My Complaints

I am at work. And will be at work for the vast majority of the weekend.  I am extraordinarily bitter about this fact. There are many things unfair about spending your entire holiday weekend at the office. In my case, here are the specifics:

1) My sister called me from the beach to inform me that she just took a picture with my favorite cover band.  I am not at the beach, despite numerous invitations to go to the beach, I am most certainly not listening to my favorite cover band right now, and it seems like if I had been at the beach, and in the picture, I would have finally been able to profess my deep and lasting love for the trombone player of my favorite cover band.  However, I will continue to only love the trombone player from afar while my sister enjoys the beach and the love of my life.

2) It is a picture perfect weekend in D.C., weather-wise. I’ve lived here for eight years. (Well, that will inspire a separate post about how I can’t &*^%$#@$ believe I have lived here for eight years!) And in all my eight years – this is (I think) the second weekend where the weather has actually been nice.  Ironically, the last time Memorial Day weekend was also nice in D.C. I spent the whole weekend preparing for trial. That was back in my paralegal days, when I was young and didn’t know any better. So, now it is a picture perfect Saturday and the extent of my enjoyment of the weather today was to run four miles early this morning. At least I got to be outside for a bit, you say? Did you miss the RUNNING part? If I get an hour off, why the hell am I spending it working out? That is not very Jersey of me.

3) And finally, the other thing that I will complain about as being rather unfair, is that I discovered today that my Assistant, who is an absolute rockstar, is significantly cooler than me.  Now, I don’t pretend to be all that cool, but I thought I had my assistant beat as she is in her late 40s and spends most of her free time hanging out with her husband and her dog. Which doesn’t make her uncool at all, but honestly, I think it is more than fair of me to assume that I am cooler than the average middle aged woman.   Boy, was I wrong.   As my assistant and her husband are taking part in Rolling Thunder tomorrow. Which is the incredibly cool, massive motorcyle ride that converges on the Pentagon and the Mall in a show of support for all of America’s war veterans.  I acknowledge that is probably not the most accurate or eloquent of descriptions but it is an event that truly marks the holiday of Memorial Day. So my rockstar assistant and her husband will be in the middle of this huge and moving display of patriotism and rememberance.  And I will still be here.  Writing briefs and reading case law.  So, yeah, she is way cooler than I am. 

 

Saying no. Or trying to at least.

Something that is rarely overheard being said by a new associate at a big firm is the word No.  Everyone tells you that in order to survive at a big firm and maintain your sanity, you need to be able to say no to the occasional partner/senior associate/giver of work.  When I first started, I attended an entire training session on saying no.  It was lead by one of the senior associates in my office, we’ll call him Carolina Boy, and he told some horror stories about how he first started, never said no, and worked ridiculous hours.  After the training session, he took me aside and said, “Jersey, I could easily see this happen to you because you are so nice. You have to learn how to say no.”

Now, I am not so good at saying no to things.  Another piece of cake? Sure, sounds great.  One more beer before last call? Absolutely.  You need help moving? Just tell me what time the truck is coming.   Oh you haven’t packed? No problem, I will be right there.  You need a ride to/from the airport? I’m in.

The list goes on and on.  I just don’t say no very often.  I overextend myself till I just about drop from exhaustion and something always seems to bail me out.  Or I just stay up super late/give up something I actually want to do to honor all my commitments.

As the lowly second year associate (thanks, Clerking for the bump up!), pretty much everyone at the Big Firm can give me work.  And when you have ten partners and three senior associates circling you like sharks waiting to give you work,  the to-do list grows rather quickly.  But I am willing to work hard so I haven’t really turned down many assignments.  I have tried twice and failed miserably both times.

The first time was about two months. Ironically enough, the giver of the work was Carolina Boy.  He stopped by my office under the guise of checking on me. 

CB: “How are you doing, Jersey?”

me: “Eh, hanging in.  Bit swamped right now actually.”

CB: “Oh, really? That’s not good.”

me: “It is okay, just having a rough moment right this second.”

CB: “Can you [insert boring and rather time consuming research assignment] for me by [insert ridiculously short turnaround]?

As an aside, in the hierarchy of who you can say no to: Senior Associate is below Non-Equity Partner who is below Equity Partner who is below Managing Partner.  So if I was going to turn down work, this was the work to turn down.

me: “Um…honestly, I am feeling rather overwhelmed right now…” To highlight the point, I take the scarf I’ve been wearing around my neck and turn it into a noose and pretend to hang myself. CB is not daunted.

CB: “This won’t take that long. Thanks!” 

CB exits and I left wondering why he didn’t take the faux suicide attempt as a clue that maybe now was not the time to give me more work.

And that’s when I realized that the real lesson being told to new associates is not that you have to say no sometimes.  It’s really that you have to say no sometimes…but just not to me.

 

 

Poker and Pancakes

With my plate full of pancakes balanced on my knees, my eyes stare intently at the dealer’s hands.  The river is a Heart, just as I predicted, and I turn triumphantly to my companion, “I told you! A flush! I knew he would get a flush!”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but you only said that because you knew what the other guy had.  That’s the beauty of poker on television.  We know what everyone has.”

“Still”, I shrug in response, “I was right.” His nonchalance about poker, me, everything, annoys me and while balancing dishes on my forearm, I clumsily try and stand.  He reaches for me and at first, I let him pull me onto the couch with him, but thinking better of it, disentangle myself and head into the kitchen. 

He comes behind me while I wash away the remnants of our late night snack, muttering without really meaning it, that really this time he should clean up.

I shrug again without turning to face him. 

Almost in awe, he says, very quietly, “I can’t believe you made me pancakes.  You are just so nice to me.”

I shrug again, turn to face him and say without a whole lot of feeling or emotion, “I am a pretty nice person, Will.  You know this. I like to do nice things for you.”

He nods and again says, very quietly, “I don’t deserve it.”  

And part of me wells up in absolute frustration and screams in response, while simulataneously throwing a plate at his head, that no, he doesn’t deserve it, but he is lucky because until I find someone worthy of my devoted attention, he reaps the benefits of my late night cooking, my witty banter, my “hospitality” (how’s that for a euphenism)….but someday, it won’t be available to him and he will come to regret this exact moment when he didn’t take the opportunity, right now, at 2:30 a.m. standing in front of me in my kitchen, to declare me his. 

And the significantly less dramatic side of me rolls her eyes at my dramatic side’s overreaction.  That side of me knows that I will never yell at him, never give him an ultimatum, certainly never throw anything at him. I know what I have before me.  I have yet again found someone who so loves hanging out with me that he will drive to see me in the middle of the night with only pancakes and poker as his incentive.  I have found someone who when he holds me in his arms I feel safe and secure and like maybe everything is going to work out in a weird and unexpected way that I could never have planned.  But all the while that I feel that, when I feel so happy and optimistic, there is that tiny part of me that knows it is never going to happen.  That knows that these arms, while a source of comfort and bliss at odd hours of the night, will soon leave me wanting more than they can give. 

So rather than yell and demand unreasonable committments which will be met with great resistance, I again shrug, kiss him gently on the cheek, and say with a mischevious glint in my eye to mask the true sadness I really do feel, “I consider this charity.  Helping out the helpless.  Pro bono, if you will.” 

He smiles back at me, seemingly relieved that I managed to push back all the feelings that he knew his comment would bring to the surface.  To him, it is just poker and pancakes.    

 

Betrayed by Facebook

In my earlier post, I mentioned falling in serious like with a boy, we’ll call him the Democrat (“Dem” for short), and getting dumped right before Christmas.  We had known each other for awhile and actually worked in offices right next to one another for an entire year without anything happening.  Then just a month after our jobs ended and we were no longer office neighbors, Dem revealed that he had a huge crush on me and wanted to date me.  This was a big and extraordinarly complex revealation because he had dated one of my very good friends for quite some time and they had broken up about three months before this Big Reveal.  A few weeks of soul-searching later, I had gained a boyfriend and lost a good friend.  To those few people who may actually be reading this and don’t know me, this was one of the toughest decisions I’ve ever made.  I had this great guy standing in front of me who I got along with so well and this close friend who didn’t want him back but certainly didn’t want him to be with me.  There is so much more to say about that decision and how knowing how things turned out, I probably wouldn’t have chosen like I did, but hindsight is 20/20 and sometimes you just have to take a chance and hope you don’t get your heart stomped on.   

But, readers, this is ME. Of COURSE it didn’t work out.  (the full backstory on how things don’t seem to work out as I’ve planned, and in the most ridiculously painful and hilarious ways ,can be found at my old stomping grounds: www.lawyeringthroughlife.blogspot.com.) Three relatively happy months later, Dem decides he isn’t really cut out for relationships or marriage or, it turns out, me for that matter and breaks up with me. Again the week before Christmas.   For those counting, that would be the third time in four years.  I’ve decided I am not allowed to date in December. 

So we break up. I am obviously very sad not only because of the circumstances under which we got together, but because man, did I really like this guy.  He made me happy in a way I had just never felt before, not with Treehugger, not with anyone.  He made me happy in a way I didn’t know I was even capable of feeling. 

But, enough about the happiness.  It didn’t work out.  He desperately wanted to still be friends and we tried that for a few months, and when I joined Facebook (I know, I know, I am too old for social networking sites, but there is some good info on people out there and far more effective than googling someone), we were Facebook friends.  But after constant updates of “Dem has been tagged in yet another picture with his arm around yet another girl”, this girl had enough and I de-friended him.  It felt like a pretty drastic step, (a fact  not lost on Facebook which warned me “Are you sure you want to de-friend Dem? Once done, this step cannot be undone.”) I clicked yes and moved on.  Facebook also confirmed that Dem would not be informed of my action. 

And as silly as it sounds, it really helped me forget about him.  I still thought about him but the thinking about him was more natural and less painful than Facebook constantly reminding me to think about him.

So today, I am working away and cursing the summary judgment brief I am writing as it is one of those perfect D.C. days where the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, and it is not yet summer in D.C. with all the uncomfortable humidity that season brings. 

And I get the following email from Dem:

“Did you de-friend me on Facebook?”

I struggle with my reply because I honestly didn’t do it to be spiteful and Dem takes my actions to distance myself from him rather personally (he was very sad to hear that I blocked him on gchat – don’t boys ever have to take steps to save themselves from themselves?) (which as another aside, I find highly ironical as he did break up with me, the epitome of distancing yourself from someone). 

Apparently Facebook suggested me to Dem as a possible friend.  He said to himself, “I thought I was friends with Jersey”, and when he went to confirm that, lo and behold, we were no longer friends.  Hence the accusatory email.

 With all the technology on Facebook, suggesting friends,  Super Pokin’, SuperWalls, FunWalls, Fun Pokin’, Twittering, (I honestly don’t know what any of these are), the geniuses behind Facebook don’t keep a log of people who don’t wish to be friends? It seems the technical aptitude to maintain such a list would be significantly less than the techonology required to create elaborate movie quizzes and then allow people to compare their scores.  

So, what’s next, Facebook? You going to start publishing my secrets on my Wall? Filling in my status message for me?  Maybe let people know how often I view their page despite the fact that my Feed tells me there have been no updates? I fear my relationship with Facebook is going to be short-lived unless Facebook starts playing by its own rules.

 

 

I went to law school so I didn’t have to do math.

Being the newest and least inexperienced associate at a big firm definitely has its challenges. As I’ve already alluded to before, I most definitely stumble through my job.  The mistakes I’ve made so far (forgetting to pay the filing fee for a Complaint, for example), while frustrating and silly, have not been too terrible.  Last week, I was tasked with responding to something from opposing counsel. Seems simple enough? Count the days from when you got it and there’s your response deadline.  That’s where the tricky part comes in.   The actual counting.  I did the requisite 21 days and then was told – Hey! add three for mailing! Sounds great, three more days to respond - I’ll take it.

 Unfortunately, for reasons I still can’t quite explain, I added 21 plus 3 and got…25.   I respond on day 25, pat myself on the back for a job well done, and sit back and wait for the compliments to start pouring in. Well, that’s a bit of an overstatement, most likely I responded, crossed it off my to-do list with tremendous urgency, and moved on to something else.  I had just opened the reply from Nasty Opposing Counsel and getting to part where she calls me out on my inability to count when I get a call from the partner of the case, who has been dubbed The Shirker – in that she agrees to do something that needs to be done, you talk about it for a few minutes and then when you leave her office, you realize you are now doing what she had agreed to do not five minutes earlier.

me: “This is Jersey”, full of apprehension as my caller ID ominously reads The Shirker.

TS: “Hey, have you seen the response from Nasty Opposing Counsel?”

me: “Um, yes. I am so sorry…I must have…um, counted…um, incorrectly.”  I immediately start listing off reasons why it is not the end of the world, including citing case law, in what I am sure sounded both incomprehensible and annoying.

TS: “Okay. Just wanted to make sure you knew.”

So basically she just called me to say, You screwed up. She wasn’t interested in hearing about how I could rectify said screw-up, but she just wanted to make sure I was aware that I had messed up.  Yep, all good on that front. I am pretty sure I realized the screw-up, when Nasty Opposing Counsel moved to have our delay by one day in responding constitute an admission as to all LIABILITY.  For those non-lawyers, that means my client could lose just because I was a day late.  Realistically it won’t happen, but wouldn’t you think that the phone call pointing out the error was unnecessary? Over the top perhaps? I think the expression involves salt and my wounds?

Lesson learned: No. More. Counting.

 

 

 

Guess Who’s Back

I find it fitting to re-introduce myself to my blog with song lyrics by Eminem.   I really have missed blogging, because I have found if  I don’t write about the ridiculous events as they happen, in a way, they haven’t really happened.  It is from writing about a feeling, a day, an occasion, that I am able to process how I really feel about it.  Plus my blog is this amazing secret place where I can go and vent, poke fun, lament, become completely absorbed in me without fear of judgment. Although that last part is not always the case - the internets are full of lurking judgers but somehow, anonymous judging doesn’t deter me from being my absolute ridiculous and true self. 

So, before I hit the ground running for a hopefully fully billable day, some stats since I last blogged.  I fell in *serious like* and got dumped for the third time in four years right around Christmas.  My roommate fully accepted her Crazy ways and moved out of our apartment and in with my co-worker who is three offices down from me (oh, don’t worry, there is SO much more to come on that front).   I have started lawyering at a Big Firm and spend a good portion of my day being panicked and muttering what the f**k.  I’m told that will pass with time.  I am not convinced.

More on the lack of love, the Crazy, and the job later.  But thanks for having me back, Blog.