Remember When the Northern State Only Had Two Lanes?

One of the ways I pass the time when I can't sleep is to try to remember how to get places in Florida and New York. Today the issue of the Northern State Parkway came up, and I drew a blank at what exit I lived at in the olden days.

Despite the fact that I now live in San Francisco, after having spent four years in Florida, I still consider myself to be a New Yorker. Which is why it unsettled me to not remember my exit. I decided to see if working up to it would help. What exit was I off the LIE? Okay, got that.

What's my gut instinct answer for the Northern State? Exit ... Shit. WHERE AM I FROM? And can I still claim to be from there if I can't remember my way around?

More importantly, I'm 31 and already suffering from dementia, apparently. What do you think of this idea: if you suffer from an "old people disease" you qualify for Social Security? Ehh?

Justin Bobby Used Crest White Strips!

I was a little behind in my Hills watching project and caught up today. How exciting to see Justin Bobby sober! How exciting that Justin Bobby can now maintain eye contact for a full three seconds! I am 100% Team Audrina and hoping she is not swayed by his inarticulate compliments though.

Heidi is being an ass (what's new?), but so is Spencer. Which leads me to the conclusion that they deserve each other. Which I must admit, is not a new conclusion.

Lo is going to be a great addition to the show. As much as I love Lauren, I am getting a little tired of her standard look. You know, giving everyone she talks with Significant Eyes?

Excuse me, I must leave now so I'm not late to my Hills Anonymous Support Group.

Fucking Yoga: Anti Boobloaf

Just last week while in downward dog, I was thinking maybe it's time I got a sports bra. As my big-boobied sisters know, it is not easy to find good bras. And when you find them, it's rare they come in colors other than white, off-white, beige, and pale pink.

I looked at Title Nine and Nike and Champion. Apparently they think only small-boobied women work out. Because if you work out, you're thin, and your boobs are somewhat small, I guess.

In my semi-realistic utopia (since in my unrealistic utopia, everyone would already be whatever size they want), at my Yoga For Fatties Class, they would also sell workout clothes for fat people. Including big-boobied sports bras.

Recently I went to a store and asked the saleswoman if they sell sports bras. Here's how well the conversation went:

SW (that's for saleswoman): Can I help you?
GY: Hi, actually, yes. Do you sell sports bras?
SW: What we have are these.
We walk over and both stare at ... the exact type of bra I'm wearing right at that moment (and at this moment right now too) that is most definitely NOT a sports bra.
GY: *blink*blink* Yes, but do you have sports bras?
SW: These are like sports bras....
GY: Okay....
SW: Regular bras have underwire. These don't, so they're just like sports bras.
GY: Thank you; I'll keep looking.

She should be fired. JUST SAY NO!
Now, last night, I went out with my friend Marlo. Ages and ages ago, Marlo suggested a blog, and I read it, and was immediately hooked. This morning, I was thinking about something Marlo said, and it reminded me of that blog. And when I went to that blog, I found Kristy writing all about bras.

Dear Missy Park at Title Nine,
Please make bras for bigger-boobed women than you do now. While the women in your "three barbell" category are bigger than the average model, I do not believe they represent the big boobage I and my big-boobied sisters are dealing with. That way we can work out more comfortably, and eventually will lose enough weight to fit into your clothes.
Thank you,
Green Yogurt, on behalf of the big-boobed women.

My Friend Thinks Michael DeLorenzo Is Gay. Discuss.

To say I loved this show as a little kid would be an outrageous understatement. It slammed into my chest and took my breathe away. I was six when the tv show followed the movie, and immediately fell in love. (I can not help but wonder what a shrink would say if they knew that in my imagination, at night when I was in bed, I was convinced that the kids from Fame turned into 'bad guys' who lived underneath my bed and if any part of my body went over the edge, they would grab me and drag me into their horrid world underneath my bedroom.)

I wanted to BE Coco. Never Doris Schwartz, the white jewish girl, or Julie Miller, but Coco Hernandez. Go figure. I nearly shat myself when my mother told me that the school the Fame kids went to was a real school, only a train ride away in Manhattan.

It's not that I had all the record albums. It's that I had every single song memorized. Thanks to Netflix, this weekend I watched the first ten episodes of the first season of the show. Turns out I still have all the songs memorized, from Desdemona to High Fidelity.

If you've ever done this, you may have noticed that when you are 31 and watch a show you used to watch at ages six and seven, you pick up on different things. First of all, a surprising number of the men had perms. What's up, Lee Curreri? Second of all, most of the actors actually attended high schools for the performing arts (yes, there's more than one). These days if an actor has to play the part of a soldier they go to boot camp for three weeks. Surfer? Surfing lessons for a month. Not with Fame. All the major actors on the show truly were performers.

Third, the weight. This shocked me so much last night that it's getting its own paragraph. Obviously in the Fame show, there's a hell of a lot of dancing. Thus, a lot of dancers. Sure, Coco was tall and skinny. But there were girls cast on this show in the 80's who were AVERAGE WEIGHT. It blew my mind. Not only were there average weight girls on this show (who today would be considered fat), but they were cast as average people. They weren't cast to act in "a very special episode of Blossom" about weight or eating disorders. That just never happens these days. It should, and it's really sad that it doesn't. There are parents out there now who wonder why their daughters have body image issues. They should be forced to sit down and watch a season of Fame.

Fourth, the relationship between student and teacher. I want to start out by explaining to those of you who may not have seen the show (I can't imagine anyone hasn't seen Fame; it should be required viewing) that the school was portrayed as ground-breakingly different. In real life, there was a school for the performing arts in Manhattan as far back as the 1930's, though the real LaGuardia High didn't open until 1984 (it combined two performing arts high schools). On the show, they tried to give the impression that families relocated from other parts of the country so their teenagers could attend the school. That went over my head as a little girl.

I do recall that Lydia went to a student's house to check on him. But this time around I saw that Leroy camped out on the steps to Sherwood's building when he wanted her to tutor him. She came up the street, saw him and stopped, he grinned, she grinned back and invited him in for coffee. With all our stalking and password protecting information, can you imagine the fallout if a student showed up at a teacher's house these days? I once ran into my marketing teacher outside of the Gap - it was horrifying.

Know what else I missed? The fact that Gene Anthony Ray was flamingly gay. I watch now and see the way he walked and heard the way he spoke, and it's glaringly obvious. Back then? Didn't notice a thing. He died at age 41, which breaks my heart. I saw an interview with him a few months before his death. He was completely high, stumbling around Europe, clearly unwell. To see him like that, when you know how insanely talented this guy was...

Lastly, something else that went over my head as a six year-old were the racial issues raised in the show. If you recall any other show in 1982 dealing with racism directly (that was not a documentary) please let me know.

I encourage everyone to put Fame in your Netflix queue to re-watch it. Even if you don't care about dancing. At the very least you'll be rolling on the floor at Michael DeLorenzo's perm and Leroy's white socks pulled up to the knee with the wide stripes. Never mind the short-shorts.

Let's Share With the Group!

Abby tagged me. What's funny about this is that it comes through Nicole, who I interviewed a few weeks ago during her interview series. If you want me to interview you, let me know. It's exactly as much fun as I thought it would be.

What prompted you to start blogging? I wanted to start blogging back when I moved to Florida, except that I didn't know blogging existed. Despite that, I was pretty much writing blog posts in my head a few times a week, and kept thinking "I should write this shit down!" but never did. After moving to San Francisco, I stumbled upon a blog, read for a few months, and knew I should be doing that. So I e-mailed that blogger, asked a few questions and got up and running.

Have you ever been the victim of a crime? Not one anybody has been charged with, but yes. I got in two fights in ninth grade. Maybe they weren't charged because there was no blood and no bones were broken, I don't know. Oh yeah, and I was attacked by a crazy homeless guy shortly after moving here. Also no charges, and this time I know why - because I didn't call the police. If you're wondering why, it's because I wasn't badly hurt, and also more importantly (possibly only because I wasn't badly hurt) dude was crazy. I was looking into his eyes and could see that he was not seeing me. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he backed off.

Have you ever witnessed someone else being the victim of a crime? Shortly after moving to New York (understand that I was three and a half, so my memory is from the viewpoint of a child) my parents, brother, grandparents and I were at a diner (that has since burned down) when guys with guns crashed through the glass doors and chased each other through the restaurant. No shots fired. The crimes I've witnessed have mostly been of the stealing variety - seeing people steal from stores.

What is your favorite color? Why? Green, kelly green. Because I said so.

What talent or skill would you most like to have, that you feel you do not have? God bless it, this is such a hard question. I'd like to have me, but without the learning disabilities. Can we consider not being learning disabled a skill? Because I bump into several of them each time I go to try something. I'd love to feel like I could sing (even though a singer told me I can sing), I'd love to be able to pick up other languages easily, read music, navigate, understand when people say things... I could go on and on.

If you could go back and do one thing over in your life, what would it be? Would you make a change, or do everything exactly the same? I think I'd try to panic less. When you're panicking you can't focus on anything else - it's basically a huge time-suck. A lot of times people don't have the patience, interest or time to wait for you to get over your issues, and you miss whatever they said.

Oh, and you know what else I'd do over? Years ago, I was working in midtown Manhattan, and rushing to get to Penn Station at the end of the day. I had to cut through Grand Central Station to get to Penn, and I pushed *really* hard on a revolving door to make it move fast. There was an old lady in front of me, and as I exited the revolving door, she turned to me and said, "I almost fell." I am so ashamed of what I did next. I shrugged and rushed off. I've never told anybody about this. Any time this memory from nine years ago pops into my head, a wave of shame rushes through me, and I want to (cry and) find her and apologize profusely. If I could, I'd slow down and not have made that old lady scared she was going to fall down, and I'd certainly have at the very least, apologized for scaring someone.

What do you consider your most physically attractive asset? (Hair, legs, smile, etc.) I'm supposed to say my eyes, because they're blue, but ... eh. I have great calf muscles, and a great smile. If I give you a shit-eating grin, you will not be able to resist smiling back at me.

When do you feel the most vulnerable? Umm... any time I'm not in my bed? Yeah, any time I'm in public really. Any time concentrated attention is on me. I really hate when a slew of people are looking at me. Any time I'm supposed to be learning something.

If you were a rap star, what would your stage name be? I don't know, but you know who would? Golden Boy, in an instant.

What is your favorite curse word? It's not exactly a curse word, but Cowboy and Nice Partner used to say, "God bless it!" really vehemently, and I totally dug it. It comes from Nice Partner's late father, and I should use it more. Fuck is so played out.

Use it in a sentence and tag five other bloggers you'd like to answer the same questions. God fucking bless it, I never know who to pick for these things! I want to pick people who'll actually partake in the festive meal, not just show up for the matzah balls, you know? No? That's okay, me either. Michael, Wide Lawns, Mama Nabi, Dan of [redacted], and TC of I Have Things, please consider yourselves tagged and blog accordingly. Thank you.

*I don't know why it's all in italics - I can't seem to turn it off.

To My MOTs, Happy Passover

And to my non-MOT readers, I hope you have a Happy Passover also. You may be wondering what exactly Passover is, and how you've gotten to be so old without ever finding out. Now you're an adult and embarrassed to ask, but feel you should know, it's a big mess. If you're jewish, you may be wondering if you're too old to sneak soup nuts under the table during the long, long seder, and the answer is, you are, sorry. But you're not too old to search for the aifikomen. However, there is more good news. You're also not too old to be open to a different, condensed version of the seder. Here's my favorite:

Opening prayers:

Thanks, God, for creating wine. (Drink wine.)

Thanks for creating produce. (Eat parsley.)

Overview: Once we were slaves in Egypt. Now we're free. That's why we're doing this.

Four questions:
1. What's up with the matzoh?
2. What's the deal with horseradish?
3. What's with the dipping of the herbs?
4. What's this whole slouching at the table business?

Answers:
1. When we left Egypt, we were in a hurry. There was no time for making decent bread.
2. Life was bitter, like horseradish.
3. It's called symbolism.
4. Free people get to slouch.

A funny story: Once, these five rabbis talked all night, then it was morning. (Heat soup now.)

The four kinds of children and how to deal with them:
Wise child—explain Passover.
Simple child—explain Passover slowly.
Silent child—explain Passover loudly.
Wicked child—browbeat in front of the relatives.

Speaking of children: We hid some matzoh. Whoever finds it gets five bucks.

The story of Passover: It's a long time ago. We're slaves in Egypt. Pharaoh is a nightmare. We cry out for help. God brings plagues upon the Egyptians. We escape, bake some matzoh. God parts the Red Sea. We make it through; the Egyptians aren't so lucky. We wander 40 years in the desert, eat manna, get the Torah, wind up in Israel, get a new temple, enjoy several years without being persecuted again. (Let brisket cool now.)

The 10 Plagues: Blood, Frogs, Lice—you name it.

The singing of "Dayenu":
If God had gotten us out of Egypt and not punished our enemies, it would've been enough. If he'd punished our enemies and not parted the Red Sea, it would've been enough.

If he'd parted the Red Sea—(Remove gefilte fish from refrigerator now.)

Eat matzoh. Drink more wine. Slouch.

Thanks again, God, for everything.

SERVE MEAL.

Fucking Yoga: How PMS Works To My Advantage

*This will be a long one; go get a snack first before settling in.

When I became a teenager, any time I got passionately upset about anything, my mother would infuriate me by asking if I was about to get my period. I think that's an outrageously rude question, because it discounts the validity of someone's feelings. In second grade when Geraldine Ferraro was running for .... something (VP?), I recall a class discussion about whether or not a woman should be president, because, what if she got PMS and because of that, decided to bomb a country? It offended me then, and still does.

Last week, when I had PMS, I cursed at one person, screamed in the house when nobody else was home, cried three times, and confronted three people about things they were doing that upset me or were wrong. I can't say I welcome PMS with open arms, but I do appreciate that it .... encourages me to speak my mind about situations where I'm either being taken advantage of or not getting all that I want.

I cried at work because I was trying to do something difficult which had been dumped on me at the last minute after someone else had specifically come to me, asking that she do it. Then, when trying to concentrate and sort out all the details, I was continuously interrupted by people reminding me of our deadline and asking if I needed help. I needed to be left the fuck alone so I could concentrate, and I ultimately said just that to the secretary who'd dumped the project in my lap. The next day I confronted her about doing that, and apologized for cursing. We agreed to start over and all that shit, but since then she has dumped other things in my lap, and I think that's just her M.O.

I screamed and cried alone at home in frustration with 9am's continual inability to clean up kitchen counters. It is not right that when I walk into the kitchen I have to throw out his napkins, move his fruit, his water, and then clean off bread crumbs, all before I can start using counters. That night I confronted him and told him I would like to keep the kitchen cleaner than we have been, and asked him to help me with that. His eyes got wide in surprise, but he assured me he would certainly do his part, promptly emptied the garbage, and apparently considered his part finished. We will be having another talk.

If I were going to rate myself at yoga, it would be as either an advanced beginner or a beginning intermediate. But the class I'm in, which is the easiest one they offer, is one where people are often balancing on one hand. The yogi I have most often caters to these advanced people, leaving people like me in the dust. Generally you're supposed to give a modified option to those who can't do a yoga move, which he wasn't doing. At one point, he even waived his hand and said, "If you need to modify ... you know how." Umm.... judging from all the other people who sat back on their knees and waited, I don't think so.

It was really frustrating me. I was spending so much time throughout the class waiting for him to call out a move I could do. Easily 50% of the class, which is ridiculous. I was wasting my time. I wasn't getting all I felt I should out of the classes he was leading. And then I cried all through naptime. I just laid there with tears pouring down my cheeks, unable to stop. It took every ounce of self control to not get up and walk out. When class was over, I went up to the yogi and asked if he had a minute. When he said he did, I borrowed a line from Rachel on Friends, and apologized in advance if I cried. And then I proceeded to cry all the way through our talk.

He started with, "I know what you're going to say." Oh really. "What?" I asked him. "You're going to say I don't adjust you enough," he told me. "Actually you don't, but that wasn't what I was going to say." He seemed surprised, and got a little defensive when I listed my grievances. He told me that he takes a long time to warm up to people, and appreciates that I spoke with him. That in the past he's had women in his class who are older or overweight and when he's gone to adjust them, they get upset, which is why he hasn't come to me. That's right, he just called me fat. I looked him straight in the eye, and stopped blubbering enough to tell him, "I'm not like that. I want you to help me do it perfectly. I feel like I'm completely floundering and not getting all I should be out of the classes when I'm not getting any direction at all." He agreed to do that. We hugged it out, because it's yoga, and that's how we roll in yoga.

Last night was the first time I went back to one of his classes since our talk. I was nervous because I (wrongly) equate crying with complete failure. When he saw me, he smiled apprehensively. I'm sure he worried I'd cry on him again. But I knew I wouldn't. And I didn't. He kept his word by giving more direction, and I sweated more than usual. He gets annoyed when I don't remember every single little thing he's ever told me in previous classes, but if he teaches long enough, he'll learn that students simply don't learn everything they're taught. After class I thanked him, and said I felt like I got a lot more out of this class than the past ones. Walking home I felt like pure liquid (this is a good thing), and I'm psyched to go back tonight.

Oh No, Say It Ain't So

I just overheard an attorney say the phrase, "genital problem." I don't even want to know.

Like a Vacation, But Less Expensive and Without Getting Lost

Over the weekend I house and dog-sat for my brother and Crazy Girl. There was really no reason to stay at their house - in the past when I dog-sit, they just drop the dog and her things off at my place. I don't even know why I asked if I could stay over, really. But I did, and they said I could, so I did.

Saturday morning I hiked up the hill to their house and tried to remember what Crazy Girl had told me about which key was for which lock. Of course I forgot to write it down and so of course I forgot and wound up standing outside for a long time playing with keys. On Saturday it was very hot in the city (for here), and as I climbed up the flights of stairs it only got hotter. But I forgot all about that when Le Pooch raced down the last set of stairs to greet me, tail wagging wildly.

She raced up and down the stairs around me, jumping and running in circles as I put my things down and took off my shoes. When I picked up Le Pooch, she laid her head against my shoulder and we had an, "Awww" moment. My brother had left me post-its on each of the three remote controls, detailing how to use them to watch a dvd. I laid down on the couch to watch Water (while drinking some ice water), and fell asleep reading subtitles. When I woke up the movie was still going, and I'm not sure what I pressed to turn it off before stumbling to the bedroom, Le Pooch following me down the hallway.

I never allow myself to fall asleep on the couch at home. I feel like it's rude to my roommate - what if he wanted to sit there? Or have a friend over in the living room?

The next morning I stripped the bed and did a wash of sheets and towels. Later, I spreaad everything all over the couch to fold. For no real reason, I left it all out when Le Pooch and I went for a long walk. Because I could, I guess. At home I would never do that. I fold laundry in my bedroom, putting it in piles on my bed before putting all my clothes away.

Maybe this is why I had asked to house-sit. Crazy Girl and Golden Boy were only gone overnight - they didn't need their house "sat." But maybe I had needed a break from being considerate all the time. It was a great break.

Then I came home and cleaned crumbs that weren't mine off the kitchen counters.

You Stoopit

If you're a guy, I've been told by other guys, that when you walk into any room, you look at all the other people and assess their fighting ability based on looks, and figure out who might be a threat to you.

I do that but with smarts. I dismiss all stupid people as a threat, and then try to figure out where I am in line with the smart people. Usually I'm behind them. All of them. Damn learning disabilities always screw things up for me. It's one of those things that's only fine with me because I have no choice but to accept it.

When it comes to science, I was given a D in the easiest science class a community college had to offer, and that D was a real gift, that I only received after doing two sixth-grade level extra credit papers. 9am happens to have a Masters degree in chemistry. So you know, I defer to him when we wind up talking science.

Last night after company left I was watching tv, and something on it prompted 9am and I to wind up talking about why the sky is blue.* Literally. 9am told me it's not really that whole sun-reflecting-off-the-ocean reason I was taught. Instead it's something to do with how there's moisture in the air and when sunlight hits the moisture the light defracts and it creates the color blue. He then said something about how different places in the sky have different levels of pollution and I think he may have then told me that places with more pollution have prettier sunsets, but I was lost by this point. Since I was comfortable and in the privacy of my own home, I allowed the "Oh god, please dumb it down for me" look to cross my face as 9am explained this, and as you may be able to see from what I said, I kind of got it (unless I'm totally off-base, in which case, well, what the hell did you expect, I'm a freaking moron!).

I thought about what 9am said, and asked if there are different levels of moisture at different levels of the atmosphere, and if the answer to that was yes, does that mean that different levels of the atmosphere are different shades of blue? At this point my head exploded and 9am was busy cleaning the blood off the carpeting before it stained and that distracted me from getting this question answered.

However, since is not the point of this post. But since I'm off-point I'll continue in that direction and say this: you can go to school to become a teacher, but really, you either ARE a teacher or you are NOT. The smartest people can be horrible teachers. Every single member of my family is a great teacher, and only one of us went to school for that. 9am is a great teacher (I happen to be a horrible student).

The point of this post is this: also on the news was how the Olympic torch route was changed at the very last minute and how upset thousands of people who turned out to watch it got. 9am turned to me and said he bet there'd be lots of lawsuits with the city. Why do you say that, my Iranian friend? He asked me, "What if someone from 100 miles away took the day off from work and spent a tank of gas driving into the city all to watch the torch, only to miss it? I shook my head at this silly law student. "There's no case. The City is under no obligation. They signed no contract with the general public." 9am argued with me, "But they advertised. People spent money based on this." My decision was final. "There is no case. San Francisco had no obligation to produce entertainment. They *ARE* under obligations to keep the city as safe as possible, which is what they believe they did. If a store advertises a product and you go to the store to buy it only to arrive and find they have sold out, will you have a case if you sue the store? No. Bait-and-switch would only apply if they refused to give you a raincheck for when the product comes in AND more importantly, tried to sell you something else that costs more than the original product you wanted to buy."

With that issue resolved, we then started talking about how our day had gone. I told 9am about how Sara-Elizabeth is suddenly gone, and nobody seems to know why. I told him since it would be career death for a lawyer to quit without giving any notice, I think she was fired. "Can they DO that?!" "Do what?" 9am clarified, "Can they really just fire her without giving her two week's notice?" At this point my brain exploded, but for different reasons from the last time. "Dude. Everything is at-will. Do you realize how much of a liability company's would be at if they gave everyone they were going to shit-can two week's notice?" 9am nodded, and agreed that made sense.

Geez. I'm not so sure he's going to be a good lawyer. Maybe he should have stuck with the chemistry.

*I just want to note that this site does NOT make science simple enough for this simpleton.

Fucking Yoga: When Fatties Collide

*Even if you're not into yoga, read through to the bottom to see what happened to me on the way home.

Last night I was *not* the only fat person at yoga. I'd meant to go on Tuesday but there was a technical problem and I couldn't make it, so I went yesterday instead. There were two huge dogs in the lobby and I was tempted to just hang out there and play with the dogs instead of yogging, but that would leave me with little to blog about, so yes, I yogged for you!

By the way, at my yoga place, there is a tiny little room where they store mats for the people (who are too cheap to buy their own) like me who need to borrow one for class. When I started to go into that room, which does not have a door by the way, there was a very old man with very saggy skin standing there naked, changing his clothes. I promptly turned and walked out. Why he couldn't just wait for one of the three bathrooms where everyone else changes I don't know. People have bathroom emergencies, not clothing-changing emergencies (unless they're also having a bathroom emergency in which case he'd need a bathroom).

Right across from me was another fat girl, and she had her shirt tucked into her pants. I kept having visions of the two of us falling off balance, colliding into each other, and banging into other people, creating a domino effect. I'm so silly - we weren't even close enough for that to happen. I love how the yogis always make a big point of asking if anyone is new to yoga when there's more than one fat person in the class (rare, usually I'm the lone representative). Why do they not realize that not everyone who does yoga is skinny? I bet there are a lot of fatties yogging in the privacy of their own home because it's too intimidating to go to a class full of skinny girls. I bet if they ran a Yoga For Fatties class it would fill up. Wonder how they'd advertise that in a politically correct way....

I did not recognize the yogi teaching last night but he had a middle eastern accent that was pleasant to listen to, and he was hot, which always helps things along. Well, I guess it does nothing for the straight guys, but whatever. I wound up next to a yoginator; he had tattoos on his stomach, arm and leg, and did deep breathing like it was a contest. He also had this weird jazz hands thing going on and although he struck me as straight, got way into flaboyantly flinging his fingers all around.

Ever notice how when someone is not that good looking, but they're really nice, it makes them look better? And conversely, when someone is hot but then they act like an idiot, they stop seeming so hot? Yeah, this yogi SUCKED. The class I go to actually has the word "beginner" in it. Yoga is one of those "everybody is always welcome" things - kind of like a temple, I guess - so there's normally a wide range of abilities in my class. There are people who can balance on one hand upside down, and other people who can't do vinyasa.

The yogi TOTALLY catered to the one-handed upside downers like the yoginator next to me, completely ignoring those of us who sat there unable to even figure out what a modified version would be. The dogs stayed in the lobby through the class, sometimes playing with each other, sometimes barking, and I had to restrain myself from going out to them, especially since I spent so much class time waiting for a pose I could do.

Also, what's up with nap time? I am wondering if the yogi house got slapped with a sexual harrassment suit. Normally during nap time the yogis come around and adjust your body (for maximum napping?), but last night that wasn't done. Actually now that I think of it, they normally adjust people during the class too, as everyone goes through the poses, and the yogi did not do that.

*In New York, on Z100, when you see or interact with someone famous, it's referred to as "a brush with greatness." On my walk home from yoga, one of the streets I cross was closed down, from the Embarcadero up to Market Street. There were cops at each intersection. I was standing on the corner with an Asian guy in a suit. After several minutes, he yelled to the cop, "Who's coming through, Sir?" The response was immediate. "HILLARY!" Yep, I saw Hillary drive by - guess she's in town today. While you might think she'd be in a black SUV, she wasn't. It was a white mom-style minivan. Whudda thunk it?

She's Fucking Obama

In case you hadn't heard.

Even Lawyers Cry At Work Sometimes

*Just want to say that while I know many more people read than comment, I don't know if any legal secretaries are reading. If you are, and want me to post my notes on ECF filings, please comment and let me know to throw them up here.

Because Perky Paula left the firm, I've gotten her associate, a woman we'll call Sara-Elizabeth (thanks, L!), who is only one year older than I am, has a lisp (a lisp! I *love* lisps!), and is well-liked by everyone.

Well, not everyone. Initially this chick was hired to work with Bitch On Wheels. But that didn't work out. My guess is that Bitch On Wheels was, well, a bitch. Normally when an attorney is mean, they are only mean to support staff but rein in the cruelty when it comes to other attorneys. Not BOW though. She is an equal-opportunity screamer.

Sara-Elizabeth is one of those lawyers who you can tell gets a kick out of having a secretary. Not in a mean, power-gone-to-her-head way, but more in a "I'm going to make my secretary LOVE me!" kind of way. Today when I was walking by Sara-Elizabeth's office, she asked me to come in and close the door.

Sara-Elizabeth proceeded to tell me that this week seemed pretty slow, and she was going to take advantage of that by getting errands done, going to doctor's appointments, and generally not being in the office very much. And then, perhaps because I am such an easy person to talk with, Sara-Elizabeth decided to tell me about BOW. How she had to go to the other partners and tell them she couldn't work with BOW. How it was very hard, but she absolutely knows she made the right decision.

And then Sara-Elizabeth's face changed. Holy fuck, she was at that place - we've all been there. That place where if you say anything else, you will cry. I did not want her to cry on me. So I quickly said, "Yeah, I've had a couple of interactions with BOW." Sara-Elizabeth nodded, and the moment passed.

She explained that all the other attorneys know about how she went up against BOW, and now has to prove her credibility all over again. This means they are slow to give her work. Which means Sara Elizabeth isn't making her hours.

Best-case scenario when an attorney doesn't make their hours? They get little to no bonus. Worst-case? Fired. To say Sara-Elizabeth is stressed would be an understatement. I assured her we will turn work around quickly and make sure everything is perfect.

Ten minutes after I left Sara-Elizabeth's office, she came bounding down the hall with a pleading for me to revise. Glad one of the partner's decided to give her a chance.