It’s My Job, And I’ll Whine if I Want To

After my panic attack at work a couple of weeks ago, I have still been incredibly busy, but somewhat more calm. (Perhaps it’s just that I’m too busy to do more than just try to keep my head above water? Hmm.) I am still considering all my life options, but since I know I’m not going to be moving jobs or cities in the immediate future, I can relax and just keep my mind and eyes open.

One thing keeping my feet planted is that a case I’m on is going to jury trial in March, and I’m excited about that, so I know I need to stick around till then. Perhaps the fact that I am so excited about the prospect of choosing a jury, using a jury consultant, etc means I should stay Little Miss Law after all?…

In any event, at times when I’m feeling very burnt out and uninspired, it helps to know that I’m not alone. In that vein, I was amused by an article in my favorite blawg today about a poll taken that revealed that associates at big law firms are actually happy, and the follow-up comments on the truthiness or not of this finding. I can’t try to do the article justice, but the comments to it are particularly entertaining (and, as is always the case on this particular blawg, very snarky. And we wonder why us lawyers aren’t more beloved).

The commenters, among other things, say that law firm associates who complain about their jobs are basically big ol’ whining babies, since they are getting paid outrageously to do a cushy job. One commenter said that associates who went straight from college into law school are the biggest whiners of all.

Sure, call me a whiner. That’s fine. At least I’m not alone.

This past weekend I spent time with my best friend M. for the last time before she moves to England! We had a fantastic time — went to the movies (is there anyone hotter than Clive Owen, particularly as a pirate?), she made me some of her organic cooking, we dressed up for Halloween and went out, and we went to Santa Barbara for the day. When we were in SB, we stopped at a cute coffee shop to get some chai and ask for directions since we went the wrong way on State Street. I looked around at the people on their laptops and I thought how much I would love to be a free lance writer, and have my laptop be my only office. Of course, I know what an uphill battle that would be, but it’s fun to imagine myself as the next Carrie Bradshaw. Dear readers, do you know anyone who has actually lived a seemingly farfetched dream?

And, to top this off before I head to bed, something to make me and my compatriots feel better about our jobs, a quote from a reader of the above article:

“As a Naval Officer I worked twice as hard and earned one third as much money as I do as a 1st year associate in BigLaw. They actually let me sit down here when I am doing my work at 2 in the morning. That makes me happy.”

Yes…it could definitely be worse. Hold on a moment while I scratch “Naval Officer” off my wish list.

Have a Happy Halloween, dear readers!

“My Cats Are My Babies.”

It’s the end of another long and hectic week, dear readers, and I am very glad for it. Tomorrow my friend M. arrives for a visit — from New Mexico to Los Angeles for the first leg of her West Coast goodbye tour, and then on to her new home in England. M. and I have been friends since we were 7, and there is something so amazing about having someone in my life who has known me for two decades, and who I can pick back up with like we never left off every time we see each other, even though for the past decade we haven’t lived in the same city. She’s visited me in LA before, but never in my current apartment and not since I’ve been single, so I’m looking forward to some good quality time.

So yesterday I discovered that indeed, there can be too much of a good thing. You would think that being the cat-owning, cat-loving, aspiring crazy cat lady that I am, I would want to meet a cat-loving guy. After dating a guy who was deathly allergic to cats, and then a guy who didn’t mind cats (but since Noodles’ vicious attacks on me began when we started dating and ended when we broke up, I suspect Noodles had it in for him/us), I vowed that my next boyfriend would have to live in peaceful harmony with Noodles. “Love me, love my cat.”

Upon further reflection, though, I decided that “Love me, like/tolerate my cat” might be a better motto. Yesterday, while out with J., I ended up chatting with a group of people and the topic of relationship dealbreakers came up. One guy mentioned that a dealbreaker for him would be a girl who doesn’t like cats. Naturally, my ears perked up. I didn’t find him attractive, but I found it inspiring that a guy could actually like cats. Then he uttered the least-hot phrase I have ever heard: “My cats are my babies.”

Whoa there, tiger. That’s just a whole new level.

And it got even worse. He shared that his cats’ names were Antigone and Oedipus — “Tiggie” and “Eddie” for short. He also mentioned that he had paid $4000 in vet bills for one of the cats.

Now, I know it’s stereotypical, but in my view it’s perfectly normal for a guy to be really into dogs. A guy who loves his dogs is all at once cute, endearing, masculine and sensitive. It’s like the man’s man way to show he can be emotional and have a soft spot for something. Did anyone not cry when reading Marley and Me? (I read the screenplay, not the book, but I assume the book is equally tear-jerking.)

Also, a coupled man who has cat(s) with his girlfriend or wife is perfectly acceptable.

A single man who looooooovvvves cats, on the other hand? Maybe it’s just me, dear readers, but (don’t tell Noodles I said so) I just find it to be creepy.

Speaking of Noodles, he is sleeping peacefully and I should be doing the same…

Have a fabulous weekend!

A Heartwarming Halloween Tale

The date is October 31, 2001.   The place is Beverly Hills, California.  Kids go door to door collecting Halloween candy.  All is right with the world.

 One resident of the neighborhood opens the door to see a person dressed as a ghost.  The ghost begins to reach under its costume and pull out an envelope.  The homeowner fears that it might be a gun.  The ghost extracts an envelope and chucks it at the homeowner.  “What is this?”  the homeowner cries.  “Summons!”  replies the ghost.

The homeowner, disbelieving the ghost and afraid (so soon after 9/11) that the envelope may contain Anthrax, slams the door on the ghost’s hand.  She then goes to the police department to get it checked out.

Result: sure enough, it’s a summons.

The homeowner sues for trespass and infliction of emotional distress.

The ghost / process server, who as it turns out is a little old lady, injured her hand and sues for battery.

Morals of the story:

1)  If someone comes to your door on Halloween with an envelope, you may want to consider that summons you’ve been evading.

2)  If you’re a process server, you may not want to dress up in a costume when you’re serving someone with summons.

Things to think about this Halloween season, dear readers.

“Nope, It’s Just Me and My Cat.”

It’s been a long Monday, but a good one. Still, I am happy to be home, in comfy clothes, Sex & the City on in the background (no, there’s no such thing as watching it too much), with Noodles on his new-favorite perch in front of the balcony, and blogging. Mmm.

Today I met with the in-house counsel for one of my firm’s big corporate clients, down at her hotel by the airport. She’s been traveling around like crazy and we haven’t had much time to talk about all the deadlines coming up or about case strategy in general, so it was good to sit face to face with her and discuss everything. Even better, it was a great chance for us to bond. I met her for the first time a few weeks ago at the client’s corporate headquarters, but since we were in the office, we had no chance to just chat. Tonight we were both a lot more relaxed and while we mostly stuck to business, we laughed a lot. She also gave me a huge compliment – she said that even though I’m a young associate, that she told my boss I’m “fabulous.” That was a nice boost after the way I felt about my job last week.

Then, we bonded over a very unlikely topic — our cats. She looked at her watch and commented, “Oh, I don’t want to keep you! Do you have kids?” “Nope,” I replied, “It’s just me and my cat.”

(Ironically — this was unplanned — I just came to the part in this Sex & the City episode where Miranda moves into her own condo and finds out that the woman who lived there before her died and the cat ate her face.)

Anyway, the client laughed and said, “Oh, you’re a young associate, they don’t give you time for anything but a cat!” She told me that she has two dogs and two cats, and can’t seem to stop adopting pets. Then, I was even able to give her advice that is probably far more sage than any legal advice I can dispense at this stage in my career: how to make your cat stop biting you.

This, dear readers, is why they pay me the big bucks.

That’s the thing about needs.

Sometimes when you get them met, you don’t need them anymore.

That’s one of my favorite Sex and the City quotes — from the episode where Carrie and Aidan have moved in together, she is feeling crowded and she tells him that she needs to shut the sheer curtain that separates the “bedroom” from the sitting area and have an hour to herself. He says ok, she shuts the curtain, and then five mintes later, just knowing that she could have that space if she needed it, she feels better and comes out to snuggle with him.

That is a bit how I feel today–having given myself permission to dream and percolate about changing jobs, moving cities, changing my life, I somehow feel more peaceful with my life as it is. I’m going to keep dreaming and planning and thinking about a change, but I know there’s no urgency–I can make those changes however and whenever I want, so I can live my life calmly in the meantime as I figure out my next step. Whew.

This weekend was exactly what the doctor ordered. On Friday night, I joined Knittkins, the sisters and the Baron for pizza, ice cream cake and a marathon game of Monopoly. That has always been one of my favorite games, but as an only child I was hard pressed to get my parents to play with me, and now I know why — it takes absolutely forever. We played until 12:30 am when all of us but Knittikins and The Baron had lost all our money and property, and then left them to play head-to-head.

Last night was my friend D.’s big gala, and I was very impressed by him and by the event. He stood up and gave some remarks, and he is so poised and well-spoken — practically presidential. He has done so much in the year that he’s been at his job. It’s interesting because we went to law school together and he has had his moments of feeling wistful that he’s not at a firm — but as I told him when I called him tonight, he is making a real difference in the community, and I think he should be so proud of himself. (Meanwhile, as I like to say, I’m saving the world…one real estate developer at a time.)

To wind down the weekend, Knittikins and I went to get massages today. It was fantastic. I carry a ridiculous amount of tension in my shoulders and upper back, and so massages are normally not so relaxing for me, since I spend the better part of them wincing in pain. The woman today, though, used a great technique where she stretched and pulled on my arms and legs…it was like lazy girl’s yoga. I could get used to that!

Tomorrow begins another week … I am reciting a mantra to try to keep from sliding back into panic mode. Onward and upward, dear readers!

Leaving Los Angeles

Today has been one of those glorious fall days in L.A. Sunny, warm, with a cool breeze, everything washed in a soft glow. I walked up to the corner coffee shop to get an iced chai, and walking back down my street I felt peaceful and calm….a feeling that has been increasingly rare these days.

At the same time, I was hit with an overwhelming feeling: I’m going to leave Los Angeles.

Just as my mom suggested, I have been pondering what I want my life to look like. And what does my ideal life look like? Well … let’s just say, a lot quieter than my current one. Less driving, less stress, less intensity. More tranquility, more being outdoors, more greenery, maybe my own little house with a yard and a dog.

Crazy? Perhaps.

It’s interesting because whenever I have imagined moving, I have always pictured moving to another city. I’ve felt that I’m so accustomed to city life that I would never want to leave it. I’ve loved the constant hustle and bustle, the endless restaurants and bars and hotspots, always new things to do and new people to meet.

But maybe that, exactly that, is part of what I’m hoping to leave behind.

Or maybe I really would get stir crazy in a small town.

When I think of making a big life change, the number one thing that distresses me is not so much leaving my job — that would be hard and I love the people there, but there will be other jobs — but I can’t imagine leaving my friends. I know that as people get older, friendships change. But the people who have become my friends in L.A. are more than my friends; they’re my family when my own flesh-and-blood family is a state away. And what if my fantasy of starting over somewhere new would, in reality, be an incredibly lonely mistake?

My best chlldhood friend, M., has always followed her heart and her dreams. She started in Oregon like me; spent some time in Colorado; back to Oregon; San Francisco; New York for a few years, working as a restaurant hostess and then a legal secretary while pursuing an acting career; New Mexico; and now she is moving to England with her new husband. She has had, of course, her fair share of ups and downs, but she has lived such an interesting, passionate and varied life. Sometimes I wonder — should I take a page out of her book and dive headfirst into a life change, or am I too eminently practical for something like that?

I’m off to get ready for my friend D.’s big gala event tonight. Till next time, dear readers, the soul searching continues!

Bloggity Bloggity

Apropos of nothing: is there a cuter TV couple than Jim and Pam on The Office? Yes, I know, how very 2 years ago. And yes, I know that in real life, John Krasinski is rumored to be somewhat of an ass. (Stop breaking my heart!) But I was just watching them quip with each other and laugh together in that sweet way and it made me smile. Shmoop, shmoop.

After a rough night last night in which I had the worst stomach pain I’ve ever had (once the pain eased up, I pulled the classic and ill-advised move of Googling my own symptoms, and I even called Knittikins and asked her what her appendicitis felt like), and a rough day in which I had to shlep up to court in Glendale still feeling icky, I am now feeling more like myself. I have almost survived to the end of the week and, more importantly, I am beginning to put things into perspective. It’s easy to get bogged down with the details of my job and forget to see the overall picture of my life and all the choices I have, so getting to step back is a very nice thing.

A couple of words on my court appearance in Glendale. First of all, Glendale might as well be Egypt for as long as it took to get back from there. Coming up on the 405 interchange from the 101, I saw a hideous lineup of cars, and thought, Ah ha! I’ll beat all these suckers by getting off the freeway, making my way down to Ventura, cutting back to Beverly Glen and taking that over the hill and right back to the office. Of course, everyone else had the same genius idea….

Anyway, what really struck me about my time in Glendale is how much power judges really have over their cases. By way of background, in L.A. there is a mediation program in the superior court system. Mediators volunteer ther time, parties don’t have to pay for it, and mediation is all but mandatory. This case I appeared for today isn’t one I have worked on, but both the partner and the associate were on international vacations (lucky ducks) so I got to take one for the team. It went something like this:

Judge: How do the parties feel about mediation?
Little Miss Law: Well, your Honor, we have explained all of the ADR options to our client, and she isn’t interested in pursuing mediation at this time.
Judge: Ok.
(pause; Little Miss Law breathes an internal sigh of relief.)
Judge: But, that really isn’t up to her. I’m referring the case to mediation. So go downstairs and pick a mediator.

Al righty then!

This weekend promises to be fun and relaxing — a mellow birthday celebration with Knittikins, the sisters and the Baron tomorrow; my friend D.’s big gala on Saturday night (finally, another chance to wear the gorgeous dress I bought for my firm’s holiday party last year!) and on Sunday, a wind-down with Knittikins at Burke Williams. Exactly what I need…ahhh.

I’m also planning on ordering one of the many books about legal and nonlegal career options for lawyers, and I welcome any inspiring ideas from you, dear readers!

Little Miss ???

Today, dear readers, I had the closest thing to a panic attack that I have ever experienced. After realizing that I may have screwed something up at work and that any helpful paper trail had been routinely deleted from my email without me printing them, I closed myself in my office, tried not to puke/cry, and remembered why office buildings like mine don’t have windows that open.

This isn’t the first time that I have made a mistake at work. It’s not the first time that I have freaked out, imagined my imminent termination, etc. I admit that I tend to have a flair for the dramatic. (Who, moi?) But this was the first time that I stopped and thought, Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like?

Books and movies are replete with tales of women who leave their grueling, stressful law jobs, find their calling as a housekeeper/dog walker etc, become relaxed and tan and happy and fit, meet a dream man, and walk off happily into the sunset, law degree be damned. (See In Her Shoes and The Undomestic Goddess, for example.)

In real life, choices are hardly so cut-and-dried. Taken from one angle, my job is downright cushy. It pays well, I love my co-workers, I get good perks, it’s challenging. Relative to other law firms, my hours are good. On the other hand, relative to the non-law world, my job is stressful, the hours are long, and I have little to no control over my schedule. What has really come to bother me is the constant state of anxiety I find myself in. I wake up in the morning with an aching jaw from grinding my teeth all night. As soon as I open my eyes I am stressed about the day ahead. At night, I can’t stop thinking about work. And so it goes.

I know that a lot of people don’t like their jobs. But I have to say that my fellow lawyer friends seem to be particularly unhappy. And sometimes I wonder, is it worth it? Is it right to say, well, it could be worse?

I think I’m in a rough spot right now, too, because I have no one to “come home to” (besides Noodles, of course). Though I am coming to terms with being on my own, on days like today, when I am stressed and unhappy and emotionally exhausted, it is very helpful to talk to my parents and friends, and I do — but part of me just craves that intimacy of being with someone who will put their arms around me and comfort me just by being there.

Tonight as I drove home, Mom and I talked about the big picture of my career and my life. She told me that she thinks I need to focus, not just on what job I want, but on what life I want — where do I want to live, what kind of hours do I want to keep, who do I want to date. If only I knew the answers to any of these questions! Per Mom’s suggestion, I am going to start journaling privately about it, which I think will help. But there are so many X factors.

Does anyone want to pay me to blog? Anyone?

To be continued…

Congratulations, and Here’s a Cheese Grater

I interrupt my regularly scheduled workday, dear readers, to bring you a little blogging.   My friend JV is getting married in a couple of weeks in Ohio, and I am getting very excited about the trip out there.  I’ve never been to Ohio, weddings are always fun, and my friends T., J., and A. will all be making the trip out there with me. 

 First, though, I have to successfully navigate the hazards of wedding etiquette: namely, purchasing an appropriate dress and wedding gift.  One word: OY.

This past weekend I went on the quest for the perfect dress to wear to a Catholic wedding in Ohio in November.  I decided it needed to be somewhat covering (but sleeves can be hard to pull off on a fancy dress); dressy but not too dressy; and warm.

This is no easy feat, dear readers.   The dresses in the “dresses” section of Loehmann’s and Macy’s ran the gamut from ultra-trendy minidresses to red-carpet appropriate gowns.  Where, I fretted, was my pretty church dress?   I tried on dresses of indecent length; dresses that made me look pregnant, and one notable deep red satiny dress that looked pretty from the front, but when I turned sideways revealed an inexplicable giant fold of fabric around the midsection.  Next!

After looking for no less than three hours on Saturday, I walked into a different Macy’s on Sunday before seeing a movie, and found a dress in 10 minutes.  Go figure.

Today, right before lunch, I decided that I better get on the ball and order the happy couple a wedding gift, since T. and J. both already ordered theirs.  Little did I know that having waited so long meant that I was stuck with choosing between china and the following items:  napkin rings; wood coasters; two cappucino cups/saucers (the other 4 were already bought); crock w/tools; dishwasher safe cutting board; 8 small ramekins; serving bowl; souffle dish; rug; breadbasket.

The problem with these items is that because of their prices, I will have to buy two or more items in order to make it an appropriate gift.  But yet, none of these gifts fit well together as a set.  “I’m so happy for you, and here’s a rug and a breadbasket.”  “I saw these two (of six) cappucino cups and this crock with tools and thought of you two.”  Right.

Of course, my perverse reaction to this situation is to put off my decision even longer, which means that tomorrow I will be ordering them a Crate and Barrel gift card because nothing else will be left.  It’s very tempting to be the registry renegade and get something not on the registry that is more “fun,” but I can only imagine how “fun” it is to end up with 12 sets of margarita glasses that you didn’t want, so I’ll refrain.

Any thoughts from marrieds or etiquette pros on this dilemma?

Back on the clock….

Beatles, Bonsai Trees and more Blogginess

Today in Los Angeles, dear readers, felt like the beginning of winter, with all its damp chilly fogginess. I wore my favorite chunky sweater to fend off the cold, and I confess that right about 3 pm (siesta time), I took advantage of having my own office, put my head down and took a 15 minute nap. (I woke up with a small sleep line on my face and a dead arm, but it sure helped me get through the rest of the day!)

This weekend was very pleasant — I got to catch up with several of my friends, catch up on my movie watching, and catch up on my sleep. Best of all, I spent not a single moment doing work! Yesterday I saw Across the Universe, which I am now recommending to everybody I know–and not just because I am now a little in love with Jim Sturgess (which I am). The music is (of course) fantastic, the visuals are adventurous and creative, and the acting is quite good. All in all, it was a ver enjoyable 2 1/2 hours. Warnings: if you cannot handle the extreme cheeziness inherent in musicals, you should take a pass — since this one takes that to a whole new level (aka, a musical set to Beatles music whose main characters are named Jude and Lucy. No, not kidding.)

In other news, my new favorite blawg, Above the Law, keeps reporting (not once, not twice, but three times now) about Sullivan & Cromwell sending bonsai trees to the summer associates it’s recruiting. Now, I may be biased in favor of my firm, and it may be because I am capable of killing any kind of plant imaginable (Noodles survives only because he can meow), but I think that my firm gave the best recruiting gift I received or heard of: a big, gorgeous muffin basket. I distinctly remember when the basket arrived and my then-roommates’ eyes lit up with the realization that my interviewing was to their benefit. (We also received a tin of cookies from a competing firm and a couple of mugs that I still use. I tried to hold out longer to see if maybe I’d get hooked up with some fancy gadgets, but no such luck.)

Noodles is by my side, begging me to put down the computer and relax. Till tomorrow, dear readers, keep warm!