Sheepish Grin

whuzzup my bitches?

2010-08-05T10:31:00.003-04:00

Should I update my blog. It's only been 8 months. Perhaps I shall. I have much rattling around in my brain that could use more than a studiedly cryptic Facebook update or 140 chrcters of silly.

Still working at same place. Some good. Some bad. Some old. Some new. Perhaps I'll write about (formerly) Grouchy Partner and Newbie later. It's a hoot!

So... I'm on a train to Boston. I'm supposed to be preparing (formerly) Grouchy Partner for a hearing, but he decided to sit next to Newbie, who knows nothing but is cute and young and blonde.

Yay! It only took me 3 years of incredibly diligent work to crack (formerly) Grouchy Partner's tough shell. It took her the bat of her eyelashes. Not that I hold it against her -- if you got it, use it.

I think, after 2 hours, (formerly) Grouchy Partner is about to acknowledge my existence (several rows away thankyouverymuch), so I need to look like I'm doing work.

Bye!

More silliness (in under 3 minutes)

2009-12-11T16:39:00.000-05:00

I was just on the phone with my mortgage company. After asking for my name and account number and everything else, the rep asked, "What state is your property in?"

I responded, "I don't understand your question." And then, "Oh. Right. Connecticut. I was going to say my house is probably a mess because the kids are home."

I apparently made her day.

Silly rant (under 3 minutes)

2009-12-11T12:18:00.002-05:00

I'm risking blogging from the office....
So - why does every entity to which I have ever disclosed my email address feel compelled to send me a newsletter.

I just got one from my bank. I also get one from my ophthalmologist's office.

Can I tell you that my ophthalmologist is the only game in town. It's a 20 doctor practice, but my dude is the ONLY muscle specialist within an hour drive. I do not need to know what exciting things are happening in the world of laser surgery to convince me to stay with my eye doctor.

And I happen to like the guy. So even if there was another one next door, I'd stay.

Whatever happened to building personal relationships in, you know, person?

So Unfathomably Lame

2009-12-08T18:07:00.004-05:00

I made it to day 4 of the promised 12. I think this says more about why I can't lose weight than any explanation about my work load and parenting responsibilities ever can.

My excuse for yesterday -- I was in the office until about 10 p.m. and then came home, chased the girls to bed, and drank a cosmo or 2 before going to bed myself. I did not give April 2009 a second thought until this morning.

I don't want to blog in the office, even during the ridiculously late hours when I should be home, since I learned that each day the General Counsel gets a print out of everyone who spends more than 3 minutes at a "bad" website, as well as the website. And in my paranoia, I'm convinced he will hunt down my anonymish* blog and lay me under the knife rather than focus on the guys scamming "massage therapists" on craigslist.

April 2009

Anyway, April 2009 was strange. I got business cards and a new blackberry. The Dungeon Master/Grumpy Partner Firm did not have business cards, so I felt like The Jerk when I got a spanking new box of affirmation of my existence. The New Business Cards are Here! The New Business Cards are Here! I AM Somebody! I can't tell you how humbling it was to show up for a trial, hard-assed litigator that I am, and have to fill out the pro se form for the Clerk. It was like sitting at the kiddy table.

For some reason my Dreier crackberry worked through the end of February, when everyone else's stopped working in December. I spent March without my electronic umbilical cord. It was kinda nice. I still have the old blackberry and I'm trying to figure out what I can hack it into. Something clever, yet appropriately ironic given its genesis. If anyone has any suggestions, please share.

The biggest change in April was the prevalence of forms. The Firm is the bureaucrat's dream. Don't have any pens? Write out a form and The Mother Ship will send new ones. Computer does not work? Fill out the on-line form and The Mother Ship will send help. Need an expense reimbursed? Of course there's a form for that. But not that form, the other one. No. No. Yes, that one.

My mantra those first few weeks was, "Paper trails mean accountability. People with nothing to hide embrace paper trails."

Within a week or 2, Baby Huey joined the staff as a junior litigation associate. He had been a contract attorney before then and I was not overwhelmed. Hell, I wasn't even whelmed. But the Dungeon Master, he do like his vanity hires. This one had an ongoing consultancy with a huge company that could, conceivably become a major client for the firm, so we all have to tolerate Baby Huey and his wacky hi-jinks. (Look at that silly Baby Huey! He thinks you can prepare an application for an injunction and supporting documents without reading the Federal Rules or researching any case law! What a refreshing perspective. I now understand that us uptight litigators should just stop and smell the roses!!)

So that was April.

May 2009

May was tough. I billed about 230 hours and cannot remember much about it. I think there was another oh-by-the-way trial, that ended up not being a trial until July. If you're wondering, 230 hours annualizes to over 2700 hours. And that's only billed time. Time sent staring at computer screen when you've averaged 5 hours of sleep for 3 weeks, wondering what day it is and what do all those squiggly arcs and lines on the screen mean...that's not billable. For perspective: normal full-time humans, who work 35 hours per week, work 1800 or so hours per year.

June was worse, but since then I've loafed my way down to the highly respectable 2200-2300 range, which is still higher than 90% of The Firm.

____________

*I could try a little harder if I really cared not to be found.

Beware the Ides of March

2009-12-06T22:41:00.005-05:00

Wow, but this writing twelve posts in twelve days is about killing me. The discipline required for day 4 has me ready to hit the delete button for the entire blog. And I'm the chick who thinks she is going to run the NY marathon this year to mark her 40th.

(Thing 2, by the way, is a very nice girl and not standing behind me with a large stick, demanding to know how long I will be sitting at "her" computer.)

Anyways,

March 2009

March is always a torrid month in my world. Even on a good year.

It's Lent,

it's suffering,

it's denial,

it's cold.

Yet it's birth,

it's Spring,

it's life,

it's Easter.

It's death again,

and it's life again.

March is that last snow day long after the crocuses peek through.

Too many birthdays, too many good people who have died. March 8 for my sister I never knew. March 20 for my Dad.

March 26 for my dear, dear Hubbins. And March 30 for my new nephew, Michael, and March 31 for my old brother-in-law, Michael. And probably 2-3 other nephews/nieces as well.

It's like that old hardcore song -- Birth School Work Death -- sung over and over. Or, less cynically, the Circle of Life... that moves us all. All of which sounds great after 2 glasses of w(h)ine, but which bear no specific relation to March 2009.

What can I say? March 2009 was one of great transition. I spent the month giddily pouring over internet articles about The Firm, trying to extrapolate what a 7th year in Stamford should make from the stats for a 1st year in Philadelphia. (FWIW -- no correlation.)

I was also extremely apprehensive about having a new set of rules to learn and a new set of politics to master. Let's face it -- my record was less than stellar. I had a horrible time at The Old Firm (2006-07) because I was unable to understand the politics. Mind you, they had the collective IQ of a smallish squirrel, but still I'm not sure it would have been possible for me to have been perceived worse in that environment. (I dunno. I supposed I could have shanked one of those nice senior named partners, just to watch him die...)

But, on balance, a good month. I spent March 30 and 31 at orientation at the mother ship in Philadelphia (just don't call it "headquarters), where I believe I told the head of litigation that I would practice knitting law, if such a specialty existed. And I had lunch with Mr. Suspenders-Wearing Wanna-be-Partner, who probably will be promoted April 2010. I had a hard time taking him seriously. Especially when, two months later, he (as representative of the Philadelphia-based associates) sent a loin-licking memo to the executive committee essentially thanking them for observing wage and hour laws. ("O Noble Executive Committee, we beseech Thee and thank Thee for the condescension of Thy honouring of the productivity bonus program pursuant to which we each worked many hours for Thy glory. Lo, though we are not worthy of licking the sweat of Thy balls, we humbly prostrate ourselves before Thee and make an offering of seagrass and pomegranates and our firstborns. Amen.")

I'm on the Associates Committee this year. And we'll be having none of that on my watch.

February: chow chow chow chow chow

2009-12-05T17:13:00.002-05:00

February 2009

February was a transitional month. It started with having to check which way the wind blew to know if it would be a "staying on our own" day, or a "joining a national firm" day. By month's end, Dungeon Master and Grouchy Partner accepted an offer from a national firm (which included offers for the lot of us), and a third partner, who had historically fought with Grouchy Partner about...everything, moved on to a somewhat sleepy local firm to tick out the clock until retirement.

In between, there was much stressing and maneuvering. I picked a position by the middle of January -- stay one our own -- and stuck to it pretty solidly until mid-February when the Dow went below 8,000. Then, my tune became "grab some big firm willing to pay us and let's go!" Dungeon Master and Grouchy Partner had the same reaction and by the third week of February, they had accepted an offer with The Firm. A week later, the decision to take us on had been ratified by The Firm and we were off to the races!

The plan was that we would start April 1, since that was the first day of The Firm's fiscal year. It was necessarily the case, therefore, that The Firm didn't send me a formal offer letter (i.e., let me know what they would be paying me) until about March 25 -- why minimize my stress, right? (And not surprisingly, their analysis of the market in which I work reveal that I was earning exactly what I should have been earning... Whatevs. I got a big raise this September.)

February also marked another court extravaganza. Dungeon Master and I had been litigating an investment banking dispute since December 2007 and trial was scheduled to begin Tuesday, February 24, 2009. The bad guys had been without a lawyer since November 2008, and sold off all of their assets in January 2009 (to themselves). Thus, when we went out for the "trial", we really just expected a damages prove up with which we could then go against the bad guys again.

And then, on February 20 -- the Friday before trial -- lawyers enter an appearance and want to rumble. So we basically had the weekend to prepare for trial because our on Monday left at like 7:00 a.m. What we thought would be a quick breeze through LA Superior Court ended up being a week-long trial.

And it was cool -- all the drama you could imagine because none of the regular pre-trial discovery took place (they were sanctioned for it, thank you). This caused quite a few white-knuckle moments: we didn't know what the witness would say, didn't know how the Court would rule, etc. (In June, we learned that we won, but that's Wednesday's story.)

To even out February -- I celebrated my 15th wedding anniversary with the Hubbins. I think I did a post about it.

I am Jack's smirking revenge.

2009-12-04T08:06:00.004-05:00

January 2008

This month reminds me of my futile protest days of college. You know, back in '89 and '90, when the Spring Ritual at Hunter College involved taking over the East Building to protest budget cuts and tuition hikes. We acted like idiots, sure, but we acted like idiots together.

Fast forward to January 2008: everyone was thick in the shit, making a difference, and getting things done. Such esprit du corps. Dungeon Master showed that there probably was not a little man in his head controlling his every move with robotic precision; Grouchy Partner laughed regularly and lighted the fuck up.

I worked like a crazy person. When I wasn't saving clients from certain death through my amazing and creative lawyer, I was saving them by finding mystery files in former associates' offices and swooping in to save them from certain default.

It wasn't all wonderful. Dungeon Master stated to the Hubbins in early December that we needed him to give me up for like 2 weeks so we could right the ship. He promised that plans were in place to land us safely by the end of the year. He said that we need all the families to dig in and that we were in it together and we all will survive. He said I was one of the lucky ones -- they could afford to pay me a salary but it would be significantly less than I had been earning. But it was all short term anyway, just until the ship was righted. Two weeks, end of the year.

And six weeks later, we were still digging in and we were no closer to berthing the damn ship. Don't get me wrong, we had 2 offers to berth by year-end. But Dungeon Master and Grouchy Partner vacillated between moving to one or the other firm, and staying on our own, on a daily basis for another six weeks before deciding (in the last week of February) to move to one of the firms. During that time and still to this day, I heard an awful lot about what the Dungeon Master "promised" the Hubbins.*

One silver lining in all of this -- my client got sued and the adversary sought a prejudgment remedy. We had four days of hearings on the PJR application in January and ran up beaucoup fees. Why is this a silver lining? Because my deal while working with The Boys on our own was that I would be paid a huge percentage of money I brought in the door. So while I did not receive this payout until several months later, I helped me catch-up on bills.

Bronze lining -- through the PJR I discovered a new nemesis. Nasty adversary revelled in the fact that at our first hearing I had no malpractice insurance and could not defend. Instead of acting like a human, he treated me like the firm sent the receptionist over to defend against his dear perfection. I'm sure he thinks he is an enlightened liberal-minded alpha male, but this misogynist shit must be crushed. And luckily for me, he is a partner in a firm where another nemesis works.

When their time comes -- and come it will -- they can both be crushed at once. I don't dare dream that I can be the crusher. That would be.....bliss, but it is unlikely to come to fruition. But in their reptile brains, at that sweet moment of crushing, as they wonder what in their lives brought them to that inevitable point, I hope they remember me.

___________________

** If you employ me, never but never make promises to the Hubbins. I realize that I may be out when you call and you may be so enthusiastic about the content you wish to convey that you just want to explode. But, really, don't discuss the terms of my employment with the Hubbins. He works in a different world, where people are generally held to their statements. This is not to suggest that your statements were untrue - you believed them to be true when you stated them. But the Hubbins expects them to be true true. You have the right to remain silent when talking to the police. I suggest you exercise it.

I named these most recent additional 20 lbs I'm carrying "Marc"...

2009-12-03T08:12:00.004-05:00

OK. I opened my trap and promised a posting today to a few of y'all. I had planned to do a cathartic year in review to mark the anniversary of Marc Dreier's arrest, and the subsequent immediate failure of his eponymous law firm of which I was an unfortunate employee and am now an unfortunate creditor in bankruptcy (I'm sure I'll be seeing that $14K check any day now). But, well, it ain't done yet.

Instead, I'll give you 12 months in 12 days.

December 2008

Today is the anniversary of the day that my office learned that Marc Dreier was arrested in Canada for criminal impersonation. He was actually arrested on December 2, but it was not until about 7:30 p.m. on December 3 that my office heard anything about it. And then all we heard was that he was arrested. I jokingly asked if he killed a prostitute. We all thought drunk driving. The next night was supposed to be our gala holiday part at the Waldorf=Astoria in NYC.

By 4:00 p.m. on December 4, you could see tumbleweeds in the halls of the New York office. By that time, Marc had apparently told his peeps in NY that not only was it true that he impersonated an attorney for an institutional investor in Canada, but that he has drained the firm's escrow accounts. By the time he was arrested at LaGuardia airport on Sunday, December 6, we learned that he had scammed hedge funds out of hundreds of millions selling them bogus promissory notes.

We also did not know if we were employed, if we would be paid on December 15, if we had malpractice or medical insurance (maybe, no, no, and no -- Marc hadn't approved paying the premiums).

After pleading guilty to something on the order of $700-800 million in securities fraud, Dreier is now serving a 20 year sentence in Minnesota, where I hope his heater does not work.

December ends up being the very worst Christmas season I ever endured. I can barely remember it. The details are fuzzy, what with the stress, the lack of sleep, the malaise, the fear, the risk to my family's well being. I cannot describe the extent of the stress I experienced then and since as a result of Marc Dreier. But it has resulted in a 20-lb weight I wish I gain, so I got that going for me...

I wish I could find some "True Meaning of Christmas" message in all of this. But I still feel actual physical pain from the stress of thinking about it.

I find his personal discovery and pleas for mercy revolting. I did not watch the 60 Minutes interview, but I lost a bit of my (already overtaxed) faith in humanity when I read in the Vanity Fair article that Marc Dreier's moral compass was really just another victim of the September 11th attacks on NYC. Just like the emergency workers dying from mysterious respiratory ailments, I suppose.

The Hubbins and I spent a day over Christmas break trying to take a breather at Foxwoods. Benazir Bhutto is killed while we enjoy a long-overdue cocktail.

The Lord works in mysterious ways...

2009-09-15T11:03:00.003-04:00

Thing 2, being a 7th grader, is due this year to begin her 2-year preparation for Confirmation. I have known since March that I have to submit her registration form for the class, but this year -- as with the last 3 or 4 years -- I waited until the last minute and handed in the form in the morning on the day classes began. This has never been a problem before, except that my children have been irked by the fact that their teachers never have their names on any list on the first day and their folders aren't personalized the way the other kids' folders are.

Whatevs.

This year, Thing 2 was determined that I would register her in a more timely manner for the Confirmation Level I class, scheduled for Sunday evenings. She asked me repeatedly since March if I had submitted the form, and repeatedly I told her to ask me at a time when I could do something about it instead of while I was driving home from work at 11 p.m. I finally caved to the pressure and had the completed form and a check in my bag for the week leading up to this past Sunday, when classes began. But there was always something preventing me from dropping off the form.

So there I was. As usual. Standing in the Religious Ed office at 10:00 a.m. Sunday morning to register my daughter for class beginning that evening. Except my fool-proof procrastination scheme failed this time. The Sunday evening classes were full. The registrar had already turned away 3 parents who shared my plan, and couldn't I register my daughter for Monday evening?

Well, no, I couldn't. So at that moment my journey to becoming a Catechist began. I became the new 7th grade religion teacher. I was handed a pile of teacher's editions and dvds about the calling to be a Catechist and mentoring young teens in a nurturing environment to accept the gifts of the Holy Spirit... What?! You hadn't heard about my love of The Young People and my boundless patience?

I'll just pause here while you laugh at me.

The first class was short because most of the time was spent in a group meeting with the director of the confirmation program. It went very well, although there were these two girls whom I immediately identified as girls I would have hated in junior high. (I'm in the middle of a heartfelt personal reflection about the struggle to explore my faith as a 12 year old in an incredibly secular environment, when "they" ask if "they" can use the bathroom. I said no.) One of the Moms, spying my ubiquitous knitting bag, gives me the official knitter sign of approval. I leave moderately enthusiastic about preparing a lesson for the next week.

Anyway, yesterday I got a call from the director of religious ed, informing me that an extra someone who is a middle school teacher and was going to teach on Mondays is available on Sundays. She was careful not to displace me, she was grateful that I stepped up so willingly, but wanted me to know that I could either cede the reins competely or arrange for a co-teaching scenario. She said that it is her experience that some of her best Catechists are people who fell into it much like I did -- accidentally -- but that the Holy Spirit calls us in those ways.

I am extremely happy. I am exhausted by the idea of preparing interesting and engaging lessons that a 12 year old might relate to. I would be overjoyed by getting to watch an experienced teacher do her thing. I have not been in a religion class since I made my own Confirmation in 1983, so I'm a little rusty. Plus they keep rewording the prayers to erase all poetry from them, so I'm just clueless. (Old Act of Contrition: "O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee and I detest all sin for Thy just punishment..." New Act of Contrition: "OMG. I'm like sooooooo sorry and whatever. I am totally not going to do that again. 'K?..")

But her comment about the Holy Spirit leads me to two other possible conclusions.

1) My faith was tested -- would I sacrifice my time for the Church community's need? I jumped in without hestitation, and the Holy Spirit is now saying, "Right on, girl. You win the Wonka Factory. But let's face it -- you are too busy as it is, so you're off the hook." Like Abraham, now I gets the grace without killing my beloved son. This is a nice and, frankly, self-interested interpertation.

2) The Holy Spirit say me teaching and said, "Uh...No," and presented an alternative.

I been SERVED!

2009-09-10T15:25:00.002-04:00

Thing 1 joined the Air Force Jr. ROTC this year. She's having a great time with it. One of her electives each year is Aeronautics, during which they learn - well, aeronautics in addition to military custom. She gets use of her very own Jr. ROTC uniform (owned by the United States Air Force) that she has to wear at least once a week and has the rank of "Cadet".

Anyway, last night, the Hubbins and I sat at the kitchen table, reading and signing the multitude of forms the kiddies brought home from school that day. I am focused on Things 2 and 3's forms, and the Hubbins has Thing 1's Jr. ROTC forms. The Girls are roller skating, jumping, and generally traipsing around the house at this time. The Hubbins closes Thing 1's forms, puts them in a folder, and walks away from the table.

I look at the folder. It has an Air Force Jr. ROTC insignia on it. I hold it up to Thing 1 and ask, "Do you realize that by signing up for this, you are choosing one of your parents and rejecting the other?" This gets her attention. I explain, "Families tend to serve in one branch of the military and one branch alone. If you are a Navy family, you serve in the Navy. If you are a Marines family, the Marines. Army, Army. Air Force, Air Force." She gets it, yeah.

"Well," I say, "My family is an Army family." She fills in the rest, "And Dad's family is an Air Force family?"

Well, this prompts all sorts of good-natured ribbing. Thing 1 delights in rejecting me. The Hubbins delights in being chosen. Much argument and giggling is had over whether superior air domination is more important that superior ground forces, etc etc. What war in modern times were won or lost on one or the other branch, etc.

The discussion continues this morning. Things 1 and 2 are getting ready for school and both are buzzing around downstairs. I say to Thing 1, "You know, if God meant for us to fly, he would have given us wings in stead of machine gun arms."

She responds, "Ever since the beginning, humans have wanted to fly."

I inform her, "Ever since the beginning, humans have wanted to eat."

Then, I gets wise, remembering the "4 Fs" of Intro to Psych -- the prime directives of our lizard brains. Thing 2 stands before me, so I decide to bait her with what I expect to be a smarty pants response about the Fourth "F", and as to which I can then make a mildly dirty joke.

I declare, with much authority, "Ever since the beginning, humans have wanted the 4 'Fs' -- fight, flight, flee, and procreation." I look smug, expecting to hear that "procreation" doesn't start with an "F".

Instead, Maura deadpans, "You said 'flight'."

OOF. I been served.

This is not my beautiful house; this is not my beautiful wife

2009-08-20T22:57:00.006-04:00

I'm still in the office, rewriting 7 documents that the Guy Next Door, who outranks me, "drafted" and "revised" over several weeks with a younger lawyer, and fighting my resentment. There's a bunch of backstory here. I couldn't possibly do it justice without making myself foam at the mouth.

Suffice it to say that GND dropped the ball on this assignment 2 months ago and left on a vacation he planned, oh, 2 days earlier, and I got crap for it because I should have been babysitting GND. Even though he outranks me...and he was given the assignment because I was unbelievably busy...and I was supposed to be going on my vacation, planned 6 weeks earlier, and I wasn't even going on vacation because I was preparing for a jury trial that just got scheduled...

I'm beginning to foam.

My problem right now is this: Guy Next Door is singing along with his iPod, as he is wont to do. Off key. American Pie. *shudder*

It's times like these that I find myself wondering where, in my life, was that fork in the road that led me inevitably to the point where I am sitting in my office at 11:00 p.m. on a Thursday night, completely rewriting 7 extensive documents already given the stamp of approval by a more senior dude, while listening to the senior dude sing American Pie.

Was it the moment 2 months ago when I didn't pitch a hissy fit with Guy Next Door because I'm a professional and professionals don't pitch hissy fits? I rethink the wisdom of acting like a rational adult alot, but as a practical matter, the Happy Pills (thankfully), keep me from feeling what I really feel.

Or was it earlier than that? Perhaps 2 years earlier, when I was first assigned to the case. I couldn't really say no, but I might have been able to pawn it off along the way if I tried.

Or even earlier? Much earlier? Could it really be that moment in the summer before my second year of law school, back in 2000, when I accepted a job the following summer with a small hometown firm and cancelled my on-campus interviews with all kinds of fancy New York firms. Could it possibly be that which led me, inevitably, to this spot now?

Gaia help me, he is singing along to Sgt. Pepper's now. The entire album. And I am deeply resenting The Firm's written "no drinking on the job, even after hours, with your client, and your client is paying - NO" policy.

Gratuitous Compliments

2009-08-16T12:36:00.000-04:00

I spent much of the morning puzzling over a compliment I received. After getting out of my car, which I had parallel parked in front of our local coffee shop, a woman getting into the car parked in front of me yelled, "Excuse me, Miss. You did a great parking job. Really beautiful," adding something about how there were two spots in front of hers in which I could have pulled in. There was no hint of sarcasm in her voice, so I smiled, mumbled a thanks, and went about getting my coffee.

But not without wondering just what she meant by complimenting me, of all things. I mean, I parked my car. I did not cure cancer. And it wasn't even a good parallel parking job. I get my 45-degree angle ok, but I never seem to cut the wheel to the left on time and always hit the curb. It took a bit of back-and-forth to complete the park.

I think my confusion comes from the lack of sarcasm in her voice. If she were sarcastic, I would used some of that colorful language Katie is so fond of. Or smiled reallly really sweetly and thanked her in the most saccharine tones, from the bottom of my heart, calling her a true American, a true hero. But she wasn't. There was actual warmth in her voice. Could she be one of people who have nothing to do all day but wonder how much more civilized the world was, when people would parallel park instead of trying to pull into every curbside parking space and people knew their place. Or one of those people who back in to spaces in parking lots just to remind me how my backward driving sucks. (I hate the backer-inners, btw. And anyway, how do you access your trunk?)

Worse still, was she committing a random act of kindness, believing that by bestowing this gratuitous compliment that has distracted me all morning, she was making the world a better place?

Important information

2009-04-17T20:47:00.000-04:00

54 seconds

I'm ready for my close-up

2009-04-16T07:59:00.004-04:00

Trust me. I'm a lawyer.

These are the full-length shots. I think I chose top row, second from right. I'm all bright hair and no facial features. Also, it is hard to see, but the jacket really is green.

Thing 3 wants to type something ... 2to grandma

Meet the New Boss...Same as the Old Boss

2009-04-13T18:17:00.002-04:00

I survived my first full week at the new and improved The Firm, which included surviving my photo shoot and learning the mind-bogglingly large number of forms I will have to fill out just to requisition a paperclip. I can assign my secretary to fill those out, so I suppose it is worth the non-indictable managing partner. I did not get to strike a pose for my portrait and my only prop was my glasses, which gave my hands something to do other than hanging by my sides.

I hate my pictures, but because I am a masochist I will probably post them -- I scanned my proofs so you will all get to enjoy just how orange my hair looks even though I am sure it doesn't look THAT orange in real life. (The Hubbins begs to differ.) And I look HUGE. And my chin is shining. And I forgot to bring my make up to the photographer's, so I have a regular, every day thickness of war paint, rather than a photo studio lighting-ready layer of war paint (a wee bit washed out).

I have never been (or at least not for the last 20 years) one of those women who picks apart how she looks. Up until the last 20 pounds, I've always liked how I photograph. But now it is just a sad reminder of how big my ass has become.

Why not exercise and get my shit together, you ask? Because I bill 2300 hrs per year and have for the last 2 years. So, my choices are to give up sleep, give up knitting, give up TV, or give up exercise. Fortunately or otherwise, I tend to give them up in the reverse order. And it doesn't help that every time I start exercising again, I screw up my back or neck.

Last year, I started taking yoga and doing exercise videos. Then I spent 12 weeks in PT and found I had herniated 2 disks in my cervical spine (not from the exercising, from ancient whiplash injury). This year, I ran about 4 times in one week, then fell off a chair I was standing on to dust some high ledges in my office. I'm starting to feel human again. So, obviously, I'm becoming insanely busy at work. Again.

So....Liz: Is any of this funny? Are you ROTFLOL yet?

Famous quotes:
"This is the last time we are going to live today." Thing 1, 4/11/09
"In a way, we are all like a bunch of elevators." Thing 2, 4/11/09, in response to Thing 1.

"Our beach is closed on my birthday [July 3], so we have to go to '1-800-Beaches'." Thing 3, 4/10/09

When I grow up, I want to be a concrete operational thinker

2009-03-29T08:51:00.004-04:00

As a coda to my last post, Thing 2 recently asked Thing 3 what she wants to be when she grow up. Thing 3 responded, "A teenager." Thing 2 then asked, "What do you want to be when you are 20." Said Thing 3, "A adult."

I'm not even going to try to explain my 3-months' absence from the blogosphere. It's been....not very fun and quite unrelenting. Even if I had the time to write about it, it would have only served to make the mishigos that much more palpable and the my ability to push through it much less, uh, able. Better to keep my head down and wait for the mortar attacks to stop.

So here I am, on the cusp of starting yet another job. Sort of. Same office, same bosses, same cases, new name on the door, new benevolent overlords in another office. These, at least, believe in transparency (at least among the partners) and division of powers and checks and balances, so the likelihood that we will all be in the same place in three years is unlikely. I head down to Philly tomorrow morning for a day and a half of orientation to the new firm, which will be capped by a photo session for my full length portrait and headshot for the website. Ugh. Double Ugh.

This firm purports to be woman-friendly (Sure, like which firm claims to be woman-hostile. . . Benefit of the doubt time -- Working Mother magazine gave them props so they at least have third party verification of their claims). Anyway, as I was saying -- they claim to be woman-friendly but then submit us all to full length photos - even those of us approaching 40, with 3 kids, who have sat on our butts billing 2300 hrs/yr+ for several years.

And I hear that I can't even mug for it. I have to do the "look of confidence with arms folded" pose, or "look of confidence with hand on hip or in pocket and jacket open" pose. Women also get the variable of "half-leaning on stool" to add to the above. I want to do "middle-manager/suck-up double guns" or "Buddy Christ single gun, thumbs up" or any of a number of poses from my dancing school portraits. Think any of these white boys will notice if I throw down some gang symbols???

And they want us to wear "colorful" suits or dresses. I'm sure I have that psychedelic caftan around here somewhere... Seriously, 90% of the time, I wear black separates and colorful tops. And I don't want to wear anything for a portrait that, six months from now, is out of style. I bought an appropriate "colorful" suit yesterday, which is a black skirt with a minty-fresh green jacket, but due to topstitching on the jacket the perfect color for a top is black. I'm taking a trip to the Mother Ship (Lord & Taylor, Stamford) today to see if they have anything better, but I'm not optimistic.

I've got to get on with motherhood, so that's all for now. I hear that I get to review the proofs and pick what goes on the web. I don't know if I'll provide a link, but if I get the proofs, I'll scan and post them.

When I grow up, I want to be a tattoo artist.

2009-01-14T13:52:00.002-05:00

My life is in complete disarray, to the point where I have surrendered: job limbo, kids that don't listen, leaky dog, unmatched socks, smeary wax build up. You name it. Each day at least 2 of the girls claims to be "too sick" to go to school, each day there is a call/note/email from a teacher about some aberrant behavior or other. There is only so much Fran to go around.

So you can imagine how I felt when, yesterday afternoon, when the Hubbins and I were talking on the phone -- we don't actually see each other anymore with my work schedule -- and he told me that this week in school Thing 3 is the "Star of the Week" in preschool and I was supposed to put together a photo montage of the last 4.5 years of her life and fill out a questionnaire, and hand it all in Monday.

Oh. Of course. I have my 4 year old in full time day care because I have time to rake through the thousands on photos on the buggy 4 year old computer to find the shots that define Thing 3's life. (BTW: Many thanks, Mr. Dreier. If I had gotten that new laptop for Christmas I'd just waste it on World of Warcraft.) The computer and the printer were having one of their little spats and not talking to each other, so I had to save the pix to a thumb drive and print them directly from the printer. Which is a ridiculously slow way to do it.

All told, I killed a full hour last night putting this assignment together. In billable time, that's $400. (Work in a lawfirm long enough and you begin to look at everything in life this way. The real cost of my coffee this morning was $82.)

It wasn't without its fun, I'll admit. The really cool thing about having a 13 year old and a 4 year old is that the 13 year old now says the things I would love to say, but I'm not supposed to because I'm a 38 year old Mom. (Can't tell you how many times I've gotten the evil eye from the Hubbins for acting like a child with our children for a laugh.) And the 4 year old thinks it is cool to do whatever her teenage sister tells her to do.

When the girls aren't trying to kill each other, it is a lot of fun.

So, last night, I was filling out the questionnaire with Thing 3, when Thing 1 happened by. I asked, "Favorite color?" Thing 3 responded, "Yellow." (Which, by the way, she has never shown any affinity for. When I pushed her on this, she pointed out her favorite wrapper from a loaf of bread as proof.) Anyway, we get to "When I grow up, I want to be," and Thing 1 blurts out, "a tattoo artist." Thing 3 says, "That's right -- a tattoo artist. And a grown up. And a teenager."

I totally wrote that down as her answer.

Grievance Game is Boring

2009-01-05T11:51:00.002-05:00

I've decided not to pick up the last post where I left off. At least not for now. It was depressing the hell out of me and, really, do you want to watch me whine and wallow in misery? Haven't many of you had enough of that, having known me through the 1980s?

Here's a fun thing from this morning:

Thing 1 was in a great mood this morning. As much as she loathes school, she was clearly excited about getting back to her social network and away from the house.

So she was busting my chops about something -- I can't remember what -- when I said, "You know, the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree."

She replied, "I know. But sometimes a little squirrel comes and picks up the acorn and carries it far away from the tree."

I wanted to snap back with something about the squirrel taking bites out of the acorn, leaving it a somewhat lesser acorn, but I was laughing too hard.

Traditional Airing of Grievances

2009-01-04T10:07:00.002-05:00

I had hoped to post on 12/31, with a sort of wrapping up of 2008. Then I hoped to plan on 1/1, with thoughts for the new year. But here I am on January 4, bitching and complaining about how 2008 sucked about as bad as any year could and how I am not so sure 2009 is going to get any better.

First, my absence during November. Very busy at work through November and Facebook has, for better or worse, taken up my need to throw snarky one-liners out to the world so y'all know I still exist.

Then, came December, when the world stopped turning. On December 2, the Dungeon Master's boss, let's call him The Don, gets his dumb ass arrested in Canada for impersonating another lawyer. He is held for several days, during which rumors abound that the escrow accounts have been looted, there is not enough money in the operating account to make the December 15, and that the NY office is a ghost town with most of the lawyers packing up on December 4, never to be seen again.

On December 7, the Don is escorted to the airport in Toronto by the mounties, ushered onto a plane to NY, and met by law enforcement at LaGuardia, who arrest him for Securities Fraud in the amount of about $130MM. This number is rounded up to $380MM at his bail hearing on December 12. He is denied bail.

If you haven't heard any of this, it is because Bernie Madoff's multi-billion dollar fraud eclipsed it. Madoff, I will note, got bail.

Add to that, one of my clients is being sued and the plaintiff is seeking a $400,000 attachment, which is a big deal (although not fatal) for his business. The hearing was set for December 15, opposing counsel would not agree to a continuance because the mofos assumed I would not be ready for a hearing under the circumstances, the Court did not grant one for who knows what reason, and I did not have malpractice insurance because the Don did not pay the premium.

I was scrambling on Friday the 12th to see about quitclaiming my house, car and yarn stash to the Hubbins before the Dungeon Master confirmed that new firm, Dungeon Master/Grouchy Of Counsel (now partner) LLC, had malpractice insurance.

So my stress level was high. I did not know if I was going to be paid (did not happen), did not know if I was employed, had no idea how I was going to pay my bills in December, still waiting on about $1200 in unreimbursed expenses from the firm, which I needed to pay bills in December, and faced possibly looking for a new job in perhaps the worst job market EVAH, with firms laying off associates right and left.

OK. Thing 3 is looking for some breakfast and I'll pick this up later...

The New Phone Book's Here! The New Phone Book's Here!

2008-11-11T10:49:00.002-05:00

I AM somebody!

Screwing around on Westlaw, I discovered that my cute little article from 2002 has 15 citing references. Most of them are Am. Jur. 2d, but I got one Am. Jr. Proof of Facts, one A.L.R, and a mention in an article in the DePaul Law Review.

Ok, so it isn't exactly A View from the Cathedral or The Right to Privacy, but people liked my work enough to cite it.

Squeeeee!

On the Pulse of Agedness...

2008-10-30T20:00:00.002-04:00

Or what I learned in the past year. No more ranting. Only lovely wonderful thoughts tonight.

1. In April, I learned how to ride a motorcycle this year. I passed the Motorcycle Foundation New Rider Safety Course and officially got the "M" added to my driver's license. A few caveats:

(a) I nearly failed the eye test that the DMV gave me after I passed the course. This was pretty dicey. My every-changing field of vision made it so that when I was asked to read a row of letters, I didn't see the final column. When the tester asked about the final column, I said something like, "Hunh?" But then I tipped my head to the side and was able to see it. For safety's sake, until this thyroid related eye disease runs its course (almost there), it is best to stay wrapped in a metal cocoon when I take to the road.

(b) I have not ridden for a second since taking the road test. The Hubbins' road pig is too much bike for a newbie so I have not practiced at all.

But, when the zombies attack and all the arteries leading from the city are clogged with the automobile-tombs of the dead, I can grab the Harley Sportster conveniently sitting on the side of the road, zip around the cars, and escape to the mountains.

2. Connecticut may seem like a stuffy haven for Thurston and Lovey, but we are one of the more progressive states in the Union. Civil Unions have been legal for several years now, we are one of maybe 5 states that guarantee a women's right to breastfeed, and gay marriage is now legal. Take THAT New York, where Mets fans can be accosted for feeding their babies.

3. I've discovered that if I sit on my but for 12 hours a day and get no exercise, I will gain weight. Like a scientist, though, I have no use to which I should put this knowledge. More importantly, though, I attended my 20 year high school reunion and not only am I not the fattest (by a LONG SHOT), so many of the beautiful people from high school looked old. I mean, we all aged, but they had nasty skin caked an inch thick with foundation. I felt like Gulliver in that world of the giants...

That said, the good thing is that I caught back up with people I haven't spoken with in 20 years, and have become friends with people I just could not have considered ever liking in high school (wrong hair, wrong music, wrong clothes -- the usual rational high school stuff).

Right, getting hassled to engage with family. Perhaps more later.

Pre-Birthday Rant

2008-10-30T00:19:00.004-04:00

It's been my practice, on the day before my birthday, to review the prior year to give voice to what I learned. I've decided to add a new tradition this year: the rant 2 days before my birthday. (I recognize that it is now technically the day before my birthday, but I haven't gone to sleep yet and I wrote out my list of rant issues on 10/29, so I'm going with it.)

1. Can the sistah step up? Would all the hatin' on Sarah Palin, and her relative lack of experience, be quite so vociferous if she were male? Would anyone question whether a smart male with political leadership experience and abilities could step up to the job of El Jefe if fate thrust him into that position? Yes, Sarah Palin is a neophyte in the national political arena and in the international arena. So was Bill Clinton and he is now regarded as one of the best presidents of the last 25 years. I see that she is inexperience, but I also see someone who is smart enough, if thrust into that role, to rely on the judgment of the people who surround her until she's got the experience to stand on her own. Just like Bill Clinton. (Disclaimer, I recognize that politically there is a deep chasm, infested with sharks with frickin' laser beams on their frickin' heads, between Palin and Clinton. This is strictly experience, leadership, ability to learn OTJ.)

2. 80s Retro Revisionist History. Reality: Popular music in the 1980s was dominated by saccharine ballads (Lionel Richie, Whitney Houston, Debbie Gibson), slutty dance tunes (Stacy Q, LisaLisa, Madonna), painful metalhead crap (Twisted Sister, Poison), and Michael Jackson.

Revisionism: Popular Music in the 1980s was dominated by British Technopop (Depeche Mode, Human League), New Wave/Alternative Music (The Cure, New Order), REM, U2 and whatever else I was listening to at the time.

I am greatly vexed by this. I suffered for good music back in the day. Now the Man is trying to make it his own. Not cool.

3. Tips for Takeout. Did the tipping convention in this country change and no one tell me. My understanding was that you tip for service -- table service, delivery service, hair styling. I have long been slightly put off when I pay for food with a card and the "merchant's copy" has a tip line, but I can't expect them to reprogram the machines for take out. But let's be clear -- the person handing you your boxed pizza is no more than a cashier and counterperson. No tip expected, right?

Unfortunately, the chicks at my favorite pizza joint have certain expectations that make me want to slap them. It is kind of a bistro setting -- seating for no more than 50, live jazz on the weekends, sexy salads, etc. -- and my family hates the place. So I only get take out. But the last 2 times I was there I paid cash and the pizza box deliverer asked, "do you need change"? And I'm like, "yes", and she harumphs because they don't have a cash register and she has to find paper money and coins in some jar, and she's all huffy because she probably isn't going to be tipped for handing me my pizza box. I'mma kick her ass next time.

So, did I sleep through the day when they announced the change of this convention?

4. Sci-Fi Network. Only television station in the world where a single season of a show can span 2 full years, with a year-long hiatus in the middle of the season.

5. First Year Quasi-Lawyers - ours is going into service with the government for several years starting in January and thinks that that means she can and should work 8 hour days because (as she apparently said to someone yesterday), "What is Dungeon Master going to do? Fire me??" I'm thinking...yes if the bitch don't step up and quick. I'm working twice as many hours as she does and I'm supposed to be leaving before her. And I'm going to have the Dungeon Master's ear Tuesday thru Thursday next week as we go on yet another California trip.

6. My Stupid Mouth (crafting) - why, when I have no time to breath and even forgot to tell The Hubbins about the California trip next week until today and had a major freakout because we were temporarily faced with leaving all 3 girls completely unattended for the whole trip, why do I volunteer to do crafting projects for people. "Oh, you like internal combustion engines? You know, I can knit you a scale Edsel that really works!"

7. My Stupid Mouth II (perception = reality) -- this one gets me. I could rant for weeks on this, but I still have to drive home. Anyhoo. I have the reputation in the office of giving "unclear instructions". This was probably true at first because (1) new to the whole supervisory thing, (2) assumed my subordinates knew more than they actually do [and perhaps ever will. It is tough being omniscient], (3) confused "explaining every molecule of information relating to a case that the person has been working on for weeks and should know anyway" [good] with "talking down to the person" [bad] so my instructions weren't "directive" enough. So, yes, unclear instructions probably true for several months. But not anymore because I send emails with 6-7 lengthy paragraphs of explanation for every "draft this enclosure letter" assignment I give.

But the smell lingers and anytime I don't send the lengthy email explaining life, universe, everything, and I get handed back crap, they assignee gets to say my instructions weren't clear and I get to hear from Dungeon Master about how people are still saying that my instructions aren't clear and I need to work on the perception so they have no where to go and will be forced to give me good work.

Of course, when I write the lengthy explanations and get crap, there is always some dying cat, compelling project for more senior person, or eczema rash to justify that (although Dungeon Master is beginning to see things my way. Love that redlining function!)

8. Dogs that just don't "get it". I love me some Ginger, but she finds creative ways to pee on my carpet every time. I am tired of cleaning the carpet every weekend, but I did it last week and will do it again this week. I suppose i should be glad that she localizes her actions to certain spots, and it isn't the entire living room or wall-to-wall second floor. Anyway, it is fair to say that when we have some extra cheddah, we will be installing hardwood floors throughout house.

9. Husband's Inability to Read Mind. How could he not know I need to go to California next week. It's been in my calendar for weeks. If he really loved me, he would have called my secretary to find out what I had coming up. Or rifled through my planner. Or looked on my Crackberry.

10. People Who are No Fun. Not much to say on this. I like being silly. I like goofiness. I work too many hours to deal with people who are always grumpy. Everyone gets moody and grumpy -- I'm not exactly Miss Mary Sunshine. But I do embrace the absurdity that is life, and hate it when I'm around people who don't even sense that there could be absurdity.

Bleah. Not even going to reread this.

Disclosure/Disclaimer

2008-10-24T15:19:00.002-04:00

From daily email lawyer journal:

"Firms that do not have a blogging policy should consider adopting one. At a minimum, bloggers should be prohibited from using offensive language, expressing racist or sexist views or revealing confidential information about the firm. Blogs should also include a disclaimer that the opinions expressed are solely those of the author. Prohibition of any mention of the firm also is appropriate unless the content of the blog is officially approved by the firm."

1. OK, so... I'm not sure I use offensive language aside from the occasional f-bomb (hmm. I did refer to JAPs earlier this week, but only to underscore the fact that to my adolescent self such categories mattered greatly, but they are largely irrelevant to my adult self...)

Well, how's this: I won't curse unless it is a direct quote or it is funny. And my use of offensive, racist or sexist views will be limited to comparative "see-how-I've-grown", ironic usage, or to highlight someone else's offensive, racist or sexist views. Which all you baby-shakers out there know is A-OK.

2. I will not reveal confidential information about The Firm, except that it sometimes sucks to work here. But that isn't confidential, it is characteristic of all firms.

3. The views expressed are solely mine, except when I am purposely taking a different view for fun. But in any event, they are not the Firm's views. Because as far as The Firm is concerned, we're all one big happy family here at The Firm and it never sucks here, unlike at other firms where suckage is de rigeur.

There. Think my is covered?

M. Night Shamalamadingdong

2008-10-22T18:19:00.003-04:00

I was forced to sit through The Happening by Thing 1, who is developing an adolescent's interest in watching horror or suspense films, but who won't watch them without me. That said, I think it is time for M. Night to move to Rom/Com because the suspense thing has run its course.

***SPOILER ALERT***

He is dead, the brittle guy caused the accidents, the aliens hate water and his asthma saved him, they live in modern times, I have no freaking idea what the water nymph was about, and the plants did it.

***END OF SPOILER****

Seriously, not 10 minutes into The Happening, I was laughing out loud (much to the displeasure of Thing 1) and singing "It's Raining Men" as scores of construction workers leapt from the top of a skeletal building.

When worlds collide

2008-10-20T16:37:00.003-04:00

Bizarro worlds colliding moment yesterday when I logged onto Facebook and saw that Mary O'Connor Smith commented on Jane Stein Doe's page, and I contemplated the apparent fact that Mary O'Connor and Jane Stein know each other. Not just know each other, but have known each other since back when.

You see, Mary O'Connor is the name of someone I hung out with in high school. I knew her from CYO, and not from Port Richmond or Staten Island because everyone from Port Richmond and Staten Island was a guido or a JAP, had stupid big hair and liked bad music; whereas, some people from CYO were cool, albeit scarily preppy by Staten Island standards, and liked decent music. Mary O'Connor was cool, scarily preppy and liked good music. Jane Stein, well, she was from Staten Island and Port Richmond.

Of course, I ran into Jane Stein Doe at our reunion, and had a great old time talking to her because, well my hairstyle and taste of music has ma-toored and I thought perhaps hers had as well. It had. So we're Facebook bffs.

But I never, in a billion years, expected to find out that she and Mary O'Connor were sorority sisters. It's like finding out that Mrs. John (Fanny) Dashwood and Jane Eyre were sorority sisters. OMGWTFBBQ!

Anyway, this revelation resulted in a flurry of emails between me and Coretta, wherein a discovered that many of my high school/early college crushes were obvious Friends of Dorothy. I was completely oblivious at the time, which leads me to conclude that my gaydar must have been set to "Just because he likes Morrissey doesn't necessarily mean anything".

The last three months...in pictures

2008-09-26T22:15:00.018-04:00

I'm trying to catch y'all up. It's late on a Friday night. Into my second glass of w(h)ine. Thing 3 is standing on the steps whispering to me, trying to get my attention because, after all, she isn't supposed to be asleep at 10:00 p.m...

Here goes -- my photo essay of July through late September:

July: major de-stash. I sold a bunch of craft crap on ebay and learned that people will probably buy just about anything if you call it "vintage" or "NIB" or "retired". As in: NIB scrapbooking doohicky I bought on a whim retired color BUY IT NOW for $25.00. Whatever. I screwed up a few shipments and with maximum headache probably netted $100.00. Still better than I would have done in a yard sale to non-craft types.

Still, the one ultra-groovy thing I thought should have sold did not -- super retro vintage sewing books I inherited from Aunt Catherine. Answers the age-old question, "Is that 'Freedom Rock, Man?', with a resounding, "Yes!"

Take a look at the book on the upper left -- Son of Hassle-Free Sewing. Includes patterns for wrap shorts, wrap pants, overalls, wrap dresses, and features copious facial and pit hair. I suppose I should be glad that this didn't slip away, so next time I feel like I'm being oppressed by the man, I'll just grab my hassle-free doubleknit caftan, jump into my van, and like be.

I was surprised this did not sell. I figured there had to be some Moosewood Cookbook/Laurel's Kitchen type who could not resist the magical goodness of vintage 70s fashion. But maybe they don't have electricity because that would not be like out of tune with what Gaia intends.

August - short trip to the Dominican Republic for Roy and Terri's wedding. Couldn't find camera so no pix. BUT, learned an important lesson -- the mother-in-law's radar is more keenly tuned than the children. In fact, the only time the Hubbins and I had that was not devoted to wedding and family stuff, mother-in-law interrupted. And if that weren't bad enough, a half hour or so later, after the Hubbins left to help his Dad maneuver around (DR resort did not quite "get" the Americans with Disabilities Act -- which is not surprising since we were in DR -- but did require Hubbins to help Dad a good deal. I digress.) Anyway, a half hour or so later, I'm at the pool with MIL and mother of close friend to groom and Hubbins. MIL is heard to say, "I keep telling Poppy that he can't keep calling on Hubbins to help him. This is Fran and Hubbins' time."

***Fran is hard-pressed to remember when Poppy interrupted anything during that trip***

BUT, airplane knitting resulted in funky bag I ultimately gave to niece, who squee'd with delight (spokesmodel is Thing 1):

August ended with Thing 1 and Thing 2 starting the school year at separate middle schools and a host of meetings with Thing 2's guidance counselor, principal, faxing reports all over the place, etc. Thing 2 started the Exploration Academy, which is a magnet school within a school. The focus is on scientific inquiry and is very much self-directed. Totally up Thing 2's alley, but we enjoyed the entire summer listening to her cry and carry on and proclaim that she hates science and math, hates the Exploration Academy curriculum and doesn't she get a say in how we are ruining her life?!?

She's lightened up since then, "loves" the Exploration Academy, and just today asked me how to play "Bad to the Bone" on the guitar because she and a friend have been composing a song to annoy a kid who took her friend's calculator. (Something about poodles covered in ink. Frankly, I wasn't too concerned what it was about -- she is SOCIALIZING and getting into mischief with her classmates. Like a good 6th grader should. RAPTURE!!)

So... September

September began with obligatory cute picture of Thing 3:

"Suck it, Destiny Hope"

I took an ill-fated trip to California for work. Back and forth in less than 36 hours, 23 of which were spent "in transit". Stupid opposing counsel did not show up for deposition, did not tell me until I was already on plane and could not escape plane without being arrested, witness did not show up either. Grrr. I am crushing their heads. And seeking sanctions.

But, before I left I loaded up my ipod with good things...

OFFICIAL PIMPAGE FOR DR. HORRIBLE'S SINGALONG BLOG: DOWNLOAD IT NOW. ENTIRE SEASON. FREAKING BRILLIANT. BEST $5.00 YOU WILL EVER SPEND. EVER.

So, my plane to California was delayed for 3 or 4 hours, and included a deplane:

This is what the American Airlines terminal at JFK looks like at 8:00 p.m. on a Wednesday. In case you were wondering and I know you were.

Finally arrived at less heinous hotel at 12:30 a.m. local time. Or 3:30 a.m. at human time.

Less Heinous Hotel

I stayed at the Loews Hotel, which is considerably less imposing than the Viceroy hell I stayed at last time. Yes it is a beach resort, but they seemed less averse to lighting that a human can use to see, rather than be seen.

Normal, unintimidating hotel room

I quite liked this joint. Good selection of snacks, TV in the vanity area where I watched Best in Show before going to work. I was tempted to take the box of condoms and assorted marital aids from the snack bar (?) home with me, but feared how it would be listed on the bill that I would have to submit to my secretary. I'm not sure she would know how to categorize "plain brown wrapper" and I'm sure she could not resist the opportunity to send an email, copied to the partners, asking whether the ball gag was a personal expense...

My room was on the 5th floor, which seemed strangely almost street level. Maybe it was the time change. A play of light since the sun was coming up in the wrong spot. I don't know.

View from 5th Floor Balcony

Can't complain, though. I coulda stayed at the place next door...
Such a lovely place.

Of course, the trip was not without its ironies:

Hotel room featured NXTV video on demand funky fresh videosystem. It was NXTV executives that decided to blow off their depositiosn. I stayed up until 3:00 a.m. local time watching Die Hard Mit Kraut on this video system, but only for research purposes. Billed client for same.

Other sightings on trip:

Santa Monica pier at 8:00 a.m. Compare and contrast with Santa Monica pier at night picture taken on June trip.

Gnarly, dude.

surfers en regalia

Tonight: Spied this bumper sticker and probably creeped out driver with flash photography:

...and 10 out of 10 Republican is Not Writing Good.

Thank you and goodnight.

New Ongoing Feature

2008-09-24T16:07:00.003-04:00

As many of my readers (all three of you) know, I am a busy working mother of 3 precious--and precocious--girls. I frequently work well into the evening hours from my lair nearly atop Landmark Square because I am just that important.

The older two are in middle school (what we called "junior high" back in the day), and the youngest is in preschool. The two older girls are officially "too old for a babysitter", so we have been experimenting with letting them fend for themselves after school and having the sitter take over when it is time to pick up the youngest from daycare.

So far, so good.

Except that the older two have not quite gotten the "Mom's At Work" thing figured out and, no matter who is home with them, I get a call with the minutiae. We tried to rectify this by insisting that they communicate only by text message unless it is a "Real Emergency", but I find that my definition of "Real Emergency" (house on fire, arterial bleed) is not consistent with theirs (anything on their minds). So here is the new feature:

The Things I Get Calls About At Work.

Let's take a sample of the last week --

1) Thing 2 calls to announce that Thing 1 took her bread.
2) Thing 1 calls to ask when is Daddy coming home from work. (She did not call Daddy to ask same.)
3) Thing 2 calls to ask what is for dinner.
4) Thing 2 calls to ask if anything interesting happened in the world between 1923 and her birth. (Um...No. Nothing. Sorry.)
5) Thing 1 calls to say that The Dog took Thing 2's bread.

More later. I have to get my game face on for The Firm's Open House celebrating our fabulousness.

Fun with Religion

2008-09-22T07:21:00.002-04:00

Thing 1 and I were discussing Confirmation sponsors, when Thing 2 happened by. She listens for half a moment, then declares that she wants Dunkin Donuts to sponsor her Confirmation.

Thing 3 is a great mimic. She isn't so good with boring stuff like identifying letters and numbers, but she knows all the words to popular songs and can act out scenes from movies and TV after seeing them just once. At mass this weekend: when the priest raised his hands to pray, Thing 3 did the same. The I notice she is mumbling something and moving her hands.

"These aren't spirit fingers!", she says. "THESE! Are spirit fingers. And these are gold."

Oh I am going to hell.

In other news

2008-09-21T10:50:00.003-04:00

I haven't posted in a while, and I was wondering why that is. It occurred to me that maybe it is because I posted the link on my Facebook page. I guess it is one thing for close friends, family and a few relative strangers from Ravelry to read about family's shenanigans. Quite another for people I loved, admired, despised, coveted, mocked, etc. 20+ years ago in high school to have ready access.

So, I took down the link and will post more often. I promise. Not like the last time...

She makes a good point

2008-07-02T00:29:00.006-04:00

--------------
From: Thing1@email

mom i really wantr to play games at maple story. say yes that i can play there!!!! http://www.maplestory.com/

--------------
From: TheMommers@email

Strange...I really want you to play outside in the real world.

--------------
From: Thing1@email

i know, but you cant battle evil monster overlords in the "real world" only the computer world. duh

The Pop-Tart Bandit

2008-07-01T18:00:00.002-04:00

Seems we were the next victims in the string of home invasions involving purloined Pop-Tarts. Just ask Thing 3.

She was helping herself to her morning dose of Magical Barbie Fairy Kisses CloyingBerry Pop-Tarts (Mmmmmmm. Magical Barbie Fairy Kisses CloyingBerry Pop-Tarts...) She convinced me, using her most persuasive and logical argument* ("NO, MOMMY!!!! I DO IT MYSELF! I DO IT MYSELF! I DO IT MYSELF!") , to lift her to the counter so she could get them herself. I was trying to escape so I could get ready for work, but she made some dissatisfied noise that got my attention.

(I should note for the faint of heart here and/or those ready to call DCS that Team Katie was present and I was not leaving the baby on the counter without someone around to call 911 after she fell and broke her head.)

She stood there, incredulous, holding 2 half Pop-Tarts in her hands. "Someone did it," she said. You should know that "someone" does lots of things in our house. Why just this weekend, "someone" took a blue Sanford Uni-Ball Micro pen and wrote all over her hands, feet and arms.

I am dubious. "Did you break it in half, Honey?"
"No," she replies, "Someone stole the other part of the Pop-Tarts."

I take them from her. Sure enough, it is not one Pop-Tart broken in two, but two unmatching Pop-Tart pieces. This is easy to discern because Magical Barbie Fairy Kisses CloyingBerry Pop-Tarts have little pictures on them. And these featured (i) a headless Teresa and (ii) a "Barbie" banner.

"Huh," I say. Thing 3 continues, "Someone creeped into the house when we were asleep and took the Pop-Tarts." What?! Someone (who apparently never studied for the bar) entered into a house at night with the intent to commit a food-felony therein?

"Are you sure someone here didn't take the Pop-Tarts?" I ask.
"No," she demanded, "someone creeped into the house and took the Pop-Tarts."

She would not be moved, so I set upon to warn Thing 2 secretly suspecting that maybe -- just maybe -- The Hubbins creeped into the cupboard during the afternoon and took the Pop-Tarts. I was apparently wrong again.

Thing 2 said, "Uh, Mom, I think I ate them." So I asked her, "Why didn't you just eat one whole one?"

"Because I only wanted one half at first. But then when I wanted more, I didn't want to reach all the way down to get the second half."

Ugh. Back when I was her age, we didn't have Magical Barbie Fairy Kisses CloyingBerry Pop-Tarts. They came in 2 flavors: tripe and wintergreen. And my parents never bought them for us anyway. We had those puffed rice things. And no sugar cereals, either.
___________________
**Thing 3's second most persuasive argument goes like this, "I will ask Daddy and he will say yes." Third most persuasive, "I'm not talking to you, Mommy. I'm talking to Daddy." Seriously, we gots to get this girl to get with the program, but it is so freaking cute.

Did I not tell you???

2008-06-27T02:09:00.006-04:00

Y'all should know. I just wrote the best post ever, but I magically deleted it because I'm working on a laptop that has secret delete hotkeys. I'll try to recreate it.

So....I got back to my office after a long day of trying to explain to investment bankers that the magical sum you believe you are entitled to and the amount you actually have a chance in hell of convincing a jury that you are entitled to are very different things, and so you should consider the actual cash money on the table. Investment Banker Dude still thinks in terms of justice and fairness. Isn't that cute?

That was followed by drinks and snacks Chez Boss's Hotel, which is a mere 20.6 feet away from my post-modern meta-hipness Hell (the plates on the wall* are a bit much...

(Note: well-lit work space)

...but I must give props for the shag carpet in the library). Anyway, I walk into the lobby and the joint is blaring the 80stechnoeuroindustrialcrap I imagined it should play not 2 days ago. Think Cube Squared. Or don't. The Viceroy Hotel in Santa Monica affirmatively answers the age-old question, "Can you be too designed?" Why, yes. Yes you can. Even the ceramic brittany spaniel desklamp agrees.

Anyway, I'm blogging late at night because I finally broke down and decided to incur the wireless internet cost at the hotel. I had refused to incur the $10.95 per day because I was assured that the AT&T aircard I brought with me meant that I would not have to incur the cost, except that the software wasn't installed on my laptop. I tried to install the software, but no one would give me administrator's rights. IT in NY was kind enough to insisted for 3 days that the software was installed, so on principle I wouldn't give eurotrashhiphotel the pleasure of charging me for internet access.

At one point, my office manager told me that I had to log onto an internet-based software system in order to access the internet.

--------Just chew on that one for a spell-------

Finally, the NY office IT guys sent an LA office IT guy into my conference room to confirm that it isn't installed.

Hmmmm. Now can I get an apology from NY for all of the names they called me behind my back? I believe "that dumb bitch from CT" needs a little love.
___________________
* Shut up, Corrie.

I'm going back to Cali -- I don't think so

2008-06-26T11:27:00.003-04:00

So, I'm holed up in Cali for another 36 hours. I am so uncomfortable in the hotel where I am saying because it is SOOOO not me that I spend my "down time" walking the beach and people watching. I'd rather grab a burger from the questionably hygienic clam shack than sit in the way too dark hotel among the beautiful people wrestling with my solitude instead of enjoying it. I thought I'd have some Class A knitting and reading time, but the common areas are so dark -- surely the only thing the patrons would care to do is look fabulous -- that you can't even people watch them and write deep and piercing thoughts about their petty realities in a journal ("'Wow! The Hills?!', she squealed. Her smile would have conveyed hopeful idealism, cynicism having been botoxed and sandblasted into oblivion, were it not for the deadness in her eyes. The bloom was off the rose, she'd yet to marry a Baldwin, and Nebraska wouldn't take her back.")

One good thing -- I am impressing the fuck out of my CA compadres by showing up at 7:30 a.m., or earlier, each morning. They think I'm a psychotic worker bee. I hope they never learn that I'm still on East Coast time, and I regularly stroll into the CT office at the same bat time.

I haven't even left and it looks like I'll be back in a few weeks. It will be a much shorter trip (if I have any say in the matter) and I'm going to try to stay at a less happening hotel. Heck, there's a little motel called the Hotel California a few doors down. I don't know if it is the Hotel California, but they've got surf boards tacked to the front and it looks like it is probably run by a few dudes who have never grown up enough to leave the beach. The whole hospitality thing is just to fund the surfing habit and all.

The Left Coast

2008-06-24T18:21:00.005-04:00

It's like visiting another planet...
... but with a much shorter flight.

I'm hanging in our fabulous Santa Monica office which, for those of you less familiar with LA that I am, is way west on the water. My secretary was kind enough to secure the glass conference room right off the reception desk, where I can be seen by all to be the slovenly paper whore that I am, rather than in a darkened cave where I belong. I can't even take my freaking shoes off for fear that a client might see me. Must have word with her. (Like she'd listen. I've had many "words" with her.)

Anyway, drove through Venice Beach and was quite disappointed to discover no bleach blonde, bikini-clad bodybuilders in Old School roller skates, zipping around the coven of skate punks, with a 1979 boombox on her shoulder. Not a one.

And I am one of 4 people not wearing jeans in the office today. If you think I freak out over open-toed shoes in the office,* you cannot know how uncomfortable I am with the jeans. Those who know me, know that I am the worlds biggest comfort dresser (I had written "slob" but that's a bit harsh) when I am not at work. But there is something about getting paid that makes me want to, you know, not wear what I wear when I driving the kids to and from activities on the weekend (I had written "drinking beers and hanging out" but that's a bit fantastic.)

Anyway, I've got to get some stuff written, revised, comprehended. I've been up since 3:45 a.m. EST after sleeping only 3 hours. It is now 14 hours later.

Maybe if I hurry the bellboy/underwear model will still be working at I can order him to feed me some grapes. Preferably squashed and fermented. More on the hotel later. Perhaps I can surreptitiously take some pix. But the lighting is sooo poor (that is to say, night club hip and stylish) that I need a tripod... Seriously, you walk into the hotel and 3/4-expect the lights to start flashing and bad Euro-techno-Industrial crap to come pulsing through at top decibels.

I am so uptight and East Coast.

naked piggies in Pacific Ocean

______________________________
* It just is. Don't try to understand it. I have nothing against feet and I never wear shoes sitting in my own work-cave, but I just can't get into the open toed shoes in the office. I can't explain it.

Censored!

2008-06-08T10:49:00.009-04:00

I've just be ordered not to blog a certain daughter's suspension. So I'll have to save that until....later when no one is looking over my shoulder.

[See below for missing post. No power in the 'verse can stop me.]

In the interim, here are some pix from Uncle Steven's wedding. Discuss amongst yourselves.
The Fam, less Thing 3, who was hanging with Team Katie during the reception

The new and improved Mr. and Mrs. Steven

Thing 1, Moi, Thing 3 and Princess Bear

The Divine Thing 2

Hubbins and a couple Tender Young Things

The Girls

Why you never trust an eye-witness

2008-06-08T10:34:00.006-04:00

Unsub's 2-day suspension, from many angles. Monikers have been changed to protect the innocent ... and the guilty

Unsub:

It was a day like any other. A startlingly attractive and witty couple, and their darling, respectful, and pleasant 3-year old daughter were in Oklahoma City to attend the nuptials of a remarkably intelligent nephew to his the lovely and talented betrothed. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Unsub's teacher, Mr. X, sets upon a chain of events that, in retrospect, spelled certain doom. (If Woody had gone straight to the police...).

All of a sudden and without warning, Mr. X decides to move the classroom seats around a week early and for no apparent reason. It had been his practice since September to change the seat configuration on the last Friday of the month, yet here he was, in May, changing seats on the second-to-last Friday of the month. Something was amiss. Unsub inquired about the change in pattern. Mr. X responded, "Why not?"

Wary, Unsub followed the teacher's direction. She lifted her chair to shoulder height, careful to avoid hitting anything as she navigated the narrow space leading to where Mr. X moved her desk. But she could not shake the feeling that only bad things could come from this unexpected chain of events. Yes...something dreadful was just around the corner. She could taste it.

Just then, she heard a noise. Almost like a crunch, but not quite. She turned to see what happened and she heard it again. Then, Mr. X took the chair from her hands. In that moment, the horror of her actions was revealed -- she had hit Tiny Tim with her chair...Twice. Indeed, the very steps she took to avoid hitting anyone in fact caused her to hit Tiny Tim. To quote Darth Vader, "Nooooooooooooooooooooo!"

But for the fact that Mr. X immediately ordered her to the principal's, she would have fallen to her knees, rended her clothes, and begged forgiveness. Oh! What wretched world!

Mr. X
Unsub was being her usual self -- seething just below the surface. You see, she finishes all of the assignments and lessons first, and takes out a book to read while I teach the rest of the brainless oafs in her class. I guess she's bored. (Actual paraphrase of Mr. X's statement.)

I always move class around at the end of the month. I gave Unsub the choice between a table of four with the collective IQ of 101 and sitting by herself. Unsub chose to sit by herself.

I moved her desk and then I heard a student say, "Gosh, Mr. X, Unsub appears to be saddened by this move. Surely there is something thoughtful and affirming we, her class, can do to make this move more actualizing for our dear Unsub. She is such a troubled soul."

Then I saw Unsub raise the chair over her head and deliver a crushing blow to Tiny Tim. She reared up, raised the chair again and delivered a second blow. Her eyes were wild -- I've never seen such untamed fury. I leapt over the desks and wrested the chair from her hands before she delivered the coup de grace. Poor Tiny Tim will never walk again.

Reality?
Tiny Tim had a red mark on his back parallel to the floor. No skull fracture or subdural hematoma to be found. Looks like Unsub was displeased over the move, and maybe a bit weepy. Tiny Tim made some comment about it, which was at least perceived to be less than complimentary, so Unsub conveniently failed to navigate the chair past Tiny Tim so as to avoid hitting him. She may have even intentionally navigated the chair into Tiny Tim. TWICE.

(Random subreference: "I sat through each filthy, disgusting frame of this film. Twice." Gold star if you can identify the movie.)

Was it worthy of a 2-day suspension? I dunno. Probably. Maybe. On one hand, Tiny Tim's parents weren't even called about the injury, much less an ambulance. Our initial report was the wild-eyed maniac report from the teacher, which is completely incredible. Seriously, if Unsub wanted to harm the little bugger she would have. (See one handed, nail scratch and takedown maneuver that earned Unsub a 1-day suspension in 3rd grade.) On the other hand, Unsub gots to chill.

Looks like a fun and exciting summer of stress and anxiety control techniques! Woo hoo!

The Pix

2008-06-04T12:42:00.003-04:00

OK, so exposition on the pix from 5/30 post.

1) I bought "Judo Ninja" for Thing 2 several weeks ago. She has spent the last few weeks taking pictures of Judo Ninja in different settings, so I thought I'd post one.

2) The baby swans have arrived at Hatters Park, where I spend most of the Spring due to Things 1 and 2's softball schedules. I'm still waiting for the day when the Proud Papa beats down that one stupid guy who thinks it is cool to waive a stick near the Swan Family. (Unfortunately, it is usually a 7 year old boy waiving the stick. I don't want him to get sliced .)

3) Those Wacky Codd Boys. Unable to commandeer authentic powder blue tuxedoes, Matt, Bobby, Terrance and Joe enjoy a meta-powder blue tuxedo moment at Terrance's wedding. The tradition continues.

4) Thing 3 running down the aisle at Terrance's wedding. She stopped mid-strut to investigate illicit toy throwing by the ringbearer's baby sister. Then demanded to know what was happening. I was up by the altar coaxing her to come up, which she finally did. The ringbearer, by the way, left her standing there. He was not going to mess up his performance for a baby diva.

5) Monument at 45th Infantry Division museum in OK City. Go Thunderbirds! I think I spotted Dad in that picture of from Easter Sunday Mass 1951.

6) Thing 3 and Cousin Lisa. Her new favorite cousin. Who has boobs, as Thing 3 so astutely pointed out during the wedding rehearsal. For everyone to hear. Including the pastor's wife, who was already pretty sure that I'm going to hell since she learned that Thing 2 was suspended for a second time after beating down some kid in her class with a chair.

On a related note, all three girls looked simply divine at Uncle Steven's wedding. Thing 2 is thinking about not cutting her hair since all of the stylists in the happeningest Greenwich salon were fawning over her -- so thick! so beautiful! She was radiant and I will post pix once I commandeer the camera back from The Hubbins. Thing 1 looked simply GAW-JUSS. Not sure I will post any of those pix. Think Kiki circa 1999 and you will know my and The Hubbins' pain.

The Fambly Lawyer

2008-06-01T19:20:00.003-04:00

Dear FIL just handed me a 3 page notice from the Bankruptcy Court of the Southern District of New York, relating to the bankruptcy of Pan Am Corp., and asked me to tell him what it means.

Just for context, this bankruptcy action has been going on since 1991. I am not a bankruptcy lawyer, and it is a notice regarding acceptance of report on final distribution (meaning, this is the end of the line). What does it say? What does it mean? It means this is IT, buddy, unless you care to object. And no, I have no idea what it means for you. But let me spend 20 minutes on the computer and see if I can explain where your pension went. All lawyers can do that. Then I'll take 30 sections and tell you if your great idea is patentable, and maybe plan your estate. All while working on this last glass of wine.

No probs, man.

Much Tooo Long. Brain Dump

2008-05-30T15:11:00.009-04:00

So 6 weeks have passed without blogging. This is not to say that nothing interesting has happened. I've just been overwhelmed and had little time to think, much less think and then type.

1) New doggy. Ginger. Very cute, but 4 weeks later she still has not figured out that peeing on carpet is bad. I suppose this means that maybe I'll be getting all hardwood floors sooner rather than later.

We adopted her, pretty much on a whim after picking up Wolfie's ashes. The Hubbins was pushing to go to the Puppy store to see what was in stock. I was less-than-enthused about this prospect, partly because puppy stores make me itch and also because I did not want to drop $800 bucks on an impulse dog purchase. So I suggest we go to the shelter and see what they have.

The dog viewings were scheduled to begin in 15 minutes, so we got some coffee then rushed back. I jokingly said that we had to be there first to get the "good" dogs, but I had no idea how true that was until everyone wanted to meet Ginger. We, being first in line, had dibs. Anyway, she came right up to the kids, gave kisses, made the Hubbins very very happy. And we were sold. Still, if someone can explain to Ginger that peeing on carpet is bad, I would be much obliged.

2) Uh, Thing 1 just showed up. I have to get her manicured, pedicured, buffed and pushed and prodded in preparation for Uncle Steven's wedding tomorrow. Here are a series of pix to discuss amongs yourself. I'll add some exposition later.

Psalm 23 & The Byrds & Whatnot

2008-04-14T13:42:00.002-04:00

So... Wolfie has bone cancer and we have to put her down. She's been limping along on pain killers/anti-inflammatories for the last two months, but she's ready to go and it is time. I'm faced with the oddity of (1) scheduled death and (2) making arrangements for a dog. Or should I say, The dog. And Thursday is The Day.

The Hubbins and I have talked about The Day on and off for the last two months. When to do it, how to do it, etc. He asked whether I thought about cremation for the Woof. I thought it was a rather odd concept. Too anthropomorphizing, maybe. And what would we do with the ashes? Keep them in an exalted place in our home and think of our beloved Woofster whenever we passed them?

I say, "I thought about maybe donating her body for research." This is not rejected, but the Hubbins suggests that we can spread her ashes somewhere. I suggest the kitchen floor, which is where Wolfie has taken the greatest pleasure in spreading things out -- like the garbage she knocks over on a daily basis. She would want it that way.

The Girls accuse us of plotting to murder the dog, but they are coming around. They see her limping. They see that she has not put weight on her tumorous leg for several days.

We have an appointment for Thursday morning. The vet gave us three options. We can take her body back, cremate her, or cremate her and get the ashes back. We're taking the third option.

I wonder about option 1 -- and this one made me laugh. What the hell do you do with a dog carcass? Does the pet mortician come around back with the puppy hearse for a pick up? Do you just walk out of the vet's with the earthly husk of fido and chuck him in the trunk? Or do they come vacuum packed in plastic and formaldehyde like lab animals?

When Goldy died, I was cognizant of it but too young to be emotional about it. I remember Maria cried a lot, and I tried to because I felt I should. But I didn't understand the finality of it. Anyway, she spent one day yacking in the front yard. The vet announced that she had a ruptured spleen, and she was put down that day. Mom left with an injured dog and came home without a dog and that was it.

Wolfie: Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord.

Three Stories that Rock My World

2008-03-25T14:06:00.004-04:00

1. A month or so ago, I was walking around with The Girls through TJ Maxx decrying the lack of wearable office footwear. I don't do open-toed, strappy, patent leather, platform, bejeweled shoes in the office, so I vocalized my disgust by declaring that these are all shoes that would make me look like a ho, and I don't wear shoes that make me look like a ho in the office. I believe there was some discussion of what constituted "ho" shoes, so I explained my personally-imposed footwear parameters for the workplace and left it at that.

Then, last week, I was shoe shopping with Thing 3. She kept picking out Disney Princess light-up sandals, and I kept picking out shoes that were slightly more practical for early Spring in New England. Looking at the shoes I chose, she declared that she could not get them because "those shoes make me be looking like a ho."

Argh. Why can't she listen to me when I tell her to sit down at the table or stop climbing on the counters?

2. Thing 2 caused a hung jury in her classroom trial of the Witch from Hansel and Gretel. I don't know what she was charged with, but as far as Thing 2 was concerned she had not actually done anything wrong. (She called it a "conspiracy", but I explained that the word was "inchoate".)

In fact, from Thing 2's perspective, the Witch saved to two little brats who were lost in the forest and, mind you, trespassing on her property. Then, she overfed Hansel. What's the crime in that? As thanks, the little brats pushed her into an oven. And she's the one on trial???

I'm so proud of Momma's Little Rabble Rouser.

3. In what can only be described as the Ultimate Dilbert Moment, I've been asked not to go to lunch on Thursday because it might not be nice to others who cannot go to lunch. A bit of background: the Firm scheduled an "all associates social lunch" of pizza in New York on Thursday. None of the three litigation associates from Stamford can make it, so we decided to go "rogue" and schedule our own lunch of, you know, lunch.

Then, because I'm overly worried about leaving anyone out and I think our office should be more social in general, I extended the invite to the rogue lunch to all attorneys. You know -- we all eat, so why not eat at the same time and place on Thursday? "Nuttin' stren-yu-iss!", in the words of Miss Martin of I.S.51 fame.

My boss just called instrucing me to reschedule my "rogue" lunch because it isn't fair with blah blah blah brief due for me and X and Y to go taking hour and a half lunches blah blah blah. He wants me to officially cancel/reschedule the "rogue" lunch. He meant well. It was said in the interest of "this is what's in the best interest of the office." (Of course, the reason why the office doesn't socialize at all is because of his "must keep nose to grindstone at all times" attitude.).

It just came off as completely oxymoronic -- reschedule your "rogue" lunch for a "sanctioned" time.

So now we're totally going rogue. Camo paint, sneaking out one at a time, eating pizza like we just don't care. And now I know not to let the boss know EVER that we might have fun.

Best Election Coverage Quote So Far...

2008-03-04T18:34:00.003-05:00

I just popped into our large conference room with the large flat screen TV (as opposed to the small conference room with the large flat screen TV). Continuing coverage of today's make-or-break primaries for the Hilary half of Hilarama... Hilary appears to have closed the gap with Obama. This is going to be a long race to the convention...

Tim Russert on split screen with random talking head who says, "...may come down to the convention, where perhaps Al Gore will broker a peace. Which would be great, if only for the irony."

Russert laughs so freaking hard that were he drinking milk, it would have come out his nose.

Fran realizes she has, quite possibly, overused ellipses in this post...or not.

Auctioning back my childhood

2008-03-04T18:26:00.002-05:00

I totally scored a copy of Dooly and the Snortsnoot.

Bite it!

Of course, I'm at work and The Hubbins called me up to ask what in heck is a "dully and the snarsnut" and why was one delivered to our door, so I have not even had the chance to squee at the delight of owning my very own Dooly and the Snortsnoot for the first time since I was about 6 years old and the world was bright and sunny, and I was happy, in the days of the Republic, before the Dark Times. . .

Thing 3's new song

2008-02-26T09:54:00.002-05:00

They tried to make me go to preschool, but I say no no no
Yes I get to paint, but when I'm not a saint they say no no no
I ain't got the time, and I already know how to rhyme
They tried to make me go to preschool, but I won't go go go

I'd rather be at home to play instead of wasting my whole day
'cuz there's nothing they can teach me
that I can't learn from watching Sesame Street
snack is carrot sticks, when I only want a chocolate kiss

They tried to make me go to preschool, but I say no no no
Yes I get to paint, but when I'm not a saint they say no no no
I ain't got the time, and I already know how to rhyme
They tried to make me go to preschool, but I won't go go go

The girl said, "Why you think you here?" I said, "I got no idea."
'Cuz I'm gonna, I'm gonna miss Diego and they don't let me mix the Play-doh.
Said I think you're just too bold. I said, "Teacher, you're too old."

They try to make me to go preschool, but I say no no no
Yes I get to paint, but when I'm not a saint they say no no no

I don't want circle time again. I just want to play dress-up with friends
I don't want to spent time on the mat just to show I can count to ten
and repeat my colors and shapes just like a well-trained, signing ape.

They try to make me go to preschool, but I say no no no
Yes I get to paint, but when I'm not a saint they say no no no
I ain't got the time and I already know how to rhyme
They try to make me go to preschool, but I won't go go go

I Need a Wife

2008-02-11T22:01:00.000-05:00

She doesn't have to be pretty or charming. Just smart. And very cheerful about the prospect of picking up after me -- the Hubbins' complaining is tiresome.

Seriously, I'm in the office [warning -- lawyer stuff to come. Talk among yourselves], trying to muddle through all of the ramifications of a notice of removal filed in response to an amended pleading, in a case where we've already moved for default for failure to plead in the state court and already served all kinds of written discovery, and where my boss wants me to go for the jugular. Now, please.

There is probably a simple answer to all of this, and the simple answer seems to be, "Haha! All of the deadlines are reset by the removal notice. So have fun refiling your discovery after the 26(f) conference." But I don't want to concede this and I don't want to run it past the boss (who isn't here anyway, so I can't sneak it out of him by having a broader discussion of the case). I don't want to discuss it with one of the young'ns because I'm supposed to be more experienced and such. And my eyes hurt and I don't want to read any more.

And the TV in the conference room doesn't work, so I'm missing the Westminster Kennel Club dog show. Or I'm too much of a freaking luddite to figure out how to work it -- very plausible. Three years ago, I offered a co-worker lunch if he would make my stereo system work. I wired the whole thing up, but it just wouldn't make noise out come of the speakers. He pushed a button, took a step back and regarded the machine, and noise magically came out of the speakers.

In the analog world, noise comes out immediately. In the digital world, you might have to wait 5 seconds. I felt like the ape that got its head bashed in at the beginning of 2001. . . if that ape pointed out the monolith to the basher, gave him the long bone, demonstrated the whacking motion, and then had to buy him lunch.

I digress.

If I had a really smart wife, maybe one with lots of complex commercial litigation experience, I could ask her these questions. And she would chirpily respond, citing FRCP and Title 28, while fetching my knitting and a glass of cabernet. And she wouldn't think I was too lazy to look it up myself.

To my girls...

2008-02-07T19:50:00.001-05:00

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A la recherche de yarn stores perdu

2008-02-07T13:12:00.000-05:00

Knit Together, Stamford, CT. Great selection. Nice staff (although I found the newsletter grousing about those smallish humans some of us insist upon bringing around a bit much). In my job searches, I made a point of stopping in for a "pick me up" or "congratulatory skein" on every occasion. I could never understand why they were closed on Mondays, when my best chance of wandering down to Stamford for court was on Monday. They stocked noro near the front, which always made me happy. (pretty colors. oooh. pretty colors.) When I came to my final interview with Le Firm, I stopped in for a quick fix. But when I started working at Le Firm, 2 months later, they were gone. RIP February 2007.

Selma's, Southbury, CT. I did not have much opportunity to stop by this store, but I made it there a few times after runs to Hartford. My first trip was after a CT Bar Young Lawyers Section executive committee retreat, located in a hotel a few buildings down. It was located in a sprawling retirement community and doubled as a post office. I think I bought my first malabrigo there, and still have a beautiful purple skein I bought last winter while I was just wild about Knitty's Calorimetry. RIP some time in 2007.

Knits Incredible, NYC. This one still cracks me up. I went to college down the street from this store and I wandered in a few times. At the time, I thought Yarn=Wintuk Caron. And my price point was about $1/skein. I never purchased anything in this store. I would walk in, look at the cubbies of yarny goodness and choke on the prices -- they wanted like $5 for these puny little balls of Ford knows what. I never touched anything, lest the Upper East Side Ladies Who Lunch and, Apparently, Knit yell, "UNCLEAN!" I knew I couldn't pass for anything but a City University student. I drove past it a year ago and saw that it was still open, so I made a special trip after the NYU Law Alumni luncheon on 2/1. Now that I can pass for a proper patron, I thought I would share my story and buy a skein of some "amuse main" for $20. But the store is no more.

Two Sisters, Waterbury, CT. See post, the yarn store that time forgot from some time in 2006. I'll find the exact date. When I went there again (after my lungs cleared) a few months later, it was gone.

That yarn store on maple avenue that burned down in the late 90s, Danbury, CT. I was only in there once. Made a b-line to the sale cubby. Bought a few balls of black cotton fingering weight yarn. I still have them and have no use for them whatsoever. After it burned down, there was some talk of reopening, but it never came to fruition. My first law firm represented the new owners of the building in their question for approval to operate their church in the building. I wrote a letter in support of their application stating that the city would be in violation of the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act (Ruh-LOO-pah) if they didn't let this church locate itself in a place where there was no parking. I went to the public hearing and was shocked to see how freaked out the Zoning Board of Appeals was over the prospect of being called onto the mat by a bunch of harmless church folk. My analysis wasn't even 100% sound...

Knitting Pleasures, Brookfield, CT. I got to think about this one a little bit more. I bought some sock yarn there, and some off-white slubby stuff that sounds icky, but made a really nice shell and wrap that I wore to several occasions and still do sometimes. The store sold yarn on cones by the oz, which seems exotic but is actually rather quaint. I never mustered up the gumption to try buying yarn that way. It's like loose tea -- requires too much thought and what if you really just like Lipton? I don't know when the store opened, but it was around in the late 90s-early 00s, when all the big comfy couch, latte and yarn emporia started opening, yet it was this cramped, un-ironically-unhip place -- it was either 5 years ahead of the times or 15 years behind. I couldn't tell and they didn't stay opened long enough for the rest of the world to develop a burning desire for 70s-esq acrylic baby sweater/pant/booty sets. One day I drove past, wanted to fondle the fiber and maybe buy me some of that "off the cone" stuff. But there were gone.

That evil one in Westport, CT. The name will come to me. They did needlepoint too. The Hook and Needle. Located near my midwife's office. This place was the epitome of snotty yarn store. My first of two visits was early in my knitting career. It was the first time I tried buying off my husband with yarny goodness. I got the idea that if I spent a large sum on a sweater for him, he couldn't complain about my smaller purchases. (The arms were way too small and he's not that gullible. The quest for spousal complicity continues.) I was completely intimidated going into the store, but I knew they stocked the brand I needed (and the color too -- I was a SLAVE to the pattern back then). The bins had strange markings, like "wpi" and other secret codes. When I asked a sales person what the "wpi" meant she sniffed, "wraps per inch" and walked away. Uh...OK. I had heard of dye lot from my Mom, so I just grabbed the requisite number of skeins in the requisite brand in the requisite color, paid and left before they found me out as an interloper and snatched all my wool back. I got a great deal on a bag of purple merino wool worsted the second and last time I went there. I gave it to Mom as a gift. Dunno if she ever made anything out of it, although we picked out a pattern for her. I was not sad when they closed.

So many memories.

What did she expect???

2008-02-06T10:09:00.000-05:00

Thing 1, as of late, has become obsessed with the idea of learning Japanese. She, like many others, wants to learn Japanese so she can read manga and watch anime in their original language. (What about peace, love and understanding???)

So, when Thing 1 called me at work last night, after 8:00 p.m., and demanded that I pick up a "Japanese learning device" on the way home, then sent me an email that states, "don't forget to get the Japanese learning device!!!!", and then accosted me when I walked in the door to confirm that I got the "Japanese learning device", what did she possibly expect?

That I would actually procure a object that would aid her in learning Japanese? Or that I would wrap aluminum foil around a collander, stick forks out of the top, and instruct in the proper use? (Wear at all times, except when sleeping.)

Apparently she thought the former. But after 10 minutes of self-pity, she decided it was funny.

Thing 2 loved it, tried it on, and started speaking Spanish. I probably have to play around with the forks, like rabbit ear antennae, to get the Japanese frequency.

Pix to come.

How to locate a Girl Scout from quite a way away

2008-01-23T21:09:00.000-05:00

You are a practitioner of medical-related therapeutic arts, and come upon a non-responsive human who is cold to the touch. Do you:

A) Call 911?
B) Call 911 and direct the housekeeper to go outside so she can show the ambulance guys the way in?
C) Call 911, direct the housekeeper, then look listen and feel for a signs of breathing or a pulse, and begin rescue breathing/CPR if necessary?
D) Call Mary-Kate Olsen?

If you answered "D" then you not a Girl Scout. You are a moron.

My Qi Hurts

2008-01-23T18:48:00.000-05:00

So many things rocking the foundation of my weltanschuung...Heath Ledger, flavored decaf coffees, co-worker diagnosed with breast cancer...Hard to put it all in perspective.

A few hours ago, a law student intern (i.e., young'un) said to me, in response to a comment about Richard Crenna, "What's 'First Blood'?" and "'Richard Crenna' was the name of a character in 'Rambo'?" Ford help me. She also thought that the Terminators' job was to help humankind.

Good thing we're starting the acculturization of our kids early. I'd gag myself with a spoon if any of my children get through college so ignorant of The Greatest Decade EverTM.*

Now, I'm revising a second-year's first attempt at drafting discovery requests. In her zeal and apparent failure to READ , which is something she failed to do yesterday and I called her out on it to The Man (as I've been instructed to do), and she got all upset and on my case because she felt that I was undermining her relationship with The Man, blah blah blah.

Bleah. Lost the sentence. Anyway.

Anyway. I just read through 10 pages of instructions and definitions that are repetitive and include the term "sic", which demonstrates that she just cut and paste and didn't pay any mind to the fact that whatever she cut and paste had grammatical or syntactical errors in it (which I, of course, got to savor).

I had to walk away from my desk when I started reading the requests themselves, which appear to be the equivalent of "If you wronged our guy big time, check this box".

I'm trying desperately to appreciate that I was new at this once, too. It is too easy, once you know something, to forget that you once did not know it. But I really really don't think I was ever this green. I've definitely had my share of poor editing jobs, but not to the point where several pages of crap can be cut because it's repetitive.

And I am SURE that my requests showed a slightly deeper appreciation for both the nuances of the case and what one can reasonably expect opposing counsel respond to.

Enough whining. I've got to figure out a way to send this back to her with my comments, in such a manner that it may actually come back to me in better form.
______________________
* Screw you baby-boomers. Especially Tom Brokaw. Generation X rocks. I'm a child of The Greatest Decade EverTM, and me and my stupid old hairdo are DAMN proud of it.

At the Crossroads of Culture and Politics

2008-01-22T11:38:00.000-05:00

The Hubbins and I take the acculturation of the kiddies very seriously. Accordingly, we rented The Terminator and Predator this weekend, to augment their ongoing pop culture education.

Plus, with their having experienced Alien and Aliens in the last month, we felt it was important for them to understand the genesis of the Predator, such that they may thoroughly appreciate the Alien vs. Predator paradigm both for its own sake, and as a further example of the anti-archetypal bad vs. bad, dark vs. dark, yang-yang.

Not surprisingly, the girls were resisted spending their entire Sunday evening getting cultured up. But, like that trip to the opera and the philharmonic, the Hubbins and I know that exposure to these works will make them more rounded and accomplished humans.

First, we watched The Terminator. The girls were incredulous that the actor on the screen is now the Governor of California. When the Hubbins announced that the girls should watch closely to get a look Arnold's butt, Thing 2 asked, "Why would I want to see a governor's butt?" I explained that it is either Arnold's butt or Jodi Rell's butt, and she should choose wisely.

Around the time The Terminator drove a pick-up into the police precinct, Thing 1 exclaimed, "So THAT'S where all those things you say come from!" Yes, dear Thing 1. THAT is why this cultural education is so important. Without understanding the genesis of phrases like, "I'll be back," and "Fuck you, asshole," how can you say them?

Then, we watched Predator. Here, I explained that not only the future Governor of California is featured, but the future Governor of Minnesota.

Thing 2 was seized by inspiration. She never knew that acting could be a springboard to politics. What if, she said, we got a former actor to RUN FOR PRESIDENT???

But we have, my dear. We have. [Further incredulity ensued.]

Oh! I dropped my monkey!

2008-01-13T21:13:00.000-05:00

Since the dust has settled with Thing 1's scoliosis diagnosis and she's adjusted nicely to wearing her night brace, we've decided to add chiropractic care as an adjunct to the good ole AMA. We figure, if our ultimate goal is to keep her curvature under 30 degrees, and the bracing seems to be doing a decent job of stabilizing the curvature, chiropractic care is the chicken soup of treatment modalities -- it couldn't hurt.

The Hubbins and I have seen Dr. Cutie Pie on and off for the last 10 years, but this was Thing 1's first visit. She stood next to me and leaned over my shoulder as I filled our her medical history. It went a little something like this:

"Kidney problems? No. Female problems[yes this was an actual category]? Yes, my Mom is a female problem. Heart attack? No. Dizziness? Hmm. Ciara, you are awfully dizzy."

"It's DITzy, Momma."

heh heh heh.

The appointment went well. Thing 1 LOVED having her back rubbed and is looking forward to her next visit.

Today's post is named for something Thing 2 randomly exclaimed before diving under the table at Chili's yesterday.

I realized that I never blogged about my performance evaluation. The short story is: I suck but there is hope; I repeatedly heard about a conference room I forgot to book 2 weeks ago (bite me, I'm a lawyer and if you want me to book conference rooms either get me a secretary who doesn't need emailed instructions for everything OR give me rights to book the conference room); and a crappy raise (same complaint as everyone else). The real story will happen when I get in to see the boss to discuss the crappy raise further.

I wimped out at the performance evaluation mostly because I would prefer being eaten alive by fire ants (and because I was outnumbered 3 to 1 and not comfortable talking turkey with an "of counsel", who is disgruntled about not being a "partner", in the room). But I've had time to get my story together. I do not believe that anything I say will change anything now, but I'm setting the stage to make sure there is $$ parity if a group comes over from another firm in the next year (plans are in the works for 1Q).

Some interesting business travel plans in the next 3 months. I've got a trip to Phoenix and LA in February (and a planned pre-trip to Joe & Pat's new digs), and possibly a trip to Dallas in the next 6 weeks (I'll try to impose on the Texas Codds while I'm there). Woo hoo. Be a lawyer. See the world.

Your Esteemed Jurist Dollars at Work

2008-01-04T21:03:00.000-05:00

I was on vacay from Christmas Eve until New Year's Day and finally had the opportunity to catch up on the pile of "interesting reading" lying around my office. A "must read" from June 25, 2007: the U.S. Supreme Court's decision in Morse v. Frederick, 551 U.S. ___ (2007). The "Bong Hits for Jesus" case , for the uncongnoscenti among us.

I read the majority opinion when it came out and, while I still think it is a heap o' shit, I cannot argue with the analysis. Basically, because the student was making a goofy -- as opposed to political -- statement, if you accept the premise that the banner promoted drug use in a school setting (a stretch, but work with me here), then you have to conclude, as the majority does, that the speech is not protected. (I'm waiting patiently for Bong Hits II to hit the courts -- where a student displays "Bong Hits for Jesus" for the purpose of protesting the Supreme Court's decision and/or demonstrating a support for free speech rights in school. As a political statement, any attempt to curtail the speech would come under "strict scrutiny". And I've threatened Thing 2 that if she swipes my Bong Hits for Jesus shirt and wears it to school, she will suffer great pain and furious vengence...)

Anyway, that's not what this entry is about. This entry is about the concurring opinion of Justice Thomas. For the non-lawyers/Article III junkies among us, Justice Thomas believes that the United States should have been freeze-dried in 1789. He's what they call a "strict constructionist", and believes that if it ain't specifically written in the Constitution or expressly contemplated by the time-traveling drafters of the Constitution, then it ain't the law of the land.

And to prove his devotion to strict constructionism, on the first Tuesday after the first Monday of each November, he casts only 3/5 of a vote.

Justice Thomas concurs with the majority of Morse, but would have decided the case based on the state of the art in the 19th century. He writes:

"Although bongs and, by extension, bong hits, are commonplace in public education in the 21st century, at the time the States ratified the Fourteenth Amendment, bongs were decidedly absent. Opiates like cocaine were stored in powder form and dissolved into soft drinks, see From "The Hit that Saves the Day" to "High Sign of Friendship": Coke is It!, 34 Interdiction J. 553 (1993), and the odd sailor smoked opium he brought back from the Orient, see The Idiot's Guide to Buccaneering, (Idiot's Press 1998), but bongs are a 20th century animal, I Could Not Get Laid at Yale Law School, Thomas, Clarence (HarperCollins 2007), and, accordingly, enjoy no protection under the U.S. Constitution.

"In short, in the earliest public schools, teachers taught and students listened. Teachers commanded, and students obeyed. Students were not cutting gym and taking hits off bongs behind the portables, near the train tracks or at Willowbrook. In this historical framework, it is the role of the state legislatures, and not the federal courts, to determine whether high school students can advocate for Jesus to take for himself, or receive as offering, bong hits."

Truer words have never been written.

Ratting Out a Co-Worker

2008-01-02T18:55:00.001-05:00

Several months back, when I was a new associate at Le Firm, a became friendly with one of the assistants (a no-no, I know, but ich binned ein secretary, and she was sooooo willing to part with the 411 that I couldn't resist). She was a class-A kvetcher, but I considered it to be, on balance, worth the info I would hear. She would frequently complain about one of her charges. I would remind her that the charge was a young, new attorney who may not know how to treat a secretary. But that, more importantly, she was a cost center and should understand that money talks, baby.

So, early in the summer, she asks me for the name of a labor lawyer. I ask her whether she needs a "labor lawyer" or an "employment lawyer" and explain the difference between the two. I also tell her that I practice employment law and she specifies that she needs someone outside the firm. UGH. On the spot. I give her a name and try to get her out of my office as quickly as possible before I hear something I do not want to hear.

I also call my consiglieri (aka Bernie) to talk out whether I had just breached my fiduciary duty to my employer and whether I need to run this up the flagpole. We conclude that all I could report is that a co-worker asked me for a lawyer's name and I would sound like a crazy alarmist self-involved dramatic psycho-person if I brought that info to a higher level. We also conclude that I gots to break social ties with the secretary. Which I do.

Months pass. I forget all about this discussion.

Then, out of the blue, she comes into my office last week to thank me for "referring" her to <>. That they met and she is good.

Who?

Then she reminds me that <> is The Lawyer whose name I gave her months ago. OK, get out of my office now. No more talking.

So this, this I have to report. This is no longer paranoid psychotic inner voice, which I need to hide from employer (Kill! Kill! Kill!), this is "disgruntled co-worker is consulting with counsel".

Thanks. I need this. Thanks for putting me in this position. I truly appreciated having to explain to my boss why I gave disgruntled coworker the name of a kick-ass plaintiff-side employment attorney. Luckily, my boss was cool. Not so concerned about what I said 6 months ago, but rather whether this is something he needs to send up the line.

This is not to say that I won't hear about my alarming lack of judgment at my performance evaluation on Monday. And we all know how much I love performance evaluations.

I may just make a list of my myriad shortcomings to see how many are mentioned in my review. (Wears too much black which washes out face, straightens out paper clips for fun, curses aloud and yells at computer screen with frequency).

Reality check: I don't believe I am the best lawyer in existence, but I'm not the worst either. In my experience, performance evaluations tend to be opportunities for pointing out everything you have ever done wrong -- not limited to the review period. Also, lawyers like to do group performance evaluations, so the associate is outnumbered at all times. After 20 minutes of hearing why you suck, it is hard to make the case for a mo' money. ("Yes I did have to sleep with the Dean of Admissions, but compared to what associates at NYC firms are making. . .")

Argh. Back to Work.

Bad blogger! No cookie!

2008-01-01T19:21:00.001-05:00

OK, so I've just spent 3 months billing 200+ hours in the job, and after some serious guilt being laid on me by my big sis, I solemnly resolve to blog more often.

But not today.

Final Minutes of My Mid-Thirties

2007-10-30T22:35:00.000-04:00

The annual reflection-fest from the day before my birthday.

This morning, Thing 2 said "Mom, today you should have a great day. It is your last day of being in your mid-30s!" Ugh. Thanks, Hon. I bet Santa will remember your kind words thoughts.

I'm still in the office, with my rabid boss who is adamant about completing a series of documents so we can send them to a new client tomorrow morning. Because we are both working on this document, I've come to realize just how slow a typist our word processor is. Am I being too harsh? Yes, I could have been done with all of the changes -- rabid boss's in addition to mine -- a half hour ago and she's only barely started mine. But I also wrote the damn document and know what it's about, so I would naturally do it faster.

No. Not being unfair. This is the woman who answered the phone by identifying her day job an hour ago, regularly misspells my name, never looks up addresses, and does not put two spaces after periods and colons.

Anyway, reflections. That's what this post is about.

1. I like my job. I really do -- this isn't some bogus affirmation. I just wish I didn't have to deal with stupid people and/or the understaffedness of this place. And the constant interruptions by my minions and overlords makes me want to scream.

2. Katie can practically write her name. OK, so her "K" looks like an "H", but the "a" is definitely an "a". And for the rest of her name, there are distinct marks, but I'm not sure any of them qualifies as a "t", "i" or "e".

3. Maura has really blossomed this year and will be quite the heart breaker when she is older. When she wears her hair down, and if she's wearing a good color for her, like red, she is drop dead gaw-jus. Of course, I heard all that from the grown-ups when I was her age, and I found it insulting and hard to comprehend. So I don't say anything about it to her.

4. Ciara is -- gasp -- practically a teenager. Her mood can swing like a pendulum. She is so much like me it is scary. Makes me almost nostalgic for the pre-meds days. (Me and no one else, mindyou).

5. John is still the coolest man in the world. We got him a Harley-Davidson Road Pig this summer. He hearts it, but I gotta tell you that I find the fascination a bit annoying. So I stick a handprint on it whenever I pass.

OK, I'm being hauled back into reality and I'm being gently hazed for telling a law student she could go home after class rather than coming back in to work at 9:00.

Until next year!

Crosby, Stills, Nash and/or Young Moment

2007-10-29T22:54:00.000-04:00

So Thing 2, her super-cool 12-year old bad self, begins a conversation with the t'other day as follows:

"We were watching this show -- well, it's like an ongoing story and we didn't see it from the beginning. But whatever. Anyway, the show was called 'Degrassi'. It was really good."

I was verklempt.

Now I was not the Degrassi Junior High fan, but my BFF was and I know all about Spike and her hair and unwed pregnancy. But still it does this Momma proud.

I hear Snake is all growed up and has a kid attending whatever Degrassi school is featured on Degrassi.

Sold Out By Calvin & Hobbes

2007-10-18T02:00:00.000-04:00

I nearly fell off my chair. I thought it was the pinot noir reading (it happens). But there I was, not 30 minutes ago, when my 30-something, smarty-pants, know-it-all, over-ejumacated self learned that "transmogrify" is a real word.

Not just a real word like so many Websters Exciting International Fabulous Edition 28th creations, but a REAL real word. (BTW, I must be an early adopter. I've known bubkes was a word for, like, a year. Maybe two.)

As in, trans.mog.ri.fy to change in appearance or form, esp. strangely or grotesquely; tranform. [vulgar or humorous coinage]. The Collegiate Dictionary, Random House, 1984.

Not the OED, I'll admit. But, more importantly, not "Calvin & Hobbes made it up to describe what happens when FREAKIN CALVIN GOES INTO THE TRANSMOGRIFICATION BOX AND CLONES HIMSELF!!!!!!"

which is where I thought the word came from

Well, imagine my chagrin, while reading a print out from Wright and Miller*, to see the words "TRO transmogrification". I thought, "law professors don't have senses of humor, what's this 'transmogrification' usage about?" Then I thought, "Law professors DO have senses of humor, but ABSOLUTELY not in their formal writing...Could 'transmogrify' be a word?????."

My trusty dictionary and its youthful backup are in my office. But luckily I keep a spare at home. I guess I can keep using the word, but only wistfully, not ironically. It isn't fun to say it anymore, now that it's legitimate usage. I'll have to make up a new word, like "changeamicate" or something.

There's no "yes, Virginia" letter for me.

__________________
*Lawer thingy. Talk amongst yourselves.

Habemus Coachem?

2007-10-17T19:53:00.000-04:00

Not yet. White and navy whisps of smoke coming out of the chimney at the Steinbrenner compound in Tampa signals to the world that a new Yankees coach has been discerned.

Interestingly enough, the colored smoke is created when bits of Billy Martin's many contracts are added to the fire.

More Insipid Factoids from the 'Vator

2007-10-04T15:19:00.001-04:00

Or "Elligator", as Thing 3 calls it.

Yesterday's factoid: researchers determined that dogs are (significant)% more likely to bite children than adults because the dogs are concerned that the children might take their toys or food.

My question -- did they interview a statistically representative sample of dogs or did they just interview their own dogs? Because you can get a skewed result if you only, say, talk to celebutante purse dogs and don't get enough labs in there.

Also, maybe the dogs just recognize that children taste better. You know it's true: how many times have you gobble up baby feet? And how many times have you put adult feet in your mouth? (Not counting your own feet. See last post.)

It is scientific fact that children are more juicy and tender. Again -- mutton versus spring lamb. You know what you'd choose.

My own dog? She informs me that she is 83% more likely to throw up on a clean part of our carpet than on the hardwood floor, where it won't stain.

must shut mouth...Must Shut Mouth...MUST SHUT MOUTH

2007-09-28T07:25:00.000-04:00

I really must, you know, but I can't help myself. If an apportunity make an obnoxious comment presents itself, I cannot help myself. Makes me want to scrawl across the walls,

PLEASE STOP ME BEFORE I SNARK AGAIN

I met a colleague for the first time yesterday. Let's call him ... Colleague Guy from New York Office.. Too early to think of appropriate name. I had spoken with CGNYO in the past and he has pitched in on my cases, but we'd never met. I think he felt put out the last time he pitched in, but whatever.

Anyay, CGNYO has an ethnic name that just evoked a strong image of nearly every guy I went to high school with, but if they had brains enough to go to law school and wear a suit. I pictured slick wavy hair, perfect suit, perfect teeth, perfect weight, single, lady killer. Basically, a metrosexual pretty boy. What I saw was a regular guy, around 30 years old, baby pix all over the place, not traditionally handsome by any means, in a really good suit, with lots of hair product. The second two things should have tipped me off that he would be the metrosexual pretty boy if he could, but he couldn't.

So I'm introduced and I jokingly tell him that he doesn't look like him. More pleasantries are exchanged and Then the person who introduced us walks away. He goes back to the "doesn't look like me" and instead of just saying "ha ha", or "I pictured someone with a hook and a dueling scar", I say "I pictured slick, wavy hair, overstyled, pretty boy." He teased me a bit and I tried explaining that not being a "pretty boy" is a compliment, but I think he was actually insulted by this. In retrospect, I suppose if someone I never met said, "you're no hottie", true though it may be, I'd be put out.

Before insulting my colleagues, I told Thing 2 that she could have "one free punch in the face" of Thing 1 because Thing 1 made fun of her. She immediately wound up and I had to dive in to hold her back.

Must shut mouth.

"Sister Darth Vader isn't gonna go for that at all."

2007-09-21T20:28:00.000-04:00

That's the quote.

Here's the context: I accompanied Thing 1 to her first Confirmation class. On the way over, we chatted a bit about potential Confirmation names. I mentioned a few old family faves ("What about 'Frances'?" "NO WAY!!"), before jumping right into silly ("What about 'Funk Soul'?" "Sure!"), and ended with a classic ("Elv_s?" "YEAH!)

She was unhappy to learn that Elv_s (his name is too sacred to write out), while the King, is not on par with the King of Kings. I tried. There's a British Saint Elvan of some sort who attained sainthood by, apparently, requesting that missionaries come to Britain. I thought, maybe we could call Elv_s an Americanization of a latinization of "Elvan", but, as an close advisor pointed out, "Sister Darth Vader isn't gonna go for that at all."

Unrelated note: Thing 1 set fire to my kitchen for the second time today.

Good Fran, Bad Fran

2007-09-10T18:52:00.001-04:00

Is there a way to keep the edge without the abyss?

This is twice in one week. Twice I forgot my happy pills in the morning, and was a much better litigator as a result.

Last week, I got to a deposition and realized I was unmedicated. Well, I couldn't exactly break out the pharmacy in front of counsel and client, so I was flying without a chute. And I was On Fire! Man, the snappy -- yet still civil and professional - retorts were popping out of me like mad. Not a single inconsistency went past me. The deponent was putty in my hands, even if, by the end, I had enough anxious energy to run a marathon.

Today, I had just been revelling over a particularly well-handled conference call with opposing counsel. Again, I was On Fire! I made all my points. I did not equivocate about anything or start any sentence with something like, "Well, of course your client is going to have a different view of the facts and circumstances -- which is expected -- but my client's view of the events from his perspective is blah blah blah blah blah, which is what one would expect him to say. But anyway, that's what our position is. . . " Everything was delivered with the right amount of oomph, innuendo and menacing. But in a good way. And then, I realize: No meds.

I had lunch with a friend right after the depo and contemplated how to harness this power for good. I wondered aloud whether I should omit my meds whenever I have a depo or important oral argument.

Would my career thrive and my family hate me? Do I really care if my client's love me, when I hate myself? Questions, questions.

Depression sucks.

It's been too long

2007-09-03T21:29:00.000-04:00

Fun and exciting, August has been. And now, late on September 3, I find myself speaking Yoda.

I had to run a full disk recovery on my com-poo-ter three weeks ago because Things 1 and 2 developed a love of You Tube. Granted, they spend their time on Potter Puppet Pals and Powerpuff Girls DMZ, but between the slowed down system and the popups that would not go away, well I had no choice. I don't have sound anymore, but then neither do I have exciting offers to get dates or free ipods, so in all it is a win.

Thing 3's mullett. Unfortunately, I did not take any pictures of the mullet right after she cut it, so you cannot get the full effect, but here goes:

Wet Mullet

And here's the after:

Most fabulous, I'm sure.

New topic: Is it wrong that my 11-nearly-12-year-old turns heads? Mine is the one in the black top. I try to ignore it, but goodness if I'm not going to have to beat boys (and men???) off with sticks. It is hard to get the full effect with the Fairy Princess in frame, but Monica/Stephen -- help me out here. I'm thinking of lecherous 40 year olds checking out your eldest when she was barely 13. How did you resist the natural and deserved desire to punch them in the mouth and/or give them the willy-inducing knowledge that they are lusting after a baby? I may be safe as long as she's got braces on, which necessarily screams "underage", but after that I'm screwed.

Next: is it wrong to teach my kids fake French curse words? I can't see how it hurts, but it is awful funny. Thing 1 is starting French this year, which I studied in college. I tried teaching her a real French curse (excuse my spelling, it's been 15 years, but "peigne cul" - ass comb, the French equivalent of "asshole"). Her pronunciation was, well, sacre bleu horrible, so I tried some other "French curses", like "l'autobus rouge" (red bus). When she couldn't pronounce that, I tried "poisson tasse" (fish cup).

She and Thing 2 mastered poisson tasse, but I just couldn't go through with it. I envisioned parent-teacher conferences and took the zero. "Mrs. X, Thing 1 is a delightful student, quite engaged in the subject. Her vocabulary is increasing and her diction improving. But I'm concerned about her word choice. Do you have any idea where she might have gotten this?" Uh. No.

It did get quite a laugh, though. Things 1 and 2 could barely finish dinner when I told them the horrible curses I shared with them. This is good because Thing 1 is in that "special" point in her development where I never know if I'm embarrassing her horribly, insulting her unforgiveably, or just having fun. Since I figure I've got a 2/3 chance of being wrong anyway, I may as well have fun... freaking puberty.

Anyway, I expect that Thing 2 will call her classmates "fish cup" anyway, just because she can. . . I can see envision the conference with her principal. "Mrs. X. We appreciate that Thing 2 is a creative, intelligent child, but we have a zero tolerance policy against using words I don't understand. It is not tolerated at our school..."

This is, of course, the same principal who decided not to suspend Thing 2 for a second time in the Third Grade , after she punched some doofus in her class who threw sand at her, because Thing 2 threatened to "throw" the standardized test that year.

I love that girl.

More pix:

Various Slusarzs and McLoughlins at Lake Compounce

Sister Love XOXOXO

Evolution, Pirate, Wench, Sprite, Pixie and another Wench at the Renaissance Fairey

Fabooolous

Quite an August indeed.

All right. Vacation is over. These hours ain't going to bill themselves.

Foreshadowing, I'm sure

2007-08-13T15:15:00.000-04:00

So which should I be more concerned about? The fact that my 3-year old gave herself a mullet last night, or her explanation for doing so? [pix to come] She told me that she cut her hair so she could "get the music out of [her] ears."

Innocent toddler fantasy? Early onset schizophrenia? Bad fashion sense? Foreshadowing of a very interesting/challenging childhood?

We've been trying to wean Thing 3 from using the word "frickin", even though it causes everyone within earshot to belly laugh. (Come on, what is funnier than a 3 year old bellowing, "Patrick, get off the frickin' chair!") Lately I've been telling her to use nice language ("Patrick, please get off the chair.") and she's been reasonably receptive.

Yesterday, we're driving in the car and she's singing a song she made up about a green dog. "Green dog blah blah blah, green dog blah blah blah". I'm only dimly aware of it until I hear, "Green frickin' dog..."

And I say, "[Thing 3]! Use nice language!"

Without missing a beat, she deadpans, "It's the song."

Exciting Discoveries

2007-08-01T12:51:00.000-04:00

I must have been sooo wrapped up in Potter-mania that I was not even aware that my other literary obsession -- Thursday Next -- involved a newly published book! And the promise of many more (book title: The First Among Sequels).

How long had it been since I visited thursdaynext.com that I wasn't even aware that a new book was coming out? Imagine my surprise when I stumbled across it at Barnes & Noble yesterday!

To add to my joy, Thursday knits through the entire first chapter. And Mycroft's latest research project rivals his analysis of Thermos technology.

In other news, Corrie had Baby #3 (Brandon Philip) a few weeks ago, I partook of McSorley's finest with Brian Cogan on Monday, and the Fam and I just got back from the summer hajj to Hersheypark. Pix and additional exposition to come when I get some time to write.

Oblique Spoiler Alert - nothing specificly revealed

2007-07-22T20:34:00.002-04:00

I finished Book 7 yesterday.

Of the 20 predictions listed below, 11 are true (at least 2 were obvious), and 2 are half-true.

And, my personal fave, J.K. Rowling has been lying about one particularly pertinent fact for the last two years. Of course, if she told the truth, it would have been a spoiler in itself.

Correction: Ms. Rowling may not have been lying. I couldn't find the quotation I was looking for. Maybe it wasn't something she denied, but rather something one of her many fans denied. Or maybe I denied it. Whatevs.

Infinite monkeys typing infinite blogs will eventually predict the ending of Harry Potter

2007-07-17T19:57:00.000-04:00

I am a sucker for all things Potter. I reserved my copies of The Deathly Hallows last September and I'm-a-counting down the days. Heck! I own the unauthorized Harry Potter Knitting Book, for goodness sakes.

And those who know me know that I will flip to the end to see who dies before I read the book -- I'm THAT kind of person.

So, when I saw on www.comcast.net that supposedly authentic spoilers were floating around the internet from people who hacked into publishers computer systems and/or made elicit digital photographs of the epilogue, well you know what I did. I'm THAT kind of person.

So here are the spoilers I learned today. I hope I don't ruin it for you:

Voldemort dies
Harry dies
Ron dies
Hermione dies
Snape dies
Percy dies
Bellatrix Lestrange dies
Lupin dies
Dumbledore's death is not what it appeared to be
Lupin and Tonks get married
Harry lives and marries Ginny
Ron lives and marries Hermione
Snape lives and becomes Headmaster of Hogwarts
McGonagle becomes Headmistress of Hogwarts
Harry and Ginny name a child "Severus"
Harry finds and uses a snappy horcrux divining device
Harry finds a more effective manner of disposing of horcruxes than Dumbledore ever knew
Draco Malfoy horcruximifies himself
Kreacher becomes a good house elf and helps his master find and destroy certain horcruxes
oh, and RAB is Regalus A. Black

I would not be surprised if some of these things actually occur in the book. But only because if you list everything that could conceivably happen, then you've got to be right about some of them. Heck! Even some of my predictions will show up in the book. (I'm betting that Stubby Boardman is really the Wand Dude from Ollivanders. . .)

Pope Chat

2007-07-11T18:58:00.000-04:00

Another edition of Sheepish Grin's regular feature about goings on at the Vatican. Today's subject: Aunt Marion was right after all, but will that make her a better driver?

I never did get around to posting my diatribe about God's Driving Rules. Suffice it to say that, while I do not condone bad driving and would not ever drive badly myself, I believe it is a person's choice to drive badly and should not be regulated by The Church.

Though shalt not commit a Connecticut Left* because I shalt not stop for your dumbass.

But apparently Aunt Marion and Mel Gibson are right because the Latin mass is de rigeur. I expect to see it in the next Entertainment Weekly. ("In - Latin; Five minutes ago - Children's; Out - Folk")

I'll meet you at the Klingon Mass at the next SciFi Con.
_____________________________
* A phenomenon first observed by this author upon her relocation to Connecticut 13 years ago. Connecticut is silly with busy 2-lane roads that lack the traffic-lights-ever-6-feet of New York. A Connecticut Left is a moving violation and occurs when the driver who wants to make a left turn, instead of waiting for both lanes to be clear so that a legal left can be made, drives straight into the closest lane -- thereby stopping that traffic flow -- and waits for either the far lane to open up or a "courteous driver" to stop and let him or her in -- thereby stopping the other lane of traffic flow. This moniker has been adopted by the Greenwich Police Department, so now it is official.

There is no crying in baseball.

2007-06-26T20:16:00.000-04:00

But there IS crying in the practice of law.

I suppose the party is over, here at The Firm. I'm finishing my third month, and I wept my first tear at work today. One of my bosses called me to task (rightfully, I should add) for not being up-to-date on a case I'm working on and that has a Friday filing deadline. I'm not up-to-date because I'm spending all my time fixing work that was not done and/or done poorly by a subordinate who is on vacation. There is no one here I can depend upon to pick up the slack created by my doing the subordinate's work, so I'm freaking out over not doing my work as well.

Anyway, the kicker today, what really sent me over the edge, was missing yet another social gathering with the promise of free food and socializing. I missed a fabulous lunch with visiting lawyers from the Left Coast office a few weeks ago because of some deadline, and tonight was a farewell dinner for a departing office manager. I expected to return to the office afterward, but I was kinda hoping for some free eats. Instead, I was stuck on a conference call for 2 hours.

Still, I was OK until I retrieved a voicemail from my boss, with a message he left about 45 minutes earlier, telling me that they just ordered and it's not too late to stop by. I thought, "No. It's too late. I can't show up now. I'm stuck doing the heavy lifting while my subordinates drink and eat good wine and food and take vacations and get full nights' sleep. Why am I doing this ty myself?"

So now I'm hungry and weepy and pathetic, and if I leave the office now to get food, I may run into my boss and/or co-workers, who should finish the fabulous meal in a little bit, while looking hungry and weepy and pathetic. Also, my boss is likely to stop by after the dinner and promise a "make up" meal, which is likely to get me teary again. And I don't want to look hungry, weepy or pathetic before The Man.

I don't remember how soon after I started working at The Old Firm that I was reduced to tears. There never was a party there, so there was no point at which the party ended. The Outfit of Spite incident occurred around the end of week four, and I know I worked behind closed doors for several hours, but I don't remember if I cried. (I probably just ruminated.)

Oh. Who. Cares. The Old Firm sucked and I'm hungry. Time to hold my head up high, march across the street, and grab me a Happy Meal and a Coke.

Could completeness still appeal . . .

2007-06-18T14:27:00.001-04:00

to one who thinks what he should feel?

So, I just learned that my brief sister-in-law, let's call her "Chartreuse", tried to kill herself last week by downing a bottle of pills and a bottle of liquor. She was found, unconscious, by her mother and has been in a coma in ICU ever since.

I'm trying to care, but not doing a good job at it. I know I should feel something. But I don't.

Chartreuse made Thing 2 cry, when she made last-minute, tell-tale changes to the wedding plans that caused Young Miss 2, who was all of 5 years old, not to be flower girl, after having been promised the role a year or more earlier. Then, Chartreuse broke Dear, dear BIL's heart.

I helped DBIL prepare his divorce papers just before I went on maternity leave with Thing 3. They had been married about a month.

The Hubbins reported to me that they're concerned Chartreuse may have suffered brain damage, based on how long she was "out" before help arrived. I asked whether they had a "before" EEG for comparison.

Man, I'm going to hell.

Topics I've Been Wanting to Blog About

2007-06-07T16:29:00.000-04:00

I usually think about these on the drive to work, when I'm least able to write. Here are some things I may be writing about in the near future:

1) Thing 2's school year-end meltdowns. Poor thing has been sooo well behaved this year but with only 2 weeks left, she's begun to decomp. Very funny things result

2) The 80s British Socialist/Communist musician belief that pop music could foment a workers' revolution was utter crap. But the songs are timeless and toe-tappin', even if the propaganda-lace lyrics are, well, silly. ("Governments crack and systems fall, 'cos unity is powerful . . ." Riiiiight.)

3) Sitting alone in one's office at midnight, whilst the more junior folks, whose work you are fixing for the nth time, are home and snug, tends to turn one into the evil bitchy more senior lawyer of which cautionary tales are written. I'm the one sitting here at midnight, but I'm not yet sure how the story ends.

4) The three faces of Fran -- each of my three daughters exhibit parts of my personality. Is it nature or nurture. Would an adopted child think it is fun to antagonize grammar school teachers the way Thing 2 does? Or brood nearly as deeply or frequently as Thing 1?

There are so many more topics, but so few hours to bill

I Love Me Some BIGLAW

2007-06-07T12:59:00.000-04:00

Fran (from remote location): Dear Sr. Part Time Of Counsel Guy Who Is Connected to Significant Client and Gets Paid for Doing Nothing, Per request of Your Boss, who insists that you dance for your dinner now and again, please find Form X on computer system and look in the file to fill it out.

Sr. Pt Time Guy (6 hours later): OK, Can you get me the forms?

Sr. Pt Time Guy (2 minutes later): I've asked Secretary to get me the forms. Can you give me the information to fill in the blanks?

The amount of time I spent cursing this tool off, unable to concentrate on my work, eclipsed the time it would have taken to get the forms and fill them out myself. If his employment is a charade to keep a client happy, do I hafta play? I don't have the time -- what with all the forms and all -- and I've never much liked charades.

More Fights to the Death

2007-05-10T13:06:00.000-04:00

Today's Daily News Headline: Rudy vs. The Pope.

This has my mind reeling. Nevermind which Fictional Superhero could kick whose butt, I want to know whether it will be Rudy or Joey Ratz standing when the buzzer rings. . .

The Pope is quite a bit older than Rudy, and in all likelihood less strong, but he has the direct contact with The Big Man. Heck! He could just invoke papal infallability and declare himself the winner. And Rudy would be SOL.

However, it is important to consider whether Rudy is still Catholic.* If he isn't, then The Pope can declare himself whatever he wants and it wouldn't mean anything. Rudy could use his U.S. Attorney death grip to declare The Church in violation of RICO and throw Benedict out of The Vatican in favor of nice church leaders who aren't beholden to Rome, and who can run things less smoothly and at a greater cost.

Of course, if Rudy IS still Catholic, Benedict can excommunicate him and invoke the old rule of interdiction, under which any practicing Catholic is under a duty to kill the infidel.
___________________
* Rudy's first marriage may have been annulled, but I do not believe his marriage to Donna Hanover was. In any event, his current marriage was a civil ceremony, making him a fornicator who is not permitted to receive the Eucharist. Perhaps Rudy has or will pull a McGreevey.

Make the Catch-22 Work for YOU!

2007-05-07T18:33:00.000-04:00

I've just come up a plan that would make Milo Minderbinder proud. I'm going to syndicate my work.

You see, I've got supreme delegation power. Over and over, my boss tells me that when he assigns me to a task or a case, that he is assigning me to manage the task or case as I see fit. Either I do it, or delegate it to a junior person.

Today, my boss has called me into his office about 80 times to give me more tasks and cases, most of which involved "review so-and-so's work on X, before it comes to me." I'm thinking, SURE! I can't get my work done now -- give me MORE!

So here's my plan -- I'm going to delegate all of my work. Even the senior associate executive review work. When Junior Associate A gives me a memo, I'm calling Junior Associate B to read it and correct it. When Junior Associate B gives me a revised memo, it's going to Junior Associate C, in the New York office. By the time it comes back, Junior Associate A won't recognize it, so I'll give it back to her. And around she goes.

If all goes well, nothing will ever be accomplished and the work will achieve a consistent level of mediocrity. . .

Batman, Spiderman, Superman or Yoda . . .

2007-05-07T14:51:00.000-04:00

Who would win in a fight?

Please weigh in. This is an issue over which there is, well, not enough debate in my family because I stand alone in thinking a wily human could kick the butt of a certain frog-like Dagobadan, who needed Wookies to save his butt. But what do I know?

Reunions and Resolutions

2007-05-06T09:39:00.000-04:00

I attended my 5 year law school reunion last night and it was, uh, not quite what I expected. I went because I thought it would be fun to catch up with my classmates on their lives and careers, but by the time Hubbins and I got into The City, parked our car and started walking over to TheWaldorf-Astoria, where the shindig was held, I kinda wanted to just go to a quiet restaurant and enjoy My Man's company.

But we'd already paid a buck-and-a-half to eat with the lawyers, so that idea went nowhere. However, law school being not unlike high school, Hubbins and I ended up sitting alone because I made no effort to reconnect with people beforehand and we showed up too late to jockey for key tablemates. So we got our intimate dinner anyway. It was divine.

We got three umbrella emblazoned with the school's name, and I took a riotously funny face-plant on Second Avenue. I considered swiping a set of Waldorf-Astoria wineglasses to bestow upon my sister and her husband, to commemorate the 25th anniversary of their wedding night, which was spent at the Waldorf, but they wouldn't fit in my purse.

A few amusing observations the Hubbins made -- more women attended than men, and those women who DID attend were unescorted. They all wore Little Black Dresses -- this was expected, so I wore pants and a creme-colored kimono-like blouse. Many of them were lovely, and while we know many equally lovely men with whom to set them up, they would not consider anyone earning less than six figures to be worthy.

I reconnected with a pre-law school friend, with whom I hadn't spoken since law school, which was nice. But other than that, the law school aspect of the evening was forgettable.

RESOLVED, Hubbins and I must date more often;

RESOLVED, if I am going to capitalize on mondo law school affiliation, it must be in less class-specific environment because I can't compete with suitemates and drinking buddies. Never could. (Maybe in 5-10 years, when they're married, kids, living in 'burbs, it will be different);

Obligatory random picture:

WITHERING Mom "look"

Storm of the Century

2007-04-15T14:22:00.000-04:00

We are all geared up here in lovely New England, waiting for Sprinter Storm onslaught. Can't really call it a Winter storm in mid-April, can we? It's cold, wet and nasty out, but I've yet to see any of the feet and feet of snow we're expecting.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 are recovering from joint tonsillectomies of Thursday.

Before. . .

And After (that's purple ice-pop on their lips.)

It's been strangely quiet Chez Slusarz, as the Magpie Twins have been unable to rant and rave and carry on and fight. I should have arranged for each to lose only one tonsil, so that I could enjoy the sound of silence once more. Either that, or I should make codeine a part of their everyday.

Of course, I've suffered horrific headaches over the past two days, which is not at all typical (I'm a carrier).

This has lead me to theorize that The Girls' quiet has actually caused my headaches. Instead of having to yell at them to pipe down at frequent intervals, their silence has caused me to keep my jaw clenched tight. This, in turn, has caused wicked bad headaches.

Obligatory cute picture of Thing 3:

Daddy's Little Perp

The truth hurts

2007-04-06T01:00:00.000-04:00

What was all that stuff I wrote about being the big, bad lawyer working for BIGLAW? Why am I still in the office, and it's only my fourth day on the job?

It's Good to Know One's Limits

2007-03-31T08:50:00.000-04:00

The last day was a mix of happiness, wonder and dread. I wore the Outfit of Spite all day, along with a shit-eating grin for most of the day. By the end of the day, I ran out the door as fast as I could hoping no one would see me and wish me well or say they'd miss me or anything like that.

Outfit Of Spite
Let me take you back a spell, to ~ May 11, 2006. It is a Friday (or should be if my math is correct -- I'm not working from a calendar), CASUAL Friday, in fact. It is my one-month-a-versary with the firm. Snotty Partner has already, and inexplicably, begun shunning me, the Quinnipiac Mafia continues to observe radio silence. I am wearing linen pants, a big, untucked polo shirt, and clogs. My outfit, albeit casual, is in line with the majority of outfits on my floor.

Late in the day, Office Manager ("I am not an office manager! I am a Director of Human Resources!" ) comes into my office and informs me that someone brought my outfit to her attention and that I am not dressed appropriately for an associate. I am, in fact, dressed like support staff (gasp!). She directs me to dressed like one member of the Quinnipiac Mafia (who, it should be noted, has no kids, no mortgage, and wears size 2 when she's bloated), because I am not to dress like support staff. I'm mortified and so I wear suits every Friday until I truly no longer cared, and started wearing khakis. (FWIW, I suspected that Snotty Partner was the source of the complaint. This was never confirmed.)

I wore the offending outfit on my last day. I didn't run into Snotty Partner, so I couldn't gauge his reaction. But I saw the Office Manager (IANAOM! IAADOHR!). She took a gander and her voice halted for a moment. She pretended not to notice, but she knew. Hell! I was barefoot and moving boxes when she came into my office -- how could she not notice?

I direct all to the entirety of chapter 8 of The Curmudgeon's Guide to Practicing Law, entitled Dress for Success . "I don't give a damn what you wear. Just make sure the brief is good."

Shit-Eating Grin
When you really have no like of your co-workers and bosses, and they've been kind of obnoxious to you anyway, and you have no "good times" to hearken back to, and you are leaving, how do you graciously say goodbye without saying, "See ya', suckers!" I struggled with what to write in my farewell email for weeks because I refused to write anything untrue like, "I will miss you", or "I really enjoyed working here". Once you take the sentiment out, there's only about two sentences you can write before it reads like, "See ya', suckers!"

Anyway, because of this, I tried to avoid engaging in any farewell discussions with anyone other than the 3-4 people I will miss (none of whom are associates in my department).

Dread
Around 3:30, the head of my department asked me if I wanted to join her for a drink after work. I hadn't planned on staying the whole day, and the Hubbins had karate, but I thought it mightn't be a bad idea. I have a great deal of respect for her and I like her. Since the Performance Eval from Hell, she and I had many constructive discussions about my experience with the firm and my future, and I see her as an important professional contact. Why not have a drink with her and cement the relationship? I told her I'd check the evening plans and get back to her.

Not ten minutes later, one of my friends came by and told me that Back-Stabbing Senior ASSociate asked her if BSSA should ask me out for drinks and that if I'm interested, BSSA will round up people. Uh, what?

I freaked. BSSA obligatorily "rounding up" "people" for obligatory drinks with the chick who's leaving? Nevermind that she would have to "round up" "people" to wish me well because there were few voluntary takers, I could not imagine anything more uncomfortable than being stuck in a bar with the smiling faces of people who treated me like a turd for the past year, all wishing me luck and congratulating themselves for being so congenial and collegial, seeing off one of their own. Plus, I only had about $3 on me, I'm not sure I could depend on that crowd to buy.

A drink or two with a partner or two who know the score and have no illusions about my experience (and who would most certainly buy) - yes. A drink or two with a bunch of jerks who want absolution for treating me like an interloper for the last year - NFW!

The second offer caused the walls of my barren office to close in. I made some unavailable noise to the partner and ran for the exit.

I kept the happy face on for a year, the last 4 months of which has been particularly difficult. But I had reached my limit -- I couldn't keep it on for one minute longer.

Last Day At The Firm

2007-03-29T06:57:00.000-04:00

It's a great big beautiful wonderful incredible super spectacular day, when your heart is hummin', good times comin', and you got that happy feelin' things are going your way. All the bells ar ringin' and a little bird's singin' while he sits on your windowsill. Singin', "Yessiree, I can surely see, it will plainly be, most definitely, a super spectacular day."

A gold star to anyone who knows the source of the above song lyric.

DeBeers'd by the Teeny Bopper Cartel

2007-03-26T19:48:00.000-04:00

Thing 2 is in a tizzy. Her business model was killed by a glut of teeny bopper pix on the market.

Someone had the same magazine and was giving away the pictures.

Enterprising Behavior

2007-03-26T13:00:00.000-04:00

Thing 2 has an abiding interest in teeny bopper magazines that I've always found rather curious. It is out of character for her because, well, she's not a teeny bopper. She's more of an anti-teeny bopper. She was born jaded, baby, she never seems to have harbored any fantasies about Zach or Zac or Cody or Corbin or . . . . Her interest has always struck me as more anthropological ("Hmm. These teeny boppers have an interesting society, with its own rules, values, mode of dress and mores. I must study their sacred texts so that I may learn something about myself in the process.") Or, at the very least, I perceived her interest as a way of developing insight into busting Thing 1's chops, whose teeny bopper tendencies are slightly more apparent.

In any event, I have dutifully purchased these slick mags of totally fun fax about teeny bopper-dom's fave non-threatening hunkaramas because it makes Thing 2 happy. Only yesterday did I learn the true reason the mags make her soo happy -- Cashy Money.

I was in a book store with The Girls yesterday and, as usual, Thing 2 was poring over the teeny bopper magazines and, as usual, taking forever to make a decision as to what teeny bopper mag she wanted me to purchase. Finally, I demanded that she make a decision because I'm checking out. She announces that she has to see which ones have the best posters because she can get $1.00 each for the "good ones". Single page pix are $.25 and entry forms for stupid "win a kiss from [random non-threatening teeny bopper male]" command $1.00.

Right on, Thing 2!

She's concerned that her business may suffer a blip due to the recent increase of in-school snack from $.75 to $1.00. It was no problem convincing her customers to part with the $.25 change from snack, but if they only get $1.00 from their parents for snack, her customers have to make the hard choice between teeny bopper heaven and snack. And she's even cautious about WHO she sells to -- it has to be someone from her class because there are "snitches" in the other two fourth grade classes.

I tried to negotiate a return of my capital investment in her venture and she cut me down. But if she ever moves onto more, how shall we say, profitable commodities, I am going to insist upon it.

Lawyers Who Lunch

2007-03-21T13:06:00.000-04:00

Through no design on my part, I had to sit near Snotty Partner at lunch today. There were several presenters, so no time for chirping, but it was fun anyway. What a sullen little human!

I'd like to think my presence played a part in his sullenness, but he's probably just a miserable bastard all on his own.

c'est ça.

Resignation and Secret Societies

2007-03-21T07:02:00.001-04:00

Resignation
My resignation did not go as well as I expected -- they accepted it with grace and proceeded to reassign all of my cases to other lawyers. No begging, pleading, or mea culpa-ing. No denial, anger, bargaining or depression. Just acceptance.

I've run into Snotty Partner 2-3 times since I resigned (once literally -- the doors to the women's and men's rooms are at a 90-degree angle to each other, and with the right timing. . .). The little turd can't even look me in the eye.

I decided to sit at his table at the Holiday Party, not because I had any designs on buttering him up or getting friendly with the youngist partners, but only to force him to acknowledge me in a social setting. (Get a few drinks in me and I can be a complete wench.) I had a terrible time because I wasn't sitting among friends, but it was worth his discomfort. tee hee. Hubbins (aka master of human condition) told me it was a great move because it permitted his peers to see his weakness.

I bring this up because I wonder if I shouldn't have some fun in the next week. Today is the litigation department lunch, and he is scheduled to speak. I wonder if I should show up on the late side (so he's already seated) and snag a chair near him. HAH! I'll chirp happily about my new job to all who surround me and he'll be sullen, trying to ignore my presence. And everyone who knows what utter crap he wrote in my performance evaluation will see the contrast.

Re: performance evaluation -- did you know that I wear slip-ons, not because women's dress shoes generally do not tie, but because I cannot tie shoes. Sad but true -- just ask Snotty Partner (who attended an, ahem, unranked Tier 4 law school.* Just sayin.).

Officially, my last day is 3/29, but if I get the files out of my office sooner, I'll leave sooner.

Secret Societies (PG-13 version)
I was initiated into a secret society last night. It was all very exciting, what with my being married to a member of many secret societies. (Finally, I know something about which I can deny knowledge.) Before the initiation, Hubbins and I joked about my having to chug naked while getting my butt paddled by hooded figures.

Soooo, after the initiation, I called Hubbins to say I was on my way home. The first thing out of his mouth:

"So, did you [gain knowledge in the biblical sense] a sheep?"
"But of course, dear, I wouldn't have joined otherwise. Actually, the sheep [gained knowledge in the biblical sense] me, darling, it is a women's group."

__________________
* Many fine, talented, successful lawyers (and I include Snotty Partner among them) attended unranked Tier 4 law schools. However, I find that many insecure lawyers who attended unranked Tier 4 law schools feel the need to prove that law school rank doesn't matter. And by doing so, demonstrate that it does. At least to them.

2007-03-19T20:50:00.001-04:00

FROM THE MIND OF THING 2!!!!!!!
By Thing 2

I can't stand it Ciara is always giving me Demerits about Grammar (so is mommy!). She is also deleting my work. Mommy is talking about so called "PIG LIZARDS" Now they are reading over my shoulder
great now Katie is sceaming about jammies
THE END (for now)

I LOVE it when a plan comes together

2007-03-16T06:25:00.000-04:00

Today is the day I resign from The Firm. I eagerly await the wailing and gnashing of teeth from my soon-to-be-former bosses. I've been practicing my sweet smile for hours. I can hardly contain my joy.

I reread an old post from a year ago, just before I started work with The Firm. It read:

And what if I don't make any friends? What if they hate me? What if no one has a sense of humor there and I have nothing to do all day but bill hours and plot the violent overthrow of the copy room staff.

Yes, yes and YES!!! Such prescience. I shoulda known from Day 1, when I saw the pitiful office coffee, that this would never work out. I shoulda run screaming on Day 3, when I was totally snubbed at lunch by my "team members". Or Day 10, when I was totally snubbed by a senior "team member" over the team "Administrative Professionals Day" gift. By day 15 said senior "team member" stabbed me in the back, from which I never recovered.

Still, I persevered. I had just completed an arduous job search and had no interest in starting a new one. And what would I say on an interview? "I'm looking for a new opportunity 3 weeks into my tenure because the folks at Highly Respected Firm aren't any fun. They suck, to be perfectly honest. I think they are intimidated by my Elite Law School Degree. The Quinnipiac Mafia is, anyway." Right. The rejection letter would be handed to me on the way out AND my parking would not be validated.

But, all is not lost. Thanks to Senior Team Member's treachery and its effects on Snotty Partner, I started a job search in January (when I could credibly say at an interview, "I gave it about a year, but Highly Respected Firm just isn't a good fit for me. The people are great, the work is great, blah blah blah, but it just isn't right for me.").

Yesterday, I accepted an offer with a firm I interviewed with last time around. (They really liked me, but it was a brand new office and they needed someone much more senior at first.) They were the first firm I asked about when I started my job search and they made me an offer I couldn't refuse.

LOTS more money. LOTS more opportunity to make partner and/or counsel and make lots more money (Thing 1's back braces aren't exactly cheap, ya know). The partners have MUCH LESS easily bruised egos and, in fact, actively foster an ESPRIT DU CORPS. No Secret Set of Office Rules that can only be gleaned from either being born unto the manor (uh, not me), or spending all day yacking in other people's offices to draw the Secret Set of Office Rules out of them (no can do. I got a life outside the office). In fact, the ONLY office rule: the flat screen TV in the conference room is ONLY to be turned on after 7:00 p.m., on baseball opening day, during any Mets game, during playoffs, and during any NCAA basketball game. (I suspect more exceptions can be added for just cause). ZERO personal injury defense. The PRESTIGE of working for a national firm. And, I'm the senior associate who gets to boss the juniors around. Hah!

I am already drunk with power.

I shall call them. . . The Firm.

Even the best laid plans. . .

2007-03-10T10:36:00.000-05:00

Ever since I decided I needed to leave my current job, I had been developing a plan to have my bosses beg me to stay whilst offering to lavish me with raises, bonuses and scantily clad man-servants. To which I will smile sweetly and say, "I wish I could. But some things, once said, simply cannot be taken back."

Everthing was going according to plan: I had made myself indispensible on a major case that is likely to be tried late this year; ingratiated myself to key players; and I've taken an active role in training newer associates.

But then Thursday came, and a client on one of my files decided to "assign alternate counsel" because of (ostensibly) my inaction. Now, in my defense, I handled things absolutely correctly, diligently, proactively, etc etc, and the client, in "blaming" me, demonstrated her complete lack of knowledge of civil procedure.

I couldn't exactly school her because she's the client. ("Mira! Damn, lady! I can't enter an appearance until I know who I'm appearing for.") All concerned on my end agree that I did nothing wrong, and they've assured me that when they speak to the client next week, after the dust has settled, they will tell her as much.

But how will they beg me to stay when the clients act irrationally around me. Will my resignation make their hearts drop, or bring about a sigh of relief?

BABY GIRL'S FIRST FO!!

2007-03-02T20:23:00.000-05:00

Momma's so proud; her Thing 1 done good.

How many years has Thing 1 feigned interest in knitting? How many times have I cast on for her? Excitedly purchased far-too-expensive yarn for her because she said it felt nice and she wanted to make [random project] with it? (Tell me, what 11 yo needs Merino?) Cried bitter tears when finding aforementioned far-too-expensive yarn wadded up in a corner of her bedroom? I'd swear never again, but then she'd look at me with those baby blues . . .

Here is Thing 1 doing her thang at the 2004 Knit Out in Union Square Park in NYC. (Bunny ears courtesy of Thing 2.) They conned me out of fresh, new needles and premier yarn from Knit NY that day. The thing she's knitting above? I found it, sans needles, barely any longer than in the picture, during my stash inventory of 2 weeks ago.

And there were so many others. Why just this past fall, we took an "adventure day" in Washington Square Park, when Thing 1 exclaimed, "I feel like knitting. Is there a yarn store near here?" Why, yes there is, my darling, let us away to Gotta Knit . . .

As you can imagine, I was but guardedly optimistic when Thing 1 declared that she wanted to make a Knitted Babe of sorts for her friend's birthday. I finally got around to knitting the Babes I promised some months (years?) back (I'll post photos eventually). Thing 1 devised a smaller babe, and I adjusted the pattern for her. VOILA! She doesn't know how to purl, and her stitches are twisted, but I'm just about bawling here. Ain't she a beaut? Momma is soooooo proud. And baby knows she can con me out of freaking qiviut* about now.
________________________
* Qiviut is spun from the downy-soft underwool from the Arctic musk ox. For ~$80 you can buy enough qiviut to knit a small hat. That may sound excessive, but you try combing the underwool of an Arctic musk ox. . . Didn't think so.

more Books on CD

2007-02-27T07:56:00.000-05:00

I'm listening to the unabridged Wuthering Heights now. I read it about 20 years ago and I remember thinking that Catherine-dear-sweet-Catherine was a wench and that Heathcliff was done wrong by her. Now, I'm on the 4th CD of 10 and, while I still have little sympathy for Catherine even though she correctly states that were she to marry Heathcliff they would both live in poverty and degradation, I don't see why I had any sympathy for Heathcliff. He is a bit of a jerkface, aiding Hindley in his downward spiral of excess and marrying Isabella to spite Catherine and Edgar Linton. I can't remember how or whether he redeems himself. Has this book changed for me completely in 20 years?

It's like The Cather in the Rye -- when I read it as a teen, I thought of Holden Caufield as a tragic hero, seeing through all the phonies and whatnot. Now, I think he a dope -- get over yourself, Holden. Get a job, pay some taxes and then tell me how terribly the world wronged you.

Boneheadedness

2007-02-22T10:31:00.000-05:00

Why do I insist upon listening to books on CD in the car that cause me to yell at the CD? Ah, I remember. Because the CD selection at the library is far more limited than the tape collection and my car doesn't have a tape deck.

I stopped borrowing Patricia Cornwell books because her self-absorbed writing style bugs the crap out of me. (Kay Scarpetta doesn't just cook up steaks on the grill, she takes a slow draught from her glass of chianti, waiting for her stainless steel Weber Grill to reach broiling temperature. Then, she removes the butcher's paper from the filets she purchased from Luigi's Butcher Shop on Main Street, on the way home. While rubbing the meat hunks with Dead Sea Salt and elephant garlic, she realizes that the last time she drank chianti and waiting for the grill to heat up while preparing steaks she purchased from Luigi's, she was pining over Benton. But Benton is gone now. . .) By the middle of the last book, my kids were yelling at the CD.

Last week, I listened to John Grisham's The Brethren last week and it was reasonably entertaining, so I borrowed The Street Lawyer this week. I found myself rolling my eyes and yelling today. Until the arrest warrant showed up, it never even occurred to The Street Lawyer that stealing a file from his former firm might be illegal. And it certainly didn't occur to him that he might lose his law license over it. (Oh, but he went to Yale Law School. That probably explains everything. They're so busy contemplating the nature of laws at a metaphysical level, that the practical aspects of the law are lost.)

Little Girl Socks

2007-02-20T07:58:00.000-05:00

Voila! I used the Yankee Knitter family-o-sock-patterns pamphlet and some sock yarn I had lying around since 2004(my last foray into sock knitting).

Thing 3's lovely little piggies!

Actual knitting content

2007-02-19T14:42:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I've posted FOs and there have been many. After spending late October to mid December knitting a Dale of Norway Christmas jumper (American jumper, not a sweater) for Thing 3 (384 stitches around the skirt on size 2 needles!), I decided to spend the early months of the new year swatching, socking and working through the stash. Here are some FOs, old and new, for your viewing pleasure.

Thing 3's Dale of Norway Christmas Jumper.

Thing 1's socks, made out of KnitPicks something-or-other sock yarn, in Grumperina's Jaywalker pattern.

A coupla Calorimetrae for the cold, cold winter that finally showed up. (The second one is under the Jaywalkin' piggy, above)

Malabrigo Yarn hand-dyed merino, which is toasty warm and soft and matches my berry-colored gloves.

Thing 2's Socks of Doom socks, knit in Blue Sky Alpaca. She totally coveted the socks I "won" in my dismal Sock Wars performance, so I knit her a pair. I'm not loving the Blue Sky Alpaca for socks, though, so I won't use it again. The foot of the socks felted just from the agitation associated with walking.
Finally, I knit socks for Thing 3, which I'll post once I dig them out of the laundry and I'm nearly done with my own socks.

The Storm Broke, The Stash Stays

2007-02-16T10:18:00.000-05:00

At least most of it.

I finished my stash inventory and was all set to upload a few selections to ebay. (Un)fortunately, I couldn't find the digital camera, so I was forced to wait. During my wait, I had a glass of wine and calmed down -- Stress and dismay over stash washed away.

Happy, blissful stash. Oh how I adore thee. Notwithstanding, I am dropping off a huge box of yarn at the Senior Center today. But the Mission Falls mitten yarn stays. . .

How's the housecleaning coming, you ask? Well, about as well as it can with all three girls at home. What was I thinking, taking vacation when the kids are around? (Thing 1 is looking over my shoulder and just exclaimed, "I can read, ya know!")

The First Step is Admitting You Have a Problem

2007-02-14T11:32:00.000-05:00

My Name is Fran and I have a problem. I own far more yarn than I can ever knit in my lifetime. I used to be proud of my STABLE status (STash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy), but now it causes me distress.

By Way of Background
I'm taking a week's vacation because, well, if I'm in a use-it-or-lose-it situation by month's end and it's not like it matters if I bill my goal this year. And my house is a stinking mess, with more crap stored in every corner. . .

I NEED at least two weeks to get the job done, so I'm taking a week now and I'll take a week before I start my next job. This week's agenda -- clean and organize basement, office, stash, kids rooms, closets. I probably won't get the basement done. Next week's agenda -- finish basement, finish the painting projects I started last January, and assorted small decorating projects.

The Stash that Ate My House
Today's plan is to catalogue and organize craft stash and notions. I'm about halfway through taking notes on my yarn stash and I am embarrassed. When the stash is tucked into different corners of the house, it doesn't look that big. But when you're finishing your third legal pad page of entries and you've still got the BIG STASH in the basement to go through, you realize that maybe you've got too much yarn.

I read Kate Antonova's lovely explanation of why stash is good and healthy and normal, but I am scared of what I got lying around my house. I look at all of the beautiful yarn that once brought me a warm and fuzzy feeling, and I feel empty. Like an alcoholic being forced to look at all of the empties she's hidden around the house. This is not good.

The Second Step is De-Stashing
I'm going to force myself to face this problem and complete my inventory. Then, I'm going to take a hard look at the stash and admit to myself that I don't need or want to have all of this clutter. I don't have a specific reduction in mind, but I will make a serious dent in the stash.

The Third Step is Making Amends
Or maybe just a little cash. I'm ebaying a lot of this stuff. I came across skeins of Mission Falls 1824 wool and a pattern book -- I'm never going to make those mittens, I don't care how cute they are. WTF. I'm selling them. $.20 on the dollar is still more than $taking-up-space-in-my-closet. And maybe I'll make a few bucks from my sales to buy some of that nice alpaca I had my eyes on . . .

Or maybe a nice tax deduction. I've had a garbage bag full of acrylics and other stuff sitting in my basement for YEARS now, just waiting for me to bring it down to the Senior Center. Well it's going. Friday is the day.

Or maybe some karma. Like last year, I am going to devote Lent to charity knitting this year. I can burn through excess stash, do good works, and win points with The Big Guy. Not too shabby.

The Fourth Step is Guilt-Free Knitting and a Cleaner House
Oh yeah! I'm liking that. Less complaining from The Hubbins too.

13 Things I Love About my (Nuclear) Family Members

2007-02-12T13:04:00.000-05:00

Today is my 13th wedding anniversary and in honor of this occasion, I present 13 things I love about my Nuclear Family Members. Without being overly gushy, and in no particular order, here they are:

1. Despite what The Hubbins says, none of my siblings paid him anything to marry me and get me out of the house. I'm fairly certain about this because my sibs tend to be rational actors in the market and none of them lived at home when I got married. Why would they pay? That's probably all I'm going to write about The Hubbins because the rest is just TMI...

2. Thing 1 is 11 years old and likes being 11 years old and doesn't seem to have any interest in being anything other than 11 years old. By which I mean that she acts like an 11 year old girl in middle school. Not a high school student or (dear me) a girl gone wild in any setting. You may scoff, but I've seen how some of her classmates dress and act.

3. Thing 2 figured out for herself that if you dig a hole straight through the center of the earth from the United States, you don't end up in China. She figured that from Connecticut, you'd end up in Australia. She was awful darn close. . . about 1000 mi off the coast of Australia. (Don't believe me? Check this out.)

4. Thing 3 will be the jock of the family. And maybe a nuclear physicist. I'm cool with latter -- I accepted long ago that I'd be dwarfed intellectually by kids -- but I'm not so cool with the former. With the exception of the last few years of sitting on my ass, I'd always been physically coordinated and strong. But Thing 3's got me beat.

5. Thing 1 has really blossomed in her school work this year. Her report cards were never bad, actually quite good, but the brain thing has all come together this year. I'm pleased that our evil plan of not making our kids freak out about academics in elementary school has worked.

6. Thing 2 asked to play Jesus in the Living Stations of the Cross that the 4th grade religion class does each year. She felt that since the role had always gone to a boy, the time was ripe for a female Jesus. She also suspected that no other girl had asked to play Jesus. She got the part.

7. Thing 3 loves her sisters and she's just about big enough now to give as good as she gets. I frequently find her wrestling with "her" girls. She isn't at all shy about diving into the scrum.

8. Thing 1 will jump up and down all day in her Moon Boots if I let her.

9. When not jumping up and down in Moon Boots, Thing 1 is reading.

10. Thing 2 hassles her religion teachers with questions about how dinosaurs fit into the Book of Genesis and whether communion = cannibalism.

11. Thing 3 won't sit still for meals, or for anything really, and I just don't care. She's got a rhythm in her brain and she's dancing to it. Someday we will harness her power for good. And she uses the word "fricken", as in, "Mommy, open the fricken door." Okay, so the last part isn't charming and we need to get her to stop, but it is awfully funny.

12. Thing 3 loves -- LOVES -- superheroes. Especially Superman. I was watching a DVD the other day that was produced by the same company as Superman Returns. Thing 3 heard the opening flourish from upstairs and starting clamouring to get to the TV because "her" Superman was on.

13. When they don't know anyone is looking, my daughters are caring and very considerate of each other.

Getting In Touch with my Inner Mrs. Groom*

2007-01-31T20:57:00.000-05:00

I spoke with Muscle Guy this evening with 3 or 4 follow up questions. The results:

1. While Thing Three's whack in the eye may be significant, it was not relevant. He noticed decreased mobility in my right eye. It is more noticeable to me in my left eye because my left eye was weaker to begin with.

2. The disease should run its course in 1.5-2.5 years, after which my eye muscles will regain much of their former mobility, although there may be some scarring. In light of the superior oblique palsy, we want some scarring in my left eye. If the stars align properly, when the disease has run its course, Iwon't need prism lenses and I won't look like Mrs. Groom.*

3. Although there is a strong correlation between Thyroid-Associated Eye Disease and other thyroid diseases, there is no correlation between Thyroid-Associated Eye Disease and other non-thyroid auto-immune diseases, such as MS. Phew.

So there.

* Come one now, you remember Mrs. Groom from P.S.22. She was scary. Always looked like you did something wrong and she knew and she was going to tell her friends AND your parents and siblings.

A Certain Grave-itas

2007-01-31T06:51:00.000-05:00

I went to see my ophthalmologist yesterday because my prescription has been going nutty. Apparently I've developed Graves Disease, or rather, the less dire sounding "Thyroid-Associated Eye Disease". Good news: the scarring of my lower and inner eye muscles is helping my superior oblique palsy. With the perfect amount of scarring, I may be able to get rid of my prism lenses (I'll still be near-sighted, but I can wear contacts). Bad news: I may look like Marty Feldman when all is said and done.

I have to see the Doc every 2 months or so to make sure my prescription is the best it can be as the muscles tighten up. The disease supposedly runs its course in 6 months to 3 years, at which time I'll either look freakish and wear glasses to hide my eyes, need surgery to correct for the Graves, er, Thyroid-Associated Eye Disease and/or superior oblique palsy, or maybe I'll just have laser surgery done to correct the near-sightedness.

I'm still hoping that this stiffness in my left eye is the result of when Katie popped me in the eye so hard about a month ago that I was blinded for a good 10 minutes. But that hardly explains the 3 prescription changes in the last year.

Eye thingy in a nutshell (for the confused and/or curious):
After ~20 years of being told I had an astigmatism by various optometrists and opthalmologists, and ~15 years of wearing bifocals, I saw a Muscle Guy in 2004, who diagnosed me as having Superior Oblique Palsy. Good news: no more bifocals and sharper vision that I've ever had with prism lenses (when my prescription is on point); Bad news: can't grind prism into contacts.

When I was first diagnosed, Muscle Guy told me that I may need a few prism prescription adjustments in the beginning, but then my eyes should "lock in" and stay "locked in" until I'm about 40, at which time my eyes will go to hell and I may need surgery (he's not one to mince words). Great! Except that in the 2 1/2 years since I was diagnosed, I've been through about 5 or 6 prescriptions. At first the prisms got stronger, which was expected. But then they started getting weaker, which was not expected.

So, he did a bunch of occular mobility tests, which showed a marked change since the last time I saw him. Which, combined with the unexpected changes in my prescription, led to the diagnosis of Not-So-Graves-Disease.

Hoo-Hah, as they say.

Fashionable Lawyerwear

2007-01-16T13:18:00.000-05:00

I'm at the start of ANOTHER job search. Things just ain't working for me at The Firm -- I'm just not feeling the love for me or my clients -- so off I go. Luckily, I heart my headhunter -- she was an enormous help during my last job search, so I called her a few months ago when I suspected things were not going to get any better here. I decided to stick it out until the new year, and now I'm in the market.

Anyway, I asked the headhunter about a firm she got me an interview with last year -- I liked them, they liked me, but timing was bad. They had just opened a Stamford office but weren't ready to hire someone my level. Ends up they're very interested in seeing me again. I'm meeting them next week so I HAD to go to The Mother Ship for appropriate apparel.

Thing 2 demanded to come with me as my "fashion consultant". She was emphatic that I should not purchase anything boring or ugly. I try explaining to her that the Lawyer Interview Suit is a creature all its own, and that Boring and/or Ugly (to a 9 yo) is de rigeur. She would have none of it.

Thing 2 picked out some interesting ensembles -- she worked the sale rack and her knowledge of color theory to the bone, baby. One selection was a black a-line skirt, red shell and dark purple jacket. It was cute and if I wasn't Interview Suit Shopping, I might have considered it. I settled on a black pin-stripe Anne Klein Suit with a bias-cut a-line skirt.

Thing 2 is disappointed in my purchase. When she saw me in it this morning, she exclaimed, "You're right, Mom! That suit IS boring. You look like someone who is in charge of something, but nobody likes."

Eeeexcellent! Just what I was going for.

Deliver me, please.

2006-12-26T16:04:00.000-05:00

A meaningless rant will follow. Consider yourself warned.

Please deliver me from the yarn stores that organize their stock by color, rather than brand or fiber content. I finally had a reason to be in New Haven, so I contrived to visit Yarn. I've heard sooo much about it. But I walk in, the joint is small and it's organized by color. I walk around for a few minutes and give up. I can't find a thing because my brain doesn't work that way. I need to find fibers that I like, then see the breadth of colors I can play with. I don't walk in and think -- "Need red yarn. Where is the red yarn? Aah -- box of red yarn. Now do I want linen or silk or alpaca; bulky, superfine or sport weight. . ." WHO DOES THAT???

I'm proud of myself, though -- I didn't force it; I spent no more than 7 minutes in the store. I learned from the whole Wool Connection fiasco. I visited there when I had to bring Thing 1 to a doctor's appointment in the same town. I've received their catalogue for years, but never had a good reason to be in Avon. I must have walked aimlessly around that store for an hour. I'd find a yarn that felt great, but I could never find it in a color that I liked or I'd find a yarn that reminded me of a yarn I wanted to try, but I couldn't find the yarn I was thinking of.

For example, I found Rowan Denim in Ecru and wanted check out the remaining available colors. I knew there were several in the blue family, but I couldn't find them in the wall of blue at the store. And did I really want to dig through an entire wall of yarn to see all of the shades of blue Rowan Denim is available in? And how would I know if I found all of them? I suppose I could have asked, but the sales people were busy helping other confused shoppers. And what's the etiquette on monopolizing a sales person at one of these stores? After the Wool Connection sales person fished out the Rowan Denim (that I had no intention of buying -- I really just wanted to touch and look at it) could I make her find every yarn it might be fun to touch? What would I ask to achieve that goal -- "Where is the good yarn that I like?!"

Those color-organized stores look pretty, but I resolve to avoid them. Color-organized stores, I relegate thee to the stratum of yarn acquisition sources just below Wal-Mart and craft stores. At least at those places, I can find what I'm looking for, I just don't want much of it.