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

I’ve always liked the idea of chivalry, although I think it has to be flexible and change with the times.  I realize some gestures are without much meaning nowadays, such as walking on a certain side of the street,* however, holding doors open and holding chairs out will always be appreciated (at least by me).  I like the idea behind chivalry, the idea of putting someone else’s comfort and convenience above your own.  The form is irrelevant.  

This weekend, I saw a perfect example of how chivalry adapts and changes with the times.  While tailgating at a country concert (no comments please!), a cry of distress caught my attention.  The girl next to us had somehow ended up with a lapful of beer and was noticebly upset by it.  Her boyfriend, likely also very drunk, promptly poured his own beer into his lap.  He then looked into her woebegone face and asked in all seeming sincerity, “Feeling better now, Honey?”  Now that’s chivalry.  Stupid, yes.  But also a little sweet.

On a non-chivalrous note, I traded in my bubble-gum pink shoes for a purple pair, which will hopefully give my foot better support and possibly prevent pesky foot problems.  Sadly, I also returned my new brown purse, which, as I feared, did not look as good on my short frame as it did on the freaking six foot tall model (what does?).  Sigh.  I’ve put an order in for another brown bag, so we’ll see how this one turns out. 

* As I’ve heard it, this tradition supposedly originated with the man walking on the inside of the street to protect a woman from garbage thrown out of windows.  Adopted for more modern times, when garbage isn’t often flung from building windows, the man is supposed to walk on the traffic side of the street (um, to protect a woman from oncoming traffic?).  Personally, I’ve found that while the thought may be nice, the execution is highly annoying as it oftentimes necessitates switching sides mid-stroll.

Two of the three other associates on my litigation team are young women (actually, the majority of the associates in my office are young women).  They’re both funny, cute, and quirky.  I adore them.  Let’s call them A1 and A2. 

Last week, the three of us chipped in to buy SP flowers for her birthday.  It didn’t occur to any of us to ask the one older (by over twenty years) male associate (A3) on our team if he wanted to contribute. . . or to even inform him of our plans.  At least it didn’t until he asked that we include him on future gifts to SP or the JP’s.  Worse yet, my initial reaction (which I thankfully kept to myself) was, “Oh, but it was just from the Girls!”  

He’s all too often unintentionally left out on that basis.  A1, A2 and I have different interests than A3, we spend a lot more time socializing with each other than we do with him, we talk and gossip and look to each other for advice and support.  I consider them friends as well as co-workers (as I do most of the associates in this office).  A1 pointed out recently that we’re probably guilty of reverse discrimination.  I think she’s right.  It’s sadly and surprisingly easy to thoughtlessly discriminate and to use friendship to justify it, all the while ignoring its insidious side.

*Hangs head in shame.* 

Of course, it’s more complicated than I’m making it out to be.  There are personalities and group dynamics involved, but it boils down to making the person who doesn’t fit the mold of a young associate feel left out.  As a young asian woman in what is generally a white male dominated field, I really should know better.   

Nope, it’s not capable of works of art.  Instead, I’ve just managed to do something funky to it so it’s been in pain for over a week now.  The thirteen mile run this weekend probably didn’t help (although I technically only ran eleven of those miles and limped the other two).  I thought buying new running shoes would cheer it up.  Unfortunately, the only color Top to Top (great running store in Santa Monica) had left in my shoe style was “bubblegum pink.”  Too lazy to go elsewhere, I bought them anyways.  I’ll be the embarrassed looking one running in Santa Monica next week. 

Am still looking for a brownish purse.  Saw some beautiful leather ones by Mulberry this weekend, all of which were at least $1,000 – well over my splurge spending limit.  It’s a sad, sick world we’re living in when beautiful things made from dead animals cost over $1,000.  There was a New York Times article recently about the high-end purse phenomenon (it’s archived so I won’t bother linking to it).  Favorite quotes from the article include:  “For some women, finding the right bag is as important as oxygen” and “A bag is sort of like a portable house.  It represents you.”*  Seriously though?  Seriously? 

I picked up an FDR biography this weekend.  It’s over 1,300 pages so there’s a good likelihood I’ll never finish it.  I think I’m a pretty fast reader, but my fickleness will almost gaurantee that I’ll be finished with my FDR obession long before I actually finish this biography.

Oh, and speaking of obsessions, I saw Serenity again.  Don’t laugh.

*I wonder what this Dooney & Bourke bag says about its owner?  Caution:  This is a link to what is possibly the ugliest bag I’ve ever seen.

Yesterday, my roomie raised the possibility of airborne mold in the apartment.  Although her expertise is limited to having seen an episode of King of the Hill in which the Hill house is “contaminated” by mold (this later turns out to be a racket by which the mold removal industry generates lots of money), it might explain why our two pitiful houseplants were smothered to death by mold at their roots and why any fruit left out in the open has a two days life-span before succumbing to mold.  I think it may be a bad sign when every living thing in the apartment dies.

Of course, this mold scare could be a product of our over-active imaginations (especially as there do not appear to be any other signs – like actual mold in the apartment), but having briefly looked into the side effects of a mold-infestation (many admittedly serious), this problem may be enough to really render our apartment uninhabitable.  I may actually have to do something about this, which truly tests the depths of my laziness.  Possible death and serious illness or investigate further and possible move?  Stay tuned…

See this movie.  Even if you’re not a sci-fi geek and have never seen Firefly, please see this movie.  It kicks ass.  I think Joss Whedon (Serenity writer/director, creator of Buffy/Angel, etc.) may walk on water.  Just sayin’.

Since I started working last October, I’ve taken two days of vacation time.  I took a Friday off to go to Cabo over Memorial Day weekend and a Friday off recently to go to Oregon.  While at lunch today, I mentioned that I was looking forward to my upcoming trip to London this December.  JP commented, “Wow, you’ve taken a lot of vacations this year.” 

Lesson:  If you work in a law firm, never tell people when you go out of town and never, ever use the word “vacation” for three day weekends. 

This time of year is supposed to be Chicago at its best.  The humid days of summer are over and the biting cold of winter hasn’t settled in yet.  Rather than occupying a happy medium though, the weather oscillated between a boiling heat and a sharp cold, with the occasional rain and thunderstorm inbetween.  The schizophrenic weather resulted in ten hours at O’Hare, a cancelled flight, and much frustrated sobbing.  While at O’Hare, I picked up Erik Larson’s The Devil in the White City – an account of the events surrounding the 1893 Chicago’s World Fair, with some interesting insight into American culture and architecture at the turn of the century.  It’s a true crime novel which reads more like a work of fiction (think Caleb Carr’s The Alienist).  Next on my reading list is something more lighthearted, maybe David Sedaris’ Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim (which I originally started while at the airport but put aside because I was too grumpy to appreciate humor) or Jasper Fforde’s The Big Over Easy.

The litigation training session itself turned out to be much better than I expected, especially in that it left me with lots of time to catch up with some old friends and explore Chicago.  Went to a fantastic jazz club and an awful dance club.  Had drinks on top of Hancock Tower, overlooking Chicago, and deep dish pizza at Giordanos.  Visited Millenium Park, saw the Bean, did some requisite shopping on Michigan Ave (H&M!!), and became an FDR groupie.  I caught part of a great HBO movie about him right before I headed to the airport.  It was enough to trigger a mild obsession – easy enough to do since I’m usually poised on the edge between complete apathy or mild obsession anyways.  If anyone can recommend a good biography about him, let me know. . .  

Oh, and speaking of movies, I am so excited about Wallace & Gromit:  The Curse of the Were-Rabbit!  I saw The Corpse Bride recently and loved it.  As you can no doubt tell, I have the tastes of a 10 year old girl when it comes to movies.  =)

Off to Chicago this week for a firm training event.  Hopefully, I’ll see some of you when I get there!  I’m sure I’ll come back wanting to move there (again).  Unfortunately, moving to Chicago necessarily involves not living in California anymore and I’m not quite ready to leave just yet.  Plus, it’s cold there.

Also, on a blog-keeping note, I’ve finally figured out how to post pictures.  For those of you who requested a picture of the retro-y dress I alluded to in an earlier post, I actually found an occasion in which to wear it (to celebrate one of my best friend’s being done with his PhD!) and have pictures to post.  As soon as I figure out how to strategically crop it to maximize anonymity and minimize my waistline, I’ll post it.  =)

Updated:  See below!  (If this headless photo creeps you out, let me know.  I’m not sure about this including pictures thing yet.)  How cute would this dress look with any one of the green bags I’ve been eyeing?  It would also look great with this exorbitantly expensive, but gorgeous, chocolate bag or this much more affordable, and eminently more purchasable, brown bag.

P.S.  Happy Birthday Bud!  Love you!

I realize summer’s actually just winding down, but since my case settled, I feel like I’m just emerging from hibernation.  (*Picture me emerging from cave, rubbing sleep out of eyes*)  Well, that and the fact that I must have slept over 50 hours this weekend…some of it while sitting in a public bar.  (FYI – Those of you who didn’t get the jubilant email and/or phone call – MY CASE SETTLED!!!)  I also realized I have no tolerance to speak of anymore.  Of course, this is something anyone who has gone out with me in the last year has already realized (yes, CS, KA, and ML, I’m refering to National).  It was just brought painfully home when I got sick after 2.5 glasses of wine this weekend.  Sigh.  I remember the days when I’d have 8 shots before leaving the apartment.  Although, come to think of it, I think that particular occasion almost necessitated a trip to the hospital, so maybe I’ve never been quite the drinker I thought I was.

Marathon training is going really well.  And by really well, I mean I haven’t passed out or gravely injured myself yet.  I’ve even made a new friend!  She’s another real estate attorney, but I think I’ll keep her anyways.

I also had a chance to spend time with some friends who were visiting/returning from out of state.  JW & LL, I love you guys.  Even enough to drag my butt out of bed at 9am, hung over, and drive 70 minutes (to be fair, it was supposed to be a 20 minute drive to Burbank but there was an additional 50 minute detour due to the Triathalon surrounding my neighborhood) to eat breakfast at an ungodly hour (yes, 10am on Sundays is ungodly). 

And because I haven’t posted about the Supreme Court Justices in too long, and because I apparently have nothing funny to say myself today, here’s a funny article from the Washington Post:  Bland Justice. 

For those who have not yet read it, this Onion article is one of the funniest articles I’ve read in a long time.  (And yes, despite being paralyzed with fear by my overwhelming workload, I’m reading Onion articles.)

I’m way too busy to be doing this, but I’m also entirely too easily distracted, so here goes. I’ve been taged by Geeky Chic’s Ms. E for this meme. See below and then watch out because if you have a blog and I know you (sadly, this number is all too small), you’re next.

1) Total # of books you own?
Including trashy romance / chick lit / mystery / sci-fi / children’s books as well as the “serious” ones, probably close to a thousand.

2) What was the last book you bought?
I have several books on my to be read pile, but the last one I purchased and haven’t cracked open was Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner. I’ve heard mixed reviews, but am interested enough that I’ll eventually read it. Judging from my schedule this will most likely occur when it ceases to be even marginally relevant.

3) What’s the last book you read?
Non-Fiction: The United States of Wal-Mart. Nothing earth-shattering (Wal-Mart’s evil, what’s new?), but well written, entertaining and more balanced than I expected.

Fiction: The Historian. This book, about the search for Dracula, has gotten a lot of buzz. For its subject matter, it’s more literary than sensational, but I agree with most of the reviews – starts out well, but drags in the middle and has an anticlimatic ending.
4) List five books that are particularly meaningful to you (in no particular order) [Note: This requires entirely too much time to answer with any depth, so here’s the long and short of it. Read into it what you will.]

Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 (it was either this or 1984 and I didn’t want to steal two of Ms. E’s books!)

Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs and Steel

Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio

Shel Silverstein’s The Missing Piece

William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury

5) Tag 5 people and have them fill the quiz out on their own blogs.
The Wombat, The Frog, G, KQ, KA

Poor penguins. Judging by this movie, they have a hard life. What with the starving and the freezing and all. If I were a baby penguin my first thought would be “F*ck, I’m a PENGUIN?!”

Well, at least they’re cute. They’ve got that going for them.

(Of course, after having seen this movie, I now desparately want a penguin. I even have a name picked out – Pudgy the Penguin. Please note Christmas is coming up. Penguins would be greatly appreciated.)

Because I’m fascinated by people I know nothing about, I find this interesting site addicting.  It was featured in the NY Times recently.  (Warning:  The site can be very disturbing and sad.)

That is all for today.  I promise my next post will contain some kind of plot.  Or character development.  Or something at least marginally interesting.  Or maybe just more randomness.  Speaking of which, my hair has been doing really well recently.  The water filter has worked miracles and the latest cut destroyed the last vestiges of the mullet.  (Die mullet!  Die!)

This weekend I . . .

Hung out with a friend visiting from New York.  Apparently MB, the aforementioned friend, feels slightly slighted that I’ve never posted about her or our enduring, inspirational, movie-worthy friendship (happy MB?), so I’m making it a point to do so now.  We spent a good deal of the weekend lounging around my apartment and napping, getting up only to find another surface to nap upon, while my Roommate (another friend from law school) cleaned and did various other productive-type things.  This was reminiscent of law school itself, where I spent the better part of three years napping. 

Drove to Venice, searched endlessly for parking, wept at the utter futility of it all, gave up and went home. 

Inadvertantly ended up amidst a late night freeway drag race.  Because it’s California and stuff like that happens.

Met some new people and finally visited The Underground (the Frog‘s favorite bar in Long Beach).  I had a lot of fun, despite the fact that the eighty-year old woman who’s taken over my body recently demanded that I leave fairly early on in the night.  She was not happy to have been kept up past her bedtime.

Read the latest Harry Potter book.  Yeah, because I’m just not nerdy enough.  It was good, but upon completion necessitated an immediate phone call to my equally nerdy little sister so we could both bawl together.

Bought a boatload of new songs for Apple the ipod.  I’m not going to share which ones because you might stop being my friends if you knew my appalling taste in music (or lack thereof).

Got a little bit fatter.  For the millionth weekend in a row, I did not make it to the gym again.  And I’m supposed to start training for the LA marathon next Saturday.  Hey.  Don’t snicker.

Worked.  A lot.

Decided I’m going to write a romance novel.  Because, really, how awesome would it be to tell people that’s what you do for a living?  “Oh me?  Well, I used to be a corporate lawyer specializing in real estate litigation, but now I write romance novels.  What do you do?”

So I turned in my rush assignment this week and apparently it didn’t suck.  This caused the brilliant junior partner on my team, who’s not assigned to the case, to say, “Hey, I hear [the senior partner] liked your work.  Keep it up.”  Being as close to a compliment as JP’s ever given me, this statement caused me to immediately stop in my tracks and stare at him, dumbfounded.  “Wait.  Did you just almost compliment me?!  I have to note this momentous occasion!”  (Yes, I can be a little cheeky sometimes.)  His reply?  “Well, don’t go resting on your laurels.”  Unless resting on my laurels involves developing an ulcer because I’m worried I missed a procedural rule that will cause the court to throw out my motion, this probably isn’t a concern.

Meanwhile, when I’m not busy resting on my laurels, I’m reading articles about morbid obesity.  A friend of mine who knows my unhealthy and odd fascination with this topic sent me this lengthy article.  Those of you who didn’t know this about me apparently haven’t been to any cocktail parties with me recently.  Sadly enough, I can discuss it ad naseum.  And have.

Seriously, what is going on?

(This concludes today’s witty political insight. Tune in tomorrow, when the topic will be WTF?)

I’ve had a weird experience the last couple of weeks – I’ve been driving home while it’s still sunny outside.  It’s discerning to say the least.  A confluence of factors has brought this about.  For one thing, summer’s finally rolling around and June Gloom is finally wearing off.  I realize that Californians, at least those not living in the fog-filled depths of San Francisco and Berkeley, are horribly spoiled when it comes to weather.  If it’s not 100% perfect 100% of the time, I feel perfectly justified in complaining (after all, there has to be a reason a one bedroom condo can cost close to $1 million dollars around here, right?).  The second reason is that there’s a brief respite at work.  Rather than staying until ten every night and working weekends, I have a perfectly balanced workload with a manageable amount of work to keep me busy for a reasonable amount of time during the day.  So of course, instead of working at a reasonable pace, I’m doing nothing, billing nothing, creating a deficit of hours, and consequently using up my “vacation” time on Coffee Bean runs and chit chat.  What’s wrong with me?!

And just so this post isn’t completely about me whining, this play sounds interesting.  It might dovetail nicely into this book that I’ve been reading forever now.  I think if I stop starting other books in between chapters of it, I might finish it sometime soon.  Oh, and I recently received one of those emails filled with pictures of adorable, fluffy, baby animals, complete with a saccharine message about friendship.  I’d post it here, but (a) I don’t know how, (b) I’m afraid it’ll ruin my reputation as a hard-nosed pragmatist, and (c) I didn’t want to overwhelm anyone with that much cuteness without adequate warning.  =)  Let me know if you want a copy. 

[UPDATE:  Scratch that, rush assignment, due Monday.]

I think I have pink eye.  I’ve never had it before so I’m not sure what the symptoms are, but if the symptoms involve having a pink eye, then there’s a good chance I have it.  How does anyone over the age of five get pink eye?!  I have a hard enough time getting the respect I deserve as a ferocious litigator (don’t laugh) without adding a pink eye into the mix.  This means I now have to sit down and figure out my firm’s byzantine health care benefits and find a doctor.  Joy.  I may just opt to put up with pink eye for the rest of my life. 

On a more positive note, I spent a relaxing weekend in San Jose surrounded by my doting family.  The only unpleasant interlude was a visit from some old friends of my parents, who proceeded to tell me how great I look now, as compared to the ball of lard I apparently was as a child.  Rather then valiantly defend my former pudgy (pudgier?) self, my parents merely laughed.  Ouch.

And for those keeping track, these are my purchases for the weekend:  several books, a suede hobo (I actually bought a bag, saw another one as I left the store, went home anyways, immediately regretted it, drove the nine miles back to the store, returned it and exchanged it for another one – in tan, not green like the picture, although the green one is gorgeous), fantastic cream/green slippers, and a white dress.  It’s helping me getting over the loss of my sole mate.  (G – you are too cute!)    

[UPDATE:  No pink eye.  Just my hypochondria acting up.  While at the eye doctor however, I did get new glasses.  I’m not one to pass up an opportunity to waste money.]

To my oldest and dearest friends, thanks for putting up with my grumpy, sick self in Vegas this weekend. 

Ack!

I had deluded myself into believing that my spotted sunburn would magically transform into a beautiful even tan, given a little time. Unfortunately, I discovered today that the spots had the audacity to make themselves at home. (Out, damned spot!) I’m now covered in darker oddly patterned spots. And I’m peeling. Leper-like. Sigh. I’ve turned into the hideous bespotted creature from the Cabo lagoons. Children flee in terror when they see me.
I am sad. And a little sick. (*cough. sneeze. sniff.*) Woe is me.