Views are Perks

When you hear the word "benefits" in conjunction with a job, you think of boring shit like like health insurance and 401K plans and a cake for everyone whose birthday is in each month.

Any law firm I'm going to work at will have these things, so I barely pay attention to them. I'm more interested in the fun benefits. Is there a bagel day? Can we wear jeans on Fridays? Tell me the good stuff.

I left the place with the overweight pear-shaped secretary next to me, because in almost three months they had made no moves towards making me a permanent employee. Yesterday I started at a new firm several blocks away. So far, it's going pretty well.

See that picture? That's pretty much my view, except normally it's light out. Secretaries don't get offices, and usually my view is a cubicle wall. If I'm lucky, my view is the wall of a hallway a few feet away. But I sit at a corner here, and face the doorway of the managing partner's office, and can see right out his window, where I can look at cars crossing the Bay Bridge.

Yet again I'm working at a law firm where their main office is not in San Francisco. Sometimes this can be good - you can get away with things you wouldn't be able to do at the main office. But sometimes you're treated like the red-headed stepchild who doesn't get what the other "real" kids get.

At this firm, they will pay 100% of a gym membership to specific gyms, as long as you meet specific criteria. However, one of those gyms is one only found near the main office. There's a file clerk (yay!) but he's the most monotone, dead personality type of guy I've ever met. No smiles, no annoyance, no emotion at all.

I'm working with two partners and one senior associate who (is not partner because she) works part time. Both partners made it a point to stress that I work with them, rather than for them.

The woman who sits next to me was out yesterday and left early today. She's lovely, and I'm not just saying that because she's barely there so far. She's very quiet and calm and warm.

Tomorrow the office is hosting lunch. Thursday is birthday cake day. On Fridays the firm hosts breakfast. All this stuff is nice. But I'm just happy when the managing partner leaves his office door open.

Consider Your Fucking Asshole Quotient

*Now with corn-syrup free comments to Amanda at the end!*

My friend over at Wide Lawns and I are the only two members of our exclusive mutual admiration society. I'd like to give you just one of the many reasons I like her. It's because she can write shit like this.

Almost every blog I've read written by a female has involved at least one post about dieting, and Wide Lawns is no exception. The difference is, she gives advice about how to avoid having a wide ass in a funny way. And it doesn't involve counting calories. Which personally, I find to be too complicated for my simple little mind. She also addresses criticism honestly, and without getting offended, which I find refreshing. People are too defensive these days.

Once upon a time, way before I was born, my parents were watching tv at my grandparent's house, when a commercial for an orange came on. My mother thought the orange looked so good that she went into the kitchen to get one, and her new mother-in-law made fun of her for it. Mom, don't worry about it. The Wide Lawns chick posted a picture of a fruit plate, and it looked so good to me that I was inspired to buy strawberries while shopping the next day.

Anyway, I'm nominating the post above for a Perfect Post Award. Because I think it's one of the most perfect posts I've read.

Amanda, I thought about what you said. Really. I consider most critical things people say, and this was no exception. I am no chef and I hate cooking. If I have people coming for dinner, they're either getting chicken or baked ziti. Mac & cheese was my dinner tonight. It's only because of where I live that I ever eat anything organic (mostly just milk and meat). Food snobbery is not my thing. At all. Cooking professionally? Only if someone wanted to hire me to cook scrambled eggs and make pb&j sandwiches. Standing in front of kitchen counters and at the stove for even 20 minutes is about 15 minutes more than I'm comfortable with. Really, I have no interest in cooking from scratch, especially when I can pay thirty cents more and eat something someone else cooked for me.

Honestly, I glossed over those parts of the post on the WL blog. The corn syrup? Good point. The are you being a fatty question? Good point. Fruit plates? Ehh, - I don't need a fancy looking fruit spread, I can just eat an apple or some grapes. I get her point, and it's good. The Barilla Plus? She's right. Green tea? Whatever - I don't drink tea. Reading books? I hadn't even clicked her links to be honest, but assumed one was to Fast Food Nation. Oh look - the last one is.

Yes, at the beginning she's trying to be funny, and I can see how it comes off in a way that could (and obviously did) turn people off. But are you really hurting Wide Lawns herself if you eat like shit? Of course not, and you know that. Don't let someone's delivery prevent you from hearing their message. Her intent was not to insult, but to inspire. Why not let yourself be inspired? It'll only help you.

Shiny Happy Posts

Are on hold. Because I'm neither shiny nor happy these days. I am so stressed about having to pay my $3,000 rent, not having a roommate, being cold all the time, dealing with residual Steamroller issues, needing a job, still being sick, going further and further into debt while working this temp job. I am positive that all this stress is part of what's keeping me sick.

Today is the last day of my dog-sitting and it was so hard to come to work this rainy morning. I just wanted to stay home and cuddle with the pooch.

I have concluded that I should not have a dog, which makes me so sad that I'm tearing up at my desk just writing that, because it hurts so much. Maybe it's because the weight of the world is on me right now that I am constantly worrying about the dog, even while I'm enjoying her being around. "Is she cold? Should I turn on the heat for her? My fingers are frozen; she must be cold. But she's got her fur - dogs can play in snow and be fine, maybe she's fine. Why does she keep jumping around every time I get up? Does she need something? Oh god, while I was holding her in my lap to dry her from our walk in the rain, she head-butted me in the chin and I yelled "Ow" and now she's gone totally limp. What if she's knocked out? Oh good, she's fine, she just feels bad that she hurt me. Now I feel bad that she feels bad. I still love her. Let me give her a treat. No wait, I can't reward her for hurting me..."

It's not healthy to live in a constant state of worry and nervousness. And granted, maybe it would be different if it were my own dog, or she weren't away from home. I know when she goes back to her home tonight my house will feel so much quieter. And it will take me a couple of days to stop looking down when I walk, to remember that I don't have to take care to avoid tripping over the dog or stepping on her.

I wish I could be the type of person who didn't worry all the time, about everything. But I will not be surprised if I wake up dead tomorrow, having died from stress.

Happy Martin Luther King Day Everybody!

Many, many things to discuss, and once again, can't decide which one to write about now. I am fighting the urge to blast you with pictures of the cutest dog ever, who I have the honor of dog-sitting this week. But I will resist, lest you live in San Francisco and start stalking her. Her real owners would be confused if they kept getting flowers from a "secret admirer."

We could discuss that the neighborhood flower shop is a money laundering front for the Mob, and I could even include a picture of their cute polka dot flower pots, but since I have nothing to go on other than my gut, we won't.

Since there was no work today, I had the opportunity to watch some daytime television, which I happily took advantage of (the mountain).

Fuck it. I was going to talk about something I saw on tv, but screw that. Children, today we are discussing prepositions and prepositional phrases. Why? Because they stress me the fuck out.

Everyone knows by second grade that you're not supposed to start a sentence with "and" or "but." It wasn't until 7th grade that I learned about the wonderful world of prepositions. They have been driving me crazy since. Why is it SO EASY to end a sentence with a preposition? Why? WHY?

(And) Any time you start a sentence with the word "and," like in this self-referential one, you can just drop the "and," and the sentence can still stand with dignity. (But) The same can not be said of a preposition. If your sentence ends with a preposition and you want to fix it, you are forced to move the ENTIRE prepositional phrase to another location within the sentence. Thus, "Since there was no work today, I had the opportunity to watch some daytime television, which I happily took advantage of (the mountain)." has to become "Since there was no work today, I happily took advantage of the opportunity to watch some daytime television."

I do not speak any other languages, unless you count New York Driver as a language. Which you shouldn't for these purposes, as NY Driver only has body parts, rather than parts of speech. But for those of you smarties who do, please tell me: is writing in foreign languages as difficult as writing in English? Because I think I need a nap now.

Bus

When I take the bus home from work, there are about six kids on it, all Asian, all with siblings, all with book-bags on their way home from school, all accompanied by a mother or grandpa, all clutching a snack or falling asleep.

Nobody ever talks to anyone they didn't get on the bus with, except the time that girl dropped her credit card after paying her bill by cell phone, and the guy a few rows back was all, "Miss! Excuse me, Miss!" We all just listen to our iPods and check our voicemails and read and sit wearily, zoning out until the bus gets to our stop. There may as well be a sign at the front of the bus that says, "Quiet! People have had a long, hard day."

Yesterday a little girl about three years old was sitting across from me, with her mother on one side and older sister on the other. She reached into her mother's bag to withdraw a baggie filled with sucking candies. Unwrapping one, she popped it in her mouth and happily sucked away, only to have it fall out of her mouth and down her shirt when the bus went over a big bump.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the woman sitting next to me try to hold back a smile as we watched the mother fish out the candy from inside the little girl's shirt. The girl was blasé about it, and reached into her mother's bag for a second candy to suck on. A good song came on and I looked forward, out the front windshield of the bus, to see how close we were to my stop. I zoned out.

And then out of the corner of my eye I saw the little girl not looking right. She was choking on her candy, eyes wide and scared. Her older sister continued to ignore her. The woman sitting next to me was clearly concerned, and just as I was about to tell the mother her daughter was choking on her candy, the little girl coughed it up and started to cry.

The mother realized what had happened right away, and patted the girl's back as she put her head in her mother's lap. It turned out that everyone nearby had it, and there was a collective sigh of relief.

She is my favorite of all the kids who ride the bus, only second to the little blond boy on the morning bus who likes to inform me when it's raining and I'm not wearing rainboots.

Write Now

1. I've been up since 4 a.m.
2. I interviewed for a job yesterday and got an e-mail that they want me back for a second interview on Tuesday (which I can't get to, and had to ask for a different day).
3. I'm hoping today will be the day I finally send mail to my mother that's been sitting for a month.
4. I'm excited about dog-sitting for the cutest dog in the world.
5. My feet are ripped up from breaking in new heels yesterday, and though I try to console myself with the fact that they looked really cute, it's not enough to dilute the raw pain.
6. I'm wishing a magical house fairy would make my breakfast.
7. The parade of prospective roommates is tiring, especially when they flake or don't read the details of the ad.
8. I wish strawberries were in season.
9. I am ready for warmer weather.

American Embarrassment

I like watching the auditions. I like seeing the instant feedback, and it gives me a good idea of whether I'm a decent judge of people's voices.

I used to REALLY want to be on television. I thought everyone on tv was rich and famous. It wasn't until tenth grade, when my biology teacher who used to nap during class told us one day that his wife and daughter were in a tv commercial reviewing a Broadway play. Immediately I perked up, and pushed Andrew's hand off my foot (what? didn't everyone else get foot massages in 10th grade bio?) to ask questions.

Shock does not begin to describe what I felt when the teacher said they got paid something like $75 each and had to sign a waiver. That's it? Really, THAT'S IT?

Julie and Eric on The Real World weren't trillionnaires, then? And that's how I learned. You could totally be on tv and still just be the wife of a high school biology teacher who ate sandwiches out of the garbage (he really did once).

It's because my bubble burst in high school that I'm shocked to see people in their early 20's on American Idol who clearly know they can't sing to save their lives. It's obvious they just wanted to get on tv. Why? How do they think their lives will change?

Will the guy who waxed his chest to be allowed to sing suddenly start dating hot women who previously wouldn't give him the time of day? I doubt it. Will Alexis, who is now going into "actressing" be proud of all the cursing she did when she watches her audition?

I would love to know what these people are really thinking. How do they feel about the way they behaved when the day has ended?

Some of you readers have gone to performing arts schools - would you be offended to have to audition among those people, or just glad you'd look better than them? Would you be frustrated on behalf of Simon and Randy that their time has to be wasted?

We're Watchin Dance Wars - Who's With Me?

Live blogging tonight. Let's see how it goes.

Late start tonight, due to roommate interviews. I met a guy who I used to see at fucking yoga sometimes. I think he had a stroke - he walks with a limp and shook my hand with his left hand. The whole left side of his body is very clearly favored. He's not going to take the place - he said he's uncomfortable with the elevator aspect of it. That's fine with me - it was only 20 minutes out of my evening and now when I go back to yoga, I'll know somebody's name other than the yogis. Speaking of which, I know people are waiting for me to go back, but until my respiratory problems clear up, I must wait.

Black blazer boy group - I was not thrilled with the boy band aspect of it. Also, they were not tight - it was a bit too sloppy. I am a little late tuning in, so I don't know how much time they had to learn the routines.

It's a commercial now, so let's just talk about how awesome Drew Lachey is, especially when you compare him to Ryan Seacrest.

Zack, Tony and Phillip - Zack the dentist is hot. Tony - holy shit how cute is he in that picture in his red feetie pajamas?! I understand that vests are in style right now, I do. Really. But vests look retarded and should not be worn. However, I will not hold this against them as I understand they have no control over their wardrobes.

Max should go home, or the guy who got "overexcited" and screwed up his lines. I hate the dramatic pauses everyone does right before they say anything. Ohhh, Bruno is going to take Zack. Of course. I'd have picked him first too.

Is anyone else bummed that the guy Carrie Ann and Bruno agreed was a new Gene Anthony Ray was not chosen to come through to this round? Just me? Ohh.

You know that Drew just said to himself, "Did I just say 'toot, toot, indeed?'" and is preparing to be made fun of when he gets home.

Who is the last girl they profiled? I want her name - I like to know who I hate, and I hate her. If you want to piss me off one of the quickest ways to do it is to say you deserve something that you want. And that's what she did. Bitch.

Holy shit who is this black girl with the smile and the voice?! Alyssa is definitely my favorite. Whoever decided on Kelsey's shade of lipstick should be fired. It's terrible.

Does anyone else think Bruno has a crush on Elizabeth? It was a good move of her to mention being adopted - there are so many people who'll be moved by that.

Why did Bruno just pick Lacey over Mariel? I like Mariel - her excitement is so cute. Awww... Elizabeth and Mariel on the same team. How cute.

Drew just accidentally said "sex" instead of "six" and for some reason that made me giggle like a sixth grade boy. Hee hee hee.

Ugh, I can not judge this song at all - I hate Beyonce songs. End Of the Road? Such memories. Alyssa and Phillip should stay. OH! Look at me go! Do I know my stuff or what?!

Thank you and good night.

*For those who are numb with boredom, don't worry, I won't do this every time the show is on.

Quiet

Months ago, Trixie threw a cocktail party on a Friday night. She kept telling me she'd finish cleaning up from it soon, but soon didn't come until this weekend, when she packed and moved out. Yesterday she packed and moved out. Today she came back, supposedly to clean. I see no evidence of this alleged cleaning though.

Her bathtub is dirty. The cheese that got mashed into the carpet the night of the cocktail party is still there. Luckily, the carpets are being shampooed on Wednesday, so it will finally come out.

Last night when Trixie was packing, she unplugged her telephone, and it caused me to fall offline. I told her, and my phone that had been put away was promptly plugged in, but it didn't fix the problem. I called a friend who's a semi-computer geek to ask if she could suggest any quick fixes over the phone, and we began trouble-shooting.

Trixie arranged for Old Guy to come over and fix the problem, so my friend and I hung up. I was sitting on my bedroom floor reading when I heard Trixie asking Old Guy to come over as soon as he possibly could, so she wouldn't have to listen to my bitching anymore.

Bitching. Really? I absolutely agree that Trixie has the total right to take her phone. It's hers! But when you do something that, for whatever reason, causes someone else a problem, I think it's reasonable that you fix that problem.

Old Guy showed up, and two minutes later my internet connection was restored. When I asked him what had happened, he hesitated and Trixie blushed, and he brushed me off with, "Oh, a couple of wires were crossed." I thanked him for fixing the problem so quickly, and went back in my room.

Today when I saw Trixie on my way out, she just looked at me for a second, and then went back to her "cleaning" without saying anything. And when I came back, she was gone.

And now it's quiet. Of course I'm freaked out at the idea of having to pay the rent by myself. But for right now, the quiet is beautiful. And it's not just that it's quiet. It's the happy knowledge that at no point is somebody going to unlock the door and walk in. Nobody will decide to run the noisy dishwasher at midnight. Although I have said (and still maintain) that Trixie was the best roommate I've ever had, this experience has really solidified for me that the next time I move, it's going to be to a one-bedroom. This roommate shit is not for me. It's really, really not.

Happy Teaser

I have all these things I want to write about. Some are ideas I've had, some are things other people have asked me to write about, some are things that are going on in my life. I want to do a post that's a collection of cool stuff I've come across lately. But.

This morning I overslept by an hour and am still half asleep. So I can't be busting out with the intellect right now. And all the links to the cool things are on my laptop at home. So I can't link to cool things now.

This week has kicked my ass, for a variety of reasons I'm not up for sharing here. And by "this week" I really mean "the last six months, culminating in this week."

Therefore, instead of blogging about the stuff above, I'm going to go all California hippy-dippy on your asses, and be positive and light and happy, in the hopes that if you put it out there, it'll come back to you. I can't believe I just wrote that. AND, I can't believe I didn't even get the tiniest urge to roll my eyes while writing it.

Happy Things

I won a contest and got a prize this week. Thanks Michael!

I got invited to do something I really wanted to do. And even though I had to turn down the invitation, it felt good to be invited. I wonder then, if I really *would* feel honored just to be nominated...

The overweight pear-shaped secretary who sits next to me has an equally overweight and pear-shaped sister who is also a secretary and now they both work here. Wait, that's not a happy thing - I got side-tracked. The happy thing is that the overweight pear-shaped secretary who sits next to me has a bunch of bright red tulips on her desk. Flowers are stupid. They're a total waste of money, because you don't NEED them for anything. But they kind of do make me happy. (Please feel free to buy me flowers, but no vases - I have more than enough of those. In fact, would you like a vase? Really, I have many extras.)

Trixie moves out this weekend. This is bad, because now I have to pay over $3,000 on my own. However, Trixie has become difficult ever since she screwed me over, I called her on it, and she realized she couldn't get away with me not noticing her screwing me over. So I'm glad she's leaving. I am going to help her pack by taking all her things out of the kitchen drawers and cabinets, lest she take some of my things with her. Which has happened to me before. Anne from Nice, I'm thinking of you here.

My low is pretty far down (my mellow is very, very harshed), so please share your happy things.

It's Not Like Hillary CRIED

Okay, so I'm a little late, but I finally went to watch what everyone's been talking about. What's the big fucking deal, people? Nothing wrong with getting a bit verklempt now and then. I'm much more comfortable voting for someone who is so passionate about our country that she gets a little choked up discussing it than some guy who resorts to using Oprah to bring him votes.

Hey wait, let's talk about that. If you're dumb enough to vote for a guy because someone who has high ratings, a magazine, and a school where kids can go to get abused, endorses him, please let me know. I'd hate to be voting for you for anything. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with Obama. Though I've heard he's not much for gay marriage, and the San Franciscans (and the gays, I suppose) will be pleased to know they've got my support (I was kind of 'eh, whatever' about it before moving here). Just saying, ease up on the Oprah train. If we're judging solely on celebrity endorsement, I'd respect Obama more if he were on the Jon Stewart train.

I truly think you should have to take a test to be allowed to vote. It should be a test that measures critical thinking more than how much you know about political parties or government. Though you should know the basics of that also. Hmmm... I should make up a quiz...

The popularity contest is pathetic. People thought Al Gore was too wooden. He came across as stiff and uncomfortable. I totally agree he didn't come across well. But years later I saw him explaining global warming and he was great. Totally excited and passionate and looked like a different man.

I bet that now a lot of people are wishing they'd voted for Al Gore. Why can't those people see that they're about to make the same mistake with Hillary? You don't NEED to think you'd like to have her over for dinner, or go shopping with her. You only need to think she would be able to run our country well, and represent our country well.

Let's face it - the majority of America? Not presidential material. No offense. I know the six readers of this blog are very intelligent and charismatic. But most people would not be capable of being the next POTUS. So why do you think you'd be able to RELATE to someone who could be?

For what it's worth, every time I've heard of someone in New York having run into Hillary "around town" they have liked her. They have talked with her and walked away liking her. Maybe that just doesn't translate well on tv. Maybe she needs less starch in her suits. But so fucking what? Why is everyone focusing on all the wrong things?

What freaks me out is that I don't think I'm all that smart OR knowledgeable. And yet I'm shocked at the reasons I hear from people on why they will or won't vote for different candidates. If I'm not that smart, and people are even dumber than I am, where the hell is the hope for this country??

Remember the part of Good Will Hunting when Robin Williams asks Matt Damon if he feels alone? When I think about things like what I wrote in the above paragraph, I feel very alone.

From Now On, Once a Month

Shit really does roll downhill. In my family, everyone except me was allowed to yell at people. It's kind of funny - my mother used to tell me that respect had to be earned. Yet, she demanded all sorts of things, like that I never raise my tone to her, never point my finger at her when talking, because they were signs of disrespect.

I never yell at people. People I don't care about who piss me off? They're not worth the energy. People I care about? I always worry I'll take my yelling too far and they'll never talk to me again. I have so few people in my life I don't feel like I can afford to let one go. Supposedly you can win the battle but lose the war. So I hold back and force myself to see the situation from their point of view. I find a way to make it okay in my own head. So I walk around with all this anger inside me, and no way of getting it out of me.

My mother used to tell me to go punch my pillow when I was angry. And then she'd yell at me for rolling my eyes at her, and send me to my bedroom. As I'd trudge up the staircase, she'd call after me as a reminder, "Every stamp gets a spank!" She and my dad were allowed to hit me, yell at me, and punish me. Any time my brother and I got in an argument, our parents took his side. It was never my turn.

Trixie and I are having getting-along problems. I was raised to believe I was/am a social retard, and thus, when any getting-along problems arise, I always assume they're my fault.

But this Trixie issue was not my fault. I discussed it with two different friends, who don't know each other. They both thought she was being completely unreasonable.

So tonight when a straw broke the camel's back, this camel flipped the fuck out. I really went all out on Trixie. At one point I even told her not to be so stupid as to lie to me when I could easily verify what she was saying to see she wasn't telling the truth. Fingers were pointed, voices were raised, and you know something?

I have absolutely nothing to lose by pissing her off. Trixie's already moving out. We're not going to be friends and we don't travel in the same circles. So I didn't have to worry about not pissing her off too much (and I'm sure it helped that I was totally in the right).

Maybe that's why I screamed with all my heart and soul, why I didn't censor anything I said, and why our fight even ended with me simply interrupting her to say, "This is pointless. There's absolutely no reason to continue this discussion," and just walking away from her.

When I was a little girl, I saw a scene in a movie where a woman was screaming at somebody wholeheartedly while throwing dishes. Ever since I've wanted to throw dishes and break them.

I didn't throw anything tonight, but everything I've been thinking came out, and it felt damn good. She truly deserved it, which is probably why she blushed each time I made another point. And why a few minutes after I walked away, Trixie came knocking on my door to talk to me, to try to smooth things over.

I never yell at people. But tonight changed all that. It felt really good to yell at someone who'd wronged me and be sure that I was not the one who'd wronged, who'd done anything to deserve being wronged, etc. I didn't have to hold myself back for the first time in my life.

Who do other people yell at? How often do you really scream at people? From now on, I'm totally going to do this once a month!

As You Wish - Part 5

As all the problems with Frank were happening, Remy was getting increasingly nervous. He'd pushed The Company to hire Frank, pay for Frank's bar exam, his bonus for "passing", etc. Plus if there were problems with Frank, guess who'd go back to doing more work? That's right - me. But before I did it, it'd be stopping at Remy's desk, and the thought of that stressed him out.

Meanwhile, I was having a bit of a nervous breakdown due to hating Florida and my life there. Golden Boy told me to take a vacation, come visit in San Francisco, and to bring a resume. Because Golden Boy is golden, he knows his vacations. So I listened, and put in for time off. While all this was going on with Frank, we moved our office. And as I said previously, Frank was given a cubicle rather than an office. And he was PISSED. But wait, don't be too upset because this was a temporary move. That's right - we were moving again in less than six months. When word got out that I was going on vacation to San Francisco, Frank told me one of his fraternity brothers had traveled to SF for a vacation, and never returned - he loved it so much he moved. I laughed - I wasn't the type to move across the country; that'd be ridiculous. Besides, it would take me months of planning! Or it'd take me less than a week.

I was actually visiting San Francisco and plotting my move West, while the legal department moved for the second time. When I got back to Florida (having given my notice over the phone, standing at Fisherman's Wharf, looking out at the Bay), Frank's dream had finally come true, and he had an office. Or a large closet with flimsy walls and no windows, but whatever. There was a door, and he could close it.

You're probably thinking that it was only because I was leaving that I laid out for the General Counsel and Remy why I doubted Frank's legitimacy. I think you'd be right. The details are boring, but there are a lot of liability issues when an attorney allows someone who is not an attorney to sign things only an attorney should be signing. You might say "but if they didn't know..." and for laypeople that excuse can work, but for attorneys? It's their job to have proof of things they act on.

Remy, true to form, tried to hide from the whole thing, and told me to do whatever the G.C. wanted. The G.C. told me to look up Frank's social security number and find out what states, if any, he was admitted to practice law in.

I started with Florida. I didn't just look him up in Martindale-Hubbell. I called Tallahassee, and spoke with people who worked for the Florida Bar. And then I called the state in New England he was from, and checked with them. I presented to both as a hypothetical, but Florida was interested right away, and wanted a name from me. I wish I'd asked if they blacklist people.

During this time, I was also trying to train my replacement, pack up my apartment in Florida (Freecycle came in handy), and wrap up loose ends at work, lest I leave a mess for my replacement.

After I'd returned from San Francisco, I got word that Talia wanted to speak with me urgently. I didn't really have time. We met in a hallway one day and she asked if I was moving to San Francisco. After I nodded she asked why. Whined it, kind of. I shook my head - I was too unhappy in Florida. It was unhealthy for me to be so unhappy. I didn't tell her that it was nore than "unhappy" - that it'd been a nervous breakdown and months of crying.

Talia gave me a shy smile. And told me she was moving to New York. I told her to look for a place to live in Queens rather than in Manhattan - it'd cost less but still be an easy commute. We hugged. If I saw Talia again before my last day, I can't remember it.

Meanwhile, I'd reported my findings about Frank to the General Counsel. He'd put the pressure on Frank, asking for the date of the swearing in, asking if Frank needed that day off, saying he needed proof Frank passed the bar to add him to the Company's insurance policy.

The Brother, whose office was now in the new Legal Department, knew what was going on, and was worried. He wanted the truth. I was instructed to call New England, and find out if there was reciprocity between that state and Florida. Grasping at straws. I called; there isn't. But now New England is interested. I'd presented it to them as a hypothetical. They're cool with that - people are always paranoid when they report someone.

New England asked me if I happened to have the phone number for the Florida Bar handy. Why yes, I do. New England asked for the name of the person I was calling about. I put them on hold. This was the moment when I was about to totally kill someone's legal career. That's a big deal; I could not make this decision and walked into the General Counsel's office to tell him what part of the conversation we were up to.

"Green, Remy and I could be disbarred. You want me to talk to them?" I knew they could be disbarred. I knew there could be a huge lawsuit. Oh, did I mention The Company was trying to go public at the time and couldn't afford any bad publicity?

I got back on the phone. "Thanks for holding. It's not a hypothetical. His name is Frank XX." They asked if I was an attorney. "No, but I can put you on the phone with the General Counsel if you'd like." Turns out they didn't need that. My guess is that if I'd been an attorney, they'd have looked at my record.

Frank didn't show up for work my last week in Florida. For two days we couldn't reach him. Then someone saying he was a friend called the office, claiming Frank had been in a motorcycle accident and was in the hospital. Bullshit. I asked the guy which hospital, saying The Company would want to send flowers. He stumbled around a bit before coming up with a hospital name.

Immediately after sharing the news of Frank's alleged accident, I was instructed by The Brother and G.C. to look up the phone number of the hospital and call to ask if Frank was there. I was NOT to dial the number the friend had given me. So I did. They said they couldn't give out patient information. Fucking HIPPA laws. I asked the woman, "If someone was there due to a motorcycle accident, they'd have been in your ER first, before being admitted, right? Can you tell me if he was in the ER?" HIPPA laws prevented that too.

I explained that we believed someone was lying about being in the hospital to avoid coming to work. She told me she could not violate confidentiality. I responded that I certainly understood that, and then she asked for the spelling of Frank's last name. South Florida is so corrupt. After spelling it, I was told nobody by that last name had been through the ER in the last month. The Company never heard from Frank again, and of course, couldn't reach him.

Less than a week later I was living in San Francisco. Frank was disbarred from New England. Per Google, he was last working in Texas, but not as a lawyer. I noticed the person he was working with was a graduate of his law school, and a member of his fraternity. I wonder what he told his frat brother about why he left Florida.

If you're going to lie about being a lawyer, it's best to lie to people who won't think to check the truth. Lie to the plumber, the pizza guy, a cab driver. Don't lie at work.

If you're going to be a liar, be good at it. Liars really do have tells. Frank's tell was his shit-eating grin.

If you're going to be evasive, know where to draw the line. Of course it's fine to not decorate your work space with personal things if you don't want to. But give your office a way to reach you in an emergency.

And that's how it all went down.

What I Left Out

There's something I didn't tell you about in the whole Frank story. I wanted to put it in originally because it was funny, but then took it out because it didn't pertain to the story at all.

But you need to know this. Because you know how much I love seeing people trip. Or fall. Or trip AND fall. And I know you know, because you guys email me any time you do either, or see someone else take a spill. Which, by the way, totally makes my day. Sometimes it even makes the next day too. So keep those emails coming.

We'd moved into our first new office. The one where Frank was beyond angry at not having gotten an office. Remy of course, had an office. Remy was fat. He wore pants that didn't fit properly, without a belt. They were always sliding down his ass each time he'd lean over, and not in a gangsta kind of way that could pass for cool in certain areas. But in the "I can see what color panties you're wearing and your fat ass crack too" kind of way.

It was terrible. I was grossed out by the ass crack shots. But Remy didn't seem to care that he was showing everyone his crack. Anyway.

During this whole thing with Frank after we'd moved the first time, Remy decided to go on a liquid diet. For about three weeks. If you're considering doing that, please listen to me and don't do it. It's not healthy. Any diet that makes you actually WEAK is not a healthy diet for you. Plus, it makes you irritable and you'll be bitchy to your secretary who will then almost be driven to tears at her desk because she will internalize her inability to read your mind after you've yelled at her and wonder if maybe she really was supposed to have been able to figure out what you meant even though you hadn't said it.

One day, I was in Remy's office and he was giving me work to do. He'd pick something up off the floor, hand it to me, talk to me about it, and then go on to the next file. It was towards the end of week two of the liquid diet, and Remy was definitely not well. He leaned over to pick up a file. I looked away to avoid seeing panties and ass crack.

And then Remy's chair flipped forward and dumped him on the floor. I did the only thing I possibly could - got up, said, "Excuse me," and ran out of Remy's office down the hall to avoid laughing in front of him!

Not exactly the most professional move I've made in my career, but it was seriously the most professional thing I was capable of doing in that moment. You know, rather than staying and laughing right in front of him.

The whole chair tipping forward / Remy falling thing kept replaying in my head. And so I had to talk about it. Which is why I told the other secretary. Who promptly felt the need to re-inact the scene, complete with fake, "Whoaaaaaa!" noises mixed in. Multiple times.

It was the highlight of my time working there.

I Was Wrong About That Being the Last Time

So back in the high school days, I worked at an outlet shoe store, where I frequently had to tell people, "But I don't touch feet!" Because I never did. Okay sometimes I had to touch a kid's ankle to put their foot in the right place on the What Size Shoe Do I Need mat, but that's as close as I got.

Mainly I spent tons of time hanging out in this strip mall, having a great time at work. I liked that job a lot. There was a girl from my school - a grade ahead of me - who worked there too. She was popular but nice, a rare combination in my town, and we became friendly through working at the shoe store.

I was a very negative kid then. Not in the black-wearing, Plath-reading type of way, but more in the pro-death kind of way. Wait, I'm still pro-death. I was ... pessimistic and extra. But the girl I worked, Deana, was very upbeat and positive. Any time something slightly negative happened, Deana would say, "But ... that's okay!" very brightly. She started dating this guy Scott who was equally popular and nice.

Deana and I used to close the store often, and Scott would come by to pick Deana up. He'd get there early and hang out with us. We would turn the radio up and dance around the store to "Brown-Eyed Girl" while throwing shoe boxes to each other. For years every time I heard that song, I thought of Deana and Scott.

My mom used to point to them as an example to me. "See? Nice people find each other." Deana and Scott got married. But this post is not about Deana and Scott. I have no clue what's become of them since I heard they were married. Of course, I only remember Deana's maiden name so I can't successfully Google her. Anyway.

In this strip mall there was a supermarket, a drugstore, a card store, bagel shop, pizza shop, and liquor store. Among others. Out here in San Francisco, I never see teenagers working in stores like these. (Do they not work in public or something?) In Long Island kids are working at every store you go to.

Sometimes when I was working six or more hours at the shoe store, I'd run over to the pizza place on my break. Daniel, a kid from school, worked there - he'd moved to our town from .... Dallas or somewhere, back in eighth grade. Sixth grade? Whatever. He was also popular. He was neither mean nor nice to me.

It seems funny to say it, but we developed this professional working relationship, even as high school kids. We never talked outside of seeing each other in the strip mall. We certainly never talked in school! But when I was on my break and in his pizza place, he was completely professionally friendly to me.

After a while, another strip mall close by decided to open a new pizza place. I went there one night to pick up dinner for my family (remember when you first started driving and were totally psyched to drive ANYWHERE your parents would let you go, even if it was doing mundane errands?), and Daniel was behind the counter. I figured he'd quit the first pizza place for the second, and said nothing to him about it.

A week later I was at the first pizza place on a break from the shoe store, and I saw Daniel working. My eyes got wide as I looked at him. He looked back at me, and put his fingers to his lips. Don't tell them I got another job at the other pizza place. I nodded, and didn't say anything. I guess the second place paid better.

I grew up, moved out of New York, and never thought of Daniel again. Until tonight when I opened my e-mail to see that Facebook sent me a message saying Daniel "friended" me. Why yes, I believe he was friends with Jason Greenberg.

I couldn't deal with MySpace. People bragging about how many "friends" they have. I take friendship really seriously, for reasons you can figure out if you're a regular reader here, or know me in the real world (you know, the real world, where I see people at Safeway who were on The Real World). People, I know nobody famous. And yet, on MySpace, I am "friends" with Ashton Kutcher. What the fuck is that?

To me, being a friend is a pretty big deal. I don't like the idea of tossing the word around cavalierly. Yes, I know that most people don't have my issues. But I do have them, and even though I roll my eyes at girls who say things like "but where is this relationship GOING?" and "what are you thinking about?" I am tempted to ask Daniel, "What does it mean to you to 'friend' me on Facebook?"

It probably means nothing, and since I link to my blog on my Facebook page he's probably wishing he'd never "friended" me in the first place (maybe it's obnoxious of me to think he's now reading my blog, but whatever - I'm obnoxious that way) now that I've written this.

There are many people who say they left high school and never looked back. I truly did that. Prom? No. Graduation? No. Yearbook? No. I picked up my diploma from the front office a week or so after school ended. There were no reunions. On break from college there was no getting together to catch up with old friends.

So what are you saying when you contact someone to "friend" them, who you once vaguely knew 16 years ago but weren't friends with? Please don't bother telling me I'm overthinking this. I overthink crossing the street - overthinking is what I do. Please don't tell me I need to smoke a joint and just chill the fuck out; I'm sorry if I'm harshing your mellow.