Things We Can Learn from the Bravo Network

Do you know what I am doing today? (Pretend that I am a recent graduate of a large collge and have more money than sense.) I am flying to a college bowl game. College. Bowl. Game. Apparently, this is somehow mediated by the fact that we are using miles to do this and can stay with relatives. This only works because my husband doesn't say anything when I leave the t.v. on an episode of Real Housewives that he knows I've already seen.

The thing is, its seems to me that there are so many bowl games that you have to really super suck to not be in one. I know this because even my little school that never wins games is in a bowl game this year. Peach Bowl, Cotton Bowl, Fed Ex Bowl, Meth Bowl, Dunkin' Donuts Bowl. (I have been preoccupied with meth ever since my trip to Albuquerque earlier this year. Even the gas station pumps have reminders to go easy on the meth. Fascinating.)

My point is this - You don't see the Real Housewives franchise branching out to Fargo or Amarillo. That would cheapen it. So I am just saying that the college football league, or whatever it is called, could take a lesson from the Bravo network and keep it to just a handfull of bowls.

I wanna go

Today my son has a playdate with the kid who did his second grade science project on cannabis. Today my son is going to have a better day than me.

For Real?

Is this the Twilight Zone? Punked? Some modern day Candid Camera? Seriously, because it is just way too strange around here for this to be real life.

Over Christmas, the employees (meaning everybody but the contract employees) did a Secret Santa $10 limit gift exchange. Sometimes I am extra glad to be a contract employee because I get out of stuff like half-day seminars about employee benefits and the Secret Santa $10 limit gift exchange. (That's 2 Starbucks coffees people. I could give you a lovely bar of gift soap, or I could have 2 coffees. I think we all know what's better for everyone in that scenario because I assume you already have soap.)

Anyway, because the most exciting part of my job (besides the coffee sitting on my modular office furniture) is listening to all of the conversations around my cube, I come to find out that a lot of my fellow cube dwellers ALSO gave their supervisors gifts in addition to participating in the Secret Santa $10 limit gift exchange. Is that supreme sucking up or what? When I was in a law firm, the associates never got the partners gifts. Except maybe if the associates were in really good spirits, we would refrain from flipping off the partners as they left our offices (or not). Sometimes the secretaries made the lawyers some Chex Mix or cookies, but the gifts, if any, flowed down, not up. This allows the earth to continue to spin in the correct direction.

In other bizarre news, although I am not in the class of employees eligible for employee benefits such as the 401(k) and the Secret Santa $10 limit gift exchange, I am, apparently, required to participate with the regular employees in the annual practice of a self-evaluation performance review. I file papers, but I suppose I could stretch that out to a review.

To: Human Resources. From: AG

"This coming year, I will try to file papers faster and more accurately. I was filing the company's documents based on the color of the paper, then by font size, but if you think that alphabetizing them by client would be more appropriate, I am nothing but a team player. While I have the floor, I would like to request a company wide policy that any correspondence to me from a fellow employee, or to the outside world from this company, not be signed with "namaste," "aloha," or "live laugh love."Just a thought. XO, Loves ya!!!!!!! AG.

Job Search 2009

Ladies and Gentlemen:

My top 5 job search moments of 2009

(1) Showing up for an interview and nobody knowing why I was there. [Although the front desk lady was able to find two partners who showed me the new office furniture.]

(2) Interviewing with a lady for an hour and a half and never receiving any notification that I didn't get the job, other than never hearing from her again. [I am going to go all Emily Post here. You do not have to acknowledge every candidate that applies for a position, but you do you have to send a response to people you call into your office for an interview.]

(3) Being told in a job interview that I really didn't want the job. Many times. [I probably didn't get the job because I agreed that, indeed, I probably didn't want the job.]

(4) Getting a rejection e-mail from a Catholic charity on Christmas Eve. [This would have been even more tragic if I was actually a Catholic, but is kind of wrong even still.]

(5) Getting a rejection e-mail in my gmail account before I even finished the on-line application process. [This is because, in response to the question of whether I had 8 years of experience, I put no. I have just over 7 years of experience, but I am not about to start lying to a potential employer. Perhaps you round up?]

Thank God for Catherine and Her Christmas Vodka

We have set a new standard for the holiday. Accordingly, all of the following must now occur in order for us to declare it an official Christmas morning:

(1) Someone must bring up a divorce decree.
(2) Someone over the age of 8 must break down in tears.
(3) Someone must tell someone else that they do not deserve anything from them.

And this all must occur before 9 a.m.

Next year, if my son wakes me up at 5 a.m., instead of telling him to go back to sleep, I am going to get up and start drinking. Thank God for my friend Catherine and her Christmas Vodka.

That's Cold 2

I find it very inappropriate to have received a job rejection e-mail on Christmas Eve.

That's Cold!

From our friends in Canada, this is what -41 looks like. Brrrrrrr. Stay Warm. Peace and Merry Christmas.

Silent Night

When my mom was a young girl in the church choir, she was apparently such a bad singer that they asked her just to mouth the words. As a result, even as an adult, she would just hum and conduct when a song that she liked came on the radio. Or she would start singing and then catch herself and stop.

The Christmas that she was really sick she decided that we should all go to church on Christmas Eve. The preacher asked us to join in the singing of Silent Night. That year, my mom sang out loud. And she sounded (objectively, unbiasedly) beautiful. She had a beautiful singing voice, all that time.

There are many lessons there. (1) Never wait until the last year of your life to sing out loud. (2) Don't listen to what other people have to say. (3) When listening to Silent Night, one requires many tissues.

Sugar and Spice

If in your annual Christmas letter you discuss how cute your daughter looked in a bikini at her beach themed first birthday party, then you totally deserve it when she comes to you in a of couple of years and tells you that her stage name is Cinnamon.

It's a chick thing

My sister-in-law sent us a card with pictures of my nephew. And, phew, they are clothing that kid for photography these days. (This is the post where I offend everyone who has naked professional photography of their kids and that includes most of my family and good friends.) (If it makes you feel any better, just think about all the crazy hits I am bound to get for having the words naked professional photography in my blog. There are A LOT of people in Algeria searching for porn. I have learned from experience that if you blog that you are in a pissy mood, a lot of people searching for pissy women in Algeria will find you. Just thought I would share that as a public service announcement to my fellow bloggers.)

Anyway, kudos to all of you having selected the naked baby pictures over the pictures where you put your child in a tie and then sit him in a briefcase or in a tin bucket and then covered her in silk flowers. That is much worse. You could have gone that route but you didn't so I respect you for that.

But that's not the point. The point is that the card that my sister-in-law sent is a Sloane Tanen card - the one with the chicks doing yoga at 3:30 in the afternoon. If you have no idea what I am talking about, search on Sloane Tanen in Google and then select the images. She is so clever and I laugh out loud at her pictures and the captions. I posted the card up in my cube and it has certainly made it a much better cube. I have tried to explain to my husband why her pictures are funny, but he just doesn't get it.

There is a picture of a toy chick on a swing and she says something to herself about how her mother was right, she really is the prettiest and smartest chick at the playground. I am telling my husband it is funny because mothers really do say that to their daughters, and daughters really do have a moment where they believe it, but it is usually like a period of ten minutes and the rest of your life you never feel that way again. My husband just has this blank stare like now that I've explained it, it's even less funny, and why is this toy chick on the toy swing and why is there an entire book of photography of toy chicks at the gynecologist, at Hooters, etc. The books have been out for awhile, but they stand the test of time, for chicks.

That's the appropriate use of chickens in entertainment.

Weekend Treat

If you have been reading this blog for any amount of time you know that Starbucks plays a very important role in my life. I am willing to concede that a Starbucks latte is really just an adult happy meal, only more expensive. But there is just something about it. It's my habit which I justify by noting that I don't buy lunches or snacks or cigarettes or meth.

So for me to tell you that I have found something for which I am willing to give up Starbucks in order to afford it, you know for damn sure that it is fantastic.

A little while ago, my son and I ran into this swanky little gift store and he found this bubble bath that he wanted. Why not, I thought. He likes his bubbles. And the double bonus to him was that the glass bottle was shaped like a bowling pin. So we get to the counter with that and some other gifts and later when I look at the receipt, because the total seemed a little high to me, I realized that I had just bought my son $38 bubble bath. This for a kid who has in fact on his own accord bathed in dishwashing detergent.

So I decided to use this bubble bath and oh my god. Words cannot describe - Its like the most heavenly of all angels has farted in your tub, or the most divine of all lightly scented flowers have been freshly rained on. Its just the best smell ever. I love this stuff so much that I am considering giving up my coffee so that I can afford to buy it on a regular basis.

Technically, its bath gel. You can find a retail outlet at sdhonline.com

The Chicken is Superfluous

Yesterday morning I was late to work. This may have had something to do with the fact that I was hanging around waiting for Vh1 to play Kings of Leon's Sex on Fire. Even if you don't watch Vh1 (because you only listen to the "alternative" stations that play stuff like the wildly alternative Van Morrison and David Gray) and don't like Kings of Leon (because you could have written "Use Somebody" - I'll give you that), I defy you to admit that sex on fire is not a concept you can buy into. I mean, I am not a joiner, but in this case, yes please, sign me up.

Then I realized that I didn't have to be a slave to Vh1's schedule and that I could just watch the Sex on Fire video on youtube. I call up the video and settle in for the what was bound to be the most exciting 4 minutes of my next 8 hours. The video starts - its kind of dark and sepia, there are some blowing leaves on a lonely street corner. Then there is a . . . wait . . . is that a chicken?

I crap you negative. A chicken. Then there are some shots of the band. Then half way through the video the lead signer is eating a chicken wing. Then at the end of the video the lead singer spits out a chicken bone.

Open Letter to Producers of Sex on Fire: When you have a relatively attractive, shirtless, slightly oiled up lead singer belting out in a sultry voice that sex is on fire, you can stop there. The chicken is superfluous.

Stay tuned because on Monday I will discuss the appropriate use of chickens in entertainment. Seriously.

He Didn't Even Use the Pliers

$900 and two hours later . . . I have to admit, this dentist is fantastic. Not once did this guy sit on me, in the straddle position, while pulling out a crown with a pair of pliers. That actually happened to me once. My new dentist tells me that it is inappropriate for a dentist to sit on his patients. Who knew?

9 months and much bitterness later . . . There is, for the first time since I got laid off, a job posted in my area of the law and in my city. The partner-boss that laid me off made a big deal of telling me that he felt like he had a duty to help me find another job. When I've tried to contact him, however, he has never once gotten back in touch with me. He would most certainly know somebody at this place.

[As an aside, other partners there have fallen all over themselves to help.]

Unless I can think of somebody else that might know somebody at this place, I am relegated to the on-line submission process. If you have ever done this then you know that (1) you are lucky if your responses to the questions don't automatically generate an e-mail notification that you are not qualified, and (2) even if you don't get that immediate response, it's like sending your resume into a black hole. So, last night, instead of watching the re-run of the Real Housewives that I missed when I was in Scottsdale, I applied for this job. That's how serious I am about this possibility.

[As an aside, I scored an interview with the lady at the other firm that my husband went out with. Not awkward.]

Ranting Here and There

Today, instead of ranting here, I will be (1) ranting over at bitterlawyer.com, and (2) having $900 and two hours of dental work done. Visit me later today over at Bitter Lawyer and enjoy all the other rants, egos and craziness that ensues over there.

Its a small, small world

This morning, at 5:30 a.m., I was applying for a job. Applying for a job is another full-time job that you cannot do at your current job unless you really want the people at your current job to make the decision for you regarding when you are leaving.

Anyway, my husband comes and looks over my shoulder at the firm's web page and at the picture of the partner who is looking for an associate. He says. "I know her." And by the way he said it you can trust me that the only appropriate follow-up question was, "Did you date her?"

If I end up getting an interview, it won't be awkward at all. The good news is, my husband says she is really nice.

[I think he might be a little bit of an attorney groupie (but only in this one particular area of the law). I had better find a job as an attorney again, soon!]

Tabs 16-30

What do I have to do in this organization to get a damn inbox?

One thing I miss about being an attorney is that, when you are an attorney, nobody in administration questions your need for supplies. I could ask for green highlighters, bic medium point (NOT fine point) red pens, 3 transgender albino pygmies and a Diet Coke, and the supply person would ask if by noon was too late. Here, when I ask for tabs for my binder numbered 16-30, I actually get e-mails back asking why. And, really, how do you explain that. When you need tabs 16-30, tabs 1-15 (that we do already have, I am reminded) will not do, nor will tabs A-O. After way too many e-mails back and forth making my case for tabs 16-30, all I can conclude is that I am going to have to wait to see if they get approved in next year's budget. But when they finally decide, I may miss the memo because, as noted, I do not have an inbox.

Weekend Treat - Jonathan Adler

What a lovely couple to have at dinner. These are candle holders OR bud vases. Brilliant Mr. Adler. Just Brilliant.

www.jonathanadler.com

Seminar 2 and Edits

The seminar went well, if the definition of well does not include any parameter of making a profit. It's still MY business and I had two customers today.

....

If you own a kindle or a nook, I am going to go ahead and insult you right now. I saw both of these on the plane yesterday. What kind of adult is this designed for? At most, you can get part of one large paragraph or two very tiny paragraphs on the screen. Who reads so slowly that that is not annoying. It seems like you would be clicking the thing every 5 seconds to get the "page" to turn. If I wanted to be exerting that much effort, I would not be reading. Seriously. Somebody tell me why these things are such a big hit.

I have sort of been on a roll of offending people. I was at a staff meeting yesterday and I was unable to locate where I had placed my internal sensor for decorum and grace. In fact, I frequently can't find it, but then I have immense guilt. I wish I was one of those people who could speak my mind without the guilt that follows. Either that or learn how to edit.

I think I might be a nicer person if I lived in Scottsdale. I have only been here for about 12 hours but I am already in love with it here.

Cube World Hell. Only, It's Not Warm.

This is the fourth day in a row that there has been no heat for the cubes in my part of the building. It is -8 degrees outside. We are working with our coats on. I could go to the grocery store and purchase, say, a salmon, and I could just leave that salmon right out in my cube and it would be adequately chilled until I was ready to go home and put it in the fridge.

I only have two people signed up for the seminar that I am putting on in Arizona tomorrow. Although this doesn't cover the costs, I can't cancel. First of all, people need their CLEs in December. Also, I will be so glad to be warm for a change.

In other news, I found out today that my Cube World job got extended for another year.

Step-mother

I think that my ex-husband might be getting engaged on his upcoming 40th Birthday trip to Napa. This is because: (1) Napa is a total couples place; (2) It's a bit sad to have been married three times prior to reaching 40, but a bit less sad to get married for a thrid time after 40; and (3) He and his girlfriend have been looking for a new house.

My ex-husband getting married doesn't even register as a blip on my emotional radar. The thing is, this will make his girlfriend my son's step-mother. Girlfriend is one thing, but step-mother is a whole different ball of wax. If a girlfriend leaves, she is probably gone for good. But a step-mother, even if she ends up divorcing your dad, is forever. She will send you a Christmas card for the rest of your life and expect an invitation to the wedding. Like, a step-mother is family.

What a lucky girl she will be if she gets engaged to my ex-husband (notwithstanding the fact that she will be engaged to my ex-husband). She will receive no greater honor in her lifetime than being able to have the word mother attached to her in relation to my son.

Pity Party

Pity Party

or

Enjoy Watching the Laid-Off Lawyer Be Sad

(Depending on how you feel about lawyers)

My supervisor told me that last night she went to the theater and that she is a season ticket holder. She went on an on about how nice it is to go to the theater and how she deserves to treat herself with that from time to time. And While I don't doubt that that is true, our season tickets to the theater were one of the things we had to cancel when I lost my job, and can't afford while I am at this job. So I handed her some salt and said, here, shake it in this wound. And then I went outside to scrape the ice off of my car because I also no longer have heated, covered parking.

I'm not saying that I'm not extremely grateful to have my health and my family. I'm just saying, I'm a healthy person with a family and no theater tickets or heated, covered parking.

Dragon Master / VP

Overheard in front of my cube at Cube World:

Corporate VP: Oh yea, I would make all kinds of little things out of cardboard.

She: Well, I've never heard of Dungeons and Dragons. How does it work?

Corporate VP: [Explains the game]

She: You mean, you would sit around and talk as if you were that character?

Corporate VP: Yea. And we dress up too.

She: Well, your costume looks great. Have fun at the party tonight.

Me: [Go into bathroom and beat head against stall, then go into Dragon Master's office and remind him that we are meeting with the Board in ten minutes, costumes not required.]

It's Official

I have never really had a title around this office. I gathered by the salary and the appointment to kitchen duty that I was not upper management, but other than that, I had no idea.

I started to get a sneaking suspicion that I might be an administrative assistant. Now, don't get me wrong. There is nothing the matter with being an administrative assistant. My mother was one and she is my hero. But my mother (1) wanted to be a secretary and (2) she did not have a law degree.

Last week, I was at a meeting about a new project that one of the VPs is managing. He said that he is going to need one of the administrative assistants to help him out. And he picked me.

Dear God. I have gone from being a senior associate at a big law firm to a secretary. This year I am back to putting Christmas on credit and having discussions with my husband about whether we can afford our house anymore.

Three years of law school. Plus one year for a masters of law. I am now, officially, an administrative assistant. (With 50K due to Sallie Mae for the law degree.)

Weekend Treat - Kate Spade iPhone cover

Well now I want an iPhone.

This is the cutest thing $30 can buy. iPhone - iPod touch cover at katespade.com

Bad Day

It's just been a bad day. I'm not soliciting for comments or e-mails. I'm simply stating, I just don't have it in me to make light of anything today.

1. The dental work is going to cost $900.
2. It's so friggin cold in my cube that I haven't taken my coat off all day.
3. I found out that my employer considers me to be an administrative assistant. [More on that in another post.]
4. Somebody told me a family secret and it was hurtful. [That's as far as I can go on that one.]
5. I got a rejection letter today from a law firm that I was fairly certain would at least contact me for the next step.
6. Only two people have signed up for the next legal seminar that my business is presenting. This doesn't cover the costs.
7. The company had a team building exercise today and I had to role play. At the break I beat my head against a bathroom stall.
8. I caught myself standing in line at Starbucks singing OUT LOUD Eddie Mercury's "I'm going slightly mad."
9. When I walked up the steps to the office I started to cry (and its nowhere near time to blame that on PMS).
10. I dropped my running shoe in wet mud.
11. I forgot to pay the water bill (for several months) and they shut off the water. [In my defense, they did stop sending me bills. However, they explained to me today that even though they stopped sending me bills, I used the water and I should have known to ask for a bill. Given that I am actually a lawyer, despite my current job title, I knew that they had a valid point.]
12. At the gym, the guy working out in the row of elliptical machines in front of my row of elliptical machines had really bad gas.

Sugar

I have a cavity. Oh the horror.

The last time I had a cavity filled, the dentist said that he was going to require me to take a second dose of tranquilizers before he could work on me. And I required that the video screens above the exam chairs be switched to my Journey's Greatest Hits DVD and for my husband to take me away for a long weekend afterward. I find anything to do with my mouth that stressful.

You would think that when you are on the every three month cleaning plan that cavities would not happen. Apparently, the every three month plan is not in lieu of flossing. As an added bonus, this cavity is next to an old crown, so while they are in there they are just going to go ahead and replace the crown. Just a small pre-Christmas two hour dental chair celebration.

This cavity might have something to do with the very large amount of sugar I consume. I do limit myself to only one flavored latte a day. (Only in the rarest of circumstances will I hit Starbucks twice in a twelve hour period.) After my latte, I switch to tea with honey. Okay, honestly, it's honey with tea. And there is a new cupcake place that opened up near our house and who doesn't love a cupcake. Only, I am allergic to wheat so I just eat the icing. Probably for someone who hates dental work as much as I do, I should cut back on the sugar. Or I suppose I could floss.

Orlando on Margaritas

Once upon a time, my friend and I had been drinking margaritas for a while when we got this brilliant idea that we should move to Orlando and work at Disney World. She was going to be Ariel, and I was going to be Belle (After all, Belle is the smart princess. If deciding at 23 that you are going to run off to Disney World to be a princess isn't a sign of brilliance, then I don't know what is).

We thought about just going to Orlando that very night, right from the bar, but then decided we should probably go home and pack and meet up in the morning.

The next morning, not another word was spoken.

A few years later, when we were sitting on my porch drinking margaritas, my friend said, "Do your remember that time you wanted to move to Orlando so you could be Belle?"

Ah, hello? At least Belle is a real person. Do you remember the time you wanted to run off to Orlando to be a MERMAID?

In retrospect, it has come to be that all of the crazy ideas were mine. Indeed, once when we were sitting out on her apartment patio drinking margaritas, I thought it would be hysterical if we switched around everybody's porch furniture and plants. When the apartment dwellers walked out in the morning, they would be so confused. Their exact and entire patio setup would be on someone else's patio. What we didn't know was that, because it had been a particularly dry summer, they had just painted (yes, painted) the grass green, and we had tracked green foot prints everywhere. So then we had to switch everything back before anybody noticed.

Many years later, I am a laid-off lawyer and my friend is a SAHM and we live 300 miles apart. Now I have an eight year old that would totally hold me accountable if I ever so much as mentioned in passing that we should go to Orlando (which in 8 year old language is synonymous with Disney World). I can't imagine how many margaritas it would take at this point in my life to make Orlando sound like a good idea. But I bet I could talk my son into switching everyone's porch furniture one night.

Religion and Politics

There are some places I won't go in this blog. My extended family is generally off limits, although this pains me greatly to say given the availability of rich material. Let me just say that they are quite religious and quite Republican. (Note to husband, the point here is about my son, not the extended family.)

Last summer, we were at Family Beach Vacation in Marathon Key. On the last day, my son was telling his step-grandma about his school project on Buddha. Remember, he goes to an alternative learning school where they can study whatever they want. I was quite proud of his ability to recite the 7 Noble Truths. I heard him telling his step-grandma about this and left them to their conversation.

Later that day, at the airport, my son wasn't acting like himself so I asked him what was wrong. He asked me if he was going to hell. I, of course, asked him why. He said that his step-grandma had said that if you worship false gods, you will go to hell. I don't know whether it is more correct to say that I went bat shit or ape shit, but let's just say that I was not happy.

I spent the next couple of days trying to convince my son that he was not going to hell and that he was correct and so clever for knowing that Buddha is not even a god. And, anyway, as far as his dad and I were concerned, he could believe in and study whatever he wanted.

My son asked questions about religion and philosophies for a few more days. Other than insisting that we visit a stupa, he pretty much forgot about the topic and we never heard another word about it.

Until, that is, my husband's mother and grandmother arrived for Thanksgiving. They were all seated at the table with my son waiting to be served. My son is such a little shit. All of a sudden, out of the blue, he said, "So, mom, lets talk about how Buddha is not a false god."

At this point I took him into the bedroom and said, "Dude, no religion or politics at the dinner table." And he said, "You mean, I can't talk about Obama." Oh dear God no. No Obama. You are so going to hell.

The Second Best $25

I got a fantastic statement necklace at The Limited earlier this week for $25. That is the second best $25 I have ever spent. The best $25 I ever spent was for a latte in Bora Bora. Of course, I didn't know (and could not have even imagined) that I was ordering a $25 latte, but once I found out, don't you know that I could only then conclude it was the best damn latte ever.

Here are two important lessons: (1) If you happen to be fish-belly white thanks to your Scottish heritage, statement necklaces are a great way to minimize the expanse of blinding white skin when wearing a v-neck; and (2) Don't order the coffee in Bora Bora - unless, of course, you are like me and when it has been at least a week since your last coffee, you find that $25 is an entirely reasonable price for a latte.

Roasted Turkey.

Youtube. Swedish Chef Roasted Turkey.

Tradition

Last Thanksgiving, after sticking the bird in the oven and waiting for the step-kids to come over, do you know what I did? I logged some billable hours. Do you know what I am not going to do this Thanksgiving? Log some billable hours. (And, yes, that's the good news.)

I have even logged billable hours on Christmas. So, all my dear associate attorney readers, let me put it to you this way - even if you bill all through the holidays, they may still lay off your ass come Spring. Relax. Enjoy.

But if I know associate attorneys like I know associate attorneys, they'll just go ahead and work. They will probably go in on Friday, Saturday and Sunday to make up for the Thursday. Do I miss living like that? Yea, I do. There's a kind of worker's high that comes along with being in that kind of a zone.

But this year - no billable hours. I am going to enjoy, with pure and utter blissful delight, watching the Broadway people lip-sync their numbers at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade while the crew from the Today Show natters on about something incomprehensibly inane, opening a bottle of red wine at 10:59 a.m., and, as per tradition, after the pies, putting on A Christmas Story to officially start the holiday season.

In Praise of Southern Women

Speaking of cataracts (we were, I promise), I saw The Blind Side this weekend. Yay for Southern women! I get frustrated with anyone who perpetuates the stereotype of having your hair done and eyeliner on for a trip to the grocery store as a bad thing. At my grocery store, I see women in pajamas, nubby flannel and yoga pants. Is this any better?

Anyway, Leigh Ann Toughy in the Blind Side may be an extreme case, but I would certainly say that she is typical of many of the Southern women that I know who dedicate themselves to their family and to charitable service. (So what if they do it impeccably groomed?)

One of my friends from the South moved here a few months ago. We were having sushi and I was telling her about how I needed to solicit silent auction items for a non-profit that I am involved with. The next time the waiter came over, my Southern friend said, just as natural as if she was ordering another tuna roll, "Would you mind sending someone over to our table who has the authority to make decisions about charitable donations." Within minutes, my friend had secured, on my behalf, a sushi dinner for four for the silent auction.

See. Southern women use their implants for good, not evil.

Turkey

msnbc.com has a video report about a pet turkey that needs cataract surgery. Um . . . . I have a plan. Is he about 12-14 lbs?

Weekend Treat.

This Robert Indiana would look so great hanging in your dining room for all of your holiday festivities.

portrushgroup.com

Working Mom = Good Mom

My son composed a 21 slide Power Point presentation of why I am such a great mom. Let's just reflect on the awesomeness of that for a moment.

One of the slides is titled "A good mom" and then states "is a lawyer." So there you go, all you working moms out there. We make our children proud. Let that add evidence to the pile that as working mothers we are serving as good role models.

(We haven't discussed with my son that I am not currently working as a lawyer. It seemed like not something that an 8 year old needed to know and especially not when he had just announced that he wanted to study lawyering for his big school project. He wants to be a patent attorney. He's very concerned about the proper use of trademarked materials.)

Extra Mayo Please!

This is how I know my husband is from the South. Yesterday I made Asian Pork. This wasn't just pork with a subtle Asian flavor. No, this pork simmered for 6 hours straight in the crock pot (all of the finest Asian dishes beginning, of course, in a crock pot) with soy sauce, star anise, cinnamon and ginger. There was no mistaking that this was Asian pork. Today, my husband put that Asian pork on a bun and ate it with mayonnaise.

Girls Are Work

One of the boys in my son's class has been teasing him about his girlfriend. If you ask me, this kid is way too agitated to be the son of a spaced out yoga teacher. But then again, this lady scares me a little bit so I can kind of see where he's coming from. She never blinks and she has a perma-grin, but not the good kind of perma-grin like when you are the only one who knows that your husband is leading an international conference call naked or when you had an extra strong cocktail before you got to the party. Its more like a perma-grin brought on by too much Lexapro and not enough human interaction with people not sticking their asses in the air. I always feel like if I stand too close to her that she is going to reach into her messenger bag made out of recycled organic potato sacks and sprinkle pixie dust on me and then I will be permanently afflicted with the not good kind of perma-grin.

My son and I had talked about the teasing and we agreed that this kid was probably just jealous that he didn't have a cute little girlfriend too. When I asked my son if this kid was still teasing him about his crush, he said, "Yeah, but he can have her. Girls are a lot of work." (I gather things are going well with his father's girlfriend.) I asked him what he meant by that and he said, "You know. Make me a marble tower. Give me your pretzels." Bitches. Its always something.

Fucking Bluebirds

Do you remember yesterday when I had cartoon bluebirds chirping around my head and cartoon chipmunks dancing at my feet. Fuck 'em.

All it took was 8 hours in the Cube From Hell and I am back to "What the hell?" I know. I know. My husband just orchestrated the world's most perfect 40th birthday for me, and I have the world's coolest 8 year old for a son, but I am not a happy person for 5 out of 7 days of the week. I'm a weepy pissy grumpy unpleasant person a good majority of the time because of this damn job.

In times past, I would feel bad about feeling that way (I'm damn lucky to have a job, etc., etc.). Then I saw Ghost Town. It's a lovely movie with Ricky Gervais and Tea Leoni (and in my head I am cute like Tea Leoni without the sex addict husband). Anyway, you should watch this movie if only for the scene where Ricky Gervais goes in for a colonoscopy and gets frustrated about all the questions he has to answer to the charge nurse just so someone can stick something up his ass. But the main point I am trying to make here is that there is another scene where Ricky is telling Tea that he really has no grounds to be frustrated with his life, given how lucky he is compared to everyone else. Tea then explains to him that he has every right to be frustrated because you only have one life, and the world's other frustrations, while important, shouldn't change the fact that you deserve to be happy. She's cute and brilliant.

This past weekend, while staying at the hotel, I seriously wondered whether I would be happier being a hotel maid than sticking with my current job - and I don't even clean my own house! That's how bored I am at my job. And yes, I am asking around for work and even offering to fill in for the jobs that this company has posted as open.

My husband asked me this morning why they keep me around here. Valid. The best way I know how to explain it is by analogy. My cousin is an information technology guru and works for a company doing IT. Much like me, he is bored crazy because he has nothing to do. He has nothing to do because people have no idea whether an IT issue takes 15 minutes or 15 weeks to fix. Although he begs for other work, people need him to be available when there is an IT issue. He spends lots of time just sitting around being available for issues to pop up, and when they finally do, they usually end up being 15 minute issues. That's me, only replace IT with minor paralegal issues.

Because I am doing minor paralegal work, I am able to pad my resume during my unplanned legal hiatus with work that is tangentially related to the law. And they pay me. But every day I absolutely buckle and wretch at the idea of having to face a computer, located in cube with a lonely individual energy saving light bulb, doing absolutely nothing FOR EIGHT HOURS. Eight hours. Eight. Really. Long. Hours. In half minute increments.

At some point it's just not worth it to spend the days like this. I knew I needed to leave my ex-husband when I started to take my frustrations with him out on my son by being grumpy and easily agitated. Basically, the most important person in my life wasn't get the best of me. That's how its starting to feel with this job. I get home and I'm just beat and mental from sitting around doing nothing all day and for whatever reason I just can't switch over into sweet wife and good mom mode. It's at the point where my family just isn't getting the best of me, or really even me at all. And, yes, I am actively looking for another job.

And It Was Good

At 1 a.m. on the morning of my birthday, I woke up with a headache so bad that it, well, woke me up. There was no going back to sleep so I decided to get up and go into the living room. My son comes walking in. Here I should tell you that my son is, and has always been, an insomniac. I would have thought he was some freak of nature if this trait didn't run in my family (except that this trait totally skipped me). Anyway, the first thing my son does upon seeing me up is sing me Happy Birthday. Then he gets on the couch and curls up with me as I drift back off to sleep. That alone was enough for a perfect birthday.

But there's more.

When I got up the next morning and checked my e-mail, I had a message from a friend of the family. More specifically, it was a message from the wife of the son of my parents' best friends. (This is all relevant to the impact of the story.) I grew up with their son, but I have only spoken with his wife a few times. This is what the message said:

"I have to tell you I think of your Mom frequently. Her face pops into my head and I smile. She was a special lady. Peter adored her."

That is the best e-mail in the entire history of e-mail. Thank you thank you thank you Peter's wife. Thank you for helping me feel so close to my mom, like she is right here and such a part of everything. That alone was enough for a perfect birthday.

It was also a great day because I didn't have to go to work. That alone . . .. My husband and I were headed to Las Vegas for a long weekend to celebrate my new decade. As we got off the plane and were walking to baggage claim, I started to complain about my job, because I am nothing if not persistent. He was basically ignoring me until he said something about crazy Canadians. I was thinking that was not very nice considering that he is married to a crazy Canadian and then I stopped bitching for a few seconds about my job and looked up and there was my aunt.

Here's the part where I tell you about my aunt. When my mom died, my aunt assumed the role of her presence at all important functions in my life. She has been tireless in her support of me. I know she loves me, but I also know she does these things for my mom as much as she does them for me. I felt like my mom was standing right there with us.

Later that night, we all went to dinner. We went to Bouchon, not Bouchon Bakery (see below), which is a restaurant that my husband and I had been to in Napa, and there is also one in Las Vegas. We had just finished up a really good dinner and my husband says, "Would you like one more present?" Oh the gluttony! Yes, please! He presented me with a ring that is worthy of marrying him all over again.

Sidebar - If you are ever in Vegas, you must promise me that you will go to Bouchon Bakery (not the restaurant, although you can go there for dinner if you want, but here I am talking about the bakery). It is located at the back of the Venetian, facing the theater where they show Phantom. When you get there, you must have a macaroon. These are not the coconut macaroon teepees. These macaroons are the almond flour kind with the egg shell thin crust and the middle that melts in your mouth. When you try one of these, you will thank me and you will say, "I have found the meaning of life, or at least breakfast."

Anyway, here's the thing about turning 40. Last January, I was sitting in THIS VERY SEAT at the airport in Las Vegas waiting to go back home. I had spent our Vegas trip that January on the computer rewriting a legal memo that one of the partners at the law firm had asked me to rewrite for a third time. At that point in my life, and for the previous decade, the law had been the center of my life.

I'm not proud of the fact that my job was the center of my life, but it was. Everything else in my life spun around that job, including myself, my family, my friends and my home. But here I sit, 11 months later, and that has all changed. Now, at the center of my world is me, along with my husband, my son, my aunt and uncle, and my friends. I have, you could say, been saved - saved by a husband who saw a spark in me that I forgot was there, saved by an 8 year old little boy that sings me Happy Birthday at 1 a.m. in the morning and, in a round-about painful way, saved by a layoff. I have never been happier than I am at 40.

Don't get me wrong. I am still looking for that attorney job; I miss working as an attorney so badly that when I think about it, I literally ache. But I am one lucky, happy woman indeed.

Early Treat

This is going to be my last post for the week. My husband is taking me away for my birthday and, for thing one, he deserves my undivided attention. For thing two, I just have not been able to find a fashionable and functional way to carry my laptop onto the plane.

Accordingly, I present you now with an early version of the Weekend Treat. Yes that does say "Holy Shit." This mug is fantastic, as is all of the Wally pottery. What a great Christmas present for all of your friends that like coffee and appreciate the fine art of swearing! (See also, serving bowl with quote "Jesus is coming and he's bringing the bean dip.")

www.wallyware.biz

Thoughts on taking your job search to a national level, tea and the Foo Fighters

1. The thing about setting out on an aggressive national job search is that you can then get rejected more frequently, on a national level.

2. If your office runs out of green tea, and you decide to make chamomile instead, just be forewarned that it smells like horse pee in hay. I'm guessing. I don't typically come across horses or hay during the day.

3. I am also guessing that most people who drink the apple cinnamon spice tea have cornflower blue kitchens with painted stencils of geese. And the geese are wearing bows.

4. Breakfast wine. My mom had some truly brilliant ideas. She was also a fan of the Foo Fighters.

The Crush

My eight year old has his first crush, only the word "crush" doesn't seem to adequately describe the circumstance that has taken over our household. First of all, let me say that he and his lady friend are not behind closed doors making out between vodka shooters. I suspect that comes at age 10. They are, however, inseparable. They eat lunch together, play flag football together, do math homework together and, in honor of the fact that she has two younger sisters that need to be annoyed, they make up songs about shoving firecrackers up Barney's ass together.

Their affection is so strong and encompassing that those of us in the know can only sit back and wait for the inevitable fall. Sooner or later (and I suspect sooner) she is going to decide that she no longer wants a boy who seems to always have a milk mustache and draws trading cards of the United States Supreme Court Justices (true story). When she finally tosses him aside, after toying with him for a few days, no amount of consolation retail will be able to fill even a tiny part of the hole that has been left in his heart.

I would have preferred for him to go for the sweet little girl with the mini-boden wardrobe and the parents with the time-share in Cabo. But no. He picks the one who wears the soccer shorts to school, even on non-soccer days and - gasp - has a tattoo!!! (It is just one of those rub on things on her hand but seriously that is just one step away from the tramp stamp on the lower back you know it is.)

This crush has brought to light two very important lessons. The first is the mystery of what attracts men to women. Remember all those times in middle school and high school when you wondered what attracted the guy you liked to the girl that wasn't you? Mystery solved. When I asked my son why he likes this girl, his answer had nothing to do with her looks, her intelligence or her sporty demeanor. Nope. It was simply that she was there and willing. He was that easy.

The second important lesson is that you can totally use a crush to control your child. It's fun. Now, all I have to do to get my son to do something is to tell him that his crush would like it if he did so. Dude, you should eat more politely, chicks dig that. Brush your teeth, girls like fresh breath. Insert any command, she would like it!

Are you wondering what his crush is doing right now? At our house we are always wondering what she is up to right now.

Weekend Treat

I saw these, and then I needed a cigarette.

The fabulousness of these shoes cannot be overstated. Part of it has to do with how utterly impractical they are - $385 and you can't even wear them to a job interview!

jcrew.com

What Happens When You Try

So. . . my week of trying (See Post 10/29)

Let me start by saying that, if you give me 10 things to do, I will get all of it done - before noon! But give me just one thing to do for the whole day and I guarantee you that it will not get done. This week, however, I tried to get done the pitiful little that I had to do as soon as I got to work. Well, let me backtrack. Normally, I would get to work, check my gmail, check my yahoo mail, read cnn.com, read msnbc.com, read the first couple of pages in books on Amazon.com using the Look Inside feature, then check my gmail and cnn.com a second time to see if anything had happened in the world while I was reading the first three pages of lots of books. Then, and only then, could not working very hard commence. Now, because I am being the good worker-bee, I do not go back and check gmail and cnn.com for the second time.

For the record, yes I do go around asking for additional things to do.

While my increased productivity went unnoticed, and nobody decided to promote me to an office with a window and oxygen, I do feel more on top of my not very busy job. I feel a day-by-day inspirational quote calendar in my future!

Update: Since I started the blog post above, someone came into my office and gave me a great big project. Could it be? Does the Victoria thing actually work?! Victoria 1, Sloths 0.

Wonder Woman

I have a school carpool arrangement with another family. The mom is a high-risk OB-GYN doctor. I get a call this morning and it is the mom. She says, "I got called to do an emergency C-section early this morning so I am already up and about. Why don't you let me take the kids to school this morning?" Uh huh. She said that. This is her day: (1) Get out of bed in the middle of the night; (2) bring forth life; (3) drive carpool.

My first thought was that if she drives the kids, I will have some extra time to stop at Starbucks to get another coffee to help me through my day of not doing much. My second thought was WOW, did I just hear right? And my third thought was thank goodness for people like my carpooling mom OB-GYN friend. I had an emergency C-section and if it weren't for people like her, there is a large possibility that I wouldn't have the little grim reaper right now.

Four Oh

In my decades, I have lived in four countries, danced on my toes, been the target of a vicious pack of teenage girls, been in a vicious pack of teenage girls, dated lovely men, stayed married to one man too long, lied by omission, caught someone's serious mistake before it was too late when I worked in the ICU, divorced, found the man I was meant to marry, been a terrible wife, been a great wife, never been domestic, walked with sharks in the knee deep waters of Bora Bora (okay so they were only a foot long but they were real sharks I tell you), went to law school, sat with my mother while she had chemotherapy and then, that same day, took her to work because, by God, she had a job to do, laughed harder than I have ever laughed in my life with my mom while trying on clothes at Nordstrom, thrown my cell phone at a wall, kept steely reserve at work while being degraded by a boss and then cried in the car all the way home, carried on the tradition of hot chocolate with homework, been a really good mom, been an okay mom, and buried my own mom while holding my ten day old son. Just to name a few things, in no particular order.

I have earned every gray hair that I artfully cover up every four to six weeks. But I will never damn it ever do anything to minimize my laugh lines. Those are a result of all the good stuff that has happened along the way. At red stop lights, I will lean up into the rear view mirror to admire them. And I require them of all my friends.

Butter

In the latest issue of Food Network Magazine, Paula Deen, I crap you negative, has a recipe where you combine apple cider with . . . . A PAT OF BUTTER. I can't decide whether this is everything that is wrong with America or brilliant.

Of course, I have heard of hot buttered rum, but you are expected to make stupid mistakes (like drinking butter) (and setting the lawn on fire) while drinking rum.

November

Today marked the start of my birthday month. Because I am turning 40, I'm taking the whole month. My husband got out of bed this morning, got dressed, went to Starbucks and got me a latte to celebrate the start of my month. We all know that lattes are the very best when fetched by one's husband. I might add, he doesn't drink coffee or tea or even get himself anything from Starbucks and he's not even Mormon.

I reserve the full right to brag annoyingly about my husband and my son. In case you haven't read any other post in this blog, I am at the trough of my career - so I am allowed to brag about the rest of it. Trust me, unless you work in the world's darkest cube and get asked by the Sunshine Committee to join them for a fun craft hour, your job is better than mine. You heard right. Craft hour. No I don't work at a preschool.

(When I said that I was going to try to go the extra mile at work, you can't hold me to that for any work hour that is not actually an hour of work.)

The Grim Reaper

My son, being all 8 and grown up, is determined to be scary this Halloween. Starting about two months ago, he kept emphasizing to me that Halloween is for scary costumes - as if I had spent the first 7 years of his life dressing him up as a pea in a pod or something.

After months of pouring over web sites and catalogues for the scariest possible costume, my son decided to be the grim reaper. The costume came about a month ago. My son thinks that he is terrifying. While at first it was a bit disturbing to have a really short grim reaper walking around the house in slow motion, wielding a scythe and demanding in an ominous low voice that I hand over the Fruit Gushers, now I just feel like I live with the grim reaper's mini-me, especially when he starts to hip-hop dance.

Victoria

The family went to Marathon Key this past summer. The Key of Marathon happens to be one of the few places left in the United States that does not have a Barnes and Noble. Accordingly, my literature procurement for the remainder of the vacation was relegated to aisle 6 of the Marathon Key Walmart. And not all of aisle 6. The book selection was a row, no bigger than my wingspan, consisting of a few cookbooks, some Danielle Steele and Victoria Olsteen's book. Since I wasn't planning on cooking on vacation, and I harbor a suspicion that romance novels may be based on a template, that left Vic's book. Truth be told, I was drawn to it like a train wreck.

Victoria Olsteen, for those of you who don't know, is the wife of Joel Olsteen, the preacher that leads the televised sermons out of the mega church at a former basketball stadium in Texas (of course).

Now, I am not going to spout off about religion here, except to say that I have, from time to time, struggled with a desire to believe. My husband believes in the Bible on a literal level, and my mother kept a white Lennox cross by her bedside during the final year of her life. I oh so want to believe that one day I will see her again and we will go to a heavenly ladies lunch and then hit heaven's Nordstrom. But, honestly, I have a sneaking suspicion that's not how its going to go.

So, I can tell you that I really was drawn to Victoria's book out of a bizarre fascination, much like I have for the Real Housewives. Vicitoria, like the Real Housewives, is a curious representation of what my gender can do when we have a self-centeredness that refuses to acknowledge that failure is an option. There seems to be something about all the hairspray and lip gloss and shirts that hug the boobs just so that causes a synapse to form in the brain where these women think that by just showing up, business deals will fall at their feet. And they do. Huh. Huh?

I have a plan. For the next week, I am going to follow all of the advice in Victoria's book, and see what happens. (1) I'm bored, and (2) It couldn't hurt me to be a little more of a respectable person around work. Vic's book is not really heavy on the God stuff. In fact, Vic's version of God is like God Light, or really even Fat Free God. Vic's version of God is even more user-friendly than the friendly white man with the long flowing beard holding a lamb in airbrushed fashion - its more like one of those yellow smiley faces.

Really, to follow Vic's advice, all I must do is be gracious and thankful and pleasant to my husband, my family and my co-workers. (I am paraphrasing here. I haven't picked up the book since I got back from the vacation in the Keys, at which point I started where I left off in A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. One of the most brilliant pieces of literature ever composed is the first three pages of chapter two of AHWOSG. And, in my opinion, some of the hardest-to-slog-through literature ever written is the remaining 434 pages of AHWOSG.) But I digress.

Vic's book is full of real life stories of people, mostly cube dwellers, who end up doing miraculous things and have supreme goodness reign upon them simply by having a good attitude and going the extra mile in everything they do. So, hey, I can do that for a week. (In fact, at one time in my life I was known as a perky pleasant happy person. My first boss told me that she almost didn't hire me because she didn't know if she could stand my perkiness all day. True story). I will skim back through Vic's book, follow her advice, and see what kind of funky shit begets upon me this week (but sans the lip gloss, hairspray and shirts that hug the boobs just so).

New Shirt

As all of you knew, and I suspected, the J.Crew embroidered t-shirt is a little too matchy-matchy with the yellow cords.

On the Fence

Any given second, I am either on the verge of becoming a weeping mass of bitter (and I hate that word) jell-o with excessive resentment toward everybody for everything and a need for bi-weekly counseling sessions, or determined to go forward with the grace, dignity and perseverance that those whole love me (both dead and alive) deserve for me to muster. It really could go either way.

Off to a Good Start!

Just here laughing that hysterical laughter most often heard by people who need their meds adjusted, or that realize there is really nothing left to do but laugh and write off the day.

This morning I had my first ever meeting at my cube world job with the executive committee. I was to present to them what I have been working on for the past 7 months and convince them why they should change my position from temporary to permanent. I practiced my spiel in the shower, in the car with my son, and then on the way to work. I arrived with just enough time to print out the agenda for the 9:00 meeting. Only, it turns out, the meeting was at 8:00.

Fall Exercise Tips

It makes for a hard run when all you have had to drink in the past 24 hours is 3 cups of coffee and 2 glasses of wine.

Guantanamo Playlist

I could have saved the U.S. government a lot of time and effort. This is the same VH1 Classic / PBS mix that ran in my house, and my toddler never once gave up a useful bit of information . . .

AP, Oct 21, 2009 11:00 pm PDT, Musicians Crank up the Volume on Guantanamo Debate.

"At Guantanamo, the U.S. government turned a jukebox into an instrument of torture," said Thomas Blanton, executive director of the archive, an independent, nongovernmental research institute. Based on documents that already have been made public and interviews with former detainees, the archive says the playlist featured cuts from AC/DC, Britney Spears, the Bee Gees, Marilyn Manson and many other groups. The Meow mix cat food jingle, the Barney theme song and an assortment of Sesame Street tunes also were pumped into detainee cells."

Yesterday, Oh Yesterday

I decided that yesterday warranted the last squeeze of my oh-so-luxurious and bubbly Parisian bubble bath. This bubble bath was hand carried for me across the Atlantic by my lovely French friend. But do you know what happened yesterday? That shit didn't bubble. Yesterday sucked.

No Job For You

I did not get the job.

They hired someone with a different kind of legal experience. They might need someone with my kind of experience in about two years.

I feel like I have been hit by a truck. I know I am not alone. I know I am part of this recession story along with many other people I personally know, and millions I don't.

When I emailed my friends and family to let them know, everyone had a story about someone close to them in the same boat. There are so many people who did everything right and worked hard and gained usable skills and who want so badly to work - yet here we are, despite our best efforts (the resources spent, both time and money, to secure our future), despite the cold calls, the interviews, the networking.

Every time I hear or see a news story about things turning around, the recession being over, I want to scream. When my friend Hilary finds a job, my friend Kelly, Angela, Jim, the lady that my husband has to lay off this quarter, each of the secretaries that got laid off at my old firm, my neighbor, the 3,000 people that the newspaper says are getting laid off from Sun, well - lets just start with all of those people - when I hear of, lets say, two of those people finding a job (one that matches their skill level), we'll talk about the recession being over.

Meanwhile, the Tory Burch shoes sit on the floor of my bedroom in their open pink and orange box, mocking me, embarrassing me. I know my counselor will tell me (did tell me) that, for an interview, you need something special to make you feel good - but next time I will settle for a new lipstick, or wear a pair of my mom's earrings. Three hundred and fifty dollars worth of Tory Burch shoes would have bought food for two weeks, Christmas presents, or a plane ticket to visit my aunt or a friend. It would have bought a hell of a lot of big Lego sets to help my son with his process skills. Oh God, I think I am going to be sick.

A Noble Quest

Earlier this summer, J Crew had a white t-shirt with some embroidery on it. Part of the embroidery was in bright yellow, and I happen to have a pair of J Crew bright yellow cords. Buying bright yellow cords seemed like an entirely reasonable thing to do until I got them out of the J Crew store and realized that they look ridiculous with everything. The only thing I could imagine that could possibly redeem the bright yellow cords purchase was the t-shirt with the bright yellow embroidery that was strategically folded in the display by the checkout.

By the time I went back to get the t-shirt, it had sold out. It was also sold out on the web. Then it became a mission. Wherever we went this summer I had the family stop at the nearest J Crew to check for the shirt. No luck in Miami. No luck in Charleston. When I asked the sales people at J Crew Aspen whether they had the shirt, you would have thought I had asked them whether they sold Crocs and/or snow tires.

One day my neighbor was outside with her kids and she had on the J Crew embroidered t-shirt, she of no need for the t-shirt like I have need for the t-shirt.

Today oh glorious today I got an email about the J Crew fall sale and lo and behold what have we here but the embroidered t-shirt. Mine. Done.

My husband summed up the news best: "That is most excellent news indeed. A noble quest comes to successful closure!" I love this man.

Seasonal Vegetables

Most people consider corn to be a vegetable, although on an elemental level, it is really a carbohydrate. Similarly, sugar is a carbohydrate and anything that is made out of a good deal of sugar is also a carbohydrate. Accordingly, you have it on good authority, and it logically follows, that candy corn is a seasonal vegetable.

Why is it, though, that a handful of candy corn is not quite enough, while one small bite out of one of those pumpkins (made out of the exact same crap) induces the gag reflex?

October and Kindoms Fall

Last week, I sent an email to the law firm. Afterall, I didn't want to risk being the one candidate that hadn't made my genuine interest known. And still nothing. I have stopped carrying my phone with me everywhere and checking my email constantly. I think it is safe to assume that their call is not coming at any moment now.

Also, I had to cancel my seminar for this month because I only had 1 person enroll.

I am trying very hard not to get discouraged, but this hasn't been the best of Octobers. If I was cheesy (wait, I am cheesy) and I was still in college, I would sit around and listen to U2's October on repeat. Thats how sad I am people!

However, I am not living in a forest with my people being hunted (See Defiance) so I feel somewhat bad for even bitching about not hearing from the firm while I do, in fact, have some form of employment. On the other hand, it still sucks. I spent the past two hours looking for attorney jobs and wasn't able to come up with anything even remotely related to the type of law that I practice, or even anything that I could fake that I could practice.

Regarding Defiance: We are suppose to believe that the man on the left is brothers with the man on the right?

Bulldog v. Boston Terrier

Some of you have asked about the "stalking boston terriers" comment in my profile, so here's the story. When my son was two, and it was clear that TULMEL and I didn't like each other enough to have more children, we decided that we should get a dog. We got an English Bulldog. That dog was the most ridiculous excuse for a pet ever. Oh the farts. It didn't even wake up when someone rang the doorbell. It didn't like to take walks and we would have to push its large butt with all our might to get it to move if it didn't want to. Saddest of all, it didn't really care one way or another about my son. It liked me, and that was it. It now lives (although probably not because an English Bulldog's life span is about 8 years) with an older lady who was going to take it to New Mexico.

TULMEL did lots of research about dogs that are good with kids, and came up with a Boston Terrier. The Boston Terrier that we got for my son lives for my son. If we closed my son's door, the dog would sit in front of it and cry. At night it would curl up next to me and bury its muzzle in my neck between my shoulder and my ear. I wouldn't move all night because I didn't want to disturb the dog. My husband is allergic to dogs, so the Boston Terrier now stays at TULMEL's. By far, loosing that dog was the hardest part of the divorce. Now, if I know a family that has a Boston Terrier, I will specifically drive down their street to see if it is out playing. When I am out running and I see a Boston Terrier being walked by its owner, I will run up to it (and simultaneously scare the owner). I miss my Boston Terrier!

Numb

Still waiting. Feeling numb.

Processes

My son goes to an alternative school that focuses on processes and not end results. They don't even give grades at this place. This is kind of ironic because it turns out my son is totally a results guy. The faster the better - get it done, move on. He comes by this honestly. I first realized that I was not a processes person when I got bored during the SATs and decided to make an argyle pattern on the fill-in-the-bubbles answer card. For the record, I FINISHED THE TEST BEFORE ANYONE ELSE. Ha!

This school had at first seemed like a great place for him, because a regular classroom would not have been stimulating enough for him. Today, however, the teacher called and said that he was crying in the classroom because he was overwhelmed. The teacher said that my son told him that he didn't understand what he was reading. Oh my heart. Why do these things happen on dad nights. I want to hold him so badly.

Management

1. My supervisor went to management training and I have a feeling that she learned about delegation (that is, she now delegates my questions to people who have even a less likely chance of being able to answer).

2. Does the law firm that laid me off really think it is appropriate to have added me to their distribution list for their monthly newsletter?

Donut Month

I just heard on the radio that it is National Donut Month. May I propose that (1) anyone believing in this should not be included in any health reform legislation, and (2) its questionable to even be having a donut moment, let alone a donut month

Still

Still waiting.

48 Hours

My friend who thinks that I sound like an angry only child can stop reading HERE because today I am on a roll. I am anxious and angry all at the same time. I keep dropping stuff and I can't focus.

In 48 hours I should (supposedly, if they stick to the stated schedule) hear back from the law firm about the second interview. There is way, way too much riding on this. If I don't get this job (1) I wonder if I will stop being a lawyer. I simply don't know where else to turn and already feel like my practice skills have exponentially slipped away over the past seven months; (2) We will have to move from our house, my husband's and my first house together and the one that has the great view out of the kitchen window; and (3) No more Tory Burch shoes. And that may sound all really superficial, but here's the angry part - I worked really, really, really hard to be a lawyer. Not just because of the house and the shoes, but because I like practicing law. I don't know what I would do with myself to fill and fulfill my days if I am not practicing law.

Here's another angry part. It is suppose to snow this morning, but I won't see it because, in case I haven't mentioned before, I work in a cube - Four dark gray industrial fabric walls with a tiny slit to let me in and out and an energy saving light bulb overhead. This cube might as well be lit by candlelight. I want to see the snow. I want to see the snow for the strange reason that it will hurt. You know how sometimes you just want to hurt. The day I got laid off it was snowing and I could never imagine that I would still not be employed as a lawyer through the rest of winter, the spring, summer and the first snow of fall. Seeing the snow is almost like an affirmation of a new life, the one I wasn't ready to accept when the snow was on the ground when I first got laid off, but must accept now. Everything is going to change big time, in 48 hours, one way or another.

Dumpster Diving

It has been a blah and yucky week so today I decided to wear my favorite outfit and all my favorite jewelry. I had to stop and get gas and decided, since I was turning the week around, that I would clean out the back of the car while I was standing there. When you have a kid, things go into the car and never come out. I have a month's worth of after-school crafts back there, all made lovingly for me by my son while he was waiting patiently for me to pick him up. But there I was waiting for the tank to fill - nothing to do, a car full of construction paper and pipe cleaners and boxes, and a trash can right beside me. I started purging. Here me roar. New day! Then I realized I could no longer account for my debit card. It wasn't in my pockets. It wasn't in the car, my wallet, the ground. Oh no. I must have thrown it away with the crafts. So there I am, Tory Burch heels, black stockings, a skirt, three strands of pearls and a cashmere sweater, carefully picking through a gas station trash can. No card to be found. Then my nose started bleeding. I felt like a high priced hooker / crack whore dumpster diving for breakfast.

The Last Salad

I was eating one of those bagged salad kits from the grocery store for lunch when one of the secretaries came over and told me that bagged salad always gives her sister diarrhea. Huh. Just what on earth does one do with a little nugget of information like that. Try and stuff it away, and it just grows bigger and bigger. Now this is all I will think about in the salad kit section of the produce aisle - for the rest of time.

Weekend White Out

I got a letter this morning from the out of town law firm that said that they could not offer me a second interview. Which is really kind of harsh. It sort of implies, not only did you not make it, you didn't even come close.

In other news, I painted the living room white. The family that owned our house before us painted every single surface of that house some color from the Pottery Barn paint collection. I would like to see their dogs. I am sure they painted their dogs. If there was a surface in that house, it was painted a hue. The house is way too cute already on the outside (gingerbread-style) so I have to mediate the cuteness or else you would go into a diabetic coma from all the sweetness.

Why do I live in this house, you ask? Because it borders a park and any time of the day or night I can look through the park to downtown. Its nature and city all in one. And the homeless people that sleep in our yard and the flotsam and jetsam that get out of the bus at the bus stop in our yard keep things interesting. Once we made a mistake setting the sprinklers and doused the 7a.m. work crowd waiting for the bus. They retaliated by turning over the trash can into our yard. Love it! We use to have a flute player that would play while he waited for the bus. I miss him.

The Interview

The interview was anti-climatic. They did not greet me at the door with a bunch of balloons and a sheet cake. They did not decide to just go ahead and offer me the job right then and there. Nope. I am just the first candidate of many that they will be interviewing over the coming month. Month. This was just the first step in the process. There is a whole second step in the process for the lucky candidates that get invited back for the second round.

It has been a whole 5 hours and yet no phone call inviting me back for the second round. What are these people waiting for?

Monday Thoughts

1. My assistant who walks from the mail room past my desk and tells me that I have mail in my slot won the Employee of the Month award. This is the same girl who just last week, upon my asking her where I might find some toner, showed me that she keeps a supply under her desk and I should consider doing the same. She did not offer to share hers. I have lost all faith in the Sunshine Committee, the group entrusted with selecting the Employee of the Month.

2. I don't care what your Farmville score is.

3. You should, however, care deeply that I bought my first pair of Tory Burch shoes on Sunday. They are totally worth it. I want to take them off my feet and put them on my desk. They are for THE interview.

Yipee! Boo.

I didn't end up having to do that terrible thing that I thought that I was going to have to do in cube world. We had a pre-meeting before the event and my supervisor's supervisor was there. The supervisor's supervisor caught on right away that we could not go through with the terrible event. Ah ha! Someone on my side, even if it is the lady who picks through the sandwiches. But then she turned to me and said, "So, just what have you been doing for the past month?" Uh oh. Because really the answer to that question is that I actually gave up on even trying to look busy several months ago.

And it was good

Very very good. I cannot explain how incredible it feels to have your own business. The first seminar went very well. I ended up with enough clients to cover my facility costs, and a little bit of the business web page. So, no, its not a profitable business at this point. However, it's mine, it's a good product, and people liked it. That evening there was a celebratory margarita. Or two.

I cannot wait to do it again. A little less than a month, and on to the next city for the next seminar. And just in case you neglected to read the first part of this post - oh my god there is nothing that compares to the feeling of having your own business. Everybody should do it once.

In summation - I have the Cube World job (and oh boy do I have something painful to do there this week); I have my own business (oh what a feeling); and I have an interview for a real job (six months after the layoff, I have my first law firm interview). I predict that fall will be a very interesting season.

Cat Pillow Mystery Solved

My mom passed away four days after my son was born. One of the greatest tragedies of the whole thing is that she would have been the world's best grandma ever hands down. She was so good with kids of all ages, from babies to toddlers to teenagers to young adults - they all loved her. And she loved my son. She would say hello to him in my belly and we would both stand in his soon-to-be room and grin from ear to ear. She was so excited that I was sure she was driving her work friends crazy. Blissfully obsessed - that would be a good way to describe the way she felt about her grandson.

Many years earlier, my mom made a needlepoint pillow with a picture of a cat. I remember her saying that she did not know why she was making a needlepoint pillow with a picture of a cat, because she didn't even like cats. Well, now we know the purpose of the pillow.

On Monday, my son's third grade class set out on a two night camping trip. He had packed for the trip over at his dad's house. When I went to see him off on Monday morning, I noticed that he didn't have a pillow wrapped up with his sleeping bag. He said, "Mom, I do have a pillow." He unzipped his backpack and said, "Look, I have grandma's cat pillow!"

I had forgotten all about that pillow. When I moved out of my ex-husband's house, I was so ready to just be out and to get it over with that I had missed the pillow. But my son found it. On Monday night, when I was missing him desprately, it was nice to know he had his grandma with him. I want to believe with all my heart that she somehow now knows why she made the needlepoint cat pillow.

Job Search Update

The firm got back to me on Saturday and asked me in for an interview! One of the things that I love about the law is that, as evidenced by the timing of such email, the law is not a 9 to 5, Monday to Friday career; rather, the law becomes a part of you and not something that you just do on certain days at certain times. That is also, of course, one of its biggest challenges. I must admit, sometimes I wonder if my son has ever suffered because of it. However, except for the job I have now (because of the low pay and low challenge) I have never spent one minute sitting at work wondering if I made the right choice by being a working mom. I quite simply have never had that moral dilemma with myself. My concern has been more along the lines of, because I am a working mom, how can I mediate any negative impact that has on him, if any. Anyway, discuss among yourselves. The point for now is that I have an interview. A really important interview.

Job Search Update

Due to a series of events and a network of friends, the extent of which I won't go into here, I had lunch last week with someone who practices in the same area of law as I do. When I think about all the things that had to happen for me to get introduced to this guy, it blows my mind. We're talking missing the right elevator and making the right green light kind of stuff over a series of months. This outlandish series of events allowed me to meet a friend of a friend of a monkey of a relative of a coworker who knew this guy.

I told him that I was trying to meet all the attorneys in town that practice our area of the law. We chatted shop for some time and then and then - get this - he tells me his firm might be hiring another associate in his department. This fall. I tried very hard to not look like in my head I was doing back flips and jumping up and down and already purchasing the fall Kate Spade bag. He takes me back to his office to meet some other people. Later that day I get an email asking for my resume.

And I have not heard from them since. My husband and counselor say to call. My dad, who was the head of hiring and firing for a Fortune 500 company, says not to call. He says that they obviously know who I am now and when and if they are ready to call, they will call.

You know what Tom Petty says. The waiting is the hardest part.

Potluck

I just got invited to a potluck dinner.
(1) WTF!
(2) I think potlucks are illegal outside of church functions in Indiana.
(3) Someone needs a new hobby. May I suggest US magazine and the Rachel Zoe Project.
(4) Food and luck should not go hand in hand. If there is luck involved, this means there is the possibility of bad luck occurring, and I do not want to attend a dining event where there is an advertised potential for bad luck in one of the pots.

Levi Johnston

Levi Johnston is a trip. Is there anyone else that gives Sarah Palin more grief. He's just a teenage hockey player that screwed her daughter, and now he's giving interviews to Vanity Fair. I admire this kid's chutzpah!

But hey, Levi, you can't state in one sentence that you are not white trash, and in another that you have a sister named Mercedes.

On another note, Vanity Fair has hit a new low.

This is hysterical

My assistant walked back from the mail room, past my cube, and told me that I have mail in my slot.

'Tis the Season

Today I had my first pumpkin spice latte of the season and it was so good that I moaned in my cube while I was drinking it.

The Count

I have been going around like the Count from Sesame Street all day singing One! Two! I've got two beautiful customers! (insert Transylvanian accent) That's right. I now have TWO customers.

The One

I got a customer! My first customer! My only customer. The early bird deadline has come and gone and I have one customer.

Working Mom

My son has decided he likes to cook - which is so much better than spending hours in front of computer games or the t.v. So, yay for an interest in cooking. Unfortunately, I don't want to bake cookies, blend smoothies and make chex mix when I get home from work. Every single night. My son knows he has to clean up after himself, but I can assure you that an 8 years old's definition of a clean kitchen does not even come close to meeting something that would pass a health code inspection. And, and, his after school care teachers are frustrated with him because he makes crappy crafts at school and then tries to sell them (oh the horror) to parents when they are picking up their kids. As soon as we get home he wants to play some game he has made up with string and paper clips. I have tried to look busy for 8 hours in front of a computer so you would think I would welcome some interaction but the last thing I can handle is walking into school, seeing my son begging other parents for money, and then being asked if I want to play a game with string. I am not a good parent. I do not want to play a game with string not even for one minute.

So, yesterday, after a rejection letter, nobody signing up for my seminar, my kitchen a disaster, finding out that my son's spag-os with meatballs had leaked all over his backpack, and explaining to him that we do not try to sell string to other people's parents, all I could manage to do was to sit on the kitchen floor and cry.

Today I was at the dentist. A woman walked in with her child that looked to be about the age of my son. This young boy was blind and, by the sounds he was making, also deaf. I noticed when he stood up that he was wearing a diaper. The boy is bobbing his head back and forth and grunting so loudly that everyone in the waiting room is forced to notice. The mother moves with patience and grace. Everyone in the waiting room seems uncomfortable to some degree with this boy and his strange movements and loud grunts, but the mom is not. This is her son. This is her life. I wonder if the boy will be scared to feel the dentist's hands in his mouth, not being able to see or hear what is going on. Then again, this boy is probably use to not knowing when someone is going to touch him or what is going on around him.

The mother is explaining to the lady at the front desk that her employer has stopped carrying dental insurance, so she is going to have to pay outright for this appointment. She is also saying how she might have to quit her job because they can no longer afford their son's nurse. The mom is explaining, however, that she really needs her job as a break from her son, whose care needs are persistent throughout the evening and night.

I realize that this woman and I were probably pregnant at the same time. She probably had the same dreams I did when I was pregnant about whether her child would become an artist or a doctor or lawyer. She probably thought about his first days of school, his first girlfriend, his soccer games. Like me, she probably eagerly anticipated the first time her son would say "mommy" and "I love you." But through no fault of her own, through nothing she ever did, all of those dreams were taken away from her.

Right now my son is with his father, and I will not see him until Sunday. I want nothing more than to hold him and tell him I love him. And he will say, because he always does, "I love you too."

Says Her

My counselor (the benefits of Therapy Tuesday to be posted in another post) is worried that nobody is going to sign up for my seminar at this point. She is so worried that she is talking to me about how to handle the disappointment. And I'm thinking, hey you, not very mental health friendly. We still have three whole days before the early bird deadline is done. People signed up for the seminar = 0. junk food consumed = copious.

Update

Rejection Letter = 1. Inquiry as to location of seminar = 1! People signed up for seminar = 0. White chocolate Reese's peanut butter cups = 1

The Search

Over the past 5 months, I have sent out 12 letters and resumes to job postings on the web. From those mailings, I have received three phone calls, and from those phone calls, I scored two interviews. One interview was for a paralegal position. The other interview was for a recruiter/head hunter type position. I did not get either of the jobs. Actually, I never heard back from the people about the paralegal position. They actually tried to convince me through the entire interview that I did not want the job. The final phone call was from a law firm out of town that is just now beginning its search. I can't even imagine the logistics of that one if they call back. I have not heard anything about the status of my 9 other applications. I have contacts at two of the 12 companies with postings, but contacting them has not proven to lead to any advantage.

Interestingly, I did not find the job/project that I am doing now through a posting. It was through a friend of a friend. This may prove the general belief that most people do not have success in their job search through web postings.

Responding to only 12 postings might not seem like a lot, but I can assure you that I have applied for everything I can find that seems to match my skill set, and more than a few that I am way overqualified for. There have simply been very few attorney positions open in this town this summer. In fact, the big firms haven't had any jobs posted for months.

I know that I need to start networking. So far I have taken three people out to lunch. Two of those people are other attorney friends that work at firms with practices in my area of the law. The other lunch was with an accountant that wants me to write an article with him. Any in-person networking beyond that is going to be cold calling, which is not something I particularly enjoy.

Only 5 days left for the early bird discount for my seminar. People signed up = 0. White chocolate Reese's peanut butter cups consumed = 2.

Five Months Later

About that business -

I decided to start a business giving seminars. I want to be the next Tony Robbins. Just kidding. I dated a guy who was a Tony Robbins follower. Well, we dated until I found out that he was a Tony Robbins follower and that Tony Robbins would also be joining us in the relationship.

No, I am giving seminars on a certain area of the law. I started the business about two months ago. Since then, I have been developing the seminar. I just sent out about 250 fliers for the first seminar that is happening next month. There is an early bird deadline for the people that sign up during this month. Nobody has signed up yet.

Angry

One of my friends says that when I blog about my job, I sound like an angry only child. This may be because I am an angry only child. Its okay, he can tell me stuff like that. He also points out when I need my roots touched up.

Its hard not to be angry. The mistake I made, the one that my boss told me led to his putting me on the lay-off list, was no more or no less significant than mistakes that get made on a daily basis by humans working in a law firm. It was no more or no less significant than mistakes that I had found in his work when he was rushed and needed me to proof something. My work was, consistently, very good.

So, yes, I am angry. I am angry that, much like a few years ago, I am not in a position to buy my son back-to-school clothes. Mad that I do not have a job to go to that I worked very very hard to find, that I was good at, and that I enjoyed. And some days (especially the days in the dark cube) I start to get upset. And I have noticed that bad days are starting to outnumber good days. I am finding it harder and harder to believe that it is all going to be okay.

Then something kicked in. And I started to work on my own business.

Men are a trip

Yesterday I stayed at home with my son because he had no summer camp and no school. He asked me questions for 12 hours straight. Twelve. Hours. Straight. I also got him a snazzy haircut that he totally loves because it is still fairly long (the sufer dude cut). When ex-husband picked him up, he made fun of the hair cut. Then ex-husband told me that I was cruel because I hadn't dug up the butterfly bush by the front door and it is completely covered in bees and my son is incredibly afraid of bees. So I dealt with his crap and I had just received a rejection letter from one of the jobs that I applied for. Ten minutes after my son left, my husband walks through the door after being out of town for three days and he asked me about my day. Huge mistake.
I tell him everything - how I am so frustrated with my job search, how I had answered questions about jellyfish and outerspace and math all day long and how ex-husband made fun of the hair cut. And do you know what my husband says to me? He says "I want you."

Tori and Dean

My husband is beautiful. People tell him that he looks like Ralph Fiennes. He is tall and tan and dirty blonde and sexy. Old ladies love him. Seriously. They hit on him right in front of me. I think this is because, in addition to being sexy, he has this incredibly kind face. As women get older, I think they realize the importance of kindness in a man.
So when my husband walked into the living room last night wearing only a towel, my first thought was, "Hello there!" But then he totally changed the mood by saying that he would go get the cupcakes. This is akin to telling a man he can drive off in the nice sports car while, at the same time, showing him two women making out. He'll get in the car, but he'll still be thinking about the two women. I would still be thinking about the cupcake.
We go over to the couch to begin cupcake consumption. My husband realizes he is going to get nowhere like this, so he goes back into the bedroom and comes back wearing his Calvin Klein boxer briefs that he knows I find incredibly hot. But by then, Tori and Dean was on. And I had a cupcake. I'm sorry honey. You are the most beautiful man to ever walk the face of this earth. But Tori and Dean was on. And I had a cupcake.

Namaste

Do not send me business emails signed "namaste". They will not be read nor answered. You have been put on notice. You may sign your emails namaste as soon as you see me doing downward dog at the office.

Things to do before you die -

My husband's grandfather died last month. His grandmother keeps saying how she can't wait to get to heaven to be with grandaddy and Jesus. If you ask me, thats a little rude to those of us here on earth. Furthermore, how can you want to leave at a time like this- (1) The next season of Real Housewives of Atlanta starts today! and (2) It is almost pumpkin spice latte season!

Julia!

Today I was on Facebook (the best thing ever invented for the un and underemployed) and got in touch with one my favorite long-lost friends, Julia. This is why I lover her - She is doing wonderful things like making her own spaghetti sauce and opening a natural birthing center. (not in the same place)

It is stupidly cold here for July. So cold that it is almost time to switch from running to yoga and I hate yoga. I love the way I feel after yoga, but the whole process is soooo boring. And that is coming from someone who doesn't mind being bored. I can stare at a wall for eons and think nothing. My husband will say, "What are you thinking?" And I will say "nothing." And he will tell me that I can't be thinking nothing but it is true. I can think absolutely nothing for long periods of time. But I still find yoga boring. My instructor wears a t-shirt that says "Be Present." Here? In this yoga studio. The only way I can get through it is to pretend I am already getting in my car to leave.