exitstrategy

It has been a while since I last blogged (I guess this is confession?), and there is no cohesive way to let you all know the crazy stuff that happened last week.  So, I am going to lay it all out there - diary style.Monday:After offering to sell my soul to get on a case, I FINALLY got some work.  I was put on a TRO which means lots of work that needs to be done immediately.  Since it was going to be a late night, I was told to order dinner.  The “team” I was working with likes to dine together in the lunchroom.  See, there are two types of late night workers:  the ones who eat dinner at their computers so they can get the h*ll out of there and the ones that like to eat dinner together and talk about the work and then work and stay there even longer.  Yep, this is the latter of the two teams.Dinner was chinese.  I am trying to eat healthy again so I ordered mine steamed with the sauce on the side, but of course I ate too much rice.  But that is neither here nor there.  The team sat around the table, eating and talking about the case. There were also some little tidbits of life stories thrown in.  Then, when we had finished eating, big daddy’s secretary gave us each a fortune cookie.  She suggested that we go around the cirle and read aloud our fortunes.  WHAT?  I am stuck working in h*ll until all hours, I am not at some adult camp.  No Kumbiyah.  But that wasn’t even the worst part.  Big daddy modified the campfire roundtable - he suggested we add “in bed” after each fortune.  Seriously?  What kind of a camp is this.  Oh and his fortune was about experiencing unexpected success at work.Tuesday:I had to get to work early.  I was called into Big Daddy’s office where the client was.  We drafted stuff and I ran around and did all kinds of stuff asap.  The client was annoying.  He never stopped talking.  So three plus hours into the work race, I was told I had to run to court.  I had only 10 minutes to get there.  So, I ran into a cab (in heels and a suit - looking psychotic), ran up to the court room and stopped for a second to catch my breath.  I looked on the court call to see when I was up and the opposing counsel approached me.  The guy was not happy that he had been stuck with me.  And he was even less happy with what I was going to tell him.  So we go to into the courtroom and two minutes later we were done.  As we were heading out there was a reporter talking to one of them.  I overheard the reporter ask if there was an attorney for the other side.  At that point I had slipped away towards the elevator.  ”Its that little girl in the black dress.”  And I felt the guy pointing at me.  Not knowing what to do, and waiting for the elevator to arrive, I reached in my purse and grabbed a banana - I mean when all else fails eat right?  Wrong.  I was eating a banana as the group of men stared over towards me.  What is wrong with me.  Luckily, just as I realized how inappropriate I was, the elevator doors opened and I literally jumped in.  Yes, gentleman, the little girl in the black dress deep throating a banana has left the building.Wednesday:Wednesday night I had a date with a guy I met at an event the week before.  Since my work was done, I spent the day obsessing about the night.  I couldn’t remember what the guy looked like so I had my friend send me pics she had downloaded from facebook.  After analyzing them thoroughly, I then sent them to a list of friends for feedback.  I mean didn’t he look short?  Was he fat?  His hair was greasy no?  I mean I do realize I am CRAZY but it was a good way to pass the time.  When the date came, he picked me up in his car.  He opened the door for me (which I cannot remember ever happening on a date, although I don’t usually get picked up on my dates.  The last time when a date drove me, as soon as he turned on the car, the music started playing Shania’s “Man!  I feel like a WomAn ).  We went to some restaurant and shared.  We got a bottle of wine (per usual).  And it was actually ok.  Although I think I was taller than him.  My picture analysis was right.  I should be in the C.I.A.  Or, a stalker.  Either way.Thursday:Thursday I had an event in the evening.  There was an apple-tini bar and people were HAMMERED.  I struck up a conversation with some law student who was tall, but had bad breath.  He talked my ear off about how he was going to be “wildly successful.”  Unfortunately, he still had two more years as a non-wage earning law student or I would prob have asked him to move in and retire early.  After we had parted ways, I was hanging around waiting for my friend to finish up her “seduction” of a dude she had met.  I was watching some clowns on the dance floor and this one guy was trying to start up a Grease style dance when you go two by two down the line, freestyling.  Try as he might, it didn’t catch on.  But, it was my sign to leave which I did, although not before being asked by some douche (who I know and made out with once) if he could bed me down for $36.  (”It’s a lucky number in jewish tradition.”  ”Well, not for you.”)Friday:The monthly work happy hour.  It was off-site which meant that there were less people but still a few partners.  During the happy hour, I decided to take part in a contest between myself and another woman who likes to buy stuff to see who can spend the least in a 6 month period.  Now, granted, this lady likes to get stuff, but she does have to buy for 3 children and a husband.  So, if I lose, well than I should probably just move home since it will be only a matter of time before I have to declare bankruptcy.Saturday and Sunday - I don’t know.  Nothing much happened.  I guess I was recovering from the week.  And it all starts over tomorrow.  Oy.So how does one end a diary entry?  I cannot remember.  I know the opener is dear diary.  I guess the end is something like:Yours forever,Fat Spinsta

So, the past two weeks of my life has been summed up by the lyrics to the above captioned song.  She (me) works hard for the money, so hard for it honey.  Not that I work that hard, but I think the song is about a prostitute (or am I confusing it with Roxanne - which I KNOW is about a prostie).  You see for the past two weeks I have not worked all week but then had to work on the weekends.  I don’t know exactly what the schedule of a streetwalker is like, but I imagine it is more weekend hours than 9-5s.Well, I did not understand just how prostituty I was until today.  So, for the past 12 months out of the 13 months I have been working I have been asking for work.  For whatever reason, I get little bits but not that much.  Today, I decided to have a more concrete conversation about, well, WTF with who else but Mr. ATD.  I had prepared a whole speech for what I was going to say.  Tell him that I was frustrated, that it was not my fault since I constantly asked and um it is his JOB to assign me the work, etc.  It started off smooth, but at some point it got off track.  The clown said he was not aware of just how “dire” the situation had gotten with my hours.  Woah - overstatement buddy.   And that his number one priority is to get me a ton more work.Obviously, that plan backfired but that was not even the worst part.  The worst part came twenty minutes later after Mr ATD had analyzed my billing records and other data.  He offered some “constructive criticism.”  ”Spinsta, you need to be more forceful.  You are too quiet.  People confuse your quiet nature with not being competent, perhaps.”  ”But Mr. ATD, I have been told many times that my work is good.”  I neglected to say - although it went without saying - that the majority of my co-workers, while louder than me, were much stupider so every time they opened their mouth it was obvious that they were incompetent.  ”Well thanks Mr. ATD.  This is the first time I have heard this before from anyone since I got here.  I will take it into consideration.”  ”Oh yes, and Spinsta, you should dress more professionally.  There were a few days when you looked like you were going out at night.  I think you should wear suits.  Then, when you see potential clients on the train, you look like a real professional.”WTF ATD???  Let’s just take his statement to me one piece at a time:(1)  Other than the well documented day when I was in the skin tight pants and blazer number when the client came, I dress not only professionally, but better than most of my superiors.  I mean sure maybe I do not wear “chinos” that are too short and expose my vaguely orthopedic black shoes, but I am pretty sure my clothes are fine.  In addition, I work with three women who have uniforms - one wears ponchos, the other leggings, and the third suits made out of sweater material.  Oh and sweater lady was topless in the bathroom one day.  I may have once worn tight pants, but I am not wearing leggings and a poncho and not showing my jugs to co-workers.  But, yeah, I should work on my professional attire.(2)  Why would I wear a suit?  No one else does.  If I need to go somewhere that requires a suit, I wear one.  But, I am not going to have one on in the off chance I run into a client - that I don’t have - on a train - that I don’t ride.(3)  How cliche is this office?  I mean this is exactly the overplayed seen when a woman is one the stand and the sleazy lawyer is asking her “what were you wearing to deserve this.”  I mean fine I was not attacked, but it was definitely sexist.Basically, my boss accused me of being a ho.  I mean, hey, maybe some of my clothes have gotten tighter and so appear more “weekendish” but that is only because these mo-fos force feed me baked goods.  I can’t wait until that day I get to give my notice because I have found a bigger better gig.  I can picture it now.  I will be dressed in leggings, with a poncho, no shirt underneath.  Maybe I will even give a little flash, followed by something along the lines of “now who is unprofessional!”  Oh wait, that doesn’t work since the flash is rather unprofessional.  ”I was always dressing for the job I wanted, not the job I had.  How do you like me now?”  That is better.  Although, I am not sure what kind of job that I will be getting in that number.  I got it!!  ”She works hard for the money so you better treat her right!!”  Perfect.

This week has been a bit of a slow death.  I asked everyone and his mother for work.  But, no one had any.  Hmm, seems like a bad sign.  Either they don’t like me or there is not enough work.Luckily, I had a little bit of work to do for this one partner who caused my friend to quit.  He is beyond anal.  You remember - he made me summarize the summaries?  Well this clown is on “vacation” although he constantly sends me emails.  The two of us are editing something and instead of making his edits, he emails them to me in narrative form and asks that I put them into the document.  Well, I missed a stray comma and a capital letter.  This dude was not happy.He sent me the following email:  you missed a comma.  You really must be more careful.Hmm that seems a little bit of an overreaction.  So, I sent the following email:Sorry, it is hard to see everything in track changes format.  I will be more careful in the future.And then he writes:”You need to appreciate the ATD that is required in our practice.”Um, excuse me?  ATD?  What is he talking about?  Oh g-d, he means attention to detail.  Is this for real?  When did I start working for that little girl in Sleepless in Seattle?  And, lets be honest here.  I am not searching for my son or looking for my one true love on the top of the Empire State Building.  The shit I am doing is no where near as important.Should I respond, I wondered.  Hmm.  Something like “OMG dude.  Be more careful.  Ttyl.”  Nah.  Something more to the point:  ”LOL.”  Not quite right.”Thanks for your email.  Unfortunately I DCATD.  Translation: I don’t care about the details.”ISNANJ!!!  (I seriously need a new job)Interestingly, I am extremely mindful of the details in my non-work life.  I mean there is not a snaggly tooth or a receding hairline that gets passed me.  But like Tom Hanks, I pay to attention to the details that matter.

The economy is really starting to get to me.  I mean luckily not in the way it is “getting” to a lot of other people - i.e. actually affecting them by causing them to lose their jobs, take on multiple jobs, lose their retirement etc.  It is getting to me because it has made it abundantly clear that I need to save money and won’t be able to quit my job any time soon.  I do realize that the preceding several sentences make me seem like a spoiled brat, but trust me, it gets much worse.So, last week I had three separate conversations with people about the need to save as much money as possible right now because the future is very uncertain.  Then, I picked up a Glamour magazine (to read about how strong Jessica Simpson is, obviously) and it had a whole section on budgeting and saving money.  All together it was a not so subtle sign that I need to tighten the bootstraps (or pursestrings or some other string/strap/ribbon/chain).Oh and then this morning, while I was watching Breakfast in Bed on Soapnet (the best part of my weekend: back to back episodes of vintage 90210 and gilmore girls) I saw a commercial for some special mop.  In addition to cleaning up mud, dog “messes” and dirt, the man on the commercial spilled out a soda and then mopped it up, and then squeezed it out back into the cup.  He said “in this economy, you cannot afford to waste anything so with the ___ Mop you can still drink that soda.”It was the grossest thing I had ever seen.  Are things really that bad that we need to drink soda that has been twice contaminated - first on the floor and then from the dog crap stuck to the mop??  I guess so.  I will not be getting another job anytime soon, will I?  No, that dream has been squeegeed like that dirty soda.  Hopefully I can wring it out in a few years.But, when I thought all was lost, I heard a story that made me hopeful.  It may shock some of you but I do not always read the news regularly.  So, I decided it was time to get informed and went to cnn.com.  I read an article about a Kenyan man offering a dowry for Chelsea Clinton of 40 goats and 20 cows.Why is this hopeful you ask?  Is this related to your husband hunts?  Fat Spinsta, do you think you could fetch a similarly generous dowry?  I mean, unlike the warm and loving Bill and Hillary, your parents will pay someone else to take you off their hands rather than the other way around.  (Oh wow, now I am even having a two-way imaginary conversation with you people.  Should I be alarmed?).No to all of the above.  I am not hopeful because I think that I can be purchased by a man or taken care of by a husband.  I am hopeful because even in a bad economy, people are still spending money on some things.  I just need a good concept.  I mean I don’t think I will be accepting payment in livestock, but accessories would be ok.  Now, I just need the concept.  I must strike while the time is right.  I am thinking something related to goats, or soda, or legal services.

I know that before you start a 12-step program you have to admit you have a problem.  And the way you get to that point is by hitting rock bottom.  Now what I don’t know is whether the admission is one of the twelve steps or if it is a pre-step.  So, as I indicated above I have either 11 or 12 more steps to go.It’s true - I hit rock bottom.  It happened on Thursday evening.  This week has been a little odd.  On Tuesday I took part in an arbitration - I mean it was a fee petition but it was still something.  I had my own witness, a cross examination, and I did the closing.  It was the most substantive morning I have had since I started working.  But, the arbitration ended at 1:30 and since then I have had nothing to do.For me, having nothing to do is a BAD thing.  It leads me to overanalyze and become even crazier than usual.  And so when I had a networking happy hour, the writing was on the wall - things were not gonna be good.The happy hour was to raise money for charity and supposedly make business contacts.  Clearly, the business contacts I was looking for were male ones.  I mean I am getting to the point in my job search where it is becoming evident that my most viable exit strategy is to marry a dude.These potential “husband contacts” were no good.  Mostly old.  And the place was packed to the brim.  I don’t like crowds so I decided to go to a different happy hour - not a husband one, a regular one.  So before we went to the second happy hour I had already had a glass and a half of wine, and my friend snuck a brooskie into the cab.  I guess our cab driver had previously been a cabbie in Cancun cuz he was cool with our coronas.When I got to the second bar (and had another drink) it was clear nothing good could come.  And, let me tell you, nothing good did.  This particular bar had a “buffet.”  The buffet included the following: wings, penne pasta with meatballs, sausage and potatoes and buttered popcorn.  I went vegas on that buffet - I must have had like 3 plates.But, being at the bottom of a bar buffet was not even rock bottom.  No, my friends.  It gets worse.  We next went to another bar.  After making a quick scan for husband contacts, we sat at a table and ordered fondu.  After I ate the remaining chocolate with my finger (and harassed the barely english speaking bus-boy to get me marshmellows for my chocolate) I FINALLY hit it.  Rock bottom.So now I don’t even want to get dressed for work.  The thought of wearing non-spandex waistband pants is abhorrent.And I have lots of steps ahead of me.  I mean how does one make amends with sausage and wings?  I think I am gonna need to go back and sit next to the buffet and not eat anything.  Oy.  And did I mention today at work is Friday Breakfast complete with donuts and coffee cake.  Maybe I can just have a few bites of the coffee cake.  Wait, is denial part of the 12 steps - or is that a different set of steps?  Ugh, G-d grant me the serenity to stop eating like an animal and grant me the strength to go husband hunting without eating my body weight (I should say my former body weight) in chocolate sauce.