Some People

... really get under my skin. I have no idea why. I can't explain it. Actually, I can, sort of. It's about how certain people choose to interact with others.

A bit of background -- I am representing a client in a certain transaction. There is someone in my office who is representing a different client on the opposite side of the transaction. I will refer to that person as "Opposing Counsel". Both of our clients are aware that our firm is on both sides of the deal -- conflict waivers have been signed, etc... This transaction also involves getting approvals from various government agencies which are notoriously nit-picky.

I have been asking Opposing Counsel for comments on a certain document for over 3 months. THREE MONTHS! About 2 months ago I sent the the same draft that I had sent to OC for review to the various government agencies for their review -- knowing that the government moves at a glacial pace. This morning, OC walks into my office and asks me all manner of questions in a very combative tone and demands answers. I'm in the middle of reviewing something else on a different deal, I don't have the document in front of me, and it's been 1 month since I've looked at it. OC says that the document doesn't make any sense that it needs to be re-drafted, OC doesn't understand why certain language is in the document, blah, blah, blah. I feel like I was totally ambushed, and in my own office!

After OC left my office, I found the file which was literally buried under all the other work that has come my way over the past few months, and I read what I had drafted, and what the various government agencies had reviewed, commented on, and approved. I am pretty sure that OC did not actually read the document for content -- skimming it and not bothering to process what was written. It's all there, spelled out in excruciating detail, the whole process identified step-by-step, so that anyone who has no idea what happened behind the scenes knows what's going on.

I hate that OC made me doubt my abilities. Upon further reflection, I realize that this was likely a tactical move -- the barging into my office without any warning. There was no phone call or email to say that OC reviewed the document and that we should discuss the comments. These are things that I would NEVER do to another attorney. Maybe that's why I'm so upset by all this. On top of all this, transactional work is supposed to be about getting people to agree, about getting the deal done. Asking for last-minute changes to a document that has already been reviewed ad nauseum not only by staff level attorneys, but by the head of the legal department of a government agency is uncalled for. I really wish OC wasn't part of my group. OC is killing this deal and it's really starting to get to me.

Notes from Baltimore

I am on the road. Not really, but that sounded a lot sexier than I am in a hotel room watching the Discovery Channel pretending to shave 15 minutes from my talk.

A new city is always disorienting for me, especially one like Baltimore that has so many invisible barriers that I am not to cross. Even though I was just going down the street, something I would walk in any other city, I was instructed to take a cab. Not because I would get lost but because I might get into an unsavory area.

My cabbie told me that the city has gotten a lot more safe in the past few years. "Look," he said, as he pointed to all the cops on the corner of every street.

My favorite part of Baltimore has been the Yuengling and the gelato. Like always I stumbled into a bar, and was happy to see my favorite beer on tap. Then from the bar I stumbled down the street and went into an organic gelato house. The milk was from local dairies and the fruit from local farms. I had a granny smith apple and gianduja, a gross combination unless the both were exceptional. Good thing they were.

That is it for now. I am sure I will have more to report soon.

Not quite a stimulus

My mom used to tell me that it was gauche to talk about your money problems. I apparently never heeded those words, mainly because I was probably so impressed she knew the word "gauche."

Two weeks ago I got a welcomed gift from Uncle Sam. 600 dollars directly deposited into my bank account. Isn't just like a relative sneak money in your pocket and whisper in your ear spend it on something crazy?

Actually, I was expecting the money and had dreamed about what I was going to do with it. I had my eye on a pair of black Chie Mihara peep toe pumps on sale for 300 dollars. Or a brief case like Dr. L, an 83 year old professor emeritus, who carries around a beat up leather bag his wife gave him 40 years ago. Maybe I would buy new handle bars for my bike. Oh the possibilities.

But, alas, Harvard managed to suck those dreams away.
Dissertation printing fee: $233.94
Dissertation processing fee: $125
Gardisil vaccination not covered by my health insurance: $154
Grad Student council fee: $20
Misc other crap: ~$50


Not even enough left over for these shoes from Nine West that are Gucci knock offs.

Well, thanks anyway Uncle Sam. I will try to waste my money on American goods next time and thanks for getting me out of a jam this time.

The cookie bandit strikes

My mouth is dry and I open and close my mouth as if to taste the dryness. My room is very dark. I realize that I am hugging something: a plastic tub of Trader Joe's Swiss Almond Crunch cookies. Clearly, I am a little dissoriented as I reach for my alarm clock. The green numbers read 3:24am.

I stare at the clock and kind of wonder how I had gotten home, and how was it possible that 2 French 75's manage to put in a position in which I wake up in my bed with a stranger, albeit a tub of cookies, in my bed.

Since defending, I have ended almost every night with either a beer or a glass of wine. It is not that I am an alcoholoic, it is just that now I felt like there was nothing keeping me from not drinking every night. My lab is moving and the sheer chaos that is occuring everyday is maddening. Part of me is extremely irritated that things or so disorgaized. The other part of me is irritated that I am doing scut work for a man I am currently not in the best of terms.

In typical fashion, I sent out a plea for escape. Perhaps happy hour? Good thing I have friends that are happy to oblige in happy our. On Thursday, as I watched other members of my lab freeze their fingers off on the dry ice trying to read the minute labeling left 5 years ago from non english speaking postdocs, I snuck out of the lab at 4:30pm. I met A and R at Brassierie Jo's. Massachussetts does not allow the sale of alcohol at a discounted price, but to make up for it bars sell appetizers cheaply during normal happy hour hours. I was excited when I walked into the bar and I recognized the bartender. He was an older gentleman, the kind of person who takes bartending seriously. He dresses up, calls you madam or miss, and is impeccable about his manners.

A and I sat at one end of the bar, and I immediately shouted the bartender's name. He had no idea who I was, but was incredibly polite and offered up some small talk. I asked him for some band-aids, because I was wearing ridiculous roman sandals (which ET#2 abhors). For the first 10 minutes our lovely bartender went all around the kitchen and hotel front desk looking for my bandaids. How nice.

Anyway R soon joined us, and we proceeded to order French 75s. It is a nice summery cocktail and it came in a pretty frosted martini glass. What harm could a lemony drink cause. We ordered a number of sandwiches, fries, etc.. We chatted. We ate. We drank. At around 6:45pm we left the bar.

Now, I thought having been drinking so much this past month that I would have built up a tolerance for the EtOH. Not so. At precisely, the moment that I thought it would be a great idea to go in Sephora and test out perfumes, I should have realized I was hammered. I think I might have hugged a sales lady who thought I did not need eye cream. She said it is something you need in your thirties. Flattery will get you everywhere.

Then we decided we needed sweets. We are in Trader Joe's and I purchase a tub of Swiss Almond Crunch cookies. The three of us dig into them. Delicious. But what is a delicious cookie if you can't share them. We see a girl behind us, and for some reason we think it is appropriate to give her cookies. I think we were rewarding her for her cute shoes. I am not sure. She did take some. That action emboldened us.

I then proceeded to offer cookies to people all along Boylston Street. There were two men in business suits eating their dinner peacefully at Atlantic Fish. "I think your meal would be better with cookies, " I said. One of the men agreed and took a handful.

I offered cookies to hipsters, yuppies, and tourists. Only the tourists seemed skeptical. "Those city folks might try to taint cookies with drugs," they might have thought.

We went into the Globe, because once you are drunk more salty foods are needed. I offered cookies to our waiter, a twenty something himbo. It might have been the cocktail goggles but I could have sworn he was flirting with me. He took a cookie, but still managed to mess up our order.

Much is fuzzy after that. All I know is that I woke up with a practically empty tub of cookies, a sign of successful cookie banditing.

Why my breakfast made me sad

I'll admit that I have been in sort of a self pity funk. I defended my Ph.D. and my lab is moving to Texas. And like at the end of all eras in my life, instead of rejoicing, I waste my time reflecting, self flagulating, worrying, and over analyzing my life. Instead of doing a little jig on the fact that I am finally done being a student (after 23 years including kindergarten), I spend a lot of time thinking about my single status. I get the idea that I single out of choice, but can't rid myslef of those romantic notions that my life would be a million times better with a good guy by my side. Maybe some of this is brought on by the high alcohol consumption as of late, or maybe it is all of a sudden I have way too much time on my hands.

I made a list of all the things that would be better if I were a double not a single. My room would be neater, I would shower more regularly, I'd have a reason to reactivate text messaging on my phone, I'd eat better, I'd be forced to be less self involved, I'd have someone to talk to incessantly on my cell phone etc..

I am eating breakfast this morning and I come across this list. My breakfast consists of a fried egg, the last matzoh, a mug of tea, a glass of milk, and half a bag of Trader Joe's cheese puffs. See - I thought, I'd eat something more conventional if someone was with me. But then I realized, I could eat something conventional now without anyone convincing me it would be a good idea. I was just too lazy to make the changes in my life myself. So my breakfast has sent me a down a shame spiral from my self pity funk. Sigh. Is there no end to this nonsense?