This is the single worst time of year for those of us as-yet unused to the working world (and yes, I do realize that with the second anniversary of my law school graduation bearing down on us, I should have adjusted, but whatever, I've a late bloomer). Outside my window, there's a whole happy blooming green-and-pink world just begging me to come outside and enjoy it. Meanwhile, I'm contractually obligated to sit in an over-airconditioned building on a chair I am CONVINCED is giving me early-onset sciatica, glancing longingly at the pretty outside over a stack of cases on things like "lint growth inside bellybuttoms" and "how much could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood." (not really [duh] -- but that's what my tired little brain is interpreting it as, because it is too dazed by pollen to bring any kind of order to the mess of black type swimming before my glazed eyes). Actually, I'm not technically obligated to sit in the office. Nor, technically, do I have a "contract" at all, much less one that requires a certain number of hours in the office per day, week, month or year. However, it's generally regarded as a good idea to let the partners see you working, and also, if I'm going to get anything of substance accomplished, I have to be in the office, because even for a tiny motion for substituted service, I have to ask a minimum of three questions of a senior partner, of which at least one must be a) ridiculous, b) asinine, c) inane, d) easily answered HAD I LOOKED AT THE RULEBOOK (which, I swear to god, even if i read all day and all night for the next month, I would not know the entire contents of becuase it's so enormous), or e) a particularly endearing combination of all of the above. I'm so smart. It rocks.
Also, there's the usual boy drama. In addition to the shadowy figure of Irksome, I've also acquired an accidental boy, who we shall call "Romeo," because he, too, is overwritten, overdramatic, overly "romantic" and just... larger than life. Sadly, not in statute -- he's just about my height. He makes up for it by having the facial features of a particularly yummy combination of george clooney and antonio banderas (when antonio banderas was actually hot), with blue eyes. Oh, and a totally movie-script Italian accent. When I met him a few months ago, I was just bowled over by the dreamy face/accent combo, and got all fluttery and girly when we went out for coffee, enough so to think he was pretty entertaining too. But then, I hung out with him again. And OH MY GOD, a human being could not be more irritating, outdated-ly macho, overbearing, know-it-all-ish, and condescending. Just a sample: He was having trouble with a tenant. I had actually just come from my second experience in landlord-tenant court, and so tried to explain to him where he was going wrong with the way he was drafting his leases and how to change it so he wouldn't have this trouble again. And, WOW, did he not take that well -- What did I mean, he did something he should have done differently???! god forbid!! and he kept grabbing my shoulder to turn me to read these stupid letters he'd written her, like a hundred times, and I really just wanted to punch him. Of course, relations improved on the walk home and there may have been some tomfoolery in my front hallway, but that was it. Then he started leaving notes. And emails. and photos in the emails, bearing titles like "Me after an hour-long swim." "Me, staring soulfully at the ceiling." "ME, brooding on the deck of my boat about the beauty that is me."
Of course, HE wants to hang out. Meanwhile, Irksome, who has all of Amore's cuteness and none of his evil personal flaws, finds me utterly repellent. Such is the natural order, I suppose.
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