Friday, September 07, 2007


Sometimes, I just need to see it in black and white text. Rereading what I wrote yesterday, it just sort of all came together. Yes, I still think of B as family, but that is misguided and kind of foolish. Family, at least my estimation of it, means forever, through good times and bad, and it means past, present and future. B is just the past and I don't want him in the present or future. He was an integral and undeniable part of my life in the past, but not someone I want in my present or future. I don't want a relationship with him - not of any kind - at least in the near term. I won't be able to move forward if I am still shackled to him at the ankle. I gave B the name of an attorney who has experience in this field and has reasonable rates.

When you think about it, John Mayer is kind of a male Sheryl Crow.

Late night at the office. I am about to piss off a client something fierce and am struggling with having to do so. My client wants to settle a lawsuit brought against him, even though it is, without question, the most ridiculous and baseless claim I have seen in my career. My attorney instincts are directly contrary to his business instincts and this struggle is taking an intellectual toll. My job - the service I offer - is to get the client the result he wants. He wants to pay a ridiculous amount of money to settle a nuisance law suit. I know that I would not only successfully defend him, but would vindicate him in his relatively small industry. His reasons for settling are purely emotional -- he has litigation fatigue - but attorneys are impervious to such fatigue. If I can coax him past it, he will save seven figures and have a lifetime of ammunition against this asswipe of a competitor.

The other side's counsel is everything that people perceive as being wrong with lawyers. They are lying to their client and milking him for every dollar they can. They have to know they are going to lose at trial, but because their client can pay their bills, they will have collected seven figures in the process of prosecuting a loser case. At the disastrous settlement last week, I made the more asshole of them bluster, stammer, and eventually call me a fucking bitch. All without raising my voice or doing anything more than pointing out the weakness of their claims. Politely, I might add. I got the "look, little lady, I have been doing this longer than you have been alive" shit, to which I replied "well, that's why it is curious why you are taking a position that is unsupportable by any case law in the country." The meeting ended with him pounding the table, screaming "this meeting is over," and me saying "that is usually what people do when they are losing an argument. My dad does it with some frequency. He's been doing it as long as you have been practicing law." That prompted the fucking bitch remark. Classy, that. Still, nice to note that I can intimate a man twice my age with three times the experience.

I am supposed to have dinner with Writer Guy tomorrow night. I can feel my cancellation rising up in the back of my throat.

My $400 haircut is growing out like a weed. Somehow, I don't think I will be going back to Billy for a trim.

I made it around Greenlake in 29 minutes this morning.

I got a kickass gift card from Tom Colicchio and a handwritten note with menu suggestions. I intend to have a lavish dinner party with the sister in LA.

I am buried professionally for the next two months, assuming my CA case goes to trial as scheduled, but all of us are convinced the court is going to kick it out another six months. This will be the third rescheduling of the case and we're over a year past the original trial date.

I haven't seen the rat since that ill-fated moment of opening the BBQ, but suspect that it might have gorged itself on fat drippings. I am terrified to clean that shit out and, for the very first time, wish I had a man around to do it. I will probably hire one.

I reread a short story that MRE clipped and sent me. Stephen King wrote this fictional story for Esquire's July 2007 issue. Upon the reread, I was tantalized by his storytelling ability - the details, the suspense, the imagery. I missed MRE so badly tonight, as I wanted to rehash it with him.

And, again coming to the full circle that probably only makes sense to me, I realized that I don't think of MRE as family. We were involved for less than a year, so there's that, and while he was a part of my recent past, I don't think of him as family whatsoever. Therein lies the goal with B. The breakup with MRE was, in many ways, much more difficult emotionally than B, so the distinction isn't one of intensity. I loved him differently. Much differently.

1 comment:

Norm said...

When you think about it, John Mayer is kind of a male Sheryl Crow.

Yeah, but he looks better in a bear suit than Sheryl: and she looks better than a bikini then a bear suit.