This Doesn't Mean I Have to Wear Sensible Shoes Though, Right?

Trixie freaked out on Sunday. Her mother had taken it upon herself to invite their relatives over to OUR place, and then simply called Trixie to inform her of the impending company. Not only was Trixie not pleased, Trixie was not prepared. Her bedroom looked like a bomb went off in it. So a Major Freakout commenced.

An hour before the company was supposed to arrive, I wandered over to Trixie's room to see how she was doing. Didn't even have to ask. She was clearly doing terribly. I spend about five minutes every day cleaning my room, because that's easier for me than a huge cleaning once a week. Plus I feel calmer in a clean bedroom. Trixie does not share my logic.

I asked if she wanted to switch rooms for the afternoon, and pass my bedroom off as hers. Poor girl almost burst into tears as she thanked me and explained that she was just so overwhelmed by everything. There were clean clothes mixed with dirty clothes all over the floor. The floor had random coins and papers on it.

Smoothing out Trixie's blanket, I told her to put all the clean clothes on her bed. As she did that, I put them in piles in her closet shelves. After running to the kitchen for garbage bags, we shoved all the dirty clothes into the bags, and the bags into Trixie's closets and under the bed. We opened the blinds, sprayed a tiny bit of Lysol, and opened the balcony door.

Nine minutes after I walked out of her bedroom, Trixie's relatives were calling to say they were parking and would be right up. After they'd left, Trixie talked about how angry she was at her mother for dumping the relatives on her. Of course, Trixie's mom thinks her daughter's bedroom is clean all the time, but that's not the full reason for the anger. Trixie and I started talking about how when our friends are coming over, it's not such a big deal if the bedroom is messy, or dishes are in the sink. "Our friends are just ... friends. But my aunt and uncle ... they're like REAL grownups!"

Yeah. We're fake grownups. Who do scarily real grownup things. When I was a kid I truly thought I would wind up in prison as an adult. Not for killing people or anything, but because I wouldn't know how to do mysterious and difficult paperwork I was convinced adults have to do and I'd be breaking the law.

Nevermind that I learned how to do my taxes when I was 17. I was convinced. And I'm always surprised when other people treat me like a competent adult. They ask or offer me things, and although I always say yes, am thinking, "Don't you want a real grownup for that?" Apparently they think I am one.

People have:

- Given me their extra set of keys to their home
- Asked me to take care of their pet overnight
- Made me their ICE person
- Asked me to be the emergency contact at their child's preschool
- Trusted me to handle issues where millions of dollars are at stake

Even the idea that I am friends with people who have mortgages and marriages is mind-blowing. Who am I, and when did I stop being the person who danced around her bedroom for an hour each morning when she was supposed to be getting dressed for the day? Oh yeah - Mom, sorry I stressed you out with running late each morning - that's what I was really doing when I said I was "getting dressed."

Psuedostoops - Part II - Questions 2-5 Answered

In case you missed it, here's what's going on. Now that we've gotten the legal crap out of the way, on to more exciting things.

2. What is your biggest vice?
Does bottled water count? No? Okay, then Chapstick. I keep one on my nighttable, one in my wallet, another in my jacket, and when I’m working, one in my desk drawer. When I had a car, one was kept there too.

3. The saga of Steamroller was hilarious, if excruciating, to read about. Trixie sounds awesome. If you were forced to move again for some reason beyond your control, would you rather live on your own or roll the dice with a roommate to keep things interesting (assuming you could afford to make either choice)?
The reason I have a roommate is to keep the cost of rent down, not to meet new people. If I get to the point that I can afford it, you bet I’ll live on my own, with just a dog for a roommate. Trixie and I will probably move to a new place together, unless one of us decides to move in with a potential husband.

4. I’ve always been a yoga dabbler, mostly because I, too, dislike the “oms” and the “namastes” and naptime. Has that stuff come to have any more appeal as you’ve continued to practice? Do you plan to keep up with the yoga anyway?

I decided to do yoga because I needed the discipline of a class, and it’s the closest thing to my home that gives me the most classes for the least amount of money. I signed up for a 90 day program which ends soon. Golden Boy is very encouraging of my being healthy and losing weight, and has hinted he might pay for another 90 days. So I’ll probably sign on for another tour. If I had the balls, I’d walk out when naptime starts, but I don’t. But I do still think it’s all bullshit. Even though I can do stuff I couldn’t do before.

5. How did you choose San Francisco? Any other places you’d like to try to live?

I kind of feel like San Francisco chose me. Golden Boy was living here at the time. I had been at my job in Florida for a year, and was beyond unhappy. I’d been living in the same apartment for four years and was about to move. The job I had at the time was slowly sucking away my will to live. To say I was miserable would be an understatement.

Golden Boy encouraged me to come out here for a vacation. Before leaving, I found an apartment in Boca Raton that I didn’t really like, but would do. I lied to the leasing agent and told her I’d come by to drop off a non-refundable fee to hold an apartment, knowing full well that I wasn’t going to do that before flying to SF, in case I wound up moving here. About a week before leaving for my vacation, I started sending my resume all over the SF Financial District. Upon arrival, there were interviews. There was a lot of calling my brother crying while I stood in the middle of the city, completely lost and unsure how to get to interviews. E-mail me for his work number – that boy can get you anywhere! There was climbing to the top of Mount Tam. There was an Oakland A’s game. There was dinner at a friend’s North Beach apartment. Ultimately, I called my boss in Florida to give notice – from Fisherman’s Wharf.

If Golden Boy hadn’t lived here, I NEVER would have moved across the country. While I had been considering leaving Florida, it had been a toss-up between D.C. and Boston – the West Coast was not at all in the equation. Despite all the bitching, I’m really happy here. You may have noticed that it takes me a long time to find my way around. Three years in and I still get lost easily. Though I’ve figured out that if I had a car I’d know the city much better, much faster. Anyway, I’m in no rush to try living anywhere else – it takes a lot out of me to adjust to new things. I had some serious culture shock moving out here. So for now, I’m good thanks.

I Should Stop Smoking Crack

I must be on drugs. It's the only explanation for why I would bother going to an interview today at one of the biggest law firms in the country, one that has a bad reputation.

Just yesterday I had dinner with File Clerk, and she asked how I'm doing with this whole not-working thing. Yeah, it's been fun, but I'm ready to be back at work.

I run around doing lots of errands (honestly, I could keep busy all day by doing various errands - I've only watched Oprah once since I stopped working), but I'd be perfectly happy working again.

In talking with File Clerk I realized it's the recognition for doing things that's part of what I miss. My bedroom is clean, the fridge is sparkling, everything is neat and organized. But nobody pats me on the back for that, or even thanks me. At work, Tuna and Nice Partner thanked me for everything. They complimented me on turning work around quickly. I'm a sucker for a compliment.

Somebody tell me to put down the crack pipe, please.

Think With Me

This morning I went to see the start of the Gay Pride Parade. This afternoon I went to see the movie A Mighty Heart, the true story of Danny and Marianne Pearl.

To be honest, I don't normally think about tolerance very much. It doesn't occur to me to dislike or distrust someone for their race, gender, religion or sexual orientation. I dislike people who are stupid, invade my space, are mean to others, and who smell badly.
But in San Francisco, people love to talk about tolerance almost as much as they love to talk about food. And just like discussions about food, discussions about tolerance eventually have an undercurrent of bragging. Oh, I guess I dislike when people brag, too. People brag about having friends over who smoke weed. So somebody else brags their friends growing weed in their house. A third person brags that their black friend grows weed in their house. The winner is friends with a black couple who is gay, adopted a Chinese baby, and grows weed in their house.

I can't stand it. The majority of my friends are white. So what? Trixie is Indian and the majority of her friends are Indian - yet I've been called racist but she hasn't. Why is that? How is that fair? Why is somebody even judging at all? I've heard people brag about having been one of the only or few white kids in their class one year. That's not an accomplishment. An oddity? Maybe, but not something worthy of bragging about.

People in the Bay Area brag about being tolerant of all kinds. I think that unless you're tolerant of people who are NOT tolerant, you're not all that tolerant. How hard is it to understand that not everyone is raised to seek out those unlike themselves? How hard is it to realize that not everyone is drawn to what is unfamiliar to them? Not everyone is like you. That goes both ways.

Sometimes it's hard for me to understand the Gay Pride Parade. Why are people proud of being gay? They were just born that way. I was born straight - it would never occur to me to have a parade to celebrate my straightness.

But then I watch movies like A Mighty Heart, and see that there were rumors Danny Pearl was killed for being jewish. And I realize how very spoiled I am. There is no place more jewish in the U.S. than New York. There were so many kids and teachers who were jewish in the town I grew up in, that schools are closed on Yom Kippur. Even the non-jewish kids brought their sandwiches on matzah during Passover.

So it's hard to fully understand a world that dislikes someone for something they were born into so deeply, something they can't change. How could I dislike all the people in Pakistan? I couldn't. All of those people didn't kill Danny Pearl. They just happened to be born in a place where many murders took place. Hell, many murders have taken place almost EVERYWHERE.

When Gavin Newsom slowly rolled by waving to the crowd this morning, a hot guy standing in front of me squealed like a girl, "Oh, he's so hot!" We all laughed. Maybe it's not pride that the Gay Pride Parade is celebrating. Maybe it's relief. Relief at being somewhere where it's okay for a guy (who had a girlfriend by the way, so maybe he's bi-sexual) to admire another guy's looks openly. Maybe I do understand after all?

So You Think You Can Dance a Solo

If they were being judged only on their solo performances, then yes, Shauna absolutely deserved to stay in the game. I didn't like her dance last night, but tonight's solo was great.

Faina and Jessi's solos were equally unimpressive to me. If you saw Faina being interviewed, you could tell she was very nervous - she kept playing with her headband. Dead giveaway she didn't have faith in her own solo.

Pasha's solo was a lot of fun; I was surprised that Nigel wasn't a fan. Okay, to be honest, I really like when people perform wearing clothes you'd actually see on the streets, rather than a "costume" - no clue why.

Jimmy is a beautiful dancer and has amazing extension. I was sad that he was let go over Cedric. Cedric is like a one trick pony. Cruel, but true. Nigel was right - this competition is not right for Cedric.

Psuedostoops - Part I - Do's and Don'ts For New Associates

The lovely and hopefully-talented-at-passing-bar-exams Psuedostoops did this interview thing, and since I love to talk about myself so much that I have a blog for that purpose, I signed up.

The answer to her first question was so long though, that I decided it should be a lone post. Tomorrow will be part two. So here we go.

1. You have spent time working in law firms. I have just graduated law school and know a lot of people going to work at law firms. Many of them have trouble remembering that good interactions with everyone, not just named partners, are key to success, but I think your perspective is really fascinating and helpful. In your view, what are some dos and don’ts for new associates coming into firms?

Do:
- Do listen at the training your new firm arranges for you – even if you’re thinking “Won’t my secretary do that?” because at some point soon, the partner who asks (tells) you to work on a project will have you come in over the weekend and want something on her desk by 8 a.m. on Monday, and won’t you be embarrassed to have to wait until 9:01 a.m. when your secretary strolls in because you couldn’t figure out how to get the memorandum macro going? Yes, yes you will.

- If you are a new lateral associate, and you’ve decided this firm is WAY better than your old firm, don’t walk around saying that. You think it’s a compliment. The people who truly like the firm will think when you leave you’ll trash talk it.

- Cry and bitch behind closed doors, outside of the office, only to people exactly on your level, or not at all in the firm you work at. If you cry to someone above you, they’ll think you’re a pussy, and if you cry to someone below you, they won’t respect you.

- Ingratiate yourself to your secretary – on your way out for a ‘bucks run, ask what you can get him/her. Doing that once every month or two will take you far.

- Say please and thank you. One time per reason for saying either will be plenty, and again, will take you far. Any time Tuna or Nice Partner seemed stressed, I always offered to stay late or come in on weekend, and it wasn’t only because I like overtime; it was also because I knew they appreciated my willingness to do so (and they were pleasant to work with).

- Celebrate Administrative Professional’s Day – even if the firm does something for your secretary or you think it's a load of crap, you should do something too. Gift card to Peet’s, to a local restaurant your secretary frequents, etc. If you notice she always uses a specific lotion at her desk you can get one of those. Flowers. All good things. Chocolate sounds like it’d be good, but really, you were smart enough to get into law school – you can do better. Oh, the word processing people? Give them something – they’ll save your ass some day.

- If you always take candy from the bowl a secretary has on her desk, every so often give her $10 or so to replenish. At the firm I just left, partners gave $20.

- If you are married or in a serious relationship, invite your spouse or SO to stop by the firm and meet the people you talk about at home. It will quell their fears that you’re sleeping with your secretary, and make it easier for them to listen to your boring work stories over dinner, now that they can picture who you’re talking about. Friday afternoons are good for this.

- Do volunteer for some pro bono stuff. A baby associate at my last firm did, her case blew up and went to trial, and it turned out she kicked ass and won. The partner who worked with her sent an e-mail to the entire office publicly congratulating her, and she went from being “Melissa Who?” to “You Know, Melissa Who Won Her First Trial!”

- Do get on some committees or boards or some shit that’s outside the office. It’ll (obviously) get you out of the office, but it’s also good marketing for the firm, and makes it look like you’re interested in shit other than what you do.

- If you are male, and going to be litigating, bring at least one jacket and two ties to keep in your office. You WILL at some point stain them and need to change, or wind up having to cover for a co-worker on a day when you didn’t think you’d have to go to court.

- Male or female, get that Tide stick that removes stains quickly – at some point, you WILL stain your clothes right before a meeting.

- Accept that you will be late for things. Everyone knows you’ll be late, and it’s sort of okay. But to avoid being a dick about it, send people an e-mail or ask your secretary to call and say when you’re running late.

- When you’re out with anyone who is NOT an attorney and you go to check your crackberry, apologize for doing so.
- At some point you will freak out and go ape-shit on your secretary. When you’ve calmed down, apologize sincerely. Make sure you do that before the end of the work-day.

- When an attorney asks to meet with you, ALWAYS walk into their office with a pen and pad of paper. You will want to take notes, and will appear unprofessional if you’re not prepared.

- When you get the name of opposing counsel, always go look up their profile. You want to look at their picture, how long they’ve been practicing, and where they went to undergrad and law school.

- When you’re walking into a meeting that will involve a group of people, try to have everyone sit down and THEN introduce themselves. On the pad of paper you will have brought, draw the shape of the table (oval, rectangle, whatever) and write in each person’s first name in the place they’re sitting.

- Learn how to use the conferencing button and the transfer button on your phone – they’re the two you’ll use most.

Don’t:
- Don’t be one of those lawyers who always keeps their door closed. You’ll seem unapproachable.

- Don’t walk in to a partner’s office (even if they just called and asked you to come by) without asking the secretary if she’s on the phone, and knock before going in.

- Don’t have a shit fit and throw papers at your secretary when you’re angry. It used to make me go sit in my car and cry. Now it makes me realize you’re a verbally abusive asshole and walk away. I’ll leave those papers on the floor and let you pick them up.

- Don’t say no to anyone at work who invites you to lunch. If you’re busy, offer to go on a different day. But if they’re asking you, they either want you to feel more comfortable and are trying to be your friend, or they want to discuss something with you best talked about out of the office.

- Don’t be obvious about stealing the office supplies, and don’t take too much at once.

- If you commute via public transportation, keep in mind someone standing near you on the subway could be the opposing counsel. Be careful about talking about cases in public.

- Don’t be lazy about your work. Shepardize.

- Don’t press hold before you transfer a call.

- Don't lie - if you have terrible handwriting, dictate or type. If you don't dictate or type, don't be pissed that people can't read your handwriting. Oh, and if you can't read the notes the partner scrawled all over the pathetic excuse for a memo you gave in, ask their secretary. We are really good at that.

Top Six Reasons To Join MySpace

1. How else can you become friends with Zach Braff's dog?
2. What else can you do since you're not working?
3. Friends will call to talk to you about your MySpace page.
4. Friends will e-mail to express shock (and mild disgust) over your MySpace page.
5. It gives your graphic designer more of that pro bono work you know she craves. That way she can create the most Awesome. MySpace Page. For You. EVERRRRRR!

And finally:

6. If you work hard (barely) and apply yourself (minimumly) you can have many, MANY friends, and it'll be less difficult than lying to true friends in real life by saying things like "No, that wasn't slutty of you at all!" and "No, your ass looks totally cute in those jeans!" and you will feel happy and light inside every single time you think about your very special MySpace page and how you have more friends than that bitch who stole your boyfriend six summers ago.

That's right. I caved and created a MySpace page today. It doesn't quite fit in either category of doing something fun or productive, but it killed some time and that counts for something. Maybe. I will put more time into it and hopefully get my page totally tarted up - in a few days there'll be obscure music from bands I found on MySpace and there'll be annoying blinky things to distract you from the kute spelling of my description of me, a hawt grrrl who rawks and is gr8 (and has a LOT of friends)!

So You Think You Can Watch...

... So You Think You Can Dance Without Wanting To Hit Mary Murphy Over the Head Repeatedly With a Frying Pan? I can't. What I can do though, is be honest in telling you that I got home a bit late tonight, so I missed a few key parts.

Where was Shane Sparks tonight? Why can't Mary go shave a cat so Shane can sit in her place?
Also, can I just take you back to 1992 for a few minutes? In 1992 I was taking a marketing class in high school, and somehow, my teacher found a way to work a movie into the curriculum. I can't recall which movie it was, but it took us something like two weeks to watch the movie. Marketing was every day, and the class was 45 minutes. Yeah, it took so long to watch the movie because every day my teacher would rewind half of what we'd watched the day before, claiming she was only rewinding five minutes, to "refresh our memories." Bullshit. She didn't want to teach. Ever since then I've had a strong aversion to being forced to watch shit I've already watched when somebody else is making that decision.

It's one thing when you make the decision to watch Good Will Hunting for the fifth time. That's your choice. But when I sit down to watch a show and think I won't be seeing a repeat, I do NOT want to be shown a recap of what happened last week or last night. Unless you're doing a funny montage of some sort, like every time Dr. Cox calls J.D. a girl's name. My point in telling you about my marketing class from 15 years ago is that I don't like when they show all the dances each couple has done in prior weeks.

Let's just get the Queen issue out of the way. It sucked. As Mia said, the song didn't work for the dance. At all. She was right.

Danny and Anya were pretty good. Jesus and Sara worked for me. Shauna and Jimmy? Shauna should go home. She does not strike me as a strong dancer. Also, they did not dance well together. She was all soft and flowy, he was all sharp and angular. They didn't work.

You know what I would love to see? This exact same show, but with famous people. Paula Abdul and Brendan Fraser. Against say ... Debbie Allen and Alfonso Ribeiro. Okay I didn't mean to be putting races together that way at ALL, they were just the first four famous people I thought of who can dance. Anyway. More dancing, less talking - that'd make for a great show.

Three and a Half Hours, Three Interviews - Let's Recap

I'll start off by saying these were all with headhunters. This weekend I was thinking about how my job search was going, and decided it had come to a stand still. That's why yesterday, I both signed up to be on the dole, and signed up with Monster.

Yesterday I got two phone calls from people who found me through Monster. Apparently, Monster is the way to go. Maybe.

Interview Number 1:
This interview sucked. The woman was so skinny she almost wasn't even there. Not that I'm one of those fat people who hates skinny people, because I'm not. I'm just saying, her hair was wider than her hips. It was something to be noticed. And blogged about. The interview sucked because this woman saw my resume on Monster, then asked me to e-mail her a Word version of it, only to call me into her office to tell me in person she didn't think she'd be able to find me anything. Bitch! Why must you waste my time!? I am a very busy person! Okay, I'm not. But I could be, and that's what counts.

She kept pushing me to agree to do temp work. Fuck temp work. If I want to temp, I can babysit and just get paid under the table and wear jeans (oh, and still get unemployment). No need to wear fancy clothes and have taxes eat into my money. I hate temping - it's all wrong for my personality. I take a while to warm up to new situations and people. I was totally the type of kid to pee in my pants because I was too embarrassed to ask to go to the bathroom. Yes, I did actually do that once. Okay five times, whatever.

While my second interview was in the same neighborhood as the first, I had almost two hours before it was time to arrive, so I didn't bother going home. Instead I went to get some lunch at a place I found on the street. One of their slogans is "Lettuce rock your world" and while that's corny, it's also a little bit cute. It's a "green" restaurant, which is pretty cool. The food was good, the portions were big, the prices were reasonable for the portions, and yeah, I'd go back. The only two things that didn't impress me were that the music was too loud and despite their sign saying every salad gets a slice of fancy bread, I was not given any bread. I didn't say anything about it though - the salad was more than enough.

Interview Number 2:
I arrived exactly 15 minutes early and sat on their very plush couch/chair thingie for the next 25 minutes, being amused by the drama played out in front of me. A guy walked in two minutes before his alleged interview (you'll see why I say 'alleged' soon) in suit pants that were too long, and a white dress shirt which was untucked in the back. He claimed he had an interview, but couldn't remember who it was with. The receptionist emailed every recruiter asking if they were expecting a "Dan" at 3:30 p.m. None were. He asked if he could just meet with someone now. "No, I'm sorry." Well could he just, I mean, he's here NOW, sooo.... "I'm very sorry, but they all make their own appointments and everyone is booked right now. If you'd like, you can leave your resume and I'll be sure to give it someone so they can call you to schedule an appointment." I don't really have my resume. For fuck's sake Dan, pull your shit together! You show up at an interview with your shirt untucked (who hasn't primped in the elevator?), not knowing who you're supposed to meet with, and without a resume?!

The receptionist finally kicked Dan out. The recruiter pulled me into her office, and we had a 15 minute interview. It went swimmingly. I left.

Interview Number 3:
When I arrived back in the lobby after Interview Number 2, I turned my cell phone back on and listened to my voice mail. (J, I'll e-mail you!) Another recruiter calling about my resume that he found on Monster. I called him back from the lobby and he asked when he could meet with me. Are you busy now? I can be there in 20 minutes. He could, and gave me his address. I hung up and commenced panicking. You see, I pulled 20 minutes out of my ass. I had a very general idea of where he was, but no concrete understanding of which direction I should walk in to get to his building.

I walked out of the lobby to think about whether I should walk right or left. Looking across the street, I saw the best sight I could have possibly seen. No, not a taxi. NO, not a donut shop! I saw the address the guy had given me. I skipped across the street and was in the reception area less than ten minutes after we hung up the phone.

Met with the recruiter who was sweet as pie. He has a position he thinks I might be good for, even though I don't have as much CA litigation experience as the firm is asking for. He's going to call Nice Partner and talk with him and then plead my case to the firm. He was impressed with my confidence. So was I, to be honest.

So those were my interviews. Tonight or tomorrow I'll check out the trade newspaper that lists jobs in SF. My goal is to be working by the beginning of July.

Fucking Yoga: Back on the Scene, Crispy and Clean

Yes, I went back to yoga tonight, after not going for an inappropriate amount of time. I could tell you I didn't go because I had my period, but that doesn't account for the other two weeks. But in my quest to do one fun thing or one productive thing today, I went a little overboard on both, and that's how I found myself at fucking yoga. I felt awkward going there, after not having gone for so long, but they just smiled and said hi. Hi! So there I was at yoga.

Where I got a very nice surprise. A guy so hot it should be illegal was doing yogi teacher training tonight along with the regular guy. Hottie was from the Netherlands and had an awesome accent to go along with the body so gorgeous I wanted to lick it. Because he was just that beautiful. Excuse me while I take a personal moment...

Ahem. Yes, so yoga. There's this thing called your drishti that you're supposed to focus on while you're yogging. It's a place within yourself where you take your mind to focus. Or something like that. It goes in the category of Shit I Learn and Then Ignore At Yoga. Like breathing.

Having not yogged in a while, I thought that today I'd be way behind where I left off, but happily, I wasn't. I picked a bad mat though, and my hands kept sliding when I was downward dogging. I didn't mind too much though, since I had the strength to support myself. Guess all those random push-ups I do every so often just to check if I can really are paying off. I should totally lose some weight. Beneath the fat I have the cutest little muscles from fucking yoga.

When it's naptime, you're supposed to lay on your back, close your eyes, and kind of ... let all the yoga stuff you just did set in. You're not even supposed to do the special yoga breathing. The girl next to me sneezed really loudly during naptime, and I had to resist the urge to shush her. Even though I don't zone out, I get irrationally pissed off when people make noise during naptime.

There's a specific way you're supposed to place your body during naptime that I don't do. Not really on purpose, it's just that it's so unnatural for me, and laying down is supposed to be relaxing. The Yogiis went around "fixing" everyone - I'm not the only one who has this issue. Luckily Hottie fixed me. His hands were very callused, and it made me wonder what he did before taking up yoga. Some Yogis just place my arms and legs where they're supposed to be, and some do a very mini-massage as they're doing their proper placement. Hottie did the massage, and it took all my self control to not yell, "MORE! I want MORE! STAYYYYY!" when he moved on to the sneezer.

After yoga I went straight home and shared a peach with Trixie while I convinced her she's got to get her ass to yoga tout de suite to check out Hottie before he goes back to the Netherlands. Or maybe it was a nectarine. I always confuse the two. Whatever it was, it was damn good.

How's Your Sunday Night Going?

For years now, I've been in this habit of changing into my pajamas as soon as I know I'm not going anywhere else that night. That's why a little before 9 p.m. tonight, I was already wearing what I'd be wearing to sleep.

People smoke in the hallways here. Trixie and I don't like it. I say if people are going to smoke, they should smoke on their balconies, since everyone has one. That's why when I emptied the garbage tonight and smelled smoke, it barely registered in my brain.

When I was reading and heard a fire alarm going off, I thought it was another building and just went to look out my window. Since there was no smoke, no fire, no people streaming out of any buildings, I went back to my book.

I always feel silly about things like this (clearly spoken by somebody never trapped in a burning building). Like if I actually evacuate, anyone who knows will tell me I overreacted, everyone else knew it was a false alarm. But it's not like I was on the phone with the president. I was reading a freaking book. Nothing that couldn't wait.

I realized I should make sure that you know, my building wasn't on fire. You'd think I had fire drills all my life or something the way I held my hand near the door to feel for heat before grabbing the doorknob. When I opened the door to my apartment, it was immediately clear the fire alarm was going off in my building, not in a nearby one.

The strobes were flashing, the noise was so loud it felt like it was going through my body. I closed the door, and turned to my kitchen, where I looked at the knobs on the oven. It would be so embarrassing if the cause of the alarms was because I'd forgotten to turn off the stove! Didn't occur to me that I hadn't used the stove or oven today at all.

Then I went into my bedroom, grabbed a nearby sweatshirt, my cell phone, keys, and wallet, shoved my feet into flipflops, and left, locking the door behind me. I hate loud noises - they unsettle me and I paused in the hallway to figure out where the stairs are. Here's the weird thing: I didn't LOOK IN THE HALLWAY to find the stairs. I kind of ... looked inside my head, to think about it. I have a photographic memory for pictures, for anything that's not words, and I was looking at my hallway within my head. Weird. But it works for me, and I turned towards the door for the stairs.

I hate empty stairwells. They're so creepy. I had to go through three different doors to get to the actual staircases, and I worried about being locked in a hallway while there was a fire. I'm a worrier - none of the doors were locked. As soon as I saw the stairs, I could hear people above me coming down, and a guy walked right past me on his way down.

Carefully I walked down seven flights of stairs, listening to the sound of the people (and a dog) also making their way to the ground. We got outside, and I saw a group of neighbors standing on the sidewalk looking up at the building they'd just evacuated. After I crossed the street, I looked up to see what they were looking at. Nothing.

I called my brother to tell him what was going on. He told me to come on over if I needed to. I called Trixie to find out where she was. Far away, having dinner with her dad.

More and more people were streaming outside. I hoped the people with the dog would come near me, but they didn't, instead deciding to take the dog for a walk. Gazing up at my building, there was no smoke, no flames. However I did see people standing on their balcony.

Okay, why? Please explain this to me. Why when there's a threat of a fire, would you not leave your RENTED apartment? I understand that during Katrina some of the people in Louisiana didn't leave their houses because it was THEIR HOUSE, and while I disagree, I do understand. But these are RENTALS. Say you're not from this country - you're from some country where they don't do fire alarms. But if you heard a weird noise, smelled smoke, and then saw people from your building standing across the street, and could hear sirens coming closer and closer, wouldn't you make the guess that you should leave? Just in case? Am I being presumptuous here? I ask that honestly, because I've never been to another country, and have a hard time imagining how hard it would be to be out of my element.

At this point the cold is seeping in, and I zippered up my sweatshirt. I looked down, and realized I was standing in the street wearing capri pajama pants with tiny roses on them. Lovely.

After a while, the fire alarm stopped going off. Ahhhh! I saw a fireman propping the door to my building open, and crossed the street to go inside. A little boy holding what I presume are his favorite stuffed animals stepped on my foot in his hurry to beat his older brother inside. He shouldn't have bothered - the brother dropped his stuffed dolphin in the middle of the street and had gone back for it.

The four firemen (one of whom was holding an axe) crowded around the door, talking with our security guy. Eventually they turned to us. We'll have to take the stairs back up - nobody has the key to re-set the elevators. Fine by me. A girl on her cell phone was not pleased to hear about the elevators, and stormed off in a huff.

No clue what started the fire, which apartment it was, or any other details. What did you do tonight?

If There Is a Heaven, That's How They Dance There

Really, could there even be any bigger compliment than that? When Mia Michaels said that to Ashlee on So You Think You Can Watch So You Think You Can Dance Without Getting Tears In Your Eyes, it took my breathe away. Anyone a writer for a tv show? Anyone? Anyone at all? I want to know if these people think this shit up on their own. Are they allowed to say whatever they want, is it fully scripted, or are they given a paper that has one column for Compliments and one for Insults and a third for Nice Insults?

When they showed Ashlee's montage, I agreed with Mia's statement. She is a fantastic dancer. However, her solo performance tonight sucked in comparison to the other two girls, and whoever picked out her dress should be taken out back and shot. Seriously. That dress should be burned.

Oh, Ricky. His solo performance was amazing. I don't even have to add, "for someone who got such a late start" to that, because he was in his element. Honestly, all three guys were great, and I wish they could have sent home two girls instead of one guy and one girl. Nigel was right in saying Ricky has amazing extension and carriage. Read his profile - I would not be surprised if Ricky goes far.

Nobody is loved more than Benji Schwimmer. Dude should run for president. The screaming was so loud that Cat Deely could barely be heard (but who was listening to anything she said anyway?). Is it horribly cruel if I say that a huge part of what makes Benji a great dancer is his personality, rather than his technical ability?

I love this show a thousand times more than So You Think You Can Make Simon Smile.

I'm Back, Baby

After almost a week without high-speed internet, after being spoiled with it for ... what, almost two months? As of last night, it's finally back!

After calling SBC. After some fancy cross-country trouble-shooting. After having Trixie ask, "Is it working now?" every day when she came home.

Know what the problem was? There's a little button on the front of my laptop. At some point I accidentally must have pressed it. Caused wireless to stop working. I purposely pressed it last night, and wireless came like a porn star making her debut.

I think the last time I was this happy was when my friend and I made the long trek out to the 'burbs for Lobsterfest.

In the end, it was all worth it. While going back to dial-up was a very bitter pill to swallow, it was only temporary, and I found out* about the coolest freaking thing EVER. It was the first time in my entire life that I got excited about something tech-related. I have geek potential.

*For those of you not down with clicking links, what I found out about is software that lets you ghost onto someone else's computer. Both parties download the software (on dial-up it took me less than four minutes), then you invite someone to hop onto your system, they accept, and then they can see everything you see on your screen. Law firms have a version of this - when you call your IT department they can ghost onto your screen. But this is cooler because ANYONE can do it.

Three Days, Three Books

No, that's not why I haven't been posting. I just ... haven't been posting. Last Thursday my beautiful, beautiful high-speed wireless internet DIED on me, and now that I've tasted heaven, dial-up is a very bitter pill to swallow. Trixie is trying to get one of her geek friends over to fix the situation. I'm hoping for sooner, rather than later (it's my laptop that's the problem, not the modem).

Between the dial-up and the lack of anything interesting going on, I just haven't felt inspired to post. You don't want to hear about how I took the wrong bus to my interview last week and had to run six blocks (in heels!) to get to my interview on time. Or how the other interview was so boring that I yawned through the entire hour and forty-five minutes it lasted. Maybe you want to know that I type at 70 words per minute though. Whatever - I think that's right around average for a secretary. I know of people who type both faster and slower and do just fine in life.

The funny thing about reading three books in three days is, I did that while sleeping normal hours, getting together with friends, going to a party, doing laundry, and running errands. It wasn't as if I holed up in my bedroom and didn't come out at all. So on with the book review portion, yes? Okay.

The Man of My Dreams, by Curtis Sittenfeld. Who? You know, that chick who wrote Prep. Let me just say right now, that I'm not always the most reasonable person in the world. I got angry at this book. Why? Because I burned my tongue while I was reading it. Yeah, I can be like that sometimes. Anyway. This book started out kind of slowly for my taste. Honestly, the only reason I kept reading was because of how good Prep was, and I was sure "the good part" would be coming soon. As far as I'm concerned, there was no "good part" in this book, but at a certain point, I did find myself hooked and wanting to see which guy, if any, Hannah ultimately winds up with. Oops, did I just give it away? Ultimately, it's a solidly decent book, and I will keep an eye out for the next Sittenfeld book. Oh, and for those of you wondering, Hannah is not a teenager throughout the whole book.

Got the Look, by James Grippando. I think I've read shit by him before, only because I recognize the South Florida setting, and the "lawyer with an ex-con for a best friend" schtick. It's totally one of those legal thriller books, and if you like those, you'll like this. It's that simple. I read this book yesterday, only taking time out to go to a friend's party in the Oakland Hills, and to go with Trixie to Trader Joe's. Easy read, fast read. I'll go read the rest of his books now. It's a damn shame authors don't get paid each time someone takes their book out from the library, the way musicians get paid each time their song gets played on the radio. For someone who reads a lot, I own a surprisingly small number of books.

Beach Road, by James Patterson and Peter de Jonge. The first thing I want to tell you is that you should make sure not to confuse this book with The Beach House, which James also wrote. It can get confusing, I know. I've read a few books with the same cast of characters - slew of 20's and 30's people from way out in the Hamptons, blue-collar workers who keep things looking pretty for the trillionnaires. Someone dies, the locals go nuts. Good times, good times. Each time I read it, I like it. Granted, a huge part of why I may like it is that the story is set in New York, and I'm drawn to things that happen in places I've lived. Something thrilling about being able to say, "Hey! I know where that is!"

So yeah, that's what I've been reading lately. I have a heavier book on reserve at the library, one that I'm sure I won't be able to blast through in one day. What's on the floor next to your bed?

And Yet

Still so many things to say, and yet, I am having trouble figuring out what goes first, what's worth writing out, what's too private to share, etc.

So you will get highlights today, instead of details. Bottom lines, instead of full stories. Pretty much all about work.

I am unemployed. Thursday was my last day of work. I brought home a big box with barely any stolen office supplies. If *anyone* says anything to me along the lines of, "What are you going to do?" or "Oh my god, you have no income - you must be freaking out!" I am going to go apeshit on their asses, and then demand they give me $592, which is the cost of COBRA for one month. Why people think that freaking someone out is a good idea, is beyond me.

What am I going to do? File for unemployment and try to find a job. Or a rich husband. What else would I try to do? Cry, sell all my worldly posessions and promply go live on the street? Of course not. I'm going to try to stop being unemployed. Duh.

You think I don't realize I have no income? You think just because I appear calm to you that means I'm not freaking out inside? Ever since people at work found out about the East Bay office, they kept asking if I was going. Random people whose names I barely knew would ask. Did they honestly think I'd break down and cry and freak out in front of them? No! I was At. Work. What is the number one goal at work? Right! To not cry. So why would I tell them any fears I might have about supporting myself or getting a new job?

These were the people who were just at my desk for gossip. They didn't care about me - they cared about knowing the dirt. I'm not stupid. Don't treat me like an idiot.

It was a big deal to me to remain professional through this mess. I hate when after somebody has left a company, everyone blames every problem that comes up on whoever's gone. So even though Gay HR Guy told me at noon that I could leave whenever I wanted on Thursday, I stayed until 5:52 p.m., because I was trying to leave everything organized for Nice Partner and Tuna, and whoever their new Me would be. Okay and I had to delete all my personal e-mails, every website I've visited, and all my personal Contacts from Outlook.

To be honest, I also had stuff to file from 2006. Yeah that's right - I'm the secretary who sucks at filing. I fucking hate filing. File Clerk stood at my pony wall and helped me sort out everything. When I apologized to the Head of Filing, he told me it wasn't bad at all - it didn't come close to comparing with the woman who left eight cartons full of papers to be filed. So although I felt badly, after hearing that I knew I wouldn't lose any sleep over it.

File Clerk made an "Ew!" face when I told her I wanted to hug some people goodbye. These are people I spent almost two years with. Some of them I really liked a lot. But after File Clerk's reaction, I made it my personal goal to hug as many people as possible on Thursday. Each time I got someone, I'd tell File Clerk. Making people uncomfortable was out of the question. I wanted to make them want to hug me. It was so much easier than I thought it'd be.

The icier they were, the more determined I was to hug them. More than 80 % of the people made the move to hug me first. Only one partner shook my hand - everyone else gave me hugs. Tuna hugged me for a long time, which surprised me, only because he was both in a bad mood and in a hurry when he was rushing out Thursday afternoon. His office was already packed up and it flustered him to be working without all his Things and kid's pictures surrounding him. Plus, he's going to have a a very long commute that he's not looking forward to.

Cowboy hugged me goodbye, and said, "God bless it!" one last time for me. File Clerk cried. Cat Lady was the only person I didn't aim to hug - she smells. She told me I could use her as a reference. Umm... she told LEL the same thing. Thanks, but no thanks. I don't trust her. Plus, why would I use her as a reference when I have partners who said I could use them? Their references will carry a lot more weight than one from a secretary.

Kennedy (the partner who is so smooth and insincere I think he should be in politics) hauled me into an empty office to thank me, on behalf of the firm, for my dedication and hard work and say if there's anything he can ever do for me, to please not hesitate to ask. Thanks, Ken. How 'bout $592?

Last Sunday I went to the office to help Nice Partner prepare for trial, and his face totally fell when he realized that by the time he got back from this week's trial (today), I'd be gone. He asked for a hug, and made me promise to let him know where I wind up working. Nice Partner wants to take me to lunch after The Trial That Never Ends actually ends.

Oh yeah, last week I was also PMSing, which may explain why it was such a huge effort to keep myself from bitch-slapping people who annoyed me. Then the whole not-working-anymore thing may explain my three-day depression where I barely got out of bed until Sunday evening.
Now I'm rushing around interviewing this week. I told Trixie yesterday that each day I'm not working, I think I have to accomplish something either fun or productive. Without a job forcing me to keep a schedule, I feel very unanchored, like at any moment I could look around and realize I've been in bed for 42 days straight.

Yesterday in an interview, I got asked why I became a legal secretary, and what I like about it. Really, it was a miracle I didn't laugh. I became a legal secretary because it was something I could do that would earn me enough money to live. I like that when I'm working as a legal secretary it means I'm not working some bullshit retail job 60 hours a week. Dumb question. No kid grows up striving to become an administrative drone.

They asked if I had any questions. Yes - can I wear jeans on Fridays? What is the average age of the secretarial pool? How many hot attorneys will I be working with? Do you participate in Bring Your Dog To Work Day, and if so, will you supply the dog?