That shrimp scampi was so good, I hardly care that I caught the stove on fire.

It should've been straight out of a comedy.

I was making shrimp scampi tonight for dinner. I had made a hot toddy first, to sip on while I cooked; bourbon and lemon and sugar and cloves and hot water stirred with a cinnamon stick, oh my. Anyway, I had two eyes going on the stove; one with the melted butter and sauteed onion and garlic and various spices, and the other with a pot of water on its way to a boil for the angel hair pasta. And I started to smell something not right.

Then I realized there was smoke pouring up from the burner on which I was trying to boil the pot of water, and from the burner next to it that I wasn't even using. This was me:

Uh-oh, what's that?

That much smoke doesn't seem good.

Maybe something little just spilled on the burner before I started cooking. It'll burn itself off, whatever it is. Where's my drink?

Ahhh, this hot toddy is yummy.

Sniff sniff, hmm, wait, is something actually burning? The onions, maybe? Man, this hot toddy is good.

Wow, that's a LOT of smoke. Ummmm ....

Oh, wait, .... are those FLAMES licking up around that pot of boiling water?

OH HOLY FUCK, THOSE ARE FLAMES! What do I DO?

Move everything off the stove, quick! Fire coming up out of the burner! Oh shit! Should I pour water on it? No, no, for some reason it seems like I've heard you're not supposed to do that with a stove fire. Fire extinguisher? No, surely not, right? Dish towel! Dish towel! In movies and tv shows when you see someone who's a terrible cook trying to use a stove and end up setting it on fire, don't they always slap at the flame with a dish towel? Where's my fucking dish towel?

And so a dish towel saved my life.

Ok, yeah, that's overly dramatic; I don't think there was any real danger with the stove-top fire tonight. But it really did freak me out; that has never happened to me before, ever, and fuck did it have me jumping around like crazy when it happened. But truly, snapping the dish towel at the flames coming up out of the burner really did do the trick; that put out the flames quickly. Good to know, huh?

Oh, and by the way, right after I got the flames out? This was me:

WHERE THE FUCK IS MY DRINK??????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


(Btw, I had to start the scampi over ... thank goodness I hadn't gotten to the shrimp part yet, so they were still in the refrigerator, uncooked ... but man, it really did turn out well. I love shrimp scampi.)

Why

My boss is retiring next spring. I've known this for a while now. I've known that when she leaves our office, she will be vacating a job position that will be filled; a position comes along with much more supervisory responsibility, much more responsibility in general, but also more salary. A big step up from my position, in other words.

I've known this, but I've tried not to think about it too much. Because I'm not looking forward to her leaving. (I'm beginning to think that maybe I'm not the kind of person who takes well to change ... hmmm ... am I just now realizing this?)

First of all, and this is big: I'm going to miss her. Sure I'll still keep in touch with her, make an effort to get together with her socially from time to time. But I'm going to miss her being in the office every day. She's one of the only work friends that I have - maybe the only one, actually - due to the fact that she's the only other cool person who works in my office. (By other, I mean other than myself, obviously. Because I am so super cool.) What I really mean is, she and I get one another, and often no one else gets either of us, and usually neither of us gets why no one else gets us. It usually makes us laugh and shake our heads in perplexity (is perplexity a word? yeah, I've been drinking) and wonder why other people don't find such dark humor in everyday life as we do, why other people create drama and tension and anxiety where none should exist, why other people don't seem to be able to think logically at times, and why other people don't just drink more in general.(Seriously, drinking makes life better.)

So there's that, firstly.

Secondly, it's the big conundrum: do I apply for her job once she officially leaves? Do I want that job? And even if I do, will I get that job? What will it be like if I apply for it and don't get it, and then have to work for someone who I perhaps don't think is qualified enough for it, perhaps someone I don't even like in general, knowing that I've been specifically shot down for the bump up in position? What will it be like if I do get it, knowing the particular aspects of her job that I'm always glad I don't have to deal with, and knowing that I'll then have to deal with them myself, basically welcoming a ton of extra stress into my daily life? Will applying for that particular position in my office cut off any chances to make other life changes in the next year or so, or mean that I'm basically acknowledging that I'm not about to make any big life changes any time soon, as in a total change of job (to something else entirely) and/or change of city, changes I've been dreaming of taking for years, and will that be depressing? And finally, how can I not apply, frankly; how could I just continue in my present job and not even make an attempt for her position when it opens up, when for the past five years I've been reporting directly to her and am more familiar with most aspects of her job than anyone else in our office; won't it be expected, not just by others but also by myself if I have to admit it, for me to at least try for it, ask for it?

So those are the thoughts and questions that have been swirling around in the back of my mind for a while now. And for the past week or so, my boss has been trying to find a day that's convenient for the two of us to go out to lunch together, to discuss our case load and project how our trial calendars are going to look next year (already starting to fill up) and figure out how best to handle the transition that will occur when she leaves next spring, no matter who it is who replaces her. She doesn't get to make the decision as to who replaces her, of course; that's up to the big boss man. But she's planning to have a big sit down with the big boss man sometime soon, to go over these very issues with him, only she wants to talk to me about them first.

And I know, I just know, that when we have this conversation, which she wants to have outside of the office, the question is going to be posed by her to me: am I going to apply for her job? And the issue will be discussed: what recommendation, if any, will she make to the big boss man? And what insights, if any, does she have into my chances of getting that job if I were to apply, and what guesses does she have, if any, as to who would be likely to get the job if the big boss man doesn't give it to me?

And I'm just not ready to have that conversation yet. Or, you know, ever. So I've been putting off the lunch, and putting off the lunch, and putting off the lunch. Always with a perfectly valid, work-related excuse; after all, I have had many briefs due recently, have filed an appellate brief and a couple memoranda of law and responded to discovery requests all in several different cases and all right up on the filing deadline, and all within the past two weeks. So yeah, sure, I've been busy, too busy for lunch.

But I've also been too far up denial's asshole for too long about this job issue. And next Tuesday I'm going to have to start to really face it, because next Tuesday I'm having The Lunch, and of course with that, The Talk. And while The Lunch and The Talk aren't bad things - after all, this is my awesomely cool boss I'll be discussing all this stuff that I need to discuss anyway with - it still means that, basically, it's The Time to face The Shit. For Reals.

And the final question that still lingers in the back of my mind, longer than all the other lingering questions, and for which I have no answer: why is it, really, that I don't want to deal with any of this shit?

"you don't look that old" - compliment or dig?

I'm not unused to being carded when buying alcohol. It doesn't happen all the time, but it happens often enough that I generally feel pretty happy that I don't yet look like someone who doesn't even need to be carded anymore. (Btw, use of double-or-more-negatives in one sentence is directly proportional to amount of alcohol consumed at time of writing. So I've realized.)

Tonight, after doing a little after-work shopping at the mall, I stopped at a convenience store to gas up the car, and bought a six pack while I was there. The cashier didn't ask for my id, but she did ask my birthdate, to enter into her register for the alcohol purchase. When I told her the year, she said to me, "you don't look that old."

At first that made me smile, and I thanked her. But as I was walkng out of the store to my car, I thought to myself, "wait, does that mean that I SHOULD look old now?" And then, "wait, AM I old now?"

Fuck. Yeah, I guess I am old now. I didn't mind reaching my thirties, I really didn't. I think being in your thirties is probably one of the best times in life, as far as your age and where you are in life and shit. But I don't think that, in considering that, I ever really projected myself getting beyond the age of 35. Your thirties are cool, I thought ... as long as you're 35 or younger.

My year of birth is 1974. I am 35. And on my next birthday, holy fuck, I'll be 36.

I'm probably being arbitrary and illogical in prescribing some kind of difference here, between one year and the next, but I can't help it; I feel a bit like Charlotte from Sex and the City, when she suddenly has a problem with her birthday once she hits 36. She doesn't want to go beyond 35. Especially since she was single and not really where she saw herself being at 35 ... she didn' want to acknowledge that next year when it came.

I think the cashier tonight was being nice, giving a compliment I think, when she said "you don't look that old." But I've also thought that before, when I've been carded or whatever, and have heard similar comments; I've thought, "thanks :)" (yes, with the smiley face). Because I thought "oh, they think I look young." But tonight, after having that initial thought, I followed it up with "oh, wait ... does that mean they're surprised I don't look .... old?" Which is a sucky thought, because that means I actually am old.

Or at least I must be thinking of myself as old ... since my current reaction to that statement is apparently to pout.

P.S. It's now more than an hour after the writing of the above post, and I feel like adding: It's fun to go shopping. Actually, maybe more than the shopping part, it's fun to come home after shopping and go through all the new stuff you bought. Especially when all the new stuff is girly stuff, like makeup and shoes and shit. I'm drinking and playing with my new makeup and figuring out what outfit I'm going to wear to work tomorrow that will show off my new shoes, and I make no apologies whatsoever for being so girly and liking it.

Would it violate the professional rules of conduct to punch opposing counsel in the face?

That's what I so wanted to do in court this morning. Punch opposing asshole lawyer in his stupid asshole face.

I had to sit there in court and listen to asshole drone on for more than an hour in his argument in response to my motion to dismiss, during which he personally attacked my integrity about 20 times or so. Called me out by name as having misrepresented facts to a tribunal, having twisted the facts to suit my own purposes, having practiced deception, all to get a favorable ruling; and then expressed thanks that the tribunal saw through my attempted deceit, thanks that the tribunal didn't buy the totally twisted misrepresentations of fact that I was trying to sell it. All that from an asshole law firm that I already, in this very same case, had to take issue with themselves for having misrepresented my own words to counsel - - in an affidavit that one of their lawyers drafted, signed, and filed, claiming I had made statements to him that I had not made, putting words in my mouth that I never uttered and that were contradictory to what it was I actually had said to him.

So having once suffered asshole lawyer's untruthfulness in attributing comments to me in affidavit form that I never made, I then had to sit through a motion hearing and listen to asshole accuse me of being the deceptive one, of purposefully misrepresenting the legal issues and claims and twisting the facts.

And while lawyering, litigating in particular, often does involve making arguments in which the lawyers take the facts that are given and try to make those facts fit the legal argument they want to make, trying to put a spin on the facts that is, to suit the purposes of your legal argument, this really went way too far; because he was accusing me of misrepresenting the actual facts, on purpose, of trying to mislead a legal tribunal. And it fucking pissed me off.

I explained all this in a very professional and calm way when it was my turn to respond in court this morning, and I got my own points across and pointed out documents that showed that I had not in fact misrepresented anything, and let the court and opposing counsel know that I did not appreciate being accused of having practiced that kind of deception. But dammit, I didn't want to be calm and professional. I wanted to kick that fuckhead in the balls call him every damn name in the book for trying to make me look like such a lying little weasel in front of the court. I wanted to kick him in the teeth for being such a whiney little baby. I wanted to rip his tongue out so I wouldn't ever have to listen to his whiney little voice ever again. I still want to do all that and more.

Instead, I went out after work with my co-counsel, who were in court today and who joined me in bashing that asshole over drinks, for all the shit he pulled in court today. We bashed and laughed and drank and toasted each other for winning our case today. And that was pretty fun, but now I'm back at home, and dammit, I'm still pissed. Really fucking pissed, at that guy.

Goddamn, I hate lawyers. And Goddamn, I hate that my job involves this kind of shit at times that puts me in such a fucking bad mood, hate that I have to put up with such assholes, fucking hate hate hate it.

Take this job and shove it. And give me one I like instead.

Man, I am so sick of my job. Disillusioned. Frustrated. Annoyed. Bored. All of the above.

It's not always been the best job, but in the past I did enjoy it much more than I do now. I'm sure my change in feeling is partly due to just being in the same job for a certain amount of time; you'd have to have an insanely perfect job (emphasis on insane) not to get somewhat sick of doing the same thing year after year after year. But more than that, in truth, I believe that the circumstances of my job have changed so drastically in the past year and a half that it truly is no longer the same job that it was when I first started with it. (All in frustrating ways, obviously. Were I to begin to list them, I could write for 20 minutes nonstop at least.)

Tonight I came home and wanted so badly to forget about work, to leave it all behind; to not think about the hearing I have tomorrow morning, or the meeting I have tomorrow afternoon that I'm dreading, or the many upcoming deadlines, or the many more small questions and emails, etc., that have come in in the past weeks that have required thoughtful answers and that I've just not had time to respond to, to the disappointment of people I wish I weren't disappointing.

So tonight I took out my paints, and my brushes, and a canvas that I had not touched for months. And I painted. And I finally relaxed, and became interested again, and went to a place where I actually enjoyed what I was doing in the moment. I mean, I totally forgot about everything else for a while, and it was like all I had to do in life was just paint my little painting, which by the way is looking really good, in my opinion.

And given that difference in mood, caused by the difference in activity, I've gotta wonder ... can I just quit my job and paint for a living? Please? Pretty pretty please? With a cherry on top?

Seriously, how does one manage to find something to do to make a living and pay the bills that doesn't annoy the shit out of one but rather, hopefully, maybe, gives one pleasure? Is that possible? If so, someone please explain it to me, so I can hop on board that train. Because I'm fucking fed up. (Until I pick up a paint brush, when amazingly enough I chill out so much that I don't even say words like "fuck." Unless I'm thinking about how much I'd like to fuck that friend of my sister's who is spending Thanksgiving with us up in the mountains next month. Oh yeah.)

The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly

The Good: I had a fun weekend, went out of town for a football game, lots of good food and good drink and good company; met a friend of my sister and brother in law's, one who's going through a divorce right now, and man was he cute, and so funny and laid back and friendly; was invited by my sister to spend a long Thanksgiving weekend in the mountains with her and her brood; after I accepted the invitation, found out, holy shit, the good looking man friend is spending Thanksgiving weekend in the mountains with us. Holy Hannah, I can't wait for Thanksgiving.

The Bad: Klutz that I am, I totally fell while stepping out of a subarban Saturday night, landed wrong on my right foot, which is either sprained or perhaps has a small broken bone; either way it hurts like hell to walk on it; I'm an idiot, and in pain.

The Ugly: That would be my foot, which is swollen and sort of purplish in the spot that hurts the most. Great.

Thank God the good outweighs the bad and the ugly today ... did I mention I can't fucking wait for Thanksgiving? Cozy mountain house and hot man, here I come ...

What's that, you ask? How am I?

Yes, it's been a long long looooong time since I posted anything, but that's mostly because I felt I had nothing to post. Or maybe it's that I wasn't in the mood to post. Um, ever, for months. But, today I am, so here goes.

I just came back from an oral argument in appellate court, and I'm feeling energized. I did good, man. Yessir. Those justices tried to trip me up a few times, but I held my own and made my arguments until I saw them nod their heads in recognition of a good answer (even if not necessarily a correct answer. But it's not a test, it's an argument, and they at least got my argument.)

And best of all, better than pleasing my boss and my clients with my argument, my crush was in attendance. He wasn't arguing a case, he was just interested in the outcome of my particular case, and came to watch. And gave me a big smile right after I finished, from across the courtroom, then later made his way over to me to praise me on a good argument. And his smile is just so big and sincere, and makes him look just a tad bit goofy when it's that big and earnest, that it made my day. I know it's nowhere near what my reaction to him is, but his reaction to me always makes me feel like he just genuinely likes me, as a person, and there's not much better than that.

So good day, so far. Except, oh yeah, last night I fell in my fucking kitchen in a puddle of fucking water I didn't see from a fucking pipe that's fucking leaking, and I hurt my fucking back ... so having made it through my biggest task of the day, that oral argument I'd been preparing for the past week, I've taken the rest of the day off to chillax at home. Yes it's not even noon yet, but damn straight there's a big ol' glass of chardonnay, and a heating pad and comfy sofa, tv and paperback novel, all calling my name right now ... yes indeed, it's a good day.