My Life, As Told Between (Baby Cakes') Naps

You’ve probably noticed, but the blog looks a little different today.  While I loved the old green pallet, it wasn’t super user-friendly.  This new blue one is a bit too “girly” for me, but allows me to put up links and has a calendar for archived posts (in case anyone really, really wants to know what was going on in my life on December 11, 2004 – answer:  nothing).  Also, I’m fickle and was getting bored of the old look.  Anyways, enjoy the links!  Some are fun.  Some are informative.  Some are just dumb and truly nothing more then a waste of time.  None are billable. 

Also, keep an eye out for the first in what may be a new feature on this blog:  Competitive Posts.  Two of my friends, ML and CH (aka Frog and Wombat), and I have decided to liven things up on our respective blogs by participating in a posting contest (because nothing’s worth doing unless someone loses).  Once a month or so, we’ll all write on the same topic to see who comes up with the best entry.  Our first topic – the wonderful world of blogging (what we think of it, why we do it, what we write about, etc.).   It’ll be a tight race, as they’re both wonderful, witty writers! 

Which is my way of saying no, this blog is not dead.  I’ve just been too busy to write much of anything lately.  Now, usually even when I’m busy I find plenty of time to waste (I firmly believe wasting time is actually a valuable endeavor), but lately it’s been the kind of busy where things have to get out the door quickly.  Don’t think I’ve managed to have this thing people refer to as “lunch,” even at my desk, in the last two weeks.  I also think I may be developing an ulcer.  Of course, I’m somewhat of a hypochondriac and am convinced my microwave is giving me skin cancer and my cell phone is slowly causing a brain tumor to develop, despite the fact that there is absolutely no evidence or symptoms of any of the above happening.  (Note that despite my belief that modern day conveniences are slowly killing me, I am making no attempt to decrease their usage.  Because that would be actual work and therefore anathema to my deeply held belief that the easiest route is the best route.) 

Stay tuned for upcoming posts.  Future possible topics include:  nonsensical nicknames, my perplexing ability to get lost driving even the most familiar of routes, why women love shoes, future travel plans, the trauma that is swimsuit season, more office stories, and maybe even what I had for lunch (when this lunch thing starts happening again). 

My litigation team is swamped.  I haven’t come up for air in the last couple of weeks, and I have the least to do out of all of us.  We’re losing a mid-level associate this week to a too-good-to-pass-up job opportunity and lost the other first year a month ago to the transactional folks in our office.  As a result, I’m doing the work of two first years while simultaneously being groomed to take on mid-level responsibilities.  In one of my many conversations with JP, the junior partner, in which he’s telling me everything I did wrong on the latest assignment (believe it or not, these sessions are actually super-helpful, although a crushing blow to my ego), he mentioned the team was counting on me to learn quickly and to absorb all this information like a sponge.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him my memory is more like swiss cheese.  Besides, I imagine he’ll find out on his own soon enough.    

Funny moment I almost forgot to mention:  In the course of discussing how overwhelmed we all were, I told JP that I couldn’t wait for the new second year associate to start.  JP’s response?  “Why?  She’ll just be another you.”  This sounds horribly insulting and mean in writing, but was only mildly insulting and a little mean in person.  What he meant by that was, “I really need another me right now to do all this work, rather then another person I have to supervise and train.  Please don’t take offense as you are actually a brilliant first year.”  Well, I’m sure that’s what he really meant anyways.  =)

Do you have a kid I can borrow?  (Preferably one shorter then I am?)  It can be a son, sister, cousin, nephew, etc.  I’m not picky.  It’s just that I’m horribly addicted to all things animation and the DreamWorks movie Madagascar is coming out soon.  I hear there are cute scene-stealing penguins involved.  Scene-stealing penguins, people!  Clearly, I have to see this movie.  I’m one of those people who hate going to children’s movies without a child in tow though, and my younger sisters are both in their early twenties and will no longer cut it, especially now that they’re both taller I am.  Even the bibs and pacifiers don’t seem to be fooling anyone anymore.  Sigh.  Anyways, I promise to return your child as soon as the movie’s over.  Or as soon as it gets fussy.  Whichever comes first.

My mom is adorable.  I called her (from the office, where I’m spending most of today) to wish her a happy mother’s day.  Her response was a rather distracted, “Oh, thanks!  Love you, gotta go.”  I wonder if there’s a game on today?  The only time she’s noticably distracted is when I call in the middle of a football, basketball, or baseball game.  For as long as I’ve known her (i.e., my entire life), she’s been an avid sports fan.  All 4’11” and 89 pounds of her.  Although usually rather quiet and a little reserved (she once got up and moved to another bench at the airport when the mother of one of my best friends was too talkative), she’s capable of cursing with the best of them when caught up in a sports frenzy.  She’s almost always practical and not one to make a fuss about anything, but occasionally shows a streak of whimsy.  For example, one of my earliest memories is of my parents, relatively new immigrants, trying to play along with the very American concept of Santa.  In the face of my unrelenting questions, my mom readily confessed that Santa didn’t exist and she didn’t know why Americans lied to their kids.  On the other hand, she had me convinced for years that if you drop something, but pick it up quickly and twirl it around, the germs will get dizzy and fall off.  

My mom is up in northern California and I’m still stuck in LA, but I hope you all are able to spend some time with your mothers on Mother’s Day!

Despite the fairly high monthly rent, my apartment doesn’t actually seem to meet the warrant of habitability. (For non-lawyers, the warrant of habitability is basically the landlord’s implied obligation to keep the the rental property in a livable condition by providing electricity, heating, plumbing, workable elevators, etc. Or something to that effect.) As I’ve already shared, the electricity is prone to going out, which effects the heating, hot water, etc. The plumbing’s always shaky (I was going to make a joke about how it’s a crap shoot, but am more mature then that). I’ve been told by previous tenants they believe there were termites, although I haven’t seen evidence of that yet. The elevator, when it’s working, jerks before it starts descending. Every morning, I ponder whether it’s worth my life to avoid taking six flights of stairs. And when the electricity’s out, the elevators don’t work at all and the stairs are plunged into stygian darkness. I wonder then if it’s worth my life to get up to my apartment. After all, the lobby is about as inhabitable as my apartment.

On the other hand, moving’s a hassle and I’m lazy.
I wonder which will give first. My ability to tolerate virtually inhumane conditions or my abject laziness?

1) The wave. As anyone will tell attest to (with very little prompting), I’m not a particularly good driver. I’m not horrible, but I get lost easier then most, I don’t always pay as much attention as I should, and I hate surprises. In my defense however, I strive to be a very considerate driver. To the extent I can reasonably do so, I let other people into my lane. I signal. I don’t tailgate. I WAVE when someone slows down to let me into their lane. If anything, I over-wave. I wave it if looks like the thought at least crossed their mind that they should have slowed down to let me in. Or if they would have slowed down if they weren’t already a safe ten miles behind me. Ocean aside, I have not seen a single wave in the eight months I’ve lived in LA. Really, would it kill people to acknowledge other drivers? (I assume the same fear causes people not to use their turn signals in LA.)

2) Electricity. I live in a rather densly populated area of LA and the electricity only occasionally functions in our area. According to my roommate, it’s out again and has been long enough to turn all of my food to mush and necessitate an emergency run to the grocery store on my way home from work. I don’t know what people in my neighborhood are doing all day that sucks up all of my electricity, but I sure wish they would stop it.

I had dinner with a good friend of mine this weekend. Normally, she’s a brilliant, poised, accomplished woman. On Friday, I saw her turn into a giggling twelve-year old girl in front of my eyes. It was really quite astonishing. One minute we were discussing the state of the world (or something equally meaningful, I’m sure). The next, a boy she likes happened into the restaurant with a couple of his friends as we were getting ready to leave. After a short conversation (they were being seated, the restaurant was crowded and we were all in the way), we exited the restaurant and ducked into a nearby Rite Aid, where I watch my brilliant, poised, accomplished friend fall apart. Within minutes, she’s transformed into a shaking, excited (but still cute) mess, and we’re scheming like two pre-teens on how to meet up with them after their dinner. Being a good friend, and with less to lose, I bravely ventured forth into the restaurant we had just vacated and brazenly asked them to join us for drinks after dinner. They did, and a fun evening was had by all. I rock (*pat on the back*).

Also, I was supposed to go hiking this weekend, but at the merest suggestion of rain, I bailed. I am so not hardcore. Sigh. LA has softened me considerably. D*mn you LA!

I don’t cry.  Ever.  Well, unless I’m reading a sad book, watching a depressing movie, or catching a glimpse of a particularly touching commercial.  I rarely cry at the occurence of non-fictional events however, with the exception of funerals and graduation ceremonies (oddly enough, the only graduation that really had me bawling was from junior high – go figure).  Today, I almost cried in frustration.  In front of someone!  Plagued by a rapidly approaching deadline, a seemingly insurmountable pile of work, and weeks of unrelenting computer problems, I got teary-eyed explaining my latest setback to our technical support person.  Teary-eyed!  (Those of you who know me well will understand my disbelief and confusion.)  I’m still reeling from the incident, even though it was really only an incident in my head.  The person didn’t notice and, truth to tell, there weren’t any real tears, just the feeling of impending tears.  And I was in shock (“No, you’re kidding me.  I’m almost CRYING over this??!”) more then upset.  Still.  Weird.  I must be more stressed out then I think.

What I _am_ currently obsessed with is purses (see preceding post).  I’ve even sunk so low as to spend countless hours reading…please pity me…blogs devoted exclusively to them.*  Yes, there are blogs devoted entirely to purses.  Here’s one, here’s another one, and this one is probably my favorite.**  I’m sure there’s some deep psychological explanation for this recent phenomenon though.  There has to be.  I refuse to believe it’s just because I’m shallow.  I may need to become a vegetarian or save the world or something to make myself feel better.  Or, better yet, maybe I’ll just buy another purse.

Speaking of which, the newest one I ordered from ebay arrived yesterday.  It’s a beautiful deep red.  It’s not designer, it’s not expensive, and it’s not even real leather (the horror!), but I absolutely love it.  I love it so much that I had to scramble to find an appropriate outfit to complement the purse this morning.  Unfortunately I hadn’t picked up my dry cleaning yet and was left with very few options.  Even more unfortunately, the outfit I ended up wearing made me look a bit like a sailor (white slacks and a black top with some white piping), but it was worth it to sport the new purse.  All the way to the office.  Where is sat in my desk drawer.  All day.  Moldering.  And I sat at my desk.  All day.  Moldering.  Mired in a seemingly endless, tedious, overwhelming, frustrating and complicated document review project.   

Um, I really need to go buy a purse now.

*And yet I wonder why I’m still only half-way through the five books I’ve been reading for the last several months!

**I would never actually _spend_ that much on a purse.  I’m entirely too thrifty (read “cheap”).  Many of the purses which are highlighted actually elicit a great deal of confusion on my end.  However, I’m absolutely fascinated by people’s preferences.  Especially when they’re very pronounced.  What makes an object desired by one person and disdained by another?  Why do people have such diverse opinions on beauty?  (Although perhaps this applies primarily to objects.  Haven’t there been some studies that have found there are certain social/cultural norms universally defining attractiveness in humans?)^

^Apologies for the long (and boring) post.  I’ll try harder next time.  =)  Also, those of you who actually enjoy the interplay between texts and footnotes should read this book.

Let me first set the record straight by noting that I am, by no means, obsessed with sheep (see proceeding post).  Despite the fact that I’ve now created three posts about my non-obsession.  The reason for this particular post is because I’ve recently discovered a statistics feature on this site that lets me see what “referers” are linking people to this site.  For non-bloggers out there, that means essentially what searches people run that brings up this site as a hit which then leads people to click on it (er, or something of the sort, I’m not a particularly sophisticated blogger so I may be wrong).  In any case, oddly enough, the most popular searches that brings up this site are searches for “cartoon sheep.”  I had no idea there were that many people out there interested in cartoon sheep.  Enough to do frequent web searches for them. This site has also been frequented by nameless individuals interested in “smiting God,” “diet buddies,” “evil blackberry” (I know, that one has me puzzled too) and “nap sleep.”  Fascinating.  Well, not really, but it’s been a slow day/week/year/sum of my existence. 

(I’ve no doubt now made this the first site that shows up the next time someone does a search for “cartoon sheep”!  I just hope they’re not too disappointed.) 

My roommate, who is now working at my firm on a temporary basis to help with a large document review project, made a rather insightful comment the other day.  She’s noticed that between the effusive praises pouring forth from my senior partner and the more sarcastic comments I get from one of the junior partners on my team, I will probably stay pretty well grounded as an attorney.  The senior partner, SP, believes in positive reinforcement and tells me daily that I’m a legal genius (which I know I am far, far from, but is still nice to hear).  She premises such statements on the fact that I can write out my full name, know how to spell “c-o-u-r-t,” and usually manage to tie my own shoelaces.  The junior partner, JP, assesses my abilities more realistically and believes in the socratic method of teaching.  JP is brilliant and a little intimidating to work with (although it’s helped that he’s told me he thinks of me and the other first year in the firm as the little sisters he never had).  Our last conversation ended with him asking (I hope rhetorically), “Now, you wouldn’t write a motion and file it with the Court on toilet paper, would you?”     

I mention this because I’m currently working on something I hope to turn in to him tomorrow.   If I could find an easy way to do it, I’d turn it in written on toilet paper.  I think he’d find it funny.  =)  

Summer’s approaching and I’m getting antsy.  Something’s been bothering me for the last couple of weeks and it’s slowly dawning on me that what’s bothering me is the fact that it’s almost May and I don’t have plans to move anytime soon.  This is it.  I’m here permanently.  At least for the foreseeable future. 

Over the last eight years, I’ve lived in a succession of dorm rooms and apartments, spanning six different cities, covering both coasts and one other country.  Towards the end of law school, I was getting tired of the constant upheaval and uprooting (even though it was self-imposed) and slowly coming to regret accepting my job offer in New York.  Aside from the horrendous stories I had heard about being a New York big firm lawyer, I knew that I wouldn’t be there for long.  California would always be home for me.  I spent much of my third year shivering and plotting ways to get back to California (well, thinking about it anyways – “plotting” may be too proactive a word).  As luck would have it, there was an unexpected opening in the LA office of my firm and I was thrilled to get the call last summer to make the switch (unfortunately, this also reinforced my belief that if I do nothing, things will work out).  Now, after having been back in California for almost a year, my wanderlust is starting to act up again and I’m pondering what cities I want to try out next.  It’s funny, I’ve always known I was going to settle down in California, and thought I was ready for that after I finished law school, but now I’m not so sure.  Even if I were to settle in California, it wouldn’t be in LA.  At the same time, I love the people I work with and am getting so much mentorship and training, I’d be an idiot to leave anytime soon.  I guess I have to start being an adult at some point, right?     

Behold, I’ve brought you sheep.  Not to be too much of a girl about this, but I’ve found the flock of sheep I’ve been looking for, and they are adorable.  I’m sharing with you all so you can spread the joy.

And, in yet another sign of how LA is slowly turning me into a (much more) materialistic person (because I’m sure the fact that I have a real source of income for the first time in my life couldn’t have anything to do with it), I’m coming to love this site and am drooling over these shoes (which would be so cute with jeans, a white shirt, and a certain red purse – ML, I think you know which purse I’m talking about).  If you ever actually see me tottering on these 3.5 inch, $300 heels though, please shoot me.  The world would probably be better off for it… 

…although a small part of me is firmly convinced that these shoes will somehow make me a happier, more fulfilled person (at least until I get bored of them).  I’m such a horrible consumer.  Tell me what I should want and I’ll want it.  Sigh.  Well, they say the first step is admitting you have a problem.  I don’t know who they are or what the second step is, but I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be taking it in $300 shoes. 

Allegedly there is a site out there that will allow me to download cute floating sheep for use as IM icons.  If anyone out there knows of the existence of such a site, please email me.

In other news, there is no other news.  I’ve just been working a lot this week.  But at least I’m really appreciated.  The senior partner called my office the other day at 10:30am.  When I answered, her response was a disapproving, “I knew you’d already be in!”  When I reasonably pointed out that it was ten thirty in the morning, she replied, “Yes, but you were there when I left last night too [at 10:30pm].  You work too hard.  I’m going to keep an eye on you to make sure you’re not stretching yourself too thin.”  I love my senior partner. 

Actually, I love all the partners.  One of the junior partners explained a court rule to me a couple of days ago which he dubbed “the 45 day rule.”  When I asked him a question today, he said, “Well, according to the 45 day rule, you can only do X.”  Noticing my puzzled look, he gently inquired, “Do you remember the 45 day rule?”  Here’s how the rest of the conversation went:

Me:  (*Silence, crickets chirping*)  “Ummm.  Yes?”   

Him:  “What’s the 45 day rule?”

Me:  (*Damn*)  “It’s, umm, that you can only do X after 45 days?”

Him:  “You don’t really remember the 45 day rule, do you?”

Me:  “No.”

Him:  “It’s okay.  [Explains rule again]”

Me:  “Okay.”

Him:  “You’re not going to remember that, are you?”

Me:  “Probably not.”

Him:  (*Shrugs*)  “Okay.”  

I suspect my roommate thinks I’m stupid. 

Imagine it:  It’s Friday.  Noon.  I’m pleasantly surprised to get an email at work from said roommate informing me that she has made banana bread.  “Great,” I think to myself, “I love banana bread.”  The email goes on to state that she’s made two loaves.  One for us and one she is going to send to her vegan brother.  The one for us is on the right hand side of the kitchen counter.  “Okay, easy enough,” I mentally note, “only eat the loaf on the right.”  After a late night out in Pasadena celebrating a friend’s birthday, I head home, excited by the prospect of freshly made banana bread.  I arrive at the apartment to find a note scrawled on our message board, essentially reiterating the email.  Our banana bread is on the right side of the counter.  Her brothers, which I’m again told I’m not to eat, is on the left.  “Hmm, okay.  Maybe she thinks I’d forgotten about that early email,” I mutter.  At this point, I’m a little tempted to eat her brother’s bread.  Because that’s the kind of person I am.  I turn and look on the counter and, I kid you not, there are NOTES ABOVE EACH LOAF designating one as “Vegan” and the other as “Not Vegan.”  The aforementioned notes were complete with arrows pointing downward to the respective loaves.  She had DRAWN ME A DIAGRAM in the event that the email, hand written message, and labels above the loaves weren’t quite clear enough.  Because I’m just that stupid.  =)

On another roommate-related note, we dropped by my office today to pick up some papers I needed (having both decided it was too nice a day to spend indoors doing work – much better to try to get some work done outside a Coffee Bean).  While there we ran into the Managing Partner of the office.  Left with little choice, I introduced him to my roommate, She of the Mini-skirt, “Roommate, this is the Managing Partner.  Please be appropriately deferential.  Kowtowing would not be frowned upon.  Managing Partner, this is my roommate.”  He smiles, says, “No, no, I have to do all the bowing around this office,” and executes a quick bow to demonstrate.  His other comment to her?  “You’re much taller then I thought you’d be.”  The reason behind his cryptic comment?  “Given how Y. says she keeps you under her thumb (*makes squashing gesture with his thumb to clarify*), I expected you to be much shorter.”  So random. 

And in non-roommate related news, I went to a cool cocktail party with some friends last night.  This of course necessitated a quick shopping trip to buy a cocktail-party-appropriate dress (because the eighty dresses I already have weren’t quite right).  The event somehow snowballed into me acquiring a completely new summer wardrobe.  I have a serious, serious shopping problem.  Please consider this my cry for help.  (Help.) 

Sorry (again) for the lack of updates.  Am having a rather Bleh week.  Too much to do, not enough time or energy to do it.  Damn you Daylight Savings Time!  You’ve robbed me of a precious hour this week!  (*shakes fist in anger*)  Apparently I can set all my clocks forward by an hour (well, except for the one in my car – it’s tricky) and tell myself that it’s 6:30am all I want, but my body stubbornly refuses to believe me when I try to force it out of bed to go running every morning.  It’s still firmly entrenched in the notion that it’s 5:30, despite what any foolish clock says, and realizes that only an insane person would force herself out of bed at 5:30 when not forced to at gunpoint.  The fact that the owls are still hooting at that time doesn’t help.  I’m hoping it really is “mind over matter” and that sooner or later, my body will see things my way.  Until then, I’m letting it get some much needed sleep.   

Also, this NY Times article made me sad.  I need to stop reading about the elderly.

My little sister, BN, recently bought a kitten.  Now, I absolutely adore my little sister, but she’s not a good pet owner.   I’ve told her this on numerous occasions (usually after the death of some poor, neglected pet).  She adamantly refuses to believe me.  So far she’s only inadvertantly killed pets occupying the bottom rungs of the cuteness ladder (goldfish, turtles, etc.), but she’s taken it up a notch with her most recent pet purchase.

Her problem is that she has a tendancy to lavish attention on things when she first gets them but then quickly loses interest.  We all hoped she would grow out of it when she turned five, but she didn’t (she’s twenty-three now).  Apparently, as independent and solitary as cats may be, even they need more attention then she’s able to provide.  Ophelia, her kitten, has the gall to still demand attention (even though BN has had her for three whole weeks now!) and has taken to pouncing on my little sister at random intervals when she’s studying or reading.  My sister thinks it has something to do with her cat’s need to stalk prey – Ophelia watches BN silently and pounces at any sign of movement.  She (the cat, not my sister) does the same to bugs and any moving objects in the apartment.  Unfortunately for Ophelia, it’s a relatively bug-free and motionless environment, hence not many stalking opportunities, and she’s too young to be let out into the Real World (I wish someone would decide I’m too young to be let out into the Real World!).  Tired of being pounced upon, my little sis is toying with the idea of BUYING A LIVE MOUSE AND RELEASING IT IN THE APARTMENT so that Ophelia will have something to chase and will leave her alone.  No.  Seriously. 

I only hope it’s a fast and asexual mouse.  I don’t think my sister has quite thought through all of the ramifications of her idea just yet.

I can’t even fake a title or a direction for this post.  I’m only posting because all my friends with blogs (and yes, that’s the kind of cool crowd I run with.  Do the kids still say that nowadays?  “Run with”?) posted something today and I feel pressured to do the same.  I realize I lead my life under weird pressures.  I feel pressured to post some inanity because all my friends have posted, but I don’t feel particularly pressured to finish this important project I’m working on, even though it’s 5pm and I have a work dinner to go to today. 

Eh.  What are you going to do?

So something that has come up this week, on several occasions, is the fact that I don’t post any really personal information on this site.  My response was along the lines of, “Well, duh.”  Most of my friends know this already, but I’m actually a rather private person (this public forum aside – I’m an enigma like that).  Somone recently commented that if this law thing doesn’t work out, I should consider a Sex in the City type column.  But without the Sex.  And while it was flattering, considering that the only parts of the City I really see are the inside of my apartment and the inside of the office, there probably wouldn’t be much City either.  I’m going to venture a guess that it wouldn’t be a terribly exciting column all around.  Somewhat like this post probably. 

Maybe I should just stop now. 

Went out in Hermosa Beach last night with a big group of people to listen to this band.  What band you ask?  I have no idea.  I don’t remember much about the actual band as I spent most of the night obsessing about (a) the fact that I had somehow lost my driver’s license on the trek between the front door and the restroom and then (b) the fact that I had somehow found my license and would be spared the ordeal of going to the LA DMV.   I oftentimes have a one track mind (see numerous posts about my hair); this borders on being obsessive compulsive when I’m drinking.  As the night progressed, my friends noticeably winced when they saw me start to say something, wisely and correctly reasoning that it would, in all likelihood, have something to do with my license.  They started ducking out of sight when possible.  Did I mention I lost and then found my license?  =) 

Speaking of my hair (you know you were waiting for it), one of my friends requested I post about The Mullet Months.  Many of you have already heard this tale of woe.  Please feel free to skip ahead.*  About two months ago, I went with a friend to see her hair stylist.  As it turns out, his English wasn’t the best and my Mandarin is nonexistant, so I gave him too much discretion and not enough direction.  No one told me that his de facto haircut, unless specifically told otherwise, is a mullet.  Yes, for the first two months of this year, I sported a mullet.  (*hangs head in shame*)  Children would laugh and point and adults averted their eyes from the disaster atop my head.  I’m only sharing this because I realized last night that I’ve finally shed all traces of the mullet.  It was a cathartic moment.  In an effort to put the painful incident behind me, I’m writing this post and forever closing the door on The Mullet Months.     

*There’s nothing ahead.  Sorry.  The mullet’s all I’ve got at the moment.  Check back in a few days.  Stop harassing me already.  I can’t write under this kind of pressure.  Ack!