I am now being attacked on all fronts. I was pulled into a meeting with the brass at the local M this afternoon. Indeed, it was my second intervention this week. The message: I need to spend more time in the office. Why? Because the staff is complaining to Corporate in Fargo. The staff. Yes, the staff. They tattle on me on a regular basis. They do not like that I spend time out of the office for things like court and client visits that are in other cities (as a result of my job change, some cases remain lingering in the Magic City).
I think it reached critical mass two days ago when I had to leave the office early to exercise my professional responsibility. I didn't feel it was appropriate, and, really, not ethical to tell them where I was going or why I was leaving, so I just said goodbye and scuttled out the door.
Corporate already hates me, so this is perfect. The local brass does not want it to escalate to a showdown with Corporate. They weren't upset, just very matter of fact. I am behind the eight-ball and I need to watch my step. Am I ever not behind the eight-ball?
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
The Keating Five
It was a rocky morning, but my FICO and I are on the mend. The Fed (a/k/a my father) announced late this afternoon that it agreed to perform an S&L bailout.
This was a surprising turn of events, in light of the phone call I received from the Fed this morning. The Fed called, demanding to know where I was and, presumably, why I wasn't at work. I have gone into survival mode, speaking only when necessary and offering unacceptable but honest answers when confronted. I relayed that I was, in fact, in bed. It was too much effort to face the day before noon. The Fed then demanded that I get some discipline in my life, clean my house, go to bed early, get up early, and walk to work to save gas (seriously, it's five blocks and zero degrees outside). The Fed then barked, "I love you," and abruptly hung up the phone.
The Fed reconsidered its earlier news release when I submitted an explanation as to why I had not notified the Fed of any need for assistance. I pointed out that, when I previously asked for assistance, I received none. Instead, I received a "figure it out on your own or you're never going to learn" response. The Fed's policy has been in place for at least twenty-nine years and, before today, was unyielding to any public pressure to change.
For example, the last time the Fed offered any assistance, it was in the form of a twenty dollar bill, provided to (partially) fund a night of binge drinking when I was a first-year law student home for the holidays. That was seven years ago. The Fed also required that I subsidize my own school lunches beginning at age 14 because I was gainfully employed during the summer months at the Fed earning $3.60 per hour. At other times assistance has been requested, the Fed has produced official bank loan papers at a less than competitive interest rate, so as to comply with FDIC examiners' requirement that insiders receive no benefit for being an insider.
In light of the above, the Fed's announcement this afternoon was a utter, but welcome, surprise. However, the Fed officially announced it's position on my living situation. Inside sources initially revealed that it would be announced I would be moving into my parents' new home (with them living there, too), within several months' time for a period of six months to one year. This was confirmed by both the Fed and his wife.
The Fed's wife stopped by this evening to buy me groceries and color my hair. However, it was also to "talk" to me. She suggested that I get off all my medication. When I asked, "why?" she stated I was too young to be on all that stuff and wouldn't it be great to find other ways to solve my problems? Um, no, I'm perfectly fine, thank you.
She offered a cure for insomnia, given to her by her acupuncturist. I should talk calcium, magnesium and a handful of walnuts at bedtime. You know, benzo's (valium-type drugs that are hella-addictive and strong) didn't work for me, but I'm sure vitamins will be great. She then told me that I don't know what I'm talking about and she understands the history of psychiatry. OK, that didn't happen, but it seemed like it was about to. I have reason to believe Mr. and Mrs. The Fed are scientologists.
Oh, and I can't have my tivo when I move in. It's an unnecessary expense. It's $12.95 per month. I'm also not allowed to call my sister the "c" word anymore.
Finally, at the end of our evening, Mrs. The Fed offered to spend the night. Really? No, thanks. No, really. Hit the road, crack pot. She then asked if I was going to do anything crazy like hurt myself. So, she totally came down here to perform a suicide watch. I assured her that I would not. I thought about adding it might come to that if she didn't leave.
The bottom line is that my family has placed my financial "crisis" on the same plane as heroin addiction.
In all seriousness, I'm back to my old self again this evening. I don't feel better or worse than I did two nights ago, before I went through yesterday. The only thing to do is deal with it and move forward.
This was a surprising turn of events, in light of the phone call I received from the Fed this morning. The Fed called, demanding to know where I was and, presumably, why I wasn't at work. I have gone into survival mode, speaking only when necessary and offering unacceptable but honest answers when confronted. I relayed that I was, in fact, in bed. It was too much effort to face the day before noon. The Fed then demanded that I get some discipline in my life, clean my house, go to bed early, get up early, and walk to work to save gas (seriously, it's five blocks and zero degrees outside). The Fed then barked, "I love you," and abruptly hung up the phone.
The Fed reconsidered its earlier news release when I submitted an explanation as to why I had not notified the Fed of any need for assistance. I pointed out that, when I previously asked for assistance, I received none. Instead, I received a "figure it out on your own or you're never going to learn" response. The Fed's policy has been in place for at least twenty-nine years and, before today, was unyielding to any public pressure to change.
For example, the last time the Fed offered any assistance, it was in the form of a twenty dollar bill, provided to (partially) fund a night of binge drinking when I was a first-year law student home for the holidays. That was seven years ago. The Fed also required that I subsidize my own school lunches beginning at age 14 because I was gainfully employed during the summer months at the Fed earning $3.60 per hour. At other times assistance has been requested, the Fed has produced official bank loan papers at a less than competitive interest rate, so as to comply with FDIC examiners' requirement that insiders receive no benefit for being an insider.
In light of the above, the Fed's announcement this afternoon was a utter, but welcome, surprise. However, the Fed officially announced it's position on my living situation. Inside sources initially revealed that it would be announced I would be moving into my parents' new home (with them living there, too), within several months' time for a period of six months to one year. This was confirmed by both the Fed and his wife.
The Fed's wife stopped by this evening to buy me groceries and color my hair. However, it was also to "talk" to me. She suggested that I get off all my medication. When I asked, "why?" she stated I was too young to be on all that stuff and wouldn't it be great to find other ways to solve my problems? Um, no, I'm perfectly fine, thank you.
She offered a cure for insomnia, given to her by her acupuncturist. I should talk calcium, magnesium and a handful of walnuts at bedtime. You know, benzo's (valium-type drugs that are hella-addictive and strong) didn't work for me, but I'm sure vitamins will be great. She then told me that I don't know what I'm talking about and she understands the history of psychiatry. OK, that didn't happen, but it seemed like it was about to. I have reason to believe Mr. and Mrs. The Fed are scientologists.
Oh, and I can't have my tivo when I move in. It's an unnecessary expense. It's $12.95 per month. I'm also not allowed to call my sister the "c" word anymore.
Finally, at the end of our evening, Mrs. The Fed offered to spend the night. Really? No, thanks. No, really. Hit the road, crack pot. She then asked if I was going to do anything crazy like hurt myself. So, she totally came down here to perform a suicide watch. I assured her that I would not. I thought about adding it might come to that if she didn't leave.
The bottom line is that my family has placed my financial "crisis" on the same plane as heroin addiction.
In all seriousness, I'm back to my old self again this evening. I don't feel better or worse than I did two nights ago, before I went through yesterday. The only thing to do is deal with it and move forward.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Hey now! Hey now! [F]iko [F]iko Un-day
When was the last time your sister had a frank discussion with you about your FICO score? My sister confronted me with mine tonight, asking me if I knew what it was. I told her I did, indeed. I even know what each letter of FICO represents. She then nearly shouted into the phone, "Do you know you would NEVER get approved for a home loan with that?!?" I told her I did, in fact, know that. Again, I might be dumb, but I'm still a lawyer.
I know she has four weeks of grad school (spread out over two years) under her belt, but I'm slowly catching on to this world. She'll earn her degree from banking school, otherwise known to her and the rest of my family as grad school, after her third and final two-week installment this summer. That's six whole weeks of grad school. I do hope the entire family can attend her graduation. It'll be just like my graduation, except it'll be with the family. OK, my parents did attend briefly, promptly jetting off immediately after each ceremony to Washington, D.C.
When she "graduates", she will, once and for all, be as educated as me. Actually, I'm sure she somehow is already more educated than me. I don't know how it would be quantified, but it must be true. I've only had 96 weeks of grad school. Actually, I've had about 106 weeks of grad school, if you count summer school. Admittedly, I needed a calculator to figure that out. Which is why she's smarter than me.
This is the bottom line: I'd like to set her flag on fire.
I know she has four weeks of grad school (spread out over two years) under her belt, but I'm slowly catching on to this world. She'll earn her degree from banking school, otherwise known to her and the rest of my family as grad school, after her third and final two-week installment this summer. That's six whole weeks of grad school. I do hope the entire family can attend her graduation. It'll be just like my graduation, except it'll be with the family. OK, my parents did attend briefly, promptly jetting off immediately after each ceremony to Washington, D.C.
When she "graduates", she will, once and for all, be as educated as me. Actually, I'm sure she somehow is already more educated than me. I don't know how it would be quantified, but it must be true. I've only had 96 weeks of grad school. Actually, I've had about 106 weeks of grad school, if you count summer school. Admittedly, I needed a calculator to figure that out. Which is why she's smarter than me.
This is the bottom line: I'd like to set her flag on fire.
She's Come Undone
Where do I begin.... Today has been the most brutal of days. It was the worst of times. It was the worst of times. It began with the, "I'm going back to my wife."
Then, I had to go perform my professional responsibility, which I can't get into, but I assure you it totally sucks ass.
Those two things were enough to bring me to tears. I was throwing myself a pity-party in my living room when my phone rang. I managed to dry my eyes and answer. It was my sister. My younger sister. Bridezilla, as you may recall. She was calling to relay the news that my family has decided that I'm headed for bankruptcy and she's coming over to my house later this week to take control of my finances.
In an astonishing move, she then threw in little details about my finances that one would only know had they gone through my checking account, debit by debit, to find out. For example, she casually mentioned that, for instance, I shouldn't spend X amount of dollars on someone's Christmas gift (which she nailed, price-wise). She didn't mean to give herself away so easily, I'm sure, and an untrained person probably wouldn't have caught it. I might be dumb, but I'm still a lawyer.
My sister then went on to berate me for my spending habits, asking repeatedly, "do you get it?" and "don't you understand?" No, I don't get it. I only have a college degree, a law degree, and five law licenses (six if you count tribal court). I don't know how I manage to dress myself or program my tivo. I'm a complete fucking idiot, especially when compared to you, the one with the four-year degree and the child for a husband.
So, after a good beating, the dam finally broke. And then, in typical form, she criticized me for crying. When I explained that I was in tears before I picked up the phone, she proceeded to tell me how stupid I was for getting upset about the first two items that made my day so enjoyable. She offered up some unethical advice on the second issue and burned me in effigy over the first.
Then came the dénouement. My sister announced all of my problems would be solved when I completed the biggest part of her plan to take over my world. I will move in with my parents this Spring. Get fucked. She then added, as a bonus, or even silver-lining to this plan, I would be able to lose weight because I would eat at home and my mom would cook for me. Or control everything that goes into my body.
Near as I can tell, her plan is to rape and pillage my soul until I become one of The Others. I think it's a vast conspiracy to turn me into a republican before the 2008 presidential election.
Then, I had to go perform my professional responsibility, which I can't get into, but I assure you it totally sucks ass.
Those two things were enough to bring me to tears. I was throwing myself a pity-party in my living room when my phone rang. I managed to dry my eyes and answer. It was my sister. My younger sister. Bridezilla, as you may recall. She was calling to relay the news that my family has decided that I'm headed for bankruptcy and she's coming over to my house later this week to take control of my finances.
In an astonishing move, she then threw in little details about my finances that one would only know had they gone through my checking account, debit by debit, to find out. For example, she casually mentioned that, for instance, I shouldn't spend X amount of dollars on someone's Christmas gift (which she nailed, price-wise). She didn't mean to give herself away so easily, I'm sure, and an untrained person probably wouldn't have caught it. I might be dumb, but I'm still a lawyer.
My sister then went on to berate me for my spending habits, asking repeatedly, "do you get it?" and "don't you understand?" No, I don't get it. I only have a college degree, a law degree, and five law licenses (six if you count tribal court). I don't know how I manage to dress myself or program my tivo. I'm a complete fucking idiot, especially when compared to you, the one with the four-year degree and the child for a husband.
So, after a good beating, the dam finally broke. And then, in typical form, she criticized me for crying. When I explained that I was in tears before I picked up the phone, she proceeded to tell me how stupid I was for getting upset about the first two items that made my day so enjoyable. She offered up some unethical advice on the second issue and burned me in effigy over the first.
Then came the dénouement. My sister announced all of my problems would be solved when I completed the biggest part of her plan to take over my world. I will move in with my parents this Spring. Get fucked. She then added, as a bonus, or even silver-lining to this plan, I would be able to lose weight because I would eat at home and my mom would cook for me. Or control everything that goes into my body.
Near as I can tell, her plan is to rape and pillage my soul until I become one of The Others. I think it's a vast conspiracy to turn me into a republican before the 2008 presidential election.
Monday, January 14, 2008
A Rush of Blood to the Head
Ok, so it's not so much a rush of blood to the head as it is a rush of adrenalin to the stomach. Today, the only person that's ever given me actual butterflies in my stomach emailed, which gave me butterflies in my stomach for the second time in my life. My ex-boyfriend from law school, Rivers, emailed to tell me that his mother's life partner died and he's getting divorced. They have been separated since July, which is about the same time Joyce became ill.
I haven't had any telephone or email contact with him since probably 2005. It's been so long that I can't even remember how long it's been.
His email jokingly noted that I've moved up on the list (of potential Mrs. Rivers candidates). My thought, which was later relayed to him, was that, while he was divorcing my replacement (started dating her when I was on my way out of town), I certainly wasn't going to be her replacement.
Nonetheless, I took the bait. I told him to call so we could catch up. And he did. We talked for almost an hour. What's weird is that it wasn't weird. I knew the sound of his voice instantly, and we just talked about everyday things. And, I still find him funny and fun to talk to. Ugh.
He asked me to come visit him if I'm ever down his way. I told him no and, besides, I'd just been to St. Louey, so it would be awhile nonetheless (unless the 8th grants oral arguments - cross your fingers!). He then suggested he may be able to come up here. Um, ok, sure. I KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You don't have to say it!
And the pendulum swings backwards.
I haven't had any telephone or email contact with him since probably 2005. It's been so long that I can't even remember how long it's been.
His email jokingly noted that I've moved up on the list (of potential Mrs. Rivers candidates). My thought, which was later relayed to him, was that, while he was divorcing my replacement (started dating her when I was on my way out of town), I certainly wasn't going to be her replacement.
Nonetheless, I took the bait. I told him to call so we could catch up. And he did. We talked for almost an hour. What's weird is that it wasn't weird. I knew the sound of his voice instantly, and we just talked about everyday things. And, I still find him funny and fun to talk to. Ugh.
He asked me to come visit him if I'm ever down his way. I told him no and, besides, I'd just been to St. Louey, so it would be awhile nonetheless (unless the 8th grants oral arguments - cross your fingers!). He then suggested he may be able to come up here. Um, ok, sure. I KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You don't have to say it!
And the pendulum swings backwards.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Un-Supersize Me
So, I'm on day four with no candy and no fast food. I actually bought groceries and I'm eating at home. Truth be told, if I have to make it or go hungry, I'll usually choose to go hungry. I've been eating a banana and granola bar for brunch and oatmeal for dinner. Not the best choices so far, but better than a Number 2 and two apple pies.
I've had a little help, of course. I went back on Wellbutrin to counteract some of the hunger cravings I get from my sleeping pills. However, I'm so tense my jaw aches. If it doesn't dial down, I'm eighty-sixing it. I really enjoy not being hungry. I do not, however, enjoy being snappy. I'm a little intense, to say the least. I find it difficult to actually smile and take part in small talk. That, of course, makes me a party favorite.
I've had a little help, of course. I went back on Wellbutrin to counteract some of the hunger cravings I get from my sleeping pills. However, I'm so tense my jaw aches. If it doesn't dial down, I'm eighty-sixing it. I really enjoy not being hungry. I do not, however, enjoy being snappy. I'm a little intense, to say the least. I find it difficult to actually smile and take part in small talk. That, of course, makes me a party favorite.
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