Exact Approximations

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Top Ten Week - Extended & Light-Hearted

Things have been pretty heavy around here lately. Between the Women's Rights Comment-Battle and the Sappy Story of My Life Stuff - I have decided it's time for a little fun. But, since I promised 3 top-tens last week and have only given 2 so far, I have 1 to make up. As today marks the release of Oscar nods, a Hollywood-Related list seems appropriate.

On the way to work this morning, a local radio station had an interesting discussion about characters from movies that they found attractive. Not necessarily the celebrity his or herself, but some character that was super-hot and makes you think "Man, I wish I could find a guy/girl just like so and so." So here it is.

First, Honorable Mentions in the Television Category:
- Pacey Witter, Dawson's Creek, (Joshua Jackson)
- Sonny Corinthos, General Hospital (especially the late 90's) (Maurice Benard)
- John Stewart, The Daily Show (John Stewart)
- John Cage, Ally McBeal (Peter MacNicol) - oh that Nell was super-hot too though...

Allright, the Big'Uns

Lex's Top Ten Movie Character Crushes:

10. TIE: Han Solo, Empire Strikes Back, (Harrison Ford) / Mary Jenson, There's Something About Mary, (Cameron Diaz)
9. Atticus Finch, To Kill a Mockingbird, (Gregory Peck)
8. Donnie Darko, Donnie Darko, (Jake Gyllenhaal)
7. Jesse, Before Sunset & Before Sunrise (Ethan Hawke)
6. Edward Bloom, Big Fish (Ewan McGregor)
5. Clementine Kruczynski, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Kate Winslet)
4. Jack Dawson, Titanic (Leonardo DiCaprio)
3. Rhett Butler, Gone With the Wind (Clark Gable)
2. Sam, Garden State (Natalie Portman)
1. Romeo Montague, Romeo and Juliet (Leonardo DiCaprio)

There it is folks - I urge you to throw out the ones I've missed, as there are sure ot be many!!!

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Top Ten Week - The Happiest Moments of My Life

Apologies for the delay. I wrote this post Thursday - but with all the fun we were having at the expense of Anony San Diego - I wanted to see how long it would go. Now that things have calmed down in comment-land - I offer up a personal top ten.

The best moments of my life.

So far.

10. Acceptance letter from Berkeley. I was 19 and living in Crapsville, California. Daughter was nearly three. I was weeks away from obtaining my Associate Degree. When I discovered I was pregnant, I set my mind on getting out of that town and breaking the cycle. Education seemed the best route, but I was a high-school drop-out. I went to Continuation School--high school for problem kids. Knowing that would never get me into a decent 4 year, I went to Community College, because then I could transfer without the colleges considering my high school grades. I knew it would take time, patience and relentless determination. For a little while, I would have to live the life I wanted to escape. Everyone had said I couldn't do it - that I was risking my child's future. Many reccomended that I place Daughter for adoption. When that letter came, I knew that I had made it out of that town, and that a new chapter of our lives was beginning. Best of all, I had written it myself.

9. Reunion with Boyfriend. We had not seen eachother for nearly ten years. We had been in contact via email for almost a year and it was clear to me that he was serious about establishing a relationship with Daughter. Skeptical, I decided to fly to Arizona to get a feel for his lifestyle, committment and ability to begin the long journey. Part of me ached to see him after so many years because our recent communications left me in awe of our ability to understand one another -even after all the damage we had done. When I saw him, he wrapped his arms around me and held tight, just like the last time we had faced eachother. We stayed up late, talking, laughing, remembering and finding common groud. Less than 48 hours later, I flew back to Berkeley- taking with me the knowledge that he and Daughter would find a way past the past. In all of my other relationships, I never loved any man as purely as I had loved him. I always told myself that it was because he was my first love and only first loves and youth can create such intensity. I was wrong. My plane took off and I left Boyfriend behind, waving to welcome him back.

8. "I was wrong. And I'm sorry." I have an aunt who I respect and admire - perhaps more than anyone else I have ever known. She has lived a life full of tribulation and betrayal. She, along with my mother and other aunts and uncles, endured a childhood capable of destroying hope and happiness. She lost a child when she was just a child. Her husband betrayed her to a degree words cannot explain and yet she helped him when he fell ill and through his death. She is perhaps the most honest person I know. She faces obstacles with strength, grace and a sense of humor. And can claim victory over her misfortunes. If I even get close to becoming the woman she is, my life will have been well-worth it. When I was pregnant, she was one of the people who reccomended adoption. I remember it so clearly. We were taking a walk. She told me her concerns in a straightforward manner, and was frank about the odds being against me. I remember thinking that she was wrong, that I most certainly would beat the odds. Years later, I was visiting her. We were in her car- I was in the backseat with Daughter. She turned around and told me that she had been wrong. She did not dodge or try to defend why she had made such a dire forecast all those years ago. She simply stated that she was wrong and apologized. For every person that ever doubted me, hers had scared me the most. Aside from the self-validation, I was receiving praises from someone who "gets it." I knew I was headed in the right direction as we flew down a Los Angeles freeway.

7. Bedside Revelations. This is actually a combination of two moments of my life, but I see them as so inter-twined that they have become a single memory. I cannot think of one without the other. The first was at age 16, I was laying in bed with Boyfriend listening as he read me his poetry. We talked about life and how to best live it. Boyfriend talked about the power of Expectation. How the knowledge that you are capable of something eases the barriers of getting to one's goals. And how never setting aside determination will get you there quicker than anything else. I took that knowledge and ran with it. It got me where I am today. Ten years later, I was in Arizona, interviewing for jobs. Boyfriend was visiting me in my hotel room and we were laying in bed. His life had reached a crossroads and he was struggling with how to go about living the way he thought he should. I talked with him about Expectation, and that he was capable of acheiving his goals if he believed in himself and refused to accept defeat. It was as if he had given me so much of himself a decade before, that he forgot to save any for himself. That night, I gave some back.

6. Pumpkin Patch. After my parents split up, my brother and I initially lived with our father. Meanwhile, my mother was pursuing legal action to regain rights my father refused her. After getting a court order, my mother came to get me. It just so happened that I was on a field trip that day - visiting a pumpkin patch. I remember hearing my name, turning around, and seeing my mother standing there amongst a field of huge orange pumpkins. I was overjoyed and overwhelmed. My mother was the brightest Pumpkin of them all. (family members - pun intended)

5. Confronting God. My father's side of the family were strict Catholics, pure Irish and full of worship. My mother entertained more logical notions of spirituality. I went back and forth most of my early life. As I became older, I found myself more on the Atheist side of the boat. I could find no logical reason to believe in God, but at the same time could find no purpose for life. I went to the water and sat by the waves. I begged God to strike me dead, offering to trade the rest of my life for the knowledge that there is something greater. Nothing happened. When I walked away from the water that day, I also walked away from God. I soon realized that this life is heaven and I am eternally grateful and fortunate to be a small part of our amazing universe. Now, instead of exercising a human vanity that wants so badly to be part of everything, forever - I live my life fascinated by the beatuy that has evolved from chaos. Many seek solace by feeling a connection to everything - a way to wash over the ocean of life and become part of it all. I find solace by sitting back and feeling life wash over me. It is the only thing, spiritually, that has ever been enough.

4. "I love you mommy." We were camping at a Northern California lake and I was swimming with Daughter. She had floaties on her arms and a blow-up ring around her waist. She swam circles around me, laughing and splashing and pointing to everything she noticed. Caught up in a moment of absolute happiness that children are so much more capable of than adults - she turned to me and told me she loved me. Out of nowhere. For her to find that emotion and express it to me while she was so caught up in the moment made me feel so special and loved. I can still close my eyes and remember how she looked, the mountains behind her and the sun in her hair. A smile upon her face and a fascination with the world. Daughter has showed me what life can be.

3. After Boyfriend came back into our lives, but before we all moved in together - he used to come visit us in Berkeley for a couple of weeks every other month. During one of these visits, we went to the beach. I sat at Boyfriend's feet, listening to him play guitar and staring out across the horizon. About twenty feet ahead, Daughter began dancing to the sounds of her father's talent, spinning in circles with outstretched arms. Sounds of the ocean combined with the guitar and created a setting deserving of Daughter' s happiness. I have a picture of this outing and look at it every day

2. Boyfriend has a son from a previous relationship. Last summer, Daughter got to meet him for the first time. I will never forget the happiness I felt as Daughter oogled over her brother. As Boyfriend allowed himself to be overwhelmed with the first moment he ever had both of his children together. It was an amazing, wonderful day for all of us and I think about it all the time.

1. One evening, shortly after Daughter was born, I was watching her sleep in her crib. I found myself overwhelmed by her innocence and perfection. Her life was all possibility and promise. For the first time in my life, I saw that perfect things can exist. It was a powerful realization and has guided me through countless trying moments that can invite a person to entertain notions that of hopelessness. Whenever I find myself questioning why I continue to reach for goals even when they seem impossible, I think back to how I felt that night. It has given me more strength than any other thing in my life, and I imagine it could carry me through the rest of it.

Top Ten Week - The Happiest Moments of My Life

10. Acceptance letter from Berkeley. I was 19 and living in Crapsville, California. Daughter was nearly three. I was weeks away from obtaining my Associate Degree. When I had discovered I was pregnant, I set my mind on getting out of that town and breaking the cycle. Education seemed the best route, but I was a high-school drop-out. I went to Continuation School--high school for problem kids. Knowing that would never get me into a decent 4 year, I went to Community College, because then I could transfer without the colleges considering my high school grades. I knew it would take time, patience and relentless determination. For a little while, I would have to live the life I wanted to escape. Everyone had said I couldn't do it - that I was risking my child's future. Many reccomended that I place Daughter for adoption. When that letter came, I knew that I had made it out of that town, and that a new chapter of our lives was beginning. Best of all, I had written it myself.

9. Reunion with Boyfriend. We had not seen eachother for nearly ten years. We had been in contact via email for almost a year and it was clear to me that he was serious about establishing a relationship with Daughter. Skeptical, I decided to fly to Arizona to get a feel for his lifestyle, committment and ability to begin the long journey. Part of me ached to see him after so many years because our recent communications left me in awe of our ability to understand one another and communicate -even after all the damage we had done to eachother. When I saw him, he wrapped his arms around me and held tight. We stayed up late, talking, laughing, remembering and finding common groud. Less than 48 hours later, I flew back to Berkeley- taking with me the knowledge that he and Daughter would find a way past the past. In all of my other relationships, I never loved any man as purely as I had loved him. I always told myself that it was because he was my first love and only first loves and youth can create such intensity. I was wrong. My plane took off and I left Boyfriend behind, waving to welcome him back.

8. "I was wrong. And I'm sorry." I have an aunt who I respect and admire - perhaps more than anyone else I have ever known. She has lived a life full of tribulation and betrayal. She, along with my mother and other aunts and uncles, endured a childhood capable of destroying hope and happiness. She lost a child when she was just a child . Her husband betrayed her to a degree words cannot explain and yet she helped him when he fell ill. She is perhaps the most honest person I know. She faces the obstacles of her life with strength and grace and can claim victory over her misfortunes. If I get close to becoming the woman that she is, my life will have been well-worth it. When I was pregnant, she was one of the people who reccomended adoption. I remember it so clearly. We were taking a walk. She told me her concerns in a straightforward manner, and was frank about the odds being against me. I remember thinking that she was wrong, that I most certainly would beat the odds. Years later, I was visiting her. We were in her car- I was in the backseat with Daughter. She turned around and told me that she had been wrong. She did not dodge or try to defend why she had made such a dire forecast all those years ago. She simply stated that she was wrong and apologized. For every person that ever doubted me, hers had scared me the most. Aside form the self-validation, I was receiving praises from someone I knew "got it." I knew I was headed in the right direction as we flew down a Los Angeles freeway.

7. Bedside Revelations. This is actually a combination of two moments of my life, but I see them as so inter-twined that they have become a single memory. I cannot think of one without the other. The first was at age 16,I was laying in bed with Boyfriend listening as he read me his poetry. We talked about life and how to best live it. Boyfriend talked about the power of Expectation. How the knowledge that you are capable of something eases the barriers of getting to one's goals. And how never setting aside determination will get you there quicker than anything else. I took that knowledge and ran with it. It got me where I am today. Ten years later, I was in Arizona, interviewing for jobs. Boyfriend was visiting me in my hotel room and we were laying in bed. His life had reached a crossroads and he was struggling with how to go about living the way he thought he should. I talked with him about Expectation, and that he was capable of acheiving his goals if he believed in himself and refused to accept defeat. It was as if he had given me so much of himself a decade before, that he forgot to save any for himself. That night, I gave some back.

6. Pumpkin Patch. After my parents split up, my brother and I initially lived with our father. Meanwhile, my mother was pursuing legal action to regain rights my father refused her. After getting a court order, my mother came to get me. It just so happened that I was on a field trip that day - visiting a pumpkin patch. I remember hearing my name, turning around, and seeing my mother standing there amongst a field of huge orange pumpkins. I was overjoyed and overwhelmed.

5. Confronting God. My father's side of the family were strict Catholics, pure Irish and full of worship. My mother entertained more logical notions of spirituality. I went back and forth most of my early life. As I became older, I found myself more on the Atheist side of theboat. I was at a point where I could find no logical reason to believe in God, but at the same time could find no purpose for life. I went to the water and sat by the waves. I begged God to strike me dead, offering to trade the rest of my life for the knowledge that there is something greater. Nothing happened. When I left the water that day, I also left God for good. I soon realized that this life is heaven and I am eternally grateful and fortunate to be a small part of our amazing universe. Now, instead of exercising a human vanity that wants so badly to be part of everything, forever - I live my life fascinated by the beatuy that has evolved from chaos. Many seek solace by feeling a connection to everything - a way to wash over the ocean of life and become part of it all. I find solace by sitting back and feeling life wash over me. It is the only thing, spiritually, that has ever been enough.

4. "I love you mommy." We were camping at a Northern California lake and I was swimming with Daughter. She had floaties on her arms and a blow-up ring around her waist. She swam circles around me, laughing and splashing and pointing to everything she noticed. Caught up in a momentof absolute happiness that children are so much more capable of than adults - she turned to me and told me she loved me. Out of nowhere. For her to find that emotion and express it to me while she was so caught up in the moment made me feel so special and loved. I can still close my eyes and remember how she looked, the mountains behind her and the sun in her hair. A smile upon her face and a fascination with the world. Daughter has showed me what life can be.

3. After Boyfriend came back into our lives, but before we all moved in together - he used to come visit us in Berkeley for a couple of weeks every other month. During one of these visits, we went to the beach. I sat at Boyfriend's feet, listening to him play guitar and staring out across the horizon. About twenty feet ahead, Daughter began dancing to the sounds of her father's talent, spinning in circles with outstretched arms. Sounds of the ocean combined with the guitar and created a setting deserving of Daughter' s happiness. I have a picture of this outing and look at it every day

2.) Boyfriend has a son from a previous relationship. Last summer, Daughter got to meet him for the first time. I will never forget the happiness I felt as Daughter oogled over her brother. As Boyfriend allowed himself to be overwhelmed with the first moment he ever had both of his children together. It was an amazing, wonderful day for all of us and I think about it all the time.

1. One evening, shortly after Daughter was born, I was watching her sleep in her crib. I found myself overwhelmed by her innocence and perfection. Her life was all possibility and promise. For the first time in my life, I saw that perfect things can exist. It was a powerful realization and has guided me through countless trying moments that can invite a person to entertain notions that life is hopelessly chaotic and sad. WheneverI find myself questioning why I continue to reach for goals even when they seem impossible, I think back to how I felt that night. It has given me more strength than any other thing in my life, and I imagine it could carry me through the rest of it.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Top Ten Week - Girls are Lame.

This week is super-slow at work. The case with the Settlement Conference Memo settled nicely. So, in lieu of regular posts about life, I hereby designate the remainder of this week Top Ten Week. So, between today, Thursday and Friday, I will be dropping lists. Law students are urged to read a prior Top-Ten Lex-List: Top Ten Words to Drop When You Get Socratic Method'd

Anyhow, today's list:

Top Ten Reasons Chicks are Idiots.

10. We want every man we have ever been with to want us forever. We fuck with men's heads. Ever had a girlfriend break up with you only to treat you with jealousy later on down the road? This is not because she still wants you. Rather, it is because she wants you to always want her. Women feel a territorial instinct towards the men who have been under our spell, and want that to remain forever. It feels good to be wanted. But it feels really, really bad when that male-desire goes away. See, women want to view their current relationship as an upgrade from those that came before. One way we do this is through knowing that every man who came before is still pining away for us. On some level, that allows us to feel superior and therefore that we are getting ahead in life. It is a bullshit, selfish instinct.

9. We are too caught up in physcial appearance. Don't get me wrong, I love to shop and dress up and go "Oh my God, that bracelet is totally hot" just as much as the next girl. But women have entertained notions of physical vanity to the point where it has crippled our gender's societal standing. Men respond to physcially attractive women and women have jumped on that boat quicker than as if the ocean were on fire. While we try to fit into that smaller size and maintain perfectly primped hair, men run the world. We have a male-centered society where attractiveness equals power for women. Women adopted that framework and have remained there - willingly. From the moment we are born, we are taught that beauty will get us places. And as we become older and less attractive, we become even more likely to reach out towards a man for our stability, internally thinking that time is "running out" to land a good one as our looks fade. Instead of refusing to focus on appearance, women lap it up. Even I admit to using this for advantage. But I will be totally hating it when I am old and wrinkly. In fairness, we have begun to string the men along slightly with the spread of the Metrosexuality Movement, but women are still far more dependent upon their looks as a source of self-esteem and social value.

8. We overestimate the value of super-huge boobs. In fairness, boys also suffer this flaw. This is really a sub-issue of #9, but deserves special attention. Come on ladies, when they get to a certain size, they really do just fall into your armpits when you lay down. That's pretty gross. Don't be fooled into hating your perky B-s because the DD girls are wearing good underwires in public. Those are the girls who grow up and look like Ms. Choksondic.

7. Women have loyalty issues. I can't tell you how many male friends I have that would never, ever rat eachother out, steal eachother's girl or fail to throw down for the homies. Women, on the other hand, will toss aside their best friend of twenty years over a petty fight involving a $20 pair of shoes. Ok, maybe not a $20 pair of shoes, but $50 for sure. Women are far too quick to dismiss their friendships in favor of a man they have known for two weeks.

6. Emotion beats logic like rock beats scissors in personal relationships. We are really, really bad at stepping back and looking at our lives and feelings logically. We do not question are intuitive feelings nearly as often as we should. It's seems like whenever we feel "hurt" or "sad" -- that feeling is supposed to somehow magically matter, just because we felt it.

5. We have not pushed hard enough for the invention of the Human Incubator Machine. Fact is, pregnancy sucks. I do not understand why there is not a huge female lobby / research fund dedicated to getting around the whole "out of commission for nine months" thing. I want to go to a clinic, drop off my egg, have it monitored constantly and ensured perfect development. Then, I get to keep taking aspirin and going on ski trips. Nine months later, you go pick up your kid like the dry cleaning. Pregnancy is not a "beautiful experience." Being a parent is cool, but pregnancy sucks ass.

4. We do drive shittier. This may have something to do with the fact that men, biologically, have better spatial reasoning abilitites. But it also has to do with a lot of girls talk, talk, talking on their cell phones and applying their fourth layer of make-up while driving. I've come close to getting hit at least 10 times - and I would venture that more than 80% were women.

3. We desire material items without any regard to how we obtain them. A diamond may be forever, but the arm of the little Nigerian boy who dug it out is not. Diamonds often get to our fingers through very inhumanitarian ways. But hey, what do we care, it's sparkly...

2. Women think they are supposed to have children. I can't even count the number of girls I know who have children for all the wrong reasons. We already have too many people on this planet. Women are quick to jump to the conclusion that they want a kid, without really thinking it through. Having a child is about standing back and watching somthing grow into it's own entity. It's about selflessness and a desire to help something reach it's highest potential. It's not about being the next step after marriage. It's not a requirement. You don't have to have a kid just because your friend did. The worst of all are mothers with an Entitlement Complex. If you have a mom that is always bitching at you about how she had you, raised you, gave you all she had and now you are being ungrateful because you want to choose your own job or mate or residence.... you are the spawn of one of these women. Sorry.

1. Women hate all other women. Undeniably true on the whole. It's a crippling default presumption that has dictated female interactions since the beginning. Now, this was probably useful back in the days when women had to make sure that their caveman was coming back with that day's kill and evolutionary flah flah flah. But it is time to evolve, we are holding back our gender by being so suspicious of one another. It goes back to female vanity and the need to be desired by all men as well as our over-dependence on appearance. Every woman we see, we size her up immediately. Is she prettier? Is she smarter? Could she steal my man? Then we assume worst-case scenario and act accordingly.

There it is folks - straight from a woman.

A great big "Get Over Yourself" to every Feminist Victomologist I have offended with this one.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Living on Wisteria Lane

Other day, I was at work. The housewife next door called Boyfriend and asked him over for a drink while her husband was also at work. Now, this wouldn't bother me if there were an established relationship of some sort between us and the neighbors. But there's not. Sometimes, our kids play together - but that's the extent of it.

Boyfriend told me about it in an email to which I responded:

"Bitch. Faced. Whore.
She just crossed the fine line between my reasoned logic and raging insanity."

That's the "Male Ego Boost" response. I'm not worried. I could totally take her. And, dare I say, am hotter anyhow.

Still. Total bitch-faced-whore.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Don't Judge a Book By its Cover

Or my Settlement Conference Memo by its first sentence.

This afternoon, I handed off a copy of the document I have been falling over myself writing. He must have only read a page, because he then proceeded to call me into his office and discuss strategy with me- giving me a whole list of things to make sure are in there. Most already are.

Now, I can't blame him too much. His time is worth money and he wants me to learn, learn, learn. But sometimes-- I feel like The Boss lacks consistency. It's hard to know where to go. One day it's "You think their defense expert is being a sneaky legal whore? Say so right out!" The next it's "understatements can really get you far." Perhaps there is method to his madness, but I think it's mostly intuitive. The Boss is more unpredictable in his approach to things than any other boss I've ever had. This is way more frustrating than having my Frappucino stolen. But the cases keep taking turn after turn after turn for the better. I can't find coherence in his approach, but The Boss just keeps reeling them in, so I'll keep looking. Or work on my intuition, whichever occurs first.

In other news, the pre-surgery pain is back. I went to the doctor last week and she wants to do a full-on rule-out. Ultrasounds and CT scans and on and on. I probably need to follow-through, but I just don't want to miss anymore work. Or learn something I don't want to hear. Or get another bill that I can't pay.

In funnier news, Boyfriend was with me in the car the other day while I was listening to PMBR review CDs on Criminal Procedure. First of all, Boyfriend is a way better lawyer than me. We kept pausing the CD, thinking things through out loud, wondering what the result would be in such and such case. Un-pause. Lecturer gives the answer. Boyfriend was always right. Bastard. I've never been with someone and actually had the thought cross my mind that they might be smarter than me. Bastard. But he's a smart bastard, and that's pretty hot.

Anyhow, the funny part - discussing illegal searches and seizures, the lecturer went on and on about the "Taint Rule." That there are only two ways to get around the taint. The taint is difficult to elude. The taint is directly related to the Fruit of the Poisonous Tree. For those of you close to my age-range that understand the slang-meaning of taint -- this shit was pure comedy. I should study for the bar more often.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

The One With Lex's Frappucino.

Small office. Five people working here at this point. All of which, besides The Boss, I am beginning to feel semi-friendship related feelings toward. At least in so far as I would totally spill to Office Manager, Paralegal and Front Secretary if I ever engaged in behavior demonstrating moral turptitude or just plain bad taste. For instance, I shared The One with Lex's Generosity, laying out how I had, as Ann so eloquently put it "given my pants to a boyscout." Heehee

So anyhow, my Frappucino. Last week, I bought a Frappucino and brought it into work. Upon arrival, I noticed fresh coffee had been made and opted for that instead. I put the Frappucino in the Office Kitchen's fridge. Now, mind you, when I put my Frappucino in the fridge, there was already another present.

I wanted that Frappucino today. Just returned from a hearing involving four motions, three of which I have written since I started here. Although, in fairness, The Boss does some editing. Sometimes more than others. When I was writing one of them, The Boss made a comment to me about how it was a good motion to lose. I asked how it is a good idea to file a "lose motion"? The Boss responded that when you file a motion you totally want granted, it's nice to file a loser around the same time (to ensure they will be argued at the same hearing). That seemed strange and I said so. The Boss came back with, "Well, the Judges like to split them up." The Boss was right. Today's rulings were a split. Of the three I wrote, one was denied. The defense got one. But the "Loser Motion" was granted--which completely suprised me.

So anyhow, we did quite well in terms of the determinnations on the motions. But we lost that one.... the one I spent hours working on and writing during my first week at this job. The first motion I ever wrote was denied. Fortunately, I am not yet licensed, so The Boss got stand before the judge and take the Bench-Slap for me on that one.

Ok, ok -- so I get back to work and go to the fridge. It was then I learned that someone STOLE my Frappucino!!! Can you believe that shit?! The second frappucino was in that damned fridge for weeks. Maybe even months. I don't know whose that one was. But it was a different flavor than mine. So really, how can there be mistake? It's like whoever Frappucino Fridge Guy #1 is was under some strange belief that, by virtue of leaving his Frappucino in the fridge for so long, the thing had replicated iteself under some Coffee-Interest-Accruing law of physics.

I want that Frappucino back. No one has admitted it. And I have never seen anyone here drinking Frappucino. I'll take this to The Boss. And when I do, I will also complain that the variety of coffee flavoring is limited and request some off the wall Toranni flavor that no one will ever use or want. I won't get the new flavor syrup, there's the loser request. But I bet that he will agree that my placing of the Frappucino in the fridge does not constitute the type of intermingling that would turn my Frapuccino into community office property. There will be an intter-office-memo on this.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Breaking News!!!

Twenty-year-old Leyan Lo, demonstrating his mad skill, set a New World Record for Solving a Rubik's Cube. 11.13 seconds. Cheese and rice.

As previosuly noted, my best time is 4 minutes, 32 seconds. And that's with a good set-up. And vision. Lo appears blindfolded in the picture on CNN.com.

This all reminds me that I never mentioned Christmas gifts. Boyfriend gave me a locket containing pictures of the beach, which he knows I love so much and miss desperately. I though it was so sweet that he isn't one of those guys that gives you a locket full of pictures of himself. That would have been kinda lame.

Anyhow, the Second Best Christmas Present I got, a'la My Banker and her boyfriend Uncle Reptile was:
A Professor's Cube!!! I most certainly have not solved this beast yet. Once I do, it will relocate to my office desk. Until then, my office desk is flooded with records as I attempt to write an all-encompassing Settlement Conference Memo for a case I reviewed on pneumonia.



Thursday, January 12, 2006

BooYa

Daughter brought home Straight-As today.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Afternoon Comedy

I can't focus. I'm supposed to be writing this all-encompassing all-important settlement conference memo and I am simply not hearing the Star Wars Music. (For those not regulars, when I get into Go Mode, I hear the intro theme music from Star Wars in my head. Haha, laugh all you will, it works.) Anyhow, no Star Wars music today.

Instead, I offer two funny tidbits. First, a joke heard recently that made me laugh at length. Second, site-meter reports.

The Joke: George Bush at a press conference.
Press Member: "Mr. President, I wonder whether you have yet heard about the death of two Brazillian men in Iraq today? If so, what are your thoughts?"
W.: "Well, you know, it's sad. A sad event and our hearts, our hearts go to the families."
W.: Turns, whispering to Scott McClellan. "Brazillian? Is that more than a gazillion?

Second, ever since I got site-meter, I am sometimes pretty amused by the searches that bring up this blog. (I know you hate site-meter Arbusto. I will change it soon. I am a lazy procrastinator.) Anyhow, three recent searches that landed one at the foot of Exact Approximation Land:
- wowing youths to purchase items
- oral sex with pop rocks
- when do human kneecaps develop

Don't Judge Me So Harsh Little Girl

Just before Christmas, Cousin J. moved out of the house. Head count down to five. Now there is: Me, Boyfriend, Daughter, my Brother and Nephew (Brother's Son). Due to the roomate loss, Daughter and Nephew got to take apart the bunk beds and rejoice in the glory that is having your own room.

Daughter redecorated immediately. A list of Room Rules has been posted. Standards include:
  • No entry without permission,
  • No snooping
  • No reading of the Diary (This one is silly. Repetitive and does little than inform would be snoopers that a diary exists. Whatever. Not my jurisdiction.)
  • Be nice.

I don't remember them all. Perhaps Boyfriend can post a comment if I am missing something overwhelmingly entertaining. My personal favorite is the following. Just plain amuses me coming out of the mouth of a nine-year-old:

  • "50 cents per hour for music box rental (plus taxes)"

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

The Story of My Father

I have thought about this day for a very long time.

My father passed away when I was 13, and soon thereafter I did the math and determined that January 10, 2006 would mark the day that my father has officially been dead for longer than he was alive during my lifetime. And now that day has come. I have to say, I am astounded by the strength with which this man's memory continues to affect my life. I can honestly say that I have thought about my father, in some way, every single day since his death. This is the story.

It is a strange mixture, my feelings on my father. On the one hand, I hate my father. For what he did to my mother, my brothers and even me - in the end. And for all the things I learned about his life once it was over. On the other hand, I love my father. He did love me. It wasn't selfless, as a parent's love should be. But he loved me and I knew it. He held me close to his heart and loved me more than he loved most people - but my father's was a selfish love. A love that cost him his life, and nearly cost me mine.


Musically gifted, I have pictures of my father playing guitar on a San Francisco beach, dressed in hippy gear sitting alongside a man playing bongo drums. He was smart, capable of quickly inserting reasoning into a conversation to secure outcomes he desired. I remember him picking me up, placing me on his lap and nuzzling my face into his chest. Always smelled of cheap bath soap and cigarettes. He beat my mother violently. His eyes glowed when he was happy and his laughter was pure, he had the giddiness of innocent youth when his spirits were high. I was his favorite child.

One of my first memories is when I was three, my father took me to get a Cabbage Patch Doll. There were only three left. Dad reached and grabbed the one that looked most like me. That doll is one of the few things I have had for nearly my entire life. He treated me like a princess and catered to the lavish requests of my childhood. My father was a demanding man, his vanity required attention - his expectations unreachable. Except by me. I was the one person who my father did not look upon with overwhelming suspicion. He repeatedly assured me of my perfection and was quick to point it out to others. I remember his cold distance towards my brothers, constantly admonishing them to be better men, work harder and take responsibility. Be more like their father. He told me that his green Cadillac could fly and I believed him. He showed me off and told everyone that I was his flawless little lady.

When I was 5, my parents split-up. My mother found the courage to leave my father after over 20 years of his abuse; he spent the rest of his life regretting that he had lost her. We went back and forth between the two. Eventually, my father began driving for a trucking company doing cross-country deliveries. We never knew when he was coming or going. Sometimes, he would suddenly appear at my mother's home when he was driving through town. He would come down our street in a huge diesel. Unexpected and amazing. The presence of my father and his huge truck changed the atmosphere of the entire street. There was a magic in my father's presence.

Around the time I turned 11, my father became ill. Diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, he was left limping, stuttering, losing his train of thought. He stopped driving and moved to Missouri, where his family lived. When I learned of his illness, I began praying fevorently every night. Ten Our Fathers and countless Hail Mary's. I believed God could make him better, and that if I tried hard enough, he would. That never happened.

I spent summers in Missouri visiting my father. One summer, I was 11 or 12, he was working at a factory that had a special program for disabled employees, and my father was a night-shift supervisor. I remember that I used to stay up and watch The Sound of Music over and over, waiting for him to come home. When he would finally arrive at 3:00am, we would sit at the table and talk about our day, over his coffee and my milk. He would tuck me in and kiss my forehead. Sometime later, in the months before his death, he pulled me aside: "I want you to know Lex, how important it was to me when you would wait for me to come home from work. I think about that a lot, how I never asked and you did it just so you could see me. It means more to me than almost anything anyone has ever done." He was near tears. I'll never forget the sincerity. He meant every word. I have a select number of very special memories of things in my life that have made me feel incredibly, deeply, truly loved. This one makes the top 5.

As his illness progressed, my father's innate selfishness combined with self-pity and highlighted his most unlikeable qualities. His family began to distance themselves from him one by one. From where I was standing, a sick man was being abandoned by his mother, father, siblings - even his own sons. They stopped helping clean his house. They stopped bringing over meals. They stopped helping run errands. They stopped visiting. My father had always been so kind to me, and the thought of his being alone and ill consumed me. I turned 13 in 1992 and spent that summer at my father's home, determined to care for a man I idolized and loved more than anyone. It was just me and him - my eldest brother was in the military, stationed overseas. My other brother, just short of two years older than me, had moved in with our grandmother. I thought he was a jerk for that. I couldn't imagine that the two disagreed so much that my brother couldn't help his own father through illness.

Living with my father was demanding. He was obsessive-compulsive, and supervised my chores like a military officer. Cleaning the floors with a mop wasn't enough; they had to be hand scrubbed. Every other day. Along with the counters, walls and refrigerator. On off days, I scrubbed the remainder of the house. Toilet brushes were insufficient. My father required that I take a wash rag, stick my arm deep into the bowl and scrub the toilet inside out. Laundry had to be folded, hung and creased to perfection. Entire loads would be redone for the slightest oversight. I spent half of every day cleaning a clean house. The cooking and shopping were also my responsibility. Although the cooking was not difficult. We lived on egg and mustard sandwiches. The remainder of my father's disability benefits were spent on my father's cigarette habit and requirement that the fridge be full of Pabst Blue Ribbon at all times. The bill paying and banking were my responsibility. To this day, I can forge my father's signature perfectly.

I remember asking to spend the night at friend's homes, or even to just go out and play. My father would look at me sadly, saying he wished I could, but warning that he might fall, or need help and that something terrible might happen if I left. I had very few friends. Sometimes, they would come over. But usually it was just me and dad alone in our house. I did have one recurring outing. Every week, I received an allowance. Ten dollars. Half had to be given straight back to my father to be deposited into a savings account. The other half I spent during the one hour per weekend when I was permitted to leave. I would ride my bike to the library and check out a backpack full of books. Then I would go to the store and spend my last cent on candy. Reading in my bed while eating taffy was my social life. Unless Dragnet was on, dad was always making me watch Dragnet with him.

At some point that summer, my father asked me to move in permanently. It was made clear that he needed someone, that if I didn't stay he would have no way to survive. He said I was the only one who cared anymore. I told him my mother would never allow it. He responded by explaining that she didn't want to give up the disability benefits she received for me when I was with her. He reminded me that she had a new daughter (my half-sister) and was quite busy. He talked about how he had to have her investigated for failure to take care of us kids properly, how he would send money for her to get things I needed and she would spend it on herself. He promised an eternity of fun and love if I were to live with him. He promised he would go to court, fight for me and win his daughter if my mother resisted. I didn't know what to do. I felt conflict between the attachment I had to my mother, friends and life in California, and the duty I felt to care for the person I believed loved me more than anyone else. Towards the end of the summer, my father met a new friend who was at our home with some frequency. I was beyond relieved, as the Friend entertained my father and I had more time to fall into my books and forget real life.

I remember the beginning of the end. July 1992. I was holed up in my room reading. I heard a crash. Recognizing the familiar sound, I flung open my bedroom door. My father could hardly walk but was too proud to use a wheelchair consistently, and he often had bad falls. I have numerous memories of lifting him only to fall myself beneath his weight. And comforting him as he cried: that he was diseased; that all he loved had abandoned; that the cruelty handed was more than anyone should face. Once, when I was off on a library run, I came home to find my father walking, balancing himself on his wheelchair, down the street. He could barely hold himself up and by the time I reached him, he fell to the ground. He wailed that he would not let the disease beat him, but his eyes screamed that it already had.

Anyhow, as I said, I ran to the familiar falling sound. Opening my bedroom door, my father was sprawled across the floor. I watched as he threw a bottle underneath the couch. He had been drinking relentlessly for weeks, I had found bottles of hard liquor throughout the house. I knew that because of his medications, he was not supposed to be drinking hard liquor. The beer was bad enough. But he was hiding it from me. On this particular occasion, I asked him what he had thrown. "Nothing!" he yelled and quickly reached for the bottle. I reached at the same time. I got there first. Anger. Demanding that I mind my business and respect my father, he screamed that I get out of his way and remain in my room.

Now, I have a thousand memories of my father's violence and anger. Countless memories involving my brothers. But most specifically, I have memory after memory of the look in my father's eyes as he hit my mother to the ground. No remorse or regret. Always with an air of justification. I have one memory.... my mother was beaten badly. After, she went on like nothing happened. She made dinner and sat at the table, staring directly down at her plate. My father stumbled drunk into the room and stood behind my mother's chair and said "I'm sorry, do you forgive me?" My mother said nothing. He grabbed her, shaking her hard, demanding forgiveness. I remember thinking he would hit her again if she didn't obey. She whispered that she forgave him and sat silent as he forced a kiss upon her. I knew her acceptance was reluctant, it was not an embrace of love. My mother never looked up from her plate, her sadness was so real I could nearly reach out to touch it. My father turned and smiled at me, as if to reassure that my parents were fine.

Anyhow, so this time, this time when he fell and threw his alcohol under the couch, I saw the same anger and violence in his eyes. Only this time, it was directed at me. And this time, he did not have the power to physically harm anyone. This is my only memory of my father directing such emotions at me. As bad as it was to see it directed at others, something inside of me was destroyed that day. My father lay spread across the floor in a puddle of drunk humiliation, defeat and pieces of the crumbling pedestal I had held him on for my whole life.

The next day, I was given permission to visit a friend. My father's Friend was at the house and promised to care for him. I was relieved and felt like a normal 13 year-old. Later that night, I came home and found my father, fallen upon the couch, naked. I was horrified. I went straight to my room and did not come back out that night. The next day, I walked into the living room and my father sat in the dark - staring ahead blankly at the wall. He would not talk. He was embarrassed and ashamed. I pretended it never happened.

Some days later, I telephoned my mother and cried and cried. I felt like a nurse who couldn't get things right. A maid who made every mistake. I told her that he wanted me to stay but admitted that I didn't want to. My prayers weren't being answered. My father was getting sicker. And my image of him was melting under the heat of some ugliness that he sunbathed under everyday.

Later, I told my father that I had made my decision - I could not move in with him. I missed my mother. My father offered to fly me to visit her, then fly me back out to start school. I refused. My real reasons were obvious. I remember trying to defend my decision, reassuring that his Friend was there and had offered to do all I was responsible for. But my father reacted as though I were the last in a long line to abandon him. He questioned how it was that he loved me more than anything, treated me better than anyone, and yet still I would leave him? After that conversation, I never again felt the unconditional rain of love from the man I once believed to be my greatest ally.

The last weeks of the summer were full of discomfort. He hadn't wanted me to go. He told me he couldn't get by without me. My whole life was helping him live, and he was living it drunk and defeated. Torn between obligation and disillusion, I held to my decision and fled to my mother. I loved my father dearly, but ultimately decided it was better to leave someone to themselves than allow myself to be destroyed along the way.

He sat in silence the day I left, ignoring my goodbyes. I paused at the door with my suitcase and turned to him offering the last words I ever said to my father: "I love you." He stared straight ahead, didn't move or acknowledge my words. Silence was the last thing my father ever said to me. I turned and walked away. I did not look back. As the airplane took off, guilt washed over like cold rain.

I tried calling when I returned to California. My father's Friend answered the phone. I asked to speak with my dad and he said "you kind of already are." I demanded to know what he meant and he explained. My father had fallen into a delusional state. He had been talking with me as if I were there with him and my father's Friend had no idea what to do. I begged him to call my father's doctor, and to stop his drinking. The call ended without me ever getting to speak with my father. I was left with only a foreboding sense of imminent dread.

One week later, word came. My father was dead.

There was no autopsy. Speculation in the family centered on whether he had intentionally overdosed on medication and alcohol. I don't know, but whether he meant to or not, my father killed himself. He abused his body and his illness and acted as though he had endured the most terrible of fates. My father gave up on the world, and then got mad when the world returned the favor.

My father's death completely changed me. Initially, I was convinced that he had intentionally killed himself, and that he had done it because I abandoned him. How could I be so selfish and leave someone who so clearly needed help? I began isolating myself, focused on self-hatred. I was inadequate and ungrateful, and that had led to my father giving up on life. He died alone and I had left him to that. Over the next three years, I battled depression. I cut myself and frequently took large amounts of pills that made me sick. I thought I deserved it.

By the age of fourteen, I was still deep in turmoil and guilt over my father's death. But some things were changing. I met someone. A boy. That boy was Boyfriend. He was smart and kind and worried about me even though he hardly knew me. We began dating immediately. About one week into that relationship, there came a night when I was home alone. I found a large, unopened bottle of medication. I took them all. My mother came home and found me. I was rushed to the emergency room where my stomach was pumped.

When I returned to school, Boyfriend asked what had happened, where I had been. I told him. Later that day, he cried to me. Said he was ending the relationship because although he loved me, he could not stand by and watch me engage in such self-abuse. And, obviously, he hadn't been enough to stop me. He talked about how badly he wanted a healthy relationship, he felt such pain from his relationship with both of his parents, and he couldn't stay by someone so self-destructive. He was so worried. And yet, he left me. He walked away to protect himself, even though he loved me. In my eyes, he had done to me what I had done to my father. And I could not blame him for it. I found myself admiring his ability to engage in such self-preservation. For the first time, I considered the possibility that my father's death was not my fault.
I began to realize that my father's weakness and death were not my sins, and so the process began.

And so here I am, over 13 years later. I am beyond the guilt. I am beyond the anger. I remember things my father did that make me smile every time. I remember things my father did that I will never repeat to anyone. I think I see it for what it was now. He was a complicated man, emotionally and intellectually - but ultimately most of his life and decisions were driven by the selfish means he used in his attempts to satisfy his desires. But he was my father. And he did love me. I try not to let the overwhelmingly negative history of his life destroy the good memories I have of a girl and her father, and there are quite a number of those. To allow myself to ignore what I loved, to push it away beneath his ugliness, that is something my father would have done. But I refuse to give up the wonderful memories I have or allow the happiness I remember during those times to be tainted by the big picture. I loved him, I still love him and I love those good memories. Nothing, not even the string of terrible things he did before and after, can destroy the amazing man that lives in those memories.


Do not get me wrong, I hold no illusions about things my father did. But I see him as a part of me. He represents who I could become if I allow impatience and personal desire to override empathy and kindness. My father was smart and capable and I can relate to many of his qualities. It's how he and I apply those qualities that marks our greatest differences. I am the person my father could have been. I know the potential was there because I saw him be that man a few, brief times. Somehow, I find solace in that. But he fell short and lost sight of the importance of never losing sight of others. Those are mistakes I will not make.

I learned a lot from my father. Mostly what I don't want to be. But some of what I do want to be. I want to have the thoughtfulness of thanking my daughter and telling her when I feel loved, like he did that one time so long ago. I want my happiness to be full of life, childlike and consuming - as he was when happy. I want to fly a Cadillac and change a street with the simple act of arrival. It can't be so far off . My father did it, surely I can come close.

Monday, January 09, 2006

I Like this Job - Let's Avoid Suing Eachother.

Went to the deposition of one of our experts with The Boss recently. We met up at the office, and determined that I would drive myself and meet Expert and The Boss at Opposing Counsel's, where the depo was scheduled to take place. (Side Note - Defense Firms, Super-D-Duperly-Sweet-Offices) I headed out to the top floor of the parking garage, where those of us who have monthly parking passes but not reserved spots, are relegated. I got in, checked my bun for strays, applied some chapstick and pulled out.

Driving to the ground level, I turned the corner where Level 3 turns into Level 2. As I turn, this super-sweet Audi pulls out of its parking spot. Kinda quick like. Kinda headed in my direction. Slamming my brakes, I actually had to jump in reverse to avoid getting front-end slammed. I tossed around ideas of horn-honking, name-calling, etc - How dare someone try to smack my sweet Allie the Altima!?!

So the Audi pulls out and heads to the exit. I received no apology wave. I followed the car out and turned left, just like Mr. Audi Man. Stopped at the light behind my would be co-accidenter, the sun provided a better look at the Audi's contents. I realized the driver was The Boss! I thanked everything on this earth that I had restrained myself from making some loud comment or offer to throw down.

The Boss never mentioned the incident. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even realize it happened. I considered making a sarcastic comment once we all met at the depo, but it would be way out of line to call your boss an idiot Arizona driver in front of the hired guns. I kept it to myself. But I have a mental note, in bold, underlined, italicized, brain font: Never drive near The Boss again.

Friday, January 06, 2006

Copper-Copper, Pulled Over by the Crime-Stopper

The Setting: Last night. Boyfriend and I driving to friend's house:

On an open stretch of highway where everyone drives as though they were on the Central-California stretch of the I-5, Lex was in good company driving at 85. Few exits down, I merge onto a main freeway where traffic is heavier. Glance at speedometer reads 80. Begin slowing. Recognizing my exit sign, hit the blinker and hop into the right lane.

BLAM: Blaze of blue and red floods my mirrors. I pull over. Not good.


Cop: Head leaning through passenger window over Boyfriend's shoulder. Death stare searches for signs of intoxication. I mentally prepare backwards alphabet recitation and the explanation for my planned refusal to allow a search. "License and registration please."
Lex: Silently hand over the documents. Wonder why I am in this situation. I'm white. White people never get pulled over around here.
Cop: "You know how fast you were going?"
Lex: Internal debate about whether to go with truthful humility or claimed ignorance. Opt for honesty. The fuzz like it when their presence has the effect of truth serum. Fake appearance of concern and shame. "Um.... 75?"
Cop: "And what is the speed-limit?"
Lex: Condescending asshole. "Um... 65?" Squinch face attempting to resemble a child who knows he's in trouble and wishes for nothing more than to turn back time and undo evil deeds.
Cop: "So... that's speeding, isn't it? And you were going 78."
Lex: Feigned surprise. "My goodness, was I really? I am so sorry."
Cop: "One moment mam." Walks back to his mobile mini-jail.

Eternity.
Cop: "Mam, I'm going to go ahead and give you a warning this time."
Lex: "Oh, thank you so much officer, I'm so sorry."
Cop: "And, you were actually going 79. And swerving in and out of traffic."
Lex: Bullshit, I just got into my exit lane, dickface. Head nod. "I am so sorry, officer."
Cop: "Put on your blinker, speed up in the side lane and merge safely back into traffic. Stay at the speed limit from now on."
Lex: "Yes. Oh, yes. I'm sorry. Thank you so much." I got back on the highway and found myself at 70 before even looking at the speedometer. I slowed to 65 and noticed my hands shaking.
The whole thing freaked me the fuck out. As previously noted, I have a cop complex. This is the fault of my parents, the abundance of their illegal activities and my childhood associations of police and pure evil. The adrenaline of the whole thing had me up until 1:00am. And for what? A stupid warning! I hate cops. I set my car to 65 cruise-control on the way home. This is the first time I have been pulled over since the State of California made the mistake of granting me a driver's license.

I get tailed a lot. I may need to remove my Berkeley Boalt Hall plate frame. I think it reads to police something along the lines of "I think I know, and am therefore above, all law and its petty enforcement officers." Which, of course, I totally do (and am).


Completely Unrelated Music Recommendation:

Last night, I also lost a Favors Bet with Boyfriend after debating the lyrics to Move! from Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley's "Welcome to Jamrock. Kicks Ass. Check it out.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Sometimes, Cockiness Just Makes You a Dick.

The Boss: "How are you feeling, you doing all right?"

Lex: "I'm good. Have a lingering cough and general aching, but am past the part where I thought I would die."

The Boss: "Yeah, It's no fun. I had pneumonia once. I worked through it."

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Doing the Bull Dance, Feeling the Flow.

The Boss really liked the motion. Changed only the introductory paragraph and gave thumbs up to the rest. Unheard of for this man. I wrote the motion in a pill-induced pneumonia-recovery haze. However, I am certain that illness is not the only place from which I can call upon great workspiration.

The Boss' reaction to my work-product is too important to me. My high-flyin' feeling after receiving his accolades this afternoon proves that. I mentioned this to Office Manager. I hope she passes it along to The Boss. Either way, my tunnel-vision focus on his response works in my favor this time.

Thus, I will work on my overachiever-complex/issues later, when I am fucking up again. Well, not when I am actually fucking up again, so much as next time The Boss' decides to issue me a newbie-mandated brain-slap. Nothing personal, just keeping the kid in line.

Until then, Oh Happy Day.

Resolution #3 is working out wonderfully.

Monday, January 02, 2006

New Year

I am mostly better. Achy and tired but basically past thoughts of 'death is imminent.' I made two New Year's Resolutions. My New Year's Resolutions have to meet one basic ground rule: they must me proactive, rather than resolutions to stop doing things. Anything I might resolve to stop doing would be something I already know damn well is bad for me. Those are the things I enjoy far too much to let logic get in the way of my doing them. Anyhow, I made two proactive New Year's Resolutions. The first is to do more yoga.

The New Year brings new drama at work. Turns out a tiny work environment can have just as much gooby gossip as the largest. The office is closed, but I am last minute motion-writing with a cloudy head and deep wish to make The Boss happy. Being sick for 4 of the first 5 months at a job is not the best professional approach. This will seriously harm my credibility in 4 months when I am demanding a substantial pay increase. I've decided I don't make enough money and will ask for a substantial pay increase during renegotiations. Even if I fail the bar. And well taking into consideration the fact that I get to do work I feel really, really good about. And that I am always sick. I will throw down with ridiculous amounts of baseless cockiness.

Sheesh, I'm feeling bitter today. I feel flah about having to work. I think my third New Year's resolution is to look at life more optimistically. Life lives how you see it anyhow - even stupid-dumbs have happy lives. There's really no reason not to take advantage of the evolutionary tool of self-induced misperception.

I mean, I do have a perfect life.