Sister and I planned our vacation last week. We were going to meet in Seattle on Labor Day Weekend, and spend the week after in Seattle & Vancouver...maybe even Portland. My schedule was clear; her schedule was clear. It was perfect. We had an hour-long conversation discussing some details and the absolute delight that our vacation would surely be. She had to book her flights right away to take advantage of some free miles she had from a past-vacation-gone-terribly-wrong. Today, I printed off her flight details and went online to book my arrival & departure times as close to hers as possible. Here's what I found on her itinerary:
May 23 - May 30.
That's Memorial Day, Sister. That's. Memorial. Day.
During an hour-long conversation of excited chatter, we apparently never realized that one of us was talking about a spring vacation 2 months away and the other was talking about a fall vacation 5 months away. I don't know how this is possible, but it's possible. While Sister is attending the Sasquatch Music Festival ALONE, I will be in trial at the county courthouse. This is, without question, a hitch in the get-along
We're working on it.
3.31.2008
3.24.2008
It was always burning, since the world's been turning.
Dear Torch,
It's been really great getting to know you over the past year. I've enjoyed reading about you, in police reports and otherwise. I've listened with an open mind when you've talked about the night of the fire in your apartment building. It's a heart-wrenching story. Really, it is.
You've recalled the horror of waking up in the middle of the night to a smoke alarm going off, of realizing that there was no safe exit through the door, and of leaping from your 3rd floor apartment to the ground below. I've seen your medical records, so I know that you're not lying when you recount the physical pain you've experienced since that jump. I do hope those broken bones are healing nicely.
But it's your legal complaints that have me stumped, Torch. You see -- you've filed lawsuits against your landlord, against the hospital, against the jail, and against several other government agencies. You've done this, it would seem, because you suffered some injuries that night. Here's why that confuses me:
You started that fire, Torch. You do it all the time. You set buildings on fire. It's what you do.
That night, you started a sizable fire in your apartment complex. So it's puzzling to me that, 30 minutes after you held a match to gasoline-soaked rags in a hallway trash can, you were "surprised" by the smoke alarm. It seems to me that you maybe could have anticipated that alarm going off. And perhaps if you hadn't been so "surprised" by the alarm, the smoke, and the flaming building, you wouldn't have had to jump out the window.
I'm just saying.
Again, Torch...it's not that I haven't enjoyed your company over the past year. As far as arsonists go, you're very personable. I've become familiar with the twinkle in your eye when an attorney stops a deposition because he need to step outside for a smoke. You only know me as "that girl" who is a lawyer for "one of those places you sued." But all the same, I feel like we've come a long way together. I just want you to be ready for the hard questions come trial. I hope you won't hold it against me. I'd like to remain friends and such.
All Best,
Unfortunate Lawyer
It's been really great getting to know you over the past year. I've enjoyed reading about you, in police reports and otherwise. I've listened with an open mind when you've talked about the night of the fire in your apartment building. It's a heart-wrenching story. Really, it is.
You've recalled the horror of waking up in the middle of the night to a smoke alarm going off, of realizing that there was no safe exit through the door, and of leaping from your 3rd floor apartment to the ground below. I've seen your medical records, so I know that you're not lying when you recount the physical pain you've experienced since that jump. I do hope those broken bones are healing nicely.
But it's your legal complaints that have me stumped, Torch. You see -- you've filed lawsuits against your landlord, against the hospital, against the jail, and against several other government agencies. You've done this, it would seem, because you suffered some injuries that night. Here's why that confuses me:
You started that fire, Torch. You do it all the time. You set buildings on fire. It's what you do.
That night, you started a sizable fire in your apartment complex. So it's puzzling to me that, 30 minutes after you held a match to gasoline-soaked rags in a hallway trash can, you were "surprised" by the smoke alarm. It seems to me that you maybe could have anticipated that alarm going off. And perhaps if you hadn't been so "surprised" by the alarm, the smoke, and the flaming building, you wouldn't have had to jump out the window.
I'm just saying.
Again, Torch...it's not that I haven't enjoyed your company over the past year. As far as arsonists go, you're very personable. I've become familiar with the twinkle in your eye when an attorney stops a deposition because he need to step outside for a smoke. You only know me as "that girl" who is a lawyer for "one of those places you sued." But all the same, I feel like we've come a long way together. I just want you to be ready for the hard questions come trial. I hope you won't hold it against me. I'd like to remain friends and such.
All Best,
Unfortunate Lawyer
3.19.2008
I'm gonna lose. And I'm gonna lose huge.
I have a trial coming up in a couple of weeks. (Not the one that I don't understand. A different one.)
I talked to the judge today because I filed a Motion to Transport. My client currently "resides" at a state penitentiary, so the judge needs to order that the sheriff transport him back to the courthouse to be present for his trial.
The judge reviewed my motion and said: "I don't think I'm going to have him brought all the way back here just for his postconviction relief trial. It doesn't really seem worth it. He can just testify by phone."
Something tells me I'm not going to win this one.
I talked to the judge today because I filed a Motion to Transport. My client currently "resides" at a state penitentiary, so the judge needs to order that the sheriff transport him back to the courthouse to be present for his trial.
The judge reviewed my motion and said: "I don't think I'm going to have him brought all the way back here just for his postconviction relief trial. It doesn't really seem worth it. He can just testify by phone."
Something tells me I'm not going to win this one.
Counting Crazy Sheep
Have you ever tried counting sheep to make yourself go to sleep? It really works. I usually get to about thirty and I am totally out. I count the sheep as they jump over a fence. But when I decide to count sheep, I always know that I'm in for a nice surprise because the sheep always surprise me. The first sheep is usually wearing a giant clown wig, the second sheep does a double back flip over the fence, the third sheep might have some devil horns, and the fourth sheep just runs right into the fence, instead of jumping over it, etc.
They are some crazy sheep. Crazy sheep indeed.
They are some crazy sheep. Crazy sheep indeed.
3.18.2008
Is there a Plan B?
I have a trial next Thursday that I don't understand.
Seriously. This isn't one of those things like when you were in high school and you were all OMG I'm totally not ready for this English test, when you actually studied for 6 hours and you secretly knew you're going to ace it.
Nope. This is not like that. I can't even explain what this case is, except that it's a civil case challenging a conviction in a criminal case. Whatever.
Next Thursday, the judge is going to ask me to make an opening statement, and I'm just going to stand there with my mouth open. Know why? I don't understand my case. I'm looking at a list of potential witnesses right now, deciding who I should subpoena. But next Thursday, I will put my witnesses on the stand and have no idea what questions to ask them. Know why? Don't understand the case.
My saving grace was going to be one man: an attorney who represented my client during his criminal case. I planned to call him, knowing that he would be able to explain to me what was happening, knowing that he would testify in court as to why my client should get a new trial, and knowing that...finally...someone would tell me what this case is about. Fifteen minutes ago, I made the call.
Turns out he died last year.
UPDATE: Mobilizing Plan B. Because everyone -- except this guy -- deserves a lawyer who understands their case.
Seriously. This isn't one of those things like when you were in high school and you were all OMG I'm totally not ready for this English test, when you actually studied for 6 hours and you secretly knew you're going to ace it.
Nope. This is not like that. I can't even explain what this case is, except that it's a civil case challenging a conviction in a criminal case. Whatever.
Next Thursday, the judge is going to ask me to make an opening statement, and I'm just going to stand there with my mouth open. Know why? I don't understand my case. I'm looking at a list of potential witnesses right now, deciding who I should subpoena. But next Thursday, I will put my witnesses on the stand and have no idea what questions to ask them. Know why? Don't understand the case.
My saving grace was going to be one man: an attorney who represented my client during his criminal case. I planned to call him, knowing that he would be able to explain to me what was happening, knowing that he would testify in court as to why my client should get a new trial, and knowing that...finally...someone would tell me what this case is about. Fifteen minutes ago, I made the call.
Turns out he died last year.
UPDATE: Mobilizing Plan B. Because everyone -- except this guy -- deserves a lawyer who understands their case.
3.17.2008
GuestBlogger: Sister
Dear Unfortunate Lawyer (also known as "The Good Sister"):
When a photo appeared in our hometown newspaper of your childhood boyfriend (the one you never actually spoke to), for an award he won during your senior year of high school, I immediately cut it out and mailed it to you. I mailed it with a note written in the sloppy handwriting of a boy that said "I never forgot what we did that day at recess. I still think about you." I signed his name, sealed the envelope, and mailed it from the post office in the town where he lived.
But really...I thought you would know it was me. I thought you would know it was a joke and I thought we would laugh together about how funny I was. And when you brought it up several months later, sitting in the kitchen of our parents' house when I was home from college at Christmas, I thought you were just complementing me on how funny my joke was.
It was when you got the the part of the story where you wrote him back, saying that you didn't actually remember what you did "that day at recess" but you'd love to get together now, that I wasn't quite sure how to react. Were you fucking with me? Were you playing a joke of your own? I soon realized that, sadly, you were not. I was the only joker in the room that night.
You were so confused (and rightfully so) as to why this boy would take the time to write you and even send a photo of himself and then not respond to your friendly reply. I was curled in a ball on the cold hard floor, in fits of uncontrollable laughter, imagining how confused this boy must have been when he received your letter. I was past the point of being able to speak, knowing that I had caused both of you to try your hardest to remember what happened "that day at recess."
What could I do? The letter had been sent and received. I hoped the two of you wouldn't run into each other anytime soon and I made a mental note to tell you the true origins of the letter in about 10 years, when it would seen equally funny to both of us. That was in 1996. And so now, 12 years later, here is my confession: it was me!!! I know what you and your "boyfriend" did that fateful day at recess, and what you did was nothing. whoops. :)
I apologize for any confusion or embarrassment suffered as a result of my action. You weren't planning on getting back together with him anyway, right?!
Love,
Sister (the bad one)
When a photo appeared in our hometown newspaper of your childhood boyfriend (the one you never actually spoke to), for an award he won during your senior year of high school, I immediately cut it out and mailed it to you. I mailed it with a note written in the sloppy handwriting of a boy that said "I never forgot what we did that day at recess. I still think about you." I signed his name, sealed the envelope, and mailed it from the post office in the town where he lived.
But really...I thought you would know it was me. I thought you would know it was a joke and I thought we would laugh together about how funny I was. And when you brought it up several months later, sitting in the kitchen of our parents' house when I was home from college at Christmas, I thought you were just complementing me on how funny my joke was.
It was when you got the the part of the story where you wrote him back, saying that you didn't actually remember what you did "that day at recess" but you'd love to get together now, that I wasn't quite sure how to react. Were you fucking with me? Were you playing a joke of your own? I soon realized that, sadly, you were not. I was the only joker in the room that night.
You were so confused (and rightfully so) as to why this boy would take the time to write you and even send a photo of himself and then not respond to your friendly reply. I was curled in a ball on the cold hard floor, in fits of uncontrollable laughter, imagining how confused this boy must have been when he received your letter. I was past the point of being able to speak, knowing that I had caused both of you to try your hardest to remember what happened "that day at recess."
What could I do? The letter had been sent and received. I hoped the two of you wouldn't run into each other anytime soon and I made a mental note to tell you the true origins of the letter in about 10 years, when it would seen equally funny to both of us. That was in 1996. And so now, 12 years later, here is my confession: it was me!!! I know what you and your "boyfriend" did that fateful day at recess, and what you did was nothing. whoops. :)
I apologize for any confusion or embarrassment suffered as a result of my action. You weren't planning on getting back together with him anyway, right?!
Love,
Sister (the bad one)
3.15.2008
Sissy Ass Punk
I don't drink brass monkey, like the beat funky
Nickname Eazy-E your eight ball junkie
Nickname Eazy-E your eight ball junkie
Reality Checks:
- Cried during an episode of Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County
- Friend suggests that I might enjoy a "singles cruise"
- Debit card is declined at the Wendy's drive thru
- Call log shows that all missed calls are from someone named "mom"
- Refrigerator contains hillshire ham and one cinnamonster
3.14.2008
I Becomes We
When people who were in relationships would refer to themselves as "we," it used to make me a little homicidal. "We work out in the morning," "We are vegetarians," etc. I thought it was totally co-dependent and lame.
However, I have come to the unfortunate realization that I am now a part of this problem. I've found myself saying things like, "We are taking our lunch break now," "We are leaving town," or "We love to watch Red Hot Red Carpet on the E channel."
But when I say "we," I'm not talking about me and my husband or my boyfriend. I'm not even talking about a friend. No, I'm talking about me and my bichon frise, Rudy.
I am single and no longer question why.
3.13.2008
It's why I have 32 extra sets of chopsticks in my kitchen drawer
You know how sometimes you order so much Chinese food that they just assume you're ordering for 2 people, but you're totally just ordering for yourself?
I do.
I do.
It's a fly by night thing
The family trip to Southern California to visit Sister was relatively peaceful. There was an escalating argument regarding my mother's relentless pursuit of renting a Rug Doctor to clean Sister's carpet against Sister's wishes. My mom won. Sister reports that the carpet is (1) not any cleaner; (2) still wet, days later; and (3) potentially poisonous to Ghost and Mato, the dog and cat of the beach house.
My family hasn't been on a vacation together for at least 8 years. Growing up, there was always a summer adventure in a dilapidated motorhome. One year, that adventure took us to California, just as last weekend did. In celebration of the fond memories that have surfaced over the past 5 days, I have compiled a list of ways that this vacation was different from the Unfortunate Lawyer Family Vacation of 1986.
1986: Mother teases Sister about whether or not she has a boyfriend
2008: Mother askes Sister if her boyfriend of nearly 4 years is "serious" or just a "fly by night thing"
1986: Family exhausted after a full day of swimming, sightseeing, and closing down an amusement park
2008: Family exhausted after introductory video at The Getty
1986: Mother injures herself doing a cartwheel
2008: Mother injures herself by "catching her arm on her purse" and has to "take herself out of the game"
1986: Parents cook campground breakfast on propane stove
2008: Parents displeased with lack of English muffins at Super 8 continental breakfast
1986: Dad wants to spend significant time at the beach
2008: Dad wants to spend significant time at the Home Depot in Marina del Rey
1986: Mother questions me about my childhood boyfriend, Nick
2008: Mother expresses thinly-veiled concern that I might be a lesbian
1986: Mother becomes nervous after not getting direct answers about Nick
2008: Mother becomes nervous after not getting direct confirmation of heterosexuality
1986: Mother produces homemade chocolate chip cookies she brought from the farm
2008: Sister produces cookies and brownies she purchased at medical marijuana dispensary
1986: Sister hides her diary under bed in motorhome
2008: Sister hides all evidence of boyfriend co-habitation under bed in house
1986: Sister and I's first trip to the ocean
2008: Mom and Dad's first trip to Ikea
My family hasn't been on a vacation together for at least 8 years. Growing up, there was always a summer adventure in a dilapidated motorhome. One year, that adventure took us to California, just as last weekend did. In celebration of the fond memories that have surfaced over the past 5 days, I have compiled a list of ways that this vacation was different from the Unfortunate Lawyer Family Vacation of 1986.
1986: Mother teases Sister about whether or not she has a boyfriend
2008: Mother askes Sister if her boyfriend of nearly 4 years is "serious" or just a "fly by night thing"
1986: Family exhausted after a full day of swimming, sightseeing, and closing down an amusement park
2008: Family exhausted after introductory video at The Getty
1986: Mother injures herself doing a cartwheel
2008: Mother injures herself by "catching her arm on her purse" and has to "take herself out of the game"
1986: Parents cook campground breakfast on propane stove
2008: Parents displeased with lack of English muffins at Super 8 continental breakfast
1986: Dad wants to spend significant time at the beach
2008: Dad wants to spend significant time at the Home Depot in Marina del Rey
1986: Mother questions me about my childhood boyfriend, Nick
2008: Mother expresses thinly-veiled concern that I might be a lesbian
1986: Mother becomes nervous after not getting direct answers about Nick
2008: Mother becomes nervous after not getting direct confirmation of heterosexuality
1986: Mother produces homemade chocolate chip cookies she brought from the farm
2008: Sister produces cookies and brownies she purchased at medical marijuana dispensary
1986: Sister hides her diary under bed in motorhome
2008: Sister hides all evidence of boyfriend co-habitation under bed in house
1986: Sister and I's first trip to the ocean
2008: Mom and Dad's first trip to Ikea
3.11.2008
If Only I Could Get Knocked Up
My behavior and some of the things I do are completely unacceptable. But I realized that if I were pregnant, I would have the perfect explanation for my ridiculous antics. The fact that I scheduled my entire weekend around getting a giant cinnamon roll would be understandable. I would also have a legitimate reason for the times when I go to the grocery to buy one thing: a cake that serves twelve people. I wouldn't have to make up excuses when I run into people I know like "It's my nephew's birthday" or "I run an underground cake delivery service." No one would ask me any questions about getting out of bed at 3 p.m. No one would laugh at me because I cried during an episode of "Growing up Giraffe" or threw a temper tantrum because the plastic wrap I was wrapping my sandwich with got stuck to itself.
It's really too bad that I hate babies so much.
It's really too bad that I hate babies so much.
3.06.2008
Good Times from 2007
In October, I was awakened in the middle of the night by some really, really loud, sick and wrong sex noises. I live in a condo, and I assumed that the noise was coming from upstairs. I heard them again a few nights later, so I put a note on their door just asking in general for them to "keep in down."
About four days after that, I received a note on my door. The note read: "You are probably unaware of this but your late night sexual encounters are really loud and have been waking me up. Please be more respectful during quiet hours."
That note is up on my wall. Right next to the poster of Ice Cube and my GED.
About four days after that, I received a note on my door. The note read: "You are probably unaware of this but your late night sexual encounters are really loud and have been waking me up. Please be more respectful during quiet hours."
That note is up on my wall. Right next to the poster of Ice Cube and my GED.
You're really tall. Do you think there's a retirement villa large enough to accommodate you?
I used to get, "Hey. You're really tall. Do you play basketball?"
I remember the day it switched to, "Hey. You're really tall. Did you play basketball?" I felt old. Really old. Looking back, I suppose the alternate language could have been due to (1) looking too old to play basketball; or (2) looking too out-of-shape to play basketball. Both would have been fair assumptions.
Today, I got, "Hey. You're really tall. Do you have kids?"
"....."
It's happened. I understand that I'm old enough to have kids. That's fine. But now, I apparently look like a MOM. I'm on my way right now to buy MOM jeans and a sweatshirt with some embroidery on it.
Aside from apparently looking like Mrs. Unfortunate Lawyer, Mother of Four, I now also have to suspect that my gas station attendant (who asked me this question) wants to breed with me. He's short; I'm tall. Short + Tall = Normal Kids.
Thanks, but no thanks.
As a side note, I'm heading to California today to visit Sister. My parents are flying out there, too. It's a family trip. This means that you can expect my next post to be titled: Ways My Mom Made Me Cry This Weekend. Stay tuned.
I remember the day it switched to, "Hey. You're really tall. Did you play basketball?" I felt old. Really old. Looking back, I suppose the alternate language could have been due to (1) looking too old to play basketball; or (2) looking too out-of-shape to play basketball. Both would have been fair assumptions.
Today, I got, "Hey. You're really tall. Do you have kids?"
"....."
It's happened. I understand that I'm old enough to have kids. That's fine. But now, I apparently look like a MOM. I'm on my way right now to buy MOM jeans and a sweatshirt with some embroidery on it.
Aside from apparently looking like Mrs. Unfortunate Lawyer, Mother of Four, I now also have to suspect that my gas station attendant (who asked me this question) wants to breed with me. He's short; I'm tall. Short + Tall = Normal Kids.
Thanks, but no thanks.
As a side note, I'm heading to California today to visit Sister. My parents are flying out there, too. It's a family trip. This means that you can expect my next post to be titled: Ways My Mom Made Me Cry This Weekend. Stay tuned.
3.04.2008
Hurt, but not Injured.
While leaping the year with 50 or 60 friends and strangers at my house on Friday night, it seemed like a completely reasonable idea to exit my house through a window. The door was fully operational and 3 feet away.
I hurt myself, which has caused me to limp unattractively.
Today, in a public restroom, I spotted a woman looking at me. Then she started limping, clearly mocking me. I gave her the Filthiest Look Ever and limped away, appalled by her rudeness.
Then I rounded the corner and saw her crutches leaning against the wall.
I hurt myself, which has caused me to limp unattractively.
Today, in a public restroom, I spotted a woman looking at me. Then she started limping, clearly mocking me. I gave her the Filthiest Look Ever and limped away, appalled by her rudeness.
Then I rounded the corner and saw her crutches leaning against the wall.
3.03.2008
Things I'd Rather You Not See
- Large block of Muenster cheese in refrigerator with teeth marks on it
- What I did to that plant you gave me
- Safety pin holding my zipper up
- Consumption of "Second Breakfast"
- Law School transcript
- Kool-Aid "Slammin' Strawberry Kiwi" Lipsmacker in my briefcase
3.02.2008
I suppose it's possible.
A friend of mine suffered a minor romantic setback on Friday. Troy heard the news and groaned, "Oh god...now tonight is gonna be all about her, isn't it? Anything we have to say is going to turn into something about her not having a boyfriend."
"I don't know," I said. "Maybe."
"Like if I announce that my mom died today in a horrible corncrib accident, she'll say: 'My love life is a horrible corncrib accident.'"
"I don't know," I said. "Maybe."
"Like if I announce that my mom died today in a horrible corncrib accident, she'll say: 'My love life is a horrible corncrib accident.'"
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