"It sounds like you'll at least have a new pillow to cry on." - Guest-Blogger

Thanks to my friend, who is choosing to remain anonymous, for the following response to my mother's warnings about the weather/ditches. It makes me feel better, somehow.

Oh dear…

Ominous warnings indeed. 10-20 inches of snow!? Good heavens, where does your mother get her forecast---weatherarmageddon.com? My family is equally on high weather alert. There has been much communication and I have forwarded no less than two news articles to my sisters updating them on the forecast and how it impacts departure for home. I have moved up my own departure to this afternoon, ahead of my reckless sister and brother in law who aren’t leaving until mid-morning tomorrow when the news claims there will be a surge of warm air that will de-ice the roads and bring momentary tropical conditions to the interstate in advance of the storm’s next phase.

I had a very involved conversation with my sister this morning concerning not only weather, but the mounting emotional stress and strain of my family this Christmas. It should prove interesting. My father has been spending time on the roof in a perilous and somewhat hopeless attempt at thwarting a leak in the ceiling that has caused much concern and lead to the repositioning of the living room couch. The build up of snow has proven too much for the shingles, and the forecast is obviously threatening that the drips will only continue, which will lead to my father snow blowing a path through the backyard to make room for his truck so that he can use it as an anchor to position his ladder so he can climb onto the house. All of this naturally concerns my mother, not so much for the fact that her 71-year old husband will be spending more time on top of the house this Christmas than Santa Claus, but for its sheer inconvenience at a time when she needs the house to be at its most homey and hospitable. Naturally, my sisters are terrified of the thought of Dad scaling the house so there has been much scolding back and forth.

This is also the first Christmas for my mother since my Grandma died, which adds another layer of emotion. My pregnant sister doesn’t deal well with emotion anyway and has already declared she will be of no comfort to Mom whatsoever for fear of going into labor. Christmas Eve church service tears are inevitable so I have been nominated as the emotional buffer. To top it all off, my mother remains worried about me, my health, and that I will spiral into depression at any moment circa 2006 because I am gay and have an overactive colon. I’m sure everyone just wishes I had a wife to make it all better.

In spite of it all, I am looking forward to being home and hope everything goes off without a hitch. And I hope that your festivities prove worth the dangerous journey as well, and that your gifts will not be distributed to the needy. If they are, it sounds like you’ll at least have a new pillow to cry on…

Travel safe and don’t dilly dally on your departure. I expect updates as to your progress when necessary and convenient. A very Merry Christmas to you as well.

Christmas in a Ditch

From: MOM
Date: Tue, Dec 22, 2009 at 10:42 AM
Subject: Christmas
To: Unfortunate Lawyer

If you want to spend Christmas at the farm, you better get out of there asap on Wednesday. If you wait till afternoon, you and your sister will either be stuck there for Christmas, in a ditch between here and there, or in a motel somewhere. Wednesday afternoon it is supposed to be very windy - freezing rain, and snow starting - and we are going to get 10-20" from Wed until Fri night. Could another lawyer do your afternoon court thing for you? Can you move it to next week because of the weather? Let me know what is up....OK?? I bought some pillow fabric for your sister; if she doesn't like it, that's OK. We'll at least practice making pillows with it. Hope to hear back from you. LUV MOM

From: Unfortunate Lawyer
Date: Tue, Dec 22, 2009 at 10:46 AM
Subject: Christmas
To: MOM

We can leave right after court tomorrow. I should be done by 2:30 or so. No one else can cover it, and they won't continue it because my client has to go to jail tomorrow. They assume that asking for a continuance is just a ploy to keep him out of jail for Christmas. We'll leave as soon as possible.
Love, Unfortunate


From: MOM
Date: Tue, Dec 22, 2009 at 10:53 AM
Subject: Christmas
To: Unfortunate Lawyer

Tell the judge to make it short & sweet.....Dad will talk to you later, when you leave about which route to take to avoid the most snow and ice. Call when you leave.... IT WILL BE BAD, SO GET YOUR BUTTS OUT OF THERE ASAP!! Otherwise, I'll just have to give your gifts to the needy in town. Later--LUV MOM. PS: just talked to your sister and she is good with the pillow project.

Made of Sugar and Spice and a touch of Pure Evil

In my free time, I do a few side jobs. I teach a night class for college students because I enjoy helping them get into graduate school. I help a 9th grader with her math because she’s the coolest person I know. But another job involves spending an hour a week with a 10-year old girl. There’s only one reason I haven’t quit yet: spite. She doesn’t want me there, so I show up - every single week. Her mom is always in such good spirits when she picks up her daughter from the library.

“Well, it looks like you got a lot done today! Good job!”

Your daughter spit on me.

"Hopefully those math workbooks and flashcards are helping."

She hacked something up and spit on my arm in the middle of the library. I could all but see the H1N1 on my arm.

"I know it can be a challenge to keep her on task. She’s just so strong-willed."

Why do you always drop your voice to a nearly inaudible level every time you describe your daughter as ‘strong-willed?’ It’s not a bad word. It’s also inaccurate.

"You know, her teachers say she’s doing so much better since we got her on the medication. We’re really pleased."

Your child is a sociopath.

"Her grades have improved. We’ve noticed better behavior at home."

She could kill without remorse. Animals for sure. Possibly humans.

"We really appreciate you taking the time to work with her. I think it’s helping a lot with her confidence."

She put honey in my hair and tried to stick a toothpick in my eyeball. She attacked me like a wolf.

"She seems to enjoy her time with you."

She’s planning a way to kill me in my sleep. ‘Strong-willed?’ No. There are words for what your daughter is, but society frowns on calling children those things.

"We’ll see you next week – same time and place!"

An asshole...[as the monster hugs me]...your third grader is an absolute asshole.

I Know Why The Caged Bird Throws Himself In Front Of Oncoming Traffic

My friend Troy just got back from an arts conference at a mountain resort in Utah. The day he arrived, he noticed that the leaves on one tree on the mountainside had just started to turn yellow. He described sitting on his balcony reading a book and watching a waterfall crash down a mountain about fifty yards away. On the morning he left, all of the trees had turned. The way he described this place, I'd expect a rabbit in a tuxedo to serve me breakfast in bed.

One of the traditions of the conference is to release into the wild a bird that had been nurtured back to health over the past year. In a fitting tribute to nature, wildlife, and the liberal spirit of the conference, everyone gathered outdoors for some commemorative words. A celebrity was even there to shower praise on those who participate in these noble efforts. The caged bird patiently awaited 45 minutes of pomp and circumstance - surrounded by dozens of proud, self-satisfied conference attendees.

Then finally, it was time. The cage was hoisted into the air. The door was opened. The bird flew free to the applause of the crowd! I'm certain, had Troy cared enough to look, he would have seen a few tears in the group. The bird soared to a nearby tree and perched atop a high branch, free at last. The program continued on, but the celebrity was soon interrupted by two consecutive sounds.

Thud. Gasp.

The bird, taking flight once again, had glided gracefully through the mountain air, dipped towards the green earth, and flown directly into the path of an oncoming bicycle.

I hope they release the same bird again next year.

*Photo credit: Jennifer Gregory on RatesToGo travelblog

Death And All His Friends

I saw my client on the news this week...dead. I've had a few clients die in my four years as a lawyer. I've already been trained to check the Inmate Record at the county jail every morning to see if any clients were arrested the previous day. Now, I'll probably start reading the obituaries, too. Just in case.

There's nothing funny about my clients dying, and I'm not intending to make light of it. I just thought I'd take a minute to remember them here.

#1 - You had some problems. You claimed that in the 80's, your junior high principal made you sign a confession for an FBI agent admitting to stealing your friend's babysitting checks. I doubt it, but I'm still sorry I couldn't help you more. I'm also sorry I could not recover lost earnings for you of $5,000 per week that you would have earned as an exotic dancer but for the same FBI agent harassing you at the strip club. I don't remember exactly how you died, but I always liked talking to you. You told good stories. RIP

#2 - I procrastinated for so long on your real estate case that you died of natural causes before I could finish it. Let this be a lesson to us. And by "us," I mean "me." You were a very nice man. I will probably have to work on your case for free for the next 10 years, just to get it off my desk. But that's my own fault. RIP

#3 - Your photo on the news looked like it was taken at Glamour Shots. You had a really foul mouth for a pretty girl, and I sort of liked that about you. Also, your name was Heaven, which is ironic because I seriously doubt it, if you know what I mean. RIP

I am a disappointment to the Sixth Amendment.

The State Appellate Court today, instead of receiving my brief that's due, will likely be receiving a scrap of paper with a handwritten note that says: "I don't understand the assignment."

Let's see how that flies.

They say it's your birthday.

When I was 7, birthdays were a very big deal. There were banners, cakes, parties, and games. It would be decades before I acknowledged my mother's creative abilities, but I'm sure that crafting Bert & Ernie pinatas out of papier-mache was harder than it looked. Birthday cakes were decorated by a woman named Lavonne, who lived on the gravel road next to our gravel road, and whose last name was something that sounded like 'pastry', but wasn't. My chosen cake design was probably something lame like rainbows and hearts, destined to be outdone by my sister's racecar theme a few months later. Still, seven was a good year, I think. Seven was fun. Seven felt like roller skates and surprises.

After that, birthday parties got smaller before they got bigger again. Thirteen was tough. Thirteen felt like devastating crushes and Firehouse songs. Seventeen was better. Seventeen felt like bonfires and ambition. I don't really remember birthdays in college until the year I turned 21. I remember twenty-one. Twenty-one felt like 99 Bananas and shame.

My 24th birthday fell during my first few weeks of law school. I'd chosen a school three states away in a city where I didn't know anyone. My mother, more confident than I in my ability to make friends quickly, called a local grocery store and ordered me a cake. She seemed certain that I would be celebrating with new friends, and I didn't have the heart to tell her that I hadn't made any yet. When I picked up my cake and handed over my last twenty-five dollars, I looked down into the box. "Happy Birthday Pammi." Pammi, which is not my name. Pammi, which is the worst name in the history of names. Pammi, who I think was the panda on Shirt Tails. After I got back to my apartment and unsuccessfully attempted to turn the "P" into a "T" with my finger, I started eating the cake directly out of the box and didn't stop until I'd eaten the entire thing two weeks later. Twenty-four was not good. Twenty-four felt like bulimia and failure.

Tomorrow is my birthday. Over the past several days, I've celebrated with family, co-workers, teammates, and my very best friends. Tomorrow, my friend Jackie will call and, for the 14th consecutive year, will sing me a song. Penelope will leave a message on my phone in a ridiculous voice that I won't understand. And one more time this year, with old friends, I will blow out the candles. Like every birthday before, this one feels different. It's more complicated than 7 but less confusing than 17...more sensible than 21 and less absurd than 24. As more time passes, I don't know exactly what I'll remember from this year, but I've loved those who have been a part of it. So thanks, guys, because I can't imagine thirty-one feeling any better than this.

belly full of baby in a shotgun wedding

I got a letter from my health insurance company today telling me how to get pregnant.

"Dear Unfortunate Lawyer: We have analyzed medical claims data that indicate you might be interested in or are pursuing treatment for infertility. We want to make you aware that UnitedHealthcare has infertility services available to you..."

Wow, UnitedHealthcare. Wow, did you ever get that one wrong.

"You and your partner have access to a network of superior services...etc, etc...we look forward to helping you on your journey."

Really? Do you? Because I could list 1,000 things that I want right now, and exactly none of those things would be "baby." In fact, if there's one thing I dislike more than the sound of children playing, it's the sound of children singing. And if there's one thing I detest more than the sound of children singing, it's the sound of babies crying. But sure, let's do this. Let's embark on this beautiful journey together. A journey that started, apparently, with me changing my birth control prescription, and progressed to you writing me letters about my unwanted child and a "partner" that I don't have. Thanks. I can't wait to see where we go from here.

What the $#@%!

When people go out to dinner, they normally do not order dessert. That has been my experience and it kind of pisses me off. People will inevitably say no when the waiter comes by the table and asks if anyone is interested in dessert. Why? Why don't you want any dessert? You're too full? Really? I don't think so. I think you're just too afraid to say you want dessert because you think people will secretly judge you.

There is, however, a time when almost everyone will order dessert. That is when it's someone's birthday. But here's the thing: if it's someone's birthday, there will usually be a group of people and they will only order ONE DESSERT. I went out to dinner for three of my friends' birthdays in January. And of course this is what happened.

I sat in my corner of the table silently brewing over the complete absurdity of the decision to order one dessert for eight people. How does that make sense? How is that logical? IT'S NOT. But I told myself to relax. Everything would be okay. The fact that my friends think it's just FINE to order one dessert for eight people would probably mean that I would not get to have very much of it. I reassured myself that I could always go to the McDonald's drive thru and get a sundae afterward. Because I do things like that.

When the dessert came, everyone took one bite. No one seemed to care about it. Pretty soon I was eating that entire thing by myself.

I ain't that baby's daddy, but I treat him like my own.

Lawyers make mistakes: we miss deadlines, we forget things in our calculations, and sometimes we just lose when we really should have won.

Occasionally, on an ill-fated Friday, we ask the wrong person for sperm.

I think the lesson here is that when your job is to ask a young father to donate sperm to the mother of his child, so that she can have another baby, you shouldn't just grab the file on the top of your stack and dial the number. Because you might end up asking a 50-year old, divorced, happily re-married man if his ex-wife (whom he divorced 10 years ago) can please have some of his sperm in a cup. And when he sounds confused and asks what, exactly, you're talking about, you might repeat the entire pitch one more time before realizing that something has gone horribly, terribly wrong.

It could happen. I'm just saying.

In your hallucination, were the "C"s open or closed?

Boss #6 is back in the office after a case of pneumonia.

"You know," he said, "When I was laying there - sick, sweating, not knowing where I was - I think I was hallucinating, because I looked into the closet and I swear I saw a Coach purse."

"Doesn't your wife have a Coach purse?"

"This was different."

I want you back.

Dear Dish Network SmartCard:

I am coming for you. Hang on.

My television warned me that I needed you, or my cable would stop working. Still, I didn't watch for you in the mail. That was my fault. Sure, I could call my cable company and have them send a new card, but that could be 4...5...maybe 6 or more days without television. So that's not going to work. Besides, I know exactly where you are. Just hold on.

Love,
Unfortunate


Dear 96-Gallon Trash Bin:

I wish I had rolled you out to the curb last week. Or the week before. Because now you are quite full and you smell unpleasant. And I am about to do something very shameful to get my cable television back.

See you soon, with a surgical mask and rubber gloves,
Unfortunate

Indecent Proposal

I watched "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" last night and it made me hope for one thing:

If a guy ever proposes to me, I want him to be shirtless.

2008: In Review

Favorite comeback beverage: Diet 7-Up

Favorite new TV show: Skins on BBC America

Most egregious legal mishap: turning in State Supreme Court brief 88 days late

Most commonplace thing I still don't understand: airline 'miles.' (I have been flying for two decades and I have never earned one of these miles. I also do not know how to earn them, where to store them, or how to trade them in for candy.)

3 Things I ate that I shouldn't have: that chili we made, casino birthday buffet, vegetables

Most unsettling obsession: floods (Runner-Up: Great Ape Trust)

Best day of the year: February 29 (It was an extra day.)

Number of times I attempted to read first Twilight book: 6 (Teen romance? Love it. Vampires? Can't get enough. But the number of times and the manner in which she described whats-her-name being carried on that vampire's back while he ran really really fast was weird and gross.)

Total billable hours: 1,760

Best place to look for me when I'm missing: Embassy Suites lobby

Least polite thing I did: dipped finger in your egg nog when you weren't looking

Most common thing prepared in my house: Crystal Light (Runner-up: revenge)

Most elaborate April Fool's Day prank: Sending a press release to your hometown newspaper, which, it turns out, will print just about anything without checking facts (Runner Up: 760 Dixie cups)

Most frequently-used item: spoon (Runner-Up: law degree)

I'm here to [dis]please

I've decided that I'm no longer going to begin court hearings by standing up and saying "May it please the Court."

It has become clear that very little of what I do pleases the Court.

Very little.

My New Fitness Program

I recently saw an advertisement on TV while watching VH1's top twenty video countdown. The advertisement is for a workout program called "Flirty Girl Fitness." As far as I can tell, the workout consists of learning "classic sexy dance moves" from a variety of places. There are a number of DVDs available for sale, so you can do this workout program at home. Instead of treadmills, stairmasters, and weights, you get to work out with kitchen chairs, feather boas, and stripper poles. The dancing is so much fun that apparently, you forget that you're working out. Well that sounds great. Couldn't we all use a workout program like that? But here's what I really want to know: if I forget that I'm working out, will I also forget that by doing this program, I might as well just get a job as a stripper? Will I forget that I am shredding any hint of my dignity while dancing with a pink feather boa and straddling my kitchen chairs? Will I forget that I'll never be able to look at myself in the mirror again after dancing in my living room to DVDs titled "Booty Beat" and "Just Teasing?"

Why don't you get back to me on that, Flirty Girl Fitness. Then I might consider ordering your Teaser Collection Kit, and possibly even a "Fitness" Pole with the extension.