new legal doctrine: shake whatcha mama gave ya

Like so many other topics I blog about... this one speaks for itself (res ipsa loquitur) and requires very little commentary, which is a good thing, because I have so much to get done today, I can barely see straight.

This woman, after practicing law for ten years, has now resorted to dancing topless to pay the bills.  The Topless Lawyer - It sounds like a bad porn and evokes images similar to Britney Spears' debut.  "The job is less hostile than any law office she's worked in, she said."  As a female (former) attorney, I feel like I should say more about this topic.  I feel like I should be more affected by this.  But I'm not.  I honestly can't even say I blame her.  More than anything, I feel a strange sense of pride for the renegade lawyer for her choice.  And that's what it was... A choice.  She chose to dance almost-naked at a strip club rather than seek another terrible legal job in a terrible market.  She's making more money by shaking it for complete strangers.  She appreciates and respects her coworkers more now than in her previous profession.  Heck, even her clients are more tolerable, despite that they "grab her, bite her, [and] kiss her..."  Wow.

I would include an image with this post... but I would hate to run afoul of the law.

the itch

I'm sad about my lack of writing lately.  And I'm disappointed in myself for letting my blog fall by the wayside in the last month. There's something about fall that makes me want to write.  Maybe it's sweater weather or pumpkin spice lattes or the preparation of hunkering down in front of a fireplace with endless cups of tea, but whatever it is... it itches. 

I have a couple articles coming up for the Docket that will force me to sit down and really write, with a deadline, which will be good for me.  But I still want to write a book.  I have pieces of chapters floating around in my head (and my laptop), but I'm lacking direction.  And time.  I'm really lacking time.  It was fall last year when I made the decision that I wasn't meant to be a lawyer for the rest of my life and I needed to write a book - sooner rather than later.  A year later, I don't have a book... but I'm not a lawyer anymore, so I'm hopeful I'm moving in the right direction. 

Fall inspires me...  In a spring cleaning kind of way.  Maybe it's the whole going back to school sentiment.  Or maybe it's college football.  Regardless, I have a renewed sense that at the end of the day, I'm a writer.  I guess I just don't know what that means yet... which is more than I knew last year at this time.

Road Warrior: movin’ on up

We are on the plane headed back to Denver after wrapping up a very productive, successful trip to Pennsylvania – one that left us with an optimistic, “can do” attitude… and lot of work on our plates.  Yours truly is seated comfortably in first class (on United no less - and you road warriors out there know what THAT means), awaiting delivery of her hot breakfast and beverages (I emphasize the plurality here).  Is it just me, or is the orange juice better in first class?

A few of you are probably thinking… Wow, already?  She hasn’t been a road warrior for THAT long, right?  No, I haven’t - certainly not long enough to earn the upgrade status on United.   People spend careers trying to achieve that.  In fact, I had a brief travel hiatus in the last month, so this is really only my 5^th trip.  Turns out, I just work with really great people.  We recently had a new addition to our team – a project manager extraordinaire with an incredibly impressive resume and the most positive attitude I’ve seen in a long time.  I not only get the pleasure of learning from him, but he also gave me his seat in first class.  And I didn’t even know it. 

It went like this…

After a two hour drive following dinner with our clients last night, we arrived at our hotel late, knowing we would have to be up bright and early to catch a 7:30 am flight.  The early flight was especially brutal knowing we were traveling from east to west and needed to put in a full, productive day upon our return.  Nonetheless, everyone was in high spirits, and we spent the last 20 minutes of our drive recapping the day, making fun of each other and laughing hysterically at ourselves.  The morning came earlier than any of us wanted, and we arrived at the airport to learn our flight had been delayed by at least an hour.  I hate plan deviations, and things like this usually leave me crabby… especially when I’m operating on very little sleep and the promise of a long day.  But this morning it didn’t faze me like it otherwise would have. 

While sitting at the gate, we chatted about our seat assignments, and I lamented my middle seat toward the back.  I love the window seat – so much so in fact, that I’ve foregone sitting with friends during trips just to ensure myself a window seat.  I don’t mind the aisle seat.  But I despise the middle seat.

Oh, excuse me… the hot towels are being passed around.  I’ll be right back.

Anyway, my new… Boss?  Mentor?  Hero? (Maybe I should just go with Tim) nicely suggested that I switch seats with him.  I asked him where his seat was.  "6B," he replied.  To which I responded, Oh, B is a middle seat too, so that’s ok – I’ll be fine.  Thanks though.  "No, it’s not a middle seat, and I don’t mind switching.  I’ve traveled a lot – the middle seat doesn’t bother me."  I thought about it some more and counted the seats in my head.  Knowing my seat, 25E, was a middle seat, I was almost certain B would have to also be a middle seat.  A-B-C on one side, D-E-F on the other side.  This was not my first rodeo.  Fortunately, I didn’t say this (I can almost hear your sighs of relief), and I just agreed to the switch and thanked him. 

When they announced that pre-boarding would begin, Tim nodded at me and said, "C’mon, let’s go."  Oh no, I replied, they won’t let me on yet.  "Yes they will," he said with patient confidence… and (there should be no surprise here) - they did.  As we waited on the jetway, Tim ripped off the stub of his boarding pass, with his seat assignment on it, and patiently waited for me to do the same.  He held his out, and instructed me to switch stubs with him.  Oh, no - you don’t actually need your seat assignment stub.  We can just switch seats.  They don’t check those things anyway.   Fortunately (again), I didn’t actually say this.  But I thought it and wanted to say it, and, holy cow, am I glad I didn’t. 

As we got on the plane, I turned right to go to coach and immediately noticed that the first row of seats was row 8.  Hm, that’s strange.  Confused, I hesitated momentarily, and from behind me, I felt Tim tap my left shoulder and say “6.”  I turned to the left… WHOA! First class?!?!?  I don’t even know if I said anything.  Instead, I numbly turned to the left and looked for room in the overheard compartments.  All of a sudden it all made perfect sense – of COURSE 6B wasn’t a middle seat.  There are no middle seats in first class.

So I did the only thing one can do in this situation… (As myDad would say) When you get to the end zone, act like you’ve been there before.  I tried to wipe the grin off my face and cop an elitist attitude… But I’m pretty sure they were on to me.  First, I tried to order my beverages from the food server (and was sweetly informed that the ‘beverage server’ would be by shortly to get my drink order).  Then, I politely took the napkin they offered to me, and laid it across my lap as I typed on my laptop and alternated between drinking my coffee, orange juice and water.  Yes, all three at the same time.  What?

When the server (“flight attendant” just doesn’t seem right here) came out with the meals, he promptly served the gentleman next me – an obviously seasoned traveler, who was on his third screwdriver before breakfast even arrived (on an 8 am flight).  The server paused when he got to me, patiently holding my tray and looking at me, clearly waiting for something… I just had no idea what.  "Oh dear, we need to get you a linen," he finally said.  A linen????  OHHHH, you mean the 'napkin' I had so properly draped across my lap like the high-class lady that I am?  Of course… the linen.  Oh, no – I have it, I said, shaking my head and trying to appear simply absent-minded, instead of classless.  Breakfast was divine.  Seriously.  Rosemary eggs, turkey sausage, breakfast potatoes, a warm croissant with butter and raspberry jam and a bowl of fresh fruit (pineapple!).  I ate every last morsel as slowly as possible, not wanting it to end.

I half expected dessert, or a foot massage, to come next.  And it may have… but I was happily napping off my food coma in my leather recliner. 

One thing is about this road warrior lifestyle is certainly becoming clear… You win some.  You lose some.

28 candles

I'm officially old.  28 has been "that" year for me, so I've spent the last month or so torn between dreading the big day and looking forward to it.  I'm a birthday brat.  I can admit that I love there's a day where it gets to be all about me.  And I unapologetically make sure August 3rd is all about me.  But this year, I was really concerned that the "oldness" would overshadow the "specialness," and so would begin the years of dreaded birthdays.  I am very happy to report that this year could have been my best birthday to date.  I did exactly what I wanted to do and had a day filled with great news, great people and great food. 
     
I love the phrase, "happiness is a warm puppy."  It has always held true for me (with the exception of that one time I was studying for finals and my warm puppy decided to take a warm dump under my bed.  That was the antithesis of happiness).  My warm puppy has been a constant source of happiness and the tear-absorber during the toughest times, so the adoption of my new mantra in no way displaces the brown dog and his unconditional love.  But recently, I've found myself drawn to the phrase, "happiness is knowing you're right where you're supposed to be." 

At the risk of sounding too "new-agey" (thanks, Aunt Shelley), the contentment that comes from an honest assessment of the present and the bumper sticker conclusion that life is good is like no other.  It's been a really great year.  Cheers!

why I love non-law.

Res Ipsa Loquitur

a total tool

A lawyer friend of mine recently sent me this awesome Above The Law article: 20 Ways To Write Like a Tool.  And the tool in me just hesitated about whether or not the "to" in that title should have been capitalized.  The tool in me also cringed at starting a sentence with "and."  But I'm getting over it.  Ha!  Another sentence begun with a conjunction.  How do you like me now?!?  It turns out, I make fun this concept a lot... so why am I still such a grammar-nazi?

Sitting around the conference table at work today, one of my coworkers was reviewing an intern's work and noticed she had missed the accent mark over CaféWell.  My coworker, who (bless his heart) has endured almost three months of my anal retentive, hyper sensitivity to grammar, looked at me sideways and warned our intern, "Don't do that again or she'll put a shock collar around your neck and make you bark like a dog."  Awesome.  Not really.

Due to my time as a lawyer, I write like a tool.  While I'm happy to report that "to the extent" has, in fact, magically drifted out of my vocabulary, I have to admit that I'm guilty of many, if not all, twenty (20) of the atrocities listed in the ATL article.  So much so in fact, our intern is undoubtedly losing sleep.  Typos are everything in law.  And I lost a lot of sleep over typos and potential typos.  The last thing I want to do is inflict the same torture I endured on someone else.  Especially someone who has to "report" to me.  In an effort to not become one of "those" supervisors (or in other words, a "partner at a law firm"), I am going to seriously make an effort to tone down my melodramatic relationship with grammatical errors.  Are they ideal?  Nope.  But the golden rule applies here too... and despite the fact that I effectively had a grammar shock collar around my neck for the last few years, I wouldn't wish my learned neuroses on anyone.

Arf.

Road Warrior: the learning curve.

As my chocolate lab will tell you, I have been traveling quite a bit lately, and I'm beginning to earn my road warrior stripes... especially after last week's little jaunt over to Albany.  I will report on the little tidbits of wisdom I gained through that (questionable) experience and others. 

1.  Lay longer.  Don't pick the flight with the shortest layover time.  Even though, on paper, it looks like the most efficient use of your time, you leave the airlines little to no room for error.  They're not that good.  In fact, they're not good at all.  More often than not, you'll end up sprinting to your connection, and, if you're lucky enough to catch it, you'll be the stinky kid on the plane.

2.  The flight that cried delay.  It is more common to be delayed than to have your flight actually leave on time.  HOWEVER, you can't count on this fact when deciding what time to leave for the airport.

3.  The board rarely lies.  If the flight status board reports that your flight has been delayed 8 hours, it's probably not a typo.  Yes, even if the delay is until 1:00 am.  If they were going to cancel the flight, they would have canceled it... So get comfortable.

4.  Disgusting default.  When you book your hotel through Priceline or Expedia, it automatically defaults to a smoking room.  YUCK.  Even if you know this, if you're checking in super late, there won't be any non-smoking rooms left.  Always call the hotel after booking and make sure they get you reserved for a non-smoking room.

5.  Rental car.  Don't pre-pay for your rental car (Orbitz doesn't require your credit card until you pick up the car... Priceline has your card as soon as you commit to the car).  When your flight is incredibly delayed (which, if you haven't picked up on by now... happens A LOT) and you don't get in until after midnight, there's a good chance your rental car company will be closed.  You'll end up renting a car with a different company and then spending the next few months arguing with the first company for a refund.

So after my incredibly delayed flight (well into the next morning), the rental car place being closed, and finally making it to the hotel only to be stuck in the smoking room (with BUGS!)... I think it's safe to say I'm earning my RW stripes. 

Stay tuned for more lessons and rants from the road... Eat your hear out Kerouac.