Little Miss Law Does Dublin

My apologies, dear readers, for the radio silence on the blog for the past week. I took a much-needed long weekend and flew to Dublin, Ohio, land of real autumn, lots of quaint looking brick buildings (even McDonalds, which was an adorable house, missing the famous golden arches) and loads of football fans, but most importantly, the hometown and now-current town of my friend JV, who got married this weekend. I did myself the favor of staying as far away from computers as possible (except for a minor dalliance into email checking in the Marriott Business Center on Saturday — just couldn’t resist), and it made this weekend one of the most (mentally, at least) relaxing times I’ve had in recent memory.

The wedding was very nice, the bride was gorgeous and had an amazing dress, and even the first dance (which she was nervous about) went off without a hitch. The highlights of the weekend, though, went beyond those fundamental wedding things. Here are some tidbits, in no particular order:

First, one of the groom’s friends was a former stripper. Yes, a male stripper. All the girls were talking about it before we met him on the night of the rehearsal dinner, so we were prepared. After the rehearsal dinner, we all went to a local bar and I ended up talking to the stripper (disguised as a normal guy in a button down shirt and purposely-ripped jeans). Remembering that the groom had warned us not to ask him about his previous career, I asked him innocently, “So D. says you’re a DJ?” “Yeah,” he replied, “I DJ at a strip club.” All righty then!

Anyway, Stripper ended up being fun to talk to. And what does Little Miss Law find to chat about with a stripper, you ask? That’s right . . . our cats. (No, I’m not kidding. His is named Mayhem.) Still, the following night when Stripper and I were chatting again (he was seated at our table), the groom’s brother came over and was hovering around us looking concerned. He apparently later pulled my friend J. aside and told her to “look out” for me. What? A guy who stripped for EIGHT YEARS isn’t the most wholesome, dateable guy? Shocker, and here I was planning our wedding. Thanks for the concern, though, guys!

Second, dear readers, I had a realization. Not that I was planning on it, but I am definitely not moving to the Midwest. In fact, even though I have recently been picturing myself in my flannel shirt, writing books on my small town porch, I think I can scratch out anything that’s not a city. Yes, Dublin had something of a storybook feel to it, with all the brilliant fall leaves, the pine trees, and all the brick. But let’s just say that our encounters with the locals left something to be desired. Two reasons: 1) The most common thing said to me (with a slight accent) was “You’re from L.A.?? No shit!” and 2) In Dublin there appears to be nothing to do but drink beer and watch Buckeye football. Now, I can certainly watch football and drink a cold one on the weekend. Fine. Do I want to do this at the local bar from 8 am to midnight, wearing my Ohio State sweatshirt? Um … I think I might pass on that. And indeed, when J. and I went to the much-hyped “Dub Pub” after the wedding, we encountered nothing but die-hard Buckeye fans, all crammed into a packed sports bar in a strip mall, right next to the dry cleaner. One guy, who from afar we dubbed “Varsity Blues,” was sporting a Buckeye jersey and a Chris Carmack-esque jock look. J. asked him whether he was a current student at Ohio State, or whether he was an alum. “Neither,” he replied. (This phenomenon is summed up perfectly by the poster we saw at the airport, advertising the Ohio State merchandise store: “If you wear the sweatshirt, they’ll think you graduated.” Yeeeeah.)

Third, did you know that Dublin has a whole field of human-sized corn ears? K., my friend T.’s boyfriend, wanted to stop because he didn’t believe, looking at the corn from the road, that it was really human-sized. (We vetoed him because we were cold and tired.) He joked that perhaps it was T.-sized, (who is 5’3″) but certainly not his height (6’4″). Well, K., I’ll have you know that the corn is indeed 6 feet tall — perhaps not as tall as you, but I think it can safely be called “human-size.”

Finally, I lived one of my dreams and visited White Castle, which I have wanted to do ever since watching Harold & Kumar. Sadly, I had just eaten lunch and so I couldn’t bring myself to eat even one tiny burger, so K. took one for the team and ordered it. But I have to say, the food smelled disgusting. It was bad in the restaurant and then it filled the entire rental car with its smell. So I guess my fantasies can end and I’ll stick to In-N-Out.

Dear readers, I have more stories but I am somewhat jetlagged (after all, it’s 2 a.m. in Dublin).

To be continued…

“Didn’t your parents teach you better than that?”

Last night I went out again with J. to her local bar — not to drink, but just to get out of the house and spend some time with J.  As always, though we weren’t there too late, it was a highly entertaining evening. 

First, we spotted our good friend TL, in all his beige-jacket-over-a-T-shirt finest.  You’ll recall that he had sent me the lovely text of “Did we meet last night?” after the last time I chatted with him.  Sure enough, last night he looked straight at me and smiled with not even the vaguest hint of recognition.  He appeared to have charmed some (unsurprisingly, intoxicated) girl into hanging out with him.  I wanted to warn her, but J. advised me not to ruin things for the poor girl who was clearly enjoying her misconception that he’s a cool guy.

Then, even worse, I ran into The Bad Texter.  I had met him 3 weeks before, he had sent me a few badly spelled texts, and I had never followed up with him.  I spotted him, and oh-so-maturely, I swiveled and ran in the opposite direction and then cowered upstairs.  Eventually I realized that I was going to run into him eventually and that I needed to just suck it up, so J. and I headed back downstairs and I prepared to face the music.

Sure enough, before long I found myself face to face with him.  He looked at me and whined, “You never texted me back!”  “I know, I apologize,” I replied.  “No you don’t,” he said.  “If you apologized, you would have texted me back.  That’s rude.  Your parents taught you better than that, didn’t they?  Why didn’t you text me back?  Be honest.”

I hemmed and hawed a bit, and when I realized that he wasn’t going to let this one slide, I replied, “Like I told you last time we met, I’m taking a break from dating.”

Oh boy.   I had no idea what kind of floodgates that was going to open.  I then was regaled with a speech about how women are irrational, why was I imposing some artificial rules on myself, blah blah blah.

I didn’t tell him, of course, that if I met the right guy I would consider ending the mancation, but he wasn’t it.

At any rate, for the next half hour or so, Bad Texter alternated between bitchy (“Fine, it’s your decision!  Whatever!”)  and sweet (“I just couldn’t stop thinking about you!”)  When J. and I went to say our goodbyes, he asked, “So if I text you this week, will you text me back this time?”  This guy just won’t take no for an answer!  Luckily J. chimed in with, “She can’t date you!  She’s on a mancation!”   He was annoyed (J. got a not-quite-joking finger) but I think he finally got the point.  Whew.

Ah, the fragile male ego.

Tonight I am having dinner at Knittinkins’ abode and get to see her father, who has sort of adopted me into the family (after all, I did live with 2 of his daughters for 4 years), and apparently reads my blog! 

Have a lovely weekend!

Bad texting part II

Dear readers, as you know this was a grueling and stressful week at work, and so Friday night I had every intention of staying in with some Netflix, a glass of wine and Noodles.  Instead, I ended up going out with my friend J. to her favorite local bar (walking distance to her house), staying out till the bar closed and sleeping on J’s spare mattress.  Not exactly a relaxing Friday evening, but all in good fun. 

J.’s friend S. practically lives at the bar (no, really — he is there almost every night of the week) and sure enough, we spotted him the minute we walked in on Fri night.  When we hang out with S., we always seem to meet entertaining people.  He smokes, so we end up out on the balcony with him — I hate cigarette smoke, but smokers do tend to be quite a social bunch, so it can be fun. 

While out on the balcony, we ended up standing next to a guy who I had spotted earlier and commented to J. that he looked like Topher Grace.  (I had just been watching In Good Company on TV before I went to J.’s house, so Topher was on my mind.)  Topher Lookalike (I’ll call him “TL” to protect him) was wearing a T-shirt with a white blazer over it.  (Yes, wow.)  We started chatting and I discovered a couple of things.  1) He was just as big of a tool as his outfit suggested, as he started using some of the worst pick-up lines I have ever heard.  2)  He is a 2L at the law school I attended.  (Really, this should not have surprised me, as most of the single guys I went to law school with were giant tools.)

The evening went on and J., S. and I continued to hang out and chat.  At the end of the night, TL came up to me and asked for my number.  J. was horrified when I gave it to him, but I assured her that I had no intention of going out with him, but I am not one to turn down what has the potential to be excellent blog fodder.

And, just as I hoped, TL came through for me.  Yesterday J. and I went to the 3rd Street Promenade and were having a pleasant afternoon of shopping when I heard my phone beep, and found this winsome text:

“Did we meet last night?  Sorry, asshole text I know.”  -TL

So, as it turns out, there are much larger texting crimes than bad spelling, and this is certainly one of them.  It’s really pretty inexplicable.  If he has no memory of me, why is he contacting me?  And what makes me think that I would ever respond to such a text?  (I didn’t respond, though J. and I spent some time conjuring up some truly snarky responses.)

All the more reason why the mancation is an excellent idea . . .

Little Miss Law’s Guide to Vegas

I am back from my Vegas extravaganza, and we had a fantastic time !  I was a little worried that we wouldn’t be able to do Vegas like we did in law school, since we go out so much less these days, but we brought out some serious rally monkeys and partied like rockstars (as evidenced by the fact that when I woke up this morning, my first thought was, “Can you actually die from sleep deprivation?”).  As my dear readers know, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas — so I can’t share any of the juicy details of the weekend.  I thought that instead, I’d share some of my favorite places we visited, for any of you (esp ladies) who are planning a Vegas weekend. 

1)  The Lazy River at the MGM.  The “river” meanders all through the pool area, with beach chairs all around it.  It was ridiculously hot this weekend, so we didn’t spend as much time at the pool as we normally might, but when it got too hot to handle, it was so pleasant to just float down the river (notwithstanding all the children and drunk people).  You can also rent an innertube — though I saw one very irate couple who got their innertube stolen.  Not pretty.

2)  Moon Nightclub at the Palms Casino.  The club is on the top of the Palms, so there is an amazing view of the Strip and the city….gorgeous.  On the 2nd floor there is a separate bar that remained uncrowded all night, and we could go out on the balcony to get fresh air and check out the view.  They also played really fun music all night – everything from hip hop to 80’s to techno.  But get on the list or you’ll be waiting a loooooong time.

3)  Fat Tuesday’s.  If you’ve ever been to New Orleans, you are familiar with the shops on every corner selling the pre-mixed slushy drinks.  Fat Tuesday’s brings that to Vegas.  There’s one in MGM and one in New York New York (and probably others I’m not thinking of).  You pay less than $10 and get a big slushy drink of your choice – if you are feeling particularly adventurous, add a shot of Everclear.  You’ll be happy you did when you get to the clubs and realize that drinks and shots are $12 apiece.

4) Finally, the piece de resistance for any bachelorette party — Thunder From Down Under.   Some of my girls were not so excited, but by the end of the night, even the naysayers were hoarse from so much hooting, hollering and laughing.  (I think the bacheloretts exclaimed, “That was the best thing EVER!”)  If you go, especially for a special occasion, make sure to splurge for the VIP seats — it means that the guys dance on your table and it’s more likely that someone from your party will get chosen for special attention…esp if she is wearing a veil!  The show is basically just hilarious and entertaining.  I can’t say so enough.

That concludes my tour of Vegas!

Oh!  One last story.  On the way back from Vegas, my friend O. and I flew together and were seated next to a guy who was probably in his 30’s, who did real estate.  We were talking shop for a while, then he asked O. how long she had been married.  They chatted about that for a minute, then he asked me, “What about you?”  I replied that I’m not married.  He looked at me for a second and said, “You have a cat, though.”

What????  I know I talk about Noodles and pet strollers on here a fair amount, but in general I didn’t think that I actually came across as a crazy cat lady!  *Sigh*. 

Little Miss Law Comes Home

I must say, there is nothing better than traveling, and then there is nothing better than coming home to your own apartment and sleeping in your own bed.  Aaaahhh. 

I wasn’t quite ready to leave Maui yesterday morning — I was wishing I could have a couple more days of vacation — but after a 5 + hour flight, an hour waiting at LAX for my bag, and a taxicab ride, I was the happiest girl in the world when I finally turned my key in the lock to my front door and my legs were encircled by a meowing Noodles.  (He was so happy to see me, in fact, that he followed me around like a puppy all evening; started meowing at 4:30 a.m., and didn’t stop meowing, even after I fed him, until 7:30 a.m., when I finally pulled myself, bleary eyed, out of bed and started getting ready for work.)

At any rate, it was a fantastic vacation.  The weather was perfect:  mostly hot and sunny, with some brief periods of luscious tropical rain.  The balcony of our suite overlooked the well-landscaped grounds, the pool area and, beyond that, the ocean.  I slept on a Murphy bed in the living room, next to the balcony, with the sliding glass door open, so every morning when I woke up as the sun rose, I would turn over in bed and look out at the water.   What a way to start the day. 

Our days were full of a good mix of exploring, eating and lounging — my three favorite things to do on vacation.  We ate some amazing food, including to-die-for pork pot roast and some excellent seafood.  We went to the Maui Ocean Center aquarium, which was really neat; snorkeled and swam, and then ate dinner, at Napili Bay; took a submarine ride; shopped; and had lots of pool time.  The highlight of my trip, though, was a 1/2 day snorkel trip out to Turtle Town and Molokini.  There is nothing I have experienced that is more tranquil than snorkeling, surrounded by fish, feeling my body weightless and suspended.  We saw so many fish at Molokini, it was like swimming in an aquarium.  Truly amazing.

It was also great to spend time with Mom & Dad and our family friends.  We haven’t taken a family vacation in a long time, so it was a really special treat.

Finally, I got in some reading, as I had hoped.  I took with me the three books that I mentioned in my last post, and then I ended up buying a book at LAX (because I had packed the other 3 in my suitcase): Back to Wando Passo, by David Payne.   It took me a bit to get into it, but once I did I was hooked.  I’m sure my parents had a flashback to when I was an avid reader in elementary school and they couldn’t get me to put down a book long enough to have dinner!  Payne is an extraordinary writer, and the book is quite gripping.  Using fantasy elements, it weaves two dramatic love stories, one from the present day and one from the Civil War period, which both took place at Wando Passo, an old rice plantation in South Carolina.  Payne must have done an incredible amount of research — about the Civil War, plantation life in the South, race relations, Cuban mysticism and witchcraft, blues music, and on and on — because the novel is so vivid, descriptive, and most of all accurate.  If you are willing to suspend disbelief and lose yourself in this book, I recommend it.

I also read a lighter, summer beach read — The Guy Not Taken, a collection of short stories by Jennifer Weiner (who I love — she also wrote Good in Bed and In Her Shoes).  The stories were funny, sad and genuine, and it’s an extremely quick read.

Well, dear readers, I must go collect my laundry and head to bed. On Friday I am off to my next adventure — a bachelorette party in Vegas — and I’m sure that more stories will come from that! (Though if the old Vegas adage applies, I may not be able to write about it…)

Who reads this blog, anyway?

My dear readers, by now you all know to a certain extent who Little Miss Law is — or rather, what she’s like, what makes her tick, what pisses her off … you catch my drift.  Indeed, a good number of my readers have the *privilege* of knowing the “real life” Little Miss Law.

Yet, it feels sometimes like the playing field is a bit uneven, because I don’t know much about my readers.  Who the hell are you?  The only knowledge I have about my readers (aside from the usual suspects — aloha, Mom & Dad) comes from one of my favorite WordPress features, where you can read the search engine terms people used to find your blog.  Here are the terms people used to make their way to Little Miss Law this week:

“little miss law blog”  (YES!  I have a following!)  😉

“kathy the cartoon character” (Ahem, it’s Cathy with a C.  But if you are reading my blog I forgive you.)

“sighting ben mckenzie” (Glad to see I’m not the only celeb stalker.)

“triplets joke” (I wonder if this person liked my Siamese triplets pun.)

“wordpress theme” (Huh?)

“confessions office watercooler blog”

“Fashion dress blog” (Sorry to disappoint.)

“wear to court” 

“once a week my cat go crazy and attack” (Spray bottle!!)

“going to court heels” (Yes, they are called pumps.  ‘Nuff said.)

So, in a nutshell (help, I’m in a nutshell!  how do I get out of this nutshell?) my readers are crazy cat ladies (or ladies with crazy cats), lawyers, celebrity stalkers and gossip hounds.  Indeed, you’re my kind of people!  Keep reading!

Tomorrow I hop on a plane and fly to the beautiful island of Maui.  Snorkeling, hiking, lounging, eating…I wish I could just transport myself there instantly. 

I’ve also bought a few books to take with me, since pleasure reading is one of my biggest loves and it so often falls by the wayside.  They are:  The Guy Not Taken (short stories by Jennifer Weiner, author of Good in Bed and In Her Shoes); Saving Fish from Drowning, by Amy Tan (Joy Luck Club) and finally A Mighty Heart (the Daniel Pearl story, now starring Angelina Jolie).  I will update you when I return!

Though I know tears will be shed that I will be blog-free for a week, I just can’t imagine shlepping my laptop to Hawaii, so I will say goodbye for now!  But first I will leave you with the Ben McKenzie story that I promised you (since apparently at least one person cares).

It was the afterparty to the premiere of Rocky Balboa, which was actually really fun, not because the movie was good at all (I admit to never having seen the others, but this was a clearly over-the-top schmaltzy throwback to them, not in a good way), but just imagine a theater full of people chanting, “Ro-cky!  Ro-cky!”  Goodtimes.

Anyway, I was with my co-workers, who luckily know and love me.  I announced that I was going to go talk to Ben, and was heartily egged on.  He was sitting with Kevin Connolly (who I just noticed on IMDb was in Rocky V) and some other guys I didn’t recognize, no other girls in sight.  There was an empty seat next to him that I resolved to plop myself down in.  I marched in the direction of his table….then hovered nearby, unable to get up the nerve to approach him.  This went on for a while until I gave up and returned to my friends.  Luckily, I don’t think he saw me stalking him.

Soon thereafter, a beautiful brunette sat down in the coveted seat and they started chatting and eventually snapping pictures.  “That could have been me!”  I kept thinking for the rest of the evening.  The next day I went online and sure enough, I found this picture of Ben and the beautiful brunette.  I sent it to my friend C. and wrote “see, this could have been me!”  She responded, “Um, that’s the girl who plays Sloan on Entourage.”

Doh!  I guess my brush with celebrity wasn’t quite as close as I imagined.

Till next week….

The “end” is just the beginning

Ok, ok.  That title is such a tease.  It suggests that I am going to be writing about something deep and insightful, like starting over after a rough time, bouncing back from a breakup, or something along the lines of one of my favorite song lyrics: “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”  (SO 1998.)  Yes, that would be an excellent topic for a post.  But not for today.

First, my apologies for the radio silence on my blog.  I have been half uninspired, half busy having fun,  and half (YES I know that makes 1 1/2 — shhh!!) trying to tie up all the loose ends at work to avoid having to answer calls from my law firm on my cell phone while I lay on the Maui beach and soak up some sun and some R & R.  The  long awaited vacation is almost upon me!!  After months of fantasizing, as of Wednesday I am leaving L.A., work, and all my everyday worries behind.  I can’t wait!

And here comes the real meaning of the title — it is the end of the summer in the world of my firm, since all the summer associates are about to leave.  We even had the “end-of-summer” party on Saturday.  But for me, the highlight of my summer is still to come!  So the “end” of the summer is just the beginning…ok, it’s cheezy.  So sue me.  (I feel like I say that too much.  As though there is not enough litigation in my life as is!  Sheesh.)

The end-of-summer party was classic of my firm.  First, there was the dress theme.  When I was a summer associate, the theme was the Roaring 20’s.  Where everyone else was understated in black dresses and pearls, I was too eager and new to know any better, and I took the theme seriously, borrowing a full flapper costume from a friend–fishnets, hair feather and all.  And I didn’t even have the wits to be embarrassed about it at the time; I’m just cringing in hindsight. 

Anyway, the theme of Saturday’s party was Black and White.  Everyone was quite tastefully dressed…the only people who stuck out were those who missed the black and white memo (polka dot pale blue tie, anyone?) but all in all, my office-mates clean up well. 

The evening was held at a partner’s home; he’s one of my favorites and I’m on 2 cases with him.  Earlier in the week, I had told him an answer he liked for one of our cases, so he told me that as a “reward” he would specially make me a Cosmopolitan at this party, even though it wasn’t on the drink menu.  (As I tell this story, you must picture that this partner is pushing 70, and of everyone in my life he reminds me most of my grandfather.  So NO, it’s not sketchy, it’s just funny.)  All week he bragged about his Cosmopolitan.

When I arrived at the party, I walked over to say hi to the host and others.  They were standing adjacent to the bar that was set up outside; in addition to the bartenders there were several waiters circulating and offering hors d’oeuvres.  Immediately, the host broke from the group, grabbed my arm and steered me into the kitchen, where he pulled out the lime juice, cranberry juice, vodka, triple sec and martini shaker that he had set aside.  He mixed the drink and waited expectantly as I sipped it.  He wasn’t joking around — he mixes a mean Cosmo!  Later, when my drink ran out, he dashed inside to pour me another one.  Now there’s a host.  (Does it take 70 years of life for a man to be that attentive?  Kidding!)

The food at the party was really sensational — there were all sorts of food stations.  I meant to work my way around, but after a generous helping of the best chicken curry I have ever had, and a cone full of yummy French fries, I was stuffed. 

Then, the dancing began.  All the bigtime partners were there and it was adorable to see them dancing with their wives or husbands.  Our jobs are stressful and takes its toll on many relationships, but some of these couples have been together for decades and you can just see how happy they are together.  It’s a beautiful thing to see. 

And with that, the “summer” has come to an end.

A couple of more things before I bid you adieu for the evening, dear readers.  First, I really wanted to do my laundry tonight.  But 2 of the washers are broken and the other 2 are being used.  Either I will stay up late tonight (doubtful) or wait till the last minute tomorrow (likely).  This is one of many reasons that I often fantasize about my own little house.  *Sigh*.

And now, another confession.  These days all my confessions seem to be about the awful TV I find myself watching the couple of nights a week that I stay home and veg with Noodles.  Tonight the new gem is: Scott Baio is 45 and Single.  I don’t even want to explain.  It’s exactly what it sounds like.  Wow, new shows need to come on and I need to get TiVo…stat.

Adventures of Little Miss Law: Celebrity Edition

I have a confession to make.  I, like many people, am totally and utterly susceptible to celebrity fascination.  You’d think that living in L.A., working at a law firm that represents its fair share of entertainment clients, and formerly living with 2 ppl who work in entertainment would break me of this habit forever.  But, alas, such is not the case.  Put an US Weekly in my hands and I will gladly flip through and see who’s dating who, who’s dumping who, who’s having a baby, who’s just getting fat – you get the picture.

Last year I attended the Emmys and I got to see what heights my celebrity awe could reach.  My friend L. and I made the decision to leave our seats after Conan’s opening bit (funny, but we could hardly see the stage from the awful nosebleed section — I think we were literally in the second-to-last row of the whole theater) and spend the rest of the time in the lobby, watching the stars come and go, and drinking several cocktails (I was fairly sauced when it was all said and done).  The, were lots of good sightings — some of the cast of Grey’s Anatomy, Peter Krause, Cheryl Hines, etc.  Seeing all these TV stars, as a (now-reformed) TV addict was a truly Twilight Zone experience, as if all these people literally crawled out of the TV set and took human form in the room with me.  In some cases, with the little-known or bit part actors, I would do a double take, thinking, “do I know that guy from college/law school/a friend of a friend?  Or was he just on a random episode of The Office?”  

So, when I spotted the star of one of my favorite shows, How I Met Your Mother, I became fixated.  No, not Neil Patrick Harris, aka Doogie.  I’m talking about the guy who plays Ted, that only people who watch the show would know.   And because not that many people I know watch the show, and he is cute in that regular guy way, and  I was a few cocktails in, I reasoned to myself that he would or should be thrilled that a fan of his would approach him and talk to him.  I looked at him; he saw me looking at him.  In the lobby I never got up my nerve, and I thought I’d lost my chance.

Later on, I attended the Governor’s Ball.  It was amazing — like a wedding reception, if you invited 10,000 of your closest friends and family.  The room was ginormous.  But I was a woman on a mission.  I was going to find “Ted,” and I was going to talk to him.  I did a trying-to-be-casual lap around the room.  As I came back to my table, a miracle happened.  He was standing right there!  I started to walk toward him.  He saw me starting to walk toward him.  He looked alarmed.  What’s that – a hot blond on his arm?  As we passed each other, he muttered “Hey,” nervously and walked — nay, ran — in the other direction.

At that point, I should have been chagrined.  I had just been shown to be nothing but a pathetic celebrity stalker.  But buzzed-on-Cosmos Little Miss Law is nothing if not self-righteous.  Instead of being embarrassed, I was indignant and mildly pissed off.  I spent a good part of the dinner (the most delicious steak and chocolate mousse I have ever had by the way) regaling my friends with comments like, “He should be happy that someone even recognized him!”

I wish I could say this was an isolated incident — but I must admit to doing a similar maneuver with Ben McKenzie at the after-party for a movie premiere a couple of months later.  But that is a story for another day, my friends.

Then yesterday, BF and I went for a lovely dinner at Shutters on the Beach in Santa Monica, and we were seated a mere 2 tables away from Matthew Perry (and his 20-something date).  I stared at him for a good part of dinner, but I did not approach him or try to stalk him!  Maybe I’m growing out of it?

The Emmys are coming up again on September 16….we’ll see whether I can turn over a new leaf.

White Water, Dry Land, Summer Associates, Karaoke and other Hazards

Hello dear readers!

My apologies for the absence of posts for the last few days.   I was on a whitewater rafting trip with my firm — left Friday midday, got back Saturday almost midnight, and spent all day yesterday doing errands and trying to catch up on sleep and feel less sore.  I swear that I can feel every single muscle in my body.  Most of them get very little use in my regular life.  (And seeing how scrawny my arms are in the rafting photos made me think maybe I should do something about it….meh.)

At any rate, the trip was incredibly fun, but was not without its share of misadventures.  Friday afternoon we arrived at our motel by the lake.  Since we have had a terrible drought this year, it was possible to actually walk all the way across a section of the lake without getting more than waist deep.  Almost all of the dudes on the trip proceeded to do this, whining the whole time about how disgusting the mud at the bottom of the lake was, but being way too macho to actually give up.  (This includes my boss, who started the whole thing!)

After the lake, we cleaned up, hung out and then headed for a dinner at “That’s Italian!”  restaurant.  To us, it was your fair-to-mediocre hole in the wall Italian joint, but everyone in Kernville who we mentioned it to, incl our river guides, talked about it like it was Spago.  Boy, sometimes I really do feel like an L.A. snob.

After dinner, we were all appropriately buzzed on wine so we moseyed over to the saloon next door for some karaoke.  I am never one to refuse the microphone, even when it is ill advised.  (It always is.  I can’t carry a tune.)  So it’s no surprise that I joined one of the summer associates in singing “Don’t Stop Believin'”.  Is there anything better than Journey?  I think not.  Then we forced my boss to sing “Tiny Dancer.”  (I should mention that there were more mullets and cowboy hats in one room than I have seen since that one time in college where I got dragged to a line dancing bar in Chino and danced with a cute Marine…but that is another story.)

I went to the bar to get some drinks and ended up next to a chatty local named A.J. — a tall, lanky, deeply tanned guy of unknown age with crazy eyes.  After a while of standing there waiting, he says to me, somewhat sarcastically, “Boy, it’s nice to have your arm rubbing up against me.”  I apologized and later gave him a Kamikaze shot that one of the summers turned down.  (Kids these days – don’t drink like they used to.)  I later repeated the comment to another summer who had been standing there and he said “Uh….he didn’t say ‘arm.’  He said ‘ass.'”  Greeeeaaaat.  I was embarrassed enough when I thought I was rubbing my arm on him accidentally!!

We finally made our way back to the motel at the wee hours of the morning…only to have to wake up 5 hours later for rafting.  We looked like quite the sorry bunch as we took our places in the bus to head to the rafting place (with a stop first at McDonald’s) at 7 am, but once we got our gear and got on the river at about 10 am, we were in a much more chipper mood.  The morning of rafting went off with barely a hitch (except for all my raft mates falling out because I didn’t successfully highside — sorry guys!) 

We stopped for lunch, pulled out the rafts and were standing around chatting.  One minute I was talking with a summer associate, the next she was turning around to get lunch, tripping over a large branch on the ground, and falling face first with her arm in the most atrocious position I have ever witnessed.  We were all horrified and stood by while the river guides ascertained that her elbow was dislocated and probably fractured.  She had to be hiked out to the road where the paramedics took her to the hospital, re-set her elbow, etc while we continued on (very shaken up, and our moods dampened) down the river.

Luckily, the rest of the day was really fun, with 5 class IV rapids all in a row, so our moods were lifted, and we had no other major injuries — whew!  Also, the injured summer (who was a huge trooper — I would have been crying like a baby) was at work today with her arm in a sling, feeling fine.  So all’s well that ends well, as they say.  Still, I suspect that this may have sounded the final death knell for the firm rafting trip….

All in all, it was a great chance to bond with my co workers and the summer associates, work on my tan, use muscles I didn’t know I had, and sing to a bar full of California hicks.  Can’t wait to do it again soon!

Adventures of Little Miss Law, Part I

Hello, my dearest readers!

Since I am busy again at work, I am back to what is actually my preferred blogging mode — in the evening, at my laptop at my dining table, watching the light fade over the palm trees while Noodles sits in the window watching the birds and the cars go by.   I love summer.

Last week, during my TV recap, I promised you that I would tell you about my Veronica Mars-esque adventure a few months ago at my firm.  Today on the phone, Knittikins reminded me of that promise and suggested that I do a piece in several parts, sharing some of my various law-related escapades, similar to her Adventures in Knitting.  I thought that was a fabulous idea, so here goes.

 It was a sunny day in February of this year.  I was having a relatively quiet morning at work, when a partner called me and asked, “Do you have time to do some detective work this morning?”  I was convinced that by “detective work” he meant making a few phone calls, or maybe a morning of Googling — what a way to get billable hours!  “Sure,” I replied. 

He then explained to me that our client owns a house on a gated street in Beverly Hills.  One of the client’s neighbors had taken to renting out his house to companies to throw giant parties, which meant a steady stream of large trucks and party guests into the once-secluded street.  The next scheduled party, for the Oscars, was upcoming, and the client wanted us to write a letter to some City department.  Not only that, the client wanted us to take photographs of the situation so that the City would be fully aware what was going on.  That’s where I came in.  Now, my friends sometimes called me “Paparazzi” for my proclivity towards being a bit snap-happy on our evenings out, but this was way beyond my area of expertise.  I was also supposed to try to find out who was throwing the party.  Finally,  a chance to use my sleuthing skills!  (Riiiight.)

First, I had to go collect the firm camera from the firm’s primary name partner.  “Make sure not to delete the pictures already on there,” he instructed me.  “They’re pictures of my feet for my upcoming foot surgery.  Now, don’t laugh at my feet!”  he smiled.

When the 75-year old name partner of the firm, who still practices law and plays tennis 3 times a week (way more exercise than I ever get) gives you an instruction, you follow it.

I made my way over to Beverly Hills and up to the gate.  At the gate, there were numerous security people, all apparently hired by the party-planner.  I told a woman who I was visiting (the client), and then asked innocently, “I heard there was some sort of party going on.  What’s up with that?”  Nothing.  The woman was a stone wall.  I decided to save my sleuthing tactics for the actual scene of the party and drove along.  As I went up, I saw numerous security people stationed all along the street.

I parked in my client’s driveway and looked around.  The house where the parties were being thrown was at the top of the street, which was on a decently sloped hill.  I got out of the car.  Business casual attire (black pants, button-down shirt), check.  Camera, check.  Could I be more obvious??  At least Veronica Mars (besides having natural sleuthing skills and good looks) has time to prepare and dress the part.  Sheesh.

I began my trek up the hill, trying my best to look nonchalant.  Sure, I thought, trying to smile at the first security guy I passed, I’m just an average person living in the neighborhood, out for a mid-morning stroll.  In my pumps.  Right.

I got up to the top of the hill and – jackpot! – in the driveway were several party trucks, very obvious with painted balloons all over the side.  However, there was also yet another security guy posted at the bottom of the driveway.  I sidled up to him, aiming for casualness.  “So, some kind of party goin’ on here, huh?”  “Apparently so.”  “So, what kind of party is it anyway?  Who’s throwing it?”  “I don’t know that, ma’am.  I just work for the security company.”

Hmm.  Ok, I’m getting nowhere with the interviewing, so I move to the paparazzi angle.  I manage to snap a couple of pictures of the trucks, but since I was trying for Security Dude # 1 not to notice me, I’m not sure how much of the trucks were actually in the picture.  Moving on….

Down the hill, heading back to my car, was another security guy.  I wanted to snap a picture of him, but I didn’t want him to see me.  So I hid in the bushes.  No, make that skulked.  I don’t know if I’ve ever skulked before.  I am a decidedly poor skulker.  I poked my head out.  Yup, still there, looking at me.  Finally I resorted to sticking my arm out of the bush and snapping blindly.  I’m sure most of my photos ended up being of Beverly Hills foliage — but being the non-tech savvy girl that I am, I couldn’t figure out how to work the View function, so I couldn’t find out.

I returned to the office with a couple of pictures of trucks and no more information on the company than when I left, and a sturdy resolve not to quit my day job.  At least, not in favor of full-time private detective work.

Have I mentioned how kickass of a detective Veronica Mars is?  She makes it look so easy…

Ok, kids.  More stories from the trenches coming soon!