Pink Baseball Bats

September 4, 2007 at 6:18 pm (Uncategorized)

I currently have so many files on my desk I have actually forgotten what color the desk is.  Nonetheless I’m going to write.  If you have to ask why I would do such a silly thing you’ve clearly never meet me.  So today I’m going to write about last weekend.  The weekend that was spent surrounded by children, involved very little sleep and made me contemplate scary things like a biological clock etc.  That, however, is not what I’m going to write about.  There are hours and hours of biological clock discussions to be had so I’m going to leave those for a later date.  No I am going to write about the shopping expedition to Toys R Us that proceeded the weekend of kids.  The trip where I had to put the boy on one of those kiddie leashes because you would honestly have thought he was an out of control 5 year old in the transformer section of the store.  The most interesting part of the trip for me though was the mini pink little princess baseball bat, ball included, that I saw hanging right next to the full size baseball bat.  I couldn’t help but notice it.  Did they have things like that when we were children?  Seriously did they?  I remember pink Barbie doll dresses, baby cabbage patch dolls, and definitely pink purses and makeup but I have no recollection of any mini or pink sports paraphernalia.  As far as I can recall if you were a girl who wanted to play baseball you had to play with the regular sized ugly brown baseball bat.  Same with soccer, or basketball or anything else.  No pink involved.  My first glimpse of the pink little princess baseball bat initially raised all my feminist alarm bells.  Pink almost never leads to anything good, especially when it is seen in children’s items.  It genearlly equates to brainwashing as far as I’m concerned.  The more I thought about it though the more I sort of liked the idea.  I think in my kid days (and yes I know this makes me sound ancient) and certainly in my mom’s kid days there were two options for girls.  One could choose to either be a girlie girl and play with Barbies etc. or  a “tom boy”.  The feminist movement had succeeded enough to allow “tom boys” to be acceptable even somewhat encouraged by a few hippie mothers.  But there was a definite choice.  You either had short hair and ran around in jeans or you wore frilly skirts and looked cute playing Barbies.  Those of us who sort of wanted to do both didn’t have much encouragement and we certainly didn’t have pink baseball bats to push us along.  While I would hardly be so naive as to suggest that the choice no longer exists it does seem to have diminished some.  Now it seems like one can be a girlie girl and still fall in the mud while playing sports.  Now the toy industry makes pink baseball bats with princesses on them.  Now, it seems, little girls are able to dream of dancing around in ball gowns with their knight in shinning armor as they crush little boys with their cute pink baseball bats.  Yeah Feminism!!! 


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August 23, 2007 at 9:38 pm (Uncategorized)

So I think I’ve waited to write just long enough so that no one at all is checking this site anymore.  Excellent!  I had actually given up. I had accepted that my life is just too busy.  That I don’t have all that much to say. And that even if I did have anything to say I didn’t know how to write it in an interesting manner.  Then today I found a website where young professional women are blogging about issues of work and life balance.  I found the site interesting but didn’t think anything of it.  Just another website.  This afternoon my boss said… “Well at least you’re winning!”. Suddenly it occurred to me that I had a whole lot to say about work and life and about balancing and about figuring out who you are as a professional and as a woman.  Now why you ask, did that minor comment stir such a reaction?  See I’m an attorney. I belong to a profession where the “Well at least you’re winning!” comment should have filled me with pride.  I should have been glowing. Smiling from ear to ear with the happy knowledge that I was doing my job!  Go ME!!!!  The thing was I didn’t care.  I mean not at all!  I mean I guess a small little part of me was pleased that I could show my boss that I am indeed wonderful. But the victories themselves were hallow.  It occurred to me that “winning” those cases didn’t really matter to me at all.  What mattered to me were the fabulous wedding gifts I was going to buy for my friends.  The baby shower I was going to co-host for another friend.  The weekend trip I was going to take. And the hope that The Boy would put the dang diamond ring on my finger sooner rather then later (not that I’m in a rush or anything but it would be nice to plan my own event and not just everyone else’s, especially since he KNOWS he’s going to do it soon!!!)  THAT mattered to me.  And it occurred to me that maybe THAT was worth talking about.  Maybe it was worth discussing how I was going to work out being satisfied with my job and being satisfied with my life.  Maybe it was even worth discussing that with other women who might be feeling some of the same pulls I was.  So there you have it.  No one will probably read this ever, but I still think it’s worth writing.  At very least I can talk to myself about balance and, who knows, maybe I’ll even achieve some.   

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June 7, 2007 at 3:06 pm (Uncategorized)


So today I’m a Nazi.  Admittedly, it’s probably one of the less attractive things I’ve been called but probably not the worst.  A few months ago I was “re-raping” a women because I had the audacity to ask her if it was true that she had failed to report on her first asylum application that she had in fact faced a horrif  rape at the hands of her persecutors.  That particular individual decided to fall off her chair sideways instead of answer my question.  No matter that her attorney took her to three more specialist (three had already been consulted), after I asked the question, where she was forced to recall the whole sordid affair in order to prove to me that it really did happen.  Clearly MY question was more detrimental to her well being.  Oh and just a few weeks ago a judge told me that “I clearly didn not respect justice” because I was three days late in filing a detailed explanation for him of the law he should have already known in a case that had no merit what so ever.  So yeah, being called names has become a part of my daily routine.  It’s almost funny now and I almost enjoy writing bog’s with the title Nazi because after all it makes it more interesting for you all to read.


            But the whole Nazi comment got me thinking today, what is it that makes us fear the truth so much?  Ok maybe it wasn’t just the Nazi comment that made me think about this. But the Nazi comment in combination with the Boy’s “discussion” last night made me think this.  What I have always had a hard time accepting both in court and in real life is this persistent, pervasive fear we all have of truth.  In court my opposing counsel’s jump and down in the middle of my cross examination of their client’s because they seem to be deathly afraid that their client might actually tell me the truth.  Isn’t it logical to believe that if their client’s stories were in fact completely true then no question I asked would swerve them from that truth, right?  So why would the name calling be necessary.  And yet I don’t actually think all the individuals whose attorneys call me names are lying.  Rather I think that their attorneys are living with the pervasive fear that their “truth” will be misconstrued, misunderstood, won’t fit into the appropriate legal paradigm.  It’s the same problem in human relationships.  We all regularly avoid asking the critical questions because we are afraid of the ramifications of a truthful answer.  We are terrified that we might not be able to control what results from a truthful answer. So we either avoid the question all together or we lash out with irrelevant protest.  We call the person who dared broach the subject a Nazi. 

At the end of the day though the truth is that it’s not the truth we’re afraid of.  What we really fear is the ramifications of the truth. The uncontrollable fall out.  Our own inability to stop what might come.  Perhaps, and here is a revolutionary thought, if we just trusted ourselves a bit more we would discover that the uncontrollable fall out isn’t really all that uncontrollable after all.  Or perhaps, and don’t look now but I might be getting slightly spiritual here, perhaps if we just trusted that most of the time what happens is what needs to happen we could spend a bit less time worrying about the fall out of the truth and a little more time getting to the truth. And maybe, just maybe, we would find that the truth is really what brings us together.  And maybe, just maybe, they would stop calling me a Nazi!!  Ofcourse until that happens I’m going to go practice my sly backhanded retort and get some thicker skin. 

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The Ex-Queen of Wallowing

May 30, 2007 at 11:08 pm (Uncategorized)


I’m pissed off.  No seriously honestly very upset.  Mad at the Boy.  Why you query?  The Boy has had the audacity to prevent me from wallowing in self pity.  Can you imagine!  The nerve.  Seriously.  I used to be the Queen of wallowing.  I think I once received a silver medal in the sport.


My unique breed of wallowing tended to involve large bowls of chips mixed with peanut butter ice cream (disgusting yes but effective), sappy movies, and lengthy one sentence male hating poetry with flowery prose.  For example:  “I sail in the ocean of black despair unattached to an umbilical cord seeking refuge from the light yet longing to be attached to the evil male genitalia.”  You have to admit its good right?  I tell you I rocked self pity, self loathing, pointless anger, male hating, and wallowing. 

And look at me now, reduced to a pile of happy colors and shinny outlooks.  It’s despicable.  Even my friends tell me so.  The cynic won’t even come to me anymore to fulfill her need for serious no bullshit screw all boys advice.  I am now known to say things like “everyone finds the right person eventually.”  Blech!   What have I come to!?!?   What will become of me?!?!  Without my anger I am no one!! 

This really is a serious problem.  I mean my whole identity was tied up for so long with being the single, angry, bitter, male hatter that I have no idea what to do now that I’m not that.  I actually caught myself getting upset about it last night on the way home from a lovely night of dancing.  I mean here it was a Tuesday (blach), I’d had a crappy day at work (double blach), I was PMS’ing or some such (triple blach) and I was tired.  I should have been wallowing.  I had even tried to wallow earlier in the evening in the presence of the Boy.  But in attempting it I ended up feeling guilty because he was in such a good mood that I didn’t feel like ruining his night with my wallowing.  Besides I reasoned, what did I really have to wallow about?  WAIT JUST A MINUTE!!!!  I was the QUEEN of wallowing.  I didn’t need a reason to wallow. What was all this about?  Was it possible that the Queen of wallowing actually cared more about someone else then she did about her own misery?  Was that even feasible? 

So there I was a Tuesday night facing, exhausted, PMSing, bad day having ex-Queen of wallowing all by myself in my car crying.  Not because I was wallowing but because I really had nothing to wallow about.  The bottom line is that at the end of the day everyone needs the occassional good woalow even if the only thing one has to wallow about is one’s inability to wallow.      

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May 29, 2007 at 4:08 pm (Uncategorized)

Week of May 21-25


Skip work in order to fly back from Chicago on the flight with the women who will not shut her mouth and is, no joke, seriously much much more annoying then the two children ages 6 mo and 2 years old ridding next to you. Delay = missing Hero’s finale. Damn! But…. Luckily god loves us and she invented Tivo. Spend several minutes after the finale pondering the meaning of life, and the reasons why The Boy isn’t really a Hero despite his desire to be one. Giggle at that thought as you step into the bathroom discovering that the bathroom door in this dilapidated 50 year old house you are sharing with a male roommate doesn’t seem to want to close. And because you are brilliant and because it is midnight you attempt to force the door close. Succeed at forcing the door close only to make a seriously important philosophical discovery: “Forced doors sometimes don’t reopen!” @!*#!!!! Where was Nitche Nitzsche (or whatever he is called) BEFORE you shut the door. Spend a few minutes trapped in a very very small bathroom contemplating what you would do if you were still dating the boyfriend who refused to spend even five minutes at your house after taking a vacation with you because he “needed his alone time!”. An hour later as the door comes flying open revealing a scantly clad Boy with a hammer using numerous curse words, you smile because you realize that the The Boy really is a HERO, even when he doesn’t always believe it himself.


Almost miss the deadline for filing the submission you have been working on for two weeks. How exactly does that happen? Submit it with five minutes to spare just in time to realize you have reversed the order of two of the documents in the submission. With tail between legs you tell your boss so that he has the pleasure of telling you “it’s ok but just remember that when we work on important cases like this we like to get this done correctly (emphasis added by him!)”. Stomp on your own toe so as to prevent yourself from saying “gee thanks cause you know I was taught in my 22 years of formal education that when submitting important documents it always adds a bit of character to screw something up just a tad. Have a great day”. Escape… run to Swing class just in time to introduce The Boy to dance partner who once might have had a crush on you. All decide to eat dinner together in happiness. Run home to giggle with male roommate who figured out a way to make the bathroom door not stick and actually put the doorknob back on so as not to be able to stare at each other through the large hole (your suggestion was going to be a tennis ball but whatever, if he wants to be practical… fine!!!).


Day dull!!! Hell nothing at all happened. Only one crazed illegal threatening to kill your co-worker. Starting to wonder if perhaps it is a good idea to purchase bullet proof vest? Hmmmm… those things kinda make your butt look big however so maybe not. Crazed illegal number two will show up in court tomorrow. This one isn’t too bad though, he just thinks the German government bought his wife an adulterous lover so she would sell him out (ie get a protective order against the nut). However the adulterous lover gave her (and you presume him) AIDS. (I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried people). Rest of the day spent writing about crazed illegal number three – the one who fell out of her chair sideways and proceeded to flail on the floor for a good ten minutes immediately after you asked her if it wasn’t true that she didn’t “remember” the “horrible incident” that occurred to her back in the day until right before she walked into court. Fascinating how that memory thing works!!

You reveal these tidbits to the British ex who has decided it is his duty to make you “his friend”. He suggests a mini series. You laugh but start considering it. What would a pilot about insanity look like?

THE M WORD – Or Thursday

The Boy informs you that he has recently discovered that he is experiencing “burn out” at work for the first time in his career (did we mention he is 34!!). You want to say “welcome to my world buddy” but instead send back a sweet sensitive e-mail that involves loving phrases such as “get over it buddy!!!”. He loves it You then spend the rest of the afternoon scanning the blog pages of aforementioned friends to see just how many times they mention you (because you are just that vain). Then you start stressing about the fact that in the last week three ex’s who you have not spoken to or heard from in over a year have decided to make contact. It occurs to you that perhaps your mother was right all along when she said that immediately before you make a big commitment such as the “m” word all your ex’s reveal themselves so you can confirm to yourself that you’re doing the right thing. At this point you begin to sweat profusely and start making plans to drink heavily.


Still drinking profusely!

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May 29, 2007 at 3:46 pm (Uncategorized)

I’m Certain I Should Have Started this when I was single 

I’m fairly certain I should have started this when I was single.  Back in the days when nights and weekends involved hours obsessing over what adorable outfit to wear to the bar in an attempt to capture the attention of the dashing young man standing at the other end of the room right before I pass out and days before I meet him for a proper date and realize he really wasn’t dashing at all.  Yeah I’m fairly certain those stories would have been much more interesting.  I know this because my girlfriends who are now blogger crazed didn’t even bother to ask me to start my own blog.  They asked each other ofcourse because they still have stories that involve deep philosophical questions like why is the current male with geopolitical names such as “Canada” or “Haiti” acting like a complete…well…male.  I on the other hand have stories that involve (a) meeting the parents for the first time; (b) the weird illegal who threatened to kill my co-worker; (c) the true significance of the Hero’s finale (a show which my significant other (who never did have a geopolitical name)) forced me to watch.  My life really isn’t that interesting.  Still, I will NOT be shown up.  So damn it I will write a blog and you will all love it!!!!!  And if you don’t, well I might just send the crazy illegal to your house. 


P.S.  Bonus points if you can figure out what I do?  J 

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Hello world!

May 25, 2007 at 6:35 pm (Uncategorized)

Welcome to This is your first post. Edit or delete it and start blogging!

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