exitstrategy

I have eased into my new old age.  It has caused me to be, shall we say, curmudgeonly.  But, whatever, at least I will own it.  Let’s talk about some stuff I hate.

First, I was walking to work this morning and this 40 year old man nearly killed me when he rushed past on the sidewalk on his little kick scooter.  Now this was infuriating for a whole host of reasons.  Principally, because the sidewalk is for pedestrians.  If you are on wheels (even if they are little tiny ones) you should be on the street.  I do not care old scooter dude if you do not feel comfortable kick scooting next to real cars.  Then, perhaps you should leave the scooter at home.  Which brings me to the other problem.  Um, you are WAY too old to be kick scooting to work.  I mean hey I love me some roller skates but you don’t see me going to work derby style.  And, buddy, I am old too so I know of what I speak.

Second, what is with those wierdos who talk to you on the street.  I don’t mean the peddlers.  Like those random people walking or the creeps driving slow or watering something.  “Hello.”  I don’t know you.  Why are you speaking to me.  I need all of those moments during the walk to work to mentally prepare myself for the torture that awaits.  I don’t have time to exchange tops of the morning to ya’s with some slow driving freakshow.

Third, why do people insist on being in control of ever MINOR decision that gets made.  One of the cases I am on with Big Daddy required us to send a letter to the judge and give courtesy copies of what we had filed.  So, Big Daddy emailed me a list of stuff to include, only three of which were actually required to be given.  A lot of the things on the list were totally unnecessary.  So, I emailed Big Daddy (who is out of town), and asked if he was sure he wanted me to send all of that stuff.  Well, that really started a fire storm.  Big Daddy freaked and insisted that I send him the draft of the cover letter (that merely listed the stuff) before sending it off.  Which I of course did but since he was out of the office I did it with a STANK face.  And, honestly, some of the stuff he made me include was ridiculous.  For instance, I had to send the judge an artist’s rendition of the complaint, a weather map, and a black and white photo of me and Big Daddy playing mini golf.  I mean maybe those were not exactly included, but the stuff was just as unnecessary.

Fourth, why do these shmos give false dead lines?  Take yesterday at 4:30.  Fat Bastard calls me and tells me he needs an answer to his research question first thing the next morning.  The brief is not due for about 4 weeks, but he needs it first thing in the morning.  Um, why is that exactly?  He probably still hasn’t even looked at it.  He is no doubt too busy chewing something with his mouth open whilst breathing loud.

I think that is it for my latest grievances.  Is that really it?  Maybe I am not as much of a curmudgeon as I thought.  Oh, wait, here is one.  What is with mayonaise commercials?  Personally I hate the stuff (which makes me so happy - see I love all food and so whenever there is something I do not like I treasure it cuz I know I cannot overeat it).  Anyways, these commercials show people eating mayonaise sandwiches.  Even if you do like mayonaise you certainly are not schmearing it on like its frosting.  WTF?

Oh and Ed’s short-shorts and tank tops?  Don’t get me started.  They still irk me.  And, oh, people who turn on the Spinsta cuz she has been a little behind in her blogging.  I mean sometimes I got to work too.  A girl’s got to eat.

I got a lot of positive feedback about my scientific study relating to office douches.  So, I decided to write another scientific analysis of human behavior - this time about plain old douches.  I consulted with an expert in the field:  Dr. Higns.  Have you ever wondered why only the ugly dudes come up to you at clubs?  Why is it that when you are at a party the only one who talks to you is a serious freakshow?  During my consultation with Dr. H, I asked these questions.  ”Well Spinsta, why do you think it is?”  ”Because these dudes have an inflated sense of self?” I posited.  ”That is the usual mistake people make.  But, actually, what you are seeing is the hopeless effect.”The Hopeless Effect: the result of a sad dude realizing he has nothing to loose.In Dr. Higns words, “what you think you’re seeing is that ugly guys will just go up to chicks all the time.  What you’re actually seeing is guys who really don’t do that, but on that particular night do because they figure ‘what the hell I have nothing to lose.  I’m already going to shoot myself since I am a loser.’”I was horrified by Dr. Higns.  ”I just don’t believe people are that hopeless.”  ”No,” he said.  ”Well, its true.  I have proven this scientifically.  Take these equations, do the math and then you will see that I am right.”1+xy3/(a8f) = ??  Hmm, lets see if I remember my imaginary calculus.  I was a biochemistry major after all.  Ok, the answer is l, i, m, p - limp?  I don’t understand.  OMG.  Ed on the Bachlorette?  There was nothing more hopeless than seeing his face after it was told to the world that the brother CANNOT perform.  Well, that was just a lucky coincidence Dr. H.x*4(d9io)/(f12) - 4rf = ??.  E, g, g, s.  Eggs?  OMG.  My friend just told me today that her therapist told her to freeze her eggs.  She is now saving 250 dollars a month for the procedure in 4 years.  It’s called her “nest egg.”  Hmm, freezing eggs does sound a little hopeless.  Maybe the Dr. really has found the Hopeless Effect.2+(fj99) - (9if)*(e400) = ???  M, u, ff, i, n.  Muffin?  OH CRAP.  Muffin Top!!!  I discovered today that I have developed a muffin top.  I mean I have always had an ass on me, but the muffin top was never a problem.  I went to one of my work friends and told her of my new addition.  ”Guess what this place has done to me?  I HAVE A MUFFIN TOP!!”  ”Sorry Spinsta, but it’s not this place.  Don’t you have a birthday coming up?  IT IS BECAUSE YOU ARE ALMOST THIRTY.”  Ugh, there is nothing more hopeless than an old broad with muffin tops!!So, maybe Dr. Higns is right.  The Hopeless Effect has been scientifically proven.  I mean, as I turn 29 tomorrow I have realized that I am too fat to be on the bachelor and I am too old to be on the real world.  It’s hopeless.  BUT WAIT.  I just saw an add for “More to Love” - the bachelor for chubbies.YOU ARE WRONG DR. HIGNS.  There is hope.  Fat girls like me have a chance.  Long live the muffin top and the sands of time.  I am ok with getting a year older.           

I am well aware of the rules of maintaining an alter-ego.  First, you start with your run of the mill nerd.  Second, you add a super power.  Third, and finally, you add a super sneaky disguise such that the world never suspects the run of the mill nerd is in fact the super hero in possession of the super power.Take for example Clark Kent.  He was a bookish reporter who wore, gasp, glasses.  But, he took off the glasses and became Superman.   No one suspected they were the same person.Or, better yet, take Steve Urkel, everyone’s favorite nerd from Family Matters.  He wears glasses and short pants.  But then he walks into the “cool machine” (I am really getting old because I used to know the name of the machine), and out walks Stephan Ur-kel, the smooth operator and amor to Laura Winslow.  This may be a faulty analogy because people might have known the true identity of Steve and Stephan, but I am not sure.  Either way you get the point, and can probably see where this is going.You take one super smart, super successful, super motivated legal genius.  And then you give her a computer and voila out pops Fat Spinsta.  I never use proper names and I sometimes dramatize (although, in my defense, I view the world in hyperbole so what may be technically exaggeration feels like my truth - ugh I was BORN to be a lawyer) so you would think that these two identities would remain forever apart.Well the first crack in my armor came a month ago when the rents found the blog.  Ugh I am still hearing about it.  Oh and before that, I was selling stuff on craigslist and one of the potential purchasers of my desk became on of my contacts on the g-list and he found the blog.  I mean he didn’t know who I was before so the alter-ego thing is kind of lost on him, but it shows just how hard it is to remain two people.  (Hopefully you are still reading Craig - name changed to protect ME).And then a few days ago I was yet again unmasked.  A guy I was to go on a date with on Saturday night became a g-list contact and saw the blog (Note: I advertise for the blog on g-chat, which is a somewhat imperfect advertising strategy since my g-chat buddies already read the blog so don’t really get new readers but whatev).  So when we were setting up the date he asked about the blog.  I decided to maintain my alter-ego “No that is a blog from my anonymous friend.”  Clearly I could not keep up that clever ruse forever, so I admitted to being two people.  But on the plus side, during the date, he referred to me as “Carrie Bradshaw” which was a real coup since these blog reads a lot more like Cathy than Sex in the City.  AACK!!I just don’t understand how Peter, Steve, Bruce (Wayne) and Clark keep it up.  I mean yeah they are fictional characters but still.  I don’t know how to maintain this double life.  I think the answer is pretty clear, but there is no way I could do what must be done:  wear glasses.  As the saying goes, boys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses.

I know you are all dying with anticipation to find out what happened on my trip.  I was gone for a full week of work.  It was magnificent.  I know they say you need to drive in LA, but I got around.  I walked, took cabs, or was chauffered around.  I saw a few celebs - the most exciting of whom were Rachel Zoe’s assistants.  I even contemplated going up to them - “Hey Te!!!”  But, most of all, as with any good trip, I ate my way through LA.  Lets see: there was greek food, italian food, ice cream sandwiches, “whoopie pies,” late night pizza, sushi from the “sushi nazi” who does not stand for “spicy” sauce on his sushi, and a dessert “sampler” that filled an entire table for four.  During my mass intake, I even ate food that was saved for my host, or at least her roomate (aka the whoopie pie).   But, I am 5 pounds heavier and fully satisfied with my “tour” of LA.What always surprises me when I go on long vacations is that life goes on even though I am away.  I think I am like those little kids that thing if they can’t see you, you can’t see them.  Like even though I was gone, Jason and Molly went on the Today show (Jason is promoting a new website for deserving single dads - hopefully he will give Ty to one of those loving singles).  Oh and Melissa got engaged (you go girl).And apparently the case I am on with that dude who is a woman hater (and of course Fat Bastard) settled when I was away.  Being clearly a non-integral cog in their man machine, I was not informed of this settlement.  I was actually searching the system for a document and found the settlement agreement.  I love being part of a team.I am finally adjusted to being back to work.  I almost exploded with dread on Monday morning when I had to go back.  But I am back so now officially, life can continue.

So did ya’ll miss me?  I was traveling.  It was glorious - first San Francisco and then Los Angeles.  But getting there and back was hell.  Let’s start with the trip there.  I had a flight Friday night.  I unfortunately did not appreciate the level of traffic on friday afternoons.  We were moving incredibly slowly so I called my dad and asked him to check me on online (not surprising the firm gave me a ghetto blackberry that they probably swiped from a homeless man . . . with a blackberry) but daddy the supposed evil genius is apparently only a genius when it comes on spying on his daughter since he could not manage to check me in online.  I arrive at the airport at the exact moment when the check-in kiosk disallows you from checking in.  So I go to the airline employee “Ma’am the computer won’t allow me to check in, but I know I can make my flight and I do not have to check bags.  Is there anything I can do?”  ”Ok.  If you don’t check your bags, you should be ok.  Now I am going to need to put you on standby to get you a ticket, but don’t worry you will get on the flight.  Good luck,” she says and hands me the ticket.  I run to security.  ”Um, you can’t bring that on the plane” says some random security bitch.  ”I promise it fits.  I have taken it on the plane before.  I have only twenty minutes to get to my plane.”  ”That was your bad planning.  CHECK THE BAG.”  ”Ugh.”  I walk towards the area to check my bag but then I see another security check point.  There are two 15 year old girls gabbing - PERFECT.  So, I get through security, even convince one of the security peeps to let me bypass the line.  And then I sprint to my gate.  I nearly knock over babies, people in wheelchairs, random clowns who walk TOO SLOW, but I can’t help it.  Finally, panting I get to my gate and hand over the ticket like I was in a relay handing off the baton.  But the stewardess was no team player:  ”this says standby, get in line.”  ”But I have a confirmed seat on this flight, the woman just did it so I could get to the gate.”  ”No, she released your seat.  You are not a confirmed passenger, you are on standby.”  Defeated, I go to the other stewardess.  ”What are my chances of getting on this flight.”  ”Zero.”  ”Ok, so what do I do.”  ”Wait.”  I stare suspiciously at all the bastards who could have stolen my seat.  Then, after giving them the old stink eye, I watch my plane take off.  ”Ma’am, when is the next flight.”  ”In 2 hours.”  ”What are my chances of getting on the plane?”  ”You are number 3 on the waiting list and it seems pretty empty.”  ”Great.”  I head over to the next gate and eat three rolls of Mentos while I wait (the perfect airplane food).  Then, they call the standby passengers.  ”Random lady and Random Lady’s gross kid.”  What?  I am number 3.  It is so unfair.  I go to the desk and see a dude that was on standby with me at the previous flight.  I stand next to him and ask what is going on.  ”Hmm, there is one seat left.  Are you two going to separate?”  ”Huh?”  ”Oh, we are not together,” he says.  ”Ok,” replies the stewardess and HANDS HIM MY SEAT.  You pig!!!  How dare you.  ”Um excuse me, but I was the next one on the list.”  ”No, he is a priority access member so he gets priority.”  Then the pig boards the plane and my eyes start welling up.  I go over to the steward (I know those two old crones are immune to my tears) and say “so what do I do to get to San Francisco?  I am a bridesmaid and am missing a bachlorette party.”  ”Oh dear, I am sorry but that was the last flight out.”  ”So now what?  I can’t spend the whole day tomorrow trying to get on a flight.”  ”Ok I will get you a confirmed seat on tomorrows 7 AM flight.This brings us to day 2.  I get to the gate but some new stewardess from hell makes me check my luggage.  And while I wait for the plane to board I am next to this family with a baby and a 5 year old.  The mom is making some home brewed baby food that looks nast and smells nast.  And the 5 year old starts screaming “FRENCH FRIES.”  She jumps all around, getting too close to my seat, and keeps yelling French Fries.  Hey oblivious dad, get your kid some french fries ASAP.  It is 6:30 AM and I am on day 2 of planes, trains and automobiles (well just autos cuz the plane took off without me and I took cabs, but whatev).  French Fries never shuts her trap but I eventually board only to discover that French Fries would have been a much better travel companion.  I am next to some hippy who instantly falls asleep, but since it is the middle seat, she keeps falling on me.  I push her off, not wanting to speak (you know passive agressive) and she jumps up and acts confused and then falls back asleep on my shoulder.  After several more attempts to push her off, I contort my body so that I avoid contact with her but she is still way too close and of course I am all twisted up.  But, somehow, I make it through the flight and get to the hotel and meet my friends and party it up.  (See tomorrow’s entry for details on the trip - i am always a fan of bad news first).This brings me to getting home. I had planned a flight for 9 AM.  I get to the airport on time only to find out that my trip has been delayed until 6 PM.  I freak out.  WTF?  What is with you American Airlines.  So, I call a 1800 number while I am waiting in line.  Apparently some of the people on the flight were pushed on to the 10:10 flight, but not me.  Now that certainly seems unfair.  The woman keeps taking people out of the line, but it never moves.  Finally the woman on the phone with zero customer service skills transfers me to a later flight that stops in San Francisco.  I get my ticket and go towards the gate.  ”I won’t let you up, you must check that back.”  ”Please ma’am this fits, I promise you.  I took it on the plane here.”  ”No you listen MA’AM, that suit case is too big and if you want to board your plane you will check it.”  Not in the mood to take shit from this new security bitch I talk to an airline employee with a tiny drawn on mustache (like that guy who made the movie Hairspray).  ”She is trying to make me check my bag but it fits and I have taken it on a flight before.”  ”Well you won’t be taking it today.”  ”Are you serious?  That is unacceptable.”  ”You can talk to the supervisor if you insist.”  ”Ma’am, are you the supervisor, he told me to talk to you.  They are trying to make me check my flight but I only have 30 minutes between flights and I know my bag fits.”  ”Are you taking a legal connection,” she asks.  ”Well an AA employee booked it so I sure hope so.”  ”Well then I am sure your bag will arrive at your final destination.”  And so I check the bag.  Ugh and when I get on the plane I am next to a woman who occupies 1.5 seats but who only purchased one (and who is occupying half of my seat).  UGH I HATE FLYING.So after my travels from hell, I got to thinking.  I know my mom always told me it was important to be a professional but in all truth the ones with the real power are the service people.  Like that security guard - she could subject me to her arbitrary abuse and no one would say a thing.  Or the chick who gave my seat away to that jerk off?Come to think of it, all my most unpleasant experiences take place at the hands of service people.  Take this receptionist I talked to today.  I need to get some medical records sent from one hospital to another.  The doctor at the other hospital sent a form requesting that this be done.  But, just to be sure, I call to see.  Well, after waiting for 30 minutes to get through to a human, one lady tells me that she doesnt know if it was sent out.  ”Well how is that possible.  I brought with me an order and I was just there.  Don’t you have records of my visit.”  ”Ugh hold on.”  And clearly intentionally she hangs up rather than puts me on hold.  I call back, wait another 30 minutes until someone answers.  At this point all my suppressed anger at the airport personnel and that one other chick boil up inside and I am CRAZY.  ”Hello, can I help you.”  ”Well, I certainly hope so.  I was just on hold for 30 minutes after being hung up on by someone in your office with whom I waited another 30 minutes to get through.  I was in on June 26 with a doctor’s order to send my records to my other doctor and I am calling to confirm.”  ”I don’t understand what you are asking.”  ”Ok then, I will take it REAL slow.  I had tests.  My doctor instructed that those test results be sent to her.  Was that done?”  ”I have no idea.”  ”Well then who would know.  Who is responsible for sending out the results?”  ”I don’t know.  Call your doctor and see is he got it.”  ”I am not going to call HER because your office was responsible for sending it out.  Now put me in touch with the person who sends out the records.”  ”I will transfer you.”  Of course she transferred me to some voicemail for a person who never called back.So what do I do?  I tried being nice and that got me nowhere.  I tried being a bitch and that got me nowhere (but it felt good).  I even tried crying but that only got me a little farther than nowhere.  I am distinctly aware that I get paid to reason with people and persuade them to do as I ask so the irony is not lost on me.  But, of course, I am not that good of a lawyer.  I guess since I clearly cannot reason with them I have no choice but to join them.  I guess I am becoming an airport security guard.  Now who’s boss?  Or rather, now who’s your daddy (and by you I guess I mean that jerky guy who stole my seat?????)?