Final Thoughts On Jason Greenberg

I appreciate your support, and your hopes that he can't get it up, and that his dog probably pees on his pillow and all.

But the odds are, he's probably turned into a nice guy. I mean, come on. The people who say "mean kids just grow up to be mean adults" are the same people who say "ignore them and they'll get bored" and those of us who've been teased and bullied know that one's a huge lie.

Jason is probably perfectly nice. His dog is probably sweet. His wife is probably nice. Which makes me wonder.

How many people am I friends with now who, had they known me growing up, would have hurt me then? Not a lot, because I don't have many friends. But of the ones I have, which ones never would have thought I was funny or interesting or creative or whatever? Which ones would have been putting brown clay on my chair (sixth grade) in the hopes I'd sit on it (never did)? Which ones would have put their hand over the empty space at their lunch table and told me I can't sit there, forcing me to wander the cafeteria on the first day of fifth grade until the lunch aide had to intervene and force a group of girls to allow me to sit with them (they never talked to me)?

Jason is probably perfectly nice as a grownup. If I met him at someone else's party he'd probably talk to me without glancing at someone else, hoping they'd rescue him from me.

The reality is that I'll never know who would have been mean to me when I was a kid. I will never, ever know. Jodee Blanco was bullied and teased also. However unlike me, she turned into someone undeniably fabulous and successful. She could be one of those people who goes on Maury for all she's become after being branded a loser in high school. Another way that Jodee Blanco and I are different is she went to her reunion, while I was not even invited to mine.

She went, she talked to people, and some apologized for their past behaviors. Jodee got a date out of it. The last time I saw people from high school who'd teased me, they smirked at me.

Jason, I hope you're a nicer person now than you were then. And maybe, if you decide to have kids, you can teach them to be nicer than you were. I'm sure some other little kid would appreciate that.

Freestyling

Normally I plan out my posts. I write them in my head and then type furiously to get it all down before I forget it all. Or I write them in Word or Outlook and cut and paste. Yeah that's right - I'm uptight about everything.

But not now. Tonight I'm all ... unsettled. There is angst and frustration and the feeling that I'm saying way too much to the wrong people and not enough to the right people all at the same time. Most of what I've been told is wrong, and that leaves me lost. All I know is my gut instinct is no longer to be trusted.

I am embarrassed about everything about myself. I am embarrassed to be so unsure of myself, and so unsure in every way.

Trixie is uncomfortable with me and no longer talks to me unless other people are around. I haven't found a new roommate to replace her yet. To say I am very stressed about money would be like saying maybe George Bush is not a great president.

In less than 24 hours I went out to eat with two different men (neither of whom I'm related to) (for two different meals) even though I didn't really want to go with either.

At Thanksgiving I got sick, never got fully better, and I feel like the sickness is revving up again.

I feel like even though people sometimes let me interact with them, they don't really want me involved in their lives. Like, they let me join in because there's no solid reason they can point to in order to exclude me, but they're not excited about it. Oh, except for people who are unhealthy for me.

Still bitter that when I was in Los Angeles a couple of months ago, I went all over and didn't see any famous people. Still angry at myself that Wednesday night when I was at Safeway, I thought I saw Irene from Real World, Seattle, but wasn't sure and had nobody to ask.

I am not feeling listened to. And then the people who don't listen complain that I don't want to talk to them. But why would I want to when they don't listen to me. Oh and I might as well add that I am frustrated at wanting more attention and hating attention. Guess I just want people to be interested in me as much as I am in them, and they're not.

A couple of weeks ago somebody asked me to join or link or whatever it was, to them on Facebook. So I did. And then I started poking around Facebook a bit, doing searches to see what I would find. And what did I find? A boy I grew up with who is now married and has a cute dog and presents himself to the world as a perfectly nice upstanding citizen.

And it hurt me. I got really upset. He body slammed me out of his way to his locker on a daily basis. He made fun of me and laughed at me and encouraged others to do the same all through middle school and high school (and hebrew school). And yet he's MARRIED? And has a cute DOG?

Does he really deserve a cute dog? I think not. I think he deserves to have people know what a shit he was. And sure, I could create a blog called Jason Greenberg* Was a Prick To Me, but I try very hard to be mature. And even though I'm failing since I'm upset enough to have to mention this here, I'm doing the best I can. Which is not that great, but what more can you ask for?

What bums me out about being bummed out about all this is that I am utterly exhausted by how hard I try at every fucking thing, and THIS is as far as it gets me?

Here is a good thing: twice I have been about to end sentences in prepositions this week and twice I was able to rearrange the words to avoid it.

Say anything you think I want or need to hear. But don't make me cry, because otherwise I'll add it to the list above.

*Jason Greenberg is not his real name. But it's close enough.

Wrong Direction

I had a dream last night that I told someone outside the firm something confidential. It wasn't related to a client, but to the firm itself, like someone's salary or something. I then hinted that I'd done it and of course HR came running and told me because of that, today would be my last day.

Meanwhile, the Jewish Partner I work for didn't know I'd done it and he called me into his office for something. Turned out he had a dog under his desk that he brought to work every day, and he asked if the dog could stay overnight with me and he'd pick it up from my house the next morning. Of course I said yes, and he was getting ready to leave the office, his dog happily in my arms, still not knowing I'd been fired.

I had to tell him - I couldn't take his dog without him knowing I'd done something wrong. Then I woke up.

Clearly the dream means I love dogs. Oh, and that I'm so tired of being in this limbo of working here but not being a real employee that I'm tempted to do something drastic to force the situation so at least I'll know my future. Obviously in real life that'd be the wrong direction in which to force the situation.

I would like to thank my dream for warning me of where my subconscious is urged to go, so I can be extra careful at work today.

My Dad Wants Me To Have Health Insurance, Too!

So let's be best friends.

When I was a little girl, like three or four or five (okay twelve, but whatever), the cool thing to do if you were wearing the same shoes as another girl was to stick your leg out, toe pointed towards hers. Then she'd do the same, and you'd beam at each other, and that's how friendships were made in the Long Island suburbs. Not like in Queens, where you went up to random kids in the playground asking, "Can I play?" only to be looked up and down and asked your age before being told, "Okay, go stand over there," and as you jog over to where they pointed, you excitedly think, "Cool, I'm in!"

Years and years ago, after I was finished being young enough to make friends so easily, I read an interview with Jennifer Love Hewitt during her Party of Five days. Remember those? When everyone wanted to get a dog just to name it Bailey, and teenage girls all around the country alternated between wearing sleeves that were too long and doing significant squinting in the mirror, a la Julia?

Anyway, JLH did this interview, and in it she talked about her best friend, a girl whose name was also Jennifer. She explained how she met the BFF, saying the girl had been a huge fan and written her a letter expressing her admiration for JLH's portrayal of Sarah, blah, blah, blah, and they'd been best friends ever since.

I thought that was lame. What an ego! Becoming best friends with someone who's a FAN? Fucked up.

Yeah, I'm over it now. Because if a Friend Fairy told me I could pick anyone I don't know to be my newest friend, it'd definitely be Diablo Cody.

But I'm not going to send her a fan letter. No, after two hours of reading her blog and following her links and resisting the urge to leave comments on half her blog entries, I'm just going to blog about her and her movie Juno.

I saw it last weekend. The theatre was so packed that I sat on a step for the movie, because my only other option was sitting in the front row. There are very few movies that I walk out of, ready to turn around and see them again right away. But this was one - it was that good. And what fucking luck - to have Juno come out right when Jamie Lynn Spears is announcing her knockedupness!

A friend and I had an argument about the dialog - whether or not kids are really speaking in that Dawson's Creek, Gilmore Girlsesque way. I suppose some are, and also that a movie with "like" peppered throughout wouldn't go as far.

So yeah, go see Juno. And read Diablo's blog. But not you, Mom. You'll be offended by it. But you can see the movie - that won't offend you. And Diablo, call me. We can get together and talk about health insurance.

It Really IS a Merry Christmas!

My COBRA payments have been killing me at $592 per month. I managed to fill out a form and get it in on time to switch from the PPO to the HMO, and today I am mailing out my January COBRA payment. Cost?

$347.82 baby!

Whoo hoo! Now all I need is a job offer and a new roommate and I'll actually exhale.

Well That's a New One

My (jewish) boss is obviously very late in sending out his holiday cards and gifts today. But he's been out sick and busy with actual work so today is the day. Plus he's a partner so he can get away with shit like this.

He furiously kept shoving bottles of wine in boxes, and slapping post-its on them with names like "Ann Sullivan" and "Josh Cohen" and "Joe Murphy" as if I'd be able to look up those names in our contacts database and only get one hit.

Finally at the end of the day, having exhausted all my investigative abilities, I went to J-Boss to ask what company Joe Murphy works for, so I could narrow
down the hits and get the correct address. J-Boss didn't know. "Call Greta McGregory; she's dating him and will know."

Ummm ... really? You want me to call the woman he's banging? This felt so weird, so unprofessional. No. Not unprofessional. Just ... not a very business-like thing to do. And yet I called.

GY: Ms. McGregory?

McG: Yes?

GY: Hi, this is G, calling from J-Boss's office. I feel kind of funny doing this...

McG: **giggle** (somebody clearly cracked open a bottle of wine already)

GY: ... but J-Boss told me you would have an address for Joe Murphy?

McG: **giggle** Well, he'll be with me through the end of next week. Can I ask what it's for?

GY: Oh of course; it's just a holiday present.

McG: Sure, you can send it to my house.

And so I am. Sending a present to the house of the woman the guy is banging. Happy Holidays. Enjoy your wine.

Ugh, and wouldn't it have been awkward if we weren't sending Greta wine too?! Thank goodness we are.

Bus Passing The Other Way

Before I go to bed at night, I mostly make sure my bag is ready for work the next day. In the morning when I leave, my iPod is in my coat pocket. If not by the time I arrive at the bus stop, then as soon as I'm standing there, my bus pass goes into the other coat pocket, ready to be flashed at the bus driver.

This morning everything went according to plan and I sat down on the bus. I watched a woman across from me struggling to make sure none of her belongings fell on the floor while she kept her balance as she dug through her bag looking for $1.50.

I was fascinated by this. She stood at the bus stop with me. She just stood there doing nothing. Why didn't she use that time to organize her things and get her money ready? Then she could have been sitting down instead of struggling for balance.

What makes some people plan ahead and others deal with things as they come up? Is she a happier person for not worrying and planning ahead? Does her life work easily despite the lack of planning?

Are there people who don't plan ahead for some little things but do plan ahead for other things? How do they decide which things to plan for? Are they better at rolling with the punches than I am when things come up unexpectedly?

Jesus, Take the Wheel

Before I fucking drive into oncoming traffic to KILL MYSELF from this Clash of the Choirs show. There is one, and only one good thing about this show and it is Nick Lachey (Go ahead, laugh. Shut up, I've had a crush on him for years.).

The rest of this show is terrible. Have I ever told you how much I hate Patti LaBelle? I know, I know, she's a legend and all that shit. What. Ever. Did you know Patti LaBelle was on Cribs? It's from that show that I came to hate her.

While filming she couldn't resist showing off her hired help, so she had a woman in a uniform bring her a cup of tea or some such thing. Patti thought, in her twisted logic, she would be "nice" and introduce the MTV viewers to her hired help. But instead of being honest and saying, "This is the best maid in the entire world, Kim, and I'm so lucky she agreed to work with me," Patti just gestured to the woman and told viewers that was her "special friend."

Seriously, she lost any respect I may have had for her when I saw that. So yeah, not digging Patti LaBelle too much.

Anyway. While I love entertainment that makes me cry, laugh or think (or all three), I'm kind of disgusted by shows where the people on them cry and scream. Maybe I'm getting old - all that screaming really doesn't get me excited for whatever they're screaming about. It just annoys me.

Is this a Christmas show? There were Christmas undercurrents running throughout, but I wasn't quite sure. To be honest, I couldn't watch the whole thing. The screaming, the hostess drawing out the suspense, all that stuff just kills me.

Okay, just wanted to get that off my chest. Thanks.

As You Wish - Part 4

There was a lot of back and forth over whether The Company would pay for all the fees associated with Frank taking the bar exam. Some of it he didn't know about, some of it, he did. Frank wanted to take the bar in both Florida and New England. Of course The Company was only going to pay the fees associated with the Florida one. So of course, Frank told me about taking both exams, and told me not to tell anyone else.

What happened was that I'd give Frank a form to fill out, and he'd make a photocopy and fill it out twice, once for each state. And then instead of giving it back to me to get signed, he'd give it to the General Counsel to sign. After it was signed, he'd bypass me again and push the paperwork through again, saying I never sent the first one out, or lost it. I won't bore you with the details, but it took until after I'd given notice at The Company for us to sit down and figure out exactly how Frank had done it.

But before that, Remy kind of caught on that something wasn't kosher, and told me flat out that Frank had better not miss work to take the bar in New England. Well guess who called in sick? Yeah, he did. Wait, but the thing is, when most people call in sick, they call their office before they're supposed to be there. Or within the first half hour.

Frank's idea of "calling in sick" was to simply not show up, wait for us to notice, and then not be at any of the phone numbers we had for him. Eventually he'd call us, late in the day with some excuse, and let us know he hadn't died in a car accident or something. He'd previously asked me to not call his house - he didn't want his baby mama (I'd say common law wife, but there's no such thing as common law marriage in Florida) being bothered by us. I think the truth was that there were some days he was out with Talia and didn't want his screwing around exposed to her.

So Frank went to New England and took the bar. Then he took the Florida bar. Umm... hi. I work with lawyers. Members of my family are lawyers. I know stuff like when the bar is in whatever state I'm living in, and what date bar results come out.

When bar results come out, first they're only available to bar-takers initially. Later on, around 24 hours or so, they're available to the general public. So when bar results came out, I let Remy know, and we all gave Frank a lot of space so he could find out the news in his own time without us hovering over him.

Finally at the end of the day, Remy couldn't stand it anymore and when Frank walked by, Remy asked if he passed. Frank told him bar results hadn't come out yet. Remy looked at me, and I looked at the internet, where it said bar results were in fact out that day. The General Counsel asked what was going on. Remy told him. The G.C. shrugged and said that clearly Frank was too scared to look at work. He told Frank to go home early that day.

Next day, Frank came in saying he'd passed. Who the hell would lie about passing the bar? The truth is, Frank passed the bar in New England and didn't pass in Florida. But we didn't know that yet. It didn't occur to any of us to go look for ourselves. Why would we?

Around this time I found out something else to add to the long list of Frank's deception. The Brother did a lot of business with one specific guy. That guy gave him a lot of work, work which ultimately gave The Brother a lot of money. The Brother had Frank do some work for him here and there. Frank asked me for the Guy's phone number. Thinking nothing of it, I gave it to him.

Suddenly, I found myself taking calls from the Guy for Frank. Which made no sense - Frank was supposed to be somewhat behind the scenes of what The Brother was doing. There was no reason Frank and the Guy should be talking. I said nothing - it was none of my business, and maybe The Brother was giving Frank more responsibility or something that I didn't know about. It would be wrong for me to assume and jump to conclusions.

The truth is, you want to believe people you deal with on a regular basis. If you start listening to the doubts you have about them, then you're forced to admit to yourself that you're not as good a judge of character as you wanted to think you are. Remy had been really happy that he'd been able to hire a black guy. (Yes, everyone else in our tiny Legal Department was white.) He didn't want to think he'd made a mistake.

Only one more left - aren't you excited?

As You Wish - Part 3

Talia was smart and pretty and black and not that tall and wanted to be a model. Instead, she worked at The Company, downstairs, and at night, went into Miami to party. Talia was four or five years younger than me. Remy liked her as a person, and I think he related to her drive, and every so often I'd find Talia in Remy's office chatting with him. There was nothing but friendship going on between them.

After a while, Talia found my lunch spot downstairs and would come ask what my book was about, or tell me about a video she was going to audition for, or what was going on at home, or how she wanted to move to New York. She liked to ask me about New York, and even though I explained I hadn't lived in the city, she decided Long Island was close enough, and liked hearing about it anyway.

Talia lived with her mother, and a sister or two (I can't remember), and her only expenses were her cell phone and car. She was taking a class or two at FAU or some other local college.

I liked Talia. She was smart and nice and funny. I learned all about how it doesn't have to be uncomfortable to wear stilettos and how she talked men into paying her cell phone bill. In a very round-about way, Remy was Talia's supervisor, and he'd hear about it when she came to work late. He was hurt by Talia's being late - he felt that since they were friends, she shouldn't put him in the position of having to deal with her lateness. So, he often ignored it. Talia was late because she was at open casting calls in Miami, but knew enough to say she'd had car trouble, or had to take her mother to the doctor, or some other lie.

Talia wanted to surround herself with people who she thought were smart, or successful. At some point, Frank and Talia noticed each other. I got the vibe that Talia was impressed with Frank's impending lawyerness, that she'd never been friends with a black man who'd graduated from through law school. The type of men she'd casually dated were ... not the greatest. I don't know how else to say it, because all I have are hazy memories of impressions, rather than facts.

Talia knew she was pretty, and she was learning at this, her first "real" full-time job, that other people knew she was smart. Remy told me privately once that this was the first job Talia had where she was valued for her intelligence rather than her looks.

Remy wanted me to handle anything I possibly could, to take work away from him. That's how the job of attendance eventually fell to me, and that's how I started noticing that Frank and Talia were gone at the same times. Talia was quiet but not secretive about it, and in answer to my, "We missed you yesterday," would respond by telling me flat out she'd been at the beach with a friend.

Usually when Talia would come talk to me during lunch, she'd lean against a desk or something that showed the quickness of it. One day she pulled over a chair, and propped her feet up on the same box mine were on. I took the hint and closed my book.

"You think it's fucked up that we're hanging out?" I told her not at all, that I understood his appeal to her. "But, he lives with the mother of his child, and what does it say about his respect for her?"

Hell yeah, I'm judgmental. Talia was upset by my answer and walked away. I went back to reading. Talia came back. "You don't understand."

"Okay," I challenged her. "Explain it to me." Talia waved her hands around and tried to form sentences, to defend herself. I caught one of her hands. "You don't have to justify your actions to me. I'm sure there are things I do that you don't agree with. You only have to justify your actions to yourself."

Talia told me that they'd only gone to the beach for part of the day. The other part of the day consisted of going out on one of Frank's fraternity brother's boats. She met his friends. His black lawyer friends. I understood just fine.

As You Wish - Part 2

Where were we? Oh, let's talk about Frank's interview, because it's a tiny bit
amusing (but just a tiny bit). When Frank arrived for his interview, I showed him into a conference room - the same one I'd sat in reviewing resumes, actually. There was a very long table, with many chairs. I went to the chair directly to the right of the chair at the foot of the table, pulled it out, and told Frank to have a seat, Remy would be with him shortly, blah, blah, blah. After letting Remy know Frank had arrived, I continued doing my work, which at one point, including walking by the conference room.

Where I saw that Frank had seated himself at the foot of the table, and NOT next to it. Now what I knew because I'd been spending so much time there, was that the chair at the foot of the table was raised, and the chairs on either side were significantly lowered. And broken, so they couldn't be raised to fix the problem. Okay, Frank was playing power games, how cute. Dick move, but kind of cute.

Frank was hired. He was from Boston and black and preppy. Very preppy. He told
me that he was married. I asked if he had any kids. He hemmed and hawed a bit, and then told me he had a daughter. Then he referred to his wife as his girlfriend. I asked if he was newly married, thinking he'd forgotten to use the word "wife" instead of "girlfriend." Frank explained that actually, they had a common-law marriage, but weren't really married. Okay.

The legal department was upstairs, next to the CEO, CFO, Accounting and Human
Resources. But there was no room for Frank, so he had to sit downstairs away from the rest of us, in a cubicle, in a loud room. Baby Attorneys, please be careful of this - make sure you'll be getting an office, and sitting with the rest of the attorneys. Frank was treated like a second-class citizen. But, we were moving "soon", and it was clearly implied to Frank that he would get an office after the move (he didn't).

The brother of the CEO sat in a big office right near Frank, and didn't really work for our company. He sometimes did a bit of work for it, but mostly ran his own business, which involved real estate. I often did work for Brother, therefore saw Frank quite a bit, and sometimes we would chat.

Frank put nothing personal up at his cubicle. I thought maybe it was because he
didn't want to take ownership of it since it wasn't an office, so I said something. I offered to clear away the binders The Kid had left, to make room for Frank's diplomas on the shelves. Frank said no thank you. I expressed my surprise, not even a picture of his daughter. He said no, he doesn't like for other people to know his business. "That's understandable; you probably keep a picture of her in your wallet or car or someplace."

I figured Frank would nod at this and we'd be finished. But no. Frank had no picture of his daughter. Now, growing up, I was never close with my dad. Our relationhip got 100 times better after I moved to Florida. But I know he kept a picture of me at work, and I think he had a nursery school picture of me in his wallet (or maybe just his wedding picture, I can't remember).
I've never seen a dad who lives with their child, but doesn't carry a picture of them. It struck me as odd. If that had been the ONLY odd thing about Frank, then I'd just have tossed it aside as a quirk. It's when there are so many odd things about a person that the person themself becomes odd.

Because Frank sat downstairs, away from all of us, or maybe he had different reasons, he came to work late every day. Attorneys in law firms don't really have to be in the office by 9 a.m. - they can show up any time, as long as they get all their work done. But this was not a law firm, and the G.C. wanted all three lawyers at their desks and working by 9:30 at the latest. Frank knew this, and didn't do it. Often the G.C. and Remy told me to let them know whether or not Frank was in when they saw me headed downstairs to talk with the Brother.

Frank had been in a fraternity and liked to tell me what his fraternity brothers were up to. What big-name law firms they were working for, what their salary was, what they were driving, etc. I got the impression Frank was just waiting to pass the bar to become like them.

I knew he planned to take the MA and FL bar, but the Company only knew that Frank
was taking the FL bar. Frank didn't know it, but there was a bit of a fight over whether or not the Company would pay for his BarBri class to prepare for the bar, and they eventually did. I was filling out all the forms related to Frank becoming a lawyer. It was from those that I took his address, home phone number and cell number and added the information to our departmental phone list.

I asked Frank to let me know when he changed his cell phone from a Boston number
to a Florida number so I could update the information. He said he would.

One day, Frank didn't show up for work. By this time, the General Counsel had given Remy a talking to about his jeans falling off his ass (every single day I knew what color panties Remy was wearing, and every single day I tried to avoid seeing crack - he kept a lot of files on the floor of his office) and showing up after half the mornign was over. So Remy told me to call Frank, find out where the hell he was, and tell him he was needed in the office.

I called his Boston cell number first, which went to an automated message telling me voicemail hadn't been set up for that account. Frank had had this cell phone all through law school and NEVER set up his voice mail? Whatever. I called his home number, only for it to ring and ring.

After lunch Frank finally called, to tell me he'd headed out the door to work, but had to go back when he got a call from his wife saying there was a leak. I told the G.C. and Remy what Frank had said, and they told me to tell him to come into the office. When Frank arrived, he had a nervous smile on his face. The G.C. was a nice guy who rarely got angry, which of course made it extra bad when he DID get angry. And he was angry.

Frank had left the faucet in the bathroom sink on, and the water overflowed. I've never done that - I can't imagine walking out of the bathroom with water running, or doing it and forgetting about it. Frank had told me his wife was getting their house set up before working (this went on for over half a year), so I'm not sure why she couldn't handle the leak on her own with Frank's help via phone.

It seemed though, that the attorneys were more upset about Frank's attitude about the whole situation - he kept laughing about it, and didn't seem upset or regretful that he both hadn't called in OR been reachable (a very serious offense for an attorney).

Later in the day I was told the G.C. didn't believe the leak story. I didn't either. I didn't believe a lot of things Frank said. What I came to realize was that I shouldn't believe anything Frank told me, but should believe everything he alluded to but did not say.

(I know you're frustrated - we're getting there.)

Aaaaaaand, Scene!

Hanukah is over now, and for me, the last night of it was the best night of it. Golden Boy and Crazy Girl had invited me over for dinner, menorah-lighting, latkes and presents, and I almost didn't get to do Hanukah because a partner asked me to work late, but it all came together in the end.

While I was still at work last night, the other (jewish) partner I work with stopped by my desk to chat, and Hanukah came up. He asked how I made out. "Great! I got almost all my presents delivered on time, and just have one Christmas present to mail out." He smiled and said good for you, and we moved on.

It was only later that I realized he'd been asking if I got good presents. Guess I'm growing up.

As You Wish - Part 1

Silliyak - I haven't started up fucking yoga again yet - I don't have the money for it these days. I am sorry you had to walk out early from your class - sometimes it's hard to breathe in compassion for yourself and out compassion for others without laughing. And Scotty, I applaud your individuality.

I need to do this in installments. There's so much to this story that I'm not even sure where to begin. So I'm going to start with disclaimers. There are people of different races in this story, and I'm going to mention some of them. I thought about leaving it out, but decided that for one person race was a very big issue. So race is in. Let me save you some time - you can google until it snows in Miami - you'll never find the people I'm talking about.

The Beginning:

I'd been out of work for over six months, almost a year, really, and was desperate to start working. Not just for the money, although that was a big part of it, but for the sanity working brings me. Letting me feel connected to the world and all that.

So when I was offered $10K less than what I'd had at my last job, I took it anyway. Because it was better than nothing. It was so little that I didn't sign up for health insurance, because I couldn't afford to have the company taking the $35 out of my paycheck on a regular basis. That's how close I was cutting it, and how desperate I'd become.

It was the legal department of a company - not a law firm, and there were three lawyers, and two secretaries. One of the people I'm calling a lawyer was really a kid who had finished law school but hadn't passed the bar his first time around and was about to re-take it.

One of the first things I was told when I started working was that I needed to stay each day until the job was done. My response was, "Great, I love overtime!" Oh no. Poor Green, you must have misunderstood. There's no overtime. "But I'm non-exempt. Legally I qualify for overtime for any work over 40 hours. That's the law." Sorry dear, we don't pay our other legal secretaries that way, so we can't pay you that way.

I needed this job. And quite frankly, things are kind of corrupt out in South Florida - you just accept that and deal with it. So I said okay, and told myself I simply wouldn't work outside of my normal hours.

A few months in, the kid re-took the bar and passed. He was given a bonus, something insulting, like $250, and a raise to less than $50,000. He'd just found out when I happened by him one day, and that's the only reason he told me. I understood what he wasn't saying, and brought it out in the open. "Well, it's been great knowing you!" He nodded and asked me not to say anything. I didn't say anything. I'd have left also.

When he gave his notice, my boss, one below general counsel for the company, was
furious. He pulled me into his office to rant. "After all I did for him! I can't believe he's doing this to me! What a shit!" Remy took everything personally. He believed there were tons of office politics at our company, and believed any time someone wouldn't do something for him, it was politics, and personal, all wrapped into one rejection. Remy had taken and passed three different bars, and just because I thought it'd be funny, I got him admitted to practice in D.C. (as long as you're admitted and in good standing in any state, D.C. will take you).

Remy came to work at 10:30 or 11 a.m. every day. Wearing old jeans, old sneakers, and even older metal band t-shirts. We never saw clients. I wore khakis and a t-shirt and sneakers every day to work. Remy didn't mind the low pay because he appreciated being able to dress like an extra in Wayne's World. He was into music, and thought of working for a law firm as selling out. He believed he was a good guy who was always willing to help people.

Remy pushed to get a new attorney to replace the kid who was leaving. Meanwhile, the company fired people left and right for nonperformance. For looking at porn from work computers. For coming to work late repeatedly. Whatever the issue was. The unofficial policy of the company was that we never paid unemployment. Any time someone was fired for cause and filed unemployment, we fought it.

That meant the legal department, not the HR department, got involved. There'd
be a phone call between the unemployment office, the person who got fired, and a lawyer. Except, the general counsel wanted Remy to handle this. And these phone calls were first thing in the morning, like 9:15.

When we'd first get the notice, I'd contact HR and ask them to send me the personnel file on the employee who'd been fired. I'd go through the file, creating our defense. The six times in two weeks that the person had come to work late without calling first, the eight times they simply hadn't shown up at all in one month, all the warnings they'd gotten - both verbal and then written.

And then an attorney was supposed to call in to defend the company from having
to pay unemployment. But Remy didn't want to get to work early. And the kid had left for a better paying job. And hadn't been replaced yet. So Remy told me to call. And we got in a closed-door fight over this. Previously, when I worked in New York, I once got hauled into a partner's office because they overheard me say to someone, "I'm not a lawyer and I can't give you legal advice. But if I were you, I'd call a lawyer." I was given a stern talking-to about what constituted legal advice. Advising someone they needed a lawyer fell under that category. Ever since I have always been VERY careful about making it clear that I am not a lawyer, that I can't give legal advice. But in Florida I needed my job. So I called in. And let them believe I was an attorney.

Even though I could have gotten in a lot of trouble. And even though when that trouble came down, I knew the company would deny ever telling me to do what I'd done and would fire me. And then, of course, deny me unemployment. Even though the company could lose part, if not all, of their insurance. Even though an attorney can be disbarred for doing this. I did it. Remy never told me to "win" or anything, or actually, to lie. We're going back a few years, but I think the way he phrased it was, "Tell them you're calling from the legal department on behalf of Company." He would go over all the information I'd pulled from the personnel files, and we'd talk about what was strong evidence against the former employee that made it clear they hadn't been fulfilling their obligations. So that'd be ... legal strategy. Yeah.

Honestly, I'd never make it through law school if I tried. Hell, whether or not I could even make it through college to get a Bachelor's is negotiable. But I am telling you, I won... I won't say cases, because we weren't in Court, but I argued shit and WON.
Just sayin.

Remy finally got HR to approve his ad for a new attorney, and one was posted online. And the resumes poured in. Guess who got to review them? So I'd take a few hundred
resumes, go into an empty conference room, and pour through resumes, throwing out any that had typos. Throwing out any with cover letters indicating the attorney wanted six figures.

I was looking for a Type. This was not a position any normal attorney was going to want. I needed some old guy who'd moved to Florida to retire, but found that talking about doctors and playing golf wasn't enough for him, and wanted to work again. Or some female lawyer who'd had a kid and decided quality time with a kid was more important than money, but didn't want to step out of the game completely. Basically, I needed to find someone who wasn't applying because they were hoping for a fat salary.

I kept finding people, Remy kept interviewing and rejecting them. He wasn't clicking with anybody. I even found him people who'd graduated from his law school, but nothing. We kept getting HR to put the ad up over and over. I spent more and more time in the conference room making piles of resumes.

And then I found Frank. He'd just graduated from law school in New England, hadn't yet passed the bar, and wanted a job. Within a month Frank was hired. Less than a month after that, he was making me narrow my eyes at him as he'd walk away from me.

You Have Options

I can't decide what to post about, so I'm going to offer you some choices. Whichever topic gets the most votes wins.

Would you like me to post:

1. About people posing naked on magazine covers
2. About living above our means
3. A PSA regarding prospective roommates
4. A picture of the top of my dresser
5. About the time I got someone disbarred
6. Something else I didn't mention, but you will, in the comments

Stressful Day, Anyone?

Today I went to work, where it's now been five weeks I've been temping, and they've still said nothing to me about becoming permanent.

While at work, I saw window-washers fall from their scaffolding and watched them dangling against a high-rise.

On my lunch hour I went to an interview that went well, where the founding partner implied she'd like to hire me, but didn't give any indication of what her salary range is.

In the afternoon I had to listen to people talk about tomorrow's holiday party, which I initially said I'd go to, thinking it'd be a good thing in my quest to become permanent. However, there'll be an open bar and I hate parties passionately, and have tons of shit to get done and wish I hadn't said I'd go. So my new plan is to show up and leave an hour later.

Then I dragged myself home through the rain to a cold, dark and messy apartment. Trixie and I have been talking about what to do about our living situation for the last month.

Two or three weeks ago Trixie talked to her father about buying a two-bedroom place in the city. Essentially, the thought was that we'd move there, and Trixie would be my landlord. Except, Trixie's dad said she couldn't afford to buy. She wanted to stay here for another six months. I was the one saying we should move somewhere cheaper, and Trixie was telling me she didn't want to move, she's had enough change in her life over the last year. Case closed, or so I thought.

Rent is going up here - it'll be over $3,000. I pay almost $600 for COBRA. My job situation is unstable, to say the least. If this continues, I'm in a world of financial trouble. Tonight Trixie tells me that she spoke with a loan advisor yesterday who said that she could afford a one-bedroom but not a two-bedroom. Trixie's considering it, but has decided she wants to "try" living on her own to make sure she likes it okay before investing in a one-bedroom.

Right. So that means Trixie may move out soon. We have to let the leasing office know on December 15th if we're staying here or moving. I can't really afford this rent increase (because of COBRA), but also can't afford to move. So I have to stay, and just learn to be satisfied eating a carrot for dinner every night. Hey, I wanted to lose weight anyway, right?

Tonight Trixie is putting up an ad for a new roommate - to replace herself here, in case she decides to try renting a one-bedroom. She's told me she'll decide by Sunday whether or not she wants to stay here another six months, and if she wants to stay after all, she'll just tell people the spot's been filled.

I am not accepting any more stress. Tomorrow I am going to the stupid holiday party for lunch, and leaving immediately after the lunch portion, not staying for the rest of the afternoon. It's not like I get paid for that time anyway.

Then I am going to come home and close my eyes and hope that when I open them, a magical fairy will have cleaned the apartment, and fixed all my problems for me. Happy fucking Hanukah.

Now I'll Be Famous

As a little girl, I would put on my Mickey Mouse Disco record in the living room, pretend my gymnastics coaches Ann and Joel were sitting on the couch watching me, and I'd zoom in from my hiding spot behind the dining room table to perform my little gymastics heart out to a Disney-themed floor routine. I wanted to be a gymnast with all my heart and soul. It was a time when Nadia Comanceci was still a household name, and I was going to be Nadia the Second.

I didn't really want to be famous as much as I wanted the recognition of being a great gymnast. As the sun dipped below the trees I would do handstand after handstand and cartwheel after cartwheel while my mother sat on the couch, sipping her iced Coke, giving me directions. Lock your elbows. Point your toes. Despite the fact that as far as I knew, my mother had never done a cartwheel in her life, I was convinced that with her help, she could make me perfect.

It was a long fall, complete with a crooked spine and a crash, when I realized I wasn't going to be a gymnast. To this day, I still cry when I watch the Olympics, because of how fully and totally I believed that was going to be me. And it's not.

It wasn't until I became older that I wanted to be famous. But if I looked more deeply into the reasons behind that want, it wasn't what I really wanted. What I really wanted was to be special. To be treated like I was special. To be liked. To be loved. To have other people want to be me, just as much as I wanted to be other people, anyone really, other than myself. Oh, and rich. I truly thought anyone who appeared on television must be rich. Except maybe the people who comprised the audience of Wheel of Fortune. Those people were just average. But I wanted to be rich too. Rich, and liked and admired. Actually, I wouldn't mind those things now. Except I wouldn't want to be liked because I was rich.

I'm never going to be famous. And I'm probably not going to be rich either. You're going to have to want to hang around with me because I'm introspective and listen well and will redecorate your house when you're bored of it.

This morning I read that Keifer Sutherland has to serve 48 days in jail because of drunk driving. There are tons of non-famous people who drive drunk and also have to serve jail time for it. But Keifer is rich. Really, really rich. I fail to understand why someone who's rich would EVER be driving while drunk. Keifer could hire a driver. Britney should have hired a driver a year ago.

I used to think that people who were famous must be smart, because it's so hard to claw your way to the top. Surely smarts had to play a part in it. Silly me - I didn't realize dumb luck worked for dumb people too.

I've learned a lot of truths since I thought those things. I don't think of myself as being very smart. I suppose that's why I assume that if I know something, of course everyone else will know it too. That must be the reason I'm shocked that a kid will kill people and leave a note saying "Now I'll be famous" as if that's one good thing that came out of taking people's lives. As if there's some special Famous People Heaven that's nicer than the regular one, and he'll get in there and wind up with higher thread-count linens. Never mind what he's famous for. Hey, maybe he'll live next door to John Wilkes Booth.

Being famous shouldn't be seen as a get-out-of-trouble free card, and I think it is. By both the famous and non-famous alike. Being famous shouldn't make you immune to the law. You shouldn't want to be famous just so everyone will know who you are. I don't mean to be all preachy, but what happened to people striving to be good people? To doing the right thing simply because it's the right thing to do?

Al Gore deserves to be famous, deserves to have people line up to shake his hand, to have babies thrust into his arms to kiss for good luck. He's tried to make this world a better place. He's brought awareness to the general public. Who cares that he's wooden and somewhat stiff? You know what I see when you see him not being as comfortable as Bush? I see a guy who just wants to keep his head down and do his work. And that should be fine. I don't need to think the president would make a great neighbor, or would be someone I'd like to be friends with. I just want to think they'd make a good president, would be good problem-solvers, and would represent our country well to other places.

"Now I'll be famous." Yeah, but for what? How many people even remember the name of the Virginia Tech shooter? And that was only seven months ago.

Dear Trixie

One of the hardest things any lawyer has ever made me do is to call clients and tell them to pay their fucking bills. My very first lawyer-boss had me do this when I was just 21. I still lived with my parents, and had no idea how to order someone twice my age to do something.

So I learned what I like to call constructive lying. As a little kid, I was a bit of a lie-aholic and that's probably why my parents were very black and white about lying. We didn't do white lies in our family. And I grew up thinking all lying was terrible, deserving of death.

But it's not. Lying is fucking awesome. I think it's the Japanese who are very big into saving face. Their own and other people's. I'm all for that too - I think it's much more cruel to humiliate someone than to punch them.

The system I developed in calling to collect money was to pretend that we, my boss and I, were idiots. "Hi Dr. Weinstein, this is Green, calling from Rosa Berg's office (yes, she really did have a traditionally spanish first name and a jewish last name), how are you? Oh. Mr. Weinstein sent his bimbo to pick your girls up yesterday? Yes, I'm aware he's not supposed to do that, no you're right - it IS terrible. I'll make sure to mention that to Rosa for you. Actually though, I was calling about the last invoice we sent you? We're reorganizing our filing and seem to have misplaces the list that shows your latest payment for the October bill - could you tell me what number check that is?"

Or I'd say we had recently gotten a new mail carrier and didn't think we were receiving all our mail - what date did they mail out the check. Any variation of the above. Eight times out of ten they'd tell me a check would be in tomorrow's mail, and two days later I'd have a check to show Rosa. One time out of ten someone would try to say they weren't paying their bill because the judge hadn't ordered the outcome they'd wanted. "Jimmy, you hired Rosa to represent you in Court - she can't control the Judge. She told you that since your wife had pictures of all the marital furniture you destroyed, which you admitted doing, it was likely the Judge wouldn't give you overnight visits with your son."

Anyway, I discovered I could use this lying thing in all sorts of situations. I use it when people aren't answering my question - I pretend I'm too stupid to understand so they'll answer me again, hopefully answering what I actually asked the second time.

A couple of days ago, I used this approach on Trixie. She's gotten lax in her cleaning lately. Like the last several months. A while ago she had a cocktail party and then put all the extras under the dining room table, telling me she'd get rid of it that weekend. She put the leftover liquor in the cabinets, actually taking out a soup pot of mine to make room for it, saying her friend was having a party soon and she'd pass the liquor on to the friend. Yeah, that was over a MONTH ago.

There's still shit under our dining room table, and my soup pot is still on the counter. I am my father's daughter, and I like for things to be put away. At least, things that belong in the kitchen.

I tried to ask Trixie what was going on with this stuff a couple of weeks ago, and she swore she was getting it out of our apartment soon. Nothing's happened. So a couple of days ago I told Trixie that I was overwhelmed by my mess and it would really help me if she could shame me into being neater by being uber neat herself.

Then I quietly reminded her of my neatness goal by cleaning the kitchen floor last night. Tonight I cleaned off the coffee table.

I am overwhelmed by presents I need to send out as soon as I can take a cab to the post office (damn big boxes!), my retarded job that hasn't hired me permanently yet, forcing me to continue making $600 COBRA payments each month, my increase in rent that's coming in January, and life in general. It would be nice if I could come home to a clean fucking house and an uncluttered kitchen.

Hey, and it'd also be nice if certain people paid their rent on time. Trixie is going to lose her Best Roommate Ever Crown if she keeps this up.

Don't Lie You Christmas-Celebrating Bastards

From: SF Office
To: SF All
Subject: Holiday Tree Trimming

Body: Please come & join us for snacks & tree trimming.

Would anyone like to guess why this pisses me off? "Anyone? Anyone? ... Thank you, Simone."

It's not a fucking HOLIDAY TREE! What holiday does the tree represent? Christmas! Therefore, it's a fucking CHRISTMAS tree!

If you're going to exclude all religions that don't celebrate Christmas, just fucking admit that and don't try to cover it up by calling all your Christmas activities "holiday" activities.

This shit infuriates me. Today Golden Boy tried to tell me that he thinks it's a problem that I'm angry at the world. I'm not angry at the world (and I don't think there's anything wrong with the anger I have for all my issues and people I'm angry about/at) - I'm angry at people who try to pass things off as other things that they're not (the mountain).

I want a big fat mother fucking inflatable dreidel to put up at my work station. And maybe the menorah too - for my bus rides to and from work.

**For those of you who don't know any jewish people, and think I represent all of them, please know that I don't. Not all jewish people are this angry.

I Need To Write This Out

When we first moved to New York, a boy who delivered newspapers had just been kidnapped. I was so young that it didn't seem real somehow. Between my age and not knowing the boy and not seeing how it affected anything in my world, it just ... was a story to know.

When my brother and I were little, we were walking home from school together and we noticed a car driving behind us, very slowly. We both noticed it. My brother said on the count of three, we would run home. He counted and we did. We locked the door behind us, and for once, didn't play our cruel game where whoever gets inside first locks the other one out. (This game somehow involved the phrase 'It's the plumber; I've come to fix the sink' which we found hilarious at the time.

A couple of months after I moved here, in the early morning I was waiting outside my apartment building for Enterprise to come pick me up so I could rent a car for the day. As I sat on the bench outside, a homeless man wandered up. He came over to me and grabbed my shoulder and said something. I was sitting in a corner, and had no place I could go but through him.

I shrank back and looked into his eyes. He wasn't seeing me. I could see that. Something passed over him and he realized I wasn't whoever he was seeing inside his crazy mind, and he let go of me. It all happened very fast, in less time than it took you to read about it.

The Enterprise people came, I rented my car, picked up my friends, and got on with my day. I put it behind me, thinking "Hey, this is a city - shit like this can happen."

All in all I've had good experiences living in San Francisco. There are more homeless people here than I saw in Boston, and the homeless here are more aggressive than the homeless in Manhattan, but they're not really aggressive. I feel safe here. Not safe in that "It's so safe here, I don't need to lock my doors" kind of way, but in a "I can deal with the unsafe aspects of living in a city just fine."

Today my friend and her daughter were leaving my place. We sat on the steps outside as the darkness surrounded us during dinner time, talking about nothing. Eventually we hugged goodbye, and they began the three block walk home. My phone was ringing as I unlocked my front door - it was my friend. I stopped as I answered the phone, figuring my friend's daughter would need me to run back down to the street - for another hug goodbye or I forgot to give her something I'd been holding for her.

But no. My friend was calling to tell me that a man had grabbed her daughter. While she was holding her hand. She was fine. I shrugged out of my coat as we talked about what to do, what exactly had happened. She didn't want to call 911, because it wasn't an emergency. I suggested calling the local police station, since she'd seen him. Since surely the police have some protocol for dealing with potential abductors.

She did call, and they do have a system in place. My friend was encouraged to go to the police station in person when she can. What kind of kidnapper would be so brazen as to try to grab a kid holding their mother's hand? I've never heard of that happening - which made me wonder if the guy wasn't seeing reality. Where could his head have been to think of taking a child that so clearly belonged to someone?

Doesn't make it acceptable. Just a little more understandable. This is so big, it's hard for me to wrap my head around. I can't imagine how hard it must be for my friend. And yet, how easy since luckily her daughter's hand never left hers until they got home safely tonight.

Saturday Morning

Weekend mornings are normally full of errands I didn't have time to do during the week, and today was no exception. I headed off to my favorite Tailor With the Wandering Eye to ask him to fix a pocket on a new coat I found at Macy's. I got 10% off the already lowered price, which was why I bought it with a ripped pocket. Even with paying to repair the pocket, the total cost is still a great deal.

Right outside the tailor, a girl a bit younger than I am stopped me for directions to the mall. Her entire entourage had also stopped and they were all looking at me expectantly. In retrospect, I gave them somewhat bad directions - I had them go half a block out of their way to avoid walking a hill - but they'd get there.

As we were talking I felt a faint tingling near my hip - my cell phone. I walked into the tailor's lobby - an old Chinese man was peering out from the elevator at me. Talking into my phone I waved my hand at the man to go ahead without me and then thanked him for holding the elevator.

After I made plans for later in the morning and got off the phone, I looked back at the elevator. The old man was still there, hunched over. I took a few steps towards him and asked, "Can I come in?" He grunted something I took to mean yes, and I went in. He confirmed the floor I needed and pushed the button for me - I guess he'd heard me say into my phone that I was at the tailor's.

The elevator slowly rose and the man told me his eyes weren't any good now that he was old, that he couldn't see. That's why he'd been hunched over when I first saw him - he'd been peering at the buttons from less than a foot away, trying to see which one to press.

"I can barely see the people I love," he said to me, and his statement instantly slowed me down. I felt bad. From what I've seen here, the Chinese seem to have very close families - grandparents are always carting their grandchildren to and from school on the buses.

"That must be very hard, I'm so sorry," I responded. What else can you say? Even with contacts, I feel like I don't see very well, but it's nothing compared to how blind this old guy must feel. I wondered how he was going to get home walking along the city streets. How would he see the traffic signals?

On my way home from the tailor's, I sat on the bus across from a woman with nails longer than my nose. She flipped open her phone. "I need an eighteen inch white gold chain. No, don't you hang up on me! You said I should have what every woman wants, and this is what I want. An eighteen inch white gold chain. You'd better have it for me when I get home."

My family has asked what I want for Hanukah, which starts this coming week. I thought about it on my walk home, and I'm fairly certain I don't want an eighteen inch white gold chain.