Last night at dinner, my friend Brian told us 2 stories. One story involved him describing a past sexual encounter, during which someone did something to him for one minute. I don't really want to get into it. But it was such an awkward and uncomfortable image that Brad & I found ourselves timing out one minute on a clock to see just how long this something went on for. We decided that one minute is a very, very long time.
The other story was about his parents' recent visit. They stopped by the department store where he works, selling men's shoes. Brian hasn't exactly told his parents that he's gay, but claims that "they have to know." I would agree.
While they talked with their son in the shoe department, Brian waved at someone. "You know...I waved like this...like real cute like I do." His parents fell silent. Was this it? Had the 'gay wave' tipped the scales? Did the family officially "know" now? Would Christmas ever be the same again?
In his moment of panic, Brian did what anyone would.
"I looked down, grabbed a really butch pair of sandals, and said, 'I really like these.' My parents started talking again, and everything was fine."
Yes, Brian. Everything is fine.
2.27.2008
2.25.2008
That's not ironic, Alanis, that's just unfortunate.
We all have our vices.
Troy has beer.
Brad has gin & sex with men.
I have internet TV.
My Dad has movies with talking animals.
We deal with them as best we can.
Around Christmas time, Troy and I were out in the suburbs, doing some strange and intense Christmas baking with friends. Troy got lit, and at about 1:00am, grabbed his keys to drive home. Every time this happens, we try to talk him out of driving. We do this for at least 10 minutes, which is an eternity when you're trying to talk a drunk person out of driving. And every time, he insists that he's fine...that he "stopped drinking an hour ago" and that he's "been drinking a ton of water." On this particular night, a Christmas Miracle actually convinced him to leave his car in suburbs and to catch a sober ride home with me and Brad. He left his little red car all alone on the empty street, with the promise that I'd drive him back out to it the next morning.
In the early morning hours, when we were all gradually waking up, crawling out of bed to retrieve cereal, and crawling back into bed to eat cereal...a very small suburban woman in a very large SUV plowed into Troy's car, crushing it's door. And it's frame. And it's soul. And any possibility that Troy would ever accept a sober ride home again.
That's not ironic. That's just unfortunate.
A female friend of mine would probably claim sex as her vice. She loves it. Can't get enough. Day, night, weekdays, weekends, in-state, out-of-state, young guys, old guys, married guys, co-workers... Sex. Has to have it.
For DECADES, she's had indiscriminate and unsafe sex with men all over the country with, as far as we can tell, no consequences. For the new year, however, she made a few resolutions to facilitate her transition from being The Girl You Fuck into being The Girl You Marry.
They're good resolutions...healthy ones. No married men, No sex until at least 3 proper dates have been had, etc. It's near the end of February, and she's been following the rules. This is amazing, because it naturally means that she's been going without sex. At the very least, she's going with a lot less sex than she's accustomed to having. In fact, she's only slept with one person in 2008, and she did it without breaking any of her resolutions.
She has chlamydia.
Troy has beer.
Brad has gin & sex with men.
I have internet TV.
My Dad has movies with talking animals.
We deal with them as best we can.
Around Christmas time, Troy and I were out in the suburbs, doing some strange and intense Christmas baking with friends. Troy got lit, and at about 1:00am, grabbed his keys to drive home. Every time this happens, we try to talk him out of driving. We do this for at least 10 minutes, which is an eternity when you're trying to talk a drunk person out of driving. And every time, he insists that he's fine...that he "stopped drinking an hour ago" and that he's "been drinking a ton of water." On this particular night, a Christmas Miracle actually convinced him to leave his car in suburbs and to catch a sober ride home with me and Brad. He left his little red car all alone on the empty street, with the promise that I'd drive him back out to it the next morning.
In the early morning hours, when we were all gradually waking up, crawling out of bed to retrieve cereal, and crawling back into bed to eat cereal...a very small suburban woman in a very large SUV plowed into Troy's car, crushing it's door. And it's frame. And it's soul. And any possibility that Troy would ever accept a sober ride home again.
That's not ironic. That's just unfortunate.
A female friend of mine would probably claim sex as her vice. She loves it. Can't get enough. Day, night, weekdays, weekends, in-state, out-of-state, young guys, old guys, married guys, co-workers... Sex. Has to have it.
For DECADES, she's had indiscriminate and unsafe sex with men all over the country with, as far as we can tell, no consequences. For the new year, however, she made a few resolutions to facilitate her transition from being The Girl You Fuck into being The Girl You Marry.
They're good resolutions...healthy ones. No married men, No sex until at least 3 proper dates have been had, etc. It's near the end of February, and she's been following the rules. This is amazing, because it naturally means that she's been going without sex. At the very least, she's going with a lot less sex than she's accustomed to having. In fact, she's only slept with one person in 2008, and she did it without breaking any of her resolutions.
She has chlamydia.
2.23.2008
Reconsidering my career as a defense lawyer.
Last night, some of the guys were talking about our mutual friend/acquaintance, Rachel. In short, they think that Rachel is an obnoxious drunk who crosses the Fancy Line of Decorum expected at certain parties. Brad and I disagree. Rachel spices things up, and I have a soft spot for tiny mouthy people. Brad jumped to her defense, and as he was being sternly refuted by the guys, I tried to quickly think of something more to add on her behalf. When an opening presented itself, all I could come up with was,
"Well, there was that one time she called Jen a cunt."
Yes, everyone agreed. Yes, there was that.
"Well, there was that one time she called Jen a cunt."
Yes, everyone agreed. Yes, there was that.
2.19.2008
Year of Unfortunate Lawyer
As 2008 approached, Brad and I decided to get serious about some New Year's Resolutions. These weren't just a couple of off-hand goals that we tossed around to soon forget. These were concrete, life-altering, quantifiable changes that were going to happen, thus making 2008 the "Year of Brad" and the "Year of Unfortunate Lawyer."
I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that it's February 25, and I have followed exactly zero of these "resolutions." But not only am I not the Improved Unfortunate Lawyer that I had hoped to be -- I am now an enormous liar as well.
Because Brad is a good friend, he questions me about how the Year of Unfortunate Lawyer is progressing. Here's how these conversations go:
Brad: I worked out this morning - you?
Me: Yep. And last night.
Brad: Have you been following that budget you made?
Me: Sure am. And I'm paying off that credit card, too.
Brad: How's your writing coming along?
Me: Really well.
I have big plans for 2009. Resolution: When talking to Brad about how resolutions are going, throw in some "failures" to make "successes" seem more believable.
I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that it's February 25, and I have followed exactly zero of these "resolutions." But not only am I not the Improved Unfortunate Lawyer that I had hoped to be -- I am now an enormous liar as well.
Because Brad is a good friend, he questions me about how the Year of Unfortunate Lawyer is progressing. Here's how these conversations go:
Brad: I worked out this morning - you?
Me: Yep. And last night.
Brad: Have you been following that budget you made?
Me: Sure am. And I'm paying off that credit card, too.
Brad: How's your writing coming along?
Me: Really well.
I have big plans for 2009. Resolution: When talking to Brad about how resolutions are going, throw in some "failures" to make "successes" seem more believable.
2.15.2008
I am karma's bitch.
I break up with everyone I know each Valentine's Day. The 4 preceding posts are the break-up letters from the past 4 years. Because I broke so many hearts yesterday, I became karma's bitch at exactly 4:35pm. Here's a rough schedule of my Valentine's Day 2008:
2:00pm - Meet with Client outside courtroom. Client is 40 years old, mentally ill, and has had a legal guardian and conservator for years. Client lives at a hospital domiciliary an hour from the courthouse.
2:30pm - Hearing begins. Client's guardian tries to have her committed to residential psychiatric care. I argue that Client is just FINE, and should be living independently.
2:31pm - Judge decides that Client and I will lose this case, but lets me argue for another 2 hours anyway.
3:30pm - Client's boyfriend (and ride back to the domiciliary) is taken away from the courthouse in handcuffs due to 1 outstanding felony warrant and 1 mean-spirited phone call to the sheriff by Client's evil sister.
4:30pm - Courthouse officially closes.
4:35pm - Client adjudged mentally incompetent, in need of continued guardianship, and committed to a residential psychiatric care facility.
4:36pm - Hysterical crying.
4:37pm - Client realizes her boyfriend is gone. More crying.
4:38pm - I realize there is no one to drive Client back to the hospital domiciliary but me. Client still crying. Now I feel like crying, too.
4:45pm - Attempting to think of someone...anyone...who doesn't have plans on Valentine's Day who can come with me.
4:46pm - Call Brad, who has plans after all. Shit.
4:50pm - In the car. Client, crying, insists she knows how to get home. Glance at the map and give map to Client so Client will be occupied with something for the hour-long trip.
5:00pm - Stop #1. Client rifles through purse for change to buy a soda. I offer to purchase said soda when Client is seen counting pennies, becoming frustrated, throwing pennies back into purse, and counting again. Client further requests string cheese. I oblige, thinking it is a small price to pay for an smooth and uneventful trip.
5:12pm - Stop #2. Hysterical crying episode and "smoke break".
5:20pm - Miss exit.
5:30pm - Realize we have have missed exit.
5:31pm - Gently tell Client we have missed exit, and ask to look at the map. Question received by hysterical crying and screaming, "I'M IN CHARGE OF THE MAP! I'M IN CHARGE OF THE MAP!"
5:45pm - Stop #3. Exit, park, look at map. Phone call to Brad to confirm: still alive, not killed and eaten by Client.
6:00pm - Approach mile-long dam over lake in the dark, with freezing rain. Recall that I can't see at night and am terrified of driving over bridges.
6:01pm - Start across bridge. Driving, white-knuckled and nervous, not listening to whatever Client is screaming about this time.
6:03pm - Client takes my silence as a "bad answer" to whatever question was asked. Client has "episode", slamming herself against the seat and screaming at me with her finger in my face.
6:04pm - Stop #4. Safely across bridge. Pull over to get some air. Resign to self that this is where I will surely die, at the hands of Client. Text Brad to say goodbye and to tell him that I love him.
6:30pm - Arrive at domiciliary, miraculously.
6:35pm - Talk privately with nurse about putting Client on suicide watch for the night. See nurse take Client down hall to room. Wave goodbye to client. Breathe sigh of relief.
6:47pm - Reach for keys in briefcase. Discover wallet missing.
Final scene:
7:02pm - Hospital Domiciliary Psych Ward:
3 people screaming.
Client and Nurse in a physical tug-of-war over wallet in a room with padded walls.
Nurse screaming, "Give it to me! Give it to me!"
Client screaming, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Unfortunate Lawyer, please don't send me to jail!"
Me, wildly waving my arms in the hallway screaming, "It's okay, it's okay. She can keep it!"
Happy Valentine's Day to me.
2:00pm - Meet with Client outside courtroom. Client is 40 years old, mentally ill, and has had a legal guardian and conservator for years. Client lives at a hospital domiciliary an hour from the courthouse.
2:30pm - Hearing begins. Client's guardian tries to have her committed to residential psychiatric care. I argue that Client is just FINE, and should be living independently.
2:31pm - Judge decides that Client and I will lose this case, but lets me argue for another 2 hours anyway.
3:30pm - Client's boyfriend (and ride back to the domiciliary) is taken away from the courthouse in handcuffs due to 1 outstanding felony warrant and 1 mean-spirited phone call to the sheriff by Client's evil sister.
4:30pm - Courthouse officially closes.
4:35pm - Client adjudged mentally incompetent, in need of continued guardianship, and committed to a residential psychiatric care facility.
4:36pm - Hysterical crying.
4:37pm - Client realizes her boyfriend is gone. More crying.
4:38pm - I realize there is no one to drive Client back to the hospital domiciliary but me. Client still crying. Now I feel like crying, too.
4:45pm - Attempting to think of someone...anyone...who doesn't have plans on Valentine's Day who can come with me.
4:46pm - Call Brad, who has plans after all. Shit.
4:50pm - In the car. Client, crying, insists she knows how to get home. Glance at the map and give map to Client so Client will be occupied with something for the hour-long trip.
5:00pm - Stop #1. Client rifles through purse for change to buy a soda. I offer to purchase said soda when Client is seen counting pennies, becoming frustrated, throwing pennies back into purse, and counting again. Client further requests string cheese. I oblige, thinking it is a small price to pay for an smooth and uneventful trip.
5:12pm - Stop #2. Hysterical crying episode and "smoke break".
5:20pm - Miss exit.
5:30pm - Realize we have have missed exit.
5:31pm - Gently tell Client we have missed exit, and ask to look at the map. Question received by hysterical crying and screaming, "I'M IN CHARGE OF THE MAP! I'M IN CHARGE OF THE MAP!"
5:45pm - Stop #3. Exit, park, look at map. Phone call to Brad to confirm: still alive, not killed and eaten by Client.
6:00pm - Approach mile-long dam over lake in the dark, with freezing rain. Recall that I can't see at night and am terrified of driving over bridges.
6:01pm - Start across bridge. Driving, white-knuckled and nervous, not listening to whatever Client is screaming about this time.
6:03pm - Client takes my silence as a "bad answer" to whatever question was asked. Client has "episode", slamming herself against the seat and screaming at me with her finger in my face.
6:04pm - Stop #4. Safely across bridge. Pull over to get some air. Resign to self that this is where I will surely die, at the hands of Client. Text Brad to say goodbye and to tell him that I love him.
6:30pm - Arrive at domiciliary, miraculously.
6:35pm - Talk privately with nurse about putting Client on suicide watch for the night. See nurse take Client down hall to room. Wave goodbye to client. Breathe sigh of relief.
6:47pm - Reach for keys in briefcase. Discover wallet missing.
Final scene:
7:02pm - Hospital Domiciliary Psych Ward:
3 people screaming.
Client and Nurse in a physical tug-of-war over wallet in a room with padded walls.
Nurse screaming, "Give it to me! Give it to me!"
Client screaming, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Unfortunate Lawyer, please don't send me to jail!"
Me, wildly waving my arms in the hallway screaming, "It's okay, it's okay. She can keep it!"
Happy Valentine's Day to me.
2.14.2008
Good Night, Valentine.
Dear (insert your name here):
If you're reading this, then I'm afraid I'm already gone. When you come home tonight to our house/apartment/your parents' basement, I won't be there to greet you. I hope you understand that it brings me no joy that this news reaches you on Valentine's Day, of all days. Truth is, I will look back on our year/month/week-long relationship with great fondness.
Unfortunately, the circumstances of our romance have taken a turn for the worse, and it's time for our relationship to end. It has been brought to my attention that I am going to have to spend some "time away." Twenty-seven months, to be exact. This development has caused me to do a lot of thinking, and I have realized with chagrin that things like "federal sentencing hearings" can be a lot like "relationships."
Much like you never laugh at my jokes anymore, judges just don't seem to have the same sense of humor about violations of Chapter 18 USCA 1461 that they used to. Furthermore, it disappoints me that lately you...and the Southern District Court of West Carolina...have casually mischaracterized my spirited personality as being "drunk in court."
Well, (insert your name again), I won't keep you. It is certainly my tradition around this time of February each year to take a look at my romantic relationships and determine where I can make some cuts. It is perhaps fate that this year, the end of our love affair corresponds with the start of my incarceration.
I do apologize that this news did not reach you before you sent me those flowers. They really are quite lovely. I hope we can still be friends and such.
Your (former) Valentine,
Unfortunate Lawyer
P.S. Please don't visit. I don't look good in orange. But your (filthy) letters and (naughty) pictures would be well-received.
If you're reading this, then I'm afraid I'm already gone. When you come home tonight to our house/apartment/your parents' basement, I won't be there to greet you. I hope you understand that it brings me no joy that this news reaches you on Valentine's Day, of all days. Truth is, I will look back on our year/month/week-long relationship with great fondness.
Unfortunately, the circumstances of our romance have taken a turn for the worse, and it's time for our relationship to end. It has been brought to my attention that I am going to have to spend some "time away." Twenty-seven months, to be exact. This development has caused me to do a lot of thinking, and I have realized with chagrin that things like "federal sentencing hearings" can be a lot like "relationships."
Much like you never laugh at my jokes anymore, judges just don't seem to have the same sense of humor about violations of Chapter 18 USCA 1461 that they used to. Furthermore, it disappoints me that lately you...and the Southern District Court of West Carolina...have casually mischaracterized my spirited personality as being "drunk in court."
Well, (insert your name again), I won't keep you. It is certainly my tradition around this time of February each year to take a look at my romantic relationships and determine where I can make some cuts. It is perhaps fate that this year, the end of our love affair corresponds with the start of my incarceration.
I do apologize that this news did not reach you before you sent me those flowers. They really are quite lovely. I hope we can still be friends and such.
Your (former) Valentine,
Unfortunate Lawyer
P.S. Please don't visit. I don't look good in orange. But your (filthy) letters and (naughty) pictures would be well-received.
Good Evening, Valentine.
My dearest (insert your name here),
As is tradition around this time of year, I have been taking a long, hard look at my life and relationships. I do sincerely apologize that this news reaches you on Valentine's Day, but I simply feel that this matter cannot wait any longer.
As I'm sure you remember quite well, you and I recently entered into the sacred bonds of marriage. While most of our time together has been an absolute delight, my own conscience (and the State of North Virginia) insists that I pursue this course of action without further delay. Due to some unfortunate oversights, it seems that I have illicitly "taken other lovers," and that you are, in fact, not my only husband/wife.
Attached, you will find the appropriate documents to remedy our situation. I know you believe that I have been "emotionally absent" and "drunk" for much of our marriage, but I also know that you will agree with me that these trivial details do not need to be shared with the "District Court of North Virginia." This would only bring more heartache to an already painful process.
My darling, I do hope that you are not alarmed or upset by your legal assumption of half of my credit card and law school debts, and further hope that you can be comforted by your acquisition of half of my equity in the following items: 26 pair of shoes (size: men's 16), DVD box sets of Seasons 6 and 7 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, $5.00 store credit at Applebee's, and one beige recliner. I know that I do not need to detail my affection for these items, which are now "ours" to divide, just as your car, home, and savings account are "ours."
As always, I apologize for my poor timing and inability to send each of you a "personal" email and divorce petition. I'm sure that you understand my predicament. I hope we can still be friends and such. Despite this untimely end, I hope you will look back on our marriage with as much fondness and confusion as I will.
All Best,
Unfortunate Lawyer
As is tradition around this time of year, I have been taking a long, hard look at my life and relationships. I do sincerely apologize that this news reaches you on Valentine's Day, but I simply feel that this matter cannot wait any longer.
As I'm sure you remember quite well, you and I recently entered into the sacred bonds of marriage. While most of our time together has been an absolute delight, my own conscience (and the State of North Virginia) insists that I pursue this course of action without further delay. Due to some unfortunate oversights, it seems that I have illicitly "taken other lovers," and that you are, in fact, not my only husband/wife.
Attached, you will find the appropriate documents to remedy our situation. I know you believe that I have been "emotionally absent" and "drunk" for much of our marriage, but I also know that you will agree with me that these trivial details do not need to be shared with the "District Court of North Virginia." This would only bring more heartache to an already painful process.
My darling, I do hope that you are not alarmed or upset by your legal assumption of half of my credit card and law school debts, and further hope that you can be comforted by your acquisition of half of my equity in the following items: 26 pair of shoes (size: men's 16), DVD box sets of Seasons 6 and 7 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, $5.00 store credit at Applebee's, and one beige recliner. I know that I do not need to detail my affection for these items, which are now "ours" to divide, just as your car, home, and savings account are "ours."
As always, I apologize for my poor timing and inability to send each of you a "personal" email and divorce petition. I'm sure that you understand my predicament. I hope we can still be friends and such. Despite this untimely end, I hope you will look back on our marriage with as much fondness and confusion as I will.
All Best,
Unfortunate Lawyer
Good Afternoon, Valentine.
My Dearest [insert your name here],
Before I begin, I do sincerely apologize that this message reaches you on Valentine's Day. Nonetheless, it is once again that fateful time of the year when personal tradition demands that I take a long hard look at my romantic relationships with each of you, and determine where I can make some "cuts."
Over the past year, I have truly appreciated the dozens of ways you have expressed your affection for me. When you surprised me with that dinner/trip to Mexico/flask of whiskey hidden in a hollowed-out Bible, I really thought that you were everything a girl could ever want. There's no easy way to say this, but...lately it just feels like you're not trying very hard.
Your love and dedication have been luke-warm at best. Honestly, how many times in the past month have you smashed a beer bottle over the head of someone who accidentally brushed up against me, or peppersprayed an overfriendly sales clerk to prove your love for me? I'll tell you how many times -- the same number of times you carved my name into your arm with a razor blade and got it tattooed in cursive on your neck: None. Zero.
Sure, you'll probably cry a little bit over our break-up today, but the guy/girl of my dreams would call, beg me to take him/her back, and offer money, jewelry, and deviant sex to win me back. In short...it's not me...it's you.
As always, I feel badly that this break-up must fall on today, of all days. The flowers you sent were lovely. I have enjoyed our romance more than words can express, and I know that someday soon I may regret this decision. But for now, it is simply time for each of us to move on with our lives. I do hope we can remain friends and such.
Your former Valentine,
Unfortunate Lawyer
P.S. I'm not saying you turned me gay, but I'm not saying you didn't.
Before I begin, I do sincerely apologize that this message reaches you on Valentine's Day. Nonetheless, it is once again that fateful time of the year when personal tradition demands that I take a long hard look at my romantic relationships with each of you, and determine where I can make some "cuts."
Over the past year, I have truly appreciated the dozens of ways you have expressed your affection for me. When you surprised me with that dinner/trip to Mexico/flask of whiskey hidden in a hollowed-out Bible, I really thought that you were everything a girl could ever want. There's no easy way to say this, but...lately it just feels like you're not trying very hard.
Your love and dedication have been luke-warm at best. Honestly, how many times in the past month have you smashed a beer bottle over the head of someone who accidentally brushed up against me, or peppersprayed an overfriendly sales clerk to prove your love for me? I'll tell you how many times -- the same number of times you carved my name into your arm with a razor blade and got it tattooed in cursive on your neck: None. Zero.
Sure, you'll probably cry a little bit over our break-up today, but the guy/girl of my dreams would call, beg me to take him/her back, and offer money, jewelry, and deviant sex to win me back. In short...it's not me...it's you.
As always, I feel badly that this break-up must fall on today, of all days. The flowers you sent were lovely. I have enjoyed our romance more than words can express, and I know that someday soon I may regret this decision. But for now, it is simply time for each of us to move on with our lives. I do hope we can remain friends and such.
Your former Valentine,
Unfortunate Lawyer
P.S. I'm not saying you turned me gay, but I'm not saying you didn't.
Good Morning, Valentine.
Dear [insert your name here],
It is with a heavy heart that I send this letter, knowing that it will reach each of you on Valentine's Day. I simply feel that the longer I wait, the more distressful this news could be.
First, thank you for the flowers/chocolates/fine Irish whiskey that you sent this morning. I know that I've told you before that the only gift I need is "your love." The fact that you knew I was lying, and that you still sent me that ipod/artwork/stripper really proves how well you know me, and how much you care.
Sadly, that only makes this more difficult. As you know, the District Court has recommended that we give each other a little space (1,000 feet, to be precise) during this "cooling off" period. Our last encounter, as I'm sure you remember, was a bit heated to say the least. My time spent in an undisclosed location avoiding the authorities gave me plenty of time to think about my relationships with each of you and the twists they have taken as of late. That time reflecting on "us" made me realize, simply, that "we" need to move on with our lives.
Due to an overwhelming number of suitors, it is tradition each year for me to take a long, hard look at my life and relationships, and to determine where I can make some "cuts." I do hope that you don't take this personally. You're a really great girl/guy, and I will remember fondly all of our time together, in the backs of squad cars and otherwise. But I think we both know that you are not "the one" for me, despite the song you wrote to the contrary.
If you look back over our time together, I feel certain that you will see that this break-up has been a long time coming. You must have suspected that something was amiss when I accidentally "sold" you to that tattoo parlor, or when I planted meth on you and had you arrested. I hope it wasn't too much trouble.
As always, I apologize for my poor timing and inability to send each of you a "personal" email...but I'm sure that you understand my predicament. I hope we can still be friends and such.
Your Former Valentine,
Unfortunate Lawyer
It is with a heavy heart that I send this letter, knowing that it will reach each of you on Valentine's Day. I simply feel that the longer I wait, the more distressful this news could be.
First, thank you for the flowers/chocolates/fine Irish whiskey that you sent this morning. I know that I've told you before that the only gift I need is "your love." The fact that you knew I was lying, and that you still sent me that ipod/artwork/stripper really proves how well you know me, and how much you care.
Sadly, that only makes this more difficult. As you know, the District Court has recommended that we give each other a little space (1,000 feet, to be precise) during this "cooling off" period. Our last encounter, as I'm sure you remember, was a bit heated to say the least. My time spent in an undisclosed location avoiding the authorities gave me plenty of time to think about my relationships with each of you and the twists they have taken as of late. That time reflecting on "us" made me realize, simply, that "we" need to move on with our lives.
Due to an overwhelming number of suitors, it is tradition each year for me to take a long, hard look at my life and relationships, and to determine where I can make some "cuts." I do hope that you don't take this personally. You're a really great girl/guy, and I will remember fondly all of our time together, in the backs of squad cars and otherwise. But I think we both know that you are not "the one" for me, despite the song you wrote to the contrary.
If you look back over our time together, I feel certain that you will see that this break-up has been a long time coming. You must have suspected that something was amiss when I accidentally "sold" you to that tattoo parlor, or when I planted meth on you and had you arrested. I hope it wasn't too much trouble.
As always, I apologize for my poor timing and inability to send each of you a "personal" email...but I'm sure that you understand my predicament. I hope we can still be friends and such.
Your Former Valentine,
Unfortunate Lawyer
2.06.2008
SuperFat Tuesday
I like numbers. Numbers and math are good. Quantifiable goals are even better. But my favorite: ranking things. Making lists in order...best to worst...favorite to least favorite...tasks of the utmost importance all the way down to those that I will never do. Never ever.
My claim that I can think of 1,000 places more magical than Disney World was once challenged, so I started to make a list. When I got to #264, I became exhausted and started making paper snowflakes. It is no coincidence that "make paper snowflakes" was #264 on the list.
Yesterday was Super Tuesday (and also Fat Tuesday), an important election milestone for those who are into that sort of thing. I'm into that sort of thing, to an extent. Three of my friends are enormously into that sort of thing. Hence, a gathering was planned. Two of those friends showed up. The third - Troy - did not. Towards the end of the evening, after he'd received a few sassy text messages from me, he called to let us know that he probably wasn't going to make it, because he had FIVE parties to go to that night. (Troy works in the office of a government official. A pretty important government official.)
While I didn't like it that Troy wasn't there, I DID appreciate that he provided me with a rank...a number. Though perhaps not his intent, Troy ranked our party 5th out of 5 parties. On SuperFat Tuesday, we were 5th on his list of 5 places to be.
I wish I could always be assigned a rank. I like to know exactly where I stand. Everyone could do it. For example, my mother might provide me with a list of things, in order, that displease her today:
1 - Unfortunate Lawyer's hair
2 - Unfortunate Lawyer's clothes
3 - Lack of grandchildren
4 - The price of soybeans per bushel
Will feelings get hurt with my new system? Perhaps. But I still think it's best to know exactly where you stand...even when you're 5th.
My claim that I can think of 1,000 places more magical than Disney World was once challenged, so I started to make a list. When I got to #264, I became exhausted and started making paper snowflakes. It is no coincidence that "make paper snowflakes" was #264 on the list.
Yesterday was Super Tuesday (and also Fat Tuesday), an important election milestone for those who are into that sort of thing. I'm into that sort of thing, to an extent. Three of my friends are enormously into that sort of thing. Hence, a gathering was planned. Two of those friends showed up. The third - Troy - did not. Towards the end of the evening, after he'd received a few sassy text messages from me, he called to let us know that he probably wasn't going to make it, because he had FIVE parties to go to that night. (Troy works in the office of a government official. A pretty important government official.)
While I didn't like it that Troy wasn't there, I DID appreciate that he provided me with a rank...a number. Though perhaps not his intent, Troy ranked our party 5th out of 5 parties. On SuperFat Tuesday, we were 5th on his list of 5 places to be.
I wish I could always be assigned a rank. I like to know exactly where I stand. Everyone could do it. For example, my mother might provide me with a list of things, in order, that displease her today:
1 - Unfortunate Lawyer's hair
2 - Unfortunate Lawyer's clothes
3 - Lack of grandchildren
4 - The price of soybeans per bushel
Will feelings get hurt with my new system? Perhaps. But I still think it's best to know exactly where you stand...even when you're 5th.
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