it could be worse

I recently attended an alumni event thrown by my law school. Although I didn’t run into many of my former classmates, I did see a number of my former professors. (And yes, Big Mo, the Silver Fox made an appearance.)  All told, it was a lovely evening, if not particularly memorable.  Perhaps the most notable aspect was the pallor the sour economy cast over the event — many of the tables remained unfilled and my conversations with my professors centered around the employment prospects for the graduating 3Ls. But as the dean of the law school reminded us in our closing remarks, it could be worse. We could be in the middle of final exams right now.

 

ladies who brunch

My mom came in a few weeks ago for a visit, and I took a day off from work so we could spend some extra time together. My mom’s number one request for the trip? Breakfast at a place that she loves, but to which we rarely go, as I refuse to frequent it on weekends because the wait for a table is appalling, mainly due to the fact that the waiting list is horrifically mismanaged. “We called your name 37 times, and you didn’t hear it because you were a block away shopping for shoes? We have your table all set!”

Despite the fact that it was a weekday, the restaurant was booming. At first I didn’t pay much attention to the other patrons; my mom and I were chatting and having a nice time. But during a pause in the conversation, I took a casual look around. “There are a lot of young people here,” I thought to myself. “Perhaps they’ve all been laid off?” But then my eye caught hold of one. Then another. And a third. No, I’m not talking about the cash poor and the time rich. I’m talking about strollers. They were everywhere, and they were wheeled right up to the tables of my peers (a number of whom, quite frankly, looked several years younger than me).

Even though I’m no longer in my 20s, and I have no idea when the Bun and I will have kids, I don’t normally think that I am all that unusual. I spend my days in a child-free zone (the firm), and even though I have colleagues that have children, there are very few other female first-year associates with kids. At work, I am the norm. A morning out in the real world, however, suggested a startlingly different picture.

 

chicago

The Bun and I are taking a trip to Chicago for a long weekend. Any suggestions on what we should do, or, more importantly, where we should eat?

 

may it please the court

Both Mrs. Marbury and Ms. R. emailed me a link to this on Friday morning. The artwork and the sentiments were lovely, but they were also so much more. Reading the piece, I was reminded of the do-gooder I used to be and all the good that I nevertheless still can do. I was reminded that the law is one bad ass profession, and I thrilled in the delicious and still novel notion that I am a lawyer. I was reminded of all the women who came before me in the world at large and in the law specifically– the women who broke so many barriers so that I could be where I am today (despite the many barriers women everywhere still face)– giving me the kind of much-needed jolt of perspective that I haven’t felt in months.

But my absolute favorite part– the part I read over and over to tuck away for future affirmation– was the author’s recounting of meeting Justice Ginsburg. “We talked about making decisions and doing the best you can and then moving on.” I have to say that one more time: we talked about making decisions and doing the best you can and then moving on. Thank you, RBG, for the best advice I have received so far in my life.

 

george gives us a scare

I was just about to get on the subway last night when I felt my cell phone vibrating in my purse. It was the Bun. “Get in a cab and get to the vet. George collapsed right after dinner.” Like an automaton, I walked back outside, hailed a cab, and made my way to the vet. I didn’t panic. My mind was blank.  I just felt numb.  I had no idea what to expect. The Bun had been home with George all day, and everything had been completely normal.

When I got there, George was in the back receiving oxygen. The Bun filled me in on what happened, saying that he noticed George walking unsteadily and coughing. His tongue was blue. By the time the Bun got him in to the carrier, he was limp. And so we sat at the vet’s and we waited. And we waited some more. I remained numb.

The vet finally emerged. He had taken blood, urine, and x-rays, and he could not find anything wrong. Yet. He couldn’t find anything wrong yet. He wanted George to come back the next day for an ultrasound. He was concerned that George had suffered a “major cardiac event.” We asked if we could take him home overnight. The request was granted. For the first time, we let him sleep in our bed overnight.

And so we bundled him back to the carrier this morning for the ultrasound. Although we thought we could wait while it was conducted, we were sent home. The ultrasound technician would not be in for a few hours.  George would be taken to the back to wait. And then I stopped feeling numb. Then the tears came. But then I had to go to work.

I only managed to stay at work a few hours. I had an assignment I could do from home, so I left. I couldn’t bear the idea of receiving bad news while at work, and I couldn’t bear the idea of the Bun having to go through it alone.

This has a happy ending. The ultrasound detected nothing unusual. There had been no major cardiac event. George was fine. The vet guesses he was choking on a piece of food. The Bun and I are thrilled but quite drained from the episode.

But all of it has left me wondering. What would we have done if we weren’t as financially secure as we are? George’s vet bills were just under $1,000. That would have been tough to come up with if I didn’t earn the biglaw bucks. But yet, what would I have done if I were as busy at work as I should be? I was able to be with George as much as I was because work has been so slow. And so I am caught in this bind: if I weren’t in biglaw, we might not have been able to pay the vet bill, but if the biglaw machine was humming smoothly, I wouldn’t have been able to be with George.

 

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time for a tea party

Mrs. F. and I were recently invited to a tea party. We were told we would be seated at a table full of attorneys. (Yea  networking!) We were also told that we needed to wear hats. “Are hats really necessary?” Mrs. F. asked. “Yes,” we were informed. Some internets reconnaissance confirmed that not only must our heads be covered but we would should seek to don pink hats.

I barely know how to dress myself for work; trying to figure out what to wear to a tea party of lady lawyers without both 1.) spending a small fortune and 2.) looking like someone’s grandmother struck me as the Double Dare physical challenge of fashion.  Mrs. F. talked me down. “Let’s make a trip to Marshall’s,” she emailed me. Our mission, which we chose to accept: pastel suits and pink hats suitable for the party but cheap enough to justify a single day’s use.

In we marched to Marshall’s, and out we marched with suits. (Alas, their hat collection was limited to sun hats that bore a striking resemblance to sombreros.)  My suit was a light green 3/4 sleeve number, and Mrs. F’s was something short of turquoise. We reassured ourselves that they were lovely, and at $50, they certainly were not going to break the bank. We started heading out of the mall. I tried to ignore the feelings of uneasiness that were already creeping in about my purchase. “Do you mind if we stop in Ann Taylor?” Mrs. F asked.  “Certainly can’t hurt to look,” I replied with audible relief.

Immediately I saw it: a purple and pink bonanza of tea party perfection marked down 40%. Admittedly, this suit is nothing I would normally buy. And it did cost me $100 despite the markdown. But while I might not don purple and pink head to toe for any other occasion but a tea party, I will certainly get great mileage out of these pieces as separates. Did I like the suit better because it came from Ann Taylor instead of Marshall’s? Not really. The Ann Taylor suit was cuter and cut better. But do I know I will feel more confident mingling with other lady lawyers while wearing Ann Taylor instead of Marshall’s? I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t.

Now I just need  to find a hat.

 

5 etiquette tips for people raised in barns regarding behavior on the subway

1.) Remember how back in the stone ages of 1998 cell phones were used for emergencies only, and you only got something like 30 minutes a month on your plan? Guess what. I don’t understand the physics behind it, but it’s still 1998 on the subway.

2.) You get one seat. One. Men, if you are so insecure in your masculinity that you can’t keep your legs closed, at least don’t open them so far as to encroach on my territory. Newspaper readers, for the love of all things holy, keep your elbows to yourself. And when I scoot over in my seat to get away from you, that is not an invitation for you to re-enact commercials for Close-Up toothpaste.

3.) If you can’t get a seat on a crowded train, resist the urge to park yourself at the first pole you see once you get on. Poles, unlike seats on the subway at 8:30 am, are not endangered species. There are others. Move to the back of the car.

4.) I’m glad you’re wearing an iPod. It means that you’re less likely to either a.) read a newspaper or b.) try to talk to me. And while I could care less if you give yourself tinnitus, I really don’t want to be able to make out the strains of Taylor Swift from 3 feet away.

5.) If you’re sitting down, and you see an elderly/disabled/child/pregnant person, nothing screams douchebag like not giving up your seat.

 

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