Viva La Colombia

Proof of Life

I am neither dead, nor have been kidnapped by a remote tribe and made their goddess. 

In the past six months (holy shit, it's been a long time!) I have changed jobs twice, visited the ER no less than four times with little boys hellbent on destruction and submitted my bid for president.  Okay, so not so much with the last part, but the other two are accurate.

I promise a more substantial post soon, and my apologies goes out to those of you that still continuing checking up on me.  You deserve better, but I'm glad you stuck with me.  More to come.  Here's my proof of life: 

and here's how I let my kid dress, because I'm that kind of mother:

Something almost as bad as 2ww

Recently, I applied for (yet another) in-house position for a rather large insurance company.  Initially, I went in prepared negotiate a slightly higher salary than my current one.  After all, a little money is nice, but benefits are even better.  In my usual, frenzied fashion, I spent an entire weekend researching in-house salaries, and even went to the trouble of calling of friend who works in human resources to get a primer on proper salary negotiation etiquette.  I was entirely over-prepared, and STILL managed to be caught off-guard.  I am the pillar of professional inefficiency. 

In preparation for the interview, I had even pre-written, canned, clever segue in order to ease the transition into salary negotiation.  People up here *hate* talking about money almost as much as they hate invading one another's personal space, but I suppose that's a topic for another post entirely.   

Imagine my surprise when the first words out of the interviewer's mouth were something like, "well, the salary for this position is $[twice as much money as I make now].  Does that work for you?" 

I managed a little trickle of drool out of my mouth and I think I nodded, but I can't remember, because it's hard for me to add numbers that big without using my fingers.  I would write about how the rest of the interview went, but I can't remember; I was too busy figuring out how much ramen noodles we could buy with the salary increase.

During the second interview yesterday, I learned that on top of the fact that my salary would substantially increase, there are also performance incentives.  In light of those two things, I have managed to convince myself that there is simply no way I will ever, in a million years get this job.  I am way out of my league, here.  The crazy thing is that I would probably really like the job and be a good fit for the department, but I feel like the jacked-up salary has likely attracted some pretty stiff competition. 

Nonetheless, I sit here, staring at my phone, waiting for it to ring of news, either way.  Oh, and the best part?  Adoption benefits!  If I get this job, does anyone out there want to start taking bets on how long it will take us to start on a third adoption?

Everybody's a Kritik

I turned down the in-house job.  At the end of the day, a nominal increase in salary isn't worth the huge risk I would taking by moving.  I'm a true Gen-Xer to the extent that I am willing to take a little less pay in order to have some flexibility with my day.  At the moment, I come and go as I please.  For example, tomorrow, Santa Claus is coming to the boys' daycare and I intend to go (and take my damned sweet time, too); nobody will even question me.  My price on flexibility is, apparently, about $3,000.  Or best offer. 

This weekend the Pulitzer Prize winning (a fact which accompanies so much of the paper's propaganda you'd think "Pulitzer" was actually a part of the name) newspaper of my hometown ran a special series on area artists.  As I was reading the local arts article in an effort to enrich the once-creative, but now barren landscape of my brain which has since been occupied with legal jargon and Westlaw search terms, Nicolas came around my shoulder and asked, "what is THAT?" referring to the blue and white, much-too-vaginal-looking-for-a-Pulitzer-Prize-winning-paper artwork that was screaming at readers from the front page. 

"It's a painting. Do you like it?"

"No.  It's yucky." 

"What don't you like about it?"

"It looks like a blue fire and it's scary. It's very, very ugly." 

And there you have it:  blue paint + yellow paint + Pulizter prize winning newspaper does not equal toddler approval. 

Confessions of a foreign car junkie *now updated*

I have never in my life owned an American car.  I continue to operate under the idea that we should punish American car manufacturers for the junk they labeled as "cars" in the early 80's.  Sometime around 1972, my family went Japanese when the first Datsun sedan rolled off the boat and we never looked back. 

Imagine the irony of this situation, as I had a telephone interview yesterday with a Very Large American Car Manufacturer for an in-house counsel position.  Ahem.  This is me eating Crow. 

The beauty of this potential job is that it is for the electronic car division of Very Large American Car Manufacturer, so not only would I secure a better job, but I will also be working with projects that I can really put my heart into. 

At the moment, I'm a part of the asbestos defense machine, and honestly, it's a little hard to think of yourself as the attorney saving the poor, defenseless corporations from all the money-hungry widows and orphans out there. 

Cross your fingers for me on this one.

Oh, and go over and give some love to my friend, DD, who just received some very good news.  DD, we're very [cautiously] optimistic over here, and I'll keep the beer on ice for later.

*UPDATE:  I forgot to mention above that the interviewer was the father of a Colombian adoptee!  I can't decide if this is good or bad for me.  What do you guys think?

WorldPurks

In light of my recent travel experience, I have learned that certain airlines have substantially altered their rewards programs.  For your convenience, I have taken the liberty of putting them in writing, in case there is any confusion:

(1) Expect numerous and unexplained airport delays; NWA a Certain Unnamed Airline reserves the right to randomly cancel and overbook important business travel flights. Billable hours mean nothing to us. 

(2) If NWA a Certain Unnamed Airline does cancel your flight after making you wait for six hours in an airport lounge, we will kindly book you a room while the hooker is out picking up more tricks in a "hotel."  Shower at your own risk. 

(3) You will receive two (2) meal vouchers, which may or may not be completely useless, because the going rate at the hotel is a bottle of Boone's and a carton of Winstons. 

(4) Luggage?  What luggage?

(5) Remember those cute little kits we used to give out when we lost your luggage so that you would at least have a comb, toothpaste and deoderant?  Well, forget about it.  If you insist on being all uppity about personal hygeine, then maybe you should hang out with the other snobs at the Greyhound station. 

(6)  In exchange for stealing 18 hours of your life, depriving your children of an entire evening, your work of a day's worth of billable hours and introducing you to a real, live crack whore, we are giving you the privilege of flying with us again by presenting you with a $35 coupon* off your next airline ticket purchase. 

*Blackout dates apply, cannot be used for air travel,  ever. 

NWA A Certain Unnamed Airline, I hate you with the firey passion of a thousand burning suns and it will be a cold day in Minnesota when I fly you your friendly skies again. 

You decide

Right now, I'm attending a conference in Detroit, Michigan.  It's a nice town, you should try it sometime.  The disconcerting thing about this conference is that I appear to be the only female . . . it's a little lonely.  Much like the panicky feeling I get when I walk through the baby aisle at Target. 

For the last twenty minutes I've been listening to the four gentlemen next me and playing the crazy mind game, "German, Swedish or Made-up language?"  Why, why can't I tell the difference?  It's like I'm tone deaf when it comes to foreign languages. 

Incidently, aside from not being particularly friendly to the only female conference attendant, they (the four Swedish/German/Norwegian men) are very good looking.  The whole damn lot of them.

Error, Error

The hiring committee from the University called.  Sadly, I did not get the full-time professorship.  Interestingly, the committee chair stated that she personally wanted to contact me before I got the Reject Letter to tell me how impressed the committee was with my credentials. 

Uh, yeah, thanks, I guess. 

The person they hired for the position has 20 years of experience, which was the "deciding factor" in the committee's decision.   To which my mental response was, "but what about all the writing? the Supreme Court Justice's recommendation letter? the Service?  Look at all that volunteering! Woman, do you realize the mistake you're making?!"  Part of me really, really wanted to show her the error of their ways. 

They would like to know if they can keep my resume "on file" for future adjunct openings.  I said, "yes" with all the enthusiasm of an undergraduate after four-hour philosophy final.   

That concludes our broadcast of Erin's Fruitless Job Search.  Inquires welcome.   

Let them eat cake

As a nuisance part of this job, I work every fucking weekend occasionally have to work weekends.  This weekend, I've had to work both days, because I have an Eight Circuit brief due in the oh-too-near future. 

On Friday, our "office manager" (and by "office manager" I mean the senior partner's wife, air quotes intended) finalized her plans for retirement.  As part of the festivities, the office bought her a huge butter cream chocolate cake.  There was a rather large portion of the cake leftover on Friday, so I was quite pleased on Saturday when I was able to enjoy my cakey-goodness alone in my office before delving into hours of blog reading research.  Because, really, who doesn't need to know more about remititur, hmmm? 

The sole motivating factor for me to finish the first draft of this brief by Monday was the fact that I would get to have another piece of cake today.  Imagine my surprise when I walked into the break room this morning to discover that some fat asshole senior partner had beat me to the cake and eaten the last piece. 

It's okay, though.  I got him back real good.  I dug the cake box out of the garbage and licked off the rest of the butter cream frosting off the bottom of the plate.  That'll show him. 

Brought to you by the number "2" and the letter "B"

Recently, I applied for a professorship at a local university.  As of August 21 (One. Month. Ago.) they have been "considering" applications for the position that starts on January 8, 2007.  They've had my application for a whole month. 

Now, I don't claim to be a hiring whiz or anything like that, but don't you think they'd want to get moving?  I mean, come on!  Don't they know I'm the perfect person for this job?  That I would do just about anything to get this job? 

Do you think it would help if I showed them my boobs? 

[tick, tick, tick]

Not so much, then?  You're probably right, no need to whip all my assets out at once, heh?  Gotta save some of that goodness for tenure interviews. 

Technically . . .

. . . I do have a doctorate.  It's just not a PhD.  I tell myself this so that I can pretend that I'm qualified to teach the Ethics class I'm in charge of this semester.  I'm really not fooling anyone. 

For all you academic types out there.  Can you tell me how long your general assistant professor search takes?  I'm obesessing over the hiring timeline for the professor job that I desperately want. 

Overemployed

I wasn't going to write about a new development in my life, because I didn't want to jiinx it.  But.  I'm applying for new job and I am so excited that I'm practically peeing in my pants just thinking aobut it.  I haven't been this excited since they started putting lettuce into bags. 

The job is a position teaching undergraduates in the paralegal program at one of the local universities.  Oh, dear internets, I want this job so bad that I can hardly stand it.  The perks are almost too numerous to list:  Summers off! Health Insurance! Free Spanish classes! Access to the pool! No more billable hours! No more stinky dress code! Summers off! 

This week, I'm meeting with a friend who is also a professor.  He's going to help me work on my CV and letter, so as to maximize my professor-ness to the hiring committee. 

There are some down sides, including the fact that we just moved only a few blocks from my job, which is pretty darn handy.  The new job will require a commute across the river, again.  Did mention I get summers off? 

With that tidbit of info, I leave with the extent of a two-year old's self-awareness:

Nicolas to his Grandpa, "hey, I'm a pretty smart kid." 

I told you so

I never take family law cases.  There is something so calm about being an insurance lawyer.  When you're an insurance lawyer, your cases are about business and not much else.  Once in a while an insured gets hot under the collar, but for the most part my clients are claims adjusters who see me as one more attorney to deal with everyday.  Everything is business as usual.

About one year ago, I agreed to help a friend (pro bono) make a motion to modify her current child support amount, which then turned into a motion to modify custody.  And my world went downhill from there.  I agreed to take the case, because -- well, because I'm stupid.  I thought, "hey, branch out, doing ONE family law case won't hurt you.  How hard could it be?" 

The case has spiraled out of control.  The other lawyer is an ass and refuses to negotiate on anything.  We're staring down the barrell of a hearing in a few days and we're going to lose.  This case is the bane of my existence and the cause of much lost sleep.  My client is understandibly angry and upset.  Now I'm second-guessing every decision in this case.  Despite all the phone calls, research and questions, I can't help but think there must have been something more I could have done. 

Long story short, the next time I feel the need to "branch out" I'll be the one with the hacksaw, trimming the hedges. 

And those are my Famous Last Words. 

Semi-Vege

I have a case right now that is kicking my ass.  Not because it's a particularly difficult case, but because the lawyer on the other side is an ass.  A really big ass.  You might even say he's bully.  A Bully-Ass, if you will.

The problem is that whenever I am forced to deal with him at depositions or hearings or even just a simple telephone call, I'm spent afterward.  It's as if I use all my intellectual and emotional energy just to deal with the Bully-Ass and his loser clients.

Today, we had a deposition.  The sad, sad truth of it all is that what I'd really like to do right now is go home, shut all the curtains and curl up on the couch with the remote.  I'm a wholly pathetic lawyer when it comes to Bully-Asses.  I'm terrible with bullies, in general.  I find them loathesome and boring. 

How do you deal with Bully-Asses?  I need some advice, girlfriends. 

Is it bad --

that when my boss threw another one of those hey-could-you-do-this-for-me-real-quick-before-you-leave assignments on my desk this morning, I said, "you know, if I were going to drop this kid out of my hoo-ha in five days, you wouldn't be doing this."

???

Be careful what you wish for

Remember my big trial?  The one over which I lost oodles of sleep and became a raving lunatic for a few weeks?  Well, I won.  It actually wasn't a big trial.  It was an itty-bitty trial in which two insurance companies were fighting over money.  My insurance company won.  [Snicker, snicker.]

This was a good win for me, because I prevailed over a much better and more experienced attorney.  I suspect he's a tad bit peeved at me.  Word on the street is that he's appealing the decision.  What a meanie.  He's going to make me bitch-slap him again. 

When I started practicing, my big dream was to be an appellate lawyer.  I wanted to write briefs and argue cases.  No clients, no annoying 10pm phone calls, no muss.  Just good ol' fashioned litigating.  With this case on appeal, that will make it four cases on appeal in just under four months.  This is some stressful shit. 

If I didn't love it so much, I wonder if it were worth it. 

Please do not Legislate my Cha Cha

First, a big shout out to A New American Family for this link. 

Ostensibly, the net effect of this bill will prevent single mothers from assisted reproduction, which in and of itself is enough to REALLY piss me off.  The other net effect of the bill is that it would prevent gay and lesbian couples from pursuing families through reproductive technologies, which in and of itself is another reason to REALLY piss me off.  Because, apparently, the Republicans have decided only one man and one woman have enough brains between the two of them to raise a family:  "[a]n unmarried person may not be an intended parent."

The above-listed items are insidious enough by themselves, but let's dig a little deeper shall we?

The text of the bill provides that "only women who are married will be considered for the gestational
certificate that must be presented to any doctor who facilitates the pregnancy." Only "married couples" that successfully complete the same screening process currently required by law of adoptive parents will qualify for the "gestational certificate." 

The "assessment must follow the normal practice for assessments in a domestic infant adoption procedure."  The screening process includes a "fertility history of the intended parents, including the pregnancy history and response to pregnancy losses of the woman" (ie, has she ever terminated a pregnancy before?)  The assessment must include a "description of the family lifestyle of the intended parents,includ[ing] a description of individual participation in faith-based or church activities." 

Got Church?  If not and your cha-cha is broken, no family for you. 

People that have already suffered through the pain and loss of infertility then subjected to further scrutiny.  Oh, and by the way, they also have to pay for it:  "[t]he intended parents shall pay the fees and other costs of the criminal history check required under this section."  Not only do infertile women/men/couples have to pay for the uncovered treatments, meds and emotional costs; they also have to pay for the Republicans to be up their cooters and make sure we're all going to church. 

This isn't just a home study, folks.  This is legislating lifestyle.  If you are not willing to live a life deemed appropriate by Senator Patricia Miller, then you might as well go live in a van down by the river. 

The seedy underbelly of this bill (yes, there's more) is that is raises the status of not-yet-conceived children to the status of an adoptive child.  Does anyone else see where this is going?  Do I take offense at the implication that an imaginary baby that-has-not-yet-been-conceived, let alone become a group of cells implanted in a woman's uterus, is given the same rights and protections as a living, breathing child? 

Yeah, I do. 

The gods are against me.

I truly mean that.

I don't normally blog about my work/cases (except to bitch about my boss) because there's that whole client-confidentiality thing and, quite frankly, nobody wants to read about insurance law.  It truly is the most boring area of the law.  Nobody wants to read about coverage issues, not even other insurance lawyers. 

Today I will make an exception, because there are no confidentiality issues with this case, and it's just really fucking funny.  In a really sad, law-nerd kind of way.

I have this case.  In this case, I have four witnesses.  Two of the witnesses are experts.  Two of the witnesses are fact witnesses.  Several months ago, I called expert #1.  I tell him I need to depose him in order to get this case settled.  Expert #1 tells me he has terminal brain cancer and his memory is shot.  He cannot testify. 

Because I'm a super-smooth operator, I say "no problem!"  Onward and upward to expert #2.  I call expert #2.  Expert #2 says, "I have Parkinson's disease.  I had deep brain surgery two weeks ago.  The surgery affected my long-term memory. I cannot testify."  I think to myself, "oh shit."  Panic sets in; frightened phone calls are exchanged.  I plead with client to settle the case.  Client refuses.  We have no fucking expert and we are going to trial. 

Opposing counsel is merciful.  He agrees to stipulate to experts' reports.  Oh, sweet Jeeeee-zuz!  I'm in love with opposing counsel, but he is not an asshole. 

Trial is approaching.  I'm feeling okay, I've already talked to the fact witnesses.  I know their testimony.  Last week, I call my fact witnesses.  Witness #3 says, [pause for dramatic effect] "I don't remember anything about the case or what happened. I was in a motorcycle accident three weeks ago and I have a traumatic brain injury.  I have no long-term memory." 

Doesn't that just take the fuckin' cake?  Four witnesses, three with no long-term memory and tens of thousands of dollars at stake. 

Oh, and I ovulated today.  I'll have PMS just in time for trial.  Lovely.

Cinderella, Cinderella!

That's me.  Cinderella.  I have been working like a red-headed stepchild the last few weeks and it's starting to wear on me. 

Remember my case on appeal?  Well, it turns out I'm not so bad at this oral argument stuff.  In one  partner's words, "opposing counsel got schooled."  It was a good day.  For the first time since working at this firm I really felt as thought I had chosen the right path.  It's starting to wear off and I'm beginning to hate the lazy bastards again.  All is right with the world.

My work ethic is both a curse and a blessing.  I like being a worker.  I like having my stuff done and organized and never having to answer to anyone for something not being done.  What I don't like about my work ethic is how easily people take advantage of it, especially the people for whom I work.  Implicit in the receipt of every assignment I get or turn in are the words, "you should have done this faster, you should have stayed later, you should have worked harder." 

I accept those insinuations because of who I am and how I was raised.  In our house, a hard worker was respected.  If someone was dumber than a box of rocks, but knew how to work, then he/she was an alright person.  Work ethic trumped intelligence. 

For those of us in the legal profession, it's easy to understand how a bunch of lazy bastards senior partners could take advantage of this mentality.  A law firm is, in essence, a pyramid scheme.  The more associates you have and the harder they work, the more money the senior partners make.  If an associate burns out, no problem.  Get a new associate.  Law schools pump out more of them every year.  We are a replaceable commodity.  Like cheese.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about braving it on my own.  I know a lot of other lawyers read this, I'm begging you for assvice.  Tell me your or your colleagues experience with braving it on their own.  I need to go into this with my eyes wide shut. I mean open.

Insomnia: Curse or Self-Imposed Punishment?

I've been up since 3:30 this morning.  Poor Nicolas is such a light sleeper that he woke up when I started the coffee.  I took a sleeping pill last night, which put me to sleep.  Problem is, I wake up almost as soon as the pills wear off (after about six hours.)  Nicolas is back to sleep; I hope I haven't scarred him for life. 

This insomnia thing happens to me every couple of years.  I had it during law school, too.  A few weeks ago, my father mentioned something very interesting about my life.  He said that I always seemed to be under more stress than anyone else.  I don't know if the stress is self-induced, it likely is.  In a way, I need stress.  Unfortunately, stress = no sleep.

I never shut down.  If I'm not working, I'm cleaning.  If I'm not cleaning, I'm organizing.  I never feel okay with just being.  I must always be on the move or working on the next project. 

Problem is when I get too much stress, like now, I turn into the evilest wife in the world.  At the moment, B is driving me insane and I don't like him very much.  I get resentful of him, because I feel like I do all the work in our life.  I did all the adoption paperwork for both adoptions.  I balance the checkbook.  I make and go to all the appointments.  Hell, I even call his boss and arrange for B's time off. 

I hate that my load is so heavy in this regard.  Part of what is making me most resentful right now is when B and I fight about money.  We recently moved into an apartment in order to save money on the commute.  We are in the process of looking for another house.  I want a house that is modest, affordable and one that we can put a 20% down payment on.  I'm REALLY not into hawking myself for a big house.  B thinks he's entitled to a mini-mansion in the poshest part of town.  He wants us to use whatever means to buy the fanciest house possible. 

That attitude strikes me to the core.  I don't want a fancy house.  I don't want to make massive house payments and never get anywhere.  Why can't he just be happy with what we have?  Why can't we have a modest house and be the same, normal people?  The house-thing is a statement larger than just a purchase.  It's a different philosophy. 

I guess that's why he's sleeping soundly and has been for the last eight hours and I'm here, typing in the wee hours of the morn.  Different philosophies.

My first Face Plant

Thursday I have oral argument for my first case on appeal.  Our state broadcasts all oral arguments over the web, so everyone in the entire community can watch my demise.  I'm guessing that the upcoming argument has a little something to do with the fact that I can't sleep, but proving causation would be somewhat problematic. 

My other cases are suffering, because I have this case on appeal.  I can't sleep.  I can, of couse, eat.  Let it not be said I'm stupid enough to "forget" to eat.  Because forgetting to eat takes a special kind of stupid.  I don't want any comments from you guys telling me you forget to eat, 'cause then I would have to rough you up.

Everyone in my firm is so convinced I'm going to win, but I know better.  I clerked for this court and know that this type of case is taken very seriously.  Adding to the pressure is that fact that I sold myself to my firm as a public speaker.  I do have a lot of experience in public speaking, but back then I didn't have a kid or a husband or a ginormous caseload.  The one thing that makes a truly great public speaker is PRACTICE.  I used to practice all the time; it's one of the things I could always count on the competition not doing, because most of them were lazy assholes.

Now I'm the lazy asshole that doesn't have enough practice under my belt.  I hate being a lazy asshole.  If you don't hear from me for a couple of days, I'm in my office practicing. 

Because I am a freak that way

I'm a paranoid freak.  It's true.  I always have been.  I don't know if comes from being a general type-A person, or if it comes from years without television while I was growing up. 

When it comes to my job, the paranoia increases exponentially.  I'm constantly on the brink of being fired. Every time a partner comes into my office I think it's to can me.  Paranoid, yes?  Unjustified? No.

My paranoia exists for good reason.  The day I started at my firm, there was another associated working there.  The day after I started, he didn't work there anymore.  Just like that.  Sacked. 

It's difficult to work in a situation where you operate under constant fear.  In response to that I've started applying for jobs elsewhere.  Even if it means moving.  Ugh. 

Moving would be hard, but I think it's something I have to consider in order to make my work situation more bearable.  In the mean time, I will be going to my office with a smile on my face, because I know my time there is limited.  Finally, I know something they don't know.