extra crispy.

I'm trying to follow the adage of, "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all."  No one wants to hear other people whine.  You will note that my blog has been a little quieter over the past two months or so. 

 

I read a post at Audacity that moved me to share with you how I'm feeling right now. 

 

I am really, truly, actually, matter-of-factly burnt out.  Not busy; burnt out.  I yell.  I have zero patience.  I am annoyed.  I wake up in the morning and I'm no longer excited about going to work.  My anxiety level goes through the roof when I see that I have voicemails waiting for me in the morning. 

 

It took me a little bit to figure out that I was burnt out.  Once I accepted that, I started to wonder why.  I think there are several reasons.  First, I took this job because I wanted to advocate for people who would not otherwise have their voices heard.  Second, I thought I was going to be making extensive use of my trial skills.  Third, I thought I was going to be absorbing, receiving, debating, firing off law and criminal procedure from day to day.

 

The reality of my days? 

 

- No trials.  No hearings.  I spend every day begging and charming.  There is no law involved in resolving the overwhelming majority of my cases.  I smile, I kiss ass when it needs to be kissed, I beg, I plead, I cajole, I negotiate.  No 4th, 5th, 6th Amendment.  Just smiles and begging.  Please reduce the charge.  Please give him probation.  Please let her do a program instead of jail time.  No caselaw.  No statutory interpretation.  Just... begging.

 

- Please give me the discovery you didn't give me before.  Please give me the rest of the discovery.  Nope, really, I still want all that discovery that I know you have and aren't handing over.  Please stop pretending like it's ok to hand over that stuff (and still!  not even all of it) the minute before a hearing / trial when the court set a date over a month ago for final discovery.  Judge, please hold the prosecutor accountable for this.  No?  Ok thanks. 

 

- I am overwhelmed by the number of cases in which I see police misconduct.  The 4th, 5th, 6th Amendments, the exclusionary rule, giving truthful testimony under oath - I'm not so sure I've seen a lot of it in the courthouse or on the streets.  It exists in textbooks, and as far as I can see, nowhere else.

 

- Plus all the stories that I'd love to share but don't for fear of recognition / retribution.  There are plenty.

 

I am not fighting the system that crushes the lives of my clients.  I just help it run smoothly.

 

I feel like every day has become an exercise in futility. 

 

As a social worker, I felt helpless - like I had the insight and the access to create change, but not the authority to do so.  I left social work and went to law because I believed in the awe-inspiring and benevolent power of the law to create change in people's lives.  I have such great reverence for The Law - for the Bill of Rights, for Constitutional Law and Criminal Procedure.  There's something so powerful about these concepts and their evolution.  It was the intersection of sociology and the law drove me to do indigent defense.  I love my job because I get to work with actual human beings whose lives are real and important, and in theory, through advocacy, I can help protect the importance of their lives and liberty with the powerful tools of law. 

 

I feel like I've been wholly unsuccessful.  That may not be true, completely.  But right now, I feel like I haven't been able to really humanize my clients.  I haven't been able to really make their individual voice heard.  I really have not been able to use the law the way it should be used to protect the rights of individuals against invasive government intrusion.  I feel helpless and overwhelmed.  What can I do?  What is it that I, as one single, new, underfunded attorney, can do?

 

I've been so burnt out that I've withdrawn socially as well.  I don't blame my job for my social withdrawal - to be honest, I think it's my dissatisfaction with my social life that is hurting my job, and not vice versa.  But I was so overwhelmed and so distant and distracted.  I was just not present.  And it got so bad that I finally realized I was missing out on a lot of what was going on in other people's lives.  My best friend's wedding.  The pregnancies of two other friends.  Things that I want to be involved in, in which I want to play an active role, and yet I could not scrape up the energy to participate in the way I really want to.  I realized that I couldn't look back with regret on all of these things that I value so much.  So I took a time out.

 

I don't have the Ultimate Answer, but after a lot of consideration, I have finally identified several things I could try to do in order to reconnect with my life, both personally and professionally:

• I want to start volunteering with kids again.  I did it for years.  I love children, I love the trappings of childhood, and I have enough free time to dedicate myself to doing something, other than work, that is personally fulfilling to me.  I think I am going to start by reading bedtime stories to children in the hospital.
• I am going to stop being so stingy with my time.  When my caseload numbers suddenly shot up and when the cases themselves got complex, I started doing a lot of prioritizing, because I had to.  Now, I am going to let the client whose case has already been dismissed, but who keeps insisting on coming in to say hi, come in and say hi.  I will start calling clients I have not spoken to in a while, just to check in.  I will acknowledge that even the small cases are big cases.  I anticipate that a frustrating number of my clients won't have accurate contact information, and won't call me back, but this is my job, I get paid to deal with the frustration of this system, and they don't.  I can at least try. 
• I will resume reading US Supreme Court cases and state Supreme Court cases regularly, because I like to.
• I'm going to take more weekend trips to visit people who are near and dear to me. 
• I'm going to take more weekend trips to be outside and to be present in nature, in the world around me.  I'm going to get out of the city and make my way to the woods and just breathe.

I hope that these things will get me in touch with what's important to me and what brought me here.  I might not get around to reaching all of the goals on this list, but just identifying concrete steps I can take to rejuvenate myself is a good way to stop feeling helpless and hopeless.  I want to give my clients the best attorney that money could never buy.  And I want to make sure that my life, too, is fulfilling and rewarding, and that I am a good friend, sister, daughter, confidante, citizen, community member to others.

does it come with a pay raise and a fancy chair?

Over the past two months or so, I've developed a truly unbelievable caseload.  I bet all public defenders say that.  But I have the most bizarre assortment of headache-inducing, logic-defying, clients-who-I-no-longer-even-represent timesucks.  Where does the time go in a day?  I'm afraid to answer my phone or check my messages, because I'm over a week behind in returning phone calls.  I'm doing triage, putting out fires, for former and current clients, and it's hard to do when I have 20 cases scheduled per day in court.  Every case presents a new and bizarre twist, and juggling so many of them, I can hardly keep them straight.

 

I've been bemoaning my fate to all who will listen, and by listen I mean, not run away when they see me coming.  When consulting a colleague on a case that involved a former client of his, I weakly cracked an exasperated joke about the defense of absolute innocence that all of my clients seem to be invoking lately.  You know, the "every single person made up every single detail of that story," type of defense.

 

He responded cheerfully, "Don't fret.  You're going to promoted to the Innocent Defendant's Bureau soon!"

 

Ha.  The Innocent Defendant's Bureau.  I like it.

Urban lingo

It seems that we associate a certain language to crime, and I wonder how much of it is accurate. For instance, the Baltimore Sun ran several articles that made mention of how John Mohammed referred to Malvo as "son" in his cross examination. The article pointed this out as an example of how Mohammed was a father figure to Malvo and manipulated him. I don't doubt that Malvo was manipulated by a man that he considered a father figure. I disagree, however, that the term 'son' is illustrative of that fact. I find that African-American men refer to one another as such quite often - regardless of age or role.

The New York Times has been covering a trial in New York City that has been charged as a hate crime based on the use of a word: you know, the N word. The crux of the case seems to be this: is it a slang term used in a ghetto-fabulous way, or was the attack solely racially based? That is, can people of different races assault one another without it being a hate crime? If so, does the N word change that? In all cases? How can you tell?

I think that's the tricky part with hate crimes. It's hard to tell what someone's motivation is. And, if in New York City, the only evidence is the use of the N word, is that sufficient? Perhaps the jury will let us know.

vacation reflections

I am still unsettled.  It took me days into the vacation to relax, and even at that, my vacation was more about searching for quiet and stillness.  When sharing a beach house with other young adults, sometimes that can be a struggle.

Spending time around couples who are young, fun, in love, and leading the life I thought I wanted to be leading right now is difficult.  Seeing them together is uplifting and inspiring.  I admire them for the relationships they've cultivated.  And then when I go to bed by myself, I am emotionally tired and very much alone.

I finally realized that I still feel powerless over my own life.  I have accomplished the things that I want to accomplish, for now, as far as concrete goals go.  I went to a palm reader for fun a few weeks back and left in shock.  You had everything all planned out, she said.  You've always had life planned out.  First this, then that.  But now, the things that you planned aren't working out.  One commenter in the last post wasn't so far off.  I do want to get married, get a house, get pets.  Have kids.  That's what I had planned to be working on right now.  But right now, it's not even on the radar, and I'm at a loss as to what to do now.

I think that I've convinced myself that I'm in the right location because I have the job I want, I work with people I like, I am around close friends who are also single and are in similar positions.  Being away from my new home for a while has made me realize that I don't have much interest in going back.  If I'm going to be lonely, I might as well be lonely in a quieter and more peaceful place.  I want to have a backyard and an old pickup truck and a quiet neighborhood.  I want to be near the people I know and love, but I'm not sure I can stay where I am.  I miss seeing trees and the ocean - the actual ocean, not just a commercial harbor - I miss swimming in green lakes ringed with pine trees, where fish will nibble your toes.  I miss burying my toes in the cool green grass and the wet dirt underneath it.  I miss setting up my lawn chair and grill and making drinks and drinking beers in the sunshine.  Living in a city has its attributes, no doubt, but the things that this particular city has to offer are mostly things I do not value deeply. 

 

Maybe it's time for me to move my life in a direction that feels less lonely.  Or maybe, at this stage in life, that's not really how things go.

A friend asked me how I ended up where I am now.  I thought I had the answer. 

the real world sucks.

And I don't mean the MTV show.  I mean the real world.  Lowercase t, lowercase r, lowercase w. 

 

I left work at a reasonable hour and I took tomorrow off.  I have the whole night to myself.  What to do?  Hmmm.  I did a little window shopping, came home and ate dinner, made a batch of hummus [really disappointing, I have never found a good recipe], had a beer, checked the blogs, and now here it is.  7:30 pm.  I'm watching the first episode of Friends and guess what?  Aniston TOTALLY got a nose job somewhere along the way. 

 

So what am I supposed to do the rest of the night?  I could clear out the laundry room.  That's a task and a half.  I could finish unpacking my room and prep it for this weekend's painting.  I could watch TV all night, again. 

 

I'm bored, and lonely.  I get up in the morning, go to the gym, go to work, come home, make dinner, watch TV, go to bed.  Every once in a while, some weekend plans turn up.  I mostly feel like I'm going through the motions, the routine, but I have no purpose.  This is not as much fun as my mid-twenties were supposed to be.

 

How am I supposed to occupy my time for the next, oh, 30 years?

answers.

People enter some pretty interesting questions that get them to this site. I think it's my job to give people some answers. Addressing specific inquiries I've received recently, I give you... ANSWERS.

You're pretty.

I think he's perfectly comfortable with me, despite the fact that I might not be able to feel him, but I have to ask: what's he doing wrapped around me anyway? [ok, that was a question, but this person actually made a statement and didn't ask a question. so this is like jeopardy.]

It's illegal.

Probably because you're beating her when you give her these 'instructions.'

Pantyhose judo is the answer.

An excellent hobby.

Well, they have a wedding ring, and beyond that frankly you shouldn't be inquiring.

Clearly you're a mailman.

locked down

1,000 Incarcerated Per Week 04-05

From the article:
"The jail population is increasingly unconvicted," Beck said. "Judges are perhaps more reluctant to release people pretrial."
The report by the Justice Department agency found that 62 percent of people in jails have not been convicted, meaning many of them are awaiting trial.
The racial makeup of inmates changed little in recent years, Beck said. In the 25-29 age group, an estimated 11.9 percent of black men were in prison or jails, compared with 3.9 percent of Hispanic males and 1.7 percent of white males.

false confession

The New York Times has an article on an inmate who is being freed after DNA tests concluded that he falsely confessed to the crime.

 

It is interesting to note that all courts denied the defendant's applications for DNA testing.  The reasoning was that the defendant knew too much about the details of the crime to be innocent.  Even though the DA opposed the testing, the DA then ran the tests on their own and discovered that indeed, the defendant was not the killer.

 

How could someone who knew so much be innocent?  Mr. Warney says that the cops fed him the information as they interrogated him.  I can't believe anyone is surprised.  Mr. Warney knew all the details because the cops gave it to him.  That's what convicted him, and that's what kept him behind bars, wrongfully, for years.  And that's why the courts continuously denied Mr. Warney's application for relief.  And if the DA hadn't had some change of heart (or a confession by another person) then Mr. Warney would continue to be a wrongfully convicted killer.  Mr Warney was expected to die in jail because of his fragile health.  Thank goodness something happened before the legal system killed him.

falling off the wagon

After weeks of struggling to maintain my dignity, and somewhat succeeding, I had what I thought was a moment of strength and I emailed The Ouster. It was just small talk - i heard a song by his favorite group, which I hadn't heard before, and was totally caught off guard by it. I wrote the email, made small talk about music and other things, and sent it with a sense of finality. Now I'll know, I thought. He won't respond, and no more strings.

Except he responded.

And then I responded. ("WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT EMAIL HIM BACK" this same friend told me. I told her that she and I both knew I was going to ignore her very wise advice.)

And then he emailed back and asked me if I wanted to get together this Saturday.

Of course, I really want to see him again. I also still have very strong reservations about embarking on date #3 that looks a lot like dates #1 and #2. That is, a date that looks like drunkenly making out at the bar and / or getting booted after he's decided he's had his fun. I won't be able to see him this weekend because I already had something [really lame] to do and couldn't break plans. Not that I would for him anyway. So when I emailed him back, I let him know that this weekend was bad but asked him about next weekend. He hasn't bothered to respond. Now I have to wait.

I also caved and met up with Tenacious D last night. It was immediately disappointing and mostly a mistake. He's a good person, but still hasn't actually taken me out on a date despite all my pleading, and when I try to talk to him about why it's disappointing that he hasn't so much as asked me out in the past two months, he tells me it's because I'm always busy and out with other people. I don't like being told that it's my fault, but I can see that he must feel that he's giving me space that he wishes he didn't have to give me. Last night was awkward and I couldn't even stand to kiss him because I realized that it was really and truly done.

I was doing so well for a while there! 3 or 4 whole weeks... then, crash! kapow! Back to the same bad habits.

Moussaoui sentenced to life in prison

MIRABELLI IS BACK!!!

on being a public defender: to plead or not to plead?

It's not an uncommon dilemma.  Nonetheless, it haunts and perplexes your typical public defender.  What should you advise your client to do?  Take the plea or not?

 

I have two cases that are troubling me.  In one case I have been actively pursuing an alternate sentence.  My client has been in on bail for two months.  It is his first offense.  At first, the district attorney's 'offer' was a guilty plea and 6 months jail.  Then it was a guilty plea and 8 months jail.  It is clear from the nature of the charge that my client needs rehab.  I tussled with the DA over whether it should be residential and finally the DA and the court agreed (for logistical reasons) that an intensive outpatient program would be fine.  So my office has been working to get some community resources together to help my client get his life back on track - with employment, housing, treatment, and continued support.  Once this program is in place, my client can plead guilty and get out of jail, with the agreed sentence being whatever program is put together.  This case has taken a lot of time and energy, and I was well on my way to resolving this case when an attorney asked me harshly, "Why are you giving him a criminal conviction on a first arrest?" 

 

I don't know if I have a good answer.  I had asked the DA to consider an alternate disposition to try to avoid giving my client a criminal record, but my request was flatly refused.  That was back when we were looking at months in jail.  Suddenly I wonder if I'm wrong, and I've been working the case in the wrong direction the whole time.  Maybe he should go to trial instead - even if convicted after trial, the sentence would either be a similar drug program or jail time that my client would probably have already completed by that point.  But it would certainly mean that he wouldn't be getting out for another few months, at least.  And the facts / evidence pretty much points to "conviction."

 

My other case is also a first arrest.  If she agrees to pay restitution, she will avoid a conviction.  It's a good deal.  My client insists that she didn't do anything, and is angry that she was even arrested in the first place.  She believes that this is a vengeance issue, but after I did some investigation and advised her that she doesn't really have a good defense, and that the District Attorney seems to have a pretty solid case, she said "If that's what I have to do then I'll do it."  Should I tell her to just pay the money and be done with it?  Pay it, get no conviction, move on with your life?  If she really didn't do anything and this was just vengeance, then this won't be the end of the issues, I can imagine.  I just don't know what to tell her.

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.

Damon is appointed the new Yankee scapegoat.

today was a good day

I had a date last night.  We met for drinks.  We were there for more than 4 hours.  Things went well.  Today I'm very sleepy and staring off dreamily into space.  This is what it feels like to meet someone you genuinely like.  Someone who gets you drinks, who laughs at the guy who moved in in his absence, and offers to go back to the bar just to watch the hilarity ensue again.  Someone who kisses you, and wants to kiss you, and is excited to kiss you, and doesn't want to stop kissing you.  Dreamy sigh.

 

Gmail is offering (the ads at the top) to send me one free french horn.  That's not an offer you see every day.  To that, I raise an eyebrow.

Last week, the New York Times; this week, the Washington Post.
Singles Don't Have Time to Date
Erica Jong finds love and intimacy in monogamy
Marriage is for White People

I'm never buying a Sunday paper again.

love will not find you tonight

The blogging has been light because life has been busy. Not busy in a "I have a lot to tell you about" sort of way - more of a busy in a "I have nothing to show for how I've spent the past 6 months" sort of way.

I suppose that's not exactly true. I might have a story or two. Nudged by a friend, I embarked upon what my coworker affectionately refers to as "power dating." I tried online dating, speed dating, and the usual - meeting men at bars, through friends, etc. I started a different blog to chronicle all the escapades and then after a few posts just gave up. Maybe I'll try cross-posting them here later on.

I don't think I have much to show for this experiment. Right when I started online dating, I started seeing a guy I met at a bar. My former booty call wouldn't stop calling. And then a friend of a friend coerced me into taking him home. What do they all have in common? All of them are only interested in sleeping with me. The guy I met at the bar, Tenacious D, might have had more interest at some point. If nothing else, we'll at least grab a few drinks before he makes his way home with me.

One night Tenacious D and I had plans to see each other and I was excited about finally having a nice, sit-down dinner date. We had met up for drinks a few times, he had come over a few times, but we never had an actual romantic date. That night, I did not hear from him until 6 pm. I was incensed. I nevertheless met up with him after I had consumed a hefty amount of vodka with some coworkers. I'll skip the details of the evening and fast forward to the part where we left the second bar to go home and I drunkenly decide that I'm going to ditch him. I start walking (or drunkenly wobbling) away and he ran up behind me. "Whoa. Where are you going?" He ran up behind me. But it was too late. I started crying. Full on sobbing vodka tears, in the middle of the street on a busy Friday night, still in my suit.

I didn't know at the time why I was crying, but I thought about it, and a day or two later I figured out that I was just so sorely disappointed. I wanted to have a nice romantic evening with him, and he was content to just sit at the bar and drink, and talk to his buddies on the phone, and watch sports on TV. I'm not opposed to these things, but I had been so excited for a night that never materialized. When he asked me why I was crying, I said it was work. He was actually very concerned at my outburst. He was very sweet and responded better than I would have expected. When I think back on it now, I wonder if that's what it takes to galvanize this man to be who I want him to be.

The following week I finally told him why I had actually been crying. He was interested in what I had to say, but I think I gave him too many outs. I told him that it wasn't fair of me to expect something I had never articulated with him - he couldn't be responsible because he didn't know. He agreed, of course, with my excuses for him.

A few days later I called and left him a message. I was going to be in his neighborhood for work later in the evening. Did he want to meet up for dinner? He agreed to meet me, and gave me the name and address of a bar at which to meet him when I got out of work.

I should have known better.

I show up, and it's a hopping happy hour, with young professionals hanging off bar stools, music blaring, people pushing their way through the crowds to the bar. He isn't even there - he moved to a different bar. He came back to meet me and said, "Well since we're here we might as well go in," at which point I turned and glared at him in disbelief. "No. Absolutely not," I said. I was not in the mood for a crazy drunken happy hour. I wanted dinner. Just like I said in my message. Dinner does not mean gnawing on chicken wings at the bar. So where did he take me next? To a sports bar. At that point I think he realized that I was just pissed, so he said "Why don't we try this Cuban restaurant around the corner?"

We get to the Cuban restaurant and he won't even go in - it's too ritzy for him. He referred to it as "Chez Whitey." [Perhaps this is where I should mention that I am white, he is not.] My feet are tired from staggering around in impractical heels, plus I'm wheeling around my very large gym bag, and I'm hungry, and I have to go to the bathroom, and I'm annoyed. He suggests that we go to a Mexican restaurant a few blocks away. (He did not mention the name of this restaurant.) As we walk there, we pass an Applebee's. He said, "Do you want to go there?" to which I responded with a resounding NO. He laughed and asked why I was so anti-Applebee's, and I gave him the short version: I'd had a bad date and any guy who subsequently suggests Applebee's is automatically gone.

We arrived at the restaurant that Tenacious D suggested and when I walked in, I immediately said, with an air of finality, "This is like a Mexican Applebee's." Tenacious D laughed, hard. Then, realizing the import of these words, suggested we go somewhere else. "I know this little Caribbean restaurant not too far..."
"No," I said. "We are staying here. I am hungry. My feet hurt. I have to go to the bathroom." Then he started to get angry. "You clearly do not want to be here. Let's go somewhere else." I refused. He insisted. I refused. "Well," he said quietly, "given what you just said about Applebee's, and then you called this a Mexican Applebee's..." That right, I thought. You draw your own conclusions. I sat down, drank a margarita that came in a glass the size of a bucket, surrounded by cheezy 'Mexican' or 'Western' themed furniture, and thought that the only thing that was missing from this absurd scene was a singing cactus on the table.

Now, I don't want my readers to think I don't frequent restaurants such as this. There's one in my hometown that I go to every time I go home, and I love it. Margaritas, tortilla chips, things covered in mountains of melted cheese... mmmm. But this was my second attempt at going on a DATE with this guy. Restaurants such as this one don't exactly inspire romance. It seems that in the end, he just wants to be my drinking buddy. Until the end of the night, of course, when he decides that he just might be inclined to show half an ounce of affection, and tries to carry my bag for me, because he wants to go home with me.

Of course, it doesn't end there. The next weekend he called me at 2 am and I let him come over. I think it's safe to say that the relationship was officially dead that night. He stayed way too late the next day - I couldn't wait for him to leave. I just wasn't interested in him anymore. Then I caught him 'trying to use' my cell phone when I got out of the shower, but I had changed his number to 'Disappoint Cell' and he was looking at that name in my list of received calls. I freaked out. I don't think he figured out it was him. We used to have fun hanging out, but now I'm just exasperated, and sick of trying.

So last night, around 6 pm, I received a voicemail from him, asking me to a movie. I was excited to hear his voice. In his message, he conceded that he knew it was late in the day and he knew that I like to set my plans earlier than that, but he wanted to see me if I was around, and asked me to call him. Knowing that I was going to cave, I immediately went to the friend who I knew would tell me not to see him, at all, under any circumstances. She didn't let me down. I was going to go out with another friend who was meeting up with her friend "NonSportsGuy," who had coerced me into going home with me one night. I like him a lot. I like him more than I've liked a guy in a while. But, he came over, we made out, and he left the next morning without asking for my number, and I haven't seen him since. I knew that if I met out with them, I'd want him to like me, and I'd break down and let him come home with me again, and if he didn't want to, then I'd call Tenacious D to come home with me at the end of the night instead. I know myself well enough to know this is what would happen. Since they are all unhealthy, unproductive choices, I forced myself to stay in last night.

It was actually difficult knowing that there were two men out there that I could see, especially since I felt lonely and unattractive, and in need of some attention from the opposite sex. It took all my willpower not to change my mind. It took all my willpower not to answer the phone when Tenacious D called at 2 am again this morning.

I have another date or two coming up, but for all intents and purposes, I'm on a dating timeout. I don't feel attractive or desirable. I have not had a boyfriend in almost 7 years. SEVEN YEARS. I acknowledge that part of this is attributable to the fact that I like my independence - I like to come and go as I please, I like to plan my days and weeks without regard to anyone else - but I haven't found anyone that I'm interested in making time for on a regular basis (now that Tenacious D is crossed off the list). My dates are not successful. The guys who do take me on the types of dates that I want to go on usually end up being guys that I can barely hold a conversation with.

I'm still so afraid that love will never happen.

the off-season makes me jumpy

First Johnny Damon, then Bronson Arroyo (I love you!!!) then Willie McGinest and now Adam Vinatieri?

 

New England sports, you are so fickle.

Nemesis: New York Times

Shhhhh. You hear that? Tick, tock.

Today I had a wonderful Sunday planned. I was going to meet a friend for brunch and some concentrated window shopping. While waiting for my friend, I picked up a newspaper. I LOVE Sunday papers and coffee. I read 7 newspapers online every morning. This morning, I decided I'd pick up a NY Times, since it's the paper I have the least tolerance for online and it has the most reading material. (That shit is NOT cheap!)

I did have a nice brunch, and pleasant window shopping. Then we retreated to a coffeeshop to read the paper. And behold, today was Conception Sunday! at the New York Times. There were extensive articles about women partners in law firms, about choosing to be a single mom through artificial insemination, and several other articles along those lines.

I've been doing a fair amount of dating recently, quite unsuccesfully. Only two guys I considered seeing again: one who said he wanted to "keep in touch" after the first date but has since not corresponded; and one who I finally decided yesterday not to see again. I decided not to see him again, after dating him for a little over a month, because he seems to be content to be my drinking buddy and then have sex with me. It doesn't bother me that he wants that, but I don't. He can look for it elsewhere. Dating is really tiring. It takes a lot of energy to invest time and interest in someone else. It means giving up quality time with my closest friends, or quality alone time, to put on layers of makeup and fret over clothing and make small talk. I'm going to stop dating for a few weeks to get my life back in order and to regain some sanity and perspective. I assure you it won't be hard to give up dating. It's not something I do very often anyway.

Then the New York Times comes up with Conception Sunday! and now I'm sitting here wondering if this will be me. Will I be considering suitable sperm donors? Will I tiredly concede that the life I wanted to lead just isn't going to happen, and that I'm going to have to go on anyway? How do I know if I'm going down the wrong path? My planner has three weddings and a baby arrival scheduled for this year. None of them belong to me; I just bring a token gift and the sneaking suspicion that I'm That Single Girl everyone pretends to envy but secretly pities, since all I have to show for my days are a pile of empty wine and beer bottles and loads of excitement about the 4th, 5th, and 6th Amendments. My life is generally fulfilling to me, except for moments like this one, when I am suddenly seized by the fear that OH MY GOD THIS IS ALL WRONG.

Thanks, New York Times, for ruining This Single Girl's Sunday.

ATTN: DEFENSE BAR

Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court rules that defense attorneys must turn over cross-examination material of prosecution witnesses before trial.

 

gasp.

 

I want to hear what the criminal defense community has to say about this. 

 

Here is the link to the decision.

reminder

Today I changed the name of a suitor from "Mike Cell" and "Mike Home" to "Disappoints Cell" and "Disappoints Home" just to remind me not to get excited when he calls, because he has consistently disappointed me.

on being an attorney: the inexplicable

I found out today that one of my clients killed himself.

For all the crying I've done at work, I didn't cry today. It helped having a social worker break the news to me. I didn't cry, but it took me a few seconds to realize what she said. I've been thinking about it all day. I didn't have a lot of contact with this client, but I had engaged with several other advocates on his behalf and it was looking like we were going to get an ideal disposition.

It made me realize that sometimes I have very little contact with my clients, and frequently I have no idea what is going on with them between court dates, especially if they're not incarcerated. Even though I'm working hard on their case, and I might be making a lot of progress in a legal sense, I could actually go through a few court dates without knowing that something had happened to them.

This client would have been memorable to me regardless of the news I received today. I clearly remember the first appearance, and how plaintive and sympathetic he was, what a kind and gentle manner he had about him, and I was ENRAGED by how unreasonable the DAs were being - which is why the case wasn't resolved quickly even though it should have been.

Maybe I should have let him know how much progress we had made on the case. Maybe it would have been news that was good enough to get him through.

I've been here four months, and I've already had an interlocutory appeal, a potentially incompetent client, several clients who have made the front page of the newspaper, and now this. It feels to me like I could easily get enough experience in a year to fill a textbook.

Dear DA:

saying "I feel bad about this" doesn't change the fact that you did, actually, ask for my client to be put in jail and that my client will, actually, rot there until the next court date.

Thanks so much! Bye now.

- Woman

on being an attorney: a moment of silence

It's 4:55 p.m.  The office is quiet.  I can see the top of my desk for the first time in two weeks.  Client files are tucked neatly away in alphabetical order in the filing cabinet.  Pens and paper are restocked.  Trash is gone.  Items belonging to others have been returned.  My "to-do" list has been composed.  All phone calls, faxes, and letters have been returned / made / sent.  My three-legged desk clock has reclaimed its rightful regal place on my desk. 

 

Ahhhhh.

 

A while back I took on a case that went bad.  It went bad right from the start.  I filed a writ of habeas corpus almost immediately.  In the meantime, the DA made a terrible offer.  I haughtily rejected it, because I was sure to win the habeas - the bail was absolutely illegal.  I lost the habeas.  At this point, a client who certainly should not have been in jail was in jail, and had been for some time, and was angry with me.  The family called me daily.  I was wracked with guilt.  I cried for days.  I spent an entire weekend moping, unable to get off the couch.  I couldn't shake the case.  Finally today we got a resolution, an ideal resolution given the circumstances.  The family was happy, the client was happy.  I was relieved.

 

I was also working on a felony trial with another attorney.  It's a bench trial and it's going oddly piecemeal - one witness here, one witness there.  I had picked up a whole slew of cases all at once, and then I needed to find other people to cover them for me while I was at this trial.  

 

A few cases that should have been resolved haven't been, and so I'm scrambling to file motions.

 

One of my clients is almost certainly incompetent to stand trial.  

 

There just haven't been enough hours in the day recently, and I've been scrambling from moment to moment, digging things out of piles on my desk, fruitlessly rearranging piles, forgetting to return calls as soon as I promise to do so.  I even fell behind on my compulsive list-making. 

 

Currently I am being stood up by a complaining witness.  I even had someone else stay late to stay with me for the meeting.  Ah well.  I spent a wonderful afternoon making a list, clearing my desk, clearing the floor around my desk, and most importantly, clearing my head. 

keepin' the little guy down.

Debt to Society is Least of Costs for Ex-Convicts

 

This BURNS ME UP.  It is INCONCEIVABLE to me that courts actually charge people for the pleasure of being arrested, dragged into court, and resolving the case.  I've met Mr. Rideau and his story is just heart-wrenching.  My clients, too, are often fined 'surcharges' and 'fees' for the pleasure of their involuntary involvement in the criminal system, and it's almost always a problem, particularly the court-ordered programs, which run in the thousands of dollars.  "Despise" isn't a strong enough word to describe how I feel about this setup.

Two highlights of my day

Scene 1: Public Transportation
Three young men board. One sits in the empty seat next to me (Red) and two (Mutt and Jeff) sit in the seats across. The conversation goes like this.
Mutt: spanish spanish spanish spanish snitch.
Jeff: spanish spanish spanish snitch?
Mutt: Nawwww man. A subpoena ain't snitchin.' That's different, man. That's a subpoena.
Jeff: How come?
Red: He told the cops he was inside when it went down, but he told D's sister that he was there and saw it happened.
Jeff: Awww, I see.
Mutt: Man, that's why you can't tell women anything.
Red: Oooooh, I sure do love the ladies.
Mutt: Man, I ain't never told the truth to women. I was never once honest with my last girlfriend.
Jeff: You were cheatin' on her all the time.
Mutt: Man, you really can't tell girls anything.
Mutt sees me smirking at him. He nods his head in my direction and blows a kiss to me.
Red, to me: Man, this guy right here. Something else.
They get up to leave.
Mutt: I got back spasms or somethin.' I gotta go home and take some Excedrin.

Scene 2:
Ridiculously difficult day at work, everything was a struggle. With the judge, the DAs, my clients, everything. Back to the office for lunch before running back over to continue battling. Found a box of Girl Scout Thin Mints waiting for me on my desk.
Cue Heaven music and lighting.

Welfare Agencies seek foster children's assets. 

V-Day commentary

Seems that people are commenting on their Valentine's Day around the blogosphere. I worked late. The work had to be done and I volunteered because I had no other plans and I like making myself look like a martyr. When I told people that I was working, everyone said, "Awwww, that's sad," which would have accomplished the martyrdom I was seeking, but it actually just bugged me. I wasn't bothered by the fact that I was working, I wasn't bothered by the fact that I was single; it just didn't matter to me.

Turns out, I had received phone calls from two dates that night. I've seen one guy a few times; the other one I was making plans to go on a date with. I didn't want to speak with either of them, really... there's something awkward about talking to someone you're dating casually on a holiday that celebrates commitment and love. I was working, so I made my future plans with each of them and left it at that. My mom also called. She's great.

So yeah, I'm doing some dating. Nothing particularly fascinating about it - it's not heart-stoppingly dreamy or cringe-worthy horrid. Which is too bad.

watch what you email!

Testy emails between an attorney and a new graduate. 

 

I'm not even sure where to begin with Abdala.  I can't believe this self-professed 'trust fund baby' accustomed to 'the finer things in life' will also be representing indigent defendants. 

update!

Blogging is difficult now that I have a job and can't blog when so inspired. And, I've been crazy busy.

I've been having a great time in my personal life. I've spent the past two weekends living in the city's nightlife, out until the wee hours of the morning. I had the opportunity to spend a lot of time with people I haven't seen in a while, but love and adore with all my heart. I am also broke now. I take pictures with my digital camera all the time, as I now fancy myself to be an amateur photographer.

Work has been interesting. I've stopped trying to plan my days in advance. I've accepted the reality of PD work - the days take on a life of their own. There is no such thing as planning or scheduling. Which means that I either have to be mentally prepared for everything in the morning, or deal with not being mentally prepared. Still working on that one.

I'm currently working on a felony trial with another attorney. I spent two days running on adrenaline because the DAs were making impractical offers on cases that should be easily resolved. Anger is my fuel.

'gotta be handy with the steel, if you know what I mean'

What do you think the bar association's / ethics & character committee's policy is on dating drug dealers?

He assured me he already had an attorney. He told me he was kidding. I should have asked if he owned a gun, but it seemed inappropriate.

I saw my first pimp today. Whoot.

dating misadventures

I went on a date a while back with a guy that I met at a bar. I met him on the last night that I ever let Mr. Wrong crush my ego. I was so drunk and so crushed that I cried in the bathroom of a restaurant while my friends were sipping at their drinks. I wholeheartedly sobbed, reeling from the harsh words that had been directed towards me, and flailed about in my fear that I had deceived myself into thinking that someone would actually be interested in me.

Needless to say, I was vulnerable. Some guy at the bar started chatting with me, telling me I was beautiful, asked me out to dinner, and I might even have drunkenly made out with him in the middle of the bar. After subsequent phone conversations, we made plans for dinner the following weekend. I was excited to have a bona fide date - a date for which I needed to preen.

As for the date: Originally he was going to pick me up from my place, but then thought it would be better if I took public transportation. I took a bus quite a ways out, and he picked me up at the bus station. He honked the horn when he pulled up to the bus station. I climbed into car, and as with most of my romantic encounters, felt a wave of regret.

We arrived at the restaurant at the geriatric meal time of 5:45 p.m. The restaurant was in the suburbs of the city and I thought I had walked onto the set of an 80s hair band video. We sat down to eat and ordered wine. I love red wine and felt a little thrill when he ordered the zinfandel. Such a delicious red wine, California zinfandel. Except the wine that came out was bright pink. I've had my fair share of white zin in my life, and I'm not an elitist, so I sipped at my white zin.

"Do you like your wine?" he asks.
"Yeah, it's nice," I say lamely.
He sipped at it, making small smacking noises with his mouth. "Tastes like Beringer's. Kinda dry. Sutter Home is sweeter."

I was speechless. It's one thing to be unpretentious about wine, it's quite another to pretend to be a wine aficionado and say the equivalent of, 'Well, I can tell that it comes from a bottle and not a box.'

I try to get through dinner but I had long decided that this would not happen again. It was painful. We tried several attempts at conversation, but I found themto be unsuccessful. For instance, he unveiled his brilliant theory that NONE of us are actually American, because we're not Cherokee, or Navajo and they're the only REAL Americans, the rest of us are from somewhere else. "So none of us are actually American," he concluded, citing several TV shows he'd watched on the subject. Then he ended triumphantly: "See? I didn't need to go to college to be smart."

At the end of dinner he suggested we go to a bar for a drink. I agreed, hoping that at least I'd be out in the city somewhere where other people would be, and maybe there'd be a good band or a pool table or SOMETHING to make the night better. Where does he tell me he's taking me?

Oh yeah.

At this point I decide I need to reel him in. I told him that I was new to the city, and that I could go to an Applebee's ANYWHERE. I wanted to go to cool neighborhood, IN the city, somewhere we could sit down and chill out, like a neighborhood bar. He looked at me nervously as I was saying this, dumbfounded, and then finally stuttered, "Well, we can just, you know, TRY it, and if you don't like it we can go somewhere else." He could not comprehend why I'd object to Applebee's for an after-dinner drink. At 7 pm on a Saturday night.

So I went. And I was home and in bed, gratefully all alone, by 9 pm.

And that was the last time I went on a date.

so he drank like a river when the wedding bells rang

Work is going well for me, I'm keeping busy and doing all sorts of fun cases. Mostly drunk driving. Drunk driving cases go like this:

Client: "Yeah, I had a few beers, but I wasn't drunk."
Defense attorney: "The problem is, you blew a .18."
Client: "But I was fine to drive."
Defense attorney: "I know you were. But it's illegal to drive if you're over the legal limit, whether or not you were 'drunk.'"
Client: "But I wasn't drunk!"
Defense attorney: "The open beer the cops found in your car doesn't help either."

Lather, rinse, repeat. For additional shine, add any one of the following: hitting a parked car and claiming it pulled out in front of you, hitting a pedestrian (allegedly), insist that you were just going to drive the two blocks back to your house, insist that the beer bottle was not full of beer but rather you took the bottle out of the bar with you so you could pee in it later, and insist that the police test the aforementioned 'beer' to see if it was urine.

You can't make this shit up.

Also, another fun part of drunk driving cases is that the police will arrest people for driving while intoxicated. The arrestee then blows way below the limit, but instead gets charged with driving under the influence. Moral of the story: Don't drive drunk and don't drive sober.

and I don't mean guns or towels

I recently covered a case for another attorney. When I looked at the file, I realized that I had actually covered the case on the last appearance as well. On the last appearance, in which he had been released from jail after clearing up some procedural things, he thanked me extensively. I told him that really I hadn't done anything, that it was virtually predetermined that he would walk out that day anyway, and that all I did was get up and smile for the judge. To which he responded, "And that's a very pretty smile, because I'm gettin' out."

After the second time I covered his case, he took me aside and asked if I'd come back again for the next court date. He wanted me to represent him from that time on, but that he would understand if I couldn't. I said thanks, but this is another attorney's case, so he'll continue representation. "I like your style," the client said.

I told the attorney this story later. "Your client asked me to come to court on his next appearance."
He said sharply, "No. I'm his attorney, I will handle his case."
"Yeah, I know. That's what I told him. Don't worry - I'm pretty sure that when he said he liked my style, he really meant that he liked my rack."

not funny.

Coulter jokes about killing John Paul Stevens. 

 

Yeah, that's a real knee-slapper.  Ha.  Don't try a comedy tour. 

 

I seem to remember reading something that said Stevens was actually a conservative appointee and that he, at least at the time of his appointment, was a Republican.  I think the same article argued that his opinions had not changed over the years but rather the court shifted so far right that he's now on the left. 

so tired cannot be coherent

Scorpions can survive almost 15 months in plaster? Yuck. I like these types of internet stories. Like the one from earlier in the week about the US Navy capturing a pirate ship. Arrrrrrrgh matey. From this same part of my brain / heart, I love Magic Cookie's new template. Roawrr.

A while back I saw a friend who reminded me that the last time I saw him, I made out with his little brother. He told me that his little bro had been digging me all night, which flattered me because when was the last time anyone 'dug me'? He then went on to say that his little brother asked him at one point, "Is WomanoftheLaw crazy, or just really fun?" And he told him that I was just really fun. I was flattered to think that so many people thought I was such a bundle full of fun! And then a few days later I realized that when this can be confused for crazy, maybe it's not such a good thing.

Along the "is she fun or just fucking crazy?" line of thought, I had an hour to kill last night and didn't want to stay at work but didn't want to go all the way home either. I grabbed a bite to eat and started sending random text messages for company. Although I swore I would not email him until he emailed me, I sent him a text message. "Tell me a joke. To be fair, I'll go first." I typed out a cheezy second-grader joke and sent it to him. If he texted me back with something like, "I don't know any jokes" or "Huh?" it would be a deal-breaker. Also, the respondent joke itself could indicate whether this man is worthy of my crush.

He sent me back 4 text messages. The first one was the joke. The second one: "Wait for it..." The third one was the punch line. It was precisely as stupid and cheezy and second-grade as the joke I had sent him. Other friends to whom I made the same demand didn't even come close. The fourth text sealed the deal for me, it left me in a fit of giggles. "Ha!" it said. He laughed at his own joke. Via text message. If that doesn't mean that this is the man who should marry me, well then, you're dead to me.

Work has been overwhelmingly crazy this week and I have to work late tomorrow and I'm exhausted and coming down with a violent illness and would most definitely like to adopt a new tagline on my blog: "Would rather be sleeping."

here, have a few links

Theo returns as Red Sox GM.  Oh thank heavens.  The Sox have bungled enough contracts in Theo's absence, please Theo, make it stop!

 

Interesting NY Times article about an excellent teacher at Riker's Island who apparently has been temporarily suspended for political bureaucratic reasons.  Some teachers sleep with their students - this one helps them get GEDs and college courses.  And this is his thanks.  I think I would like to teach in a juvenile facility as my next career.  If they try to fire me, I'll know that I'm being successful.

 

Sentence in death of Iraqi angers son - Speaking by telephone from Iraq, Mowhoush, 18, decried the military jury's sentencing this week of Chief Warrant Officer Lewis E. Welshofer Jr. He emotionally recounted his own arrest and seeing his father shortly before he died in an interrogation room in northern Iraq.

 

Slate article from a few days back:  Can someone else pay your taxes?  Sure, if you pay taxes on the taxes.  That was one of the lessons I took away from my federal income tax class in law school.  The federal tax code is really somethin' else, man.  I wasn't particularly psyched about the class on a day to day basis, but it was interesting to learn about something that affects my paycheck every other week.

 

 

on being a new attorney: hidden insecurities

I'm afraid that I suck.

Law school has done very little to prepare me for the practice of law. I went to a very good law school, I can recite criminal procedure jurisprudence on command, I read Supreme Court cases for fun (even the non-criminal ones, just so I can 'stay fresh' on things like federal jurisdiction and civil procedure). And yet, none of those things did one lick of good to prepare me for what I do day to day. I'm not sure that it should, necessarily - I think the only way to figure out how to work in the court is to actually work in the court - but I spend so much of my time trying to figure out what is happening and trying not to fuck it up that I'm just spent. I can't even hide in my office anymore because people keep finding me.

One day, after a previous long hard tiring day at work, I had to cover a case I knew nothing about in a courtroom I knew nothing about (it was just a silly administrative matter, really) and the judge just made me feel like an ass. The outcome was what I needed, but nevertheless, I walked out the courthouse doors sniffling and just decided to take a walk and cry, cry, cry. The most privacy I'm able to get these days is on the sidewalk in front of court. How sad. I finally walked to some cracked fountain where homeless people drink out of paper bags (there were some bottles lying about) that overlooks a small teeny triangle of grass and the highway. I cried for about 30 minutes and it felt so good. I cried because I feel so incompetent, I feel like people must think I'm such an idiot, I have no idea what's going on half the time and it is so tiring to be fumbling around every minute of my day. Sometimes I miss being able to know what I need to know - being able to look it up in a book, or debate an issue 'in theory' without anyone having to serve more jail time or lose their kids or be deported for it. Things happen so quickly, snap judgments need to be made, and then I always wonder if there's something else I should have done.

I hate that law feels so, I don't know, alpha male. The guys just act like they don't need the help, that they don't want anyone else helping them figure things out, they'll do it as they go. It's been frustrating, because it makes me feel like my anxiety is a personal flaw - that if I can't do this without getting so worked up or getting 4 people's opinions on it, if I feel like such an ass all the time, then it must be because I'm not a good attorney.

Then, as I was saying farewell to a court interpreter with whom I had not worked before, I heard the words I needed to hear.
"Are you new or did you transfer from somewhere else?" she asked.
"Oh no, I'm new. Just here a few months now."
"Really? I wouldn't have guessed it. I thought for sure you had worked somewhere else before. You're very good. You speak very confidently, and you really seem to know what you're doing."

I melted. I couldn't help but collapse in a heap of overwhelmed gratitude. It had been a long day, and I felt like it had been a good day, but it was so nice to hear someone tell me that I had done a good job.

zealous vs fruitless vs useless advocacy

If your client does not appear for a court date and you don't have a good explanation, i.e., funeral / hospital / in jail, do you argue to stay a bench warrant?

 

In my mind, that seemed to be part of this job.  At least sometimes, there's an argument like, "My client has made all other scheduled appearances" or "My client just told me yesterday that she'd be here, it's possible that there was a last minute transportation / childcare / health problem and she's already left me a message, can you stay the warrant?" 

 

Because most of the attorneys in my office have so many years of experience, they've all developed their own work habits.  This is one of those habits - unless they have heard a good reason from their client, they don't argue to stay a warrant.  They also get annoyed when I choose to do things that they do not include in their routines.  I don't think they realize that when I choose to do something that may be fruitless but hey, why not try, they get snippy with questions like, "Why bother?  What's the point?"  It's true - most of what I do in court is a foregone conclusion.  But don't beat me down for trying.  I don't see what the problem is with just trying.  In some cases, I have no good argument - the client has every reason to flee the jurisdiction or not show up - and I don't try to argue against those.  I can't try and vouch for every client because then I lose my credibility before the court.  That's what attorneys say when they tell me not to argue at all.  But I don't think that's necessarily the case.  I don't think this is useless advocacy.  I don't think I need a foolproof reason to argue against issuance of a bench warrant.  Let me wear down on my own time - if I find that sort of practice habit doesn't work for me, let me eliminate it myself. 

 

How does arguing against a bench warrant differ from, say, filing a suppression motion?  You know that you will probably lose, but that doesn't stop you from making the argument.  And you never know, you might get a judge feeling particularly law-like that day, and just maybe they'll see your argument and just might agree with you.  It's not useless to file suppression motions - although it may be fruitless. 

 

For practitioners, students, observers, and citizens out there:  What do you think?  If you were sitting in the audience watching a courtroom or if you were a client or if this were your case, what would you say?  Do you try to argue against a warrant being issued for the client's arrest, or do you just chill until they're hauled back into court?  Does it matter whether you think the client will get thrown in on bail when they're brought before the court?

file under: lines I will use daily, henceforth

An argument developed between two females on the street. As the argument escalated, one girl turned to her friend and said, "Bitch, hold my hoops" and handed over her considerably large hoop earrings.

Bitch, hold my hoops.

Hysterical.

random stuff

I decided not to email him at all. I waited the standard 2 day period, but by that point, I had finally come to terms with the truth: he is not interested in dating me, and I don't want to convince him otherwise. Additionally, my free time between now and the end of Feb has filled up quickly, so I don't have the time to email him or the time to go to this function. That's that. He'll call or email if he wants to talk.

Sometimes I can't believe that I'm really an attorney. Today I felt like a real attorney. Despite the fact that I was not in my office this morning, the supervisor found me AGAIN. I think this is day 10. He's like a heat-seeking missile. And then he said, "Are you avoiding me?" which made me smirk. I actually had been running around on a case this morning that ANOTHER supervisor, out of the office at that time, called me on to cover. So now I have two supervisors who seem to have identified me as a good little worker monkey. Anyway, today ended up being busy, in a good way. I felt like a real attorney.

This week, I have broken my office coffeepot and a beautiful ornate desktop clock that I got as a gift for leaving my social work job. I have horrid peripheral vision - it's not a vision problem, but rather a perception problem. My brain doesn't really seem to care about what's going on in the three feet of space around me. Thus, I often kick, elbow, hit, and bump things and people. Sadly I had two casualties this week. Three if you count that cute thing with hinges that sits on my desk and no longer quite closes all the way after a nasty tumble.

I've recently had people inquire about my dating experiences. I think I'm an excellent storyteller. I think I'm pretty amusing, I get pretty dramatic, and I know which details to highlight. (I'm not sure how funny these dating stories would be if I wrote them out for you. But I promise I will try.) On each of the occasions when I've recounted an example of a recent unsuccessful date, I've done so without the storytelling effects. No drama. No slant. A mere objective recountenance. And yet, each time I've given the straightforward example with no entertainment intentions, my audience was rolling with laughter. That, my friends, is a sad state of affairs.

calls for VT judge to resign

A judge in VT is experiencing some public outcry over his 60 day sentence for sex abuse that occurred over the course of 4 years.

"The solution to these concerns requires quick and effective treatment," the judge wrote. He also noted that Hulett tested at a borderline intelligence level, has the emotional maturity of a 12- to 14-year-old and did not understand why others were so upset by his actions.

Republican Gov. James Douglas said Thursday the judge should consider resigning. He condemned the 60-day sentence as insensitive to the victim and her family.

"When a grown man rapes a small child, justice is only served when the criminal is behind bars — for a long time — paying for his inexcusable crime," the governor said.

on being an attorney: why you should be a solo practitioner

I am in the process of applying for a loan repayment grant.  The grant requires a letter from my employer verifying my job description (to make sure it is indeed a legal, public interest job), my starting date, and my salary.  I asked my supervisor, he said to ask the head office administrator.  I asked the head office administrator, she told me to call a woman in HR.  I called and emailed the woman in HR, she's been out sick.  I call another HR number.  Finally someone calls me back and I tell them what I need.  He tells me that they need something in writing to release my start date and salary.  To release this letter to me, you need my written permission, I ask?  Yes, he says.  Also, the job description is a problem.  He needs to call me back.  I come back to my office at the end of the day and find a message telling me that they don't need my written permission (I had already given it to him) and will give me a letter with my salary and start date but that they cannot give me a job description.  I need to get that from my supervisor or office administrator. 

 

So the only thing standing in the way of me getting this loan repayment grant is the crap paying job I took that qualifies me for said grant in the first place.  

on being a new attorney: should I really be allowed to do this?

Gosh I'm tired. Someone must have sent out a memo indicating my boredom, because it came in from all sides today. Suddenly I'm the most popular worker monkey. "Do you want to help me on this?" "Want to work on this trial with me?" "Can you cover this case for me?" "Can you cover this case for me?" "Can you cover this case for me?"

Resolution: Not to be seen in my own office anymore. Ever.

The supervisor makes the rounds and I don't know where he's coming from, but somehow I'm always in his direct line of vision or the first attorney he sees. I need to get better at ducking him. Today, he asked me to do something really cool, so naturally I assumed another attorney would be helping me with it. That was not the case. Also, it did not take just a few minutes. It lasted about 5 hours past the end of my workday. Thanks boss! Let me stop. It doesn't bother me that he asks, because let's be honest, if anyone should be doing more work, it should be me, the one doing not much of anything. I'm happy to do it.

However, is it really a good idea that no one else is here to let me know whether I'm fucking this up? No seriously. You're going to let me do this? I've never even had a trial, shouldn't this be going to someone who has done a trial before? Because I don't even know all the possible ways that I could fuck this up. Do you realize that a citizen's liberty is on the line here? Maybe our clients are onto something when they ask for a real lawyer.

The worst part of all of this is not the apprehension or anxiety or looking like a fool. I'm getting past that. I learn a lot more and get much more done if I embrace and announce my ignorance. I'm lucky that there are plenty of people - court officers, attorneys, judges, cops - who are willing to work with me when I smile sweetly and exclaim, "Why, I do declare, my pretty little head wouldn't know a thing about that!" Ok, I don't really say that, but the sweeter and more helpless I look, the better outcome I get. Ignorance really is bliss, for now anyway.

The worst part is how I feel afterwards. I'm always convinced that there's something I did wrong. I probably should have done something else. I probably fucked up something royally. What did I miss? What was I supposed to do? It's so hard to shake that feeling. In most cases, there is probably something I could have done differently, but that doesn't necessarily make it wrong. And inevitably I could have done something wrong, but that doesn't make it fatal or irreversible. And if I did something wrong and fatal and irreversible, well then I shouldn't have been sent to do it in the first place.

It takes me a long time to shake off that feeling. Every day I go to court, every time I have a particular assignment, every time I'm doing something that is real lawyer work, I have at least a solid hour of dread afterwards. I'm always waiting for someone to tell me how much I suck or fucked up. It hasn't happened yet, and I know that I'm more competent than I feel, but I can't stop panicking after everything I do. It's a sucky way to get through a week. Thank the sweet Higher Power for cabernet and Oreos.

only funny to me.

This headline cracks me up: Israel suspends contact with Pat Robertson.

It makes Pat Robertson sound like a country. Or Israel like a girlfriend.

I: Why you gotta be callin' here all the time?
PR: I done told you I already sent the baby's check. Imma mess you up next time I see you.
I: This is SO OVER.

Is there a restraining order?

EDIT: Pat Robertson apologizes to Israel. Or, "Baby, come back. I promise it'll be better this time, boo."

how can I tell if I'm That Girl?

I'm panicked because I just had one of those terrible realizations that I might be one of those people that he's nice to, just because he's so nice. He's the one that is nice to the most incredibly annoying people I know, people that I tolerate on occasion and consider myself a saint for doing so. He's nice to them and will never say a bad word about them. I don't like to speak badly of other people, but when they're objectively annoying, it's not being mean. It's just the truth.

He emailed me, after not responding to several emails and text messages. It was a cordial email. He's willing to go to this other thing I want to go to. But holyfuckinglord, maybe he's just trying to be nice. He didn't seem excited about it in the email. I think it might be true. Can it possibly be true that this whole time I've just been the charitable acquaintance? No. It hasn't always been like this. Just since that lunch in October. Before that, I thought there was a shot. Now... now I'm just sad, and tired. Why am I wasting so much time and energy, when I keep swearing that I'll stop? I need to stop.

But I do need to email him back tomorrow...

but how am I supposed to tell if I'm That Girl? I told him last time, if he can't make it, I can find someone else. He seemed hurt when I insinuated that last time, but when I said it he finally committed. That wasn't my intention - I just wanted to go to the comedy show, and wanted to make sure I could find someone to go, and if not him, then I needed to know enough in advance to find someone else. What do I say this time? "Hey, I realized that you're super nice to XYZ even though you don't seem genuinely stoked to hang out with XYZ, so I just want to put out there - don't come if I'm XYZ. I can find someone else." That's what I want to say. I also want to say, "Hey. I like you a lot. And if you aren't thinking about me in a way that makes you determined to kiss me softly on the lips at the end of the evening the next time we see each other, then don't come. I can find someone else."

That's probably not true either though.

Fuck.

today's news

Baltimore's finest - busted for drugs, porn, rape

 

Five teens freed after DA drops rape charges 

Graham's lawyer, James Corbo, contrasted what happened to his client to the fate of five former Milton Academy students accused of statutory rape after an oral sex session with a 15-year-old sophomore girl in a school locker room about two months after the Bromley-Heath incident.

In a deal with prosecutors that could spare them any jail time and clear their records, the Milton Academy teens agreed last June to undergo counseling, complete community service, and serve at least two years of probation.

''The difference is that in Milton the students walked into the court with their ties on and got probation," Corbo said. ''And these five African-American kids sat in custody for 13 months on extremely high bails."

Supreme Court to hear DNA death row case

Alito is no Roberts - Dahlia Lithwick

customer service my ass

I had to call a financial services company to look into organizing my retirement accounts.  I was given a toll free number to call, so I called it.  I don't currently have an account with this particular company, but since I know people who work for the company, I figured why not them?  When I called the toll free number, it prompted me for my social, to access my account.  Knowing very well that I don't have an account, I dialed 0#.  It told me that it didn't recognize it, then lectured me on why it was important to punch in my number so a rep could better assist me.  After trying to make the lecture end (unsuccessfully) I finally just punched in my number, then #.  Then it told me it didn't recognize my number, so I tried again.  It still didn't recognize my number, and refused to acknowledge anything else I tried to press or yell into the phone.  I was perplexed.  How can I call them to open an account if I need an account to call them?  So I found another phone number on the website and called that, then had to wait FOREVER to be transferred.  The wait itself didn't bother me, but then when I was advised 1. by the person who did answer and 2. the person to whom I was transferred to call THAT 1(800) number from now on, I told them what I did and how I tried. 

 

WOTL:  So if I have questions about this paperwork, which number do I call then?

Rep:  Call [number].

WOTL:  I tried that earlier, and it asked for my social, and then didn't recognize it, because I don't have an account.

Rep:  Ohhhh, ok.  Well yeah, go ahead and dial 0#.

WOTL:  I tried that too.  It still wouldn't let me talk to a person.  Then it lectured me.

Rep:  Yeahhhhhhh, well, you can go ahead and call that number again, and just keep trying until you get through.

WOTL:  Yeah, but I tried calling, it wouldn't let me talk to someone, and I don't have a number that will get the machine to give me a person!

Rep:  Yes, well, you can just keep trying to call that number, and keep trying until you talk to someone.  Just go ahead and dial 0#.

WOTL:  !!!!!!!

 

Let me get this straight - you're telling me to just sit here and punch numbers into a phone while the automated voice admonishes me about the importance of putting in the right number so it can pull up my account to better assist me?  And just keep doing that?  Over and over?  And this will solve my problem HOW?

resolve

It seems that I'm not the only one harboring this unhappy feeling of despair. You all had some nice emails and comments to share. I've also had friends disclose the same feelings to me, without me even mentioning how I was feeling. It took me by surprise how many other people felt this way. Sorry kids - but it makes me feel a lot better. Misery loves company!

I had another unfulfilling day today and then came home to find a bad letter from one of my lenders. A letter that gave me some cryptic form-letter reason that my loan was not locked into the 2.77% rate and that instead I'd have to reapply at the %4.7 rate. So, like any reasonable woman with a sad life and an overdrawn checking account until the next paycheck would do, I started sniffling and tearing up at the idea that I'd be bent over for EVEN MORE INTEREST to repay, therefore cementing my belief that my diplomas will heretofore be hung on the side of the shopping cart out of which I will be living.

Several things then occurred that actually made my day better than when it started. The first two things were the customer service reps at two respective lenders. They were actually so nice, and so insistent on finding the right answer for me, and were so kind and patient, that I have no choice but to send gushing letters to their respective bosses. They were the nicest people I've spoken to all day. [refer above to 'sad life.'] The third thing that happened to me, that led me here to eat treats and drink tea and curl up on the couch with the laptop while I shriek happily and unabashedly along with Kelly Clarkson (that's right! I said UNABASHEDLY and KELLY CLARKSON) is that I received a genuinely funny email from a fellow blogger that made me genuinely laugh, and for the entire past 30 minutes, I have been in a genuinely good mood. That's something notable.

This was going to be a post about resolutions, but I'm not ready to do those yet. I know what they are (they're the same as last year's for the most part), and when I share them, like I said to NotGuilty and Sanchovilla, I expect you'll help keep me to them. Mmmmmk?

unplugged

This article on Slate discusses why it's both economic and compassionate to pull the plug on a ventilator because the dying patient couldn't pay her medical bills.  It's an odd thing to think about, and I get angry sometimes when I read articles defending otherwise very sad and disheartening commentaries on the state of the world by using an economic analysis.  It's sad enough to think about people losing their homes or their children because they can't afford to make ends meet.  But to think that people are too poor to stay alive - and that decisions are made like that - stuns me.  What angers me most is the juxtaposition with the Schiavo case.  The state and federal government were trying to COMPEL a woman in Florida to stay alive against what it appeared her wishes were - all while permitting the death of a woman in Texas because she was poor.  Shocking.