Boo(ze) Camp

Oh man. Fucking baby boomers strike again. I couldn't make this shit up. Two terminally ill men strike a deal to do a list of things before they die? Starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman as the magical and wise black man? Really? Rob Reiner is really falling out of my favor, even though he directed the best romantic comedy of all time. This movie has every painful, ubiquitous, overdone BB cliche:

- Stars BB superhero Jack Nicholson as a crusty old curmudgeon and Morgan Freeman as the magical black man who gives JN a whole new perspective on life.

-- They engage in every "have to do this before I die" cliche imaginable, including skydiving, visiting the Taj Mahal, stock car racing (replaces the cross-country motorcycle trip a la Easy Rider) and seeing the pyramids. I'm guessing visiting the local gloryhole is not on the Bucket List.

-- JN of course has an estranged relationship with his daughter who MF of course encourages him to rekindle. And the estranged daughter of COURSE has an angelic young (blonde) daughter.

-- And of course, they are old and are knocking on death's door. HELLO, BABY BOOMERS? SOME SELF AWARENESS, PLEASE.

GOD.

In a vain and likely futile effort to stave off the inevitable winter weight gain, I've signed up for a bootcamp style workout program at my gym. We meet twice a week in the a.m. and work out and discuss nutrition. I'm kind of annoyed because for a fairly hefty price tag, it seems very beginner-focused (i.e., I don't think doing 20 pushups and situps and jogging for 10 minutes really qualifies as 1 cardio and 1 resistance workout, but whatever). I figured the pain of being weighed weekly and measured every 4 weeks would be enough to shame me into eating 100% healthy all the time, but I figured wrong. It doesn't help that I've already lied to the cute trainer (did I know he was running it? NO, I did NOT) who runs the program about my weight. Not my proudest moment, but this was an unusual weekend for me, what with the fried Cuban food Friday and the Violet Hour bonanza (and post-VH grazing) on Saturday! At least it gets me to das gym 1 day more a week than I typically go and kind of, KIND OF forces me to resist evils like the Krackels in our office candy jar and gets me thinking about adding protein and fiber and getting rid of all empty calories. Of course, the one thing they keep driving home is that we have to cut out booze. Um, fat chance. If that's what stands between me and losing 3-4 lbs., then I'm just going to live with being 3-4 lbs. away from what I consider my ideal weight. Fuck, I would MUCH RATHER do 30 more minutes of cardio a week or lift a little extra each day than cut out my wine and manhattans (and gimlets and sidecars and dark & stormies and, um, never mind).

Anyway, we have to keep a food journal and workout journal and the food journal at least is pretty painful. Since it's been so long since I've written in a private journal, it shows me I've become the kind of person who lies in my journals! I'm glad I'm on a workout kick though, b/c I do feel a tad stronger. I think I've got my running pace down to a *.** minute mile, which is pretty cool. I'll update (myself) on the progress but at this rate, I'm going to be happy if I just coast and stay the same, maybe with slightly more toned arms. : )

The Middle Road

The weather in Chicago has finally changed to the crispy, bright, sunny condition that evokes the atmosphere and feeling peculiarly specific to fall. I love it. I have to confess I'm in an uncharacteristically content and dare I say happy mood as I write this. That's due to things with family and friends going relatively well, a friend whom I thought was mad at me not being mad at me after all (and lesson learned -- JUST ASK), and us having won -- WON -- our big case earlier this week.

This is my blog so I get to bore (myself) with the details of our win. I'm going to first highlight some of my favorite statements from the court during the hearing:

-- Defendant has dug himself a hole in this litigation with his conduct.
-- Defendant is not entitled to any benefit of the doubt from this Court.
-- I don't care if you bring him here for a hearing, I wouldn't believe anything he says.
-- [Defense counsel] has done a good job representing your client with a straight face.
-- Your client has forfeited the right to even RAISE the argument that he will suffer harm if I enter this injunction.
-- More than a reasonable likelihood of success, quite frankly, this case is a slam dunk for the plaintiff.

WHOO! I'm still kind of on a high from the ruling. What a fucking AWESOME victory. Seriously. This fucking case has been such a roller coaster for me and it sounds so cheesy but after I took it in the ass from the magistrate and we made our client cry, I totally lost whatever faith I had in the "system" (and I'm well aware of the fact that my grizzled, cynical view of "the system" is based on a short 5 years of practice and I'm in no position to even have a belief or non-belief in the system). In less than a month we completely turned the case around and got the precise relief we needed at the exact right time. I could hear the client smiling on the phone every time I talked to her. What does this mean if the judge didn't go our way? Not much, because it's not like I'm Sally "justice prevails, the right side always wins." I just have to hope that if you do your best, do the right thing, and don't give up, there is at least a chance the right side will win. Aw, how after-school-special.

Of course, Negative Nancy over here could only focus on how I fucked up the hearing, b/c quite frankly I was focusing on not strangling my boss more than anything else while we waited, and when we stepped up I got the "Well, it's your motion, counsel." UM, UH, LET'S SEE, WHY ARE WE HERE AGAIN? WHO AM I? I was not really prepared to go into a whole thing, and my mind went completely blank and I rambled for about 30 seconds before I found some footing. It's always fun to know that every single word you say is being transcribed and will be provided to the client. And then when I thought I'd said everything, I got, "Is that all you want to say?" from the Court and then eventually my favorite, "No, I'm not going to let you say one more thing. I'm on your side." (In other words, SHUT THE FUCK UP).

I also couldn't help sticking it to that lying, motherfucking, douchebag, SHORT loser of an opposing counsel by calling him out on one of the many lies he said during court after we KICKED HIS ASS. What a fucking douche. I will capitalize on the fact that I am a young woman by sticking it to motherfuckers who underestimate me and try to get away with shit, esp. when said motherfuckers are douches whom I wouldn't accept a drink from at a bar. Arrogant and silly, yes. But one day when I'm old and wrinkled I'd like to say I used my youth and attractiveness to my advantage, even if it was to pump myself up before sticking it to a motherfucker.

Wow, that sounded a little after-school-special, too. Well, maybe more Oxygen Network than after-school-special.

On another note, someone with whom I became close friends has decided to act as if I no longer exist, something that I have the pleasure of experiencing on nearly a daily basis. I think I know the reason, and I guess I can understand, but it's really a bummer, kind of disappointing, and beneath him. It just sucks. People always surprise and exceed expectations, but they also disappoint. I guess the goal is to not let them influence expectations in either direction. Hence -- the middle road.

I'm about to go have lunch with an old college friend I haven't seen in years. I'm bracing myself for the whole, "No I don't go to church because religion is for dumb people" conversation. It will be nice to see him nonetheless. I'm ever-so-suspicious that being 5 years into marriage and with wife pregnant, he's a little dark.

Escapism

Yep, it's that time again. Avoidance and escapism. And the outlet du semana is The Violet Hour. This is a bar, so its connection to escapism is not surprising. It is totally on the level of any of those cocktail places in NYC. I'm fucking obsessed with this place. No smoking. No cellphones. No texting. No douchebags. Well, some douchebags, but the douches are quickly identified and driven away. My favorite is when someone ordered a "Raspberry Stoli and VAHD-KA" and was told politely but tersely that they do not have raspberry stoli. What a fucking douche. You can have an expertly mixed cocktail made from housemade bitters, a special Peruvian rum, housemade ginger syrup, Noilly Prat, or armagnac (among many other options), and you pick "raspberry stoli and vodka?" GET THE FUCK OUT. And get the fuck out, they do. Not to borrow from Metromix, but it really does feel like you fall down the rabbit hole away from the banal masses and ye who drinks red bull and VAHD-KAS to a quiet, sultry, well-designed, well-executed Wonderland where Miller Light is not available. People dress up tastefully, people talk quietly, listen to conversation-level and well-chosen, eclectic music, and most importantly, the drinks are sublime. I mean I wore a fucking head-to-toe white suit (I've always wanted to try that look) and looked totally normal. The drinks range from frothy, spicy, sweet, but not overpowering, tasteful, aromatic, and are all made to order -- they are like [strong] works of art. And, not to sound like F to the E to the R-gie, but for once in my life, this weekend I was allowed to bypass a line and get in right away! Okay, yes, that probably had to do more with the fact that I was alone than anything else, but that was pretty cool, especially when bypassing the girls with the bitchy looks on their faces to get in. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I actually had fun sitting at the bar and talking to the bartender, who is a pretty cool dude and who recognized me right away. Is it problematic when bartenders begin to recognize you? Perhaps. I was meeting Patrick later so it's not like I frequent bars alone, but I'd like to be able to someday without feeling sheepish about it. I think my new obsession is cognac. I got a bottle of calvados and it is becoming the perfect autumn thing on ice. I need to tread carefully though, b/c as much as I enjoyed the VH on Saturday I spent most of Sunday feeling the effecstacy.

I finally began the application process for the NY Bar last week. It required nothing more than a certified check, a letter, an easy application, and a letter to my paperpushing school, but for some reason I feel like it was an accomplishment. It probably won't mean a goddamn thing, but at least it's pushing me in that direction. Fuck.