Three Months Shy

Within a year and a half of working for the Turkey, I had saved up enough money to live on for a year. Not lavishly or anything, but I could get by. On Friday Turkey announced he is shutting down the law firm. He has accepted a position as a partner at another firm. Ten minutes after that announcement, he laid off the office manager, and two hours later, was having the locks re-keyed. Within an hour of being told, I was on the phone with a headhunter, and solidly got her on Team Green - she is going to coldcall some of her clients where she thinks I would be a good fit, and see if they can make a position for me. Ten minutes after that (thank goodness for lunch hours) I was talking to a second one - the one who placed me with Nice Partner, Tuna, and Cowboy.

I was out of work three months shy of four years. During that time I had some long-term temp jobs of course. Three months here and two months there. But that whole concept of being a super-star where you temp so they'll beg you to become permanent never worked for me. Job luck is not my type of luck. You want to find a penny on the street? I'm your girl! A job, though? No, sorry.

Turkey's announcement came when I am three months shy of working for him for two years. He assured me that I will have a job through the end of the month, maybe even a week or two past that. He's sorry he can't bring me to the new firm, a firm that has a posting up on their website for a legal secretary (which I applied to three days before Turkey's big news, coincidentally). Turkey claims the firm doesn't like incoming partners to bring their own secretaries, because then neither person integrates well into the firm. You never know if you can believe Turkey.

What I know for sure is that I have lasted longer than any other secretary (the office manager, who has access to these sorts of records, told me). What I know for sure is that I have not been able to get a good night's sleep since hearing the news. What I know for sure is that being out of work as long as I was? It did something bad to me, mentally, emotionally. Something that never quite got fixed. That low-level panic I had all the time? It's back.

The glancing 10 times in six seconds at a price? The rapid mental calculations? The feeling of something substantial yet slight, like a goose, sitting on your chest, making it hard to breathe? The urge to clean out your home so you won't have a hard time packing your shopping wagon when you become homeless? They are all back. Three months shy of two years. Join me, won't you? In saying fuuuuuuuuck.

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.

How the Love Affair Ended

*This morning's post brought to you by the letter "C" and Tracy Chapman's Fast Car, which is what was on my iPod during most of the walk to work while I mentally wrote this.

*Alternate Title:
I Found My Deal-Breaker

As of last night, I am dog-sitting. This fills me with a joy only capable of being measured by small children dreaming of fields and meadows of candy and dogs hoping everything in the world will be coated in peanut butter and wrapped in bacon.

I grew up with a dog who was loved more than I was by everyone in the family (including myself). My day can be made by getting to pet a dog. I have made friends with cat people, but only because although we do not love the same animal, we completely understand each other's love for our respective animals.

When I initially met with 9am (like with all prospective roommates), I told him that sometimes I dog-sit for a small and loveable dog (Le Pooch), and would he be okay with that? And if not, it's okay to say, because I could just go to my brother's house to dog-sit, rather than have LP here. 9am told me he's allergic to cats, but doesn't know about dogs and is willing to try. I told him if it turned out he was allergic, I'd buy him some Benadryl, and take Le Pooch back to her house to watch her. So I figured it'd be fine.

A couple of weekends ago, my brother invited me over for dinner. I asked if I could bring 9am, as I wanted Golden Boy to get to meet him. He said yes he'd love to, and we set off into the city that evening. When we arrived, Le Pooch ran down the stairs to greet us, and I felt 9am stand behind me as I pet and talked with her.

I'm going to stop here, to tell you something about 9am. He was a chemistry major. He says it's because of that, that he's a germ freak. Even more than I am. He does not sit down on public transportation, choosing instead to stand. He does not touch the poles to keep his balance. He does not touch stair bannisters. He will not go in the hot tub (neither will I, but it's about body issues for me). He washes his hands upon arriving at home. Wait, so do I. But you see what I'm saying. Ignorance really is bliss.

During the entire ... almost four hours we were at my brother's house, I can't recall seeing 9am ever touch Le Pooch, though he did throw one of her toys for her to fetch. During dinner, another dog, at some neighboring house, barked. It was a distant noise, but Golden Boy, Crazy Girl, and I all heard it. So we were not surprised when LP went tearing through the house, barking at the very top of her doggie lungs. 9am jumped every time. (As a slight aside, I am a very jumpy person, and even I barely blinked at LP's barking.) I felt bad, but 9am was as cool as one can be about getting scared three times in a row during dinner. Hey, it happens. Dogs bark. 9am was less rattled by it than I would have been if something had continually startled me.

We got home, and I asked 9am if it was a germ issue. He said it partially was, and smiled at me. "You probably look at a dog kind of like another member of the family, right?" "Naturally." "Yeah. I look at a dog as a dog." I see. Except, I can't quite see, to be honest.

And now Le Pooch is here. On Monday, I spoke with 9am about her arrival, to explain how to go about living with a dog, or, living with this specific dog. We do not feed her people food at all, ever. Le Pooch will not dash out through the front door when you open it, so you don't have to worry about her running away. She's not allowed on furniture. When you eat she will beg for food and sometimes put her front paws on your leg - just say "No" and put her back on the floor. I told 9am that I'd give him one of LP's treats to feed her, so she'd like him.

Last night, 9am told me he was going out, and left around 10pm. When I went to bed, I left my door open a tiny bit, so that when 9am came home, LP would be able to run to greet him, as she likes to do when anybody arrives. 9am arrived home around midnight, and true to form Le Pooch jumped off my bed and ran out to say hello to him. My bedroom is right near the front door. I know 9am was standing there, taking off his shoes, and I did not hear him say anything to LP. Maybe he was just trying to be considerate of me, by being quiet. He is a very considerate guy that way. But I would have felt better if I'd heard him greet her.

But on Wednesdays 9am doesn't have to leave the house until around noon, and I'm a little uncomfortable being at work right now. Le Pooch doesn't like the rain, and is a little under the weather (no pun intended). I almost called into work sick, to stay home with her. Luckily, at this job I can walk to and from work, so I'm going to rush home on my lunch hour to check on LP and make sure she is okay. Normally I'm not like this - but Trixie loved Le Pooch. Not as much as I do, but a fine and good amount. Enough that I was comfortable leaving them alone together. I don't think 9am can imagine feeling love for a dog.

I am unsettled.

(And this is reason 938,284 why I should not have children. The stress of worrying all the time would surely kill me, leaving my child motherless.)

UPDATE (per Silliyak's orders):
It was not raining mid-day and when I arrived home all the doors I'd left open were still open, and Le Pooch was fine - she'd been snoozing in my bedroom. This evening when 9am came home, he appreciated being greeted at the door by LP and did pet her for a while. I feel much better.

And Yet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey Green, How's Work Going?

Thank you so much for asking! It's going well, but it won't be for much longer. Here's the breakdown. I work in a specific department, that has a grand total of three attorneys in the San Francisco office of the firm. The Cowboy is the head of the department, and is moving it closer to his house. He is taking the other two attorneys with him. The names of those attorneys? Tuna and Nice Partner. Thus, I am out of a job. But wait, you work for Name Partner too, what about him? Well, yes, thank you for paying attention. The truth is I don't do much work for Name Partner at all, and he can be absorbed by someone else. Thus I am left for nobody to work for and am being axed.

But wait, can't you go to the new office? Or work for some other attorney at your current office? Can't they just pull a position out of their asses?

One at a time, shall we?
1. I live in the city, the new office will be in the 'burbs. I do not own a car and currently have no intention of buying one. I am not willing to do a reverse commute. I would spend at LEAST three hours commuting if I went to the new office. I already have a hard enough time in the winters, leaving work when it's dark out. Getting home even later would drive me to an unsafe level of depression.
2. Gay HR Guy said the corporate attorney they were trying to hire (who they were thinking of throwing me to) fell through. He doesn't know why (bullshit), but that guy isn't coming. There was talk of one of the grandmas retiring this summer, but that's not materializing either. Basically, no grandmas are leaving (unless one kicks the bucket unexpectedly), and no new lawyers are coming in.
3. As much as they like me, and Gay HR Guy assured me they do and I believe him, no, they simply can't pull a position out of their asses. The firm doesn't use floaters, and no, there just simply isn't anywhere they can stick me.

You may be wondering when exactly this happens. I am too. Gay HR Guy spoke with me last Wednesday and he didn't know either. But he did suggest I start looking, said I can use him as a reference, and that I can take off whatever time I need for interviews. Anyone want to meet me for a two hour lunch?! My prediction, based on the dates I saw on the lease for the new office, are late May/early June. Here's the dick move Tuna pulled on me. A while ago, we had a conversation about the new office that went a little like this:

Tuna: Have you heard anything?Green: No, have you?
Tuna: No, but when I do, I'll let you know.

::three weeks later::

Green: Tuna, I heard a lease was signed; do you know what's supposed to happen to me?
Tuna: We're having a conference call on Monday to discuss support staff so I'll find out for you.

::two days later::

Green: Tuna, I'm going to lunch ... unless you want to chat now about Monday's phone call...?
Tuna: No, go ahead, this isn't a good time.

::two days after that::

Green: Tuna will you have time to talk with me about Monday's conference call?
Tuna: Yeah absolutely. Let's just get through this filing and talk later this afternoon.

Yeah, we didn't talk. Clearly Tuna didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. He really should have just never said he'd tell me if he heard anything. This pissed me off, and I was a bit cold to him. Then his daughter had a medical emergency, my mom was in the hospital again, and I forgot to be angry at him. I've really got to start writing these things down. Here's what pisses me off though: after I talked with Gay HR Guy, Tuna kept asking if I'd spoken with him. He was clearly trying to feel me out, and gauge how angry I was. I knew that, and purposely was vague and didn't answer his questions the way he wanted me too (damn, I'm vindictive!). Finally Tuna asked me to come into his office and talk with him.

Tuna: So, how'd it go with Gay HR Guy?
Green: Pretty much the way you'd expect it to go when one person tells another they're out of a job they really liked.

Yeah, I was being bitchy. I'm like that sometimes. Okay, most of the time. (Hmm, maybe that's why I'm not just my own best friend, but my only friend...) Then Tuna goes on to tell me that Gay HR Guy will give me a good reference, and I should feel free to take off whatever time I need for interviews, as if he's doing me a favor out of the goodness of his heart. No fucking way. Green: Yeah, Gay HR Guy mentioned that.

Tuna was off his rocker if he thought I was going to thank him for something he hadn't given me. I'm disappointed in Tuna - I really liked him. Granted, I hold people up to very high expectations, so of course they are destined to fall. But really. Don't shoot off your mouth and tell somebody you'll keep them in the loop, then shut them out, then act like you're doing them a favor when you're really not. Maybe I just need to adjust my assessment of Tuna - he's got good character when it's easy. Maybe that's all its realistic to expect of people.

"I Gotta Get It Out, I Gotta Get It Out*"

Okay so I just need to purge this before I implode.

LEL's latest thing is that when she and I are walking down the hallway towards each other in opposite directions, when we come upon each other she flattens herself against the wall, as if I smell (I don't) or am so fat that I take up the entire space (I'm not). I'm feeling like the next time we get to that point, I am thinking of dramatically throwing MYself against the wall wildly, just making fun of her. Yeah, maturity is not really winning in this situation.

Her other thing is that she will never ever be polite to me. To me, being polite to her is simply the professional thing to do, and that's why I am always polite to her, no matter how rude she is to me. Except, not exactly. It is unquestionably rude to point out somebody else's lack of manners. And that's exactly what I've been doing.

LEL not only will go so far as to print to the printer I use (because Cat Lady scared her away from using the one she uses), she will also throw out documents I print if she gets to them first. I would never do that. I have actually taken something off the printer, seen it's clearly hers, and said to her "I think this is yours" while holding it out to her. And then, as she walks away after taking it, I say "You're welcome." Sometimes mumbled, sometimes brightly with a shit-eating grin. Today I held a door for her and after she'd walked through, I tossed a "You're welcome" over my shoulder as I turned the corner.

I've been doing this for about two weeks now, because .... well, because I guess I'm slightly snapping. I can only take so much, and I've taken A LOT. We haven't even discussed LEL's habit of bypassing me to speak with my attorneys, or the time she mistakenly entered her Baby Attorney's time on Name Partner's time code and then denied it because I was the one who'd discovered her mistake. We haven't talked about the fact that if LEL comes into the copy room while I'm there, I always move over to make room for her, but she never extends the same courtesy for me. Or that if Cowboy needs something from her when she's not around to do it, I always offer to help him, and then fill her in on what's gone on when she returns, so she's not left in the dark, and she never thanks me for that.

This afternoon after I did the you're welcome thing, as we both got back to our desks, LEL said something like "Don't talk to me about manners" or "You can't talk to me about manners." My gut reaction was to think "Of course I can - I can do whatever I want." I made a face reflecting that somehow, and LEL then said, "In that case, YOU'RE WELCOME for the menorah I gave you, that I spent $25 on."

Oh no she di'in't. As soon as she said that, I replied with, "I thanked you for that, in same moment I picked it up." Which is true, I did. I then followed up with an e-mailed thank you note to her that morning also.

I never told LEL what I did with her menorah that she gave me. I gave it away. I listed it on Craigslist for free and gave it to somebody, because I knew I'd never use it. If I were going to use any sort of menorah, it'd be an electric one.

Anyway. I am not proud of myself for acting this way, pointing out LEL's lack of manners all the time. I know better. You might say, just don't do things for her that would require a normal person to thank you, so you're not compelled to say you're welcome. However, that goes against me - if I know the right thing to do for the good of my department, my law firm, I feel like I have to do that. Fucking work ethic, screwing up everything. Yeah, I should just be the bigger person.

UPDATE: This morning I just spoke with Cat Lady about it all, and she encouraged me to keep doing this you're welcome shit, even after I said "Everybody knows it's bad manners to correct someone else's bad manners" which tells you something about Cat Lady. She also encouraged me to tell Cowboy and Nice Partner, which I don't want to do. It's pathetic enough that two grown women can't work out an issue - I can't also drag in our bosses. Cat Lady insists LEL will be gone in two months.

I just had horrible chest pains for about ten minutes, and I wonder if that's my punishment for being immature about this and not just completely ignoring LEL's idiocy, like I probably should be doing.

*First person to tell me what movie that line is from gets a prize.

Working on Commuting

I just need to say that the new grandma who wore red leather pants two weeks ago showed up today wearing a leather skirt. Thank you.

So, my new commute is not working out for me.

In the mornings, the bus doesn't come until five minutes before 9 a.m., getting me to work 10-15 minutes late every day. In the evenings, I have to stand outside in the cold for 20-35 minutes waiting for the bus to come take me home. This will not do.

This morning I tried a different route, that involves taking two buses. I got to work at 9:06 a.m. Better, but still not good enough. However, I overshot my stop getting off the first bus, so I'm going to try again tomorrow. This new route, although it involves more walking, might just be what I need.

I found a different route for getting home that also involves taking two buses. Not much waiting is involved at all, but each day something goes wrong while I'm ON the bus that goes down Market Street. There's a car accident and we get stuck on the bus for a long time. A crazy man gets on the bus and blocks the aisle with his huge suitcase and engages in a stand-off with the bus driver who says he won't move the bus until Crazy Man moves his suitcase. Crazy Man inspires half the passengers of the bus to prepare to flee as he mumbles to himself and reaches around in his suitcase, worrying everyone he's about to pull out a gun, only to open his hand and reveal a tape measure in an effort to prove his point. This bus lets me off further away from home than the evening bus I used to take, leaving me to walk three blocks to get home.

I think the evening commute is half a dozen of one, six of another. I can either lose 25 minutes standing outside, or while sitting on the bus for whatever reason followed by walking the last few blocks home.

I started this post with a grandma tidbit, and I'll end it with another grandma tidbit. Cat Lady told me yesterday that LEL is not only not being invited to move when my department moves to a different office, but that she was told to start looking for a new job. I'm not sure I can believe Cat Lady. Tuna and I had a chat this morning about the move, and I told him that I hope to still have a job. He promised to speak with Cowboy and see what he can do for me.

Exciting Update: Today I got to work late taking the two-bus route. However, I will claim the Milli Vanilli card, and blame it on the rain that was fallin' fallin'. Will try again tomorrow.

The Furious Filer

LEL is very particular about her files. She doesn't like for anybody else to touch them. It's only because we work in the same department that she "allows" me to pull files from "her" file cabinets (they're really Cowboy's file cabinets). But I'm never EVER to put anything back. I'm not to put files back in the cabinets, nor am I to file any documents in the files. Once I've taken something out, I'm to put it in LEL's in-box and let her re-file.

She's excellent at her filing. She loves her filing. Nothing makes LEL happier than a big fat batch of filing to plow through. She runs back and forth between her desk and the file cabinets, earlobes flapping wildly in the breeze she creates, clutching papers to her chest the whole way. You know how professional tennis players grunt when they serve? She grunts the same way when she staples or three-hole punches documents.

I am the exact opposite way. I mourn the loss of the old days, when I had a file clerk who did all my filing for me, and did it with a smile. I hate filing. I hate the paper cuts that it brings, I hate the alphabet, I hate everything about filing.

Lately something weird has been happening. Tuna will call me or pull me into his office, tell me this is to be kept quiet, and then ask me to do something like fax a document to a client. It'll always be something Cowboy is involved with. Of course I say okay, of course I go do whatever is needed. But let's review. LEL is Cowboy's secretary. I used to be, but haven't been for quite some time now. A client is a client is a client, right? I mean, LEL is a fucking wackjob, but she can walk over to the copy room and toss some clipped papers in a bin marked "FAXES", right? And yet this keeps happening.

Yesterday Tuna had me take a letter signed by Cowboy and FILE IT when LEL wasn't looking. Today he had me take that letter and fax it to someone. Then I was to put it back. All without LEL noticing. Getting the letter and faxing it were no problem. But then LEL was on a filing spree and I couldn't get to the cabinets without her noticing. So it was sitting on my desk for a while.

Then I get an e-mail Tuna has forwarded me from LEL, asking him if he has the exact file I have. Crap! I write back that it's on my desk, and will put it back as soon as she walks off to do anything else other than filing. I get my chance and run to slide the file back into place. So cloak and dagger. Tuna and I meet up in his office, and I tell him he can just tell her to check again, and it'll be there. Sure we'll be contributing to her eventual nervous breakdown, but hey, it's inevitable - might as well speed the process along, right? No? No.

Tuna decided instead that he'd tell LEL he had me pull something from the cabinet while she was away, because Cowboy needed it done immediately, and he told me to put the file back. He promised to tell LEL that I vehemently protested but he insisted. It was a very quiet conversation they had. I didn't even realize when it was happening. But all of a sudden LEL was at her desk, pounding away at her keyboard. POUNDING to the point I wondered if her fingers could possibly go straight through.

And then I got the e-mail from her. A very nice e-mail, thanking us for helping, but reminding Tuna that she prefers to file her own documents and asking that we both respect that in the future. Thanks! It almost seemed like a normal, nice e-mail. Except that I heard the POUNDING as she typed it out. LEL's fury was radiating off her body.

I think LEL is losing her mind. Like, seriously. Losing her mind. As uncomfortable as I am sitting next to someone I NEVER EVER speak to, I'm a pretty quiet person. I'm no Chatty Cathy. LEL LOVESSSSSS to talk. She talks to everyone, whether or not they have the time or inclination to talk with her. So I know it's a real effort for her to not talk with me. On the other side of her sits Cat Lady, who is back to not talking with LEL (it's hard to keep up).

Cat Lady wants LEL to go crazy. She wants bad things to happen to her. It's going to happen. I've been around crazy people before, and I can sense these things coming. Just like alcoholics have to hit their bottoms, crazy people have to break.

LEL is going to break soon. There are little signs that show me she's cracking. Like the fact that LEL sent Tuna an e-mail today asking him to do some administrative task while she's out of the office tomorrow. That's completely inappropriate - she only asked him to do it because she didn't want to talk to me. LEL is going to fall down in six months or less. That's my prediction. I'll let you know what happens.

In completely unrelated news, I drafted a Notice of Motion and Motion to Expunge Lis Pendens, Supporting Declaration of Nice J. Partner, and Memorandum of Points and Authorities this afternoon. I saved. I hit print. As I got up from my chair to fetch the pleadings from the printer, Nice Partner called me. Bypassing the printer I went to his office. Only to find out our opposing counsel had just called and was going to withdraw. His lis pendens. Which means all that work I had just done was for naught. In a monotone voice, I said to Nice Partner, "Thank you for providing me with this exciting opportunity to practice my typing and pleading skills." He laughed and apologized that it came down that way.

My Shit Needs a Hill

When I was growing up, my dad would come home from work and methodically go from family member to family member and scream at them. Later, my brother explained how it must be for my dad. To go to work and deal with a bunch of productive adults all day. To be their manager, and tell them to do something, and not only do they do it, but they try to do anything else they can think of that he might want done. Then to come home and deal with kids who shove the clothes on their floor into their closets after saying "I will, in the next commercial" four times. Must be frustrating as all hell.

And yet. My father really would come home, and go look at his mail in the kitchen while my mother was cooking dinner. And he'd scream at her for using the wrong pot, or using a fork to stir something in a pan, or whatever. Then scream at my brother for leaving his books near the stairs (never in front of the stairs, because we didn't do that, but just next to them). Then he'd move on to me, and scream at me for hiding from the world in bed, or scream at me for watching MTV. "Get a life!" he'd yell, while I watched Julie and Eric flirt on The Real World. Shit rolled downhill, and I was the bottom of that hill.

I am stressed out. During the last month people have been lying to me left and right. People are telling me things that don't add up. Now I may not have graduated from college, and may barely be able to read, but I'm no moron. I happen to be a fantastic liar. I don't say that to brag, I say that because as a fantastic liar, I'm very good at knowing when people are lying to me.

So why last weekend, when I was in a restaurant and told the waiter I'd like bacon "very well done, like burnt" did he try to tell me after I'd sent it back twice and he brought it a third time, that it was restaurant policy not to burn bacon? Don't lie to me. I asked why, if that was restaurant policy, he didn't say that when I ordered it burnt? Yeah, that's what I thought.

During the first week of this month, I ordered a year's worth of contact lenses, and some oranges to be sent to two different friends. None of these things arrived. The lens company left me a voice mail on Monday, saying they spoke with Jack at my leasing office who has a note on my package that he gave it to me. Umm... if he has a note on my package, then clearly I don't have it, do I? I called the leasing office today to sort this out. Meanwhile my left eye is so irritated I'm resisting the urge to claw it out of my eye socket.

The orange people claimed they sent my oranges when I called the first time. Breezily, without looking anything up. Ping! My friends are nice - they would have thanked me if they got them and I knew this. I didn't believe the orange company, so I asked what date they were delivered. Of course they couldn't provide me with a date, and when I pressed further, they'd lost my order completely. I offered to forward the e-mailed confirmation they'd sent me back to them. They assured me they'd call me tomorrow. That was last week. I've been calling them every day now, and I think they're avoiding me at this point. I'm pissed.

All this, while I'm freezing in my apartment that STILL smells like paint (as I wait impatiently for the smell to go away so I can invite Karen_S over, in the hopes she'll bring her baby, who is the happiest baby I've ever seen in my life). All this, while I'm dealing with LEL.

Oh! Let's talk about LEL for a moment if you don't mind. LEL has enthusiastically hated me for over a year now. She rolls her eyes any time I talk to her. She glares at me. She speaks to me as if I'm stupid. Just so it's clear, I don't talk to LEL about anything unrelated to business. An attorney tells me he's looking to speak with the Cowboy today and asks when he'll be in. I tell LEL, "Igor wanted to talk with Cowboy today; he was looking for him earlier." LEL's response is to say in a "you're such a fucking idiot that you make me sick" tone of voice "Cowboy won't be in today. *I'll* speak with Igor." As if I was a schmuck for not knowing Cowboy's schedule, as if I fucked up something with Igor and she's going to go sort out the mess I made.

Her attitude makes me want to smack her. Her spraying that terrible-smelling perfume makes me want to dunk her head in a toilet and flush repeatedly. I am always very professional with LEL. But I am losing it. Seriously, I am totally losing my temper. Cat Lady can see my face tighten, and she keeps encouraging me to tell on LEL to HR. She likes drama; she is trying to manipulate me into giving her some. I am not that stupid. I'm not going to HR to whine "LEL makes faces at me when I talk to her!" Because I'm not five years old anymore. You know, when it was acceptable to whine to your parents during long car trips that "Golden Boy's almost touching me!" (except it was always me, bothering him).

LEL is pissing off everyone around her. The other day, Cowboy threatened to behead her if she didn't stop shaking her head (clearly I missed something). He threatens things like that in a way that sounds joking but you know you should listen to what he's saying underneath the joke. A copy guy overheard the threat and said to LEL "I bet you've never been threatened with a be-heading before." Her response? "No, but I refuse to take it seriously since it came from an idiot." Dude, you just called your boss an idiot while at work, in front of someone you're consistently mean to. NOT SMART. No, I'm not going to tell on her for that. But really. Get some common sense, woman!

So I'm furious about many things. I come home to my empty, sub-zero apartment. Where there is nobody for me to yell at. No hill for my shit to roll down. There is nobody there, in my smelly kitchen, cooking dinner for me to eat. My anger just rolls around inside of me, having nowhere to go. So of course it turns into depression. Which explains why my chin was trembling and tears were forming when I talked to Nice Partner this morning about my cold apartment. Because I just don't have it in me anymore to fight all these things alone. I am so overwhelmed, and everyone is fighting me, instead of helping. And I need help. I need people to do their fucking jobs. I need my new contact lenses. I need my kitchen's paint smell to go away so I'll start cooking and eat something healthier than a bowl of cereal for dinner.

P.S. I seem to be having a terrible problem where I can't stop ending sentences with prepositions. At the end of each sentence I say to myself "dinner the mountain? no, okay keep going" or "down the mountain? shit, how can I reword that sentence? fuck it keep going" I keep doing this all over the place - why can't I stop?

P.P.S. Never mind about the above - I just went into Name Partner's office to get him to sign a letter and he had to figure out if "was" or "were" was appropriate for a sentence. We made a joke about how seventh grade English is so hard, and I feel better now. If a name partner can have grammar problems, then so can I. (I the mountain? no.) Though I do wish I had a secretary to help me figure these things out. Out, the mountain? No, it's good, carry on. Wait! In the mountain would be bad. Shit. Though I do wish I had a secretary to help me with these things. Things the mountain? No. All clear! Jesus fucking christ.

Grandma Theory

Cat Lady yelled at LEL last week. They used to use the same printer, and LEL used to move and otherwise fuck up Cat Lady's documents. So Cat Lady yelled at her to stop touching her shit.

Fuck you, Cat Lady, because now LEL is using the same printer *I* use! I told Cat Lady not to expect a present from me on her birthday, after this crap. Anyway. That has nothing to do with the real point of this post. I just felt the need to bitch.

The real point is that Cowboy is slowly being driven crazy by LEL. At one point today when he turned away from her, he slowly closed his eyes and then opened them, and I wondered if he was imagining banging his head against a wall repeatedly. My firm is opening another office outside of the city. When? I don't know. But I'm staying here if I have the choice (and I believe I do). LEL however, lives pretty close to where the new office will be, so I've been assuming that when Cowboy goes there, she'll go with him.

I casually mentioned this to Cat Lady today, and she told me that's not the case at all. She claims LEL hasn't been invited. I didn't realize there were any formal invitations being sent out. Cat Lady has this interesting theory about the new office though - they'll tell LEL they need something different than what she does currently, for the new office. Then they'll say they have no open positions in our SF office, paving the way to lay her off and finally be rid of LEL once and for all. Interesting.