thought my muffler had fallen off.

Quick aside that demonstrates how I am not so good with the cars. On the way to work one morning, I noticed my car sounded awful as I merged onto the highway. I couldn’t make my car go fast, really, it just sounded as if it was in pain. I freaked out the entire 25 minute ride to work and then eventually made it in to work. I called Cheeky Co-worker who was on vacation in full scale panic mode. He recommended an auto mechanic across the street from the courthouse so I called. The mechanic got on the line and I described the problem. I said, “I don’t know, it sounded like a transmission problem.” Go ahead; ask me if I even know what the transmission does. Or where it is – the front? I don’t know. But it sounds car-smart, right? He asks what type of car I drive. I tell him and he then asks if my car is automatic. Err…it is regular? Apparently in girlspeak, that means yes it is automatic. I think? Oh, I looked it up and that is right. He manages not to laugh in my face after the “regular” comment and he asks me if I am sure I had my car in the right gear when I got on the highway. I pause and then finally admit that no, I can’t confirm that I checked what gear I was in but really, it couldn’t be something that simple? I mean, I am not that dumb, am I? Rather than answer, he tells me to bring my car by and he will call after looking into the problem. About an hour after I drop it off, he calls. He’s run some tests, driven it around, looked under the hood…he is clearly not wanting to tell me just how dumb I am. I tell you this to give you some context as to why I am utterly horrible about anything car-related. Car trouble renders me helpless.

So, picture Helpless Jersey, freaking out as I try to cross four lanes of Highway 66 traffic and make it to the shoulder before my car blows up because that is literally what I am thinking is about to transpire. I make it to the shoulder, take a few deep breaths, open the door just wide enough to confirm my rear tire is indeed flat, and call Sister in panic. Because if you can’t make your boyfriend come pick you up on the side of the road, you can at least make family, right? She reminds me of my handy Triple A membership (Thank you, Mr. Jersey for recognizing that if there is one thing your daughter will also need is someone to bail her out of a car crisis!). I climb over to the passenger side of my car, because it somehow feels safer than the driver’s side since cars are roaring past me at speeds in excess of 65 MPH. I explained the situation to the very nice operator – I handle all of his questions with ease. I give him an exit number! And a distance from that exit! I give him the direction I was headed! I give him my car’s make and model! I explain I do not have a spare but something called a donut! I am totally in control, I think to myself, completely pressed up against the passenger door, until he asks me if my tires have interlocking lug nuts. Come again? He says “basically do you have anything fancy on your car, like rims, that would make it hard to remove the tire?” Gotcha – nope, no interlocking lug nuts to worry about.

While he is explaining that my estimated wait time is an hour and fifteen minutes, there is a knock on my car window. I scream, and now have to explain to the Triple A Operator that I am fine, totally fine, just someone stopping to help, Oh he looks like Highway Patrol and not an axe murderer, yep his vehicle looks official, Okay, I will call you back, Mr. Triple A Operator.
And since I survived the whole experience to write about it, you can rest assured that it was NOT an axe murderer but an actual highway patrol person who wanted to know if I was okay. I pointed to the flat tire and he said, “Well, I can change that if you have a spare.” And so he did. The whole ordeal really only set my drive home back about ten minutes.

The only downside is the now imminent purchase of a new tire. I had planned some very fun things for my weekend - Seeing a Journey cover band! Shopping at a sidewalk sale! Running six miles! Taking my dry cleaning! (okay, yeah, that’s no fun) but now, I will be buying a tire.

Oh, and I continue to wish I had a boyfriend to deal with the fall out. Guys are inherently born with knowledge about car parts. Guys can talk intelligently about tires the way I talk about shoes. And even though I wouldn’t trade my knowledge about shoes, I could use a little more tread know-how.

Irrationality Abounds

2007-04-22T20:57:00.000-04:00

Over dinner last night, at this delightful outdoor café in downtown DC, on what was the most perfect spring night (thank you, Weather gods for finally blessing the hotseat of the government with consecutive days of sunshine) the conversation turned to food idiosyncrasies. And, quickly, my friend Red revealed that I had most people beat with my odd food quirks. I don’t eat white food. Well, let me back up. There are a lot of foods that I don’t eat and after some analysis in college, I realized I really don’t like white food. When people learn of this, they are often fascinated and engage in a “What will Jersey eat” type game to try and rationalize my white food weirdness. Saturday’s night version went something like this:

“Do you eat eggs?”

No.

“Do you eat white rice?”

Only if there is some sort of sauce on it. I don’t like plain white rice. But I do eat basmati rice and risotto.

“Do you eat cottage cheese?”

HELL No.

“Sour cream?”

Nope.

“But you just ate an entire cheese board. Full of white cheese.” (This was when the questions started to sound more like accusations).

Yeah, I know. It doesn’t make sense. But I love cheese and eat all kinds.

And this is when the Inquirer turned to the rest of the group in all seriousness and said, “She is a completely irrational freak. I love it.”

Since the Inquirer was actually a guest from out of town, his friend yelled at him for being rude. “Don’t say that to her! Jersey, you are not an irrational freak.”

But I wasn’t offended. I actually felt relieved. There are some things that I do that are completely without reason. And that’s okay. Maybe because the supposed reason of the law governs my professional life, I have all this pent up irrationality. And it comes out in these little food quirks or the fact that I read all magazines from the back. I know everyone has their own idiosyncrasies but sometimes we drive ourselves crazy trying to change them or explain them or justify them. In one simple statement, this out of towner, who had known me for less than an hour, had told me exactly what I needed to hear. I am a completely irrational freak. But people love me anyways.

Dilemma

2007-04-19T12:10:00.000-04:00

So, I have a dilemma. As you know, I live with a Roommate. Who has a Boyfriend. Roommate and Roommate Boyfriend’s have an up and down type relationship. Right now, it appears they are very up. Which means they spend a lot of time together at our apartment.

And about this apartment. I love my apartment. It is in the absolute perfect location – just a few blocks to the Metro, just a few blocks to the grocery store, around the corner for multiple bars….really, the location is absolutely perfect. And while I would love a bigger closet (and the corresponding freedom to purchase more shoes), I am willing to keep my suits in the dining room closet in order to keep the awesome location.

Now, a little about our landlord. She is…well, she is a little nutty. When we first moved in, she lived right around the corner and was extremely accessible. In the intervening years, she has moved to Georgia and we have had some difficulty getting issues addressed. For example, we had no heat. Right before Christmas. It was freezing in our apartment and we were both about to leave town. She was of little to no help and Roommate wound up breaking into the basement apartment to inspect the unknown type of heating device that we have and diagnosis the problem. And when Roommate insisted that Landlord Nutcase foot the bill of putting us in a hotel with heat, Landlord Nutcase yelled at her and told her this was our problem. Huh? So, there has been strife between Roommate and Landlord Nutcase for some time now.

This past February, we woke up on a Monday morning to discover that while the living room and dining room had heat, the bedrooms were without heat. We were both off to celebrate President’s Day, and by celebrate I mean spend my Presidents on shoes at the outlet mall. I placed a phone call to LN in Georgia and she responded that she would get someone to come over and drain our heating units. Roommate and I were both perplexed by this diagnosis of the problem because for almost three years, there has never been a mention of “draining the heating units.” A plumber shows up, (to fix the heat, obviously) and tells us that the draining does not seem to be working. Another phone call to LN and she promises to contact Slade, her all around repairman. Now, Slade is quite the character. He is much more interested in chatting with us about our weekend plans than actually repairing anything in our apartment. LN says Slade is far away and will be there in a few hours so is it okay if we just give up our entire day off and sit around and wait for him? I realize if we were homeowners, this would be our responsibility. But we rent and we shouldn’t have to sit around our freezing cold apartment waiting for someone who most likely won’t be able to remedy the problem anyways.

Roommate decided that there was no sense in both of us sticking around in the cold and set me free to the outlet mall. When I arrive at said outlet mall, I receive a phone call from Roommate who was told by LN that Slade would be later than expected. Thereby dashing Roommate’s hopes of accomplishing anything productive on her day off. Roommate made LN aware of her frustration, which was only made worse by LN saying, “Well is Jersey available? I would rather talk to Jersey about this.” Jersey was not available, Roommate responded, Jersey is out living her life and not wasting her day waiting on a repairman.

So, there is tension between Roommate and LN. That is putting it mildly. Shortly after the heat disaster, LN emailed Roommate to notify her that she not received her rent as of the due date. To make a long story short, Roommate no longer had the money in her account, LN tried to blame Roommate’s bank, a representative of Roommate’s bank called LN out on her nuttiness, LN told said representative that Roommate was “bitter” and refused to include her on the call, LN then emailed both of us, called Roommate “mentally unstable” to which I responded, “that is entirely inappropriate” and we were then informed that we could leave our lease whenever we wanted and would be best suited somewhere else.

But I love my apartment, I whine. And I don’t want to move. And I had a whole plan worked out whereby I would continue to live with Roommate in this apartment for another year and thereby bank my Big Firm salary. Said plan did not anticipate moving with Roommate two weeks after starting my job and then most likely moving again in a year or so if/when Roommate gets engaged. So, I am torn. Do I move again with Roommate, whose boyfriend is over often in order to save money on rent and avoid having to purchase an entire apartment of furniture? Or do I move out on my own now (or within the next five months), eat Ramen noodles for a few months until I change jobs and am actually able to afford this living on my own?

I just don’t know. I so love my apartment. Oh, and staying in the apartment and having someone else move in with me is not really a viable option. As I am too old to live with someone that I meet through a Craig’s List ad and I think staying in the apartment with someone new would mean the end of my friendship with Roommate. Who is great and lovely and ending our friendship is not an option.

Compliment

2007-04-18T12:04:00.001-04:00

One of my fellow Law Clerks just paid me the hugest compliment. And I shall gloat about it here.

She came in seeking advice for the proper stationary to use for her post-interview thank-you note. She opened with, “I have a silly question, but I had to ask you because you are the most stylish person that I know.”

Moi? Stylish? Aww…you are too kind. Granted, she is a bit of a hippie and does not travel in a couture wearing circle, but still. I am the most stylish person that she knows.

Do you think it is bad that hearing from others that I am “such a good law clerk” or a brilliant legal mind does not produce the same satisfactory reaction as being called stylish?

OKAY fine, no one has ever called me a brilliant legal mind. But if someone were, I wonder if I would be as excited as being told I have style.

Bootylicious...Or Not

2007-04-15T22:53:00.000-04:00

“So, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Nope.”

“Is it because your butt is too big?”

NO I AM NOT KIDDING. Someone actually said this to me on Friday night Well, to clarify, he either said this or “Is it because your butt is not very big?” I was pretty sure it was the first but after further discussion with KS today, we’ve decided it might have been the latter. Mainly because I have no butt. I am 5’9”, 125 pounds, and have an ass that is flatter than a pancake. My booty is non-existent. My body is without curves. I don’t want to belabor the point but really, I have no butt.

So, obviously this comment surprises, no STUNS me. I was a little shaky in my heels at this point (thank YOU pitchers of Bud Light and the ease with which you go down) but I do know that immediately following his comment, I just looked back at him. I met his stare and we both twisted slightly and took a good look at my butt. This part is fuzzy but I am pretty sure he was gone when I turned my head back around.

I really don't know what to else say about this exchange.

Empathy

2007-04-12T17:16:00.000-04:00

One thing not everyone knows about me is that I have an empathy problem. A really bad empathy problem. You know that phrase “My heart goes out to [fill in the blank]”? My heart, on a daily basis, goes out to people and I just feel badly about things that I cannot control or change. Maybe it relates to the ICGC. Regardless of the reason, things that have no relation to my life but just upset me by their sheer existence really get to me. Like an elderly man wandering through the grocery store, slightly confused. Such a sight would bring tears to my eyes, but I’ve learned to try and cast a positive spin on it. Maybe his wife is at home and he decided to do the shopping for the week and the confusion is not a sign of dementia but merely a sign of infrequent visits to Harris Teeter. Of course, the empathetic part of me responds, “Maybe he isn’t half of an adorable elderly couple, maybe he never found love….and you shouldn’t pity him because frankly, you could end up like him.”

Okay, that is the part that I try to keep in check. The overly dramatic part. This empathy came out in full force yesterday morning at a routine scheduling conference. [Aside, scheduling conferences consist of a law clerk and a scheduling person (basically someone from the Clerk’s Office who works in the case scheduling department). Attorneys come in, we set trial dates, occasionally a fight breaks out, but normally my only beef with scheduling conferences is that they start at 8:15 in the morning.]

We were wrapping up our last case when an elderly couple opened the doors to the courtroom rather hesitantly. I hadn’t noticed but a female attorney had walked past us and checked in with the deputy. I turned towards her as she said loudly, “They are elderly and pro se and should be here soon.”

The couple, small and frail, clung to each other as they approached counsel’s table. I smiled warmly at them, while shooting a rather evil look at the attorney. The man sat down in front of me and his wife took a seat behind him in the first row. She sat right on the edge and just looked at me with a tremendous amount of expectation in her eyes. We selected a trial date and I indicated that the man needed to sign the order. He started to sign on the correct line, but then looked at me as if that was wrong. I assured him that he was right, and then he looked at me, with shaking hands, and said, “I am having trouble holding the pen.” He smiled slightly and then completed signing. I gave him a copy of the order and the couple, still looking confused and uncertain, walked out of the courtroom as the attorney spoke rapidly to them.

The scheduling person went to pry the file out of my hands but I opened it up to review what exactly had brought these people into court. The complaint, filed by the County, alleges that they have violated an ordinance against using their yard for storage. Apparently, they have exceeded the high brow county’s limitation on junk and are being sued to remove it. I wanted to run after them and tell them I could get some friends together and we could come over and take loads to the dump. While that would have satisfied the empathy side of me, it most likely would have resulted in the firing of all of me. So, I held back.

I went back to my office and couldn’t stop thinking about this couple. And how helpless they must feel. Matlock (my next door neighbor at work - so dubbed because of his penchant for bow ties - I feel a seersucker suit is the next logical step) stopped by and I told him about the couple from scheduling. And how it really upset me.

His response did not help.

"Wow, that stinks. I mean, how are they supposed to move the junk if they are so small and frail? And their kids probably live far away so they can't come help. So, basically they are all alone in this. Yeah, that stinks."

I immediately got choked up because the "neglected by their ungrateful kids" storyline had not even crossed my mind.

Matlock quickly made his exit while I tried to regain my composure.

I recognize that I could suffer a worse fate than being incredibly tuned into the emotions of other people. I would not want to go through life aloof and indifferent to those around me. But along with the blessing of feeling the pain of others comes a feeling of helplessness. In some situations, I can make someone laugh or provide comforting words or pick up the bar tab after countless pictures of beer. I have a few Friends in Need [FINs] who have needed exactly that. I can’t fix your broken heart but I can be there while you take the steps to fix it yourself.

But there are so many others who I feel powerless to help but yet feel duty bound to try something. And I feel there has to be something more that I can do besides helping them fill out a scheduling order. And as much as I am excited to start my next job, I worry that the feeling of helplessness will only grow. Because now I do occasionally help people. I’ve called people to inform them that an adoption has been finalized, that they no longer have their evil ex-husband’s last name, that they can file separate tax returns because they are now divorced…in what seems like small ways, I have helped people. Not on the grand scale I envisioned in high school when I swore I was going to join the Peace Corps, but in a very palpable way that helps me get through my days.

My fear is that as much I as love lawyering, I love helping people more. I won’t lie and say I am not excited about the perks that will come with my next job - mainly the salary and the number of new shoes it will provide. But I worry about selling out. I worry that after a few years at Big Firm, I will have lost touch with the empathy side of me. The side of me that has always naively proclaimed I want to make a difference. A BIG difference. I worry that the long hours and large bonuses will over time silence that side of me. I guess that it is promising that I am aware that this could happen and the awareness may operate to prevent it from happening.

This post has gotten away from me, it seems. I started it to retell a story from my day and to share how sometimes even simple things deeply affect me. But I’ve now raised questions for myself that can’t be answered today.

Looking out for me

2007-04-12T15:01:00.000-04:00

Cool Mom’s office is right outside the criminal file counter. She has a front row seat to all the good courthouse drama. And, in her apparent boredom, she is now surveying those who line up in front of her office in the hopes of finding me dates.

The email I just got from her:

I know that I'm not supposed to get into the matchmaking game, but there is a guy at the criminal counter who needs his record so that he can get a tattooing license. Apparently, he taught himself how to do piercings and now wants to learn how to do tattoos…

Tell me that he isn't a catch...

I shoot back my reply that yes, he is indeed a catch and can she keep him occupied while I spruce myself up a bit.

She then replies:

You missed your chance. He just left. And, there wasn't even an outstanding bench warrant against him, so he was definitely a catch.

Shout out

2007-04-11T18:06:00.000-04:00

The majority of last week was spent slaving over this rather complicated motion the Judge was set to hear on Friday. I had procrastinated a bit in the hopes that the attorneys would settle the case but a few days before the hearing, it was made painfully clear to me that the case was not settling, so I spent countless hours wading through over 50 pages of briefs (love Big Firms. Big Firms that come to state trial court and drown us in paper. Love them. Oh, wait. About to be employed by one such Big Firm.) and reading non-controlling authority because of course, there was NO controlling authority. We could go the way of Texas, or Georgia, or even Massachusetts. Somehow the Commonwealth's high court had not spoken to these issues which left me burning the midnight oil. Finally, Thursday morning, I finish my memo. All fifteen pages of wisdom. Complete with a chart at the end with my recommendations. Keep that count, kick that count, all there for Judge to see. I really struggled with the issues but felt utterly and completely satisfied as I clicked "send" and the Monster Memo went off to see Judge.

A few minutes later, I am back in Chambers, with my hand reaching into the community pretzel jar, when I heard Judge call for me. I pop my head in and he looks over his computer at me with complete annoyance.

"I got the memo."

"Oh, good. There is so much to that case, that's why the memo turned out s - "

And I am interrupted. By this:

"Well, I don't see what is so complicated about it, seems to me [insert startling simple statement of completely settled law]."

"Wellllll," I stammer, "I thought there was more to it than just that...." and my voice trails off. What am I really thinking is "I have just spent six plus days on these issues, I live these issues, I breathe these issues and if [startling simple statement of completely settled law] was true, I WOULD KNOW IT."

I manage to keep that last part to myself and tell him to call me with questions. I skulk back to my office, wondering if I really had blown past something so simple. I turn my attention to other tasks and soon, the call I am dreading comes.

"Why don't you come on back so we can discuss this?"

I prepare myself mentally, repeat the phrase "I am not an idiot" about 85 times during the short walk, and take a seat in front of Judge.

"Well, what the heck is X's argument here? I mean, it seems as if they have nowhere to go."

While hard to explain fully here, he basically reverses his earlier statement about how the case is a complete no-brainer and then regurgitates my own *brilliance* back to me. He says "I agree with you completely, I think this has to happen just like you said."

Stunned, I just nod.

He then gets up and says "Man, that took me 45 minutes to work through. What a pain! I need some lunch."

Still stunned, because seriously 45 minutes? A fraction, my friend, of the time I spent but hey, I guess that is why I work for him. To paraphraes Snoop Dogg, all I can do is lay it out so Judge can play it out.

The biggest compliment came on Friday during the hearing. The attorney began his argument by saying, "Your Honor, we know there were a lot of issues here, and we hope you have had a chance to review everything, we realize there was a lot of paper involved and -"

My judge interrupted him:

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to my law clerk. She really carried the heavy weight on this one."

The attorney turned to me, face bright red with embarrassment, and said, "I hope you accept our apology."

He actually waited for me to nod and stammer "It's fine" before continuing with his argument.

So, the moral of the story is that Judge does appreciate my hard work. I know this deep down, but he doesn't say it or show it very often. Last week he showed it with a shout out to me in front of a courtroom full of attorneys. The work is expected and I am happy to oblige. My past bosses have been real hand-holders and always showered me with positive enforcement. One of the things I like about Judge is that he has forced me to be more of an independent thinker, to figure things out on my own, and not run to him with a million questions.

Expect more nostalgia to come in the next few months as I wrap up this job.

Oh, the joys

2007-04-03T14:32:00.000-04:00

Of having a crappy week and having to put up with this guy.

Me: “Can you go through this trial transcript and flag every time the word opinion is used? There is a word index in the back, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

Cabana Boy: “Sure! Great! Sounds like awesomeness!”

I walk by Cabana Boy a while later and notice that he is barely ¼ of the way through Day One. Of Three.

Me: “How’s it going?” I ask this while staring pointedly at his computer where there appears to be five gmail chat conversations taking place.

Cabana Boy: “Oh, pretty slow.” With an apparent sigh.

Me: “Well, are you using the word index that I mentioned? You know, the thing in the back, where they list out every word found in the transcript and give you page cites for it?”

Cabana Boy: “Oh, yeah, didn’t know about that! But no worries! I see now! And I will get moving!! This is awesomeness!”

Another hour or so passes. Cabana Boy returns the transcript to me. With not nearly as many flags as I had anticipated. I eye the transcript rather suspiciously because it does not have nearly as many flags as I expected.

Me: “So, there is a flag every time that the word opinion is used in the transcript?”

Cabana boy: “Well, no. I only flagged the times I thought were important!”

Silence. As “using his judgment” was not at all part of my instructions, I just stared back at him.

Me: “So, this is not every time?”

Cabana Boy: “No! But it is all the important times! That’s all you need!”

Me: “Um…okay.”

Cabana Boy: “So, should I come in at 9 or 10 on Thursday?!?!”

Me: “I honestly don’t care when you come in on Thursday.”

Cabana Boy: “Great! 9 it is! See you then!”

Okay, rant concluded. And for the record, I have complained to Judge about his incompetence. And so has my supervisor, Cool Mom. But Judge, fearing the wrath of his daughter if he fires her good friend, refuses to do anything about it.

Awesome.

Recall: Excitement

2007-03-30T15:45:00.000-04:00

Over the SK. Because it is now almost 4pm on Friday and the "later in the week phone call to make plans" has not happened. I have now convinced 85% of myself that this call will not actually come. 15% remains wildy optimistic, mainly because a good friend reminded me that working for a super scary government agency such as the SK's employer can result in days cut off from the rest of society. So, that small part of myself remains hopeful that he will soon emerge from the grips of his super scary employer and pick up the phone.

Because really? Why make the beginning of the week phone call if one is not planning on making the aforementioned follow up phone call? The beginning of the week phone call served to remind me that he is still interested but has a lot going on right now. And this is where the 15% pipes in with all her hopefulness to say that it is not too late for that call to come and that it could still happen. And if it does happen, the remaining 85% shoots back in all her sarcastic glory, all 100% of us should be out somewhere, looking hot, and having a fantastic evening.

Update, as requested

2007-03-27T17:16:00.000-04:00

As requested by Mrs. DW, this is to let all interested parties know that my second date with the SK on Friday night went well. Extremely well.

But, then I spent the rest of the weekend freaking out about the whole thing.

Because I hate this beginning stage of dating. Yes, it is fun and exciting and all those of you who have been coupled off for awhile miss the novelty associated with the first few dates.

But remember when you were in that beginning stage? When you were the one wondering if he would call? If you said something stupid? If he noticed that you just spit out a tiny piece of your fish while talking?

These worries plagued all day on Sunday when I didn’t hear from him. I tried to reassure myself that the date had gone well, that my anxieties were all in my head, and that I would eventually hear from him. That he was probably working as he had warned me was the extent of his plan for the rest of the weekend.

And I did hear from him. Last night. He had worked 12 hour days on Saturday and Sunday and logged another 13 hours on Monday. He said he couldn’t plan anything right now because the week was so up in the air. And as I sit here, still at work, suffering through the heat and plowing through a trial transcript, with no plans to leave anytime soon, I understand the inability to make plans.

So, I again reassure myself that these anxieties are all in my head, and that he will call again, like he said he would, when he could make a plan to see me.

But, seriously. The beginning with all its newness? And excitement? Is a little much for a girl to take at times.

Signs

2007-03-16T11:32:00.000-04:00

Signs of a good date

1) The waiter comes over and you have to tell him (twice) that no, you haven’t looked at the menu yet
2) There are no awkward pauses in conversation
3) Two hours go by and you feel like you have just sat down
4) You are both leaning forward towards one another, not because it is crowded and you can’t hear, but because you just want to be closer.
5) The couple at the table next to you looks over rather wistfully because your date is very obviously going THAT WELL.

The Serial Killer, with his atrocious opening line, made quite the impression last night. Dinner was fantastic – ironically enough, he picked the same restaurant that another suitor of mine had picked for last Sunday night. While the hostess officially thinks I am working for an escort service of some kind, I am actually glad we went there. The restaurant is a great first date place – when you actually want to be with the person sitting across from you.

In the immortal words of Carrie Bradshaw, don’t you just love the beginning – when you can say, “I think the Serial Killer and I will be very happy together” and almost believe it?

And if he makes it to another post, I will give him a new nickname.

Intern Incompetence

2007-03-15T11:30:00.000-04:00

Remember this guy? Not the good Intern, the annoying Intern, Cabana Boy. Today, I brought him a box of files. Judge wanted some things copied out of the box and I thought to myself, "This project has Cabana Boy written all over it." I had flagged with post-it notes which briefs Judge wanted copied. I gave the box to Cabana Boy and told him to have at it. I could tell he thought this project slightly beneath him, but I ignored the attitude and left.

About an hour later, I saw him in the hallway. I asked for an update and he said he had brought the box back to Judge and put the copies on top of the box. He then headed out for the day as I had no more work for him to do.

I went back to Judge's chambers to check the copies. Turns out, he copied them two-sided (which is very environmentally friendly, so I support it, but two-sided copies are a preference type thing and something Judge doesn't actually prefer) and he missed pages. I looked back at the box and realized he had also removed the post-its I had used to flag the documents, so I was going to have to go back through the entire box, pull apart the files, and re-copy the documents properly. To not copy check - to me, that's just sloppy. Am I being too harsh?

And I thought interns were supposed to make my life easier. Sigh. I am officially blowing off the rest of the day to watch basketball.

Serial Killer

2007-03-14T08:59:00.000-04:00

“I am not a serial killer, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can come over and talk to me because I am not a serial killer. You don’t have to worry.”

We’d been eyeing each other for quite some time, but since I don’t make the first move, I had accepted that nothing was going to come of our exchanged glances.

I blinked a few times, trying to process his odd pick-up line, and my confusion must have registered on my face. He finally came over and introduced himself.

“I am B. I just wanted you to know that I am nice and not scary and we should talk.”

“Okay”, I replied and then promptly sneezed.

My head cold made being at a bar barely tolerable but this boy kept me out way later than planned. He was tall, six foot four, and broad, but not bulky. I looked up at him when we talked and I felt small. In a good way. In a way that a girl who is five foot nine rarely feels.

He took my number at some point during our conversation. Finally, the dull ache in my head became too much to bear and I abruptly told him I had to go. Through deep hacking coughs, I told him it was nice to meet him. But that I had enough. Enough of him? No, most certainly not, but that is the impression I gave.

So, not surprisingly, he did not call. I cursed my head cold as it had knocked me off my game and given him the impression that I wasn’t interested. In frustration, I wondered why I met a nice, tall, cute boy when I was at my worst.

This past weekend, I stood with some friends at a nearby bar, watching a band. The bar was crowded, it was late, and the steep cover charge had almost prevented me from going inside at all.

The crowd moved in a blur in front of me, jostling me, and causing me to cling tight to my beer. I didn’t notice people as they went by, until someone stopped and blocked my view of the stage. I sighed and moved slightly to the right. He came closer and said, “Hi, I am B. Can I have a second chance?”

Upon recognition, I rolled my eyes and made room for him next to me so he could get away from the crowd.

“I wanted to call.”

I shrugged as if I didn’t care. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“No, I do though. Some stuff came up. I should have called. And after this time, I will.”

I shrugged again, but this time with less indifference and with a smile on my face.

Conversation overheard...

2007-03-05T16:42:00.001-05:00

between two male co-workers while at today's office baby shower.

WorkDawg(married, no kids): "What's a onesie?"
Marine(married, four kids): "It is the name for an outfit that is one piece of clothing."
WorkDawg: "Oh. Kinda like a snowsuit?"
Marine: "Yep."

Developments

2007-03-05T12:26:00.000-05:00

On Friday night, over bourbon and beers, my Roommate announced that she was gearing up to end her relationship. The bourbon made her just comfortable enough to discuss it, and frankly, the amount of attention she was attracting while sitting at the bar, helped a little too. I was sad to hear it because her boyfriend is a great guy, but I’ve never really thought he was the guy for her. She has mentally checked out of the relationship and now breaking up just seems like a formality. She took two guys’ phone numbers on Friday night and also received a witty cocktail napkin from another guy. I laughed along with her and then spent a good portion of Saturday debating when she could contact the Witty Napkin Guy.

At one point, she said, “Well, I don’t want to wait too long because that’s just not very nice.” She was in the kitchen and I was lounging in front of the TV so she couldn’t see my reaction. Um…you are worried about his feelings? Shouldn’t the primary concern be Boyfriend’s feelings and not the feelings of a guy who while witty is a COMPLETE STRANGER? I couldn’t help pointing out the irony. I really hope she actually sticks with her guns and ends it. And not so that we can spend more nights like Friday, because really, way too many beers but because I care about them and want them both to be happy.

So, that was Roommate’s weekend. Mine goes like this:

Number of boys who landed my phone number this weekend: 2.
Number of boys who called me on Sunday: 2.
Number of boys I actually spoke to on the phone: 0.

I hate the phone. I really do. I talk on the phone reluctantly as I am not very good on the phone. In person, I am great. Over email, even better! But I do not shine on the phone.
I get nervous, talk too quickly, and am just not myself. If you are calling me to make plans, well, let’s get that done and then hang up. I am not the girl you call to just chat. Since many of my good friends live far away, I reserve my phone time for them and everyone else gets short and to the point conversations.

The first boy to call me on Sunday was the bouncer I had given my number to on Saturday night. He was tall, muscular, wore an earring…so not my type. But he was very nice and I wound up talking to him a lot. Or I think that was my justification for giving him my number. When it was my turn to grab a round of beers, the bartender had to go to the back and re-stock, so he made me do shots while I waited. Okay, he gave them to me for free and I did not turn them down. Except for the tequila shot. I know better than that. Piecing together my conversations with Bouncer Guy was a rather difficult task. Bouncer Guy first called while I was at church yesterday morning, seeking absolution for my behavior and a reprieve for my hangover. God laughed at both requests. I listened to his message, which was very nice, and was rather stunned he had called so quickly. I then went out to lunch with a friend and when I got home, I noticed that he had called again. This message, again very nice, started out by him saying, “Looks like we are playing phone tag!”

Um, no. A game of phone tag involves two people missing each other’s return phone calls. Bouncer Guy, you have not been tagged. He then called again while I was tutoring but this time didn’t leave a message. I know I should call him back but I will most likely wait for a time when he won’t answer. So bad. I know. To be clear: I really hate the phone and would much rather send him a courier pigeon. Anything but call him.

The second boy to call me was a boy I met out on Friday night with Roommate. He was tall, cute, and very nice. The Editrix’s husband has a little bit of a thing for him already. He was very nice and attentive…so, we’ll see. I didn’t answer when he called BUT I did call him back shortly thereafter. He didn’t answer and then when he called back, I was watching the lovely Rob Lowe reprise his West Wing character of Sam Seaborn, except as a Republican on ABC.

Is it bad that I am hoping he calls during 24 tonight so I have a ready made excuse not to answer? I really need to get over my fear of the phone. In my defense, I used to have Belle make my hair appointments and order me pizza in college. I now perform those tasks myself, even though I always get flustered, go into information overload, and wind up telling the receptionist at my hair salon what I had for breakfast.

Bad sign?

2007-03-01T07:47:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I sent an email to four associates at the Big Firm I am going to start working for in the fall. The bar association was having a happy hour right near Big Firm's office and seeing as I am a board member and needed to attend, I decided to invite the four associates. Four associates that were a big part of my decision to take the job because they were super friendly, told it to me straight, and I thought would make great co-workers.

Not one of them responded to my email. I have thought of a few reasons for the lack of response:

1) They are all way too busy to even look up from their work to read non-work related emails.
2) They read it, but chose not to respond because while they sold me on Big Firm during the interviews, they have no intention of being my new work best friends.
3) All of the associates are trapped under something heavy, read my emails on their Crackberries, desperately wanted to email me back but were physically unable to respond.

I know, Option #2 is totally wacky. But I am one of those people who always has been lucky enough to have friends at work. At every job I've ever had, I've always had someone to eat lunch with, grab a beer with, and of course, gossip with about everyone else in the office. In my sadness about them not responding, I am trying to keep in mind that finding friends at work is never instantaneous and often takes weeks or months to develop.

If it is Option #1, I am equally as nervous. I know I am going to be working a lot, but hopefully not so much that I can't shoot off a two sentence reply to an email about beers. If I won't be able to do that, how on earth will I squeeze in blogging?

And Option #3 was blatantly stolen from When Harry Met Sally. But, maybe they are at an all associate retreat that doesn't allow contact with the outside world. Way more plausible than a filing cabinet falling on all four of them.

Norma Rae

2007-02-27T18:11:00.000-05:00

Today was our monthly lunch meeting with our supervisor, Cool Mom, and the two judges who are in charge of the law clerks. One happens to be my Judge, the other is Judge Socially Awkward.

The meeting began with what Cool Mom referred to as “the controversial issue.” The issue is that Cool Mom and the Judges have decided that the law clerks need to take some action on the Daily Orders that we receive within 7 days. Seeing as they are called daily orders, at first blush, that is not an unreasonable request.

For background: One of our tasks is to review orders that are submitted to the Court for entry. We receive from six-ten a day. Some take 30 seconds to review – oh, how I love a good agreed order of dismissal. Others, such as divorces and adoptions, can entail reading the Code, discussing the submitted order with Cool Mom and/or Judge, numerous phone calls to the attorneys involved…quite frankly, all of this takes time. Daily orders are at the bottom of our list of priorities. Why? Because they just are. Plus, my Judge only signs Daily Orders on Fridays so, my Daily Orders are really Weekly Orders. Ok, that is the back story on Daily Orders.

So, certain Law Clerks have been remiss in attending to Daily Orders. Some view them as “Three Week" Orders or when “I really don’t have anything else to do” Orders. But, as Judge Socially Awkward stressed, they are important and should be moved up on our list of priorities.

Which is fine. I will rearrange my list of priorities so that I do Daily Orders on a (GASP) Daily basis. So that Daily Orders are no longer at the bottom of my to-do list. But, Judge Socially Awkward, what takes their place? Because that is the problem. SOMETHING has to give. Once this new policy was announced, Law Clerks began to voice their disapproval of putting us on a time deadline. We have more long briefs than ever. We are in scheduling conferences longer than ever. The trial docket is heavier than ever. S*it flows downstream, Judges, and we are drowning in it. We are working 60plus hours a week and barely making our rent.

The airing of personal grievances took on a life of its own and at one point, I placed my hand on my forehead, closed my eyes, and could almost taste the bourbon on my lips. People started bringing up isolated incidents that were completely irrelevant. And taking an obscenely long time to relate a story. Telling us that “One time, the Secretary called me during the docket” actually took twenty minutes. Ok maybe only ten, but still. No wonder the meeting took almost two hours.

Finally, as the Judges and Cool Mom grew increasingly frustrated with us, I seized a pause in a certain Blabbermouth’s venting. My inner Norma Rae took over and I turned toward the Judges seated at the head of the table and said:

“Listen, we understand that Daily Orders should not sit around. I for one do not think that a required turn around time of seven days is outrageous. But our point is that we are doing the best that we can – we’ve had people out studying for the bar exam, taking time off to get married or have a baby. Our knee jerk reaction to this rule is based on the fact that we ARE trying. And we would just like you to acknowledge that.”

The Judges looked at me. With rather stunned expressions. Judge Socially Awkward looked at me and said, “Well, what exactly would you like us to do then?” And therein lies the problem. I am not asking the Judges to do anything. (Well, maybe my Judge could not laugh in my face while loading me up two thick binders of post-trial motions that need to be briefed.) Really, we are just asking that you get it. That we work hard. That we love our jobs. That we get paid like crap but still love our jobs. That what you are asking all of us to do at times is just too much. But we (or at least I – Blabbermouth will spend a lot of time talking about it) will do it. Because we do truly love our jobs. Just don’t kick us when we are down. Because we are going to start kicking back.

Coming Back to Bite Me

2007-02-26T09:08:00.000-05:00

So, on Friday, we had a motion in a case that is going to trial today. Judge wavered a bit on the bench and decided to kick the issue to the trial judge. It was a rather difficult evidentiary question that I thought should be answered in the context of trial (Okay, truth be told, I was pressed for time and couldn't come up with the answer). He agreed and we punted.

Guess what trial he has today? Yep, that one. Now, I am researching a question that I couldn't answer last week. And after my night out on Saturday, where I went around the world in approximately 85 beers, I have less brain cells to focus on answering this question. Doesn't bode well...

It is good...

2007-02-22T15:03:00.000-05:00

to be the Judge. Because for the past two hours, Judge has been enjoying a long and leisurely lunch with a few other judges while his law clerk runs around frantically looking for files and missing memos all while managing not to punch Cabana Boy in the mouth when he asks for a progress report on his time here.

In my head, I responded, "Well, I haven't punched you yet, so that's progress." To his face, I replied, "Oh, things are great! You are doing great! Keep it up! Seriously, great. Just great."

And by great, I mean you are incredibly annoying and incompetent and I would gladly have a monkey come bother me five times a day for work than you. But yeah, totally great.

Spare the Child

2007-02-21T13:36:00.000-05:00

Once a month, the Courthouse shows a movie. It is called "Spare the Child". All parents in the process of obtaining a divorce from the Court are required to attend a showing of this movie. The movie emphasizes the impact that divorce can have on children and reminds couples who are going through a divorce to put the needs of their children first. Apparently, it is quite a moving experience - one couple actually reunited after hearing a girl's tearful recollection of her divorced parents putting aside their differences to attend her wedding.

I was in my usual running around the courthouse frantically mode this morning when an attractive guy stopped me outside of chambers.

"Um, do you know where I am supposed to see this video...um, it is called "Spare the Child"?"

I blushed immediately and pointed him towards the appropriate courtroom. I then retreated back to my office and called a co-worker to report this new development:

"I am now contemplating hitting on guys who come watch the "Spare the Child" video."

"Well, at least you know they care about their kids", she offered hopefully.

I pondered this for a moment and then retorted, "Or they are at least smart enough to obey a court order."

I have officially added "law abiding" to my list of desired traits in a guy.

Missing

2007-02-20T18:22:00.000-05:00

I have to report something missing. I seem to have lost my Muse. My writer’s compass, if you will. That part of my brain that looks around at the world and thinks of witty commentary to post and feels a sense of relief from getting my thoughts onto paper. That part of my brain that causes my fingers to fly across my keyboard and gets an adrenaline rush when my fingers struggle to keep up with my brain. That part of my brain appears to have shut down. Perhaps it is still recovering from The Plague that kept me out of commission for the past week or so. Or maybe the Muse is cowering slightly at the tremendous amount of work that surrounds me in my tiny office. So many files, I swear they might very well be multiplying. I have about five To-do lists going at once and I am about to add “Consolidate To-do lists” to one of them. But I can’t decide which one. Perhaps the Muse is cold as my apartment was without heat for a good portion of the weekend.

So, perhaps the Muse is tired or cranky or overwhelmed or simply uninspired. The last week or so has been pretty uneventful. Valentine’s Day came and went without much fanfare, unless you count the ice storm that forced the courts to close. Rather than sit in on Roommate’s romantic dinner with her boyfriend, I trudged through the snow to play poker with Red and eat King Cake. I then spent most of this past weekend helping Sister move into her new condo. I received a clean bill of health from my eye doctor today and promptly discovered that I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to my eyebrows during the glasses phase. That should be added to one of my To-do lists. Tomorrow starts Lent and I have resolved to give up shopping. No clothes, no purses, no shoes, no belts, no accessories of any kind will be purchased for the next 40 days.

So, that’s the update. Keep a lookout for my Muse.

Early Mornings

2007-02-08T10:12:00.000-05:00

I arrived at work at 7:30 this morning to find this email waiting for me from WorkDawg, sent at 5:52 a.m.:

It's going to be one of those days. I just spent 20 minutes wandering around outside because my %$@#$! badge wouldn’t open the door. The upside is that I got to make some new friends at the ADC. When I rolled in, lots of folks who were locked up last night were just getting out. I overheard a lot of cell phone calls that started with, “I had a really bad night last night, and … .”

b-o-m-b?

2007-02-07T14:37:00.000-05:00

I think I need to stop watching so much 24. I noticed some deputies searching around the public hallway a few moments ago. At first, I thought someone had lost some change or possibly a cell phone, but then the part of my brain that thinks 24 is real took over and I thought of scenarios much less innocent.

Turns out, I was right! I walked back through chambers and commented on the full scale search taking place outside the courtrooms. A fellow law clerk confirmed that a bomb threat had been called in. Hence, the searches. What I find slightly disconcerting is that no one felt the need to tell the rest of us about the threat, although I guess the authorities do not want to deal with the widespread panic that would inevitably result in addition to locating the most likely fictitious bomb.

I think I will wait in my office for Jack to come and personally evacuate me. He totally has time in between torturing the cr*p out of his brother and tracking down nuclear weapons.

Fire drill

2007-02-06T14:12:00.000-05:00

Yesterday around 5:15 pm, I was reviewing an application for a concealed weapon permit...something the Virginia General Assembly would like judges to hand out rather liberally - "You are 75 years old and your handwriting is a little shaky? No biggie!" and "You took a two hour class at the NRA and now consider yourself competent with a gun? Sounds good!" and my all time favorite, "Your proof of residency is an eviction notice possibly suggesting you may have a grudge against your landlord? Go ahead and keep that gun in your glove compartment!" I also like when married couples both apply for permits. As in "Okay, honey, you can carry a concealed weapon, but I can too so don't get any ideas."

But back to yesterday at 5:15 pm. I was in the zone, reviewing orders, when the fire alarm started blaring. Now, the last time we had a fire drill, I was stuck outside for a long time in the freezing cold with Miss Sunshine. Yesterday was even colder so I debated whether or not I should just pack up and go home. I decided to ignore the obnoxious alarm, complete with evacuation orders and flashing lights, and keep plowing through my orders. Then, I got a call from a fellow law clerk who had just left the building and it appeared to her that there really was some sort of emergency. So, I hastily packed up my bag and decided to leave. I was a little nervous as I went down the stairs because there really was no one left in the building. I headed for the main exit when a deputy stopped me and told me that I couldn't exit that way. Hmpf. He directed me around the corner and told me to exit through the jail. Not a problem, I thought, as I had come and gone through the jail in the early morning hours once or twice before, all without incident. I walked down the ramp and opened the door that lead from the courthouse to the jail. I had entered some sort of prisoner staging area because I was greeted rather cheerfully by three men in orange jumpsuits. As in inmate jumpsuits. I returned the greetings and looked around for some deputies. Or guards. Or pretty much ANYONE WHO WAS KEEPING AN EYE ON THESE MEN TO MAKE SURE THEY DIDN'T USE THE FIRE ALARM AS AN EXCUSE TO RUN OFF WITH ME! Alas, I saw no one, realized this was more than a little disturbing and quickened my pace toward the stairwell. As I went into the stairwell, I stole another glance the inmates who were still staring at me in what I am sure was a harmless and friendly way, and only then did I notice another man lurking in the corner talking on his cell phone. Now, he was not dressed in uniform or anything, but I felt confident that if the inmates did decide to go all Prison Break on me, that Mr. Cell Phone would have my back. Rather than stick around to find out, I got the heck out of the jail and made it safely to my car and eventually home.

Super blah

2007-02-05T11:58:00.000-05:00

So, yesterday was the Super Bowl. Last year's party at Penn State Fan's house was rather awkward so I decided to skip it this year. I knew Treehugger would be there, most likely with his girlfriend and I just wasn't up for it. The Editix did attend however and this morning she reported that Treehugger has a big beard and his girlfriend is best described as frumpy.

Of course he has a beard. He likes to have a beard in the winter. I never liked the beard though - it was rough and scratchy and he always got food stuck in it. So, I would encourage shaving. He has a nice face and the beard made him look not like my boyfriend, but like a lumberjack. It was a beautiful color though - a deep auburn that many girls envied.

And the girlfriend is frumpy. Which makes me laugh through my unexpected tears. Because, if there is one thing that Jersey is not, well, that's frumpy. I wear Seven jeans, carry a Kate Spade bag, and wear BCBG heels. I love clothes and always put thought into what I wear. Frumpy? Never. Well, except maybe in the 90s when big plaid button downs were stylish. But even then my flannel shirts were from JCrew.

Maybe this is what makes him happy. Having a beard and a girlfriend who is apparently oblivious to fashion. She probably doesn't nag him about how the beard scratches her perfectly moisturized by Kiehl's lotion face. Or points out that the green tshirt with the blue striped pants is just a little bit too much. Maybe the fact that he is with someone who is so completely the opposite of me should make me feel better. Help me to realize that it really wasn't right. Stop myself from feeling sad and miss him. But it doesn't.

I realize this post makes him sound a bit like a boyfriend who put up with a nagging girlfriend who couldn't just accept him for who he was. Maybe I couldn't. I certainly couldn't accept the lying and the cheating. Despite my protests, my heart still skipped a beat when he showed up at my house in a mismatched outfit, with converse sneakers from ten years ago, and a serious five o'clock shadow.

Interns

2007-02-02T16:02:00.000-05:00

I am sitting here waiting for Judge to get off the bench so he can finish signing a box of orders so that I can bring said box of orders downstairs and then I can get the hell out of here. This is the first time I’ve been able to sit at my desk and take a deep breath in about two weeks. Hence, the blogging drought.

But, I MUST take this time to tell you all about my interns. Yes, interns. While people who don’t have interns might be thinking, “Wow, it would be great to have an intern…I could give him/her all that crap work that I never want to do….I can send him on the ridiculous errands that [insert your Boss here) makes me do…I can teach him/her things and she/he will look up to me.”, I don’t not even remotely feel that way.

Yes, the idea of “interns” is a great idea. Kudos to the people who came up with the idea of having people work for free and getting them to perform menial tasks all under the guise that they are “learning something.” I do not criticize the system. One of my interns is in law school and is fantastic. Mr. Wendell cranks out the legal memos quickly and accurately. Having Mr. Wendell around actually makes my life a little bit easier. Granted, I still have to review his work before passing it off to Judge, but that does take less time than doing it myself. So, props to Mr. Wendell for improving my quality of life. Even only by a little bit, I will still take it.

So, what is the basis of my rant against interns, you ask? Two words: Cabana Boy. Heis my other intern who is a friend of my judge’s daughter’s boyfriend. Which is problematic for this reason - I can't complain about Judge in front of him. Not that I would, I really don't have many complaints, but I can't say "Yeah, don't ask him that - it will put him in a bad mood." Or "I usually wait till he has had coffee before going in his office." Or "Don't talk while he is reading something. He likes it quiet." What if Cabana Boy says to Judge's daughter that sometimes her dad irritates his law clerk by being a curmedgeon at times? I have to be careful with the griping.

There are many things that bug about Cabana Boy, in addition to the fact that he is not in law school and is of very little use to a judge or a law clerk. Judge didn’t really give me any warning that he was bringing on another intern so early one morning last week, before even eating breakfast, I was called back to chambers and introduced to the new intern. Actually, I was eating my breakfast at the time, which will be an important fact in a moment.

Judge had his “Teacher” cap on and was clearly enjoying the eagerness with which Cabana Boy is approaching his internship. I inwardly rolled my eyes at the enthusiasm while thinking of all the other work-related things I could be doing. I was then instructed to show Cabana Boy around. I brought him back to my office, so I could finish my breakfast. We chatted for a few minutes, he explained he desperately wanted to attend my alma mater for law school and was hoping to boost his resume with a judicial internship. Made sense. He then handed me a two and a half page resume – which seemed extremely long for someone who is only 26 years old and doesn’t have a graduate degree. Is that too judge-y of me? I apologize but my resume is a page and a half, which I felt was pushing it a bit despite seven years work experience and a graduate degree.

After I finished my breakfast, I took Cabana Boy to meet Cool Mom, who supervises the law clerks and the interns. Cool Mom is a former law clerk who patiently answers all my inane work questions. I am calling her Cool Mom because she is just one of those cool moms. Not all moms are cool. But she is. And that’s the best alias I can come up with at the moment. So, Cool Mom read Cabana Boy the rules that apply to interns. One such rule is don’t eat or drink near the computers. As in within 10 feet or something. He looked over at me and just said “Ahem”. I was confused, until I realized that he was actually selling me out to my supervisor about eating oatmeal at my desk. Cool Mom figured out what was going on and clarified that the eating rule does not apply to law clerks. Just interns. “Jersey can do whatever she wants, we trust her!” Thanks, Cool Mom!

After the meeting with Cool Mom, he took off for the day and thankfully didn’t come in again until Thursday. Unfortunately, he started off Thursday by knocking on my door with one of those sing-songy knocks that once someone grates on your nerves and then try to knock you a tune…not a good start. I had come up with some things for him to do and sent him off while I frantically tried to finish preparing the docket. (Side note – Docket prep with Judge is at 2pm. I receive approximately 15-20 files Thursday morning that I need to review and brief by 2pm. Little bit of running around involved with that and I tend to get a little stressed. So, that’s the context).

A half hour passes and Judge calls me back to his office. I had asked Cabana Boy to do something for me and he brought the finished product directly to Judge. Well…that’s not exactly how it works. Judge told me that he considers work from an intern the same as my work. Which means if it is not good, he won’t gripe at the intern, he will gripe at me. I run interference between a somewhat demanding boss and an apparently incompetent intern. AWESOME.

Basically, Cabana Boy (who by the way is here “as long as you want me!”) might very well cause me to dislike a job that I absolutely love. He is just so eager. But not in a good way. In a “I ate my lunch in five minutes so you can give me more work to do even though you told me that you were in the middle of something and would get me work as soon as you could but I insisted on scarfing down my lunch and coming to ask you again if you had work because I am just used to having work and being helpful and could you please just give me something to be helpful?” way. I almost gave him my car keys and told him to get my car inspected but Cool Mom intervened and suggested he go watch court.

And then she looked at me with pity, and said “Yes, Jersey. This really does suck for you.”

A little longwinded, I apologize. I am sure there is more to come on Cabana Boy. Oh, I dubbed him Cabana Boy before I discovered how incredibly annoying he was. Cabana Boy was to give the impression that I was going to now have someone to bring me drinks and snacks. Instead of bringing me drinks, he is actually driving me to drink.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2007-01-22T16:29:00.000-05:00

I am officially going to have a job after my clerkship.

This is me letting out possibly the world's largest sigh of relief.

CoupleBabyPalooza

2007-01-22T08:13:00.000-05:00

I don’t want to harp on this but the couples’ baby shower was pretty awful. First, it was not in a very good neighborhood. Then, I walked in and no one really noticed. I scanned the room for the guests of honor but was received with a room full of blank stares. Finally, Father to Be noticed me and came over. We were in the midst of a quick hug, when the Hostess (well, I deduced she was the Hostess) finally appeared. She didn’t introduce herself; just started rattling off details of the games I was expected to play. She pointed at a sign in sheet and said I was to sign in and then guess how many diaper bags are stuffed in the sippy cup. Um, okay. I gave her a blank stare which she took to mean I didn’t know what a diaper bag or a sippy cup was. That led her to condescendingly explain both of these items to me. She then pointed me to another game where I was expected to guess what baby related items were wrapped on a table. Oh, I forgot to mention, she grabbed the gift basket I had put together out of my hands rather rudely. I have hosted multiple showers and parties. This girl was such an amateur.

Father to Be then took my coat and brought in downstairs to the so-called coat table. Seriously. They had a round table where coats were just piled on top of each other. That made retrieving mine from the middle of the stack like playing coat jenga. But at the point, I was on my way out the door so it didn’t matter.

Back to Hostess. Father to Be left me standing in a room full of strangers while he deposited my coat. I turned to a guy who happened to be playing “guess the mysterious wrapped package” game. I said, “Wow, you are taking this really seriously. I bet you are going to win!” I don’t think he was happy that I had broken his concentration because he curtly replied, “Well, I have two infants so I should know what all this stuff is.” Um, yeah. Okay. That conversation was officially not going anywhere.

I make my way to the food table and load up on fruit salad and mini quiches. I should mention that I had been out late the night before and let’s just say, my hungover tapeworm wanted nothing to do with fruit salad or mini quiches. I took a seat on the sofa and focused on food. Father to Be came over and sat with me to catch up since it had been quite some time. As we caught up, I learned that his wife had recently found out that if she only returned to work part time after she gave birth, that they would no longer have health insurance. Father to Be had recently started working for himself and they were relying on her job to provide the family with health insurance. I was incredibly confused as to how they only figured all this out about six weeks before her due date but kept that to myself. Instead, I asked how they were planning to deal with this recent development. I mean, I would have been freaking out. No health insurance?? That’s terrifying when you are about to have a baby. I inquired as to whether Mother to Be would then return to work full time even though that was not her choice. Father to Be replied in a rather judgmental tone, “Well, we don’t want to have a daycare baby. We would like to raise our baby ourselves.” Um, okay. Lots of parents want to stay home. Not everyone is financially able to do it. If it works for you, great. But isn’t maintaining health insurance an important factor to consider when weighing your options? I wished them luck in figuring out the solution and offered tips on how I found health insurance when I was between jobs. His response of “Thanks, but we are just hoping it will work” seemed a little laissez faire to me, but what do I know? Apparently, I look like the kind of person who is incredibly confused by a plastic cup with a lid on top.

Success and Sweaters

2007-01-19T08:12:00.000-05:00

Last night, the Editrix and I hit the mall to find me a good “I am not having a baby or in a relationship so I am going to look fabulous at a party that celebrates both of those things” outfit.

And we achieved success! Thanks to a major sale at BCBG, I am now the proud owner of soft velvet winter white pants that have a tuxedo stripe down the sides and a steel blue short sleeve sweater. I showed Roommate and her boyfriend upon my arrival home. And he said, “Sweaters have long sleeves, Jersey.” And then turned back to his computer where he continued to read Penn State football stats from the early 1990s. Roommate calmly explained to him that actually “sweater” refers to the material and not to the sleeve length. He tore his eyes away from the computer screen to ponder this for a second and said, “Oh, you are right. I mean, I have a sweater vest and that has no sleeves.” And then again, it was back to the stats.

Boys and fashion. Two things that could really get along well if only one was willing to give the other a chance. Caveat: I realize this statement if tremendously overbroad. Many boys dress very well. Such as the boys who wear dark jeans and corduroy blazers. Love those boys.

Another Saturday!

2007-01-18T09:27:00.000-05:00

Another baby shower!! This one is actually a couples baby shower! So babies and couples!! I mean, how fun! Yippee! I think if I keep using exclamation points maybe I will convince myself it will somehow be better than a trip to the dentist!

A watched phone...

2007-01-16T15:46:00.000-05:00

never rings. Or something. For example, when you are waiting for a boy to call you and you check your phone obsessively and sometimes you call it to make sure it is still receiving calls and then when you do call it and hear it ring, you forget you are the one calling it, and get excited but then you remember and the realization that yes, your phone works, but no, it was not Him calling is just too much to bear? Or I am alone on this one? Well, you can all deny it but everyone sits on the edge of their seat waiting for that phone to ring with good news. Maybe a job offer? Yep, currently staring at my phone and barely doing any work and waiting for the damn thing to ring. My optimism is wearing off and in its place, rapidly rising despair at having to keep looking for jobs. I applied to other two firms in an attempt to trick the place I really want to work at to hire me. You know, how you desperately want one guy to call, so you go out and try and meet another one who does actually call, but then you don't really like him and are really still waiting for the first one to call? Okay, only me again? Sheesh.

Really, between waiting for the phone to ring and mourning the loss of Curtis, this day is a bit much. I did contribute somewhat to the good of the country when I mailed a guy a copy of his divorce decree that was entered. This was a guy whose girlfriend used to call the courthouse and ask for a case update. I had told him over the phone that the order was entered but his girlfriend was in the back saying "I want to see the paper!"

I should be offering to help other law clerks but after being here most of the weekend, I think I will just leave at 5:00 p.m. today. For the first time in a VERY long time.

Genius

2007-01-15T11:15:00.000-05:00

So, who's the genius who scheduled a session with her trainer at 6:30 a.m. on a morning SHE HAS OFF FROM WORK?? Yep, that's me. I got up at 5:30 today after having a hard time falling asleep last night because of the post 24 premiere frenzy. Last night's premiere was excellent. Violent though. Kiefer's acting skills were tested as he was expected to not just be a bad a** but also a mentally and physically tortured shell of his former self. The slumped shoulders, the barely audible whisper of "Audrey", the jumpy but still alert reflexes... all I can say is well played, Kiefer, well played.

I always thought Jack resembled a MacGyver for our generation. Jack obviously has better toys but he had that same MacGyver knack to escape from any situation. Last night though he was really tested. Last night, as he sunk his teeth into a terrorist, he established himself as the most bad a** guy in the history of television. Literally. He bit someone. Jack Bauer The Vampire. No, I don't think the writers are pursuing a storyline where the Chinese turned Jack into a vampire who now sinks his fangs into CTU agents to get them to give up their super cool GPS devices that have batteries that never die. I think the bite was more to show us just how committed Jack Bauer is to living to fight another day to save the country. He is willing to taste flesh for the chance to save lives. That is one committed but hanging on by a thread bad a** mother f*cker.

Seriously

2007-01-14T13:09:00.000-05:00

Who gets home from one baby shower only to sort her mail and find an invitation to yet another baby shower?

Maybe it is because I give great gifts. In Saturday's case, a basket full of crib bedding and a stuffed pink lamb. All tied up together with a huge white bow. Clearly the best looking gift received by the mother to be.

Note to self: start giving crappy gifts. Maybe this will cut down on the weddings/showers/parties to which I am invited.

No news yet on the job front. I did email the recruiting coordinator and asked her if she thought I would need to come in and meet with Mr. BigWig since he was sick. She responded almost immediately saying that the partner I met with last time did not think it was necessary for me to meet Mr. BigWig before they made a final decision. And that she hoped to let me know something soon. That sounds pretty positive, right? I know the partners had a big weekend retreat thing this weekend so I didn't expect to hear last week. But, I sure would like to hear this week.

I went to dinner last night with two friends I used to work with in the pre-law school days. V asked me how the love life was progressing and I rolled my eyes and said how it was rather hard to meet guys. She said she was friends with an attractive, single, and tall guy if I was interested in meeting him. She warned me that she had tried to set him up with girls before but he was rather awkward and it hadn't worked out. Across the table from V and myself was my good friend, D, who is the one I called after the values debacle last year. He is intimately familiar with my dating woes. I was mulling over "tall" and "attractive" and "really awkward" when before I could respond, D broke my train of thought by stating rather emphatically to V, "Set it up." He said exactly what I was thinking "Tall and awkward is perfect for Jersey. I mean, Seriously. Just set it up."

The mojito-induced side of me started to get insulted but then I just sat back against the booth, smiled at D, and said "Yep, tall and awkward sounds pretty perfect."

Lee Jackson Day

2007-01-12T15:21:00.000-05:00

Today, I am at work but in jeans and a t-shirt because the courthouse is closed in honor of Lee Jackson Day. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I was pumped to have a day off. Granted, I am at work right now, but I am in jeans, playing Dave Matthews on my computer and blogging for goodness sakes.

But Lee Jackson Day? I wasn't aware of such a holiday. So, I did a little research courtesy of Wikipedia. Below is what I found:

Lee-Jackson-King Day was a holiday celebrated in the Commonwealth of Virginia from 1984 to 2000.

Robert E. Lee's birthday (January 19, 1807) has been celebrated as a Virginia holiday since 1889. In 1904, the legislature added the birthday of Thomas J. "Stonewall" Jackson (January 21, 1824) to the holiday, and Lee-Jackson Day was born.

In 1983, President Ronald Reagan approved an Act of Congress declaring January 15 to be a national holiday in honor of civil rights leader Martin Luther King, Jr. Since 1978, Virginia had celebrated King's birthday in conjunction with New Year's Day. To align with the federal holiday, the Virginia legislature simply combined King's celebration with the existing Lee-Jackson holiday.

The incongruous nature of the holiday, which simultaneously celebrated the lives of Confederate generals and a civil rights icon, did not escape the notice of Virginia lawmakers. Legislators protested the holiday by waving pictures of Jesse Jackson, Spike Lee, and Martin Luther King, Jr. around the state capitol. In 2000, Virginia Governor Jim Gilmore proposed splitting Lee-Jackson-King Day into two separate holidays, with Lee-Jackson Day to be celebrated the Friday before what would become Martin Luther King Day. The measure was approved and the two holidays are now celebrated separately.

Really? The three men were celebrated together until 2000? That's seem...I don't know, a little recent? And what I was told that while Governor Gilmore "proposed" the splitting of the holiday, it was actually the federal government threatening to withhold highway funding from the Commonwealth unless the split was accomplished. I can't confirm whether that is indeed true, so take it as the gossip it may very well be.

I approve the split for the obvious reason that the combination was a little odd but also because two days off from work are better than one.

And what is better than a four day weekend? A four day weekend with two nights dedicated to Jack Bauer, you say? That's right! Jack is back this Sunday night. The 24 parties will resume Sunday night at the Editrix's house and then I am hosting on Monday. Sweet potato gnocchi for everyone! Including Jack. From the previews, it looks like he could use a good meal.

24 will most likely be the highlight of my weekend. I have a baby shower, dinner out for Restaurant Week, drinks at a new bar tonight...all acceptable weekend plans. All of these plans will be done while STILL WEARING MY GLASSES. I went back to the eye doctor today and not only are they no closer to identifying the source of my problem, my eyes are barely closer to be ready for contacts. I would get a second opinion but this one has drained my bank account so, I just can't afford to go to another doctor.

Allright enough whining. I have the day off. Glass is half full. Even I can barely see the glass through my still infected and no longer bright blue eyes.

Rules

2007-01-10T18:35:00.000-05:00

I went to lunch with some of my co-workers today and over lettuce wraps at P.F. Chang's, my single friend shared some of the rules that she has adopted in her dating life.

1) Her first initial is P, her middle is M, and therefore, she refuses to marry a man whose last name begins with S. At first, I was puzzled until she explained that she would not, nor could not, live with a monogram of PMS.
2) She believes women should move up in the alphabet when they marry and take their husband's last name. As her last name begins with a "M", she is currently seeking out men in the A-L bracket.
3) She does not want to marry a man with bad debt. She is okay with good debt as she is a lawyer with a fair amount of law school loans. But she draws the line at bad debt. Which lead us to debate the distinction between bad and good debt. Is it the amount of debt that concerns her? Because that would knock out quite a few attorneys, doctors, and others who went to expensive schools. Or is the focus on the nature of debt? As in a guy shows up at your door looking for your husband, slamming his fists together and talking about taking your husband for a ride? After much clarification, we settled on education/property debt: good. Gambling/possible Mob connected debt: bad.

Rules to live by, my friends.

I was this close to leaving...

2007-01-09T18:48:00.000-05:00

When I stopped by my Judge's office to drop off a few more orders for him to sign. I hear "Oh, good you are still here" and slowly turn around. When your boss is glad to see you at work after hours...well, that's just not a good sign. I am now reviewing First Amendment case law that is perplexing even to my brilliant Judge. My printer is heading into overdrive as it spits out cases and I've untucked the interview shirt to hunker down for a few more quality hours of work.

And to think that I was asked today at lunch if I had a problem working late!!

Thoughts on Round 2

2007-01-09T16:54:00.000-05:00

After Round 1, I knew I was going back for a Round 2. After today...I just can't quite tell. When I showed up, I was told that the first person I was supposed to meet was sick and I was meeting with someone else instead. I felt immediately thrown for a loop and was instantly disappointed. The first person I was to meet with was the BigWig, the guy who makes the final hiring decisions. He is the top litigation partner in the office and he is home sick! Boohoo. Instead, I met with a corporate partner, who announced that she hadn't read my resume, she didn't understand why I couldn't start till August, she didn't know anything about the litigation group (by her own admission, she told me to only ask general questions and even then her answers may not be *right* because she doesn't litigate), and then left before my time with her was up, which meant I was alone in a huge conference room for about seven minutes. Seven lonely minutes as I sat there wondering if this was a waste of my time and I would never get hired here and maybe they just interviewed me to be nice and curry favors from my judge, and if it is the latter, boy, are they unlucky, because my judge is not easily impressed nor is he swayed by such flattery....all these thoughts raced through my head as I waited for the second partner to come into the conference room. I thought I was sunk because the second partner seemed very intimidating in his picture on the firm website and used to be a federal prosecutor and frankly anyone who has worked for the Man makes me shaky....

But, I recovered and actually had a great conversation with partner #2. He is a huge proponent of state court clerkships and we talked in detail about the volunteer work I do with refugees because his nephew is a refugee. Then it was off to lunch with two female associates whose role apparently was to sell me on the firm. Since I am already pretty much sold, their work was easy and we had a nice lunch. So, now I wait. Waiting is the worst part! I have a feeling I will have to go back before they would make me an offer (provided that they are inclined at this point to make me an offer) because I didn't meet with the BigWig. Argh argh.

Wish me luck! And more importantly patience. I don't want to seem desperate and scare off this potential suitor. Once my thank you notes are mailed, all I can really do is wait.

As an added bonus, the office is right next to a mall. And across the street from another mall. Every possible clothing and shoe store my heart desires is within a stone's throw on the office. Definitely would be disastrous.

My mistakes

2007-01-08T17:45:00.000-05:00

I am very aware of the mistakes that I have made in my relationships. I own my mistakes, I am one with my mistakes, I completely get my mistakes. Because my mistakes have caused me so much pain, I wish my mistakes could prevent others from experiencing such pain. Yes, my mistakes are worth the lessons I have learned, why shouldn't others learn those same lessons, at my expense and not have to endure it themselves?

Remember Charlotte? Sweet, happy, ready to be married with child Charlotte. Charlotte who feel hard and fast for a boy who was in her words absolutely perfect. Yes, he is a little young, and *gasp*, he is a Yankee, but absolutely perfect apart from those. Fast forward a few months and I discover that Absolutely Perfect Yankee has broken Charlotte's heart by abruptly announcing the end of their seven month relationship over the phone as she drove home from the airport. Red and I immediately drove down to NC the first chance we had and comforted her with some hugs, a few well played games of flip cup, and of course, a healthy dose of Stoli Vanilla poured into her diet coke during a football game. She had a rough few weeks but was making it through as best she could. APY had a case of dumper's remorse, however, and showed up at her door with two tickets to Miami for the Orange Bowl and a retraction of his previous freak out. Charlotte has taken him back, hesitantly at first, but after my conversation with her last night, it seems they are back on, full force. APY is looking for jobs outside the area, however, and Charlotte, although she won't admit it, is contemplating leaving a city she loves to follow him if he leaves town.

The part of me that has been burned in the past desperately bit her tongue during our conversation. If there is one thing that I've learned from my mistakes, it is that my mistakes cannot teach others the lessons they have taught me. It is not that I want to sing a chorus of "I told you so"s to Charlotte, but I just want to shake her and warn her of the path she is heading. And that only heartache awaits her. APY is not the guy for her - she doesn't want a guy who makes s*xual innuendso to her friends, or tells her friends that he doesn't care if he gets to know them, or blows off her parents for lunch because he "doesn't feel like going."

Sigh. But all one can really do is keep her mouth shut. As friends, we comfort, give advice, and provide support. We don't dictate life decisions and we most certainly don't judge lest we ourselves be judge. I took TH back with reckless abandon and look where it got me. But I wouldn't be the person I am today if I hadn't done that. And while I am not 100% happy all the time, I like the person I am today. Even if that person is no longer as innocent and is a little bit more jaded.

Maybe I will be wrong. Maybe APY is actually an absoutely perfect yankee who made one mistake and really is the guy for Charlotte. Even as I type that I don't believe that. I do believe that along the way, I will listen and nod and be there if it falls apart again. Because as friends that is all we can do.

And plus an absolutely perfect yankee? There is no such thing. Unless of course we were talking about me.

Can you feel the love tonight?

2007-01-06T10:07:00.000-05:00

I was reviewing a particularly nasty divorce file on Thursday in preparation for the docket. In discovery, couples going through a divorce submit requests for information to each other to help prepare their respective cases. In the case before me, the Wife asked the Husband to list what he thought were her contributions to the marriage over their two year marriage.

Below is Husband’s exact reply:

1) She did her own laundry.
2) She found us some good bookshelves back in 2004.
3) She took me to the metro once.
4) She cooked five tasty and/or edible meals during the course of the marriage.

What’s that saying about never asking a question you don’t want to know the answer to? Yeah, I think it applies here.

Thursday night was the annual law clerk/judge holiday party. All of the former law clerks are invited and there is a competition complete with a crown for the judge who is able to cajole, persuade, and in some cases, threaten the most law clerks to attend. Judge Socially Awkward was this year’s champion. AGAIN. My judge’s law clerks put in a respectable showing but it was no match for Judge SA. I call him Judge SA because well, he just is so awkward. His law clerk was out sick one day and she emailed him to say she forgot to do something. His reply? "You've been a very bad girl, Law Clerk." Weird, right? Like maybe creepy old man scolding a young girl is not okay?

As one of the current law clerks was thanking everyone for coming, my judge yelled out, “We are glad to have you here as long as you’ve finished the docket for tomorrow!” Yeah, that’s my boss. Although he did compliment me to some of the former law clerks. Well, he told them I was overworked. Not “She’s overworked but handling it so well” Or even “She’s overworked but I appreciate everything.” Just “she’s overworked.” I was told by those who heard him talking that it was meant as a compliment and really with my Judge, I should take that as one. He is not into a whole lot of praise, or even gratitude. I am expected to do everything I do. And normally, I do everything with a smile. But occasionally, when other law clerks skip out early or drop the ball and I am left to answer for it, my patience is tried. I am trying not to let that happen though. Because this is the greatest job and I know I will miss it terribly when I am gone. So, I am going to try and reign in my work whining. Anyone want to take bets as to how long that lasts?

Just what I needed...

2007-01-02T19:42:00.000-05:00

Email just sent to me by WorkDawg who is currently studying for the Bar Exam:

I am taking a break from the wonders of studying Sales to remind you that you will have many dockets during the remainder of your time as a clerk, but WF will only play in one Bowl game. If you haven't done so already, please shut down your computer immediately, get yourself to a television, and have a frosty malted beverage.

GO DEACS!!!

A little of both

2007-01-02T19:32:00.000-05:00

Current Grievances:

1) An entire complaint typed in capital letters. Completely unnecessary. Capital letters are reserved for yelling and Owen Meany. Describing the details of a car wreck does not require such em-pha-sis.
2) Exclamation points used in a lame attempt to drive home a legal argument. Plaintiff does not state a cause of action! Defendant’s characterization of the argument is inaccurate! Is the attorney cheering for something? Expressing outrage? Or perhaps joy? Really, the exclamation points are perplexing.
3) One of the fifteen judges was just forced to retire because of Virginia’s mandatory retirement age for judges. His law clerk practically skipped by my office today around 3:00 pm and gloated, “I don’t have a judge so I might as well leave!” Or see if other people need help. People that will most likely have to miss the single most exciting football game in a certain school’s history. Ok, maybe it won’t be the most exciting football game as most commentators heavily favor Louisville. But still. A historic game? Most definitely. A once in a lifetime game? Perhaps.
4) The fact that I am missing the Orange Bowl. Or if I get to watch it at all, it will be by myself at my apartment. Rather sad way to spend such a historic occasion, don’t you think?

BUT the following things make me happy:

1) This Thursday night I will be reunited with my very fun former co-workers. We will sit at a table and gossip over beers. I absolutely cannot wait.
2) The big fancy firm called to set up Round 2 of interviews. Very exciting stuff. Especially since I had an awful dream on Sunday night that Round 2 took place at a bar and was a complete disaster.
3) My funny friend KS accidentally copied me on an email to her friend who happens to be hot. She called to apologize but I am hoping that the accidental email snafu finally gives me the courage to make eye contact rather than hide behind my files whenever I see him around the courthouse.

Well, it appears that grievances currently outweigh the non-grievances. But not by much! I hope that shows those who wish I would be more cheerful that I am indeed trying.

New Year's Eve was...

2007-01-01T22:08:00.000-05:00

Pretty uneventful. I made a delicious four course meal for some friends, threw back a good number of Jack and cokes, and was clearly the best dressed girl at the entire bar. Ok, maybe not BEST, but women at the bar actually went out of their way to compliment on my skirt. I looked…well, I looked good. In my opinion. Classy gold skirt, cream sweater with gold sequins and gold heels. Very festive.

Apart from my fascination with my outfit, I don’t have much else to report. I was out with two co-workers, one of whom met a very nice boy that she is going out with this week. Which actually worked out great for all of us because we needed the protection. I am a nice girl and if a boy really wants to talk to me, I am never rude or dismissive. I’ve never dropped a fake boyfriend into a conversation. My exit strategy involves a trip to the bar. I know how hard it is to approach someone at a bar and really don’t like to discourage bold moves. But last night my patience was exhausted. Shortly after we arrived at the bar, one of my friends, Colorado, started talking to a guy. His friends, noticing how well his friend was being received, saw the opening and ran with it. Unfortunately, one of the friends was an inappropriate toucher and the other was about five foot three. We were polite and tried to subtly engage in conversation among the two of us to discourage them. We were drunk at this point so I use the term “subtly” lightly. But one of the guys, Argyle Sweater Guy, would just not get the hint. It was awful. We ran into some boys we knew and convinced them to stand around us as a protective shield. But ASG would just not get the hint. He stood patiently outside the human shield and waited. For what, I am not sure. He would not budge. His friends, having long ago recognized that it was not meant to be, kept coming back to try and pull him away. At midnight, we all clinked glasses and out of the corner of my eye, I observed ASG. He had his glass in the air but was toasting no one. A New Year’s Eve kiss may have eluded me but I was with friends and felt extremely lucky to have another glass to clink.

I think my New Year’s resolution should be to accept the fact that I am a single girl, instead of wishing so desperately to NOT be single.

Snap, snap

2007-01-01T21:09:00.000-05:00

So, Friday was the last business day of 2006. And at the courthouse, that means one thing: Divorces! Every divorce decree in the building needed to be reviewed, modified, possibly subject to interlineations, and signed by the end of the day. My Judge, being a former divorce attorney, represented to the area’s domestic relations attorneys that the courthouse staff would do everything possible to get every divorce signed. Translate that into law clerk speak: Wednesday through Friday were hellish. I think I spoke with an attorney at every domestic relations firm in the area. I took divorces away from other law clerks because my Judge constantly reminded me how important it was to have everything signed. My Judge got off the bench on Friday around 12:45 p.m. I had taken a quick break to scarf down a salad and was heading back to the command center I had set up in the conference room when my Judge stopped me. My office just did not provide me with the space I needed. I had the Virginia Code opened to Title 20, post-its, “sign here” flags, green dots (don’t ask), checklists, and disposition sheets.

Judge told me that he had signed all of the orders in his office. He asked how many I had left for him to sign. I replied that I had about four more to go through and then I needed to check downstairs one more time to make sure that no more had come in that day. (As an aside, all he has to do is sign the order. I have to read the depositions, the complaint, check for service, check for certain statutory “buzzwords”…it is a bit of a process. He signs them. Oh, and dates them.) His response to what was an informative statement without annoyance or attitude completely caught me by surprise and quite frankly, almost got him decked. Rather than say anything, he just snapped his fingers at me. As if to say “Chop, chop.” Or maybe “Move it along.” Or possibly “Come here, girl and I will give you a treat.”

Am I a law clerk or his dog? For a few minutes, as I stared at him in utter disbelief, I was unclear.

In no particular order...

2006-12-27T16:19:00.000-05:00

Below are the thoughts I strung together on my train ride back to Washington last night. With very little order or sense of purpose.

Another holiday season survived. Well, almost. My *favorite* holiday of the season still awaits. New Year's Eve. Such good times. Spending a ridiculous amount of money, never being able to get a cab which leads to freezing your a** off on a street corner, scanning a crowded bar/living room/hotel ballroom for an attractive person to kiss at midnight, only to discover later that *attractive* is a flexible standard when the person doing the looking has consumed multiple liquor drinks...really, it is my favorite night of the year. This year, I am keeping my expectations low and my costs lower. A few friends over for drinks, then a short walk/stumble to a low key neighborhood bar. Nothing fancy. Nothing outrageous.

My interview went pretty well. At times, I upgrade that to "very well", but I am trying to keep my enthusiasm in check. I desperately want this job and I know for a fact I can do this job. As I walked through the pristine glass doors last week, into a tastefully decorated lobby, with all the day's reputable newspapers laid out just so, I willed myself to not appear awestruck. I had worked at a big firm years ago but being an attorney in such a place...well, frankly I was immediately overwhelmed. I met with a total of eight attorneys, including a labor defense bigwig who is currently looking for an associate upon whom to pile work. "Pick me", I felt myself shouting, hand outstretched towards the ceiling as if back in Mrs. Krug's third grade class where I always seemed to know the answer. I was told not to expect news until after the first of the year...BUT, today I sent an email to the Recruiting Coordinator to thank her for setting up the interview and to let me know if she needed anything further from me. She replied that she would be contacting me next week to set up another round of interviews!! Whoohoo!

Part of the reason I so want this job is the relief that I would feel locking in a post-clerkship position. I am barely getting by on my current salary which means I can't afford to not have a job lined up within a few weeks of my clerkship ending. While Mama and Daddy Jersey would bail me out if need be, I would prefer to make a seamless transition to real world attorney without having to stop off at Parental Safety Net-land once again. I would like to make a dent in the National Debt, Daddy Jersey's pet name for the amount of money loaned to me over the years. But I highly doubt I will lock in a job so far in advance. I am just not one of those people that "things just work out for." So, with equal parts hope and self-doubt, I await round 2.

Being at home was nice, although it went way too quickly. I was only home for three nights, just long enough to feel guilty upon my departure. Mama Jersey gets choked up, hugs me tight and mutters into my shoulder, "I wish you didn't live so far away."

While we are on the topic of my mother, I will share the conversation we had at the train station.
"Is this how you wear your hair to work or do you fix it nicely?"
"Nope, this is how I wear it." (Which means I put a little product in it and I blow dry it).
"Oh."

What is it with her and my hair? It was recently trimmed, I blow dry it, does she expect a salon like blow out to be done at the gym at 7:45 a.m. as I rush to make it to work before Judge calls? Man, does that woman give me a complex about my hair. A friend from work recently told me that she went to reach for a piece of bread at dinner and her mother admonished her, "Don't you think you've had enough carbs today, dear?" Sheesh. Moms are a tough crowd.

And now a final anecdote on my appearance. On Christmas day, I wore to church a BCBG wrap dress and gold heels. A little class for a town where big bangs and multiple gold necklaces are all the rage. I stood off to the side while my parents greeted what felt like the entire parish. An elderly woman hobbled over to me. She said, "I've just got to pay you a compliment. You've got the nicest set of legs I've seen in years. And those shoes! You should be a hosiery model."

Nice compliment, right? It is nice to have someone notice those extra hours at the gym. I smiled, turned beet red, and said thank you, praying that no one else heard. She wished me a merry Christmas and went to walk away. She turned back though and said "And your face ain't half bad either."

Now with an absolutely crimson face, I willed my parents to wrap it up. Sensing that was a losing battle, I decided to walk out on my own to the car. As I walked out, I saw myself in the glass doors and thought, "Hmpf. Maybe this isn't half bad."

Now, if only she were a single guy, about 30 years old, around six feet tall, and a liberal who loved college basketball.

One segment of the population at a time, I guess.

A bright spot

2006-12-15T07:43:00.000-05:00

I got an interview!! For life after clerkship. A few weeks ago I sent my *stuff* to a bunch of firms for which I am tremendously underqualified. But one very nice lady called me last night and wants me to come in for an interview next week. Whoohoo! While this is far from an offer, it is nice to get some good news. Especially since even I am annoyed with my heavy on the melancholy blog posts.

I also have fun plans for the weekend - a night out with some people I haven't seen in awhile, and my book club's annual cookie exchange on Sunday.

I feel more good things may very well be on the horizion - or at least I hope. For my sake, the sake of my blog and for all of you as well who read my "woe is me" blog.

Zsazsazu Later in Life

2006-12-11T22:18:00.000-05:00

I went to dinner at my judge’s house the other night. He invited another judge and his spouse and that judge’s law clerk. My judge is a great guy but the real star of the evening was Judge Granddad (so dubbed for his adorable grandfather-esque cardigans). He made the following comments throughout the evening:

“That Johnny sure had a way with the ladies.” (a John McCain reference)

“I mean, why didn’t he just admit that she was a good piece of ass and we would all have gotten over it?” (a Lewinskygate reference)

“You have time for one more martini – we’ve got five minutes.”

“There is a guy out there for you, Jersey. He is looking for a girl who can eat beef. And it appears that girl is you.”

Judge Granddad is a bow tie wearing, gin martini drinking, and shotgun toting Southern gentleman. He went to Virginia for law school and proudly sported a coat and tie to class. He served in the Navy with John McCain. He thinks all wedding starting after 6 p.m. require black tie. Apparently he attended a wedding of one of his old law clerks that started at 6 p.m. and he spent the entire wedding reception giving people directions to the bar because they assumed he was a waiter.

Unfortunately, Judge Granddad only has a few more weeks on the bench because Virginia has a mandatory retirement age. While Judge Granddad thought about challenging the retirement age, his wife is anxious for him to retire. I had never met his wife before, but they were the exact couple that I want to be when I am married at seventy. (This is my blog, so I am permitted to assume I will be married by seventy). While Judge Granddad held court at the dinner table, enchanting all of us with the stories, Mrs. Judge Granddad just sat back in her chair, her fingers twirling the stem of her wine glass, and smiled at him across the table. She too had a sparkling personality and at times, she would interject and engage Judge Granddad in the exact witty banter I strive to have with someone. And they are SEVENTY! For lack of a better word, it was refreshing. Marriages are falling apart all around me (not people I know, just the end of the year divorce rush at work) and here was this fantastic couple, so full of life and love, living my dream. Remember Carrie Bradshaw and her pursuit of the zsazsazu on Sex and the City? That feeling that makes your stomach flutter and your eyes light up? Judge and Mrs. Granddad had the feeling and we could all sense it. That gives me hope. And reminds me not to settle.

Now, that was a more cheerful post, wasn’t it? I am off to another holiday party with attorneys and judges. Oh, the knee slappers I will hear tonight!

And the hits just keep on coming

2006-12-10T22:45:00.000-05:00

I was told I needed to perk it up some on my blog. While I have not been in a bad mood since I last posted, I have been what I call “beaten down by life.”

Last Friday, I went out, tired but optimistic about the prospect of meeting a friend of a friend who was supposedly a really nice guy. A really nice guy that professed to be looking to meet a nice girl. Lil AG had met him a few weeks ago and called to tell me about this boy she thought was perfect for me. Lil AG and her friend, Linds, decided to set up a group outing so that I could meet this guy.

After a somewhat awkward introduction, he then blew me off entirely to make out with someone else. Not just blow me off in that he didn’t really talk to me, but blow me off as in I barely got a hello before he started sucking face with another girl. The setter uppers were mortified. And I certainly don’t blame them. He was less than impressed with me and didn’t waste any time in letting me know.

I dusted off the brush-off and since it was late enough, I tried to motivate Lil AG to share a cab to the Commonwealth. I was standing talking to two of my friends when a drunken bar patron (who happened to be a friend of Captain Brush-off) attempted to sit down in a nearby chair. He missed the chair and started falling towards Lil AG, whose instincts kicked in and she pushed him away from her, but unfortunately towards Linds. Linds then fell into me, which resulted in my falling onto the coffee table behind us, landing with a resounding thud, before rolling to the floor. In front of Captain Brush-off, his friends, and scores of other Adams Morgan revelers.

Luckily, my ego was the only part of me bruised. But since the ego has already suffered its fair share of setbacks lately, this last one just seemed like overkill.

The remainder of last weekend was spent consuming Miller Lite and cheering Wake Forest to victory in Jacksonville. The Orange Bowl. The freaking Orange Bowl!! Unbelievable. I am so proud to be a Demon Deacon right now it almost makes me want to go further into debt to make the trip to Miami. Unfortunately, working non-stop does not a bigger paycheck make and the trip is just too much.

That brings us to this past week. Again, a ridiculous number of hours, with the highlight being coming in super early on Thursday morning to finish my docket only to be sent outside in the freezing cold for a fire drill. At 7:20 in the morning. We stood outside for over forty minutes. The first fifteen of which I was trapped talking Ms. Sunshine, who very well may be the nicest human being on earth. She answers her phone “Happy Holidays, Thank you for calling Circuit Court, How may I help you?” The conversations conclude with “Thank you SO much. Have a blessed day.” She brings her Bible to scheduling conferences and spends a few minutes in prayer before getting started. We are setting trial dates. People give us dates and we write them down. Granted, a little serenity is in order whenever dealing with attorneys, but let’s be realistic. The Big Man has priorities!

Well, at 7:20 in the morning, without any coffee in me and freezing my ass off in the parking lot, Ms. Sunshine is a little bit much. I couldn’t talk about how damn cold it was outside, or how freaking stressed out I was, or how my judge was going to kick my ass if I didn’t finish the docket. After fifteen minutes of “Yes, this is a blessed day despite the fact that I can’t feel my fingers and may be suffering from an anxiety attack”, I was finally able to cut loose from Ms. Sunshine.

The rest of the week passed without incident as far as I can recall now. It seems so long ago even though it was only a few short days ago. I think when work consumes you so much that you aren’t even able to keep days straight, perhaps it is time to cut back some. I thought this week would be better, but I am out of the office all day Tuesday and we are in the middle of “let’s get divorced right quick so that we can file separate tax returns” rush. Months of squabbling over mortgage payments and chandeliers are thrown out the window as soon as the attorneys start explaining the tax benefits of filing separately.

So, we are in the middle of a busy time at work. I have yet to experience anything that resembles a slow time, but here’s hoping one is right around the corner.

In other news, Wayne is engaged. Since I have not figured out how to link to previous posts, I will remind those few who remember that Wayne is my former roommate who I had a serious crush on for about two years. Then TH, Wayne’s best friend, moved to town and we started dating. Then TH lied and cheated and broke my heart and things were never quite the same between Wayne and me. Part of it was my heartache over TH and the awkwardness that resulted, but part of it was Wayne’s new relationship. Wayne is the kind of guy who freely admitted that he lost touch with his friends when he was in a relationship. “Relationship Wayne” was all about the relationship, and not so much about the friends. Apparently ditching his friends worked out for him because he proposed last night. To a really nice girl. With definite Stepford qualities. You know the type, super pretty (the perfect blonde highlights that just look natural), super smart (valedictorian with fabulous job), super athletic (she is the girl on the treadmill at the gym in a coordinated spandex outfit that fits her like a glove), and super nice (smiles at every thing you say and nods at you when you say something mean as if to say “I want you to think that I agree with you, but I would never actually come out and express an unpleasant thought because I just don’t think I am capable of such things).

So, yeah. Wayne’s engaged. I am happy for him. She is a fabulous girl. And perfect for him. I think they will be happy. And I am happy for them. I said that already.

Ok. I think I will lie back down. It makes it easier for life to kick me that way.

Bad Mood

2006-11-27T18:16:00.000-05:00

I am in a bad mood. In no particular order, the reasons for my bad mood are as follows:

1) My docket for Friday SUCKS. As in is the worst one I've ever had. My judge has already told me to "pack a lunch" because it is going to be "one heck of a Friday!" The weird part was he sounded giddy about it.

2) Next week we have an all law clerk meeting where I was told by my judge we will be getting into trouble.

3) My judge griped at me for not flagging a privacy addendum. Out of 85 orders to sign, I missed one. Sheesh.

4) Remember my good friend Charlotte? Who fell hard and fast for a supposedly fabulous guy? Just last week, he played the "I am not ready for this, It is not you, it's me, I just can't committ" card, effectively breaking her heart and potentially disrupting her career, because the two work in a ten person office. Bastard.

4) My eye infection is back. And more painful than ever. I received the all clear to wear my contacts, but my eyes revolted and I am back to the four eye look.

5) I am not looking forward to a holiday season by my lonesome. And have absolutely no prospects.

6) Speaking of prospects, I just spoke with a former classmate of mine about a job prospect that is no longer as promising as originally hoped.

7) Conversation I had with my mother over Thanksgiving:

Mom while frowning disapprovingly at the ends of my hair: "Oh, looks like you need a haircut! Do you want to get one while you are home?"
Me: "Just got one two days ago."
Mom, stammering slightly: "Oops! Well, it looks GREAT!"

8) It has been almost a year since TH dumped me and my stomach still flipped 85 times this morning when I drove by his house. Calm down, it is on my way to work.

9) I had to go to four separate windows at the Arlington County Offices this morning to receive a decal to prove I paid my car taxes. Apparently, one person verifies that you paid the money, another person charges you $10 for the lost decal, a third person takes your $10, and finally, someone gives you a new decal.

10) I am broke. And right around the holidays. How I am supposed to engage in retail therapy when I have no funds?

All of the above are slightly, but not really, balanced out by Wake Forest's victory over Maryland on Saturday night. ACC Championship Game, here we come!!

Weights

2006-11-14T18:04:00.000-05:00

Some wounds take a long time to heal. and some wounds leave scars that never fade. I recently noticed some bruises that I fear will take an awfully long time to heal. The bruises are not deep and result simply from the consumption of too much alcohol. But I have been looking at them for the past few days and they stand for so much anger and sadness. Not entirely my anger but definitely my sadness at the intense anger of another.

This post is cryptic, I know. But the perils of not entire anonymity is that I have to consider the effect of my words on others. I am not mad, I am just a little sad. Life is bearing down upon my shoulders right now like a ton of bricks and standing up tall, under this enormous weight, is proving difficult.

My neighbor from home, Nabo, is going through an extraordinarly difficult time. Nabo is from Norway and since Nabo means neighbor in Norweigan, her alias was rather easy. Nabo is in her seventies and has been sick lately. She recently found out that her son in law has fallen for a new woman and is leaving her daughter and three grandsons. Right in the middle of renovating their home. I think the only reason he decided to finally leave is because he got caught. By his own sister, actually. And now his sons are so angry. The oldest is in 8th grade and told his father that he never wants to see him again.

Then, there is Nabo's son. He married a demanding and selfish woman. She has to borrow money from Nabo for food for her twin daugthers and then she spends it on pedicures. Nabo just learned that one of the twins is autistic. The doctors diagnosed the little girl early and are hopeful about the future. But it is difficult news and Nabo has been crying for days, for all her grandchildren, for her children, for herself. They are the tears of someone asking why, a question that cannot be answered right now. I worry about Nabo, she worries about her family, and we are all weighed down with worry.

The metaphorical weight upon my shoulders is balanced out by the weights I have started lifting at the gym. Yep, I belong to a gym. Something I NEVER thought I would do. But, this gym is by my office, the clientele is significantly older than me, and devoid of any dating prospects...oh, and the best part? My trainer. Shirley. Shirley is a 62 year old former flight attendant who recently switched careers. Now, instead of pointing out the nearest exits, she points people along the path of fitness. Ok, maybe she didn't say that exactly, but I really think she would if she had come up with it rather than me. I was nervous that my trainer would judge me, ridicule me to her trainer friends, and mock my inability to touch my toes. But not Shirley. Shirley pumps me up. Shirley makes getting up at 5:30 more bearable. To be fair, so does the Gingerbread latte I treat myself to after working out with her.

Fantastic

2006-11-13T11:28:00.000-05:00

I have a bunch of posts in the works, I promise, but I wanted to point out that I am currently reviewing a wife’s petition for divorce from her husband, Fantastic. As in his name is Fantastic. What an optimistic name. Hours of labor and you look at your baby and all you can think is “fantastic.” Well, I started off laughing at the name choice, but now, I am thinking it is rather sweet. I am becoming quite the sap.

It must be frustrating at times for him to introduce himself. “I am Fantastic.” Well, good for you, my cynical self would respond, but you don’t have to brag about it. But he wouldn’t be bragging. His name is actually Fantastic.

You know what can also be described as Fantastic? Wake Forest’s football team. They went down to Tallahassee and kicked the snot out of Florida State. Florida State was shut out for the first time in 232 games. Hasn’t happened since 1988. Unbelievable! My Deacs are for real!!

Vote!

2006-11-07T07:32:00.000-05:00

Just a friendly reminder to the few people that do read my blog to take some time today to VOTE!

Maybe because I am a dork, combined with the fact that I live in the Nation's capital, I felt a real energy at the polls this morning. Maybe only the diehards arrive at the polling place at 6:00 a.m., but most people I know are taking this election very seriously.

On Sunday, the pastor at my church said he didn't think the Church should get involved in telling people how to vote. In his thick Irish brogue, he directed people to an article in the Catholic newspaper for those who wanted guidance from the Church on issues on the ballot. There is a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage on the ballot in Virginia that the Catholic Church supports. But, in the end, he looked out at the congregation and said, "Just get out and vote. And for God's sake, if you aren't going to vote, then don't complain." Wise words, Father.

I caused a little bit of havoc at the polls this morning. Virginia has electronic voting which is very 21st century of the state, but the glare from the computer screen made it difficult to read. I actually had to tilt my whole body to the right and shield my eyes to read the ballot! I got a few weird looks for that. Then, when I went to select a Senator, the cuff of my jacket voted for the wrong Representative. I tried numerous times to de-select that Representative but the screen wouldn't let me. I called out in a panic for some assistance and was told to wait until the Summary screen and then I could make changes. Ok. I then continued making my selections and wound up at the Summary screen. But it wouldn't let me change then either! At this point, I was noticeably upset. I have been following the elections in Virginia closely and I did NOT want to vote for the guy I had selected. Finally, the poll gurus figured out what I was doing wrong and straightened me out. I was then able to hit the final "VOTE" button, confident in all my selections.

I hope everyone else has an easier and less eventful time at the polls. Just get out there and VOTE!

Four Eyes

2006-11-06T11:26:00.000-05:00

Well, my new glasses have finally arrived. Complete with bling and everything. I like them a lot. I do not, however, enjoy old men dressed from head to toe in denim informing me that no boy will hit on a girl with glasses.

I went back to my summer beach house this weekend to hang out with some friends. It was very fun - I actually painted pottery. My first attempt was a little ambitious - I tried to paint a set of coasters with the scales of justice on them as a Christmas present for my judge. Turned out to be quite the undertaking and ever critical of myself, I have a feeling I won't like them. I also made a serving plate for my court clerk - I stuck to sponge painting with that piece though and I actually think she will like it. I will post pictures for your viewing pleasure when I get the pieces back. Painting wasn't quite the relaxing hobby that I've been looking for, most likely because of my tendency to be uber-critical of everything I did. So, the hunt for a hobby continues. It may be working out, because I feel my body is rapidly deteriorating and soon, I won't be able to climb the stairs at work. Oh, who am I kidding - I almost always take the elevator. Must. join. gym. Even Roommate has joined the gym. For years, we were the only two females in our age bracket living in our yuppie neighborhood that did not join a gym. She has now abandoned me and turned over a fitness leaf. So, I am thinking of joining her. Sister is running a half marathon next spring and I think having a goal would really motivate me. I tried to run a marathon a few years ago, but training for the marathon while studying for the bar...not such a smart idea.

So, back to the guy in the denim suit. We arrived at the local brewery around 10:30. Of course, the cab taking us out waited until there were only 2 minutes left in the Wake Forest football game to FINALLY arrive. Luckily, the cab ride was brief, and with the commercials, time outs and a quick call to the Editrix, I didn't miss much. I made a beeline to the bar and positioned myself in front of the T.V., avoiding eye contact with the bartender and the other patrons. Mr. Denim turned to me and said "So, who's playing?" (As an aside, I really hate when people try to talk to me when it is incredibly obvious that I am intently focused on any type of game. Wait until a commercial. This message is for both cute boys and the Mr. Denims of the world. While I am more likely to tolerate a cute boy's infraction, I will still have missed part of the game).

I didn't even move my head, but answered "Wake Forest and Boston College."
"Oh, Boston College is going to win.", he replied smugly. With this remark, I turned towards him and said "There are 42 seconds left, Wake Forest is up a touchdown and has the ball, so I must disagree with you." With that, I turned my attention back to the T.V., and thought to myself, "He doesn't know this win is far from a sure thing, because this is my team we are talking about, and sometimes, they find a way to lose, even though the game seems completely locked up."

I remained calm, Wake Forest held on, and I focused my attention on my friends. Mr. Denim was still next to me, and when I turned to survey the crowd behind me, he saw an opening to start talking to me again.

"So, why are you wearing glasses?"

"Because I have an infection, and can't wear my contacts."

"Well, you are the only girl in here wearing glasses."

I shrug.

"I am just saying no guy is going to hit on a girl with glasses."

Ouch.

So, I am officially blaming my glasses for my love life barely having a pulse. Actually, that is completely untrue. The fact that my love life consists of watching the occassional cute boy walk past my office is because I just don't care. Well, that's not true. I do care about meeting a nice boy, but I am tired of trying. Going out to bars and tolerating the Mr. Denims of the world is just not all that fun. This is where someone tells me that in a few years, I will look back at all of this and laugh. Perhaps, but that doesn't make it any less painful now.

Quarantine

2006-11-01T12:12:00.000-05:00

I've been quarantined. I went to an eye doctor this morning, after waking up to my eyes being swollen shut. I was able to pry one eye open so I drove to work. Note: I realize this was a bad idea. I honestly do. Never again.

My infection is worse than the person at Urgent Care thought, and apparently I am contagious. Hence the self imposed quarantine. My fellow law clerks have been supportive, although I bet no one sits next to me at our lunch meeting. Oh well.

The more exciting news is that I got new glasses. I have to wear them all the time for at least two weeks, so I figured I better pick out a good pair. The ones I got have tiny rhinestones on the sides. Nothing like a little bling to balance out how dorky I look when wearing glasses. I heart them, and am almost thankful this happened to force me to get new glasses. ALMOST. Not actually thankful. I am in a lot of pain.

Numbers

2006-10-28T19:08:00.000-04:00

Some numbers running through my head...

33 - the number of years my parents have been married as of yesterday.

0 - the number of surprise birthday parties I was invited to this weekend, despite the fact that one is being thrown for a very good friend.

48 - the numbers of hours I worked upon leaving work Thursday evening.

2 - the number of sweaters I bought at Banana Republic upon leaving work Thursday evening to make myself feel better. Hey, I left the store with 3 and am returning one. Things could have been much worse.

2 again - the number of pieces of apple pie I had for dinner upon leaving the mall on Thursday night.

3 - the number of cases my judge took under advisement from Friday's docket. "Under advisement" are two dreaded words in the life of a law clerk. Taking something under advisement means more work for me.

3.5 - the number of hours I spent in Urgent Care this afternoon. My eyes are nasty and red and itchy and apparently, infected. But, if I use the antibiotic drops, I can't wear my contacts. And my glasses are about 5 years old, which means the prescription falls woefully short of what I need. Sigh.

Fantasy Congress

2006-10-28T18:19:00.000-04:00

Just for fun, I decided to make a league in the Fantasy Congress game for everyone to join. Basically, it works just like Fantasy Baseball, but you "draft" legislators and you get points for bills being passed.

I am not sure what makes me laugh harder - the fact that someone actually created such a League, or said he did it just for fun.

This isn't really funny

2006-10-26T08:09:00.000-04:00

Or interesting even. I wrote it last night as I was wrapping up a 15 hour work day. In the bright light of morning, this looks worse than it did last night. Still, I will share.

The Virginia Supreme Court is not a big fan of summary judgment. To the non-lawyers out there, summary judgment is when the judge says “Yep, you win” to one side without actually having a trial. Summary judgment is popular in the federal system, but the SCOVA likes to give everyone his or her day in court. It is slightly paradoxical in a state in which the majority of the judiciary is pro-defendant(no, not criminal defendant, civil defendant - this is the state where a Commonwealth attorney told my judge in arguing for extradition of an accused murderer from California "We can kill him faster than they will in California"), that it would supposedly seek to get as many cases in front of a jury as possible. While the policy actually hurts plaintiffs in my opinion, rather than help them, that is a scintillating topic for another day. All I mean to share tonight is summary judgment in Virginia is an uphill and often an outright losing battle.

On my docket for Friday, I have two motions for summary judgment. I review them with a Virginia’s lawyer eye…so, basically, trying to find a way to deny summary judgment so my judge won’t get overturned on appeal. Well, it is late, and I just opened up my second motion, and upon reviewing it, I sent the following email to Dawg, a co-worker so dubbed because the only thing that forces him to leave work at all is the fact that he has a dog.

“"In an unprecedented move sure to send shockwaves from Arlington to Richmond, Judge granted not one, but TWO motions for summary judgment Friday, October 27, 2006. As he walked out of the courtroom, he looked dazed and bewildered, and was heard to have muttered "Law clerk? Where did I get this law clerk?"

Dawg nobly attempted to flatter me:

… “Law clerk? Where did I get this law clerk?” When asked later to clarify his remarks, Judge explained that he felt lucky to have a clear-thinking law clerk unafraid to recommend a course of action despite any risk of criticism.

Ok, this is a pretty lame post. But, KS, this is my official shout out to you. I would have much preferred dinner with the Peapod to writing nonsensical memos and even worse posts.

For those who can't wait...

2006-10-24T15:32:00.000-04:00

Because, let's face it, January is still awfully far away...

Season 6

I have so many questions!! Like why is Chloe a brunnette now? And, how come David Palmer's brother is the President? And why do the Chinese give Jack up? Is this finally the season that offs Jack?

I can barely contain my enthusiasm. I have watched it three times already...want to take bets as to how many more?

Ok, I promise more posts of substance soon. I have been looking at my archives, and I used to be pretty funny. My life used to be a lot more entertaining. There are thoughts milling around up there, I promise to share soon.

Conversation I just had

2006-10-17T12:02:00.000-04:00

Which was too good not to share.

Me: This is Jersey
Caller: Um, yes, this is law clerk?
Me: yes, how can I help you?
Caller: My name is X
Me: Hello, X. Are you calling about your divorce?
Caller: Yes, I received a copy of a final decree of divorce from Attorney Y (his wife’s attorney).
Me: Okay…
Caller: So, I want to know…this is final?
Me: Yes.
Caller: So we are officially divorced?
Me: Yes.
Caller: So, I can take this paper tomorrow and get married to next woman?
Me: Um….well, the final decree proves you are divorced.
Caller: Yes, So, now I can get married to next woman?
Me: If you want to, I mean, you are divorced…
Caller: Okay, great. Tomorrow, I am going to get married to next woman.
Me: Okay…Congratulations!

His final decree of divorce was signed a few weeks ago. But I am sorry, ladies, some lucky gal has already snatched him up.

This will be quick....

2006-10-16T19:16:00.000-04:00

because I got absolutely dumped on at work today, and there is no end in sight.

But my least favorite co worker got in trouble today. Let's call her Lulu. Lulu, in a word, bugs. She sends out all courthouse wide emails expecting people to drop everything to help her, and making the rest of us look lazy in the process. She moans about how she doesn't feel well in an attempt to get out of doing work. She allows her b**bs to make appearances at work, and I think we can all agree, this should not happen. She laughs at the rest of us who work late as she skips out the door every day at 5 p.m., never asking anyone if they need help, because you know, that might interfere with her social life that involves her going out and practicing shooting a gun at 3 a.m. on some abandoned property out west in Virginia.

So, that's the back story of Lulu. I don't think it quite conveys how much she sucketh, but maybe a little bit.

Well, there were big happenings in the courthouse today. A first degree murder in one courtroom, and a wrongful birth case in another courtroom. Many law clerks spent the day watching the courtroom dramas unfold. Lulu entered the courtroom to hear some of the arguments in the wrongful birth case. The courtroom deputy, who are all really nice, but not the people you want to piss off, came over to her and in front of the ENTIRE courtroom, motioned for her to take off her sunglasses. He actually went over to her and told her to take them off. They were on top of her head...this was at 3:00 pm, by the way. She hadn't been outside in hours, and it wasn't even that sunny today. I got an email from a fellow law clerk giving me this little tidbit and I just thought of how embarrassed she must have felt. I felt badly. And then I remembered how she swiftly and without hesitation has thrown me and my co-workers under a rapidly moving bus, while she stood smiling on the side of the road. So that whole feeling badly thing didn't last long.

Poster Child

2006-10-13T21:44:00.000-04:00

Picture Jersey. In fancy gold skirt. Wearing actual lipstick. Straight hair even. The caption below reads: all dressed up, with no place to go.

I think this pity party needs more ice cream. Or wine. Or both.

Fair warning: it is not as tragic as it sounds. My friend, Red, took me to see Twelve Angry Men at the Kennedy Center. I treated myself to a new skirt, because frankly, I had no clue what to wear that wasn't work clothes or jeans. And not to brag, but I look pretty good. Normally, Red would be up for a few drinks following such an outing but she's tired and has to work in the morning. So, after accidentally rear ending a British diplomat in the parking garage, she returned me safely home. Hence, the pity party. I told you it wasn't as tragic as I initially made it sound. But, without my flair for the dramatic, this blog would be extraordinarily dull.

I should know better

2006-10-11T09:16:00.000-04:00

I really should. Good things do not happen to me when I wander over to Whole Foods, feeling slightly down about the state of my affairs, and all I want to do is get in and out of the store without seeing anyone. Since I am sick, I was bundled up probably more than was required for a walk to Whole Foods, but since I was sick, I could give a shit. I just wanted a frozen pizza and some fruit for breakfast. And maybe something healthy to bring for lunch today. Simple enough, right?

But, no. This is WHOLE FOODS. The evil Whole Foods where I first found out TH had a new girlfriend. The Whole Foods where I once ran into a display of some packaged organic snack and sent it flying. This Whole Foods has not been good to me, but I continue to return. Last night, sporting way too many clothes and an unflattering ponytail, I ran into a boy I met a few weeks ago. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say, I had been expecting (or at least hoping) to hear from him. The fact that I hadn't by 9:30 last night was one of the reasons my steps were not so springy on my way to Whole Foods. And there he is, all tall and dorky, at the deli counter. Too sick and tired for bull, I walk over to say hello and he greets me with a look of mild shock and a casual "I was going to call you on my way home."

Sure you were, buddy. Sure you were.

So, yeah, no more Whole Foods for me.

Part 1 of ?

2006-10-10T13:18:00.000-04:00

What a weekend. The birthday festivities that lasted a few extra days were truly special. Friday night, I played hostess to a bunch of random friends at a local bar. While it was great to see people, it is also hard when you, the star of the show, are the only person that a guest knows. The first hour I was very good about the, “This is AKM, she and I went to law school together, and now she works for a firm in Fairfax”, and “This is the Editrix, she and I went to college together, now she is in publishing.” That whole tying people together thing didn’t last very long. Although I tried to create a love connection. I have this guy friend, Penn State Fan, who has not dated a single girl in the five plus years that I have known him. And, girls, he is completely dateable. He is a tad shorter than me, (but let’s face it, lots of guys are), he is sweet, smart, has a great job, and tells a great story. He is terrified of girls though. Whenever we go out on the town, he gravitates towards those girls who are “safe”, the ones who are dating his friends, married to his friends or so established as his friends to not be an option. I can tell he is envious of his brother’s relationship with my roommate but he seems incapable of doing anything about it. He says something will happen when it happens. But last time I checked, finding *it* does require one to invest time in another person, to take a chance on love, and possibly to fall flat out on our faces. We’ve all done it, sometimes it royally sucks, but everyone knows that when we do find *it*, we will remember all the past crap with a roll of the eyes and possibly a smack on the forehead. A “What was I thinking?” type moment.

So, I invited a perfectly lovely girl out on Friday night, with the hopes of introducing her to PSF. Subtlety is not my strong suit when I’ve been drinking, nor do any of PSF’s friends quite grasp the concept. We may have embarrassed him some. His friends were being rather obvious, and well, frankly, I probably was too. I guess his notion of something happening doesn’t involve me throwing a girl at him. But hey! Do most guys really complain about that? This one did. I wouldn’t complain if my friends threw cute boys at me. So, to all my friends who read this, where are my cute boys??

Friday night ended with AKM and me, alone at a table, planning our eventual takeover of the world. It is coming, kids. This is your official warning. Our world will consist of no leggings, skinny jeans, or long knit sweaters cinched at the waist with large leather belts. While I stayed up until 4 am on Saturday dancing to 80s music, I refused to acknowledge that 80s fashion has returned. Having just returned from a very fashionable city, I am sad to report that it is indeed 1985 in New York City. And worse yet, it is not a flattering look on most people. Now, I love love love fashion. I love love love clothes and I read Vogue, InStyle and the like. I am not on top of every trend but I can hold my own. This weekend, I declared myself unfashionable and proud. My jeans were perfectly bootcut, my shirt the appropriate length, and my heels, pointy and metallic. Maybe fashion has passed me by, but I am okay with it.

Oh, I must share this. Mrs. DW and the Editrix know of my obsession with all things Bobby Flay. Of Food Network fame?? No? Well, he is fabulous. And, I must say his restaurant was fabulous as well. And everyone there clearly thought we were celebrities. I am serious!! I guess mainly tourists are attracted to a restaurant owned by a celebrity chef and tourists in NYC are always hoping to run into famous people, but both the Editrix and I noticed that people at the tables surrounding us kept looking over at us. We were that hot. Despite our fashion faux pas.

More on the weekend coming soon. Thereare lots more to be told, and some crazy wacky work stories.

Weather

2006-10-05T13:53:00.000-04:00

I blame today's general apathy on the gloomy weather that has just descended on the DC area and intends to stick around for a few days. I have absolutely no desire to do any work today. None. Luckily, my judge is out of town, so things are nice and slow. The past few days I spent working on ahabeass corpus petition. For those who don't know, habeas corpus is what a person in jail, or detained by the government in some way, files as petition to the court that essentially says "Hey, I dont' belong in jail. Let me out." Unfortunately, very few petitions have merit, and most often get dismissed with very little fanfare. One that recently (okay, a few months ago but who is counting? Actually, the guy in jail is probably counting which is what finally kept me here late on Monday finishing it up) came across my desk caught my attention though. Something about the amount of time the Defendant had served was not right. While math is not my strong suit, the numbers just didn't add up to me. I pointed this out to my judge, who agreed, and granted the prisoner a hearing. I was happy because it is nice to do something at work that actually positively influences people. Helping people obtain divorces just doesn't have that same warm your heart type feeling. There is something disconcerting about a person telling you that he (or she) is off to get wasted now that the divorce is final. I want to warn them that perhaps that attitude will only land them in the middle of another situation from which they will need the court's help to extricate themselves. Sigh.

So, I haven't been all that productive today. Just not really feeling it. I think I might skip out early and go shopping. Lots of fun birthday plans in the next few days that require cute outfits. Tomorrow night is dinner with Cheeky Co-worker, his wife and my Sister. Then, it is off to the local Irish bar where I will drink a few beers, tell everyone how I used to have the Unicorn song on a record, and fumble my way through the hand signals. Saturday morning, the Editrix and I are hitting the Big Apple, where we will meet up with Mrs. DW and hit the town in search of boys to put us on scholarship (read: buy us the overpriced drinks Manhattan has to offer). Sunday, my dad will fetch me from the East Village and bring me to my parents' house, which I haven't set foot in since Christmas of last year. My couch and I have some catching up to do.

Yes, lots of plans. And lots of plans require lots of clothes. I am officially leaving early today to shop.

Happy Birthday

2006-10-04T16:20:00.000-04:00

To Me.

I am not returning to my blog just to solicit presents from the small number of faithful readers that remain. Rather, a birthday always seems to encourage introspection. I am looking back at the 27th year of my life and it was not one of those even keel years. Within one year, I experienced true euphoria when I found out that I passed the bar but also suffered a tremendous and debilitating heartbreak. I worked for a few months at an awful job with barely tolerable conditions only to land a fantastic job that will (fingers crossed) translate into previously unattainable career opportunities for me.

So, this year has been a bit of a roller coaster. If you know me, you have probably seen me cry more times than you would like, and not laugh as much as I normally do. I never look forward to birthdays because frankly, getting older is a little scary. A few years ago, Belle and I were talking one of our long walks along the Potomac where we would debate the big issues pending in our lives. I told her that for as long as I could remember I thought my 27th year would be a rough one. She looked at me quizzically and asked why. It was nothing I could pinpoint, I said, it was just a feeling I have in the back of my mind that something terrible will happen in my 27th year. She tried to convince me otherwise, telling me that perhaps I would get married at 27, or fall in love, or get my dream job. I dismissed her encouragement because she just didn’t feel what was in my heart about this year. That whatever life brought that year, it was not going to be good.

Despite that feeling, and despite the rough patch of breaking up with TH, I survived what I had anticipated was going to be a very rough year. My mother was 27 when her father died, and I have always worried that the same thing would happen to me. So, instead of dreading this birthday, I greet it with a sigh of relief and with a sense of resolve that I should no longer live in fear that bad things might happen. Because bad things do happen, and I have learned that I am way stronger than I thought I was. Maybe something awful will happen this year as well, but I can’t change it or fight it or avoid it.

But I think this birthday provides me with an opportunity to move forward with my life. A new year for me can truly be a new beginning. I promise more frequent blogging will part of that new beginning.

Under Construction

2006-09-26T08:05:00.000-04:00

I am in the process of revamping my blog. Since Belle has started a *real* lawyer job, this is officially my solo endeavor. Once I can take a breather at work, I will be updating my blog. Stay tuned!

Obviously

2006-08-02T08:54:00.000-04:00

I love Guster. He loves Guster. I knew he would be there. I was just hoping in a crowd of 500 people, I wouldn't actually see him. Oh, who was I kidding. As I sat there alone in the scorching heat, sweating profusely, waiting while my friends fought the Northern Virginia traffic, and lacking any sort of substance to calm my frantic nerves, he was destined to walk right by me. With her.

It has been almost eight months. That is a long time. I have a new job. I love said new job. I have wonderful friends. I have a wonderful family that just took me on a wonderful vacation. Yes, that was three wonderfuls in just two sentences. I go out and meet new boys. I am, as declared by the Librarian, a *honey trap* that attracts men.

But, one nagging problem remains. I can't go to the grocery store without first scanning the parking lot for his car. I can't go to a huge outdoor concert without his red hair catching my eye. I can't run my usual route without passing his house.

And people really wonder why I am thinking of leaving this tiny town of DC.

The Saga of the Watch

2006-08-01T15:31:00.000-04:00

I am back folks and going to blog more often. I swear. Not a whole lot is going on in my life so perhaps that is why I haven't been blogging. So, here's a story.

Even my watch leads a dramatic existence worthy of a saga.

As most of you know, I took the Bar Exam last summer. Yes, non-lawyers, one DOES capitalize Bar and Exam. This is not just a test - it is a two day endurance test that essentially kicks the living s**t out of you. I took the Bar in a large arena, similar to DC's MCI Center or NYC's Garden. Since there were no monstrous clocks secured to the rafters, it was imperative that one wore a watch during the exam. A few days before the bar exam, I was speaking to a classmate outside the library. She mentioned that she needed to buy a watch to wear during the exam and I told her not to be silly, I had two, she could borrow one of mine. Now, this classmate and I were not very close, I would classify her as an acquaintance who I spoke with when I saw her but we didn't hang out apart from law school. Later that day, I returned to the library with my spare watch in my pocket to loan to her. I had decided that I would wear my digital watch (I needed time to be as simple as possible while I was trying to remember what the statute of limitations was for a medical malpractice action involving a child under 12) and that I would loan my classmate my Eddie Bauer watch with the gold and silver chain band. Now, I loved this watch. I had received it from my parents for Christmas a few years earlier and adored it. As I handed it over, I made a joke to my classmate that I was tranferring possession, but not ownership, and that the risk of loss had passed to her. Oh, don't roll your eyes. Everything is damn near hysterical a few days before the Bar.

So, she gratefully accepts my watch and assures me she will take good care of it. I trusted her - while she may drone on incessantly about her lack of a boyfriend, I considered her a rather responsible person.

Bar Exam day comes. And goes. A few days after the bar, I send her an email saying that I needed the watch back because I had a wedding that weekend and while it is an Eddie Bauer watch, it is clearly my *dress* watch. No response. I attend the wedding and proceed to ask TH 85 times what time it is. A few weeks after the wedding, I email her again. No response.

Months pass. I begin working at the sweatshop and forget about the watch. In 2006, I once again send an email, a little short this time. I email a few friends to see if anyone has an updated email for the Watch Thief. The Watch Thief (after six months, I think that is a fair nickname) actually lives only a few miles from me and one day, I pass her while I am running. She gives me a big hello and I am so startled and intent on running, I forget to mention the watch. That encounter prompts me to send yet another email.

In May of this year, I start my new job. The Watch Thief's name comes up in conversation and I share with my fellow clerks the saga of my watch. THE VERY NEXT DAY, the Watch Thief appears in my office. She had come to court for a scheduling conference and to be fair, wasn't aware I worked there. Cheeky Co-worker, also a classmate of ours, immediately noticed her and directed her to my office. Watch Thief asked how I was and before I could answer, Cheeky Co-worker stated "Jersey is great, she just keeps asking me what time it is." The Watch Thief laughed and told me to write down my address and she would bring it by. Soon. She promised.

About a month passes and nothing. I am convinced at this point, she either broke or lost my watch. I then run into her at a restaurant on the weekend of Fourth of July. First thing she says, "I was just looking at your watch today." I simply smile and direct the conversation away from my watch. I am tired of her promises. I was coming to terms with my loss and did not need to experience false hope that my watch would indeed be returned to me.

Last Friday, I was on vacation and so Cheeky Co-worker sat in with my judge during the docket. The Watch Thief was in the courtroom and when Cheeky Co-worker passed my judge a file, he attached a note that said "Bring Ms. Watch Thief back in here and ask her about Jersey's watch she has had since the July 2005 bar." Cheeky Co-worker expected that my judge, a relatively serious guy, would respond one of two ways:
1) laugh and ignore the note
2) give Cheeky Co-worker a nasty look for playing games during court.

Well, my judge surprised us all. He actually sent another attorney out in the hallway to have Ms. Watch Thief come back into his courtroom. And he says to her, in all seriousness, "Ms. Watch Thief, I am told that you have my law clerk's watch."

In court. In front of everyone. Ms. Watch Thief whips the watch out of her bag and hands it to my judge, who turns to Cheeky Co-worker and says "Well, that wasn't as much fun as I thought it would be."

I arrived Monday morning to find my watch, although confused as to the actual date and time, waiting for me on my computer.

My judge is all about the justice.

GRR

2006-06-20T11:16:00.000-04:00

I loathe know it all attorneys who put their cell phone numbers on pleadings but yet when I call said cell phone, act all indignant and then make me call his secretary at yet another number because he can’t possibly take down my contact information because you know, I called him on his cell phone.

I hope my judge b*tch slaps this guy when he shows up Friday.

The Curiousness of Human Behavior

2006-06-19T10:31:00.000-04:00

On Friday night, I had two experiences that left me shaking my head at the curiousness of human behavior. After a rather long week of work, I sat on my front porch, with a glass of chardonnay and A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson. A bit of background: I live in a residential neighborhood that is considered to be *prime real estate*. My house is only a few blocks from bars and restaurants that are extremely popular. People who don't live in my neighborhood drive to said neighborhood, park their cars in front of my house, and then walk to the nearby nightlife. While this is frustrating due to the amount of parking garages that surround my neighborhood, I have accepted that some people are just too cheap to pay $3 for parking. The problem is that my street on the weekends becomes miserably crowded. I come home and have to circle my block looking for a parking spot. Keep in mind, I don't live in the city. I realize sometimes I won't score a parking spot right in front of my house but parking 8 houses down, or worse yet, on an entirely different block gets old, especially late at night when I am coming home by myself.

Across the street from my house is a rather large and fancy house that sold for over $700,000. I wasn't kidding about the prime real estate - my landlord is sitting on a gold mine and making me pay for it. Next to this house, is a long, single lane driveway that could accomodate up to four cars. Which is good, since these neighbors of mine have three cars. What is frustrating is that they oftentimes only keep one car in the driveway. And so I sat on my porch on Friday night, watching people drive to my neighborhood and abandon their cars in search of food and drink. My across the street neighbors emerged from their house and caught my attention. One family member pulled a SUV out of the driveway and parked it in front of my house, directly in front of their other SUV. They then all piled into the remaining car in the driveway and left for the evening. This irked me a great deal. Rather than park your car on the street, why not pull it into your fancy schmancy driveway? I realize playing musical cars can be an annoying game but look around! There are barely any parking spots on our street. I realize I have no legal claim to stand on; it is just an issue of neighborly request. So, I drafted a note to these neighbors, pointing out to them the parking nightmare that our street has become, and respectfully requesting that they utilize their driveway when they can. I thought my note was firm but kind. I just find it curious that you would park your overpriced SUV with the rest of the proliteriat on the street where it could succumb to poor parallel parking and errant cyclists. Keep it safe in the confines on your property. You paid enough money for that house. Sheesh.

The real kicker came later that same evening. Roommate and I decided to go see The Break-up on Friday night at a popular downtown theater. We were a few minutes late because Roommate needed gas. Since I wouldn't give up the parking spot I had obtained halfway down the street, she needed to drive. Bottom line - we were about 10 minutes late getting into the theater. We looked around and saw that it was rather crowded. Scattered throughout the theater were empty seats, but never more than one. We saw two seats on either side of a couple and figured we could simply request they move down. They were going to have to sit next to people regardless. Moving is slightly annoying but what can you do? It is Friday night, at 9:30 and you are seeing a popular movie. Roommate whispers to the couple and motions for them to move down. As I look on incredously, the woman of the couple says "No, your friend can go sit on the other side." Slighlty perplexed, Roommate whispers "Excuse me" and the woman repeats herself, more firmly this time, "Your friend can go sit on the other side."

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? You can't move down ONE SEAT?? You would rather make two friends who came together sit on either side of you?? So, now, I am at a date movie, surrounded by couples and I can't even sit next to Roommate and tell her how much I love Vince Vaughn. Yes, moving is distracting to the people behind you but but so am I climbing over you, when you simply could have scooted down one seat. Plus it was a preview for A Devil Wears Prada!! Which will probably be a funny movie but we aren't talking Oscar worthy film clip. When the movie ended, I quickly escorted Roommate out of the theater before she could give the couple a piece of her mind. I too felt the need to say something but I honestly believe people who would refuse a request such as ours to simply move down are beyond saving.

Open Letter

2006-06-16T08:04:00.000-04:00

Open Letter to all those who are married, engaged, or with child:

I cannot do everything and be everywhere for everyone. Sometimes, I have to miss weddings, bridal showers, bachelorette parties, baby showers and/or christenings. Sometimes my absence can be explained by the fact that I am just not free when you decide to celebrate. I have my own life, as boring and lame as it might be at times, it is mine. Only I get to pass judgment on how I live it. I started a new job last month that is the most important job I have ever had. If I do this job right, and give it 110%, I can parlay this job into something even better. That is my focus right now. That may mean I have to skip out on some pretty big events in the lives of my friends. And for that, I sincerely apologize.

The downside to my fabulous job is that it is a rather low paying job. At 27, I thought I would be in way better shape financially than I am actually in. But rent, loan payments, my first vacation in a LONG time, all these obligations stretch my clerk salary rather thin. My decision to join a beach house took all money not already earmarked for my *adult* responsibilities. Some may call that selfish in that I have to miss out on important celebrations in the lives of my friends. I call it my attempt to keep myself sane.

Now, the problem is my blog is not entirely anonymous. Friends who are married/engaged/pregnant read this occassionally and I want to clarify that this is not a passive aggressive post directed at anyone in particular. For the last few years, I have put up with a lot of flack from engaged/married/pregnants for skipping out of things. This summer has turned out to be no different from the rest. Except I am not allowing it to get to me as it has in the past. Friends may get snarky but all I can do is apologize. And I sincerely regret that I can't be everywhere for everyone. I especially regret that not everyone gets that.

Footsteps

2006-06-15T13:58:00.000-04:00

Do you hear that? Those loud thumping footsteps? No? Listen closely. You can't miss them. That, my friends, is the sound of Justice Scalia as he tramples all over your constitutional rights.

Loathe

That pretty much sums it up.

Snippets

2006-06-14T13:12:00.000-04:00

Is that a word? You know what I am referring to so I defer to the Editrix to inform me if I can't spell.

My blogging has been sporadic at best so I thought I would throw out some snippets of what is going on in my life to explain my absence from the blog-o-sphere:

1) Currently, my judge is teaching two classes, in addition to his every day judge duties, so things have been pretty busy work-wise. At times, I feel like he is riding me harder than a cowboy at the rodeo. I seriously tried to come up with a metaphor without sexual overtones but I failed. He is working me hard. I thought the cowboy reference works but perhaps not.

2) I attended a cooking class at Williams-Sonoma last night. I paid a fair chunk of change to learn how to cook picnic food. You know, because I picnic so often. I didn't actually cook myself - it was a demonstration class but we got to eat a TON of deeliciousness. On a related cooking note, I am hosting a brunch for my roommate this weekend at our apartment. I could not BE more excited about the food I am preparing. I really need a boy to cook for so that I can release all these pent up entertaining desires.

3) Speaking of boys, I got nothing. NADA. Not one single thing. No satellites, no balls in the air, no crushes...ok, the point has been made. I am okay with that though. Relationships are breaking up and springing up all around me so I have plenty of relationship type issues to talk about. They just aren't my issues. What an oddly satisfying feeling. Some of the break ups I reference are marriages that are ending. How incredibly sad. I can't even imagine. My roommate's good friend is reaching the breaking point with his wife and I found myself advocating divorce. Some people are just not meant to be married. And one or both parties can only fight it for so long. But, the voice in the back of my head screams, "It is a marriage!" There is so much more to fight for when it is a marriage because of the level of commitment the parties (yes, I am a law clerk) made.

4) Speaking of divorces, (take a minute to admire the seamless transitions rampant throughout my post) we had some disagreeable parties in our courtroom last week. It was like the Jerry Springer show at times. The husband doesn't want the wife's new boyfriend to stay at the house when their kids are staying there. Seems fair, right? In defiance, the wife's lawyer suggests that the judge ask the husband who he is romantically involved in. Can you guess? The wife's younger sister. So Jerry Springer - I could hear the audience's reaction, No, she did not say her sister! Snap!

Those are some brief snippets of what is going on in my life. I realize my blog should be more than that but right now, that is all I got.

Your Honor

2006-06-01T21:40:00.000-04:00

Since I've started my new job, I have thought a lot about how fun it would be to be a judge. Wearing a black robe means people get out of your way when you walk down the hallway, lawyers defer you to in court by saying things like "As I am sure Your Honor is aware", and a person carrying a gun announces your arrival into a room. But today, I realized that I am probably not quite smart enough yet to go on the bench. I sat in court this morning for what was supposed to be a relatively short and simple hearing. 30 minutes max. After about 15 minutes of argument, I found my mind wandering. I started regretting not eating a banana before coming into court. After about 30 minutes of argument, real technical legal argument on issues I hadn't briefed, my mind was officially elsewhere. Still thinking about the banana, of course. And how I was going to make banana pudding this past weekend but didn't quite get to it. After 60 minutes of argument, the judge was grilling the expert witness and my right foot was officially asleep. And I was thinking very seriously about the banana I had in my office. I couldn't believe my foolishness in not planning ahead. Normally, I am very much on top of eating. Finally, after an hour and a half of argument, the parties wrapped it up and the judge called me back to her chambers. She clearly retained everything that the parties and witnesses had said during the hearing. I managed to string together a few coherent sentences about what had transpired. Finally, I was dismissed and I was able to enjoy my well deserved banana.

So, yeah, so not focused enough to be a judge. Yet.

Excerpts

2006-05-30T15:57:00.000-04:00

Since it probably won't be my antics that keep you entertained this summer, here are some excerpts from emails I received today from my beach house list serve:

House Mom’s call for weekend Rock Star nominations: Our Rock Stars are the people who went above and beyond the average drinking/hooking up/partying escapades and really set the bar high (or low) for the other house mates to follow.

In support of the Serial Pisser’s (SP for short. Great nickname, Anonymous!) nomination as Rock Star: He was last seen tied to the headboard of the booty room with his boxers gagged in his mouth Monday morning. What a trooper.

SP defends himself: Just to clarify to everyone, I don’t wear boxers, so those must not have been mine stuffed in my mouth.

Another housemate chimes in: I think we need a lost and found box. I went home barefoot on sunday. Also, if anyone comes across my brain, could you
please keep it on ice until weekend 3 unless you want to play wiffle ball with it.

Debauchery for some

2006-05-29T20:00:00.000-04:00

I think I may be in over my head. I have returned from some of the most ridiculous three days of partying I have ever witnessed. To be honest, my performance was…well, compared to everyone else, I was downright lame. I was the first to bed every night, didn’t start drinking until 3:30 p.m. on Saturday, and was discovered nestled on my air mattress last night at 10:00 pm reading my book. I was also the only house member who didn’t make it for a mimosa or Bloody Mary Sunday morning – instead, I found a great place that makes delicious wraps and smoothies. I did break my rule for the weekend and did a shot on Friday night. I also ate five pieces of pizza in approximately 24 hours. Seriously good pizza. But a funny thing happened to me that frankly has never happened before. Normally, when confronted with the wonder that is free flowing Miller Lite and drinking games, I don’t shy away. I have always managed to silence that nagging voice urging me to keep things under control. This time was different though. I just couldn’t muster up the energy to fully participate in the debauchery. I turned down offers of Red Bull and Vodka, of *specialty shots*, of invitations to dance (and I use the word “dance” loosely – those providing the invitations really just wanted to grab me inappropriately). I was a shameful shadow of my former party girl self. I was just so overwhelmed by the ridiculousness of it all. I honestly don’t consider myself a *judger* - but if you think that a set of stairs or a fireplace are actually appropriate places to use the bathroom…well, frankly that type of behavior warrants a tad bit of judgment, don’t you think? I think that was the most ridiculous thing that happened. That same guy managed to make out with three different girls in the house. I just don’t see the appeal.

I wonder if my attitude will be the same when I return in a few weeks. I was slightly taken aback by my reticence around strangers. I don’t consider myself truly uptight. But I was a more reserved version of myself this past weekend. A function of my age perhaps? I was by no means the oldest house member. The scene just seemed to not sit well with me. I sunk an awful lot of money into this adventure though so I will be heading back soon. At least it provides good blogging.

But for now, I am going to whip up some tacos and return to the couch for some more Band of Brothers. I really have simple tastes.

Apologies

2006-05-24T17:48:00.000-04:00

Wow. I wonder if I have any loyal readers left. I know how frustrating it can be to check someone's blog routinely for an update, and after a few weeks of no new posts, finally give up. I apologize but I promise I have not abandoned my blog. I started my clerkship two and a half weeks ago and I absolutely love it. I mean, I LOVE IT! I love my co-workers, I love the challenging work assignments, I love the attorneys who call me asking ridiculous questions, I love the office gossip (oh, it is fabulous. definitely more on that soon!), I just love, love, love my new job. I skip through security every morning with a smile on my face. Who looks forward to work that much? I wonder how long this feeling of employment exuberance will last.

But other than the fabulous job, not much else is new. No funny boy drama to share, no whining on my singleness, not even a good clumsy fall down type story to retell. Seriously. Y'all. I got nothing.

This weekend, I head to the beach though in search of fun, sun, relaxation and of course, drinks...due to my stomach's poor performance at the Editrix's wedding, I have avoided alcohol for the past few weeks. A shot of vodka after a solid four hours of drinking bourbon?? Not a good idea. Tonight, I will be picking up Penn State Fan's suit from the drycleaners. I will allow your imaginations to fill in the gaps....

I hope to return from this weekend armed with enthusiasm for my blog again. So, please stay tuned, what few loyal readers I have left!!

Adieu!

2006-04-28T16:32:00.000-04:00

Today is my last day as a contract attorney. Next week, I start my fabulous new clerkship. Contract attorney work is boring and sometimes, the conditions are downright unbearable. The assignment I am finishing up today was not awful but I haven't felt like a *lawyer* in months. I am very glad to leave this type of work behind and actually start the career I have been dreaming about for years. Of course, I am scared out of my skull about whether or not I can handle actually being a *lawyer* but only time will tell, right? I work hard and luckily, have a great friend sitting in the office next to me who is ready and willing to lend a hand.

So, I am off to my exit interview. I guarantee it will last ten minutes. I have nothing to say! Then, it is time for swirl margaritas. Yay!

Enjoy your weekend, folks! Hope you have nice weather like DC does!

Yikes!

2006-04-27T13:02:00.000-04:00

I am not sure what I got myself into for this summer. I decided since I don't have that many weddings (only 4 as opposed to last year's 8) that I should make fun plans that don't involve running into TH at the two outdoor bars in our neighborhood. So....drumroll, please! I got a share at a house at the beach. Dewey Beach, to be precise. Apparently, it is crazy. The housemates play a**hole (I know I can curse on my own blog, but I like the way the asterisks look) before going out, happy hour starts at 4 pm (at the latest), with a power hour followed shortly after. I foresee a few problems - I haven't done a power hour since college and I am only capable of doing a power hour if there is a power hour tape (yes, I said tape. I guess now people have power hour CDs. Or a power hour MP3 type device. I am not up on the latest technology). For some reason, hearing a song for 60 seconds helps me consume beer quickly. Also, I haven't funneled a beer since Pledge Night my sophomore year of college. I have a small stomach and it fills up rather quickly. Slow and steady drinking wins the race, I say.

The other problem involves the game of a**hole. I have no problem with it as a game, but I never remember the rules. I have played 85 million times in my life but am ALWAYS that girl who at the beginning of the game says "How do you play again?" I am nervous my ineptness, which I find endearing, may just piss some people off. I am planning on showing up with brownies to win everyone over. I am hoping my impressive culinary talents will cause everyone to overlook my poor drinking skills. Sure, it is fun to stay up late and funnel beers but won't it be nice to wake up to a housemate who made French Toast?

3 more years of Jack

2006-04-27T10:16:00.000-04:00

My email to the members of the 24 dinner party crew:

according to the 24 website, kiefer has signed on to play jack for 3 more seasons. i have no idea what kind of wacky plotlines they have left to explore. or who will still be alive to explore them.

virus - done.
nuclear weapons - done and done
chemical agent - done.
bad guys from russia, china, middle east - all done.

maybe jack's next nemesis will be canadien.

Penn State Fan's reply:

I don't care if he's investigating an abmormally large amount of sugar being dumped into candy canes in an effort to increase hypersensitivity of kids, thus make them more likely to rebel against authority - I'll watch.

Yes, we are obsessed. I must say a few words about the meal I cooked last Monday night in honor of Jack Bauer. I made Bacon and Herb Wrapped Pork Tenderloin (which involved tying bacon to the tenderloin with unwaxed dental floss), sweet potatoes (which I messed up but my friends all gallantly praised them nonetheless) and asparagus. Yum, right? AND I made a cheesecake. From scratch! I was uber impressed with my cooking skills. Not so impressed with the fact that I had a huge piece of cheesecake last night BEFORE dinner, but it happens. Let's hope my seamstress left me a little room to breathe in my bridesmaid dress for the Editrix's wedding next weekend!

Change

2006-04-25T13:35:00.000-04:00

I am currently in a bit of a pickle. There is someone in my life, that I care about deeply, that needs help. She is in a bad situation but seems unable (or perhaps, more accurately, unwilling) to extricate herself from said situation. I myself have been in my fair share of bad situations. And I moaned and bitched and cried to my friends and family about some of these situations. But at some point, one must stop the bitching, moaning, crying, etc. and recognize that most situations can be changed. But one has to WANT to change. One must be open to the possibility of change, no matter how overwhelming, scary, or intimidating change can be. Change is all of those things - and making a change, such as walking away from someone that you care about it, is indeed overwhelming, scary, and intimidating. But, at some point, we must give in to what we know in our hearts is right. And walk away. Lucky for me, TH forced me to walk away. If he hadn't broken up with me, we would most likely still be together and I would most certainly be still miserable. I would never have taken the time to focus on myself and becoming happy again.

I know that it was right to break up even though I missed him so much last night, I could barely breathe as I lie in bed. I had people over for a 24 dinner party and one of the guests was Wayne, mine and TH's mutual close friend. When he walked in, everything came rushing back and luckily, I was slicing pork so I couldn't afford to lose my composure. But I could barely look over at Wayne during dinner because seeing him felt so strange. Sure, we were close friends before TH but I will forever associate Wayne as TH's best friend. As much as I want to have my friendship with Wayne return to normalcy, I recognize that is impossible. The change in our little group's dynamic (in that I am basically no longer a part of the group - gotta love bros before hoes) certainly is painful. But I will never get TH out of my head if I continue to surround myself with friends that remind me so much of our time together. Because there were some good, no, fantastic times together and we spent them with these friends. I hope that when I am ready to re-join the group that I am welcomed back with open arms. But, for now, I need to continue focusing on myself and distance myself from the past. And that is a huge change. These friends have been my social support group for a few years. As I said before, change is overwhelming, scary and intimidating. Striking out more *on my own* has been just that. It has also been rewarding, refreshing, and downright crazy at times. That is the thing with change....you just never know what it is going to bring.

I hope that everything works out for my friend. Unfortunately, until she is ready to accept change, there is very little that I can do besides be there to listen and to support her. I would like to think I am doing those things well but it is awfully frustrating at times. Our lives are exactly that...they are *ours*. To live, to love, to walk away, to stay...we can't live our lives for other people. Obviously, we must consider the wants and needs of others, especially in the context of a relationship. But, sometimes, saying good-bye to someone is not at all selfish - it is just the right thing to do.

Weekend, Part 1

2006-04-24T12:29:00.000-04:00

Friday night, I had dinner and drinks with my good friend, Red. When she and I get together, we have the best of intentions. *Let's just meet for a drink* is how the conversation begins. Five hours later and three pitchers, we stumble out of our neighborhood haunt. This past Friday was no exception. We scored a cozy booth along the bar with an attentive waiter and in earshot of the band. We recognized that tonight would be one of *those nights*. We observed the singles scene around us and made some keen observations. At the booth behind me sat two guys. My back was to them so Red narrated as a girl strolled up to their table, motioned for one guy to shove over and joined them. We debated whether or not she knew them until we finally decided that she did not. And we were impressed! Red and I are both friendly and outgoing but that kind of brazen behavior blew our minds. Oh, and it totally worked. Well, it *worked* in that they left together.

Back at our table, Red and I managed to attract some of our own friends. One guy sat down with us solely to get out of the way of the waiter and planned to leave after the waiter passed. Well, the problem was that he had caught our eye earlier because he was carrying a man purse. That looked totally empty!! Red and I brainstormed things that could have filled it up at one time - I surmised he used the bag to carry his lunch. So, it was all over for him once he sat down with us. We HAD to get to the bottom of the man purse and we barraged him with questions. What was in it? (I was right - he had his lunch in it earlier today) Why did you bring it to the bar? Don't you feel like you are carrying a man purse? Why don't you keep your wallet in it? Why do you look like Eminem in your ID but not in real life? (Apparently, there had been a hair dying incident) Do you have a book in there? (Bad question to ask - he had some French philosophy book in his man purse and he tried to read us a passage out of it). He finally excused himself and we continued to watch his man purse move around the bar. Men carry briefcases, messenger bags, and backpacks. Men do not carry what amounts to a glorified fanny pack.

We had another funny encounter shortly after Man purse guy left. Red and I were leaning against the wall, lounging in our booth, when a guy stopped right in front of me. He leaned in towards me, put his hands in a mock frame around my face and said, in all seriousness, "I must know your name." Now, I am relatively comfortable with my looks. I am far from drop dead gorgeous but I clean up okay. But, this was just too much. I caught myself before I laughed in his face and replied, in an equally dramatic tone, "My name is Jersey." He let out a huge sigh of relief, shook my hand and said "Thank you. I just needed to know."

That was it. I mean, for an opening line, it was pretty creative. And I thought I gave him what he wanted! But, he moved on, probably because his friends standing behind him, looked absolutely mortified. The picture framing of my face was a little over the top but really? How is one supposed to start talking to someone at a bar? I can usually squeak out a greeting but after that, I tend to either stare blankly at the person or launch into nervous chatter. I should really work on that.

Saturday morning came rather quickly after the events of Friday night and I pulled myself together to go to a food bank in the District. After a few hours of packing hygiene products for homeless people, I felt the craziness of Friday catching up to me. I snuck into church a few minutes late on Saturday night and quickly remembered why I didn't enjoy the Saturday night mass. The Cantor (just to be clear, that is the person who leads us in song)!! Now, I can't carry a tune and only sing audibly in three places - my car, the shower and church. I find the Saturday evening cantor a bit of a narcissist. He seems to prefer hearing himself sing (and yes, he has a significantly better voice than me) and allows the congregation to join only for the refrains of some songs. I felt jipped. So, I sang a few of the verses of the Communion song against his instructions. Unfortunately, no one else dared to defy the Cantor and since I can't even stand to hear myself sing, I didn't last long.

Ok, I have more thoughts swirling around in my brain, I promise. Unfortunately, this is my last week of work so I feel my productivity should be higher than usual. So, back to work. For now.

Not Okay

2006-04-20T12:02:00.000-04:00

The girl who sits next to me at work is clipping her fingernails at her desk. Very loudly. GROSS. That is not okay at the workplace.

This is the same girl who last week wore a shrug-type sweater with nothing underneath it. Rather revealing for a law firm, don't you think???

Values

2006-04-19T09:52:00.000-04:00

Pardon yesterday's lovey dovey post. Back to your regular scheduled programming of my disastrous, yet oh so entertaining, life.

The Writer is out. Officially. I kept talking to him because he was nice, funny, and smart. And we had a good time together. No more! I had dinner with the Mix last night, a friend of mine from college. After dinner, I checked my voicemail and I had a message from the Writer, asking me to call him before 7 p.m. because there is something he wanted to talk about it. Uh oh, me thinks. Very few positive things happen after a boy tells me he wants to talk. It is a few minutes before 7 so I call him as I walk to the metro. We shoot the shit for a few minutes and he asks if I have time to talk. I replied that since I was standing on the corner of 17th and Eye that perhaps now was not the best time but he was weirding me out so I wanted to hear what he had to say.

Writer: "I think we should stop seeing each other."
awkward pause
Jersey: "Okay..."
another awkward pause
W: "It has nothing to do with my attraction to you because I really enjoy hanging out with you."
J: "Okay...so what does it have to do with?"
W: "I just think we have different values."
yet another awkward pause. this one is pretty long so I look at my phone and discover he has hung up on me! He then calls back but is not there when I answer. I contemplate throwing my phone under the metro bus that is about to run me over. Finally, he calls, I answer and I can hear him.

W: "Sorry about that...my phone is not getting good reception in my apartment."
J: "Okay..." (I know, I am quite the conversationalist)
W: "So, as I was saying, I just think we have different values, and while perhaps it is not a problem now, it will be one down the road and so I think we should stop seeing each other before that happens."
J: "And what exactly do you mean by different values?"

I absolutely did not have to ask this question. But I couldn't resist. Our difference in values? I won't sleep with him. That is the *value* he was talking about. And, to his credit, he was honest and acknowledged that was the value he was referring to. I take that back - he gets no credit. I just remembered this entire conversation took place while I stood outside the entrance to the Farragut West metro.

I took issue with his word choice. Values? The word *value* has a judgmental connotation that bugs me. Perhaps I am too sensitive but when someone tells me he has different values than me, I hear a judgment in that statement. And by different, I mean my values are better is what that sounds like. I told him I disagreed with his word choice, and that *values* implies judgment. He got defensive and told me that I was just arguing semantics. Who uses the word semantics during a break up conversation? What a load of detritus.

The conversation wrapped up shortly after that. I am honestly not that upset about the whole thing. I had been thinking that perhaps casual dating, and its dramatic side effects, were a little much for me right now. I had decided to tell the Writer that I thought we should just be friends. Since he played the *values* card, I don't see any point in being friends with him.

Next!

See, it does happen

2006-04-18T12:10:00.000-04:00

Love, that is. Well, not that I ever doubted its existence. I just sometimes doubt love's willingness to happen to *me*. And, no, it has not happened to me. I am currently seeing two guys but I think it would be a stretch for me to say that I like either one. Well, I like them both, but am unclear as to whether I *like like* either of them. Sometimes, the sixth grade terminology is the most appropriate.

The only thing better than love happening to you is hearing about love happening to a friend. And sometimes you want love to happen to someone else even more than you want it to happen to you. That is how I feel about my friend Charlotte. She has endured more than her fair share of heartbreak. And, to top it all off, she has been ready and willing to get married since....well, since forever. She can't wait to just be married, have babies and be happy. Watching our college friends march before her down the aisle has been tough. She has played the role of bridesmaid in at least 10 weddings. Maybe more. She grew up in a small town in the South where everyone knows everyone else's business. When she goes home, no one in her town asks her about her fabulous job or her adorable townhouse that she purchased herself. The most often asked question she hears: Seeing anyone?. For the past few years, Charlotte's answer has been a frustrated *no*, more of a barely audible grunt through clenched teeth, than an actual answer.

Unfortunately for Charlotte, love is not something that occurs on a timetable, whether that timetable is yours or your mother's, love is not something that we can force, and it is sadly not something easily found, even when we are earnestly looking for it. Love happens when one is not looking, when one least expects it and oftentimes, when one has decided to completely write love off...then BAM, love shows up.

A few months ago, Charlotte and I were discussing being the single girl amongst a group of marrieds. I detected a change in her attitude towards being single. Charlotte's past experiences had left her somewhat jaded and bitter - when she received a wedding invitation, she would mutter "stupid happy people" as she added the invite to her already covered refrigerator door. But, as of a few months ago, Charlotte had turned a corner. She told me that she loved her life - she had a great job, great friends, her family was healthy and while she did not want to be single forever, she was tired of focusing her life on the one thing she wanted but didn't have. She had reached a peace with being single that I hadn't heard in her voice since....well, frankly, I am not sure she has ever been at peace with being single.

You can guess what happens next. BAM. New Guy moves to town. Charlotte falls hard. New Guy falls equally hard. They just spent Easter weekend with Charlotte's family in her crazy little hometown. They attended church with just about everyone that lives in town. New Guy loves crazy little hometown. And Charlotte's family. Charlotte is thrilled. As in over the moon, deliriously happy, only uses exclamation points for punctuation regardless of the sentence, thrilled. And I couldn't be happier for her.

Unrelated Revelations

2006-04-17T11:29:00.000-04:00

I do not want to be 16 again. As you probably deduced from an earlier post, 16 wasn't a great year for me. And I definitely don't want to be 16 in today's day and age. Wow, I sound like my grandmother. Roommate has a 16 year old sister who, along with a friend and Roommate's mom, stayed at our apartment this weekend. Roommate's mom is taking the two 16 year olds to Myrtle Beach for the week. Roommate's mom, as an aside, is saintly. Can you imagine taking two teenagers to the beach?? Each girl spent a significant amount of time on our computers and their cell phones. When I arrived home Saturday night, Little Sister's Friend was on the phone with her boyfriend, warning him that she may have too much fun on vacation to call him every night. Apparently, his reaction was not as she hoped, because she promptly hung up the phone and moaned to Little Sister that he told her that he wouldn't care if she didn't call while she was gone. These are the tragedies of a 16 year old girl's life. I bit my tongue from warning the teens that boys, unlike wine, don't improve with age. Also, is it weird that I desperately wanted to sit both girls down, tell them to not have sex (if they haven't already!!), not to post their pictures on MySpace, don't accept drinks from strangers, study hard, and be nice to their parents? I resisted but I couldn't help let a very uncool "have fun and be careful" slip when I left for work this morning.

I have horrible music tastes. I am just not that into music. Right now, my Ipod is rocking out to Journey's Don't Stop Believin. I probably should be embarrassed. But I am not.

My parents have horrible traveling karma. They always hit the most ridiculous traffic. What for me is a four hour ride home for them, is inevitably a six hour slow crawl. Their karma was in full force on this most recent journey to visit my sister and I this past weekend. They woke up Friday morning, packed the car, and the car wouldn' start. My parents'car is only a few years old and has low mileage. Four hours later, they were in the second rental car on their way to DC. The first rental car they were given was making strange noises and my dad refused to rent it. Thank goodness - my parents might not have made it through two car breakdowns in one day. I think they need to start taking the train down here.

DC has been taken over by tourists. Saturday was one of those gorgeous DC spring days that make us natives smile while at the same time scowl at all the tourists taking over *our* city. Since my parents were in town, I had to venture down to the tourist trap that is the National Mall. My parents had never seen the World War II Memorial and it is definitely worth braving the tourist crowds to check out. There is a huge fountain in center of the Memorial and despite the unequivocal signs prohibiting wading, many kids (and adults!) were treating the Memorial like the neighborhood swimming pool. My father fumed. And while I often write off my dad' complaints to him turning into a grumpy old man, I agreed with him. I realized it was a warm day but letting your child strip dofountainfrolic in the fountan?? I am not kidding - there were little kids, without clothes on, swimming in the Memorial' fountain. Maybe I too am turning into a curmudgeon at the age of 27 but show some respect.

Since I have no work to do this morning, I have been scouring the Post for new and fun things to do in DC. Six years here, and I've never been to Eastern Market. I think I might remedy that this weekend.

Square One

2006-04-13T17:15:00.000-04:00

So, I have a date tonight. A nice boy is coming to my apartment and we are having dinner. I am cooking, because I love to cook. My Arlington crowd is going to happy hour tonight at a bar a few blocks from my house. My roommate organized said happy hour and invited TH. She had to invite him - he is a friend of her boyfriend's and well, we are all one happy go lucky group of friends, right?? Riiight.

Roommate just emailed me to say have fun on my date. She encouraged me to bring Youngun, my date, to happy hour because word on the street is that TH won't be attending.

And that one little sentence sends me off on a dizzying spiral of analysis. Why isn't he going? Is it because he has plans with his girlfriend? Is it because he thinks I will be there? He didn't reply to any of the group emails all day today so how does she know he isn't attending? Did he email her directly? And why do I still care? It has been almost four months since we broke up. And I am dating other people. So, where does this almost debilitating desire to ask impossible questions come from? And how do I make it stop?

I've tried so hard to not think about him. I have spent the better portion of the last almost 40 days focused on myself. I smile more, I laugh more, I honestly believe I look and feel better than I did a little over a month ago. I am healing. Right?

Girlfriends

2006-04-12T15:36:00.000-04:00

I referenced my friends in an earlier post because a few of them were in town to bid farewell to the Editrix's singlehood. As I sat at dinner surrounded by some of my nearest and dearest, I thought how incredibly lucky I am to have so many wonderful female friends.

I was not that lucky in high school. I went to an all girls Catholic school. I was not cool in high school. Not even remotely. I had what I thought was a solid group of friends but I soon realized that our friendships were based on our shared desires to study hard, earn good grades, attend a well-known college and basically, step on each other along the way if necessary to accomplish those goals. Once we left the hallowed halls we had attended, nothing remained to bind us together.

There were approximately 160 girls in my graduating class. One could gain the most insight into the social dynamic of my high school by wandering through the cafeteria at lunchtime. My high school had three brother schools and dispersed throughout the cafeteria were tables of girls affiliated with each high school: the BC girls, hands down the most exclusive of all lunch tables and whose table I didn’t dare approach even though I tutored a girl in chemistry who sat at the table, the DB girls and the SJ girls. The BC girls were mostly blonde and gorgeous, they were the stars of the tennis and soccer teams, and, to be frank, they were rather bitchy. The DB girls played basketball and softball and were involved in student government. The SJ girls were the cheerleaders and performed in the school musical. The DB and SJ girls knew that they were not at the top of the social pyramid, so those two groups settled for vying for second best to the BC girls. From what I picked up in high school, the BC boys were the best looking of our three brother schools and to date a BC boy meant you had *arrived*. As a tremendously awkward and skinny girl with braces, knowing which brother school had the best looking boys seemed unimportant. No boy, regardless of his high school’s reputation, looked twice at me.

Tucked into the back corner of the lunchroom was my table. I sat with the other girls who were at the top of our class. Rather than discuss boys or clothes, we spent our lunch hours cramming for a possible surprise quiz in Western Civilization or comparing our answers to our Physics homework. We pored over our reading assignments for the tenth time just to make sure we knew every answer. We quizzed each other on the week’s vocabulary words and tried to have entire conversations in Spanish. Everything was about competition. The entire lunchroom knew we were at the top of the class…other girls would stop by our table to find out the details of an afternoon homework assignment and we could each recite it without opening our agendas. We were the girls to borrow notes from, ask for help or seek out as lab partners. The only time I ever felt *popular* in high school was my junior year Chemistry class when one of the BC girls, the only one in Honors Chem, nearly tripped over her backpack to ask me to her lab partner.

I left high school with very few friends. I quickly lost touch with the few I had upon my arrival at Wake Forest. I wondered if I would ever have meaningful friendships because I was so unsure as to how to make friends. I thought I had the capacity to be a good friend to other girls but I struggled as to how to establish a solid foundation for a friendship. These concerns…well, they turned out to be for naught. As I look back over the last ten years of my life, I realize how fortunate I am in the girlfriend department. Throughout my four years at Wake Forest, I cultivated friendships with incredible women who truly cared about me. You all know Belle and what a wonderful person she is. She is truly an amazing friend. There are also my Rosedale girls. Each one has a wonderful gift to offer me: when I want a sympathetic ear, there is the Editrix with her understanding smile, when I need wise words, there is Haley with her practical advice, and when I just need someone to make me smile through my tears, there is Mrs. DW with her perfect balance of wit and wisdom. Without these women, the last four months of my life would have been unbearable.

After college, I continue to be blessed with new friends. My law school girls are some of the most amazing girls I’ve ever met. There is the Librarian who refused to let law school beat her down, there is Lil AG who has grown so much in the past few months from timid law student to a confident and kick ass in court lawyer, and, AKM, with whom I share so much more than love for Jack Bauer. She has inspired me to hold fast to my idealistic beliefs, no matter what criticism I encounter. Without these three girls, law school (and the year immediately following) would have been a lot more painful and lot less fun.

And of couse, there is Roommate who has taught me to never settle. Not at work, not in love, not ever. I still don’t know how she and I became friends but I can’t imagine my life without her in it. I cannot neglect the more recent friends I’ve made through the sweatshop, E and MA, who hovered protectively around me while I cried my eyes out, comforting me with their kind words and assuring me that there were better things in store for me. For a work friend to sleep on your couch just so you don’t have to be alone…well, that is when you no longer have just a work friend.

I guess this is simply an ode to my friends. I have been blessed with so many wonderful women in my life…my mom and my sister, who have been with me since the beginning and for whom I can’t even begin to express my love and gratitude, my college friends who taught me the true meaning of friendship, my law school girls, who loved me despite my bar neurosis, and all my other friends, who may not fit neatly into a category but have found a perfect fit in my life.

I hope everyone is as lucky as I am to have such wonderful friends. I recognize my good fortune, which is perhaps what inspired me to write this in the first place. I hope all my friends know that *I* am the lucky one for having them in my life. So, thanks to my friends who read this. Thanks for listening, for understanding, for holding me as I cry, for making me laugh, for dispensing advice, for biting your tongue when it must have been so hard, for answering your cell phones, and for being the best friends a girl could ask for.