Dirty Secret

When I first moved to Florida, I was living in my grandparents' apartment, had no friends, and was bored. So I did what any Jewish girl from New York would do, and went shopping. A lot. I lived near about three different malls, one of which was an outlet mall, so there were plenty of choices. The truth is, I got a lot of shit I didn't need. The truth is, I got so much stuff that I couldn't properly utilize it all. When I moved to my own place, it wasn't just a walk-in closet. It was a closet that could comfortably fit a bed. A closet I could easily do a cartwheel in. Well, if there weren't so many piles of bags and clothes.

At some point, I confessed to my brother how bad it had gotten, and from the opposite end of the East Coast, he gave me one of the best presents I've ever gotten. He hired someone off Craigslist to help me clean out my closet. Now, unfortunately for this poor girl he hired, despite the fact that I honestly explained how bad things were, she agreed to work for a flat fee. I'm not sure how much Golden Boy paid her, but she knew it was a present for me, and you could see all over her face when I showed her my mess, that she was upset she'd agreed to the price. I wound up giving her like $60 or so, calling it a tip. Plus a few bags of clothes. But I'll bet you she never again agreed to be paid something without seeing what she was walking into after that.

Anyway, this girl, I want to say her name was Clarice, but it wasn't, but it was something like that, was great. Golden Boy sure knows how to word a Craigslist ad. And sift through responses. Clarice and I spent three days sorting, tossing, donating, washing, folding, and ironing. At the end of the experience, I promised myself I'd never let it get that bad again. I've kept my promise. That was the closest I've ever come to being a hoarder.

At the time, I didn't know that word - like the word introvert, it would be a word I'd learn after moving to California - but I was well on my way to becoming one. It was something I didn't want to become, and each time I've moved, I've gotten rid of stuff. You know that little high you feel when you find something in a store to buy? I get that high. But I also get a high when I've created space in my home by getting rid of things also. Time to confess: what do you hoard?

I'm not sure how I stumbled across Jessie Sholl's Dirty Secret book. But I did, and I reserved it from the library. I can't watch Hoarders anymore. It skeeves me out to think of the bugs that must be there. Because I have bugs where I live. Not because I hoard, since I don't, but because I just live in a shitty place. It grosses me out so much that I have hives, daily. So I can't watch Hoarders anymore. I wasn't sure I'd be able to read the book.

Shouldn't have worried. Jessie Sholl could write a fucking phone book and I'd read it. She is funny and light and deep and interesting all at the same time, which shouldn't even be possible. She throws out hoarding statistics that you'd think would get really dry, but somehow they don't. She psychoanalyzes her own mother, publicly. I can't even imagine how difficult that must have been.

Jessie Sholl gave so much background about her mother, the hoarder, that as frustrated as you'll be on Jessie's behalf, you also feel sympathy for her, and understand why she does it. There was a slight touch of Eat, Love, Pray about the book that made me wary, but right before Jessie could have slid down the Italian rabbit hole she stopped and went in another direction.

Also, here's a Surprise! Bonus! At the end of the book she has her Acknowledgments section where she thanks people. You know who she thanks? You know Alice Bradley? That slippery lady? Yeah, me either. But they are friends! Like with each other! How cute is it to find out two awesome writers are friends?

So yes.
Dear Jessie Sholl,
Your book was great. Please write a phone book. Tomorrow.
Thank you,
Green Yogurt
P.S. An Ikea instructional manual would be a fine substitute.

Boxing Days

I worked for a lawyer who was an alcoholic (though I didn't know it). That was fun. I also worked for a lawyer who was going through a mid-life crisis. That was ... not fun.

For one thing, he was a prick, so it was almost hard to notice when he got ... well, prickier, if you will. He used to call me Laura and Suzie all the time. Laura was a lawyer. Suzie was another secretary who sat nearby. At first, whoever he called would come running, pen and paper in one hand, other hand empty - ready to catch whatever he threw at us (literally). But when the wrong person showed up he'd become enraged, so we started trying to guess which one he really wanted to see.

"GREEEEEEEN!"

"Suzie, that's probably you - he's meeting with the Wilsons in a half hour and you're working on that, right?"

The nicest thing he ever did was to give me a lovely sweater from the Gap. Which another secretary told me his wife picked out for our Secret Santa gift exchange.

For several months I thought this guy was just a bad lawyer, and I wondered why his partner, also a prick yet undeniably a great lawyer, had agreed to go into business with him. He'd miss court dates, show up late for client meetings, blow filing deadlines, basically self-sabotage. It was difficult for me to watch. More than once, after a scared Hispanic woman who spoke only broken English had been kept waiting in the reception area for over a half hour, I'd grab Laura to do an initial consultation, briefing her as we walked down the hall and around the corner.

We'd lie and tell clients he was held up in court, a mediation was running long, whatever sounded good, while Suzie and I repeatedly called his cell phone and left voicemails. A couple of times when Laura wasn't available I'd beg the third, and only non-prickish partner to step in, but he really hated that. He didn't do matrimonial and family law. He did criminal, and knew he couldn't answer the questions these scared wives had.

A few times, I even had him meet with clients with the conference room door open, and I'd bump the filing clerk from her desk to use her computer, where I could hear everything being said. As the client would ask the third partner questions, he'd encourage her to get them all out at once, and I'd be typing them out, with answers. Then he'd excuse himself to "go pull some printed research" or refill a coffee cup, and I would hand him the printout of what I'd just typed out. He'd read it, memorize it, and stroll back into the conference room prepared to answer all her questions. It was awful, and Laura and I discussed many times over lunches on Broward Boulevard that it was a miracle the partner having the mid-life crisis hadn't yet been reported to the Florida Bar.

Eventually it came out that he had a side business. Once he came clean with the other prickish partner, he felt free to bring that business into the office. What was that business? Boxing! I have no idea how he got into it, but he started representing fighters who did boxing matches. This necessitated many meetings with managers and fighters, and eventually traveling to Vegas for fights (after I'd left the firm).

What this meant for me was that I spent a lot of time tweaking contracts and getting fighters (many who didn't speak English) to sign multi-page documents (written in English) that discussed purses. Once I brought this up to the partner - should I find out how much it would cost to get a couple of our most basic contracts translated, so they could read what they were signing?

The partner smiled at me like I was a cute idiot. "Green, these guys wouldn't read them even if they were in Spanish. Hell, they probably wouldn't understand them even if they were." He went on to explain that boxers are fucking morons, because who else but a moron would get hit in the head repeatedly, for a living?

After a short time, we started doing more work related to boxing. It wasn't contracts though. The partner began handling all legal issues the boxers had. They mostly consisted of the boxers getting angry and beating people up. These could be people in a bar, or their girlfriends or wives, or their children. What I learned was that the managers picked somewhat dumb guys who were quick on their feet and had great motor skills, trained the shit out of them, and kept them psychologically and physically pumped to beat the shit out of anyone at any time.

There were many times I had a hard time restraining myself from dumping burning hot coffee in boxer's laps, mostly when they were in the office to discuss fighting domestic violence or child abuse charges brought against them.

This is why I am not a fan of boxing. It vaguely reminds me of dog fights, but with people.

Let's All Sit in a Circle

I love that rush I get when discovering not only a new author I love, but one who's written tons of stuff. That rushing thrill of New! Reading! Material! Then you curl up inside all that reading, and when you emerge in a daze with the way you think about things changed for life, in the back of your head all that's going through your head is What the hell will I read now? Wow. I guess I just really, really love reading.

I just need to pause to say that my apartment hallway is very echo-y, and I can always hear everyone who walks by, talks, or makes any noise. Right now a very chipper older late is talking to a man with a heavy Spanish accent who is responding to her politely but you can hear in his voice he wants to get away. Anyway, the point is, this woman has the same squeaky voice as my old cousin Clara, who was old for my entire life. She always used to confuse me with my mom, and it really made me twitch when she'd tell me, thinking I was my mom, that she remembers when my mother was alive. My mother *IS* alive, it's *HER* mother who died! Get it right, woman! Of course I could never say that - I'd just listen to her tell me stories about "my" mom and commit them to memory so I could tell my mom later, and she could collect other people's memories about the mother she didn't get enough time with.

Moving on! Back to reading! Good blogs are a great thing to discover because bloggers have archives. Archives mean days of reading material. I'm always flattered when I, my blog, represents that to someone else. People I'd never meet in real life. People who, even if I met, would agree we had nothing in common. Except people will write more than they will say (if their family isn't reading), so you can find those commonalities after all.

Charlene from -lifedramatic- recently found my blog and not only is she reading the archives, but she's commenting on things I'd forgotten about writing. She responded to an old post where I solicited questions with hers, and here's her list, along with my answers.

1. Don't keep me in suspense. Did you ever get a camera? What kind? Where are the pictures?? :)
Yes, I was given a camera. I don't know how to say what kind of camera it is properly, so I've gone meta and taken a picture of it with Photoshop for you. It says it's a Panisonic Lumix, with 5.0 megapixels and um yeah. I really, really want to be one of those people who takes their camera everywhere they go and takes cool pictures of a sewer grate or a businessman fixing his sock that make people stop and think, but I haven't reached that level. Then, before I could keep trying to reach it, my camera used up all its battery juice and buying new batteries for a camera simply is not a priority when you're scraping together money for rent each month, you know? So that's where I'm at with my camera.

A couple of years ago I went to LA, and I did take some awesome pictures if I do say so myself. I crossed a foot bridge in Santa Monica and took a picture of a Coke cup discarded carefully on a step that I really liked (yet can't find now). It doesn't help that I don't understand Flickr - why are the pictures I've taken in Photoshop on Flickr, and how did they get there? Where is my precious Coke cup picture? Where are all the old pictures I took on my camera and (thought I) uploaded to Flickr?

2. You mentioned you were in therapy for a long time. I'm in therapy now. Have been since my first husband started cheating on me, and never left her. I see a lot of things through your posts that I should be doing but haven't been able to yet. For example, doing things to help me not feel depressed. I find that I kind of wallow in the depression, like I'm in a maze and I can't really find my way out. How do you do it?
Wow. Well. Two or three things.
1. I am sorry your first husband cheated on you. It seems more common these days for people to forgive that, and although this may fall into the "you can't know until you're in that situation" I don't think I'd be able to forgive that. I believe in the "if you aren't into me enough to not cheat on me, then just break up with me honestly" religion.
2. Let's be honest here, okay? I'm not always able to snap out of it. Being out of work is very, VERY difficult. A little while before moving out of Florida my messiness reached an overwhelming head, and another person had to come in to help dig me out. I swore to myself it would never get to that point again. It hasn't, but I have been known to send in my unemployment form a week or two late because I lost it in the pile of stuff on my ottoman and haven't had the wherewith all to dig it out. So, I'm not perfect.

At least a decade ago I read an article in Newsday about how people with learning disabilities function better if their outside world is neat and organized. It took me several years to get my life in line with that, and found it was true. My brain is so busy translating what people have said into words and concepts I understand (and then I have to race to listen and process while also listening to their next thought and saving that for translation while responding to the first thing) that it creates more work when things are physically a wreck. So I try to stay neat. When I don't, I have absolutely noticed a correlation between seeing a wreck and my heart sinking and becoming overwhelmed.
3. The way I do it when I'm doing it is, I have a set schedule. So when I'm working, I know what errands I'll run on my lunch hour on which day, and which days I'll go to the library after work. When I wake up I smooth out my blanket to make my bed look neat (tucking in the blanket takes too long). On weekends I buy five breakfasts (or one cardboard tin of Quaker's Instant Oatmeal) so I'll have quick breakfasts each morning I'm at work. I feel no difference (other than hunger) between eating breakfast and not in terms of being productive, but study after study, decade after decade swears eating breakfast is good for you, so I eat a healthy one.

I keep in mind when I'm depressed all the other times I've been depressed (yes, I realize that sounds depressing) and that if I can just force myself to shower and get dressed, then I'll be able to take out the garbage, which will mean I'll be ready to go through mail that's piled up, etc. Things can spin out of control. But they can also spin into the control if you just start the spin. You have to find what will start your spin.

3. What would you do if your neighbor got a pig and you had to hear it grunting and squealing when you were trying to relax? (Seriously, this just happened to me...)
Charlene, this does not sound pleasant ... wait. Is it a baby pig? Because those things are cute! Did you see the movie with that Dawson's Creek kid who played Knox and his friend had a pig named Bacon?

To answer your question, I would ask the city/town if this was legal, and if it was not, because I'm somewhat passive-aggressive I'd consider reporting them. In the meantime though, I might ask the neighbors if they could move their pigpen to the center of their yard so the noise was traveling so well into my space, and I'd look into what kind of white noise I could employ to drown out the pig noise. Wind chimes probably wouldn't cut it, huh?

4. I've always wanted to visit California and SF in general! I love seafood. Do you like any seafood? (I know you said you are a picky eater).
Yes, I love seafood too. Every time I am at Whole Foods I check to see if the scallops are on sale. I'm not sure I've found any stellar seafood restaurants here, but I haven't specifically looked, and don't dine out much these days.

5. Have you ever been to whereever it is you can go to see the seals there? Seals are smelly, but they're cute too.
I think you're talking about Pier 39, where there are sea lions. Yes, I've been there. More than once. Maybe it does for other people, but for me, it never gets old to see the sea lions sunning themselves and pushing each other into the water, and flopping back up to dry off from a swim.

6. What's your favorite thing about SF?
People ask this a lot. I don't have a good answer. This is the first major city I've ever lived in, so I really have nothing to compare it to. I love that the weather makes it easy to spend time outdoors. I love that there's tons of free stuff to do and watch. You can make a full day out of watching the Gay Pride Parade, a full morning out of watching Bay to Breakers take off and then going to the Ferry Building for the farmer's market. You can surround yourself with tourists or escape them by going to the places tourists never know about. You can learn (if you're me) how to become comfortable being the only white person on the bus. Hell, you can learn how to use city buses, something that was foreign and scary to me at first.

This is the place where I learned how to make friends. Where I learned to cut myself a little slack. Where I got to hone the art of agreeing to disagree, of stretching my mind to see other people's viewpoints. I don't know that these things happened because I am in SF, just that they happened while I was here. But when I have entertained thoughts of leaving here and moving elsewhere, I have worried "what if I can't make friends?"

7. I grew up in North Miami, FL. It sounds like when you were in FL you were in the Pompano area. Why did you move there?
You nailed it. I moved to Florida because I wanted to move out of my parent's house. When I looked at apartments on Long Island, they were all depressing illegal basement apartments in the back of people's homes. I distinctly remember looking at one with my dad, and then quietly telling him, "This is the kind of place that's great for committing suicide." My grandpa lived in FL - he had an apartment in an old-people community, and mostly lived at his girlfriend's apartment (in the same community). When I considered the idea of moving to Florida, he allowed me to stay at his place for a few months while I got myself established. I knew of one girl around my age when I moved to Florida, and she was a real estate agent. She showed me four apartment complexes, all places she'd show her sister, and I picked the one with the most natural sunlight. The master closet was big enough for a controlled cartwheel. There was a laundry pantry in the kitchen. There was so much space in that apartment that I had multiple empty cabinets. So that's why I moved to Florida, the specific city within Florida, and the specific apartment complex.

8. Will you please post a comment or two on my blog? :)
Already done!

Not a Mommy Blogger

But I am still giddy that yesterday I got to spend as much time as I wanted at Target. I wandered up and down ALL the aisles. On both floors. Earlier in the day I'd met a friend for lunch in the suburbs. Target was in walking distance, and right next to the train station. So I went.

When I lived in Florida I lived about a block away from a Target. I used to do all my greeting card shopping there. And my candle shopping. And my care packages shopping. And almost all of my drugstore shopping.

One of the few things I don't like about living in San Francisco is that there isn't a Target here. Since moving here, any time I've gone to Target it's been with other people. Don't get me wrong - I greatly appreciate the rides there and love going places with friends. But I'm one of those people who feels like, if you're doing me a favor, I should be as un-inconvenient to you as humanly possible. So I scurry around grabbing the products I need as quickly as I can, so you won't have to wait even one second for me.

So yesterday it felt luxurious to leisurely wander around, looking at product after product. Nobody was waiting for me. Nobody was distracting me. I had nowhere to be later in the day. This wasn't something I thought I missed. On the train home though, I couldn't stop grinning. I was so happy!

Even though I spent less than $30, and bought things like saline and bandaids, it was still a great time.

Just Proving My Point

A while ago it was my mom's birthday. That night, after I called to wish her a happy birthday, I called Golden Boy to remind him to do the same, figuring he might have forgotten since he's been working crazy hours lately.

He laughed and told me, "In true Golden Boy fashion I already called her this morning."

Of course you did.

Dammit Jim, I'm Not a Doctor

I'm really fucking brilliant. No seriously, I am. I solved the problem in Haiti of all those parent-less kids and all the people who had their homes destroyed. Nobody listens to me of course, which is why the world is not benefiting from my problem-solving solutions. But if someone were to ask me, I'd have answers ready. Just saying.

However. I am not a doctor. I'm not POTUS. Plainly put, I'm nobody important. A little over a decade ago, when the car I had was dying out, at one point I said to my father, "I feel like I either need a new car, or a cell phone for when the entire bottom of my car falls out while I'm going 60 mph on the Northern State or Meadowbrook Parkway."

I got a new car. I didn't get a cell phone until a couple of months after 9/11. When I first got it, I used to keep it off all the time and only turn it on when I had to call someone. Texting is blocked on my phone. If I need to tell someone something, I can call them. Or it can wait. Despite being the MTV generation, I don't actually need instant gratification.

So today when I realized my phone had accidentally been left at home while I was out running errands, it was not a catastrophe. I did not ask to borrow a stranger's phone. I did not rush home. I have seen people freak out upon realizing they left their cell phone at home. This does not compute. Who do these people think they are that they're so important that they must be reachable all the time? It amazes me to see the level of freaking out that people do when they either can't reach someone they know has a cell phone, or when they either don't have their cell phone or have it but it doesn't work for whatever reason.

Once, back when I lived in Florida, I was babysitting for my friend while she and her husband were going into Miami for a wedding. It was the first time they were leaving the baby with a non-family member. I was going to be with the baby for a minimum of seven hours. Less than two hours after my friend left, she'd come back home.

Why? Because she didn't have cell reception at the wedding location. She drove an hour back home because she'd worked herself into a tizzy that something would go wrong and I'd not be able to (handle it or) reach her. She told me this, and I said to her, "You left the wedding invitation here - if I couldn't reach you on your cell phone, I would have just called the wedding place and asked them to get you. You know, as if it were 1991 back when only drug dealers had cell phones the size of bricks." She got a sheepish look on her face and admitted to having panicked.

Yes, there are fewer pay phones these days, I acknowledge that. But really, if you can't go out for a few hours without fully paying attention to the people you're with, rather than all the people you can reach*, then yeah, I think that's a problem. The world will not come to a screeching halt just because you're out of touch for a while.

It's not that I want to go live in an isolated cabin in the woods and only engage with others once a month when I go into town for supplies or anything. Don't get me wrong - I absolutely see both the value and the fun of having a cell phone. My issue is simply with the level of panic I see people have when cell phones are not available to them.

*This does not include actual doctors or people whose job includes being available 24/7.

Fucking With You Through Facebook

In high school I was best friends with a girl named Lauryn who was devious, manipulative, and, I eventually realized, basically a sociopath who never tired of fucking with people, though I never saw her abuse any animals. Lauryn was also tons of fun, which was why I liked her.

Also in high school, I had a huge crush on a guy two grades ahead of me. He of course, had no interest in me at all. He was a huge player and hooked up with pretty much every girl in the school including Lauryn, except me and Gara, the girl who once had a temper tantrum so dramatic that she stepped inside a garbage pail of her own volition.

Even after I switched to a different high school towards the end of tenth grade, I still maintained my crush. I don't know where (or if) he went to college. I'd heard he knocked up a girl a few towns over. When I lived in Florida, at one point I reconnected with Lauryn, we got together two or three times, and one day she told me she'd bumped into my crush and he was married with a kid.

She asked if I'd talked with him and I said no, not since high school. Lauryn seemed a tiny bit triumphant that she'd had contact with him and I hadn't. I didn't like the person Lauryn had (not) grown up to be, and when I moved to San Francisco I didn't tell her and we haven't had contact since.

This afternoon I logged into Facebook and saw a friend request from Lauryn. I actually wasn't sure who she was at first, because I'd forgotten her married name. My usual M.O. is to accept a friend request from everyone I know, whether or not I want to be in touch with them, to be nice. If I don't really want to and am doing it anyway, I just block them from being able to see anything in my Facebook profile or wall, and let them think I'm simply not very involved in Facebook.

I was so surprised at seeing Lauryn's name that I didn't accept her friend request this afternoon. Tonight, I logged into Facebook again, and again, saw her name. I clicked on it to see who else she is friends with. Only one person. I'll give you one guess who. I almost wonder if she did that on purpose. Once again proving she can get what I couldn't. Weird.

It's All Just Too Much

A. The trip to Mexico
B. The move
C. How it ended with 9am
D. The new roommate
E. The new 'hood
F. The future of well, my future

You decide.

Where Are You?

I could add to this, or I could just let it all spill out here. Since I haven't blogged in a while, we'll go with here. Here's where I am.

For the first time this year, on Thursday and Friday I worked. That'll get it's own blog post, because it was just that juicy. I'll just say now that I hate the way the firm is run, but if they had any job openings I'd apply faster than you can say "lawsuit" because there are no coins in my can to shake as people walk by.

My lease ends in July. Looking online, I saw that my apartment complex is advertising apartments just like mine for $500 less than I pay. On Friday evening, 9am told me commuting to San Mateo isn't working out for him, and he's moving out by March 1st. Each month I barely scrape together my rent of $1700 (oh yeah, that's right). So there's no way I can afford to pay both my rent AND his rent come March 1st.

You want to tell me to break my lease, and just move out now, I know. But I can't afford to move. To hire movers. And despite having more friends here than I did in Florida and New York, I don't have friends who would help me move. Just people who are friendly enough to say, "Wow, yeah moving sucks, good luck!" I can't afford a security deposit - the one I gave here was only for $99 because they were running a special. Plus, what landlord would rent to someone who has no income?

What about unemployment? Well, that runs out in about 11 weeks. Unless Obama's stimulus thing is going to stimulate unemployment benefits within the next two and a half months.

So as of March 1, I can't afford to live here. But I can't afford to move. I have nowhere to go. Oh wait. Except. Except that Friday night (I know, it's quite the exciting life) while on the phone with my parents, they said I am welcome to move in with them. In Florida. Land of Humidity.

You may see how desperate things are that I am considering this (no offense, Mom & Dad). I had a lot of questions. How would things work? How much rent would I have to pay you? Would you be treating me like your child or like a roommate who you just happen to know very well? How long do you intend for this to be? My parents had no answers. My father suggested I write out all my questions and e-mail them so he and my mother can discuss and present a united front.

I love living in San Francisco. As much as I complain about it, I love it. I've made better friends here than I've ever had in my life. I love that I went from not really "getting" why gay people were gay at all, to getting all teary when talking about why gay rights are so important. I love the Farmer's Market, even though I haven't gone in over a year. I love that (extremely) slowly, the bus lines are coming together for me. I love that I'm almost ready to buy clothing in a used clothing store. I love living in a city where you can meet up with a friend, go hiking, and come out of the woods to find yourself overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

And I don't care - I'd give it all up in a heartbeat. Really, I'd walk away from it and go South. I can always move back here later. I could deal with frizzy hair again, rain every afternoon, being surrounded by capri pants, and living in Jeb Bush Land.

Could I deal with being stranded in a house with my mother in the suburbs all day, every day? Could I deal with being asked where I'm going by my mother every time I get up from a chair? Could I deal with having to be present for my parent's fighting?

Yes. I do. Because I'd have to. What I'm not sure I could deal with is living there and having just as hard a time trying to get a job there as I'm having here. That is my biggest hesitation in saying I'm moving back to Florida. Sure, I wouldn't be paying $1700 in rent. I'll have stopped going as far into debt as fast as I am now.

I am severely depressed right now. My room is a wreck. Right now, on my bed there are two messenger bags, a towel, a sweater, a makeup case, a copy of a timesheet, a scarf, and me. There's a huge mess of papers and magazines on the floor that I can't seem to sort through. There's a stack of books to be donated to the library on the floor. I am having trouble eating. Not just because I have become permanently nauseous as of a few months ago. But I keep getting paralyzed by indecision and can't plan which meals to eat when in order to keep food from going bad. The battery on my watch died. I'm wearing it anyway, because I feel naked without a watch.

I flit around my apartment unable to tackle any one issue, overwhelmed by how many there are. I need someone to swoop in and fix it all, but there is noone. I have nobody. Each day last week I meant to go to the library. I never went. Why? Couldn't say.

Meanwhile everyone around me keeps moving forward. Planning and going on vacations. Buying new gadgets, new clothes, new whatevers. "What do you mean, you've never been to Tahoe?" they ask me. "Well where do you go for vacation?" I go to New York for open heart surgery, or Florida for a 90th birthday party for a man who will die three months later.

So I sit, looking out my window at the rain, waiting for somebody to tell me what to do, since apparently I can't make any good decisions, as all of mine have gotten me to this point.

Thank You

Thank you all for the outpouring of love over my grandpa's death, which came in the form of early-morning phone calls, e-mails, blog-posts, Facebook wall messages, and all other manner of communication. I especially appreciate the people who said something despite not knowing what to say, because I know how hard it is to communicate the act of a big hug with no words via the internet.

Wojapi, over the last week I have wanted to spew Grandpa stories, feelings about what's been happening, and talk about how the last week has gone. However, doing that would involve spewing stuff about members of my family who are alive and know how to read, and they don't like that. Mama Nabi, one of the phrases my grandpa said to me often when things didn't work out the way I wanted/needed was, "You are slated for better things." It may be a cliche, it may be some trite phrase he got off a forture cookie and wrote down in his perfect handwriting, but it made me feel better when he'd say it. Hope is a powerful thing. You are slated for better love, MN. We won't let you accept anything less than you deserve, and it will come.

Loose Ends (In My Brain)

- So remember Christian Siriano, on Project Runway? You know, the young gay guy with funky hair? Well, he has a boyfriend, Brad Walsh. I follow Brad on Twitter and read this morning that Christian would like to send some dresses to Michelle. Obama. You know, that woman whose husband is going to be POTUS? Yeah, her. If anyone has a direct connection...

- While I am beyond elated that you know, yes we did, I am having a hard time believing it's really real. I am more excited about this than I was at going to Disney for the first time. And that's not just because I ran into my sixth-grade teacher at Sea World while holding three dead fish to go feed to the dolphins.

- With this elation comes worry. I'm scared of an assassination attempt. Can we donate money to the Secret Service?

- In his acceptance speech, Obama told his daughters he will get them a puppy when they move to the White House. Mr. Obama, please consider me for all your dog-sitting needs. I can provide references.

- Lastly, I'd like to throw out a big what the fuck regarding California's Prop 8. I'm very disappointed. While I know it is not a gracious thing to insult those who think differently, I can't help but feel that people who voted YES must be stupid. I don't say this as an insult, though I know it is one, I say it because I feel surely those people must just not understand what they're saying.

People are BORN gay. It's not a choice. You come out (literally) into the world, and it's just ... inside you. It's not a decision, but an inevitability. Kind of like with hair color. Can you imagine if the bible said anyone with blonde hair should not be allowed to marry? It would be laughed at, and everyone would stand around agreeing that while the bible has some interesting things, clearly it has not kept up with the times. Except not everyone would, and that's just one more example of why I think critical thinking should be taught in public schools.

Joseph, The Partner Who Got Fired - Part 4

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Joseph, as I told you, had previously had his own law firm in Miami before coming on as a partner in this firm. So it's understandable that he had some ... adjustment issues. I have a feeling Joseph did not do well in kindergarten, because despite explaining the system to him over and over, he refused to share the conference room next door to his office.

Here's how it works in most midsize or large law firms: when you want a conference room for your lawyer you find out when they want it, for how long, for how many people, and if they need anything special (projection screen, laptop, IT dude on standby, drinks, lunch, etc.) and you either call the receptionist to give them that info, or you log onto a program on the intranet and reserve the conference room that fits your needs.

Obviously, you can not bump someone from a conference room without asking them first. Also, the general understanding is that when lunch is brought in for a meeting, once that meeting has ended, the leftover food is up for grabs to all employees. I have actually seen emails go out that say "Free food in Camo Conf. Room" fairly regularly.

Joseph didn't want to share the conference room. And he only wanted to use the one next to his office. Often we had to spread things out, and it's common to use a table in a conference room for the space. But it's also common to clean up when you're finished. And if you're not going to finish any time soon, the right thing is to make sure nobody's going to be needing that conference room. Partially because it's unprofessional for clients to see a mess, but also because of confidentiality issues.

Joseph didn't care. The partners had a standing reservation for the conference room across from me, and Joseph often asked me to have them moved. No. You can't do that. You just simply can not. He also had a habit of using the conference room when nobody was there, and if someone came by during their reserved time, rather than scooping everything up and leaving, Joseph would suggest to them that they find another conference room to use.

Once we had a client come to a meeting from Columbia. He brought his whole family. This was one of my favorite clients - he worked for a company that hired him to invent airplane parts to make planes more aerodynamic and we'd patent them, but every so often he'd get bored with that and go crazy by inventing a better golf ball or something. We'd patent those inventions also, and bill him instead of his company for those. In all honesty, I think he brought his sons to the meeting to translate for him.

A lot of people were at this meeting, and I ordered a huge lunch for it. I also reserved a small conference room next door to the one we were using, and had a tv and vcr put in there in case the boys got bored and wanted to go watch tv. Joseph wanted me to attend this meeting, so I did. The client had been Joseph's client for years, and stayed with him through the move to the firm. Yet when he arrived, Joseph pulled me aside and angrily hissed, "Why don't you speak spanish?!" before turning away to shake hands with the wife.

Julie and I looked at each other in shock, and I pantamimed pulling something out of my ass before running off to see if there was a secretary available to come translate. Joseph KNEW I didn't speak Spanish. I know how to say, "The attorney is not here," and "I'm sorry, I do not understand," and "One minute, please" and that's all. Wait, I also know how to ask where the library is, thanks to Golden Boy, but it's rare you have to ask that at work. After the meeting Joseph told me to make sure the leftovers were packaged and put into a refrigerator clearly labled with the date and "IP Department ONLY." Julie gently asked him if it woudn't be better to let people know there were leftovers so that if they'd had to work through lunch they could grab something quickly. No.

Oh! Did I mention that Joseph called his parents by their first names? I don't need to point out to you that Joseph was not a 14 year-old girl amusing herself by calling her mother Marilyn. He simply decided when he became a lawyer that it's not professional to call your parents anything but their first names. His mom dropped by a few times, and we used to use his dad as a messenger, so Julie and I knew Joseph's parents. His dad actually told us one day he missed being called dad, so from then on that's what Julie and I called him.

Joseph continued to refuse to share the conference room, continued to offend his partners, and continued to have privacy and control issues. Frankly, he did not play well with others. And that is why ultimately, Joseph was asked to leave the firm. On a Friday afternoon. He walked out to never go back. He had movers come in to take his things, and Joseph reverted to private practice. Months later Julie left the firm to go work for him part time (she had a baby by then). The end.

Joseph, The Partner Who Got Fired - Part 3

Part one, part two.

There's something else I want to mention. Joseph's real name is not Joseph, but I chose it for a specific reason - it's a name that can be shortened to another commonly used name. Joseph was always the full Joseph. In fact, if anyone ever called asking for Joe, I knew to take it as a sign they were not close enough to be talking to him.

This is not a hard and fast rule, but in general, more than 50% of the time, it's a bad sign when a guy never EVER wants to be called the shorter version of their name. Not even in the midst of a joke, not even ever. In my experience, these people are control freaks. (Obviously, there are exceptions. It's something I keep in the back of my mind though, when I meet someone who tells me his name is Robert.)

Let's talk about 9/11. Joseph knew I was from New York. On September 11th, when I walked into work Julie, the secretary who sat next to me, told me a plane had crashed into the WTC. The secretary who sat on the other side of me was also from NY, and had a radio on at her desk. I listened in horror for half a minute or so, and then went to another floor where I knew there was a television.

Julie, her boss, and I stood in a conference room while we watched the second plane hit, while we watched both towers crumble. "This is going to start a war," the lawyer mumbled. I ran back to my desk, called my mother, and woke her up to ask if my father was in the city that day. I called my brother, and called a few relatives, both checking on people and letting other relatives know when I knew family members were safe.

While I was doing this, the conference room across from me was being used for an impromptu emergency meeting. In major cities across the country bomb threats were being called in, buildings were being evacuated. By 10:00 a.m., the door to the conference room opened, and lawyers started streaming out. There were rumors all over the place. The building is closing. The building is going on lock down. The firm is closing for the day. The firm is closing at 3pm.

I went over to the secretary from New York and she told me an e-mail was going out shortly. She was from Queens, and I asked about her family. We walked back to my desk together and while Joseph was standing nearby, she asked about mine.

Joseph started giving me a list of files he wanted put in a box, having all of us rush around, packing documents so he'd be able to work at home. At no point did he ever say, "Hey, you're from New York - is YOUR family okay?" Other people were walking by in shock, and people who barely knew me were asking. But not Joseph. He was busy flashing his shit-eating grin about the whole situation. There was a weird disconnect - it almost seemed like he was excited (which yes, I know some people can't deal with extreme stress and all - I used to smile a lot when I was nervous but that was when I was five). This kind of has nothing to do with anything, other than giving you a broader picture of Joseph's personality.

Joseph, The Partner Who Got Fired - Part 2

Part 1.

Joseph was very nice initially. When I first started working for him, I noticed pictures in his office of two little girls. He told me that his daughters had just gone away to sleepaway camp for the first time. Someone else told me that Joseph was on his third marriage. He had a cell phone (this is 2000-2001) that he carried around with him at all times. Wife and children called on there - almost never on his work line.

Joseph had a shit-eating grin he'd flash, and I recognized it because I also have one. A good shit-eating grin will get the other person to smile back at you. You'll get mine when we're being silly, when I've come up with the most ridiculous and outrageous idea. Joseph would flash his when he wanted you to agree with or believe him. Mine is always genuine. Joseph's was never genuine.

At some point Joseph went away on vacation. Right before he left, Joseph gestured to me to come talk with him in his office. "It's nobody's business where I am or that I'm not here, okay? So each morning, I want you to open the door, turn on the lights, turn on my computer. If anyone asks, you can just say I'm at an out-of-office meeting." Ever the consummate professional, I said alright and walked away.

Every morning while Joseph was on vacation I opened his office door, turned on the lights, and fired up his computer.

Let's just stop and talk about the door. Joseph kept his door closed. Most attorneys don't. They close their door when they're with a client. They close their door when the hallway is loud, or when they need to concentrate, or just when they want to send a message to their coworkers that they don't want to be bothered.

There is security in law offices. I've never EVER gotten to live out the cliche of running after someone screaming, "You can't go in there!" You will have to trust me when I tell you there was no reason for Joseph to always be closing his office door.

But whatever. I did what my boss wanted. Attorneys need to account for their time. Law firms require this, even for partners (especially for partners since their time is worth more money). In some firms lawyers are fined if they do not submit their time. They get strongly worded e-mails from the managing partner. Paychecks are sometimes withheld. Entering time is serious business.

There are codes when entering time. Vacation, sick day, CLE (continuing legal education), training, etc. So while Joseph was on vacation I entered the vacation code in the time management program. So he wouldn't get fined or receive angry e-mails.

When Joseph returned from vacation and saw that I'd done that, he got very angry at me. "I told you it's nobody's business when I go on vacation! Erase the codes!" I apologized, erased the codes, and explained that his time had to be accounted for, that Accounting would be calling if I didn't enter something. Joseph stood firm.

Naturally, Accounting called. I went to talk with them in person. And you know what I did? I threw Joseph under the bus, and told them he insisted I not put in any time for those days. When they pressed me for further information, I apologized and said they should speak with him directly. So they did. And Joseph stood in the hallway and yelled at the head of Accounting, that he was a PARTNER and would not be told what to do. When it was explained this was a firm policy for all lawyers, not just associates, Joseph stood firm.

The managing partner's secretary called me about time entry. I told her I was instructed not to enter any time for those dates. Julie, the secretary sitting next to me, kept laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Ultimately, the managing partner actually DID come down the hallway, and they had a closed door conversation. When they came out the managing partner looked right at me. I'd temped for him and thought he hadn't liked me, but as our eyes met, he smirked and rolled his eyes.

Well alrighty then. I was just happy to know it was understood that I didn't screw up. Because that's a common secretarial screwup - to forget to enter time for lawyers.

Oh, let me toss in another thing for you to know about Joseph. On one hand, I had an awful desk - it was right in front of the bathrooms on that floor. But on the other hand, it was a great location. Why? Right across from my desk was the conference used for partners meetings, executive committee meetings, etc. So I often knew what was going to happen at the firm before it happened.

Joseph knew that this conference room, right next to his office, held these meetings. And he came right up to me and said in a joking manner, something along the lines of, "hey, if you hear of anything I'd be interested in knowing, remember who you work for." Yeah, I remember - I work for the firm.

A few weeks after Joseph said this to me, he had an interesting client meeting. It was wrapping up in the hallway when another partner happened by and caught the end of the conversation. Once Joseph had walked the client to the elevators and come back, the partner asked about the case. Joseph gave him a shit-eating grin and told him, "Sorry. Attorney-client confidentiality."

Okay. This is not right. When you become a partner in a law firm, it's like becoming a member of a fraternity (or sorority!) - you're all in it together. So this was a HUGE slap in the face. It was also ironic, considering Joseph had asked me to feed him confidential information.

Joseph, The Partner Who Got Fired - Part 1

Twenty comments. You guys always come out of the woodwork when I throw something up here that invites voting. Practicing for November, huh? Though for all I know someone is corrupt and all you anons are really just one person. So you want to hear about Joseph, the partner in South Florida who got fired. Alrighty. I need a break from all this election shit, and maybe you do too, so let's talk about how shit went down in Florida. And Meeks? Here ya go. One, Two, Three, Four, Five.

I had temped at this firm previously, and liked them just fine. They're one of the biggest firms in Florida, and when I interviewed with the HR guy we'd already known each other from my temping days. (See? Different coast, same job problems. You really can't run away from yourself.) He had me sit in the little interview room next to his office while he went to fetch Joseph. All I knew was that it was IP (intellectual property) law, the guy had previously had his own practice, lived in Miami, and had come to the firm as a partner.

And then I met Joseph. He was jewish, with clean fingernails and a big smile, and was what I call "dad-age." I flashed a jewy smile back at him, and we chatted. "Have you worked in patent law before?" "No, but I hadn't worked in Florida before I moved here either," I tossed out, displaying a confidence I didn't really have. Joseph explained that he'd just come to the firm recently, and the department was small, but hopefully growing. He did patent law, had a female attorney who did trademarks, and he was excited. I nodded eagerly, "It sounds really exciting." I am such a kiss ass in an interview, it's disgusting. And yet I keep doing it, because it totally works.

Right when I started, like the first day or two, Joseph stressed to me the need for confidentiality. Most attorneys do this. Just a breezy thing in passing. "Hey, you know you're bound by the same confidentiality I'm bound by, right? Okay, just making sure." No big deal. He had stacks and stacks of files all around the floor of his office. Pointing to the files, I asked if he wanted them filed. No. He wanted to go through them - they were client files from his private practice and needed to be incorporated into the current firm's file format. I offered to come in on a Saturday, and help. Overtime is my friend.

The next bright Saturday morning found me driving through downtown Fort Lauderdale, on Broward Boulevard, feeling slightly uncomfortable without the homeless guy on the church steps. He used to ask everyone for change as they walked to the parking garage a block and a half away, Brasserie, Las Olas Boulevard, during rush hour. Once a lawyer was walking in front of me when he got asked for change. The lawyer leaned toward the homeless guy, and said, "Change comes from within," and kept walking. Since I felt like I'd just been punched in the chest, it's hard to imagine how that homeless guy felt.

I crossed the street, stumbling into the side entrance of the building (which was a Starbucks), and Nat, the gay owner rushed right over, asking if I was okay. Words escaped me. Shaking my head I gestured towards the lawyer in front of me who was striding to the elevator banks, and gave his back my middle finger. Nat was cool. He'd been there a long time, and just nodded to me. "He never tips either." I never gave that homeless guy on the church steps any money, but I always looked him in the eyes and said, "No, sorry," which is what I say these days too.

It would make a good story if I told you that attorney was Joseph, but that's not true. I just wanted to mention this homeless guy because he was the first one I interacted with on a regular basis in my life. That church had a daycare, and a fenced playground. Each day when leaving work the kids would be outside playing and screaming. I don't know if other people liked it or not, but I did. I liked to imagine they were screaming with glee that work was over for the day.

Estate Trust Asset Recovery

Disclaimer: This is not legal advice. I am not a lawyer. Nothing I say should be taken as legal advice. I will laugh when you trip.

Now for a little housekeeping. About once a week I check some of my stats. Every single month multiple people are finding my blog by googling about estate trust asset recovery. Because I blogged about it once.

Here's what happened. You are owed money for something. In my case, it was car insurance that I canceled. You did not collect the money you were owed for whatever reason. The company that owed you the money somehow neglected to get it to you for whatever reason. That money then gets turned over to the state. In my case, the state was Florida. The state keeps lists of who is owed money, and how much they are owed.

Some companies (also known as law firms) acquire (buy? steal? probably buy) these lists. They then contact the people who are owed money and offer to get the money to them. That's the letter you're getting from a company or law firm that you don't recognize, saying it wants to give you money.

Legal? Yes. The catch? Yes, there is one. For this service, of getting your money from the state and getting it to you, this company or law firm is going to take a fee. A percentage of that money.

Legal? Yes.

I am cheap in that way though, so I decided to bypass the law firms (oh yes, more than one company or law firm can buy the same lists and more than one contacted me) and try to get my money myself. And I did. You can too.

You're welcome. This has not been legal advice. I am still not a lawyer. I look forward to you tripping, and welcome stories from you about people you saw trip.

Gone Fishing

Okay not really. I don't do things like touch worms. But I have gone to South Florida. I was going to put up a nice picture of the area for you, but pictures of the beach didn't speak to me, nor did the waterways or the setting sun or any of those traditional shots.

So instead, I am going back to basics. Psychology 101. You're going to Florida for the weekend. And how does that make you feel?

Percolating

I hate holding back. I always do it, yet I hate it. You know what pisses me off? That the Chinese are cheating. See, it wouldn't piss me off as much if some less powerful place were cheating. Because I'd understand. You would too. It still wouldn't be right, of course, but we'd understand.

But China is CHINA. They are strong and powerful. They are fucking workhorses. They are motivated and determined and don't need to cheat. But they are. And because of that, while once I was all, ehh, I'm not that impressed with this year's crop of Olympic gymnasts, now I'm all go Shawn Johnson.

You know what else pisses me off? Coinstar. Granted, I'm not the most popular girl around, so yes, you could say I have more time on my hands than most to sit around rolling my coins (which sounds like a euphemism but isn't). But, I used to work like 65 hours a week and even then I found time to sort and roll rather than dumping them into a machine that does it for me and then takes a percentage of that money.

Especially the people who have kids - great way to teach them about money, wouldn't you say? I can't help but wonder - are the people who claim not to have time the same people who are in debt? What did people do before things like coin-counting machines existed? They simply found the time, right?

I wonder about this. What is everyone so busy doing? Is everyone afflicted with fomo? It's all how you prioritize. People think they're so busy, but really ... maybe everyone's just busy making sure they look busy. Yesterday I worked at a desk covering three attorneys. My phone rang just once, and it was the person who signs my timecard. No mail was sent out, no pleadings were filed. Granted, this doesn't mean the attorneys were not busy. A lot gets done via e-mail these days. But they didn't need me there.

When I first started working, I felt really uncomfortable as the 21 year-old in an office full of "real" grownups, especially when they'd talk about holidays. "What are you doing for Labor Day Weekend, Green?" Nothing. "What do you have going on for the three-day weekend?" Same shit I normally have going on for two-day weekends. These people all went into the city or out to the Hamptons and had elaborate plans for meeting up with other people that necessitated shopping trips at Roosevelt Field on their lunch hours.

So much pressure to have something happening. Now when I smile and say, "Just relaxing," people are jealous and tell me about how they have to run here and there and satisfy all the different friends and family members. Though to them "relaxing" probably involves spas and nail salons and massages and wine and eating fancy food. To me "relaxing" just means reading a good library book, going for a walk, sorting the mail, and maybe getting some laundry done.

I was chatting with someone last night and at one point realized I can't remember the last time I had a crush. At some point while living in Florida, I simply stepped back from the rat race of life. I'm no longer competing with society. I stopped competing because I realized I would never win. Sometimes I forget I'm not competing, but then a homeless man will spit at my feet when I walk by and it reminds me of my place.

It's All Her Fault

Wide Lawn's link made me pee my pants. Century Village is an actual old-people community in ... shit, not Lake Worth ... ummm.... well, somewhere. My point is, it's real. (And I think I recognized that lady on the right named Evelyn.)

Excuse me while I go change my pants.

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.