Before I explain my absence, I would like to explain M squared's absence. OH f*ck, that's the problem, he has not been absent at all. No, he is just as prevalent as ever speaking for M as though she is in a vegetative state unable to come to the phone. This has become ever so much more problematic since I have commenced this position. For one thing, they call me constantly making sure I am still alive knowing full well that being, well, anything, is not my cup of tea. For another, they need to know how many Jews I work with and if they are available. I digress, the problem is M squared. As you recall, I got in an argument with these people who allege to have made me, I doubt it, because they demanded I marry a sixty year old man as if so many are bloody single. This conversation has resurfaced its ugly little head as of last weekend. Right when I was about to get off the phone, M squared insisted "Fine, marry a 14 yr. old boy. We do not care. Just settle down. It is legal in Tennessee."
Now, I am no great lawyer as indicated by my past two weeks performance, but I know enough to tell everyone that marrying someone and/or doing anything with someone who is 14 when you are 232333343203708 yrs. old is illegal. I watched Notes on a Scandal and it did not end well. It is true, on occasion, and I AM NOT PROUD OF IT, I have checked out high school seniors. This is not cool, but I live right near a high school and sometimes it happens. However, barring the fact that I would be subject to arrest, I would lose my license to practice which M&M fought so hard for me to obtain.
Anyhow, the reason I have been absent readership is because my gig does not allow much access to the Internet. I am too nervous to blog about it because well that could jinx the position and I could end up right back where I started, oh wait, I have. Never mind. My real problem is that I can not read celebrity gossip forcing me to read actual news. Those of you who know me, know that I get my news from listening to other people talk about it. Regardless, one article struck me as particularly delicious on CNN.com this morning. It was the Special Olympics speaking out against everyone calling them "retards." Apparently, there is some political agenda where advocates compare being called "retarded" to being called the bad word for Jews, Black People and Asians. I, for one, am totally f&cked if now the word "retard" = "bad word for black people."
I looked at who was promulgating this agenda, and it is my law school class. Okay, I will be quiet from now on.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Boy, O, Boy
I am tired. No for real, I am tired. I am going to be working a lot and concentrated all day during orientation so I am capable of doing so. It is no surprise that after two horrific positions, and sorta four positions in total, that I am fully prepared to commit myself to this one. Anyhow, despite the fact that I might be beginning my career, even if I may never be successful, I will never forget what it is like to be rather unoccupied. Thankfully, I have a constant reminder of how pathetic I am on a daily basis.
Readership, I have had several discoveries in the past couple of days. The most insignificant is that, well, M lied about her age on my birth certificate. Let me rewind, my new trabajo required me to bring a copy of my transcript, birth certificate, license, etc. for their records. My largest concern was that upon examination of my transcript was that they realized I had some fairly weak moments even if some outstanding ones. But, thank god, they did not realize the most egregious error on these documents. Mainly, that M has claimed to be 32
when she gave birth to me and told others out of M squared's earshot that he was, in fact, 31. It is a well known "secret" that up until I was about nine, M squared believed that M was only 1-2 years older than him. This is false, no completely ridiculous. M is four years older than M squared and was about 35 when she gave birth to me making M squared 31.
To some, this might obfuscate the fact that at midnight on Friday night I was called on an emergency basis two times because M sqaured suspected that I had a hair cut. While I did in fact have a trim, I most certainly did not have a cut. Regardless, I am quite content with the result of this "cut/trim" what have you. Nothing too drastic. However, M squared who functions on a close to rain man basis behind a newspaper relayed to M that I had not only received a blunt cut, but that this blunt cut was stringy (a.k.a. blown out.) M's voicemail went something like this "C, did you cut your hair? YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT UNTIL YOU GET MARRIED!!! you are only semi okay looking because your hair is long and your skin is almost clear." After M showed M squared a series of celebrities from various magazines (pointing mainly to Gywneth Paltrow's new haircut) it became clear to M that I did not in fact look like Gywneth and M squared admitted that my hair was not that short.
HOWEVER, NO, these two previous incidents are not the most important things that have happened to me since Friday. No, those do not hold a torch to the recent conversation I had with them as in ten minutes ago. I relayed to M&M that for the first time in my career I am going to be legitimately busy. Silence ensued when I told them that I would in fact be at this establishment close to ten hours a day. The outcome: Reference to a recent friend of a friend whose daughter (O) of my similar age has recently married a man in their fifties. M pointed out that O did not have to work. When I argued that no she did not and while working is not my cup of tea or anyone's for that matter, I would rather work than wed a man who is close to M squared's age (not M's age as she is as I pointed out earlier like 3235235235 years older than him), I was yelled at. Quite frankly, I am not being open minded.
Readership, I have had several discoveries in the past couple of days. The most insignificant is that, well, M lied about her age on my birth certificate. Let me rewind, my new trabajo required me to bring a copy of my transcript, birth certificate, license, etc. for their records. My largest concern was that upon examination of my transcript was that they realized I had some fairly weak moments even if some outstanding ones. But, thank god, they did not realize the most egregious error on these documents. Mainly, that M has claimed to be 32
when she gave birth to me and told others out of M squared's earshot that he was, in fact, 31. It is a well known "secret" that up until I was about nine, M squared believed that M was only 1-2 years older than him. This is false, no completely ridiculous. M is four years older than M squared and was about 35 when she gave birth to me making M squared 31.
To some, this might obfuscate the fact that at midnight on Friday night I was called on an emergency basis two times because M sqaured suspected that I had a hair cut. While I did in fact have a trim, I most certainly did not have a cut. Regardless, I am quite content with the result of this "cut/trim" what have you. Nothing too drastic. However, M squared who functions on a close to rain man basis behind a newspaper relayed to M that I had not only received a blunt cut, but that this blunt cut was stringy (a.k.a. blown out.) M's voicemail went something like this "C, did you cut your hair? YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT UNTIL YOU GET MARRIED!!! you are only semi okay looking because your hair is long and your skin is almost clear." After M showed M squared a series of celebrities from various magazines (pointing mainly to Gywneth Paltrow's new haircut) it became clear to M that I did not in fact look like Gywneth and M squared admitted that my hair was not that short.
HOWEVER, NO, these two previous incidents are not the most important things that have happened to me since Friday. No, those do not hold a torch to the recent conversation I had with them as in ten minutes ago. I relayed to M&M that for the first time in my career I am going to be legitimately busy. Silence ensued when I told them that I would in fact be at this establishment close to ten hours a day. The outcome: Reference to a recent friend of a friend whose daughter (O) of my similar age has recently married a man in their fifties. M pointed out that O did not have to work. When I argued that no she did not and while working is not my cup of tea or anyone's for that matter, I would rather work than wed a man who is close to M squared's age (not M's age as she is as I pointed out earlier like 3235235235 years older than him), I was yelled at. Quite frankly, I am not being open minded.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Addendum
Jason Mesnick, this season's bachelor, is a full blown Jew. This is why I never listen to M when she tells me to find a nice Jewish boy. They too, are horrific. Could ABC play anymore into our ? Mainly, that Jews lie, cheat and are swarmy??? No, I do not think so. F everyone.
O, the shame.
O, the shame.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Make Pad Thai
I am well aware that I am behind most bloggers in capturing this historic event that took place on the Bachelor last night. To be honest, I was going to leave well enough alone, but I simply can not. What type of blogger is not going to reach out to Melissa today??? For those of you who do not watch this captivating show, let me recap. Last night, bachelor Jason, complete cheese dick, chose and proposed to final contestant Melissa at the close of the series. After the final rose ceremony, filmed six weeks later, Jason ended his engagement with Melissa and confessed his serious feelings for Molly, other final contestant. Molly took him back.
Rumors have it that this was completely scripted by ABC because throughout the entire series it was all too apparent that Jason was in love with Molly and therefore was manipulated into choosing Melissa. He was then, as bound by contract, forced to break up with Melissa on national television six weeks later and send her on her way. AWESOME. Side Note: Quite frankly, Melissa, I believe my entire life is scripted and I am even heavily medicated to control my paranoia. For instance, I believe this job offer was scripted and because I have not gotten my written offer in the mail I am pretty persuaded that on national tv human resources will deliver me the news. Mainly, after careful consideration of a runner up candidate they have in fact chosen that runner up. In fact, I am talking to E right now who has told me that this is absolutely insane and firms just do not rescind verbal offers, but the bloody Bachelor has shaken me to the core. Okay, I can not help it. Further side note, M has told me not to worry as she does not care if I ever work again given that my life is pathetic for so many other reasons. Furthermore, she was never able to work and I am losing perspective of my priorities by putting so much focus on this "job thing." I asked her yesterday if she would be willing to subsidize me sans job/career if I agreed to go on a match.com date twice a week, the answer was yes. Do not be shocked.
BUT I DIGRESS. While I feel terrible for Melissa, I believe this historical event speaks volumes to single women all across the nation. I am not alone in the sentiment that Jason for the most part (even before we learned he was an ass) is the most unappealing bachelor. While he is not a bad looking guy, he definitely harbours that "something queer (not in the homosexual sense)" thing about him. He is cheesy, cries all the bloody time, has a bloody child named Tye who appears to suffer from some mental impairment, and well, is just unsexy. I might not kick him out of bed, but that does not say much. Regardless of his flaws, one thing we could have said about Jason before we knew that he was a horrific person, is that he is the type of guy all women should be dating: non-threatening, earnest, compassionate and sweet. He is the type of guy that every woman is guilty of passing up for the hot retard who speaks broken English but makes you feel sexy because he treats you like gold at four am (Ms. Deeana prevoius bachelorette was certainly guilty of this). No, I do not speak from experience as M has trained me to pick out the Jasons if one is available. Rather, I have a few very unhot creatures who contact me at four AM who I respond to every fourth or fifth time. Regardless, from now on, I am not choosing the Jason if he is available. WHY>?!?!?!?! Because seemingly Jason is a fraud and ladies you might as well just choose the hot retard. If this cheese dick Jason is a nasty shit, then,
we should all give up.
As far as Melissa goes, I believe it is her right at the After The Rose Ceremony, Part Deux to start serving pad thai made out of tye. End of story.
Rumors have it that this was completely scripted by ABC because throughout the entire series it was all too apparent that Jason was in love with Molly and therefore was manipulated into choosing Melissa. He was then, as bound by contract, forced to break up with Melissa on national television six weeks later and send her on her way. AWESOME. Side Note: Quite frankly, Melissa, I believe my entire life is scripted and I am even heavily medicated to control my paranoia. For instance, I believe this job offer was scripted and because I have not gotten my written offer in the mail I am pretty persuaded that on national tv human resources will deliver me the news. Mainly, after careful consideration of a runner up candidate they have in fact chosen that runner up. In fact, I am talking to E right now who has told me that this is absolutely insane and firms just do not rescind verbal offers, but the bloody Bachelor has shaken me to the core. Okay, I can not help it. Further side note, M has told me not to worry as she does not care if I ever work again given that my life is pathetic for so many other reasons. Furthermore, she was never able to work and I am losing perspective of my priorities by putting so much focus on this "job thing." I asked her yesterday if she would be willing to subsidize me sans job/career if I agreed to go on a match.com date twice a week, the answer was yes. Do not be shocked.
BUT I DIGRESS. While I feel terrible for Melissa, I believe this historical event speaks volumes to single women all across the nation. I am not alone in the sentiment that Jason for the most part (even before we learned he was an ass) is the most unappealing bachelor. While he is not a bad looking guy, he definitely harbours that "something queer (not in the homosexual sense)" thing about him. He is cheesy, cries all the bloody time, has a bloody child named Tye who appears to suffer from some mental impairment, and well, is just unsexy. I might not kick him out of bed, but that does not say much. Regardless of his flaws, one thing we could have said about Jason before we knew that he was a horrific person, is that he is the type of guy all women should be dating: non-threatening, earnest, compassionate and sweet. He is the type of guy that every woman is guilty of passing up for the hot retard who speaks broken English but makes you feel sexy because he treats you like gold at four am (Ms. Deeana prevoius bachelorette was certainly guilty of this). No, I do not speak from experience as M has trained me to pick out the Jasons if one is available. Rather, I have a few very unhot creatures who contact me at four AM who I respond to every fourth or fifth time. Regardless, from now on, I am not choosing the Jason if he is available. WHY>?!?!?!?! Because seemingly Jason is a fraud and ladies you might as well just choose the hot retard. If this cheese dick Jason is a nasty shit, then,
we should all give up.
As far as Melissa goes, I believe it is her right at the After The Rose Ceremony, Part Deux to start serving pad thai made out of tye. End of story.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Stop Mocking Me
Every so often I am charmed by certain invitations that find their way into my inbox. Generally speaking, I get a plethora of emails from God knows what on an internet dating sites. Usually, these emails are repeats as if the sender is some automated service. One such email arrived today, which also arrived last Monday and the Monday before that titled "People Watching:"
"I found myself in the supermarket yesterday looking at what people put in their carts. You can tell a lot by what are in those carts, who is impulsive with their shopping, who is methodical. I find Impulsive, attractive and necessary.
~J
...oh, i didn't see floss in anyone's cart =)"
Very cute robot J, thank you for getting back to me after me never responding. It is not you, really, it is me. While times are rough, I prefer not to date an auto mated service. Why not just date my cell phone??? Oh, I would never, it is super ghetto and unsexy and never brings any good news, or, news at all.
Anyhow, the more important email came from Garbage inviting me to some banquet function honoring some professor:
Garbage
cordially invites you to attend our
ANNUAL BANQUET
Honoring
Professor X
Friday, March 20, 2009
7:00 p.m. cocktail hour
8:00 p.m. dinner
Tavern on the Green
Central Park West at 67th Street
New York, NY
Members $70
Alumni/Guests $80
RSVP by March 6, 2009
I feel much the same way I felt after watching Real Housewives of Orange County finale this season. Mainly, dirty. Michael K (Dlisted celebrity blogger, my favorite) took it upon himself to point out the obvious: what business in this economy does Tamra have flaunting around a tennis bracelet worth a college tuition, Vicki flaunting a Rolex she bought for herself and Gretchen screaming about a Harley her dying sugar daddy purchased for her???? While we all realize that this episode was taped before the economy took a major downfall, EDIT IT. Why, even the publishing company I have "worked" at since I came out of the womb canceled their annual holiday party at Tavern On The Green. No, it was not just because they did not have the funding. It was because it was in poor taste.
I realize that guests have to pay for their tickets in order to attend Garbage's affair, but really what business does Garbage have asking its cockroaches to said event? I have spoken to many Garbagites since the economy has fallen apart. Since the big firms are doing lay offs, the document projects Garbigites populate in downtown Manhattan have folded leaving Garbigites to fend for themselves by singing in the subways and dressing up as Elmo outside of Rockefeller Center. Many legitimate attorneys who typically would not be competing for a Garbagish jobs have in fact not so much as competed, as just taken them displacing Garbigites all over Manhattan. Douchebags. Garbigites do not have eighty dollars to spare. Right this moment, I have a Garbigite living like Anne Frank in my closet. When I discovered him this weekend, he told me he thought I would not mind given that we sat next to each other in Torts first year. Fine, fine, this is an exaggeration, but fair.
I thought about it, thought about it, thought about it and realized that not even Garbage could be this tasteless. No, they have conducted some pretty unclassy episodes in my lifetime. One of which was on graduation day. Garbage did not hand out diplomas, they just handed out fake diplomas for show and mailed it to their graduates like seven months. I think I just got mine from 2006. All the cockroaches just sort of came up to the stage in random order and picked up a blank piece of paper. (As a side note, M&M afterward gave me a stuffed yorkie after I asked for a puppy for sitting through three years of misery for them. They explained if I had gotten a husband in law school like they asked me to, I would not need a puppy). This was surely tasteless, but really this invitation is a slap in the face. So, here is my conclusion. This email is from an automated garbage service that sends out an invitation every year for the same exact event. It is this administrator below who sent out the email which is in fact also "J Robot" I mentioned above:
"I found myself in the supermarket yesterday looking at what people put in their carts. You can tell a lot by what are in those carts, who is impulsive with their shopping, who is methodical. I find Impulsive, attractive and necessary.
~J
...oh, i didn't see floss in anyone's cart =)"
Very cute robot J, thank you for getting back to me after me never responding. It is not you, really, it is me. While times are rough, I prefer not to date an auto mated service. Why not just date my cell phone??? Oh, I would never, it is super ghetto and unsexy and never brings any good news, or, news at all.
Anyhow, the more important email came from Garbage inviting me to some banquet function honoring some professor:
Garbage
cordially invites you to attend our
ANNUAL BANQUET
Honoring
Professor X
Friday, March 20, 2009
7:00 p.m. cocktail hour
8:00 p.m. dinner
Tavern on the Green
Central Park West at 67th Street
New York, NY
Members $70
Alumni/Guests $80
RSVP by March 6, 2009
I feel much the same way I felt after watching Real Housewives of Orange County finale this season. Mainly, dirty. Michael K (Dlisted celebrity blogger, my favorite) took it upon himself to point out the obvious: what business in this economy does Tamra have flaunting around a tennis bracelet worth a college tuition, Vicki flaunting a Rolex she bought for herself and Gretchen screaming about a Harley her dying sugar daddy purchased for her???? While we all realize that this episode was taped before the economy took a major downfall, EDIT IT. Why, even the publishing company I have "worked" at since I came out of the womb canceled their annual holiday party at Tavern On The Green. No, it was not just because they did not have the funding. It was because it was in poor taste.
I realize that guests have to pay for their tickets in order to attend Garbage's affair, but really what business does Garbage have asking its cockroaches to said event? I have spoken to many Garbagites since the economy has fallen apart. Since the big firms are doing lay offs, the document projects Garbigites populate in downtown Manhattan have folded leaving Garbigites to fend for themselves by singing in the subways and dressing up as Elmo outside of Rockefeller Center. Many legitimate attorneys who typically would not be competing for a Garbagish jobs have in fact not so much as competed, as just taken them displacing Garbigites all over Manhattan. Douchebags. Garbigites do not have eighty dollars to spare. Right this moment, I have a Garbigite living like Anne Frank in my closet. When I discovered him this weekend, he told me he thought I would not mind given that we sat next to each other in Torts first year. Fine, fine, this is an exaggeration, but fair.
I thought about it, thought about it, thought about it and realized that not even Garbage could be this tasteless. No, they have conducted some pretty unclassy episodes in my lifetime. One of which was on graduation day. Garbage did not hand out diplomas, they just handed out fake diplomas for show and mailed it to their graduates like seven months. I think I just got mine from 2006. All the cockroaches just sort of came up to the stage in random order and picked up a blank piece of paper. (As a side note, M&M afterward gave me a stuffed yorkie after I asked for a puppy for sitting through three years of misery for them. They explained if I had gotten a husband in law school like they asked me to, I would not need a puppy). This was surely tasteless, but really this invitation is a slap in the face. So, here is my conclusion. This email is from an automated garbage service that sends out an invitation every year for the same exact event. It is this administrator below who sent out the email which is in fact also "J Robot" I mentioned above:
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
WELL DEAR GOD THANK YOU SO MUCH
I am sorry. No really, I am f*ckin sorry. However, I have been waiting on a job and I felt as though it would be bad karma to blog about being pathetic when in fact I have been told that I should feel confident until I hear otherwise. Congrats to my bloody self, I got it with a little help from my friends. Perhaps this time it will stick.
Speaking of sticking, I am curious as to whether or not my readership is aware of the fact that this will be the fifth job I am taking in three years. Sure, it is the first real job that has been offered to me, but it is technically my fifth offer. E did the math for me so I know it is correct. However, she is so bloody supportive that she said she will treat this one as my first one and we are starting on a clean slate.
You know who is not so supportive, probably M. No, it's not that she was not happy for me because she is, but when I explained that my year is going to take a drastic change she got particularly concerned that I would not have time to meet a husband. I pointed out that for the past three years I have had all the time in the world to meet a husband and it has not in fact happened. In fact, I find the more time I have, the less likely I am to be marrying. DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY??? I do not wash my hair when I have time to be drinking in excess. Every day I wake up thinking I am going to wash my hair and then see that new thing that is like baby powder that you can spray and opt for that alternative. I mean, I think it does the trick, but really have no idea how greasy my hair is due to a very specifc neuoris of mine. You know how Tobias from Arrested Development is a never nude? I am a never profile/back and only ever view myself from the front. The back of my hair is quite greasy serving as a deterrent to husbands. Anyhow, when M asked me what I was going to do to celebrate, I invoked the metaphor as to how people are not nearly as excited for your accomplishment when, let's say, you get married for the third time. Sure, my people are happy, but I am not going to over burden them with a celebration as we have done it like forty million times just for such an occassion. M's reply, "well, you have not been married three times. you have not even been married once. Maybe your people are just sick of you not being married." So unrelated.
Speaking of sticking, I am curious as to whether or not my readership is aware of the fact that this will be the fifth job I am taking in three years. Sure, it is the first real job that has been offered to me, but it is technically my fifth offer. E did the math for me so I know it is correct. However, she is so bloody supportive that she said she will treat this one as my first one and we are starting on a clean slate.
You know who is not so supportive, probably M. No, it's not that she was not happy for me because she is, but when I explained that my year is going to take a drastic change she got particularly concerned that I would not have time to meet a husband. I pointed out that for the past three years I have had all the time in the world to meet a husband and it has not in fact happened. In fact, I find the more time I have, the less likely I am to be marrying. DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY??? I do not wash my hair when I have time to be drinking in excess. Every day I wake up thinking I am going to wash my hair and then see that new thing that is like baby powder that you can spray and opt for that alternative. I mean, I think it does the trick, but really have no idea how greasy my hair is due to a very specifc neuoris of mine. You know how Tobias from Arrested Development is a never nude? I am a never profile/back and only ever view myself from the front. The back of my hair is quite greasy serving as a deterrent to husbands. Anyhow, when M asked me what I was going to do to celebrate, I invoked the metaphor as to how people are not nearly as excited for your accomplishment when, let's say, you get married for the third time. Sure, my people are happy, but I am not going to over burden them with a celebration as we have done it like forty million times just for such an occassion. M's reply, "well, you have not been married three times. you have not even been married once. Maybe your people are just sick of you not being married." So unrelated.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Eyes Wide Shut
Ever since I started garbage, I have been consistently told about the importance of networking. And, as a result of being instructed to do so, I have consistently avoided this topic of conversation. When people instruct me about the importance of networking, I explain that I would not be good at it because HELLO, HAVE YOU MET ME? I have no interests that do not involve wine and television. I hate most, if not all, people. How the F am I going to network???
Anyhow, co-counsel and I (if you were wondering co-counsel is also not particularly cheery after a year and change of temping) have been weighing the pros and cons of attending a Bar related event to "network." When we stumbled upon an event hosted by the New York City Bar Association (NYCBA) for free, we decided it was time.
Look, I know I have compared firms to the DMV, my face is next to an advertisement on the subway, I have worked with "attorneys" whose idea of practicing is smoking the ganga, I have remained unhinged like Nell in several trash chutes until Hudson Legal has reached out to me and put me on some document review project above KFC. I know, I know. But for the love of Christ, none of this has anything on the NYCBA.
It may be the case that due to the NYCBA's location (battery park), attendees typically emerge from their beetlejuice type practices in order to "network" (stutter,sputter and slur). It also may be the case that those who actually attend these meetings would have to be pretty piss poor pathetic given the pain and suffering that is typically associated with these gatherings. This is all possible, maybe even probable, but there is simply no excuse for the variety of mutants that co-counsel and I encountered in suits these creatures got as their prize in a bloody happy meal. After our fourth glass of wine, we had the happy occasion of talking to one of co-counsel's fellow alumni, who without question not only sniffed, but most certainly consumed rubber cement ages 2-30, and then his parents dropped him off at this meeting. Funny, co-counsel and he actually had a lot in common BUT FOR the fact that I am fairly certain co-counsel dresses all by herself in the morning.
All of this pre-drinking happy chatter would have been forgivable, but for the speed networking portion of the event which was anything and everything a journalist such as myself could possibly hope for. Also, I believe an anthropologist would have been happy to observe these pre-evolved subjects in their habitat. Please readership, hear me out when I tell you that Darwin's concept of the survival of the fittest was lost on these creatures. I speculated that my brethren may in fact have suffered from fetal alcohol syndrome, but then decided that this could not be the cause of the egregious level of mutation. One of our favorite subjects, a nice young "gentleman," explained to co-counsel that he is having a "rough start." It is entirely possible judging by this rain man that he could not count. Wait, no I take it back, rain man could count. Rather, it is entirely possible that this corky could not because we typically do not say that we are having a rough start since graduation when we graduated in 2002. No, I am fairly certain that if you have still do not have a job seven years post graduation, you have commenced the middle of your career and perhaps you should call it the end. Hate to judge from the armchair (I believe that is an anthropological phrase, I too am interested in the evolution of these creatures), as I have no doubt that twenty years post law school I will be sitting here blogging for your amusement temping at a newspaper stand. But, twenty years post graduation, you better believe that I would not be across from co-counsel with my mouth wide open rocking.
The most remarkably outstanding part of the evening was that these creatures, who for the most part all had "jobs," desperately wanted co-counsel's/my "job." We tried to explain how it would be essentially career suicide for a middle aged "man" to move from being a "lawyer" to a temp at a publishing company that would never amount to anything. This was lost on deaf ears. Co-counsel just received a phone call from some character that emerged from "Where The Wild Things Are" begging for a position here because he is interested in publishing. I have preemptively set aside a spot for him equipped with a hampster wheel and feeder.
After reflecting, I realize that we are only as good as our company. And, if my company's highest aspirations are to do database entry in the conference room of a publishing company, well, I should feel pretty god damn lucky. And, next year, I might even be up for an academy award in my groundbreaking performance of "slumdog thirty-thousandaire."
Anyhow, co-counsel and I (if you were wondering co-counsel is also not particularly cheery after a year and change of temping) have been weighing the pros and cons of attending a Bar related event to "network." When we stumbled upon an event hosted by the New York City Bar Association (NYCBA) for free, we decided it was time.
Look, I know I have compared firms to the DMV, my face is next to an advertisement on the subway, I have worked with "attorneys" whose idea of practicing is smoking the ganga, I have remained unhinged like Nell in several trash chutes until Hudson Legal has reached out to me and put me on some document review project above KFC. I know, I know. But for the love of Christ, none of this has anything on the NYCBA.
It may be the case that due to the NYCBA's location (battery park), attendees typically emerge from their beetlejuice type practices in order to "network" (stutter,sputter and slur). It also may be the case that those who actually attend these meetings would have to be pretty piss poor pathetic given the pain and suffering that is typically associated with these gatherings. This is all possible, maybe even probable, but there is simply no excuse for the variety of mutants that co-counsel and I encountered in suits these creatures got as their prize in a bloody happy meal. After our fourth glass of wine, we had the happy occasion of talking to one of co-counsel's fellow alumni, who without question not only sniffed, but most certainly consumed rubber cement ages 2-30, and then his parents dropped him off at this meeting. Funny, co-counsel and he actually had a lot in common BUT FOR the fact that I am fairly certain co-counsel dresses all by herself in the morning.
All of this pre-drinking happy chatter would have been forgivable, but for the speed networking portion of the event which was anything and everything a journalist such as myself could possibly hope for. Also, I believe an anthropologist would have been happy to observe these pre-evolved subjects in their habitat. Please readership, hear me out when I tell you that Darwin's concept of the survival of the fittest was lost on these creatures. I speculated that my brethren may in fact have suffered from fetal alcohol syndrome, but then decided that this could not be the cause of the egregious level of mutation. One of our favorite subjects, a nice young "gentleman," explained to co-counsel that he is having a "rough start." It is entirely possible judging by this rain man that he could not count. Wait, no I take it back, rain man could count. Rather, it is entirely possible that this corky could not because we typically do not say that we are having a rough start since graduation when we graduated in 2002. No, I am fairly certain that if you have still do not have a job seven years post graduation, you have commenced the middle of your career and perhaps you should call it the end. Hate to judge from the armchair (I believe that is an anthropological phrase, I too am interested in the evolution of these creatures), as I have no doubt that twenty years post law school I will be sitting here blogging for your amusement temping at a newspaper stand. But, twenty years post graduation, you better believe that I would not be across from co-counsel with my mouth wide open rocking.
The most remarkably outstanding part of the evening was that these creatures, who for the most part all had "jobs," desperately wanted co-counsel's/my "job." We tried to explain how it would be essentially career suicide for a middle aged "man" to move from being a "lawyer" to a temp at a publishing company that would never amount to anything. This was lost on deaf ears. Co-counsel just received a phone call from some character that emerged from "Where The Wild Things Are" begging for a position here because he is interested in publishing. I have preemptively set aside a spot for him equipped with a hampster wheel and feeder.
After reflecting, I realize that we are only as good as our company. And, if my company's highest aspirations are to do database entry in the conference room of a publishing company, well, I should feel pretty god damn lucky. And, next year, I might even be up for an academy award in my groundbreaking performance of "slumdog thirty-thousandaire."
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
PAY YOUR RESPECTS
I have a very easy routine in the morning. I roll out of bed at approximately 8 AM, brush my teeth, throw on the first thing I see and I am out the door. Okay, it is true, that while my alarm clock is set at 8 am, I generally can not pull myself out of bed until 8:30 and that I sorta diddle-daddle on my way to the temping station by stopping and having like a sit down cup of coffee which is why I do not get to the publishing conglomerate until around 9:40. I am not apologetic about this, no one knows, cares or notices.
Anyhow, usually when I sit down to have my second cup of coffee, not the one I drank on the way here, but the one that is prepared for free, I cry prior to entering my first contract in the database. F*ck this whole "stop feeling bad for yourself" mantra. I feel bad for myself and no I am not going to apologize about it. I am going to own this sentiment and I am not going to allow anyone to tell me that because I am not sitting on my death bed today I should be pretty thankful. F*ck you. However, today, not only did I shed a tear, but noted out loud that "I can not help but think that I am cut out for better things."
It turns out that I am in fact cut out for better things. Nope, not because of the reasons you might have suspected; i.e. that I am 35235236262436346234623463463576 old and going on my second year of temping my J.D. It has more to do with my ancestry. Please read the "About Gargabe" exceprt that I located on Garbage's Website this morning:
Garbage, one of the oldest independent law schools in the United States, was founded in 1891 by the faculty, students, and alumni of some Ivy League Law School led by their founding dean, a major figure in the history of legal education. In 1894, the Law School established one of the nation's first evening divisions to provide those in the workforce, or with family obligations, a flexible alternative to full-time legal studies.
WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL. WEll. I am honored to be woven into this nation's fabric. MY HEAVENS, think about it, just two hundred years ago, Garbagites were not merely soda cans, but were like intelligent revolutionaries revolting against the standard institutions that only afforded day time classes. This precious little artifact is so tasty, thinking of Garbage's founding fathers setting up the pillars of the legal community by making this rather handsome contribution to law students everywhere is indeed something to be proud of.
So there, you have it. My ancestors practically arrived on the bloody Mayflower. I am cut out for better things.
Anyhow, usually when I sit down to have my second cup of coffee, not the one I drank on the way here, but the one that is prepared for free, I cry prior to entering my first contract in the database. F*ck this whole "stop feeling bad for yourself" mantra. I feel bad for myself and no I am not going to apologize about it. I am going to own this sentiment and I am not going to allow anyone to tell me that because I am not sitting on my death bed today I should be pretty thankful. F*ck you. However, today, not only did I shed a tear, but noted out loud that "I can not help but think that I am cut out for better things."
It turns out that I am in fact cut out for better things. Nope, not because of the reasons you might have suspected; i.e. that I am 35235236262436346234623463463576 old and going on my second year of temping my J.D. It has more to do with my ancestry. Please read the "About Gargabe" exceprt that I located on Garbage's Website this morning:
Garbage, one of the oldest independent law schools in the United States, was founded in 1891 by the faculty, students, and alumni of some Ivy League Law School led by their founding dean, a major figure in the history of legal education. In 1894, the Law School established one of the nation's first evening divisions to provide those in the workforce, or with family obligations, a flexible alternative to full-time legal studies.
WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL. WEll. I am honored to be woven into this nation's fabric. MY HEAVENS, think about it, just two hundred years ago, Garbagites were not merely soda cans, but were like intelligent revolutionaries revolting against the standard institutions that only afforded day time classes. This precious little artifact is so tasty, thinking of Garbage's founding fathers setting up the pillars of the legal community by making this rather handsome contribution to law students everywhere is indeed something to be proud of.
So there, you have it. My ancestors practically arrived on the bloody Mayflower. I am cut out for better things.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Caitlin, I Hate You
My apologies to my readership, this past week I was afflicted by the flu. Do not worry, during this period, I was not compensated by my temping station and while I saw Jesus several times during this period, I did not see a penny.
During this period, I got the opportunity to catch up on television that I categorically will never watch. There are few televised programs that I feel like I am too good for, whether it be Brett Micheals Rock of Love Tour Bus or the 45246246346 season of The Bachelor, it is on (my tv) like donkey kong. There is one show, however, which is not even the worst of trashy tv, that I simply have no appetite for. It is true that I should thank my lucky stars everyday that this show came into existence. For, without it, we might be without Reality TV. And, if that was true, where would I be?
Anyhow, while I realize there are many faithful viewers of The Real World and my interests do not diverge from this viewership (regardless of their age), I simply can not watch a whole season of this retardation. Every time I turn on this sh*t, I nearly have a seizure because these twenty somethings are so god damn dumb. This week, while doped up on Nyquil, I did not find one of their stupid stories remotely compelling. Nope, not even Sarah the molested one.
It is not enough that this season Devon has created a barometer to gauge her "closeness" with some other thing on the show that she is sexually attracted to, but the fact that Ryan has a) written a book and b) has written a song about tampons truly makes me want to hide for fear that I might turn it on again. However, what I found the most offensive is really not The Real World's fault, but my own. Look, I am no stranger to trannies. I encounter them all the G*d Damn time and while I presume most of them have not had a sex change, perhaps some of them have. I do not give a damn. While I have surmised that quite a few that run various makeup stations are more attractive than me, I do not think many of them are more attractive than the real thing. AND, furthermore, I am not so close minded to believe that my opinions are truth, but I believe the general population, would agree with me that the average looking trannie is not as good looking as the average looking female.
Caitlin, this season, truly blows my mind. I ADMIT, sometimes in my flu induced delirium in conjunction with my spotting of Jesus, I found Caitlin passable especially when she revealed that she had manufactured inverted penis now vagina to the gay dude at that awful restaurant Elmo's. That being said, there is no god damn reason that Caitlin is prancing around town with not one, but two boyfriends. Furthermore, the boyfriend she found while taping is kinda good looking. I am sitting here, the real deal, and I am going to give myself some credit and venture to say that I am more attractive than her/him/it completely single. I thought about it and I THOUGHT ABOUT IT and decided that this guy just knows s/he is on The Real World and agreed to go on a date with her to get some of his own air time. With this in mind, I have decided to hire a full camera crew for no purpose at all, there will be no airing of this "show" (though I have been told I am made for reality TV), until I am bloody married. Cameras will follow me everywhere until some semi fame crazed fool agrees to be my boyfriend. YEs, just the type I like.
During this period, I got the opportunity to catch up on television that I categorically will never watch. There are few televised programs that I feel like I am too good for, whether it be Brett Micheals Rock of Love Tour Bus or the 45246246346 season of The Bachelor, it is on (my tv) like donkey kong. There is one show, however, which is not even the worst of trashy tv, that I simply have no appetite for. It is true that I should thank my lucky stars everyday that this show came into existence. For, without it, we might be without Reality TV. And, if that was true, where would I be?
Anyhow, while I realize there are many faithful viewers of The Real World and my interests do not diverge from this viewership (regardless of their age), I simply can not watch a whole season of this retardation. Every time I turn on this sh*t, I nearly have a seizure because these twenty somethings are so god damn dumb. This week, while doped up on Nyquil, I did not find one of their stupid stories remotely compelling. Nope, not even Sarah the molested one.
It is not enough that this season Devon has created a barometer to gauge her "closeness" with some other thing on the show that she is sexually attracted to, but the fact that Ryan has a) written a book and b) has written a song about tampons truly makes me want to hide for fear that I might turn it on again. However, what I found the most offensive is really not The Real World's fault, but my own. Look, I am no stranger to trannies. I encounter them all the G*d Damn time and while I presume most of them have not had a sex change, perhaps some of them have. I do not give a damn. While I have surmised that quite a few that run various makeup stations are more attractive than me, I do not think many of them are more attractive than the real thing. AND, furthermore, I am not so close minded to believe that my opinions are truth, but I believe the general population, would agree with me that the average looking trannie is not as good looking as the average looking female.
Caitlin, this season, truly blows my mind. I ADMIT, sometimes in my flu induced delirium in conjunction with my spotting of Jesus, I found Caitlin passable especially when she revealed that she had manufactured inverted penis now vagina to the gay dude at that awful restaurant Elmo's. That being said, there is no god damn reason that Caitlin is prancing around town with not one, but two boyfriends. Furthermore, the boyfriend she found while taping is kinda good looking. I am sitting here, the real deal, and I am going to give myself some credit and venture to say that I am more attractive than her/him/it completely single. I thought about it and I THOUGHT ABOUT IT and decided that this guy just knows s/he is on The Real World and agreed to go on a date with her to get some of his own air time. With this in mind, I have decided to hire a full camera crew for no purpose at all, there will be no airing of this "show" (though I have been told I am made for reality TV), until I am bloody married. Cameras will follow me everywhere until some semi fame crazed fool agrees to be my boyfriend. YEs, just the type I like.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
AND TO THINK ALL OF THIS TIME WENT BY WITHOUT ME KNOWING
I am sure some of my fellow garbigites have had the promising experience of meeting with a legal recruiter. Typically, I decline, but my therapist and I have been working on ways for me to be more optimistic regarding employment opportunities. Not only am I meeting with legal recruiters, I have applieded to become a legal recruiter, but quickly retreated when I learned that well, I would be terrible at it.
It is funny because yesterday in therapy I spent an hour telling my paid mother/friend why legal recruiters are worthless to not everyone, but to Garbigites. The main reason is because legal recruiters do not have clients who are small toilets located on the corner of F*ck and S*it street. They cater major large firms. Or let me rephrase, in the alternative, legal recruiters can only place actual lawyers who did not belong practicing on the corner of F*ck and S*it street. Ultimately, legal recruiters cannot place me.
Despite my stance on legal recruiters I met with one today. Generally speaking, a legal recruiter will see that I did not do tooooo badly at Garbage and will make an empty promise of circulating my resume to "some places they have in mind." I never press any further as I realize this is a worthless endeavor. Today. Was. Different.
The man I met with today has seemingly arrived from planet "everyone deserves a shot even if their LSAT score should be forgotten, unlike the Holocaust, or something." Anyhow, I was informed that because of my undergraduate degree from a small liberal arts college located in the Midwest which has a magnificent writing program, and, well because I IN FACT was an English major, I would be appreciated at most, if not all firms. The one and ONLY problem is that not everyone on the East coast has heard of this institution.
MY, MY, MY. WHY IN GOD'S NAME DID I NOT THINK OF THIS BEFORE? Surely, I have considered ways to maneuver my way out of the Garbage stigma. I have even gone so far as calling the f*cker some ABA approved institution, but this has seemingly all come to naught. This guy clearly has the right idea. It is clear based on my series of interviews at big firms that have extended me an interview based solely on their interest in my senior thesis. When I tried to talk about my many "accomplishments" in law school, they were so bloody curious as to what it was like to go to school in the middle of bumblef*ck Ohio that they introduced me as "C, graduate from liberal arts school in Ohio and Georgetown Law." That were so impressed that they forgot where I graduated from law school. In fact, when I offered my "professional" writing sample, the head partner has always been like "ARE YOU KIDDING ME??????? PLEASE SHOW ME YOUR ANALYSIS OF 19TH CENTURY LITERATURE IN INDIA WHERE YOU RECEIVED AN A MINUS!!!!!!!" Word is out that only people from liberal arts school in the Midwest that majored in English are allowed to apply to Skadden. This is open to all of thoe who went to this specific liberal arts institution, even those who managed to be admitted to NYU, Harvard, Yale, and the University of Michigan.
With this in mind have completely revised my resume. Here it is:
EDUCATION:
LIBERAL ARTS SCHOOL IN THE MIDWEST, BA IN ENGGGGGGGLLLLLIIISSHHHHH LIT, MAGGGGNNANNANAANA CUM LAAAUUUUDDDDE CHALLAH, MOFO DEAN'S LIST; SEE HOW I GOT DISTINCTION ON MY SENIOR THESIS CONCERNING VIRGINA WOOLF'S USE OF TIME AND NARRATIVE IN TO THE LIGHTHOUSE, THE WAVES AND MRS. DALLOWAY
garbage, 2006.
WORK EXPERIENCE:
Summer After Freshman Year:
Read some books; went to University of Pennsylvania where M dropped me off for summer school to find a husband; wrote an extensive analysis on Greek Mythology.
Summer After Sophomore Year:
Studied Journalism at NYU.
Summer After Junior Year:
Lived in Atticus Finch's apt and studied for the LSATs, and really enjoyed the reading comprehension and verbal portions. Not sure why it did not transfer on the exam day. It does not matter. I was an English major in college.
It is funny because yesterday in therapy I spent an hour telling my paid mother/friend why legal recruiters are worthless to not everyone, but to Garbigites. The main reason is because legal recruiters do not have clients who are small toilets located on the corner of F*ck and S*it street. They cater major large firms. Or let me rephrase, in the alternative, legal recruiters can only place actual lawyers who did not belong practicing on the corner of F*ck and S*it street. Ultimately, legal recruiters cannot place me.
Despite my stance on legal recruiters I met with one today. Generally speaking, a legal recruiter will see that I did not do tooooo badly at Garbage and will make an empty promise of circulating my resume to "some places they have in mind." I never press any further as I realize this is a worthless endeavor. Today. Was. Different.
The man I met with today has seemingly arrived from planet "everyone deserves a shot even if their LSAT score should be forgotten, unlike the Holocaust, or something." Anyhow, I was informed that because of my undergraduate degree from a small liberal arts college located in the Midwest which has a magnificent writing program, and, well because I IN FACT was an English major, I would be appreciated at most, if not all firms. The one and ONLY problem is that not everyone on the East coast has heard of this institution.
MY, MY, MY. WHY IN GOD'S NAME DID I NOT THINK OF THIS BEFORE? Surely, I have considered ways to maneuver my way out of the Garbage stigma. I have even gone so far as calling the f*cker some ABA approved institution, but this has seemingly all come to naught. This guy clearly has the right idea. It is clear based on my series of interviews at big firms that have extended me an interview based solely on their interest in my senior thesis. When I tried to talk about my many "accomplishments" in law school, they were so bloody curious as to what it was like to go to school in the middle of bumblef*ck Ohio that they introduced me as "C, graduate from liberal arts school in Ohio and Georgetown Law." That were so impressed that they forgot where I graduated from law school. In fact, when I offered my "professional" writing sample, the head partner has always been like "ARE YOU KIDDING ME??????? PLEASE SHOW ME YOUR ANALYSIS OF 19TH CENTURY LITERATURE IN INDIA WHERE YOU RECEIVED AN A MINUS!!!!!!!" Word is out that only people from liberal arts school in the Midwest that majored in English are allowed to apply to Skadden. This is open to all of thoe who went to this specific liberal arts institution, even those who managed to be admitted to NYU, Harvard, Yale, and the University of Michigan.
With this in mind have completely revised my resume. Here it is:
EDUCATION:
LIBERAL ARTS SCHOOL IN THE MIDWEST, BA IN ENGGGGGGGLLLLLIIISSHHHHH LIT, MAGGGGNNANNANAANA CUM LAAAUUUUDDDDE CHALLAH, MOFO DEAN'S LIST; SEE HOW I GOT DISTINCTION ON MY SENIOR THESIS CONCERNING VIRGINA WOOLF'S USE OF TIME AND NARRATIVE IN TO THE LIGHTHOUSE, THE WAVES AND MRS. DALLOWAY
garbage, 2006.
WORK EXPERIENCE:
Summer After Freshman Year:
Read some books; went to University of Pennsylvania where M dropped me off for summer school to find a husband; wrote an extensive analysis on Greek Mythology.
Summer After Sophomore Year:
Studied Journalism at NYU.
Summer After Junior Year:
Lived in Atticus Finch's apt and studied for the LSATs, and really enjoyed the reading comprehension and verbal portions. Not sure why it did not transfer on the exam day. It does not matter. I was an English major in college.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Craig's List is Not a Reliable Place to Apply for Jobs
Today in my job search, I came across this job posting:
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Attorney Looking For Attorney
Posting ID: job-991754136
Are you tired of billable hours? Looking for a lifestyle firm? Want to be rich as G*D??????? Well, you have come to the right place.
I am a solo practitioner and by solo I mean I am single and the firm is just me. I am looking for someone who graduated from the following schools (Harvard, NYU, University of Pennsylvania, Stamford or Yale) to handle a relatively mild case load pertaining to some ongoing matrimonial issues.
As far as compensation goes, boy, are you lucky. My mother has offered to buy us an apartment where we will work out of if you meet the qualifications. While you will not be afforded health insurance per se, I am only looking to hire someone who is healthy and has no history of serious illness in his family. I also keep a wide array of prescription meds in my medicine closet; vicodin, codeine, xanax, ritalin, prozac and some sudafed day time.
This is a great learning experience for someone who wants to continue working at a big firm and learn a different side of the law.
About Me:
I am inspiring.
Please email me your resume, a cover letter and writing sample.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You HAVE GOT to be kidding me. Who the Hell wrote this sh*t??? Oh wait, I did.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Attorney Looking For Attorney
Posting ID: job-991754136
Are you tired of billable hours? Looking for a lifestyle firm? Want to be rich as G*D??????? Well, you have come to the right place.
I am a solo practitioner and by solo I mean I am single and the firm is just me. I am looking for someone who graduated from the following schools (Harvard, NYU, University of Pennsylvania, Stamford or Yale) to handle a relatively mild case load pertaining to some ongoing matrimonial issues.
As far as compensation goes, boy, are you lucky. My mother has offered to buy us an apartment where we will work out of if you meet the qualifications. While you will not be afforded health insurance per se, I am only looking to hire someone who is healthy and has no history of serious illness in his family. I also keep a wide array of prescription meds in my medicine closet; vicodin, codeine, xanax, ritalin, prozac and some sudafed day time.
This is a great learning experience for someone who wants to continue working at a big firm and learn a different side of the law.
About Me:
I am inspiring.
Please email me your resume, a cover letter and writing sample.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You HAVE GOT to be kidding me. Who the Hell wrote this sh*t??? Oh wait, I did.
I Beg of You to Speak
It is so piss poor pathetic when you realize you are pushing thirty and have been on like thirty online dates to no avail. It is also pathetic when you realize your friends start talking to you like a pregnant lady because they treat you that delicately on account of your spinster status.
Yesterday, there was no reminder that I should persevere. No, for real. There are days that I sit around with my bottle of wine life size key chain and tell it to stop smirking at me. (I do not actually have a bottle of wine key chain, but I do think that would be absolutely splendid. I was inspired by this after a trip to Oren's coffee shop where they sell transportable coffee cups, never know the proper name for them, as a key chain.) It is not enough that I have been told by my friends (as in the two I have) that I am on a strict no f*cking/dating fat f*ck policy this year. This issue was examined right around the New Year when my gay husband called in E for reinforcements when, once again, I almost made the drunken error of doing naughty naughty in the bathroom of a bar with someone with four chins.
However, what kills me the most is when I come home and watch something absolutely horrific like the "City" after having a few, quite a few, night caps. Last night, I almost nearly lost it when Whitney announced towards the close of the show that she is a) 24 and b) has only been in three relationships. I almost picked up the phone to call Time Warner and cancel all cable related television. WHITNEY, you f*ckin dumb slut, I thought you were my friend. When I was 24, I had had essentially zero relationships. I am on the verge of 28 now and you know what my number is??? Essentially zero. That is right, we have nothing in common. Not to mention the fact that you were clearly capable of inspiring some type of jealousy in that douche you date, who is now your boyfriend, by mentioning you went on a date with someone else. Once again, our points of commonality diverge. When I tell some degenerate that I am "dating" that I am going to meet some accountant for lunch, they practically kiss this other suitor on the forehead for taking me off their hands. This was all too much.
The evening was brought to a close with me talking to my current boyfriend, Zebra. (Zebra is a stuffed animal bestowed upon me by E when we parted ways). When I asked him to speak some words of encouragement, he bloody fell asleep. Then, I was reminded that Zebra does not care if I bring home degenerates and do naked time in front of him. BASTARD SH*TF*CK!! OH FOR SHAME!
Yesterday, there was no reminder that I should persevere. No, for real. There are days that I sit around with my bottle of wine life size key chain and tell it to stop smirking at me. (I do not actually have a bottle of wine key chain, but I do think that would be absolutely splendid. I was inspired by this after a trip to Oren's coffee shop where they sell transportable coffee cups, never know the proper name for them, as a key chain.) It is not enough that I have been told by my friends (as in the two I have) that I am on a strict no f*cking/dating fat f*ck policy this year. This issue was examined right around the New Year when my gay husband called in E for reinforcements when, once again, I almost made the drunken error of doing naughty naughty in the bathroom of a bar with someone with four chins.
However, what kills me the most is when I come home and watch something absolutely horrific like the "City" after having a few, quite a few, night caps. Last night, I almost nearly lost it when Whitney announced towards the close of the show that she is a) 24 and b) has only been in three relationships. I almost picked up the phone to call Time Warner and cancel all cable related television. WHITNEY, you f*ckin dumb slut, I thought you were my friend. When I was 24, I had had essentially zero relationships. I am on the verge of 28 now and you know what my number is??? Essentially zero. That is right, we have nothing in common. Not to mention the fact that you were clearly capable of inspiring some type of jealousy in that douche you date, who is now your boyfriend, by mentioning you went on a date with someone else. Once again, our points of commonality diverge. When I tell some degenerate that I am "dating" that I am going to meet some accountant for lunch, they practically kiss this other suitor on the forehead for taking me off their hands. This was all too much.
The evening was brought to a close with me talking to my current boyfriend, Zebra. (Zebra is a stuffed animal bestowed upon me by E when we parted ways). When I asked him to speak some words of encouragement, he bloody fell asleep. Then, I was reminded that Zebra does not care if I bring home degenerates and do naked time in front of him. BASTARD SH*TF*CK!! OH FOR SHAME!
Thursday, January 8, 2009
I'll Show You Mine, If You Show Me Yours
Oh dear G*d, if you exist, why are you not providing me with a sign before I show up at interviews that are going to make me feel like I need to shower even though I never feel that way? In the Almighty's defense, yesterday I was provided with multiple signs not to make this appointment. The weather was horrific, my hair did not look good, I cried in therapy and I was suffering from an over caffeinated eye twitch. Additionally, prior to printing out my impressive resume , through a new dealer (permanent employee), I by accident sent it to the head of the legal department who rejected me without me even indicating I was applying for any specific position. By the by, head of the legal department, I am well aware that I do not have the qualifications to work in house counsel at a huge publishing conglomerate. You needn't tell me, but perhaps you should worry for my soul. This discussion will be saved for another day. Despite all these spiritual indications, I figured given the state of the economy, I am in no place to pay attention to signals from the higher powers when accepting/declining an interview.
Yesterday, I believe I reached a new low. Well that is not true. My station in life is neither improving or declining, it is pretty static. That is not to say that I am content as we all know that is not the case. However, I suppose the jolt of attending an interview with yet another sh*thole after not having the opportunity to do so in several months shook my sensibilities.
My initial reaction when the nice partner lady who was balding was to just be polite and try not to stare at her head while she was explaining to me the odds and ends, mainly odds, of this "practice." I am okay with a balding man, but a balding woman for me is problematic especially since I know there is an answer: hair extensions. M got some when I was five after making the transition out of her wig. I have yet to notice, well that is not true, she often sheds her extensions in the household and then puts them in a Ziploc bag. Kind of gross, but by far better than the legal balding eagle. However, eagle head was really not the problem. The problem was her partner, sloth.
Sloth (completely disgusting and foul old creature) had really something coming to him, and if I were in my usual state (hooked up to an IV of pinot grigio), Sloth might have gotten lucky. However, this was supposed to be an interview for F*ck's sake AND this firm handles sexual harassment. Ladies, I have recently started the birth control and some other assortment of heavy duty drugs after M noticed a pimple on my jaw line. While I have never been anything but, well, just slender, I may have a full B cup. Apparently Sloth liked them and I am not going to lie, it felt good to be admired before 4AM. Sloth admitted that a) he does not read at all and b) he did really poorly in law school (Touro). Just when we were hitting it off, Sloth asked me a question, one that I am never prepared to answer especially during this courtship period; "C, I know it was awhile ago, but can you tell me what your LSATs scores were?"
There were a couple of moments of silence in which I evaluated my choices. I could a) totally lie b) tell the truth or c) tell a white lie. I went with C, but for the love of Christ, what business does Sloth head have asking ME MY LSAT scores? I imagine his were in the low teens and making even my odious score look look good. Last time I checked, lawyers who scored above a 120 do not sit in a firm that looks like the inside of a microwave. Anyhow, after I answered, Sloth ended the the date/interview and told me it was very nice meeting me. I did not even get the chance to ask him what his were.
Yesterday, I believe I reached a new low. Well that is not true. My station in life is neither improving or declining, it is pretty static. That is not to say that I am content as we all know that is not the case. However, I suppose the jolt of attending an interview with yet another sh*thole after not having the opportunity to do so in several months shook my sensibilities.
My initial reaction when the nice partner lady who was balding was to just be polite and try not to stare at her head while she was explaining to me the odds and ends, mainly odds, of this "practice." I am okay with a balding man, but a balding woman for me is problematic especially since I know there is an answer: hair extensions. M got some when I was five after making the transition out of her wig. I have yet to notice, well that is not true, she often sheds her extensions in the household and then puts them in a Ziploc bag. Kind of gross, but by far better than the legal balding eagle. However, eagle head was really not the problem. The problem was her partner, sloth.
Sloth (completely disgusting and foul old creature) had really something coming to him, and if I were in my usual state (hooked up to an IV of pinot grigio), Sloth might have gotten lucky. However, this was supposed to be an interview for F*ck's sake AND this firm handles sexual harassment. Ladies, I have recently started the birth control and some other assortment of heavy duty drugs after M noticed a pimple on my jaw line. While I have never been anything but, well, just slender, I may have a full B cup. Apparently Sloth liked them and I am not going to lie, it felt good to be admired before 4AM. Sloth admitted that a) he does not read at all and b) he did really poorly in law school (Touro). Just when we were hitting it off, Sloth asked me a question, one that I am never prepared to answer especially during this courtship period; "C, I know it was awhile ago, but can you tell me what your LSATs scores were?"
There were a couple of moments of silence in which I evaluated my choices. I could a) totally lie b) tell the truth or c) tell a white lie. I went with C, but for the love of Christ, what business does Sloth head have asking ME MY LSAT scores? I imagine his were in the low teens and making even my odious score look look good. Last time I checked, lawyers who scored above a 120 do not sit in a firm that looks like the inside of a microwave. Anyhow, after I answered, Sloth ended the the date/interview and told me it was very nice meeting me. I did not even get the chance to ask him what his were.
Monday, January 5, 2009
OH LOOK AT YOU
Sometimes, for sh*ts and giggles, I visit Garbage's website to see all the ongoing developments taking place in my favorite legal community. Today, I was proud to learn the following:
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Garbage scored its highest bar pass rate in the Law School’s history, with 93.6 percent of first-time test takers passing the exam, exceeding the New York State average of 91 percent. This places the Law School in the top five of all law schools in New York State.
“I congratulate our students; they worked hard, studied hard, and followed through on all the things they needed to do to be successful,” Garbage Dean. “This is a point of pride for the entire Garbage community.”
Almost 10 years ago the Law School’s pass rate was at 58 percent until it rose to 72 percent and held steady at that percentage from 2000 to 2005. In 2006, the pass rate took a major jump with 84 percent of first-time test takers passing the exam, bypassing the state’s pass rate of 79 percent. Last year, the bar pass rate was 90 percent, placing the Law School in the top five of all law schools in the state and exceeding the state average of 88 percent.
A major factor in the increase of the Law School’s bar pass rate is a program instituted in 2003 called the Comprehensive Curriculum Program (CCP). CCP targets students who perform in the bottom quarter of their class after their first year, and requires them to take intense courses that help them finish law school much stronger than they started. The first cohort of CCP took the bar in 2006, increasing the Law School’s bar pass rate by 12 percent.
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WHOA, COME AGAIN!@@@@@!!!!! I am fairly certain that after concentrating Garbage's entire efforts on doing all of the steps necessary to ensure that its students pass the bar short of having the dean himself sit for the bloody exam for each and every student, this is no claim to fame. Well, obviously Garbage is famous because I have made it so, but it is no claim to being one of the top law schools in New York.
Two of the most outstanding law schools in the nation are located in New York. While I am not sure what their passing rates are, I am quite sure that their students' failure to pass the bar has everything to do with their schools' failure to insist that they do so. Some soda cans might be under the false impression that the reason they are essentially forced to pass the test has much to do with Garbage's belief that passing this exam is directly related to alumni donations, approval ratings, febreeze and exterminators supply. I understand why the standard cock roach might operate under this impression while in school, but post graduation all four-eight legged creatures learn that they will never be able to, well, give back to their beloved institution because of their capped salaries at $40k.
The reason Garbigities are forced to pass a test which has no bearing on intelligence, caliber and/or competence is because this is the best thing that will ever happen to a Garbigite. Their so called "success" is only measured by this exam, as well, what else could it be measured by??? My suggestion to fellow Garbigites is to delay taking the God Damn thing as to experience the twenty four hours of false elation post passing when you realize you have no chance of ever being successful, but can say to yourself "YES, I PASSED A BAR TO GO WORK AS A BUS BOY IN A BAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Anyhow, Garbage has a point. Ten years ago, only about 60& of Garbage's students passed the New York State Bar. It is a good thing that the institution has gotten its act together. Breaking news, I just got a call from Columbia Law School and they would like to point out to Garbage that their passing rate this year was at 95.6%. Take that Garbage and all of your students' success.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Garbage scored its highest bar pass rate in the Law School’s history, with 93.6 percent of first-time test takers passing the exam, exceeding the New York State average of 91 percent. This places the Law School in the top five of all law schools in New York State.
“I congratulate our students; they worked hard, studied hard, and followed through on all the things they needed to do to be successful,” Garbage Dean. “This is a point of pride for the entire Garbage community.”
Almost 10 years ago the Law School’s pass rate was at 58 percent until it rose to 72 percent and held steady at that percentage from 2000 to 2005. In 2006, the pass rate took a major jump with 84 percent of first-time test takers passing the exam, bypassing the state’s pass rate of 79 percent. Last year, the bar pass rate was 90 percent, placing the Law School in the top five of all law schools in the state and exceeding the state average of 88 percent.
A major factor in the increase of the Law School’s bar pass rate is a program instituted in 2003 called the Comprehensive Curriculum Program (CCP). CCP targets students who perform in the bottom quarter of their class after their first year, and requires them to take intense courses that help them finish law school much stronger than they started. The first cohort of CCP took the bar in 2006, increasing the Law School’s bar pass rate by 12 percent.
_______________________________________________________________________________
WHOA, COME AGAIN!@@@@@!!!!! I am fairly certain that after concentrating Garbage's entire efforts on doing all of the steps necessary to ensure that its students pass the bar short of having the dean himself sit for the bloody exam for each and every student, this is no claim to fame. Well, obviously Garbage is famous because I have made it so, but it is no claim to being one of the top law schools in New York.
Two of the most outstanding law schools in the nation are located in New York. While I am not sure what their passing rates are, I am quite sure that their students' failure to pass the bar has everything to do with their schools' failure to insist that they do so. Some soda cans might be under the false impression that the reason they are essentially forced to pass the test has much to do with Garbage's belief that passing this exam is directly related to alumni donations, approval ratings, febreeze and exterminators supply. I understand why the standard cock roach might operate under this impression while in school, but post graduation all four-eight legged creatures learn that they will never be able to, well, give back to their beloved institution because of their capped salaries at $40k.
The reason Garbigities are forced to pass a test which has no bearing on intelligence, caliber and/or competence is because this is the best thing that will ever happen to a Garbigite. Their so called "success" is only measured by this exam, as well, what else could it be measured by??? My suggestion to fellow Garbigites is to delay taking the God Damn thing as to experience the twenty four hours of false elation post passing when you realize you have no chance of ever being successful, but can say to yourself "YES, I PASSED A BAR TO GO WORK AS A BUS BOY IN A BAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Anyhow, Garbage has a point. Ten years ago, only about 60& of Garbage's students passed the New York State Bar. It is a good thing that the institution has gotten its act together. Breaking news, I just got a call from Columbia Law School and they would like to point out to Garbage that their passing rate this year was at 95.6%. Take that Garbage and all of your students' success.
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