despite the fact that my 2nd iPod just crapped out

iTunes does not have the Local H version of "Toxic," which I love. I don't want to have to get online to listen to it when I need my fix.

Who can help me out?

thank you and good night.

Thanks for your kind words on my last post.  I should close comments on posts like that because it actually makes me feel crappy when people write and say, "Cheer up!" or "You're great!" or "You're so pretty!"  I don't want people to think I'm fishing for compliments.  I just occasionally write something to share with you what goes on in my head.  Now you know.  As an aside, I don't think any of those things I reported below are unique to me.  I think lots and lots of smart, attractive, confident, fun, capable young women feel this way.  Some days are better than others.

 

This week has been an interesting week.  At least half a dozen times this week I've thought, "I can't believe I get paid to do this!"  I am deliriously happy in this job.  There are good days and there are bad days.  But I know I'm in the right job when I'm thankful to get a paycheck for it, because I'd do it without a paycheck if I had to.  (You know, if I were independently wealthy and jobs like this didn't pay... then yeah, I'd totally do it anyway).  I have a few really interesting cases with interesting legal issues and interesting clients.  And I LOVE that this is all mine.  The clients are mine, the motions are mine, the strategy is mine.  I marvel at the fact that I get money in my bank account twice a MONTH instead of twice a YEAR and I DON'T EVEN HAVE TO PAY IT BACK!

 

This job rocks.  I hope you love your job as much as I love mine.

 

There will be an end to my navel-gazing at some point.  I'll write something substantive one day.

 

(But ooooh, I must look good today, because I've had two marriage proposals from strangers.  It's been a while!)

like, seriously.

I've started to notice that I'm filled with an astonishing amount of self-loathing. This is not something I'd like to process on el bloggo. Well, of course it is. But then I'm disgusted with myself for being one of those people who writes inarticulately about her life ["like, ohmygod, I totally like this boy but he doesn't like me back" and "I'm like, just so hard on myself and like, my therapist says I should love me more? and love me for who I am? and like, that is so deep."] In the same way that I'll actually 'practice law' for about an hour and then spend at least an hour hating myself for being dumb. Another example: Sometimes I like to write, but know that I'm terrible at it, and end up feeling incredibly stupid and childish after I try. I also hate just about every part of my body for an independent reason. I didn't realize this until today when a friend of mine, exasperated at my matter-of-fact explanation as to why I need plastic surgery on my gut, finally said to me: "You seem to be fixated on flaws that don't actually exist." Then she listed all of the ones that I've discussed with her. I was embarrassed. I'm still pretty sure they exist, but I suppose I'll go back to secretly loathing them. Then this same friend, a few moments later, also caught me off guard by calling me out on something else I didn't quite realize about myself: I believe that I am virtually undateable. I do believe that there is little chance in me finding someone who would love someone as flawed as I am. And there, now I've gone and said all of those things that I said I wouldn't say in the beginning of the paragraph and whoa buddy, I'm going to end up deleting this later.

They don't love you like I love you.

For those of you who might not have noticed, I rarely update my blogroll - as a matter of fact, there are many blogs I read daily that I do not have on my blogroll. However, there is a new addition that must be acknowledged:

IAN BROWNE HAS A BLOG!!

Ian Browne writes for RedSox.com. No one adores Ian Browne more than I do. NO ONE. Welcome to the world of blogging, Mr. Browne. Glad to have you with us! Love the blog!

"spark"

I've been doing a lot of dating recently. I thought that getting to a point in my life where I was actually dating would be fulfilling. That's not actually true. What I did not realize is that, from a statistical / probability standpoint, it is more likely than not that the date will be less enjoyable than a night of "What Not To Wear" on the couch with the dog and a pint of ice cream.

I recently went on a date with a guy who was nice.

He was nice. And he didn't pay for dinner.

But above all, there was no "spark." I don't feel inclined to kiss him, or want him to kiss me. At what point does the existence or absence of "spark" become a dealbreaker? I am trying to decide, if he asks, whether I'll go on a second date. Should I give it one more try? Should I cut my losses early? Should it be more than that one factor in deciding whether or not to do a second date?

thinking

I wonder how other people perceive me. I need to examine this more closely - in general, and in regards to my dating life.

There are certain types of girls / women who make me incredibly insecure in the dating world. What is it about them and why does it stab at my insecurity?

What do other people think of me? How do I come off? How do I make others feel when I interact with them? What does it take to click with me? What about other people draws out certain characteristics in me?

I asked a friend about how people perceive me and I was surprised with what I heard.

I'm taking a small break. I am going to relax, chill out, unplug, make plans with people I have not seen in quite a while. After a few days of that, I hope to feel clear and refreshed. And less bruised.

boys of summer

Work has me running ragged.  It's a week of late nights.  It could not have come at a better time - the salve of criminal procedure is a pleasant relief from my emotional bruises - but I'm a little grouchy and more than a little stressed.

 

But the sweet sounds of baseball instantly put me at ease. 

There is nothing more soothing to me than listening to a baseball game on the radio.

This does not bode well for the rest of the week

I was just about finished with my run on the treadmill this morning when my mind wandered to the contents of my gym bag.  I had included:

 

1 skirt suit

2 pairs of pantyhose, just in case one ripped

bra

underwear

gym towel

every toiletry known to womankind, including 2 shampoos, 2 conditioners, 2 moisturizers, 2 hairbrushes, and a hair dryer

flip flops

US Weekly

an umbrella (just in case!)

my trial ad book (might be helpful!)

 

and then I realized that I had forgotten to pack... a SHIRT.  Yes, that's right.  I had to go a whole different form of commando.  I put my jacket on over my bra.  Everything looked fine until I moved, at which point there was a flash of some serious skin.  I panicked.  There are NO clothing stores nearby.  I live really far away and can't go back home.  What's a girl to do?

 

Luckily, our friendly neighborhood drug store carries undergarments.  Victory!  Now I'm wearing a men's white cotton tank top and it actually looks pretty cute.  Score.

 

But let's be honest - this can't be the best way to start the week...

 

(and still no call or email from The Ouster)

love will not find you tonight, part 2

Last night I went out on a second date with the guy from last week. We went to a nice bar that I had been to before. Like the last one, it was very dark and intimate, with couches, cushions, and candles around the room. The conversation started slowly, as we had covered just about everything in the 4 hours we spent together the previous week.

I was drinking slowly, too, because I'm just coming off a stomach virus, and I'm always tired on Fridays. I didn't want to drink myself into yawning on a date with a guy who gives me butterflies. But for all my efforts to drink slowly, he kept insisting that I keep up. He wanted me to have more and more drinks. We discussed our families, spirituality, the Seattle grunge scene, his livelihood, all in the midst of some really, really hot making out.

Before I went on the date, I was insistent that I wasn't going to make out with him at the bar again. No no, I was going to play hard to get this time. I wanted him to know that he'd have to work to charm me. Although I wasn't instantly attracted to him when I met him, last night I was insanely attracted to him. I really, really like him. He looked so good, and I could only ward him off for so long before I finally caved. We kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and there's a long period of time that we were kissing that I don't even remember, until the part where he suggested that we go back to his place and watch a movie.

Most of this sitcom's viewers probably realize that's not likely to happen at this stage in the episode. I, however, do actually believe that we'll watch the movie, then we'll probably make out on his couch a bit more, then I'll go home. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER.

We went back to his place and I know he likes scary movies, so I picked "Exorcism of Emily Rose" which I did really want to see. At first we were sitting on the couch. Then the light goes off. Then he wants me to lie down next to him. He has his arm wrapped around me; he wants to make sure I'm comfortable. I was happy. He definitely kept wanting to make out, but I tried to keep him in check while I was watching the movie. And like everything else, eventually he won and the movie was turned off.

Some more hot making out ensued on his bed. The making out was a little hotter than I had intended, but it was HOT. I was taken aback that this kind of quiet, smart, funny, cute, slender guy was pulling moves like he was pulling. But no doubt I was enjoying myself.

So the whole night sounds great, until the next 60 seconds: after we had stopped making out, we both nodded off for a moment. I got up to go to the bathroom and when I came back, something had changed. He was up, getting dressed; he was trying to help me find my shirt. It had suddenly become very, very apparent to me that he wanted me to leave.

There is little that is more upsetting, offensive, insulting than that.

I quickly pulled my shirt over my head, refusing to look at him. As I put on my shoes he asked, "Are you ok to go home?" I thought about my answer for a moment. No, he didn't ask me to stay. He asked me if I was sure I was ok to go home. I said tersely, again without looking at him, "I'm fine." As I slipped on my shoes he asked me again. "You sure you'll be ok? You know, this late at night." Again, I thought, What am I supposed to say? "Actually, is it ok if I stay here and spend the night with you?" I'm not going to ask that! So as I slipped on my shoes and turned and opened the door without so much as looking at him again, I said, "I'm fine" and I jerked the door shut behind me.

I walked down the hall to the elevator and every nanosecond I so very much wanted him to call after me, to follow me down the hall, to grab my arm. But he didn't. I got to the elevator and got in. I heard someone walking down the hall at a moderate pace. The doors closed before I could have my fears confirmed that it wasn't him at all.

I left his building. I called my best friend. I cried. I didn't have enough money to take a cab all the way back to my place, so I took a cab back to her place and was crying on her couch 20 minutes later, at 4:30 am. I cried because I was disappointed. I cried because I was afraid that maybe I overreacted and that maybe he wanted me to stay and was trying to get me to stay and that I'll never see this really, really great guy who gives me butterflies in my stomach again because I walked out the door.

He never called to see that I got home ok, even after I told him how I DID NOT get home ok after our last date.

Now it's 5 pm. He still hasn't called. I called a few friends for advice - no one picked up. Finally I called the friend who tells me exactly what I know I need to hear, but I can't bring myself to believe.

You should have walked out, she said. He should have asked you to stay. It's shitty that he was kicking you out. He could have come after you, at least to call a cab or go downstairs and make sure you get in a cab ok. 'But what if he wasn't trying to kick me out? What if he mistakenly thought I wanted to leave? What if he was trying to ask me to stay?' No no no, she insisted. If he wanted you to stay, he would have asked you to stay. He would have run after you. 'What if he didn't know I was upset? What if he didn't realize what was going on?' No no no, she admonished. He knew. He knew exactly what was going on. He could have at least called to see if you got home ok. He didn't. DO NOT CALL HIM. If you call him, you'll see him again, and the same things will happen, and just like with Tenacious D, you'll let him get away with this and you'll be upset anyway. If he calls you, fine. But if he doesn't, then at least you know now rather than later that he isn't for you.

Every girl I've spoken with agrees that it was the right thing for me to walk out. I mean really, what other choice did I have? I wonder what the men out there think. What happened?

The entire time we were together on both dates, I couldn't help but feel the nagging from that little (ok, really loud) voice of insecurity in my mind. I couldn't help but think, "Why me? Why is he with me? Why is he so into me? Why would an attractive, smart, funny single guy be so focused and psyched about ME?" To be able to continue forward despite that anxiety and that insecurity takes effort - and I did it anyway. I liked him. I liked talking to him. I liked kissing him. And it's so harsh to get the realization that in the end, oh yeah, he really isn't into me. That whole time that you finally managed to get past your insecurity was actually a mistake. I feel like I'm back to being a 100% insecure, nervous, risk-averse 20-something with no ability to formulate or even simulate healthy relationships with members of the opposite sex.

I can't help but hate myself for doing what will ultimately end this otherwise really good dating experience - even if it actually was because something in the dating experience went amiss.

I wish he would call.

what it's like to be postal.

On Tuesday, I received two of those "sorry we missed you" notices from the post office. One was dated 3/22. The other was dated Monday. The Monday notice also indicated that it was the LAST NOTICE and the letter would be returned to the sender on 4/6 (today). I was annoyed that I received both notices on Tuesday, since one was three weeks old. Nevertheless, the next morning, at the crack of dawn when I usually leave for work, I braved the driving wind and rain and duct taped (quite firmly) both notices to the door with instructions on where to leave it. Those two notices sat there, firmly taped to the door, for two days.

Today I got home from work early (fluke), and seeing that the notices were still on the door, walked down to the end of my block to the post office. I gave them the notices and they asked for ID. I provided ID. They told me that since my ID did not reflect my new mailing address, they would not give me my mail.

Huh?

I've picked up mail before with this ID, I explained. Usually it's sufficient since it's photo identification, it has my name on it, and it's clearly my face. The postal worker was not swayed. I have no way of picking this up, then, I said to him. He then started saying something about state and federal law. I was not swayed, either. I showed him the duct tape and said, "These have been taped to my door for two days. Why can't I have anyone redeliver it, if I can't pick it up?" Taped to the door? he asked me. He was puzzled. Annoyed, I responded, well how else am I supposed to let the mailman know I want this redelivered? You have to call and tell them, says the postal worker.

Where in the instructions does it say I have to call anyone and tell them I want my mail delivered? Nowhere. I've never once encountered such a rule. He took one of the notices and said he would tell them to redeliver it tomorrow, with the instructions for where to leave it. I thanked him and left, thoroughly annoyed that I still didn't get the letter that my baby sister sent me three weeks ago.

Then I returned home with high hopes of taking the extra time to clean my room, pay my bills, organize, etc etc, and instead immediately fell asleep across my unmade bed. As is my usual practice, I disrobed immediately upon entering my room. This meant that when I was awakened by the doorbell 45 minutes later, I had to dig for clothing to put on, find some flipflops, run to the door.... just in time to see the mailman walk down the street and around the corner. I yelled after him, to no avail.

I just want my letter.

on being an attorney: ya know, stuff.

I've been a bad blogger. Honestly, I don't have the time to sit down and write as things strike me. My day pretty much always looks the same: gym, commute, work, commute, dinner, bed. Repeat. There are moments in my day that feel good. There are moments in my day that don't feel so good. I'm loathe to share too much on the blawg because I'm afraid of somehow revealing too much - compromising my anonymity or my professionalism or something. I'm still trying to strike the balance.

It's remarkable how far I've come in 6 months. I feel exponentially more confident about what I'm doing in a day, but every day I realize how far I still have to go. I think that's a great place to be - just the right blend of knowledgeable and ready to learn. I've developed very good relationships with my colleagues - in my office and in and around the courthouse. I think people respond well to me, usually. Sometimes it surprises me how friendly and responsive other people are to me. I think I'm really lucky to work in such a collegial environment.

Now don't get me wrong. I feel pretty adversarial usually. But it's nice to get a kick in the teeth from someone who is smiling and treats you respectfully. A smiley, respectful kick in the teeth. Yes. That's how I like it.

There are more stories to come, I promise. But for now, the Red Sox are on.