shopping penguin

Maybe I've been watching too much Boardwalk Empire, but I'm obsessed with this hat. I tried it in an Anthro store yesterday, and fell in love. Of course, I didn't actually buy it because I needed a second opinion, and when I showed iPhone photos of myself in the mirror wearing it to the hubs, he said he "wasn't sure." I looked at the photos and became even MORE sure I need to own it. Feel free to take this as a hint, those of you who are looking for Christmas ideas. (I also need/want a black pashmina-type scarf. This may turn into a year like the winter I spent in Ann Arbor where all my wish-list items were warmth-related: long underwear, new coat, fleecy slippers, space heater. It was a sad time in my life.)

Speaking of shopping, the hubs and I recently bought a new TV. For the three and a half years or so that we've lived together, we shared one TV. In general, it works out fine--we watch a lot of sports and a lot of HGTV, and we are both generally happy about both of those things.

However, he wants to watch hockey. And I mean, I like hockey fine, and will watch a game here or there, but do you know how much those guys play? It's a LOT. And for a LONG TIME. It's like an 18 month season of 1,000 games or something. I swear, the Blackhawks just won the Cup yesterday, and they're already 3 months into this season. ANYWAY, since my lovely husband wanted to get the Center Ice Package and watch roughly 15 hockey games every week, and I wanted to stay married to him while not subjecting myself to approximately 50 hours a week of games that often end in scores like 2-0, we bought another TV.

So while he's watching hockey in one room, I have a new and strange luxury: I can watch really whatever I want. Not that I couldn't watch sort of whatever I wanted before, but when there's another person in the equation, I at least am likely to choose to watch things they probably won't hate. It's actually a little terrifying what I will watch when left to my own devices. Now, if you'll excuse me, there are so many episodes of Real Housewives of Somewhere or Other that I really need to catch up on.

(In trying to find a video or something to make this post about shopping something other than painfully boring and self-absorbed, I ran across this:




Now, I hate/fear birds. However, I have always said penguins are the best of the birds [I think because they're flightless and therefore can't attack me from the air, plus even I can admit their babies are almost cute.] and now, I'm totally convinced. I mean, really.)

kate gets pwned.

I can't believe it's been over two months since I updated. The last two months at work have been just insane for me, and it means that on weekends and in the evenings, I either want to hang out with the hubs or just veg and not have to put together any coherent thoughts. I guess the good news about all that is that I am not worried about job security, at least not anytime soon. And given the economy at large, that's a good spot to be in.

I'm feeling a little low on creative juices, but maybe I'll return with something good soon.

my life in the city in pictures

In a thunderstorm earlier this summer, the tree in front of our house fell and totally blocked our staircase. I had to Rambo my way out to get to work in the morning.

You forget that somewhere in the Midwest can have a beach this nice. And yet, there it is. I defy you to look at Lake Michigan and not have at least a moment of thinking it's the ocean.

There were about a dozen of these tiny vintage cars parked all in a line downtown last week. No idea why.

Also in the "no idea why" category, someone threw these lovely flowers away in the garbage can outside my office building last week. Bad boyfriend trying to get back in good graces? I love that whoever threw them away did it bloom side up, though, so I could get a look.

Possibly the best dinner I've ever eaten...greek yogurt + honey + farmstand peaches, blueberries, and raspberries. Yummmm.

Shopping downtown, this couple holding hands made my heart melt.

I LOVE this series of ads for the aquarium. It really is magical.

I wanna do it 'til I can't get enough

Those of you who knew me well my 1L year--to date, the worst year of my life by far--know that this song, KC & The Sunshine Band's Boogie Shoes, in a not-totally-hyperbolic way saved my life. Studying for finals in December of 2006 (unbelievable it was that long ago) in the green-carpeted dungeon of a library, hating my life, hating myself, hating everything...I saved my sanity with that insanely catchy hook. I listened to it at least 3 times a day, a lot of days close to 20 times. That is not an exaggeration. What? It's only about a 2 minute song! It's also the song that kicked off the dancing at my wedding, after I had put on my boogie shoes.

So it is not lightly that I say that this morning, during my weekly Top 20 VH1 Countdown viewing, I thought...holy shit, who is this band, and are they seriously the second coming of KC&SSB? So I sit, transfixed by the 80s sunglasses, and 90s pop hooks, wondering. Who is it? When it got to the end and the band's name came up, I just laughed. I mean, really. Well played, young sirs.

PANTS

Here's something absurd about me, in this moment: I have no idea what size pants I wear. I mean, really. I blogged about my weight gain a bit back in January, which also happened to be right when I started work. Despite my bloggy grumblings, I did eventually find a few pairs of pants from a few gracious retailers willing to sell to my newly-WOMAN-size ass. Now, though, I've lost a pretty significant amount of weight, and really just haven't had time to go buy new pants. I am currently wearing a pair of non-stretchy dress pants that I can remove without undoing the button or zipper, which I am pretty sure is a sign of bad fit. Well, that and the fact that I have taken to pinning them before work so I don't walk around holding them up. It's only margininally effective, and creates bunching issues....from the back, I have droopy diaper syndrome, and from the front, that old enemy of Michael Kors: crazy crotch. I clearly have gone down a size. Have I gone down two? Dear lord, could I be wearing pants three sizes too large? Like my pants are the grinch's chest and I am the grinch's heart?

vacation: all I ever wanted

The hubs and I are back from an extended long weekend in sunny San Francisco. Well, the sun was intermittent, but the fun was NON-STOP. I laid in the sun. I laughed until I couldn't breathe. I smelled the salt air. I wore a sweater and a scarf on the Fourth of July and was still cold. I ate some seriously amazing food and hung out with some seriously amazing people. All in all, it was a super-fun couple of days.

I hear the train a-coming...

This evening on the train, I sat watching a dude who looked like The Sartorialist threw up all over him. I mean, seriously. With his fancy briefcase and his pants rolled just-so to reveal that he wasn't wearing any (visible) socks with his fancy shoes. Even the buttons on his blazer were fancy, in an understated Euro kind of way. I really expected him to get off the train and unlock a fancy retro bike to ride home on. But he was chewing this ENORMOUS piece of gum, and for whatever reason, I found myself unable to look away from him. It's awkward when you know you're staring and you just can't stop, you're only hoping not to get caught. I don't think Mr. Sartorialist noticed my staring--I was sitting far enough away.

I also played one of my favorite games in my head with him--the "which stop is this guy getting off at?" game. I lost today--big. I thought FOR SURE this guy was getting off at the hipsteriest stop on the line, two before my stop. When he didn't get off there (shocking!) I thought, okay, he must be a slightly poorer or grungier hipster than I thought--getting off two stops after mine. All that when, in fact, he got off at the same time I did. I couldn't believe it. I didn't see him after leaving the station, so he must have gone the other way. One of the things I love so much about this city is that I could see him again tomorrow afternoon, riding the train home. Or I could never see him again. Who knows.

summertime chi...it's the good life

Summertime in Chicago is borderline magical. People are PSYCHED about the fact that it's summer (I guess that's what happens when you spend 8 months of the year in hibernation). One of the best things about living here in the summer---aside from the weather, and the patios (so many patios), and the beaches---is that people want to come visit you, which means you get to do all the touristy things you wanted to do anyway under the guise of being a good host. PLUS, you get to see all kinds of people you love without having to go anywhere. Seriously. Awesome.

The hubs and I are fortunate enough to have a place big enough to put up a fair number of people comfortably, and over the next couple of months we're going to have a bunch of people in and out and I couldn't be more excited about it.

The other thing the summertime has meant is that it's nice enough for me to run outside. I say "run" and what I really mean is "old man shuffle." You know what I mean. Where you're not really walking, but you're also going so slowly old ladies with walkers could be passing you. Anyway, despite my ridiculous pace, I've been pretty consistent about it over the last month and a half or so, and honestly, feeling really good. When I stop working out, I always forget how much better I feel when I am working out consistently. It's like it's good for me or some shit.

It's going to be so sad when fall comes. Ah, well. For now: it's the good life.

Unsolicited Uterus Update: Still Empty

I had a SUPER vivid dream this week, which almost never happens to me. Or at least, I almost never remember my dreams. Anyway, in said dream I was pregnant. Like super pregnant. And people's reactions to it were sort of the most hilarious part. The hubs was ecstatic. Liz, you were INSANELY mad at me. Like, taking it as a personal affront that I would do this to you.

Anyway, as I mentioned a few posts ago, I feel like everyone around me is having babies. I think when I mentioned it, I probably sounded like a petulant little kid, annoyed (like Liz) that people would be doing this to me. I don't want to be old enough for all my friends to be parents! I don't want to stop being a mostly irresponsible asshole! The truth is, though, I really couldn't be happier for all the parents and soon-to-be parents in my life. It does, of course, freak me out that I'm old enough to be a mom, and that sometimes when I see an especially cute kid, I do have a twinge of...what is that? maternal instinct? overactive ovaries? Then when the kid gets hysterical, I feel a wave of relief that I'm not actually its mom.

The hubs and I sometimes talk about having kids, as a sort of "yeah...someday we should do that" kind of thing. Or we'll see one of those cute kids pre-hysteria and joke about kidnapping it. (There was a blonde two year old girl at the hubs's family camping trip this year that spoke French. I was concerned we might make it back to Chicago and I actually would discover her in the trunk.) Given how much fear it strikes in me to even wake up from a dream where I was preggers, I wonder if I'll ever think "yes, this is the time. we are totes ready to be ONE HUNDRED PERCENT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE WELFARE OF ANOTHER, HELPLESS HUMAN BEING." I'm guessing no? I don't even take very good care of my own damn self. But I guess we'll probably do it anyway. Someday. A long, long time from now.

Too Close to Home

I read an article in the last couple weeks (I don't remember what or where, or I'd link) that mentioned, sort of off-handedly, that lawyers are people who were good at everything all their lives, but never really great at anything. (I think the thrust of the article was that, then, in order to really excel in their careers, lawyers need to break out of that, specialize and market themselves as experts in a particular niche, but none of us want to do that....that's not really the point here anyway.)

So it just stuck. in. my. brain. Because it's so absurdly true of me, and of most of the lawyers I know. But one of the things I always thought was, well, if I can be good at all this shit, maybe I can be a great lawyer.

What's been in part frustrating for me about my job is that, definitionally, a BIG part of what it means to be "great" at it is being available. All the time. Working nights. Working weekends. Answering emails late. Going in to the office even if you hadn't planned to. It's not even going above and beyond because it's expected. In fact, it's required. I don't know how to get away from that, especially because I work at a firm that's now (allegedly) one of the least demanding in that way in the city. As I think I said before, I work in an area of the law that doesn't lend itself super-easily to non-firm practice, at least not before you're well above my pay grade (like 15 years senior to me), so there don't seem to be a ton of options for hopping off the treadmill. And that freaks me the fuck out.

Comments

So, I recently had a bunch of spam comments show up, and in an effort to stem the tide, I've turned on comment moderation. So, if you comment (and please, do comment! it seriously makes my day) and it doesn't show up right away, it's probably just because I haven't gotten to approving it yet. I apologize for the delay.

Oh, also, you're no longer able to comment anonymously, which I apologize for--I hate that, but it turns out most of the anonymous comments were bots anyway. Sadface.

Laying Down the Law

Being a lawyer is kind of awesome, at times. The last week has been sort of insanely busy and hectic and stressful and I have to admit, I am very glad it's over. But I also learned a lot this week and got to work on a pretty interesting case and be a valuable member of a team. So it's not all bad.

When I was in law school, I always thought it would be hard to have really good opposing counsel. It turns out, that's the EASIEST possible scenario. When opposing counsel is good--which is to say, prepared, knowledgeable, and, you know, at least a little smart--it makes my life a LOT easier. It's when opposing counsel are, as my mentor says, "jokers," that things get complicated.

I work in a relatively specialized area of the law, but one that general practice lawyers are always convinced they can give a shot. When I'm having to go back to square negative-one to explain to the court WHAT THE LAW ACTUALLY SAYS because these jokers are just talking around in circles, or asking for things the COURT CANNOT ACTUALLY DO, or even saying things that are JUST STRAIGHT UP LIES, it wastes a lot of time I could actually be arguing the issues. Which is something I hadn't thought about until I actually had to do it.

It's also interesting reading press coverage of cases I'm actually working on, which has now happened a couple of times. Like the opposing counsel jokers, it turns out journalists often just don't get what the law actually says, but at least they seem to care about the fact that they don't know rather than just going with whatever they think makes the most sense. It is kind of cool to see people care about the stuff that I do, regardless.

Also on my mind: how is seriously everyone getting preggers? I am not ready to be of an age where my friends all have kids. Unsolicited uterus update: still blissfully empty.

home alone

Yesterday I walked a mile and a half (each way!) and paid $5 for two cupcakes and a glass of milk from this adorable establishment, Sweet Mandy B's. It has, I can say with total confidence, the most delicious cupcakes in the world. Actually, the cupcakes are good, but it's the frosting that haunts my dreams. I got one carrot cake and one red velvet--which is to say, double the cream cheese frosting, please. I sat on the bench out front and ate the carrot cake one and drank the milk and brought the red velvet back for after dinner. It. Was. Glorious.

But also, this post is about how pathetic I am when left to my own devices. The hubs skipped town to go run some absurd distance in some other city, and I stayed home alone. I watched disgusting amounts of HGTV and subsist on cupcakes and goldfish. I'm pretty damn lucky to have him around most of the time to be sure I don't die wearing my ugly sweatpants, surrounded by what appear to be the remnants of a first grader's birthday party.

dripping with alchemy

A woman I worked with when I was a summer associate had been out on maternity leave when I started, and just returned. I hadn't seen her in nearly 2 years now, and so the first thing she wanted to talk about when she saw me was...the wedding. Ah, yes, the wedding. Of course. How quickly I forget. It was nearly a year ago now. A year!

A year ago at this time, I was getting ready for finals. Finals. Even the concept feels so foreign to me at this point. When I was in law school, occasionally someone would make reference to something that had appeared on a final I had taken. (Generally, talking about law school finals is totally taboo in all civilized circles, but now and then in conversation someone would drop a "oh, yeah, like that bizarre hypo with the cat and the lady with the pick up truck...") Anyway, when one of these references came up I, without fail, had no idea what this person was talking about. From the second I walked out of that exam room, if you had asked me one thing that was on the test, I couldn't have told you. Honestly. It's like how they say some abuse victims don't remember their abuse because they've just repressed the memory? I didn't understand how that was possible before law school. It's not like I'm not remembering because I don't want to. I honestly just don't.

This is all a long-winded, roundabout way of my saying...I think I also blocked out law school. Sometimes when I think back on it, I feel like it didn't really happen. Like I came out of college, took a three year nap, Rip Van Winkle style, and woke up a lawyer.

A year ago! Almost! Crazytown!

turn smile shift repeat

So I'm now a full month into my job. And it's...I mean, it's job. There's a reason they have to pay you to go to jobs (and in my case, arguably overpay) and the reason is they all suck a little. But I spent three years--three miserable years--of my life telling myself that if I could just get through those three years, then I would get to be a lawyer. And being a lawyer was going to be awesome.

And some things about it are kind of awesome. There's a lot of problem-solving. I get to be a part of a team way more than I anticipated, which I unexpectedly sort of love. Plus, I get to give legal advice. There's something about that which is totally weirdly satisfying. I also think the issues I'm dealing with are pretty interesting in a majorly nerdy way. And those sweet, sweet lawyer paychecks certainly don't hurt.

But then. But then. I'm working kind of a lot, and there's a lot of pressure for me to be working even more. My employer laid a ton of people off in the last year, and there's a lot of anxiety about when or if they might be laying off more. There's a lot of tension about who's working what kind of hours and whether we ought to be doing this or doing that. Incidentally, in a total fluke, I happen to be in one of the busiest groups at my firm, but even I had a super slow day this week which caused me to have a "well shit, if I can't even get work in this group, I might as well pack it in now."

On top of that, I have no idea if I'm doing even a passable job. I get feedback in the "here, make these edits and then send it to the client" kind of way, but not in the "yeah, you're a pretty good beginning lawyer" kind of way. I guess they hired me on the basis of the work I did last summer, which must not have sucked, but then sometimes I get some pretty negative feedback (one partner, for whom I do the majority of my work, had to remind me to "mind the small things"....I shut the door to my office and cried.) and it's like....this? This is what I'm doing with my life? Why??

Oh, not to mention there's no exit strategy. I'm in a sort of niche area, and there's not really a lot to do from here, even if there were available legal jobs out there.

Maybe part of the problem is that I have always been relentlessly, disgustingly goal-oriented. I worked hard in high school to get a scholarship to college. Check. I worked hard in college to get into a great law school. Check. I worked hard in law school to get a firm job. Check. Now that I have that job I have sort of a feeling of a ship at sea. Now what? I had thought I'd be on a sort of partnership track, and maybe in a few months I'll decide that is what I want, but right now, the idea of working at this same place doing this same work until I retire makes me want to put knives in my eyeballs. The idea of billing 2000+ hours a year and taking a blackberry on vacation and always being on call makes me want to quit today. But that great law school didn't come cheap, so I guess for at least the next 10 or so years, I'm just going to have to suck it up.

out of touch

I have never been the kind of person who's really good at staying in touch with people. There are a number of reasons why this is a flaw in my personality, but I'll skip over them to the punchline: I should stop it. It's a result of this flaw that I have very few people I keep in touch with from high school and college.

Keeping in touch is a weird thing anyway, in the Facebook Era. I mean, I know exactly what basically every member of my high school class is doing now--both in terms of their careers and education and families, and in terms of what they had for lunch or what color their bra is. (That is a whole different post, which will likely never get posted.) But do I actually speak to any of them? Basically no.

For a long time, I thought of this as thoughtful pruning. And, to some extent, I still do. I have no time in my life for people who aren't pretty awesome. Everybody has to deal with a number of not-that-awesome people every day--as part of our jobs, our commutes, our web-surfing, our grocery shopping, whatever the fuck it is we do all day--and I like to keep that to an absolute minimum. Seems fair. But what got thrown out with that bathwater are all the people that I really like but just somehow never made time for. Or people that I made time for at one point in my life and just stopped later because of distance or laziness.

So this is my resolution: to be a better friend. I'd even share a milkshake. Maybe. Probably not 3 ways, though. I take my ice cream more seriously than that.

an open letter to the man with the office across the alley from mine

Dear man with the office across the alley from mine:

Have you noticed that we can see directly into one another's offices? Because I will tell you what, I have. I have also noticed that you play a LOT of Freecell and Hearts. I'm sorry your job's so boring.

Oh, hey, can I ask you a favor? I'm sure I can. Will you PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD fix the picture frames on your wall? I see you have many fancy diplomas presumably for your many fancy degrees all nicely framed but ALL OF YOUR DAMN FRAMES ARE CROOKED AND MISALIGNED.

Your OCD neighbor,
Kate

hey, guess who it is? it's your butt. hey butt.

So I debated posting this at all, because there's so much judgment about women's bodies out there, and I have tried to avoid that minefield as much as possible. Nonetheless, whatever else this blog is, it ought to be about my experiences is and the fact is this: I have gained a lot of weight. (Since the wedding. How cliched is that?) And I'm uncomfortable at my new weight. Not because there's something bad or gross or wrong with it but because it's new and none of my damn clothes fit anymore.

In fact, if it weren't for the fact that none of my damn clothes fit, I probably wouldn't have even noticed at all. I look more or less the same, and while I'm out of shape, I've certainly been thin and out of shape in my life. (Why hello there, 15 year old Kate. I notice you're approximately 80 lbs lighter than I am right now and yet can barely squeak out the 14 minute mile required not to fail phys. ed.)

But, since none of my damn clothes fit, and because I'm starting work next week and I haven't worked during the winter since 2006, I needed new clothes. New business clothes. Fast.

The most jarring thing about the weight I've gained is that it was just enough to cause me to "size out" of most of my old favorite stores. I'm sure for a lot of people (most people?) this is demoralizing or something, but for me, it just fucking pisses me off. I am a consumer. I want to purchase your goods. WHY CAN'T YOU MAKE THEM FOR ME??? I mean, I knew this was a problem--I read the blogs--but there's a difference between knowing there's a problem and experiencing it in all its painful glory.

What's maybe just as irritating is how ghettoized buying clothes is for people my new size. Seriously, who thought up the term "Plus Size?" Yes, it's the number of my old size PLUS FOUR!! Isn't that fun? Also, WOMAN. Somehow WOMAN is code for "fattie" in the biz. There's Michael Kors, then there's Michael Kors WOMAN. There's the Macy's women's department and then there's Macy's WOMAN. Oh, also, did you know we also have our own sizing numbers and letters? That's a whole different fun learning experience.

Anyway, I finally did find a few retailers who would deign to sell to me, though I am now my old size plus four, but the whole ordeal left me totally exhausted and annoyed and angry and sad. And I came home to check Jez, and what do I find? This spread, from V Magazine's forthcoming January issue.

And you know what? It made me feel better. Isn't that weird? I don't think fashion has ever made me feel better. It's HOTT. It made me feel a little hotter, even in my WOMAN pants. I didn't think it was possible for fashion photography to make ME feel hotter. The models are airbrushed, sure, but like...they have rolls! But they're still hot! And maybe more importantly, they're still supposed to be hot!

A few of my faves, in case you didn't click through:



Thanks, Jez, and V Magazine. I needed that.

(The title is from this ad, if you didn't recognize it. I seriously love that couple. Can they get a sitcom deal? Come on, the Geico cavemen got one!)

best of 2009

Best trip: ROAD TRIP.

Best restaurant experience: Sprout. Seriously, best meal of my life.

Best book (fiction or non-fiction): Lolita.

Best night of the year: My wedding.

Best day of the year: Thomas's birthday- Portland, OR.

Wildest day of the year: St. Louis.

Best day of work: I didn't really "work" in 2009. So there's that.

Best challenge: bar exam. Is that a best? Ugh, it sort of doesn't feel like it.

Best place: Glacier National Park.

Best car ride: SF to Yosemite. "hey mom, I PASSED THE BAR."

Best learning experience: recession + crushing student loan debt = new lessons in attempted frugality.

Best gift: flowers and omelets October 11.

Best purchase of the year: does the road trip count as a purchase? does my J.D? assuming not, my favorite pair of jeans.

Best insight or ah-ha moment: If it's a business, it's going to operate like a business, no matter what else they try to tell you. Wait, that's too cynical. How about this: it's a big, beautiful world out there and I'm just lucky to be living in it. Yes, that's better.

Taken from my cuz, the incomparable EA.