Monday, August 31, 2009

New York-y

Only in New York will you see a Mini Cooper limo. A PINK Mini Cooper limo.

And we've all lost socks in the dryer, but who has ever seen a flyer for one?

Only in NYC.

(Ok, it is ultimately an ad for a new store, but pretty clever, no?)


Lately I've had my air conditioner (a window unit that was a housewarming gift from my friend S) on all the time and the windows closed to shut out the heat and humidity. It sort of makes me feel isolated, because I can't hear the city. No voices or music or laughter. But the weather has cooled down considerably, at least for now, and it is feeling very fall-like. So I turned off the AC and the fans and opened all the windows last night. And I remembered what I've been missing: the drunken yelling, the honking, the sirens.

Ah, New York.

Monday, August 17, 2009

In which (insert something witty about decorating here)


Ugh. That was pretty sad. And uncomfortable. But, we do what we have to until we can do better, right?


Definitely better, especially the bed. But it's not done yet. This photo is my inspiration:

And it also happens to be the view outside my window.

I was thinking maybe a couple of these on the walls. Would zebra print throw pillows be too much? What should I do about lamps?

Any other ideas on how to bring the outside in?

Monday, August 10, 2009

...and STAY out!

I've mentioned that I have a new position at my job. The first week was pretty dramatic - lots of rushing around, staying really late and running (literally running) to court to file stuff. You understand, as I have explained before, I won't really talk about work, as I would prefer to keep my job at this time. So you'll have to be content to know that I deal with things, stuff, items, papers, pleadings, and any other synonyms I can come up with.

Ok, so, I had to go pick up this order that was supposed to be signed when I got there, only it wasn't. I had to walk it to the courtroom and ask the judge to sign it. I freaked out a bit and called the attorney for whom I was working. I had to talk quietly, as I was in the echoing marble hallways of the courthouse.

"I have to take it to the judge," I hissed. "What do I do if he asks me questions?"

"Ok, here's the deal," she began, and proceeded to detail the case to me in case I got questioned about it.

I went over it in my mind, and by the time I got done, I was pounding a lectern like Jimmy Stewart in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Meanwhile, in real life, I dropped off the order with the clerk and was told to come back to pick it up. "The judge has a jury trial," she said, "so come back in about thirty minutes and we'll have it ready for you."

Hmpf. No grandstanding for me. No applause. Just waiting on a bench for a signature. Waiting. And waiting and waiting and waiting. And waiting. For hours, literally, for the lawyers to stop talking so I could get in there and get my signed order.

Finally, I went into the courtroom to wait, thinking that maybe my presence would speed things along. So I sat inside and waited. And waited and waited and waited oh my god with the waiting. The bailiff presented the judge, who looked like he was about 178 years old, with my order and he shrugged it off. He announced he didn't have time to read it as he had plans to go out of town. Out of town! Without signing my order? Nuh-uh.

The bailiff brought the order over to me. "He can't sign it tonight. Sorry. Come back Monday."

"Monday? I can't wait till Monday," I replied. "We requested this be expedited. It really needs to be signed today."


"Listen, I understand the Judge has to go now, but, please, if there is any way he can sign this tonight, I'd really appreciate it. You see, our client-"

"Sorry. The Judge is leaving. You'll have to come back Monday."

"Please. Please. Can you please just ask him if he can just take a few minutes to look it over?" I begged.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." He wouldn't budge.

"But we need to get this signed right away. Our client is trying to -"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. The judge is a busy man, he doesn't have time to read your order. I told you to come back Monday. Now, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the courtroom. Now."

It's not like I got escorted out by my elbows, but there it is. I got thrown out of court.

I'd like to say I left there with a signed order, but I didn't. That stuff only happens on television. We didn't have to wait until Monday, though. I went the next day with some backup (0ne of my bosses) and we got the order signed by another judge. It took a couple of hours and there was some hoop-jumping, but we ultimately got what we needed.

And I got to flirt with the Ex Parte clerk. But that's another story for another day.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

In which I write a post that would be great if you could fry it up and dip it in ranch dressing before stuffing it down your gullet

I had a plan to come home this evening and start writing the story of when I got thrown out of court, but note the time, please.  I just got home from work about an hour ago.  

I'm really liking my new position in the litigation department.  I feel like it is a little more intellectually stimulating than what I was doing before, so I'm enjoying it so far.  Of course, I haven't gotten yelled at yet, so we'll see. 

In the meantime, it's a lot of work and it's really cutting in to my sitting around time, so tonight's post will have to be in note form:

  • I had a greek salad for dinner at work tonight.  My breath smells like onions.
  • I traded out my regular deodorant for the aluminum-free kind, but I think I forgot to put it on today.  I kept smelling food all morning, and then around noon I realized that it was my armpits.  They smell like onions.
I have to go to bed now and dream of, you guessed it: onions.