The Eleventh Wheel

Another weekend is coming to an end, dear readers, and I thought I’d wrap it all up with a blog. Overall it was a pretty mellow weekend. I had to work part of the day yesterday and for a couple of hours today, but other than that I enjoyed the 4th annual cookie party with my former roommates, catching up on Netflix (Waitress and Superbad), reading (I am halfway through Saving Fish from Drowning) and, of course, my firm’s holiday party.

The holiday party was very nice–beautiful location, nice cocktail hour and appetizers, a meal, dancing. I love my co-workers, and the speeches were good (in particular one partner who had the crowd roaring with laughter – I literally had tears streaming down my face, I was laughing so hard). But still, I admit I didn’t exactly have fun. And I hate to say this, because I don’t want to be “that” whiny single person, but, well…frankly, it sort of sucks being a single in a sea of couples. For part of the night I was able to ignore the fact and even enjoy being a solo agent. During cocktail hour I wandered around and chatted with people, and felt sort of relieved to just be able to do my own thing. One funny thing about the night was that I was driving, so I only had 1/2 a glass of wine over the course of the whole night. My co-workers, on the other hand…not so much. Even my boss, when I was chatting with him toward the end of the night, was noticeably slurring his speech. People were getting very confessional with me, and I was just sort of nodding and humoring them.

Anyway, when my singleness became really noticeable was when we moved into the ballroom for the sit-down portion of the evening. There was no assigned seating, so people started grabbing up spots. Each table had 10 seats at it. Some of the girls I really like in my department encouraged me to come sit with them…but there were 10 seats, 5 couples already sitting there. One of my co-workers’ boyfriends went and stole a chair from another table so I could join them. This, of course, meant that I ended up stealing someone else’s napkin and fork, too. And at one point as I was eating my bloody prime rib and I looked around at everyone whispering conversation with ther spouse or boyfriend, I thought, Dear God, I’m the ELEVENTH WHEEL! (Actually, in the party as a whole I was probably the hundred-and-eleventh wheel, but who’s counting?)

After dinner I was literally dragged up on the dance floor by the arm, by my friend’s fiance. I danced while it was a group, but after a while, nobody was dancing in groups, just in couples, and I found myself weaving around on the dance floor among all the oblivious couples. If it had been a movie, everything would have been slow motion and there certainly would have been some sad song playing in the background. Soon afterward, I decided to leave, over the protests of my (tipsy) co-workers. One of my friends actually came running after me and was like, “Stay! You can drink, we can take a cab back later!” I begged off — it was sweet of her, but I was tired and done with the evening. I think maybe she was worried about me, and it would have taken too much effort to explain, “This isn’t fun, but it’s not the end of the world — I’d just rather be home in my PJs right now.”

I was talking to my college friend K. on the phone today — she is recently single after a long time on-again-off-again relationship with a guy who, in my opinion, sounded like no good. K. is one of the most spirited and outgoing, fun-loving people I know, so I think she’s a good single role model. I was talking to her about the fact that I love my girlfriends, but that most of them are married or pseudo-married and therefore not often available for or interested in girls’ nights or girls’ vacations. On Saturday night, after working a good chunk of the day, I felt like I wanted to go out. But I knew that my friends would be otherwise occupied with their men, so I opted for Netflix. To give a larger-scale example, I love to travel and would love to plan some little trips out of town, or bigger trips. But I can’t get anyone to go with me, either because they are saving time/money to travel with their BFs/spouses, or are saving money in general. Sometimes I feel like, what’s the use in working hard and making money if I don’t get to do the things I want to do? I was thinking about just saying screw it and taking a solo weekend trip in January, but I know myself and I’d probably just end up feeling sad and annoyed that I spent money to be in a different city alone – I can do that here!

Anyway, K. told me that when she was single a while ago, she started affirmatively trying to meet other single girls when she went out. I think maybe cultivating some new friendships would be a good thing for me…but then again, if I’m too busy at work to go out and meet new men, how am I going to meet new women? I guess it would be an interesting experiment to see which would be easier – finding a new guy, or finding a new girlfriend? Hmmm.

K. also told me something last time we talked that I really identify with. She said that she would be more fine with being single if she knew that she would eventually meet the right person. She wouldn’t need to know how or when – but just that she would meet him at some point. That’s sort of how I feel now. It’s not that being on my own is that bad day to day. But what bothers me is thinking that this could be how it is…indefinitely. I can bear being a little lonely now. I don’t know if I can bear this being the norm. I guess it’s all about attitude. Maybe I just need to buck up.

At any rate, dear readers, I hadn’t intended to write such a whiny post tonight! More sunny things next time, I swear…

Little Miss Law in Training?

First of all, dear readers, let me comment on how many hits I received in the past day on my post about Jane Austen! I must say, I expected to get more comments in the vein of “What are you talking about? You’re not a spinster!” and I am very pleasantly surprised to find that nobody went in that direction, since that wasn’t the point of my post. (My mom did, however, email me with this excellent point: “Spinsters are pretty lucky these days because they have the internet……” Very true.)

Also, I find that my blog readers appear to be quite literary, seeing as how this post drew more attention and commentary than many of my more seemingly juicy posts about dating.

Anyway, one of my favorite things about the blogosphere is finding other kindred spirits out there, whose blogs reflect the same things I think about, worry about, dream about. I have found several — they’re the people who often comment on my blog (along with my “real life” friends) and whose blogs I read daily. It’s funny because even though I haven’t met these people and don’t even know their real names in most cases, I find myself routinely checking to see what’s going on in the worlds of Karalina, Jem1896, etc. When they write cliffhanger posts about a fight with a boyfriend or a worry about work, I find myself becoming anxious, waiting for the resolution.

Then a couple of days ago I got a comment from this blogger, a law student who is brand new to the blogosphere. The first post I read of hers was about the incestous and ill-advised nature of law school dating — totally spot-on, based on my one dating experience in law school. Then today I surfed onto her blog again and was astounded to find just how kindred of a spirit this girl is — first, writing about an unpleasant conversation where a non-lawyer tells her how bad law school is as a place to meet people, she says, “He continued on for awhile and by the end of the conversation, I had decided that I might as well buy a few more cats.” (As my readers may know, I have occasionally contemplated getting Noodles a sibling, but have never taken the leap because I determined that more than 1 cat per bedroom or per person may be pushing it.) Then, her post goes on to mention spinsterhood.

Ok, maybe this isn’t the world’s biggest coincidence. Cats and spinsters tend to be discussed together. Still, my friends, this is a girl after my own heart. And soon to be a lawyer, no less. I think I’ll keep reading!

Let’s See How Far We’ve Come

A quick aside, dear readers, before I get into the meat of this post– I have noticed that my posts that use song lyrics seem to get a lot more hits than the other ones. I guess it’s sort of cheating…all these unsuspecting fans of a certain song (tonight, Matchbox Twenty’s latest — yes I listen to Star 98.7, what’s it to you?) coming to look for the lyrics of the song and instead they stumble upon Little Miss Law’s latest ramblings. Welcome, Rob Thomas fans, welcome. Take off your shoes and make yourselves at home.

Anyway, the real topic of this post has been inspired by the trip I’m about to make up to see my family for Thanksgiving. Even though I graduated from high school and moved away close to 10 years ago, whenever I go home for the holidays I feel like I’ve been magically transported back to 1998 or earlier, sleeping in my old room, looking through old photos, seeing old friends, and just having general flashbacks to how it felt to be the angsty, teenaged version of Little Miss Law.

So, how far have I come in the past 10 years? In some ways, I’m definitely not the adult that I expected to be. If you had asked 17-year-old LML what she saw her 27-year-old self doing, I guarantee I would have envisioned myself married, maybe with a child, living in a house in the ‘burbs. I would have said that 27 year old me was certainly either a teacher or a social worker, certainly using my Spanish, probably living in Oregon. If someone had looked into a crystal ball and told me that I’d be a lawyer living in Los Angeles, working for a corporate law firm, I would have scoffed. That was so far afield of what I could have envisioned. Not to mention, if you had told me that I wouldn’t meet the love of my life in college, I think I would have been crushed. (Actually, I thought that my high school boyfriend was the one well into my freshman year of college.)

All through college and even in law school, whenever I’d go back up and see my friends, I felt the need to bring my cutest clothes, dress trendy, prove that I’d come out of my semi-nerdy shell from high school. Now I don’t do that anymore. First of all, let’s be honest, I’m still a little nerdy and not incredibly stylish. Also, I think I’m finally at a point where I can say that I’m happy with who I am, and I don’t need to prove anything to anyone.

The true test of that will be my 10 year high school reunion, coming up in ’08. For a while I was thinking that I wouldn’t want to go because everyone else would be married with kids. The last thing I would want, I thought, was for people to look at me with pity because I’m single. Then a lightbulb went on. First of all, as I said, I’m very peaceful with my life. Also, everyone has their own neuroses. Some people will be worried about being single, some people might be divorced; some will be unhappy at their jobs; some will have gained weight since high school; and on and on. And I’m sure that everyone will be too busy either thinking about themselves, or enjoying catching up, to be judging the other people. In fact, at my 5 year college reunion people were really impressed that I’m a lawyer, which I found funny (since almost everyone I know these days is a lawyer, it just seems so unremarkable to me) , but I bet I’d get a similar reaction at my high school reunion.

I’d love to let go of all the insecurities and neuroses of the 17-year old LML…but I’d also like to hold onto parts of her. The innocent, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed part. The undyingly optimistic and romantic part. Maybe it’s getting older, maybe it’s the last 10 years of experiences, maybe it’s the logic that comes with practicing law…but those parts can feel hard to hold onto sometimes.

At any rate, with that navel gazing I will wish my dear readers good night and Happy Thanksgiving!

PS. Since one of my most loyal readers (ahem, Mom) complained to me the other day that I tend to leave my readers hanging, I should share that I met my cyber-crush, and yes, he translates quite nicely in real life. 🙂 More later…

Friends Don’t Let Friends Wear Boleros

This has been a fantastic weekend so far, dear readers, and I feel extremely content as I sit on the couch with my laptop, comfy in my favorite old college sweatshirt, Noodles on his new-favorite perch in the window looking out at the partly-sunny day. Friday night J. and I went to see American Gangster, which I highly recommend. Russell Crowe, who normally bugs me a little because of his offscreen, hot-shit persona (ok, women of America, scream in horror that I don’t adore him), plays a Jersey cop who is flawed and yet impossible not to root for. They definitely uglied him up for the role, too, with some pudge and clothes that included a blue Hawaiian shirt. And Denzel, as Frank Lucas was perfectly terrifying. Two thumbs up.

Then on Saturday night I went to see Wicked, which I thought was incredible. I had no idea till I got there that Knittikins had bought seats in the second row, but we were right in the action, and the singing and costuming were fantastic.

But the real highlight of the weekend was round 2 of wedding gown shopping with Knittikins. After round 1, in which she tried on some gorgeous gowns, she decided that a floor length gown with a train was just too– well, gowny for a backyard wedding whose menu will include ribs (I see her point), and she began suggesting that instead she might wear a “sundress.”

While I am ever the obedient, supportive friend/bridesmaid when the situation calls for it, Knittikins has admonished us that we have to use tough love with her and that, as she told her younger sister Adorable yesterday, we are charged with the responsibility of making sure she doesn’t wind up looking ugly on her wedding day. Now, I have no doubt in my mind that she will look beautiful, whether in a gown or a sundress or anything in between. (Knittikins — note that a T-shirt and khakis are NOT on the list of options. Ahem.) But in my mind, when one is hiring a professional photographer to capture the event for time immemorial, one wants to look as perfect as possible. And wedding gowns, beasts that the are, are structured in such a way that no matter how much you move and breathe and eat and laugh and dance and greet people, the dress supports you. So, to that end, I suggested to Knittikins that she try on some more casual and/or tea length gowns, rather than moving away from gowns entirely.

From there ensued a morning at Alfred Angelo, which is much more user-friendly and down-to-earth than the environment at Renee Strauss the prior weekend. While the Renee Strauss lady had seemed borderline-horrfied that we all wanted to sit around in the giant dressing area together, the AA lady had no qualms about letting Knittikins, Adorable and I squeeze into the tiny dressing room together with her. I was also allowed to wander around at my leisure, choosing out gowns for Knittikins to try on, which was fun. And best of all, unlike most bridal shops, AA lets you take pictures, so I was able to be the paparazzi (paparazzo? hmm) I love to be. Knittikins’ other sister, my best college friend/former roommate C., had to work, so we were able to take lots of photos to show her in anticipation of her going back with Knittikins soon. (C. informed Knittikins that, understandably, she would never forgive her if she bought a gown without C.)

There were some good choices — the best, in my opinion and Adorable’s, was a tea length strapless dress that gave Knittikins a tiny little waist and was just, for lack of a better word, so damn CUTE. We’ll see what she ultimately decides to do. But the biggest fashion disaster of the day, that took some definite tough love to steer Knittkins away from, was her inexplicable desire to ruin the gorgeous, simple strapless dress by wearing a bolero. I wish I could locate a photo of this, but you’ll just have to take my word for it. Long sleeved, heavy satin-y material (can we remind you that the wedding will be in June in the Valley?)…just unnecessary. Knittikins exclaimed, “But it’s so comfy! I feel like I’m wearing a T-shirt!” (Wearing a T-shirt on her wedding day is her deep-seated desire, that we will absolutely not allow.) As Adorable asked, “Why in the world would you want to Pretty In Pink your dress?” Aka, why take a pretty dress and mess it up? Well put.

Anyway, dear readers, I really want nothing more than for Knittikins to have her wedding exactly the way she always imagined it. And I will support her and help her do anything to achieve that vision.

Unless, of course, that vision includes a bolero…

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…

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!

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!