17 Days of Thanksgiving

So I've seen this meme a few places....usually its says 25 days of Thanksgiving. Since T-day is the 25th this year, I assume. But I'm a slow starter and so rather than go back for 8 days, I figured, what the hell, I'll start today. I don't mean to be overly serious here or too self-analytical. Its really just an excuse to get me blogging again now that my stay in hell (aka the Millennium Hilton) is finally over. So....with that in mind....here it goes.

Today I am thankful for seamlessweb.com. Because it means never having to leave the building or talk to the take-out places who never seem to understand me. An online take-out ordering service may seem like a frivolous thing to be thankful for, I know, but what can I say. Sometimes I am just a frivolous girl. Besides, seamless is the shit. If you live or work in NYC, DC or a bunch of other cities it services, and haven't tried it yet, you should. It will change your life. For reals.

My New (Hilton) BFF

For 26 days now, although it feels much much longer, I've been literally living at the Millennium Hilton. It's directly across from ground zero and after 2 or 3 days, I basically got used to the sound of the constant construction across the street. It never stops. And I mean never. 24 hours a day there are pylon drivers, and jackhammers and all manner of insanely loud construction equipment running. There is traffic and road work and all the rest too. But at this point, its almost soothing -- the constancy of it; the feeling of progress -- since I've been here, I watched them add several stories to the Freedom Tower. I've also witnessed some amazing sunsets from our "war room" perch up on the 55th floor overlooking the Hudson. Because not only do I live here now, I work here too -- all thanks to the inability of two billionaire companies to settle their disagreements. Well, its not quite that simple, but still.

So here's the deal: my firm has had the entire top floor of this place, which is usually the first class suites for the ultra fancy and super rich, turned into a series of "war rooms." (for you non-lawyers -- a war room is really just a room where lawyers can work together to prepare for trial or some other deal). I've spent no less than 15 hours a day in the war room. Usually considerably more than that. I've never spent more than 8 hours in a row in my room, usually considerably less. And fuck, in 26 days, I've spent a sum total of maybe 8 hours out of doors. I eat my meals here. All of them. If I work out, I do it in the hotel's gym. A laundry services picks up & drops off our laundry. There is nothing you need that can't be delivered. I go outside only to get Starbucks (when we run out of coffee in the war room) or to pick up more snacks from the bodega around the corner. It's utterly miserable.

But it actually gets worse....

Because you see, while I usually like the company of the people I work with, most of them are actually cool fun people, a few weeks ago the powers that be sent us an extra pair of hands in the from of a new associate. The First Year. By the end of his first day, we thought he was a little odd. By the end of day three, we decided he must have some sort of mental condition. And by day 5, we wanted either to kill him or kill ourselves so that we wouldn't have to spend another minute more with him. The odd things he does are just too numerous and mind-numbingly irritating to list here, but here's just a few.

(1) He paces. Constantly. As if under some immeasurable pressure. But I mentioned he's new right? He's here to be a glorified paralegal. There is nothing for him to be stressed about. The most difficult task he's been given so far is print about 40 case opinions from the internet and put them in a binder in alphabetical order. It took him 10 hours. Mostly because he was pacing for 6 of them. That and he appeared to have forgotten the alphabet.

(2) He breathes loudly. Like seriously loudly. Like so loudly that I have to wear headphones and turn my ipod way the hell up so as not to hear it. It sounds like the sound people make when they come up from being under water a little too long. A long, heavy exhalation. Except he's not underwater. It's like he's forgetting how to breath. Which is not all that unbelievable since he apparently forgot the alphabet.

(3) He twirls his sideburns. Often while pacing.

(4) He's a fucking know it all. Remember how I said he was sent to us a few weeks ago? And how he's a new? Well, the rest of us have been on this case for more than a year now. Have lost our summers to depositions in London. Have given up weekends to endless investigation into the facts. Well, apparently, newbie here is so fucking brilliant that he was able to master the case in two days. Or at least that's how it would seem since he constantly has to throw his two cents into every fucking conversation we have. And its not limited to shop talk. He knows everything about everything. When he tried to tell me about italian cooking though, I had to pull out the bitch and shut him the hell up.

(5) He hovers. And copies. For example, for the first couple of weeks, I would get up from my work area and go across the room to the "snack table" to get a snack. We have all sorts of snacks here. Lawyers who work around the clock need nourishment form of junk food. That's just how it works. Except in my case, my snacks are gluten free. They're special. And oftentimes not as good as regular snacks. I dream of mint milano cookies. But I digress....I go over to the snack table, I choose my snack, and before I can turn around to go back to my work station, there he is, right fucking behind me. And while he could eat anything he wants, he doesn't. He chooses whatever snack I choose. WHATEVER SNACK I CHOOSE. Like he wants to be my new BFF or something. I even purposely bought some of the most vile GF foods out there, and forced myself to eat them, just as a test, and lo and behold, if I ate it, he'd eat it. It's actually a little disturbing. I eventually bought my own snacks and kept them right next to me to dissuade his freakish behavior. He's since latched on to a colleague. She's vegan. So apparently now he is too.

So there you have it -- as if it wasn't bad enough that we have to give up our entire lives for this thankless fucking job for more than a month (we've been here 26 days and have at least 10 more to go), we have to deal with The First Year. Who we've nicknamed FS. Because we need to be able to talk about him while he's around so as not to go utterly out of our minds batshit crazy. And FreakShow would just be too rude.

"Jackie Kennedy would not have camel toe.*

So this designer says, "Well, i was worried it was getting old?" And I get that in fashion language but at the same time, what the fuck is so wrong with getting old? Hmmmmm? Sure, I'm biased (40 is right around the corner; I can see it; that bitch is totally staring at me) but still. Who the fuck decided that only young and whateverthefuck is so goddamn fabulous and "old" is well, not gonna win you any contests? Whoever the hell it was, somebody, some "old" somebody, should kick his ass.



*Tim Gunn. Gotta give credit where credit's due. ;)

No News = Good News? Not Exactly

In early June, maybe even late May, I applied for a new job. One where the hours will be more manageable and one where my commute will drop from 90 minutes in each direction to a mere 15 minutes in each direction. Meaning, even if the hours aren't any better at the new place, I'd still get back more than 2 hours a day that I currently lose sitting on a fucking train.

So -- June/May whatever....I send in my resume. A couple weeks later, I get invited to an interview. It takes a couple more weeks to set that up but it eventually happens and it goes GREAT! They fucking LOVE me. So much so that they ask me on the spot to come in for a second interview.

The second interview, thanks to my shitty fucking work schedule, took over a month to set up but it too seemed to go really well. Left there on a high -- absolutely sure the job was mine. They told me a decision would be made soon, within a matter of days. And then...NOTHING. Not a word. Radio fucking silence.

I couldn't take it. Here I was, spending each day thinking, Is today the day I give my notice? Can I book that weekend for early October? I started thinking about what it would be like to have free time again. But after a week of nothing, I started to go a little nuts and so I make a call and I'm told "Oh yeah, so great to hear from you, we're gonna decide early next week, yada yada bullshit."

That was 10 days ago. TEN. MOTHERFUCKING. DAYS. And on each of those days the job seems less and less likely. And the plans for fall have to be canceled. And the misery that is my job starts to set back in. Sure, they haven't said no. But they haven't said yes either.

Everyone says no news is good news. But that's not particularly comforting when you're facing 18 hour days in the interim. Who cares if no news is good news if you go crazy before you can get the good news, right?

Dear Karma,

I think I've been a pretty decent person. I donate my time and money to charity. I'm good to my friends and family. I've done what I can to help other folks whenever they ask. I even try not to complain too much when it comes to my god awful job. And I never really ask for anything in return. But just about now I think I'm due. So Karma, please. Get me the fuck out of this job. Because I honestly don't think I can take it anymore. And I don't think I should have to risk losing my home to rid myself of a job that makes me so unhappy that its all I can do not to burst into tears on a daily basis. And it's only going to get worse the closer we get to October. I've already lost my entire summer. I don't want to miss the fall too.

So look, I've already done all the leg work and found a job I think I could really enjoy. And I did pretty well at the interviews too. All I need you to do is to give the powers that be a little push to offer me the job. So please, I beg of you, do me a solid Karma, would ya? I will be eternally grateful. You have no idea.

Thanks,
Your Friend and believer,
'stina

Sometimes TV is Totally Fucking Awesome

Sex scenes in first few episodes of The Pillars of the Earth:
-- true lovers: sexy, beautiful
-- old married social climbers: boring, perfunctory
-- rape (daughter of disgraced nobleman by loser son of social climber)
-- social climber mother jerks off power hungry rapist adult son: gross & demented


So I had this idea about writing something witty (and possibly even eloquent if you can fucking believe it) while watching this new show. And that little bit of nonsense above is my "holy shit, quick write it down before you forget it" notes. Of course, there were a couple (or three) glasses of wine in between the original thought and now, so I'm not a hundred percent sure where I was going with it.

But what I AM sure about is this... if you've read Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth, then you HAVE to fucking see The Pillars of the Earth on Starz. Maybe even if you didn't read the book you should check out the show (and if you don't have Starz, I'm sure there's somewhere on the web to find it). Granted, the production value ain't great in a couple of places, but the story and the characters are simply fantastic. Religion. Politics. Corruption. Intrigue. Murder. And the building of a cathedral in 12th century England.

Plus, c'mon, who doesn't like a variety of sex scenes with their evening drama?

A little birdy just told me that Prop 8 in California has been declared unconstitutional under both the Due Process and Equal Protection clauses.

Can you say hallefuckinglujuah?

Of course, the knuckle draggers behind that shitty law are sure to appeal, all the way to the Supremes if necessary, but this is a pretty amazing step in the right direction.

So thank you Chief Judge Walker. Thank you.