Legal Mystenigmary

But, really, what was my mental health doing for me anyway?

I usually make an effort to keep this blog relatively free of the "isn't my boyfriend dreamy?"-type stories, on the basis that a) it tempts the universe and b) it's nauseating. However, it may have become apparent that, for the last six months or so, there has been just such a boy-style person about, who was in fact quite dreamy. That is, when he wasn't forgetting to call me for a week, or "not necessarily needing to see me" more than once a month or so. He has, of course, the ever-popular "commitment issues." As I also have them, I had initially thought this was the perfect recipe. And in every other way, he was practically made to order -- tall, gorgeous, slim but still strong, excellent manners, witty in the right ways, well-read in the right areas, legally inclined, not excessively into sports, porn or any of my big turnoffs... I could go on and on, but suffice to say, that he was like a 9.5. And I've only ever met 7s and 8s before, I feel.

Unfortunately, that missing .5 turned out to be the most important stuff -- being able to let me know he liked me. He does ... or did. I don't doubt that. When we were actually talking or in the same room together, it was just about perfect. But he couldn't, or I think more accurately wouldn't, "maintain" our relationship, as he put it, in those in-between times. (He also said he didn't have any more "boyfriend" left in him, which is just so pithy and appalling I couldn't help quoting it.)

So after going back and forth a number of times, and being willing to "wait it out," it just became enough. All my friends kept telling me it was unhealthy to let things go this way, to let him keep ignoring that there were actual things I needed him to do (for which I will take their words, since I'm actually deeply uncomfortable with the thought that I could be so girly as to whinge on about my feelings, and my needs, and, oh, yuck!), that he was behaving badly and I shouldn't let him do it. Since that kind of thinking smacks, to me, of that disgusting habit some people have of trying to "train" their significant others, I very much tried to ignore this. Until it just hurt too much, and finally, enough had happened that I felt that, if I continued to date him, I would have to downsize my pride. Which is just not acceptable.

So, a few days ago, in a very awkward and most likely incoherent conversation, I told him just that. That we're done. For good. No "let's be friends" -- I like him far too much to be friends. And I don't really think anymore that you can truly be friends with someone you've slept with or felt strongly about. At the very least, not unless one or both of you is into emotional S&M. Which I'm not, thankyouverymuch. So. That was it. He didn't try to convince me otherwise, just said I had every right to be frustrated and that while there were things he wanted to say he'd do, he didn't think he'd actually do them -- which is as good a way of saying "I don't want to make an effort for you" as I've ever heard. (I think that's the genius of the "He's just not that into you" genre -- if you can just distill every heretofore-confounding boy action into that root, you don't have to go through the emotional battery of trying to figure out why and how and if maybe you just hung on, it would get better. This lets you draw the sum line under the whole thing and write a big zero, without torturing yourself. It's a little bald, but at the moment, some black-and-white is pretty comforting.) And I hung up, feeling all strong and "I am woman, hear me roar." For a second. And then I felt possibly the worst I've felt in an extremely long time -- like, years. I haven't broken up with someone I still liked in... perhaps ever. In the last five years, for sure -- every relationship I've had as an "adult," I've ended because I fell out of love and fell into vast irritation, and so while it was a sting to walk away from someone I had great memories with and whose lack of presence would be felt, there was great relief too -- "ahh! no more millstone!" (that's terrible -- but mostly just for comic effect. Don't take it too seriously.) I wasn't prepared for how awful this would feel. This is actually, I think, the first time since then that I haven't felt like either jumping out a window or diving to the bottom of a vodka bottle. And I'm not saying it feels good, either. Just -- an absence of sobbing or the wish to. (possibly simply because I'm utterly dehydrated.) Every time something reminds me of him (which, of course, is just about everything at the moment -- especially since I had the great good sense to allow us to spend a whole lot of time at my house. so brilliant.), I'm simultaneously reminded that I'll never see him again. (Yes, I'm sure, at some point in the next five years, I'll see him at a drugstore or bookstore or something. That does not count.) It's all just... gone. And it feels so much worse than it did when I was just upset that he hadn't called. Because there was always still that thread there, that eventually I could tug and he would return -- he did have very good manners in that sense. Would never just not return a phone call. Now, there's nothing. A void. That I need to just forget ever existed. I don't know how to do it. And at the moment, I can't for the life of me think of what is so great about mental health that its putative existence is worth feeling like this.

Countdown to Heartbreak

How You Know It's Time To Realize He's Not That Into You:

You come upon a top ten list that perfectly describes all his behaviors that drive you crazy ("He's too busy to call you," "He says he doesn't really want a relationship," "He says he's afraid to get hurt again").

The list is titled "How to Tell if He's Just Not That Into You."

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Next up: "How to Convince Yourself to Accept He's Just Not That Into You." Estimated release date: Fall 2010.

Helpful Hints

In lieu of actual content this morning, Baby Lawyer instead brings you this amusing blog (via the delighful Bitch PhD), which is keeping me highly entertained, both on its own and because it reminds of this complete twit I lived with for a year in law school. He was this fat, grouchy guy from the Deep South who spelled his completely American name as if it was French, with random "ie"s and "q"s everywhere. we had been good friends first year, signed a lease together for second year, and then run into some difficulty with a non-platonic episode which he wished to continue and I did not. He was not so much with the "friends" with the Baby Lawyer after that, so our entire year as roommates alternated between actively ignoring each other and passively ignoring each other. Of course, you can't live in the same apartment with someone without ever  talking to them, so instead he'd leave me these bright green post-it notes EVERYWHERE. on my ashtray: "Please be considerate to others living here and empty daily." (mind you, i only smoked about four cigarettes a day, so it's not like it was overflowing). on the mirror: "I would grately [sic] appreciate it if you would STOP leaving your bar of soap on MY side of the tub!!!" (we had sides of the tub? who knew? I kept waiting for the tape line to appear -- almost sadly, it never did). and the best one yet, on the inside of the front door: "Appropriate hours for entry/exit are 8am-9pm. Should you wish to enter or exit outside of those times, please do so QUIETLY so that you do not wake my girlfriend up. She is very busy and needs her rest." (yes, he did actually have a girlfriend, who was actually human and a practicing attorney -- although i believe she must have been both deaf and blind to put up with him. and yes, he really did write that, although i think he may have used a different word for "busy.")

To this day, the sight of neon-green post-it notes make me a little queasy.

A Little Bit of Schadenfreude Never Hurt Anyone, Right?

So, back when Baby Lawyer was just a wee law student in the fall of her third year, she was going 'round and 'round the BigLaw interview circuit. One of the smaller, but more promising stops was a very prominent local firm (sort of a regional BigLaw) which kept bringing Baby Lawyer back for interviews, heaping her with praise and generally indicating that they were quite interested in hiring her. On her third round, she faced a veritable firing squad, headed by the supervising partners of both the practice group she wanted to join and the one in which she already had had oodles of experiences and wished to avoid re-entering (but was happy to perhaps make the allusion to the contrary and even suck it up there for a few years if that's what it took to get the shiny SLK she had her eye on -- bad shallow Baby Lawyer!), and attended by a number of various other partners and associates. The "conversation" that followed was a bit difficult to navigate, what with all the eyes to make contact with and reactions to gauge, but our heroine felt fairly certain she was doing well. Then, Supervising Partner of "Bad" Practice Group drops some long-winded allusion to a certain type of legal theory which was beginning to be bandied about in his practice area and asks me (too much of the third person is an awkward, annoying thing) what I think of some recent trial-level decision. At that time, I had already left the job where I was doing that sort of work, and so wasn't keeping up with the minutiae of the trial courts' decisions, so said as much to the SP. He looked down his long, patrician nose at me as if I was a tiny ant crawling up his shoe, snorted, and said, "Well, gentlemen, I think I'm done here," pushed back his chair and walked out. Needless to say, I did not get the job. And after a good pub session, I never gave the SP another thought (although I bitterly cursed his name for a few hours after the interview).

Well. Today, I got the appellant's brief on a multi-million-dollar case for which we were just hired to handle the appeal. The case happens to concern the Field I Shunned. The appellant's trial counsel was fired (due, presumably, to the extraordinary verdict entered on his watch), and the Regional BigLaw where I had interviewed was hired to replace them, and since it was such a big case, the SP was handling it himself.  So after snarling at his name on the cover page for a minute, I flipped the brief open and began to read. Only to discover -- the man's a moron!!! There are at least three grammatical mistakes in the preliminary statement alone, and I believe he may have never been told that there are these funny fiddly things called "Court Rules" that one is supposed to follow, regarding style and content in appellate briefs, because WOW, does he flout practically all of them. (And oh, god, I wish I could copy for you here the national tragedy, which has nothing to connect it to this case, that he hijacks and tries to use in a specious attempt to win his case on an emotional, knee-jerk basis.)  And I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a huge grin on my face. I'm really tempted to send him a copy of the Court Rules, and one of my anal-retentively-compliant briefs, with a sweet little thank you note for not hiring me so that I could go on to work for a firm that actually knew what it was doing. hee!

(P.S. Yes, I know this is not exactly schadenfreude in its purest form -- but then again, it is certainly a misfortune to be as arrogant and yet stupid as this man. so kinda.)

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I do not like change. In fact, I am quite firmly against it. (Unless it's, like, "hey, I won the lottery and can buy that SLK I've been lusting after" or "hey, I met a cute boy who doesn't make me want to throttle him regularly." that kind of change is ok). As not sexy as it is (and woe betide anyone afflicted with such a wildly unfashionable thing as an un-sexy characteristic! god forbid! all must be as sexy as possible -- sexy hair, sexy toenails, sexy briefcase, bluetooth device, and writing implements! but that's a different rant for a different time), I love me some good, long-established routine. I like my surroundings, once I've created or established them, to stay predictable. I like having the balance of my social circles to stay exactly the same as they were when I got into them.

This goes double for my work life -- it took me long enough to get used to things around here, and now that I finally am and am happy with it, I would happily smack anyone who changes it. But that's exactly what's happening -- starting with this morning and continuing on through the next couple of months with even more changes. Atmospheres and pleasant routines are changing, in favor of irritation and uncomfortableness. It's amazing how much a tiny shift, in such a small ecosystem, can have such a broad effect (Al Gore would be so proud of that realization, I suspect). I am now faced, on a daily constant basis, with personalities I just cannot abide, and far too much going on around me to concentrate properly. And complaining about it to work persons is just not useful -- this is the only possible solution to some issues we've been having, and I just have to suck it up and get used to it. But wow, am I wishing to be anywhere but here at the moment! It's enough to make me actually want to be on trial. ew.

Totally Frivolous Query of the Day

Does anyone know how to make perfume stay "smelly" longer? I love love love my perfume (an eau de toilette, for those to whom that means anything) and don't want to change, and there's no more "potent" version made  -- but i do a double squirt to the wrists/neck every morning (which is PLENTY for then, just this side of old-lady strength) and by 5, it's like i'm wearing nothing at all (as far as perfume goes, i mean. i'm still wearing my clothes. was that not clear?). HELP!