Law With Grace

Stolen Lines 8.1

2011-10-21T19:09:00.003-05:00

It's back! Stolen Lines is being hosted by the always lovely and clever Daisy.

The line is: After hanging up the phone, I stood for awhile looking out my window and wondering if I should have told him no.

End your post with “I stole this line from page 220 of Rules of Civility by Amor Towles”

Click here to post it...

Click here to look at some old stolen lines...

I'm excited. Going to work on it now.

Dear Anonymous Commenter,

2011-10-11T21:45:00.002-05:00

You know who you are. You are the only anonymous commenter who commented on my post before last, with the always creative critique "Yawwwwwn"

Dude! At first I just rolled my eyes, thinking, well, big shock... Mr. (or Ms.) Anonymous never really quits. And that was that.

But then actually, I got annoyed. At MYSELF! Anonymous, you are right! I've definitely been having a rough time coming up with something to write about. And it is kinda sad. And I have been a little boring...But what can I say? I'm stuck.

So, Anonymous... tell me... What do YOU want me to write about? Give me a topic. I'll write about anything you say as long as it's something I know something about. If I'm so fucking boring, give me a clue. HELP ME HELP YOU BE ENTERTAINED. The one thing I won't write about is work, and I won't reveal my real identity. I like my job more than I like this blog. But anything else? You name it, I'll write about it.

Ok. Go... And I won't hold my breath waiting for a response.

Sincerely,

Grace

PS. What the hell, this invitation is open to anyone. Not just bitchy anonymous commenters.

Dinner and our new venture, and a volunteer needed...

2011-10-09T19:55:00.004-05:00

I need pizza. My husband needs pizza. We can't find one we both like. We've started a new project. It certainly won't replace this one, but may just add a little something.

Feel free to check it out and refer your favorite place to us. We're literally in the middle of our first entry right now.

Where's our Fucking Pizza?

Also, for those of you who have been around, how about someone come up with a Stolen Line? I promise I'll participate!

Dance Moms, Weddings, and Babies.

2011-10-02T19:50:00.016-05:00

Hi Blog!

I'm not really ready to start writing again, but I was looking for an old blog that I used to write on, and it was just gone. Like, it disappeared, and I was told that if you don't write, then Blogger just throws your blog away like a cheap hooker. And I would be really disappointed if that happened to this blog. Also I feel like if I am writing while watching "Dance Moms" then it's sorta like I'm not really watching "Dance Moms." At least I can't be held accountable for it. Like, if my husband comes home and asks why the fuck I'm watching "Dance Moms" I can act all horrified, and be all "oh my god, i can't even believe THAT'S on! I was blogging and totally not paying attention. 'Dance Moms?' Eww!!!!"

And yes. I said husband. I'm a married lady. My husband is awesome. We got married in April in a beautiful place surrounded by beautiful people who love us. Literally the best day of my entire life. Here are some pictures of some of it...

Afterwards, there was this...

Playa Mujeres. Un-fucking-believable.

And of course, the only pictures that really matter...

Daisy took these two shots. Love her.

He's awesome. 15 months old today.

Ok, enough of the pictures. Back to Dance Moms. I took a vacation day tomorrow. Maybe I'll post a book review of THE WORST AND MOST DISTURBING CHILDREN'S BOOK EVER.

*** UPDATE

Husband: What did you have for dinner?

Grace: Sushi from the new sushi place.

Husband: What are you drinking?

Grace: The Beaujolais my mom gave us.

Husband: What are you watching on TV?

Grace: Ummm.... Nothing?

Husband: Are you too ashamed to tell me?

Grace: (silence)

And here's another picture of G...

Yeah. I'm not good at keeping up...

2011-02-11T21:03:00.002-06:00

Tonight, I'm home alone. The baby is asleep. I'm on the couch watching Big Love. I am supposed to be planning a wedding right now. But, alas... I am not that girl who finds wedding planning fun. I think it kind of blows, actually. Don't get me wrong, I am very much looking forward to the wedding, and the honeymoon! I just can't get all worked up about the fucking flowers and runners, and blah blah blah... I'm just not that girl. It's really fucking boring.

My little dude is already 7 months old. He's really awesome. He sits up by himself, and smiles all the time. And he has two cute little teeth.

Hoping I'll post more stuff later. I miss blogging, but of course... I've been saying that for a year. Maybe I'll just start by posting baby pictures, and see what happens from there...

By the way, to the anonymous blogger who called me a slut in my last post? Go fuck your cat.

Here's the little man!!

Working My Way Back To You, Blog

2010-09-16T19:06:00.004-05:00

Hi to the two people who are still checking in on my blog! It's been a long time!

So everything is good. Baby G is ridiculously awesome, and my maternity leave is ending soon. As such, I thought I'd try to start writing again. I might, and I might not.

But assuming I do continue writing, I definitely think my blog is in need of a fresh new look. So I'm working on that.

Obviously, a lot has changed in the last year of my life. Like my boobs. Speaking of my boobs, I was admiring them in the shower today, and shot myself in the eye with breast milk. They sort of lost their allure to me after that.

Besides my boobs, everything else has changed, too. Profound huge awesome crazy kick ass overwhelming changes.

The problem with writing about it is I always try to write about the forest of the last year of my life, rather than each awesome tree.

I'm going to try and figure it out though, because there are definitely some stories I want to tell. But, alas... the glorious little one is crying, so I must go for now.

Here's a picture of him though...since you asked.

8 Pounds, 6 Ounces of Pure Awesomeness...

2010-07-03T20:50:00.003-05:00

Say Hi to Baby G.

Born at 8:08 PM, July 2, 2010.

What do Imelda Marcos, Jose Conseco, and Lindsay Lohan have in Common?

2010-07-01T15:22:00.003-05:00

They are all born on the day that (HOPEFULLY) our son will make his late appearance.

Today is my last day (HOPEFULLY) being pregnant. They are inducing labor tomorrow morning bright and early. I suppose there's a chance that this could stretch out until the third of July. After all, nothing else about this pregnancy has been exactly timely.

I really didn't want to have him induced, but after the doctors looked at the ultrasound, they decided that it would probably be in his best interest to do it. I didn't initially plan on publicizing his ultrasound pictures, but this one is just too good, so if you want to see it, here it is...

Anyway, my doctor also told me that based on the positioning of the baby, and my own body, there's a good possibility we're going to be in for a very long ride. Whatever. I'm not scared.

The hospital does have wi-fi so maybe I'll update, but I make no promises. I have decided that even though I remain anonymous, I'll probably post a picture of the little one. Just because all babies pretty much look the same.

So have a great 4th of July weekend! Don't get drunk and drive a car.

See you on the other side.

And a Bar Exam Re-Post

2010-06-28T18:38:00.003-05:00

I took a moment to look at my Sitemeter, and sure as shit, I was reminded that the bar exam is approaching. Here you go...please...listen to me.

Dear All Bar Exam Takers Everywhere,

Calm the FUCK DOWN.

Did you hear me? I'll say it again.

Calm the FUCK DOWN.

And maybe one final time... CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

Ok? Here's how I know a decent number of you are freaking out. In case you don't know, Sitemeter is this little tool that tells me who comes to my blog, and how they find my blog. Here are some of the searches that have led people to me:

"Bar Exam" & "Freaking out"
"Bar Exam Tips"
"I'm going to fail the bar exam"
"Bar Exam" & "want to die"
"Bar Exam" & "I'm a loser"
"Bar Exam" & "want to set myself on fire"
"Advice to those who failed the bar exam"
"Bar exam" & "can't stop crying"

Ok. Seriously. You need to chill out. I know that's totally unfair of me to say, because when I was studying for the bar, I asked my friend to hit me with his car, not hard enough to kill me, but just hard enough that I wouldn't have to take the bar exam. And I actually thought this was a reasonable request. So I get it. But he told me to calm the fuck down, and I did. And it helped.

I am in no position to offer actual tips on how to pass the bar, because quite frankly, I have no idea how I did it.

Here are just a few things I want to remind you of, even though I know you probably already know this.

Just because someone has all their barbri books tabbed and color coded, organized perfectly, with correlating colored flash cards, does not mean they are in a better position to pass the bar. This is not a method of learning. It's a method of feeling in control. It may not be your way. That's fine.

Most of you will pass.

Everyone feels the exact same way as you do.

Stop feeling guilty every time you catch yourself not studying. You need to take a break.

While I appreciate you reading my blog, YOU WILL FIND NO NEW INFORMATION ABOUT THE BAR BY GOOGLING "BAR EXAM" & "FREAKING OUT"

Right now, walk away from the computer. Take a breath. Take a walk. Have a drink. Have a smoke. Go have sex. Do something ELSE. The fact that you are googling the things you are googling to bring you to my blog is clearly a sign that you need to calm the FUCK DOWN, and take a break.

Just do it.

XO
Grace

He's Going to Live in My Basement When He's 30, Isn't He?

2010-06-28T17:39:00.005-05:00

Yep. Still pregnant. My baby is officially a mope. Please note, I have graduated from watermelon to pumpkin.

And I am so fucking bored. And the phone starts ringing at about 8:30 every morning with people asking if there's any news. WELL, THERE'S NOT.

On my Facebook page, all these people have listed their own little tips for having the little guy show up. They include:

Going to see a bad movie
Pineapple
listening to loud music
Kentucky Fried Chicken
Walking
Black Cohosh Tea (whatever the fuck that is)
Taking a bath
Drinking some wine
Being patient
Spicy Foods
Sex
Eggplant Parmesan
Beets

If the baby doesn't come today, tomorrow, I shall do them ALL. I'll let you know how it goes.

Oh, and Scott Rose?? I got my iphone after I dropped my Blackberry in the bathtub while texting. Are you turned on???

The internet can't be wrong, can it?

2010-06-23T23:36:00.008-05:00

Where the hell is my baby?

It Was Only A Matter of Time... Pregnancy Advice

2010-06-02T18:24:00.002-05:00

Although I promised myself I would not be the person to offer unwanted advice to pregnant people, if you're Googling my blog and got to this page, you were likely Googling "pregnancy advice", anyway. And if you were just visiting my blog, because that's what you sometimes do, this won't affect your life anyway. Either way, YOU came to ME so it's hardly like the random woman in the elevator who told me about shitting myself while in labor, or the male attorney extolling the virtues of perineal massage*.

I can't offer a lot. Because I don't know a lot, but I figured I'd write down a couple of things that I found helpful. I'll do this every once in a while as I remember them. So here are my first two tidbits:

1. Don't look at the scale when you get weighed at the doctor's office. Why? It's just going to make you feel bad, even though logically you know you shouldn't be bothered. If you're a young American woman, any time the scale goes up for ANY reason, it's going to fuck with your head. So why do that to yourself? Your doctor WILL tell you if your weight is a problem. So let it go.

2. Stop eating asparagus around week 36. You have to give WAY too many urine samples. It's just rude.

*It's the taint, ok? I don't want to discuss this any further ever again.

Happy June!

2010-06-01T19:39:00.002-05:00

Holy Shit.

This is the month I become a parent. I wish I had more to report, but really that's all that's been going on.

I've had two baby showers. A third is scheduled for this weekend. Quite frankly, one would have been enough. But whatever. There was our actual friends and family shower, my work shower, and my fiance's (yes I said fiance) work shower.

We now have a crap load of baby stuff. And it really is all pretty cute.

Oddly, I'm not really that scared. I think I'm going to pretty good at this. And I know the fiance will be awesome.

I am scared of a few things regarding labor and delivery, though. Oh, and by the way I'm not scared of grossing anyone out, so if you're easily grossed out, feel free to stop reading right here.

It seems like an obvious thing, but whether or not you're actually in labor is not always that clear cut. It's not like in the movies, where you hear a big splash, look down to see a bucket worth of water on the ground, and that's your clue to to get your ass to the hospital. But then, how DO you know? Well, there a couple of ways. One, you start having contractions, I guess. But only the CORRECT kind of contractions. How do you know if they're the correct kind of contractions? I, of course, asked that question. My doctor looked at me like I'm the dumbest bitch with a uterus and said, "Oh, you'll know." Well. THANK you and fuck you. They clearly don't know what a dumbass I am. Maybe I won't know.

This is what brought me to Google, which my doctor had previously banned me from using for all pregnancy related topics. Well, fuck her, if she can't tell me how I'm gonna know if I'm going into labor, I need someone to do it. And google taught me the two most disgusting phrases in the English language. Are you ready?

Ok.

1. Mucus plug
2. Bloody show

I have nothing more to say.

Pregnancy Fear #4367345

2010-04-22T18:00:00.004-05:00

The problem with waiting for so long to write, is then there's so much to say, and it's hard to pick just one thing. Not to mention, according to the Artful Blogger, I've lost my edge. Whatever. He's sorta right.

ANYWAY, in less than 2 months, I'm having a baby. That's a pretty crazy reality. I'm totally not ready for it, but that doesn't really freak me out. I also have no idea how to handle a newborn. Sometimes that doesn't freak me out. Today it doesn't freak me out. Today I am too busy being freaked out by other things.

15 years ago this week, a dude by the name of Timothy McVeigh blew up the Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City. He killed something like 160 people, which was, until 9/11/01, the largest act of domestic terrorism the US had ever seen. He was a real asshole.

11 years ago this week, two dudes, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, walked into Columbine High School, where they were both seniors, and shot a bunch of people, wounding 20 something people and killing 13. They complained that they were bullied and unpopular. So they killed people. Also, huge assholes.

As I annually like to point out, April is National Sexual Assault Awareness Month. A whole month dedicated to the awareness of sexual assault is necessary because the fact is, a lot of sexual assaults happen every year. And every last one of them? Committed by assholes.

April is also National Poetry Month. Who writes poetry? You guessed it. Assholes.

Naturally, now I turn the point of this post back to myself. Or, more specifically, my unborn son.

What if HE'S an asshole? I'm not kidding. My brother is an asshole. My sister is an asshole. I'm sort of an asshole, although charming in my own right. We're not criminals by any means, but it's not completely unfathomable to think there's a possibility that my son could be an asshole!

Now, before you all say, "Oh Grace, you'll teach him right from wrong! You'll look for the signs that he is building bombs in the bathroom! You'll teach him to respect women! You'll explain to him what writing sonnets will do to his soul! You will teach by example" Well, of course I will. I will do all those things a million times over, but we can't just assume that will be enough to guarantee our children won't be rapists, murderers or poets. I'm sure the Harris, Klebold and McVeigh families didn't condone violence. I'm sure that lots of mothers and fathers taught their sons the horrors of sexual assault, and the need to learn to respect women, only to visit their son in Statesville Correctional Facility for rape.

That's kinda terrifying. How the fuck do the rest of you deal with that? I really want to know.

Coming Back. No. For Real I am.

2010-04-11T22:29:00.002-05:00

A good friend of mine inspired me (mainly by complimenting me a lot and comparing me to a very talented and funny famous writer) to write again. I do have a lot to say. LOTS of things to report.

For example, I moved.

And I hugged a stranger.

And got engaged. Not to the stranger I hugged.

More on all that later.

I'm also still pregnant.

I will be back tomorrow.

OH. And courtesy of Butterflyfish, another Stolen Lines coming Friday.

Random Thoughts on (my) Pregnancy

2010-03-04T20:05:00.006-06:00

In case I haven't mentioned it before, my knockers are OUT OF THIS WORLD.

I'm 24 weeks, as of yesterday. You would THINK that means that I am 6 months pregnant, wouldn't you? Well, guess what? IT DOESN'T! And apparently, the fact that I rely on a little thing called math, makes me the stupidest pregnant lady in the history of life. I am actually due on June 23. Which means that I am clearly LESS than 24 weeks. I'm actually only a little more than 5 months pregnant. How very scientific and mathy of the pregnancy people! So here's a question to the people who have previously been pregnant:

When people ask me how far along I am, which number do I give them? The real number that my lawyer mind came up with using basic third grade math, OR THE LIE PERPETUATED BY THE DOCTOR?

For the most part, pregnancy has been easy. Both physically and mentally. With the exception of two fits of crying, it's actually been pretty good. Pregnancy has been like a big fat happy pill. Probably why I haven't been writing that much. I don't know how to write happy thoughts. And quite frankly, they don't really interest me. Don't get me wrong, living a happy life interests me, but writing about one takes some getting used to. It's like it's someone else's voice.

I DEFINITELY look pregnant.

Every once in a while, I have a glass of wine. Like, maybe once a week or so. But just one. I don't care how this sounds, but I CANNOT WAIT to have like 4 martinis. And seriously. I do not care AT ALL how that sounds. 4 extra dirty vodka martinis with blue cheese stuffed olives.

Obviously, I work with a lot of police officers. I put them on the witness stand or interview them nearly every single day. Well it seems like ALL of the male officer's wives are pregnant too. So I find myself with these huge buff men in uniforms and guns, getting advice on nipple chafing. It's sort of surreal and funny and uncomfortable.

Ditto with judges. And other attorneys. And even defendants! In fact, it seems like being pregnant gives anyone and everyone a license to be wildly inappropriate with their opinions, and comments regarding baby names, my size, what I am eating/drinking, the gross things that happen during labor, etc...

We're moving into our new condo in 3 weeks. And I AM DYING to tell you all who we bought the condo from, because if you have been following my blog for a LONG time, you would find it amusing. ANYWAY, the house is already set up with a beautiful nursery for a baby boy, and it's just all around a gorgeous place.

Last weekend, we went to Babies R Us to register for baby stuff. We clearly weren't ready for such a venture. We were there for a couple of hours, and managed to register for $5.oo worth of hangers for baby clothes. That's all. So again, previously pregnant people, anything you would add to your registry? Let's try to avoid overuse of the word nipple in any descriptions of things you'd suggest in the breastfeeding equipment department, shall we?

"You're a MILP now, biotch." -Butterflyfish. For those of you not in the know, Butterflyfish is a fantastic blog, from a fantastic writer, lawyer, and Mom. Actually, I don't really know how she is as a lawyer or a mother. For all I know, she could have ARDC complaints up the hoohaa, and DCFS on her ass, but I kinda doubt it. And I do love her writing. Anyway, according to her, I'm a MILP now. As in Mothers in Law Practice. I think technically I am a Pre-Milp, but whatevs. She called me biotch. So I do what she says. Maybe I should consider writing something legally related. Yeah. I've actually been meaning to do that for some time.

A big thanks to all for the name suggestions. I don't want to say which name it is, but we've narrowed it down to three names, and one of them was suggested by a reader, so... we'll see.

Ok, I am off to watch Survivor: Heroes v, Villains. Don't judge me.

A Contest.

2010-02-03T21:03:00.006-06:00

Wow, I am doing a super job of keeping up with this blog, huh? To be fair, I've been pretty busy, with work, buying a new place and coming to terms with the fact that this summer I am going to be in charge of keeping a little one happy, healthy and out of the the Illinois Department of Corrections.

I spent last weekend in New York, going to see some fantastic theatre and eating some ridiculously good food. Some major things happened that I shall reveal on a later date. I want to sort of space it all out, but there's one big one that I can reveal now.

We're having a boy!! It's so fucking exciting!

Any and all name suggestions are welcome! In fact, I am considering a contest. The thing is, all the names my beloved suggests, only belong on 80 year old men, 50 YEARS AGO!

However, if you ask my beloved about the names I suggest, he'd tell you that they are either too ethnic, too religious, or too boring. (Ben is not boring!!!)

Anyway, feel free to throw your non-old man, non-ethnic, non-religious, non-boring and non-douchey names our way. If we choose yours, I PROMISE I will figure out a really good prize.

-----------

On a totally non related subject, something weird happens when I don't blog for a while. People leave REALLY stupid comments from really old posts. I don't know why this happens, or if it's even related, but it really seems like it is. I'll give you an example.

I wrote a post about how white, male criminal defense attorneys over the age of fifty generally act like assholes to young female prosecutors. Here it is if you want to read it.

Anyway, some idiot, J. Sutton says:

"It's ironic that you have the audacity to publish a blog like this and criticize experienced lawyers regarding their lack of professionalism. If your fortunate enough to still be practicing law when your in your 50's (which is doubtful) I'll lay odds that you will be pining for a little of the attention you abhor so vehemently now."

Really, J Sutton? You think when I'm 50, I am going to enjoy being interrupted, lied to, and touched, and generally demeaned in a courtroom? Ok.

Anyway, these little comments keep popping up on weird old posts. Who the fuck has the time to go through my archives anymore anyway?
------------------

Lastly, am I the only person who watches High School Reunion on TVLand? Really, everyone.. It needs to be watched.

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Stay tuned for my next upcoming blog post, "HOW THE FUCK DO YOU RAISE A BABY BOY?"

Trying to Get Back in The Swing of Things...

2010-01-10T13:45:00.007-06:00

It's fine if no one reads these posts for a little while. They are going to suck donkey dick. I don't know why it's been so hard to write! I can't even tell you how many times I've started a post. I have had a million topics, but as soon as I write my first sentence, I just shut off the computer and turn on a 30 Rock episode, which I am completely obsessed with.

But, as I've said before, I love writing this blog, and I decided that no matter what, today, Sunday, I was going to post something. Even if it takes me all day. Even it is more talk about how FUCKING HUGE MY KNOCKERS ARE!! They really are. They broke my bra. Anyway....

Hopefully, there will be an improvement in the quality of posts as I get back in the habit of writing every day, but I'm pretty sure that at the end of this post, no one will have been at all entertained. I won't either, BUT I WILL CONTINUE TO WRITE IT!

Because I feel the need to refine some of my domestic skills, I am roasting a whole chicken right now. Not even hungry. I just feel the need to remind myself that I am capable of feeding another person something other than quesadillas and jello shots. I used to cook a lot, but it's been a long time. It's one of those things that mothers are supposed to know how to do. Not like my mom knew how to cook. And actually, she was so cool I didn't really care. So I don't really know why the fuck I am making this fucking chicken. I also plan on cutting down on the use of the word fuck. Not today, though.

Today is about refining my domestic skills. And planning how I can beat my downstairs fuckstain neighbor to within an inch of his life and get away with it. Jiminy Crickets, It's going to be a busy afternoon!

So, I'm almost 17 weeks pregnant. I have had two differant ultrasounds and what's called a CVS. for those who don't know, a CVS is this genetic test that they give to make sure the baby has the right number of chromosomes. I am pleased to announce that Baby Grace has the correct number of chromosomes. I am starting to show a little bit. I think I can probably wear my regular clothes for about another 3 or 4 weeks, but then I am going to have to give in and buy pregnant lady things.

Besides that, I got nothing to report. I have something to tell about the cab driver, but I am not in the mood to go down that road tonight.

All people who have kids: I have questions. I'll be asking them. Prepare to answer them.

Brief Hiatus

2009-12-29T21:03:00.002-06:00

So in case you didn't notice, I haven't been writing much. You can look forward to many uplifting, and soulful, and heart-warming posts in the New Year.

I am too fucking tired right now. But Happy New Year! Don't get drunk and drive cars or shoot guns!

Xoxo

Grace

Half Assed Post Just to Get Started Writing Again

2009-12-13T20:19:00.007-06:00

"It's kind of annoying that you haven't blogged in weeks." - The Agent

Well, it's one of those times where there's so much to say that I sorta got nothing to say! But in the interest of not losing readers, I'll come up with something. Like, a list!!!!

1. I'm now almost 13 weeks pregnant. So fucking tired. Like, how can something so tiny be wreaking such havoc on my body? I have never, ever been so exhausted. And no fucking caffeine either!

2. The only thing I want to drink is diet root beer and the only thing I want to eat is plain naan. I never thought I would say this, but the smell of wine makes me nauseous. It's unnerving, quite frankly.

3. I had my first person touch my belly on Thursday. Someone almost got punched in the face. Sooo not ready for that.

4. I love/hate the show Hoarders. I feel like I am a bad person for watching it.

5. I am trying to figure out Twitter. I still don't really get it, but I am trying to do it more often. What the fuck does RT mean? If you follow me on Twitter, say something to me... or tll me how to do it.

6. We're having a hard time picking out boy names. Mostly because apparently my boyfriend WANTS our son (if it's a boy) to get the shit kicked out of him on the playground on a daily basis. I REALLY want to say what the names are, because in my opinion, they are JUST THAT BAD, but then what if it's one of my readers names, and then I've managed to hurt their feelings? Wait... since when do I care about that? OK... I will give one name that my beloved has suggested....
...
...
...
Fritz.
...
...
...
No. He's not kidding. Now, sorry if you or your brother/husband/son/dad is named Fritz, because it is NOT a good name. Sorry. It's just not.

7. I am still supposed to be writing an advice column for Grace the Spot. Which, of course, is hilarious, since I am by definition a total fucking disaster. But trust me, I'll make YOUR life better.

I consider myself a particular genius on
- getting out of obligations
-being passive aggressive
-reality television
-being dumb and getting through law school
-musicals
-getting rid of shitty roommates
-everything else

So send me your fucking questions to lawwithgrace@gmail.com.

8. I am SUPER attracted to all of the people on Hoarders who have been hired to organize the Hoarders' lives. Is that wrong?

Eh... I'll come up with more later. Sorry, Agent!! I'll be better next time! XO

Thanks!

2009-11-29T20:03:00.009-06:00

First of all, I want to thank everyone for the congratulations. It really is pretty fucking awesome. And I am really excited.

So, I know that a lot of you (especially those of you who know me personally) were a little shocked by this news. Well, so was I. For those people who found out on this blog, and maybe... should have found out from me in a more personal way... well... I'm sorry. I sincerely am. I really wish that the right moment to tell you ever presented itself, but, it didn't.

I figured I'd go ahead and answer some of the more common questions that I've been asked thus far. As always, in no particular order.

1. Was this planned? Nope! Not a bit.

2. Who is the father? Scott Rose, Bob Newhart, or my boyfriend.

3. Are you guys getting married? All four of us? Not now. Ask me again later.

4. How far along are you? 9 1/2 weeks. Totally too early to be announcing that I'm knocked up. Whatever. I'm an idiot. Too many things could go wrong still...

5. How are you feeling? Really really tired. Like more tired than I've ever been ever in my entire life.

6. When did you find out? A couple of days before I left for Belize. So my Scuba diving, drinking and eating seafood vacation was slightly redesigned. Awesome nonetheless, though. It should be an absolute requirement for unmaaried accidentally knocked up lawyers to go on a solo vacation. Talk about clarity...

7. Are you happy? As terrified as I am, and as unprepared as I feel, I am over the moon. I have never, ever been so happy.

8. Are you showing? No. In fact, I have lost a little weight, because I puke a lot. Apparently it's not that big of a problem, as long as I make up for it later.

9. How's not drinking? Not the most fun, but actually, not that bad either. My Ob/Gyn told me that a glass of wine every couple of weeks or month is fine, so I ordered a glass a few weeks ago, but I couldn't even drink it. Tasted fucked up. You know what doesn't taste fucked up? DIET ROOT BEER!!!!!!! Never in my life was I a root beer lover until now. I've finished off a two liter in less than 36 hours. It's unbelievable. It's so good I want to cry. Is this something that everyone has known about forever, and I'm just slow?

Anyway...I really am going to try to talk about other things besides my knocked-upness. It might be hard, though. The whole carrying a potential person inside me tends to distract me. For example, tomorrow I get a second ultrasound, and at that ultrasound, you know what else is distracting? HAVING KNOCKERS.

On that note, I'm going to go pour some root beer and stare at my huge cans.

Huge Life News- A Haiku (or The Day Men Stopped Reading My Blog)

2009-11-27T16:08:00.007-06:00

No Booze, Bigger Boobs
Lunch Was Turkey and Sweet Tarts
You Guessed It: Knocked Up

Details forthcoming...

Delightful delicious rage

2009-11-15T20:39:00.003-06:00

I had just finished telling my friend Obsquatch how I told a woman who honked her horn at me today that if she did it again, I would "FUCK HER UP." To make me feel better about my ragi-ness, he showed me the video he just made.

It fills me with joy. Thank you, Obsquatch. I hope you all enjoy it. A lot.

Dear My Dead Junkie,

2009-11-06T21:01:00.003-06:00

Wow. It's that time of year again. Unlike last year, when the anniversary of your death almost escaped me, this year the I've been acutely aware that this day was creeping up. I've been doing a sort of morbid mental countdown.

Then today, I got an email from your mom. And from your friends. Similar to the emails that went around last year. One thing was vastly different, though. The tone of the emails. I guess THIS is the year everyone wants to remember you for your awesomeness- not for how tragically your young life came to an end. Pages and pages and pages of stories. Fucking hilarious stories. You had such an awesomely wicked sense of humor. Seriously, I am sitting here giggling. No one has ever made me laugh harder. No one ever will.

Do you remember, how you used to make fun of me, for having all those photographs everywhere all over my apartment? Well, you know after that one night in July, I moved out. When I moved into my new place, all those photos stayed in the closet. Not a single picture anywhere.

Well, now I've moved again. And you wouldn't believe all the ways my life has changed in the last year. Well, actually, I guess you would believe it. Anyway, slowly the pictures are coming back. I'm staring at your photo right now. You're on my bed, with my asshole dog, smiling. At me. I love this photo. I promise you that there will always be a spot for this photo in any home I ever live in.

Sweetie, we all miss you. We all love you. We are all better and, more importantly, funnier for knowing you. Maybe things would have been different if we had all made a point of telling you that a little more. or maybe not.

I will always be haunted by not knowing what happened. I can only hope that now you're at peace. And I believe, with all of my heart, that you are.

As for the rest of us? We're hanging in. Of course, you already know that, don't you?

Love Always,

Grace

Cuz I'm Belize'n On a Jet Plane

2009-10-29T04:21:00.002-05:00

yep. that's the title of this post and I'm not apologizing for it. In about an hour, a car is coming to get me to take me to the airport. Then a plane is taking me to Florida. Then another plane is taking me to Belize. Then another teeny tiny little puddle jumper is taking me to this little island in Belize.

On this island, I shall spend the next 5 days by myself, in the sun totally relaxing.

There's a possibility it might rain, a lot. So I am bringing my laptop, and I might decide to write, but then again, I might not. So have a great Halloween if you don't hear from me.

Bye!

My Stolen Lines #7

2009-10-27T00:50:00.006-05:00

I think it is worst if you don't know whether it is a good thing or a bad thing which is going to happen.

I wake up. It's any Wednesday. No reason for this Wednesday. I wake up and I hit snooze. I hit snooze twice, actually. Pretty standard. For a Wednesday. I wake up my asshole dog by whispering "good morning!" I don't think she is responding to the words, but more the syllables and the tone of my voice. How crazy. Today is just another Wednesday. And those three syllables, "good morning" to her make this dumb Wednesday THE BEST WEDNESDAY EVER IN THE HISTORY OF WEDNESDAYS! PANTPANTLICKLICKWAGWAG.

I get out of bed. I turn on my bedroom light. I turn off my fan. I try and remember what day it is. It's Wednesday, I remember. I go into my bathroom. I turn on the shower. While I'm waiting for the shower to get hot, I brush my teeth. I floss my teeth. All pretty standard for a Wednesday. I get in the shower. As has been my habit for many past Wednesdays, I sit down in the tub and let the shower pour over me like I'm sitting in a hot summer storm. I don't have long, because like every day, including Wednesdays, my douche-cock neighbor will begin his own morning ritual of showering, which totally ruins mine. I have no expectations that on this Wednesday, or any other Wednesday, he will cease being a douche-cock. So I keep it brief.

I get out of the shower, I dry my hair with a towel, before I dry my hair with a blow dryer. Then I throw some makeup on. Not a lot. It's just a Wednesday, after all. Black bra, black hose, black skirt, black camisole, black jacket, black heels, watch, pearl earrings, pearl necklace, black coat, black briefcase. Just another ordinary outfit for an ordinary Wednesday.

I grab the leash and take the asshole dog outside for a walk in the park. She growls at all the wrong dogs. She chases squirrels. She does what all dogs do on Wednesdays. She pisses and shits, of course. I take her back in the house. I grab my briefcase and head back out the door to the el.

This one Wednesday though. It's different. I know something this Wednesday that I didn't know before. No Wednesday will ever be the same after this one. I recount the details of my average Wednesday morning over and over, taking comfort in the facts and the certainties that I own. I woke up I said good morning I showered I got dressed I walked the dog I left for the train. That's it. Now it's all going change. For the better, maybe, but just as likely for the worse. I stop myself dead in my tracks, not wanting to go any father. Just one last moment of knowing exactly where and who I am.

I think it is worst if you don't know whether it is a good thing or a bad thing which is going to happen.

*** I stole the first and last line from The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon as part of the Stolen Lines Experiment. The inimitable Butterflyfish found the line.

Update:
Stolen Lines From:
Inaccurate Ninja
Ms. Foxy
Lex Discipulus
Butterflyfish

Stolen Lines #7

2009-10-15T13:08:00.007-05:00

I think it is worst if you don't know whether it is a good thing or a bad thing which is going to happen.

For all of you inspirationally challenged writers, here's a new stolen line. This line comes courtesy of the very aweseome and newly employed Butterflyfish. She pulled the line from The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon . The rules: Start your post with the above line. End your post with "I stole the first line of this post from The Curious case of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon" And maybe link back to me so people can understand the point of the post. And whatever you put in the middle is up to you. There's no deadline. Write whenever you feel like it. If you want to have your post included, just leave a comment or send me an email telling me you've posted. PS. This is open to absolutely anyone. All you have to do is write it. Here, you can find the previous Stolen Lines.

Smokes

2009-10-14T08:12:00.003-05:00

So approximately 3 years and 2 1/2 months ago, I did something awesome. That is, besides start this blog.

I quit smoking. Now, I wasn't some half-ass, smoke-when-I-drink, or when-I'm-really-stressed-out smoker. I smoked like it was my job. About a pack and a half. Every. Single. Day. I know. Gross. And expensive.

Which brings me to the point of this post. I used to spend about 12 dollars every day for my pack and a half of cigarettes. It's been 1170 days since my last pack. Here's what I want to know:

Where the FUCK is my $14,040 that I've "saved" by quitting?

Dear Whoopi Goldberg,

2009-10-05T20:30:00.004-05:00

I understand you've come out full force to defend your fellow famous person ("FFP"), Roman Polanski. Good for you!!! :-)

And by "Good for you," I mean, "Shame on you that is so fucked up and don't try to explain it away, because quite frankly you can't explain it away, and any attempt to explain it away is just another horrific and obnoxious slap in the face to sexual assault victims everywhere."

"It was something else but I don't believe it was rape-rape." -You

Rape-rape? Rape-rape? Now, Ms. Goldberg, I am a criminal prosecutor. And although I am fairly new, I think I have a pretty good handle on criminal law. And I reviewed my outlines, my class notes, and my Bar Bri books, and nowhere can I find a definition for "rape-rape"

But, since you're a celebrity, and therefore, I must believe you, and assume you're smarter than me, I will accept that you are right and attempt to define "rape-rape" as I believe you intended it.

Here you go:

Rape-rape [reyp-reyp] -noun The act of a man with a knife, gun or other such weapon, by use of physical force, inserting his penis into the vagina of a young, white, Christian, virgin, female who has never consumed alcohol or drugs, and who the man has never met. Oh, and who is also a very nice and pleasant person all the time. The man must not be successful, talented or attractive, because men who are successful, talented or attractive are, by law, presumed to not have any need to rape-rape.

Rape-rape. There you go.

This is a great thing, Whoopi. Think of all the women out there who can now go on living their lives FINALLY realizing that they aren't victims after all! Maybe now that they know what happened to them isn't rape-rape, they can go right back to blaming themselves. Super awesome!

Or not.

Your FFP gave a 13 year old child alcohol. That's a crime.
Your FFP slipped a quaalude into the alcohol. That's a crime.
Your FFP then had sex with that 13 year old girl. That is also a crime.
Make no mistake, Ms. Goldberg. That is Rape-rape.

Dear Illinois Bar Takers,

2009-10-01T21:00:00.002-05:00

Actually, ALL bar takers:

Daisy just reminded me. This is either a really fantastic day for you, or a really fucking shitty day for you. Or, like me, you lost your anonymous exam number and had to sit around freaking out for five more days.

Leave a comment. Tell me if you passed or failed. I want to know. Pass or fail, I am rooting for all of you assholes.

For those that failed, you WILL be ok. For those that passed, enjoy this moment. And be sensitive to your friends who maybe weren't so lucky. Don't be an asshole know-it-all.

For lack of any opinions, Here's an update

2009-09-30T20:50:00.004-05:00

It's Wednesday.

Watching America's Next Top Model- Short People Edition.

Tyra Banks is fucking loud.

I won my jury trial on Friday. So far, I am 3 for 3.

It's almost October. A little over three hours left of September.

I fucking hate Fall.

Moreover, I don't understand people who say that Fall is their favorite season. That's like saying your favorite part of being healthy is that first body ache you get that lets you know you're about to have the flu.

I am going to Detroit this weekend to visit The Agent and her lovely wife. I am bringing my new person. Yes. He takes me to the US Open. I take him by Amtrak to a Tigers/Sox game. Makes it kinda clear who got the short end of the stick in this relationship. He does get to meet some of my favorite people on the planet, though.

The following weekend, I am going to Daisy's wedding in Savannah. Daisy is probably irked with me, though. Because I never formally RSVP'd, even though she knows I'm coming. Here's the thing, though. I can't find the envelope to send the RSVP in. Furthermore, since I didn't get the Save the Date until a few days ago, due to some "alleged postage debacle", I feel she'll forgive me. Daisy, if you are reading this, I will totally be there. And you will be a gorgeous, gorgeous bride.

Two weeks after that, I am going to Belize. I'm going all by myself, on a big fat fantastic solo vacation. I will talk more about that later.

A lot of people are killing off their blogs right now. People are losing interest. people are getting busy. I fear that I'm going to do the same thing because I feel busy and uninspired. So, I am going to try and just write a little bit more often to get back into the habit. Because I totally fucking love it. And I don't really want to give it up yet.

OH OH OH! HOWEVER. I have been invited to write.... hold your breath... don't laugh too fucking hard...AN ADVICE COLUMN!!! For Grace the Spot, which is a fantastic blog geared to hot and awesome lesbians. And YES, I know that I am currently dating a guy, so you may wonder, who the fuck am I to give advice about lesbians... well let's just say that any number of my inappropriate responses to that question would start with "I've had more..." and end with "... than you could shake a stick at" So there.

So go read Grace the Spot. Send in a question if you like. If it's not boring, like this blog is today, maybe I'll answer it.

I have a Cute kitten post. but I can't really write about it yet, as it's still fucking with my head.

I was recently voted the "Third Least Sunny Person" in my office. I'm wildly offended. I am so fucking sunny.

That's all for the moment.

Finally- A Purpose

2009-09-23T19:50:00.004-05:00

So, yesterday I was on the train. Just quietly playing Brickbreaker on my stupid fucking phone, thinking about how my life has turned into quite the routine. And how I don't really do anything besides work and the occasional social function. I certainly am not particularly caught up in any political or charitable activities. mostly because I don't care about most things. Until now. I have found my cause. (cue Les Miserables' "Do you Hear the People Sing.")

I am waving my flag. I am declaring war. I have found my cause.

Chicago Raises Liquor Taxes

Again, my life has a purpose. Who's with me?

Not to be a grammar nazi, but...

2009-09-19T16:29:00.003-05:00

does anyone else find this poster fucking annoying? no? Well, I do.

Hi Bloggie!!!

2009-09-07T21:24:00.003-05:00

Sorry for the delay in posting. I actually took a little vacation. Went to New York City for the U.S. Open. Learned that I don't hate tennis. Ate a ton of really good food at some totally fucking kick ass restaurants. Drank fantastic wine. Stayed at a ridiculously awesome hotel that I was completely not cool enough to stay at.

I want to be that annoying girl who writes all the silly little details of the things she saw and did, but I am too tired. So you can look forward to that post later.

I did almost punch someone. More on that later, too.

My Stolen Lines #6

2009-08-23T17:34:00.011-05:00

Me: You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you?

Her: Not really, Grace.

Me: Well, it's just that I am unable to let go of things.

Her: That's tons of people, Gracie. I'm still angry at this fucking bitch I went to high school with who told everyone that I gave a blow job to...

Me: No... that's not what I mean. I mean like physical objects. Actually I can let shit like that go pretty easily. I don't hold grudges. I mean, sometimes I can't let go of physical objects, even when I need to.

Her: Again, Gracie, everyone has that problem. Why do you think your mom still has that ugly ass purple porcelain elephant next to the stairs? I have every single love letter that Ben ever sent me even though we broke up like 15 years ago. I have my size 2 jeans, for fucks sake.

Me: You know that's not it! I can get rid of stuff. I'm good at that. I'm not THAT sentimental. It's more like, I can't physically let go of stuff, even... no ESPECIALLY when it can hurt me. You know?

Her: You are being so hard on yourself, Grace. Stop it. Look at you. You quit smoking. You quit drinking coffee, diet coke. You quit eating meat. You take great care of yourself. Give yourself a break.

Me: You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you? I'm not explaining myself well. I don't know how to LET GO OF STUFF. For example, one time, my hair got caught in the curling iron in such a way that it was burning my scalp. All I had to do was let go of the handle, and the curling iron would fall to the ground. Another time, I was crossing the plaza with a big box of files, and I tripped over a power cord. If I let go of the box, I would have been able to use my hands to keep from falling on my face. But it didn't occur to me to let go of the box. You get it?

Her: Oh. OH! So literally... you can't let go of stuff?

Me: Yes. Literally. I can't let go of stuff.

Her: So, all you're saying is you're a stupid asshole?

Me: Yeah. I guess so.

Her: I understand that.

*** I stole the first line from Salaam Paris by Kavita Daswani as part of the Stolen Lines Experiment. Colby from Colby in the City found the line.

**Update Stolen lines from:
Lex Disciplus
Daisy, JD
Inaccurate Ninja
Ms. Foxy
Colby in the City
Butterflyfish
Harmless Error

RIP Softball

2009-08-19T21:34:00.004-05:00

It looks like my glory was fleeting. I say this now, because I spent the day in the Emergency room, and now can only walk with the assistance of crutches. And crutches are mother fucking hard to walk with! It's bullshit. They make my arms hurt!

So the bad news is I can't walk. I was running to third base, and I don't know exactly what happened, but the really big 3rd baseman ended up falling on me as I was running. The next thing I remember was about 20 people standing around me while flat on my back on the field. Super sexy.

The good news is it isn't broken. Just fucked up. And I will only need crutches for a week or so. More good news, I got some pretty decent pain meds. More good news, I was safe at third. And the best news? I won't ever have to play softball again.

Boston Globe Can Suck It But Thanks Boston Globe!

2009-08-15T13:50:00.005-05:00

So recently I was asked by two different websites to write for them. It's sort of flattering. I have decided to definitely do one, because I'll only have to write once every other week. The other asked me to provide a sort of sampler platter of what I consider to be the best/least stupid things I've written on this blog. Like ten posts that sort of sum up what this blog is about and what I am about. Kinda strange considering they could just read my blog themselves and decide what they think, but whatever. I'll do it.

It's really kind of hard, considering I think most of what I write is crap, and only occasionally there's a funny line or something. Unfortunately, that one funny line is usually surrounded by a bunch of bad grammar, immaturity, and the word fuck. I enjoy it, but it certainly isn't what anyone would ever call GOOD writing.

So anyway, while I was on the train, I remembered that I had written a post about the phrase "Drawing a line in the sand" that I kind of liked, but I didn't remember when I had written it. So, instead of going into my archives from my Blackberry which always takes forever, I googled "Drawing a line in the sand" & "dumbest phrase ever" and it pops up along with some other links. LIKE THIS ONE

In case you don't want to click on the link, this columnist for the Boston Globe, Jan Freeman, wrote this article about the history of the phrase "drawing a line in the sand" and in it she DIRECTLY QUOTES ME, albeit to make me look like an asshat, but still! I'm quoted in the fucking Boston Globe:

Not everyone bothers to look it up, though. One blogger mocks "line in the sand" as the "dumbest phrase ever," since waves, wind, and time will surely erode such a line. "If you want to draw a line to separate the acceptable from the unacceptable, USE SOMETHING OTHER THAN SAND," she exhorts.

Yep. She's talking about me. Those are my words. And if I didn't do this totally random google search, I never would have known. So that's pretty cool. But then on the other hand, Ms. Jan Freeman, what the fuck? First of all, just because you explained the origins of the stupid expression, doesn't make it any less stupid. Second of all, if you want to quote me, credit me, even if you're quoting me to tell me I'm a lazy loser. Sorta like how I quoted you and credited you? You know, like above? But anyway, thanks for quoting me anyway!

So, anyway...I think I found about 20 posts that I am considering submitting. I am going to cut the list down to about 10. The 20 I am considering can be found here. If you're considerably bored, and feel like reading them, let me know if you have any thoughts on which ones should be added or deleted. Only if you're really really bored though.

Stolen Lines #6

2009-08-12T22:53:00.006-05:00

"You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you?"

This line comes courtesy of Colby, from Colby in the City, a fantastic blog. She pulled the line from Salaam Paris by Kavita Daswani.

The rules: Start your post with the above line. End your post with "I stole the first line of this post from Salaam Paris by Kavita Daswani" And maybe link back to me so people can understand the point of the post.

And whatever you put in the middle is up to you.

There's no deadline. Write whenever you feel like it. If you want to have your post included, just leave a comment or send me an email telling me you've posted.

PS. This is open to absolutely anyone. All you have to do is write it.

Here, you can find the previous Stolen Lines.

RIP Ingrid

2009-08-12T12:44:00.004-05:00

Oh, Ingrid. You were more than just another hot set of fins to me. We were friends.

You were a delightful composite of opposites: At once, both irreverant and devil-may-care, yet always on my case about renter's insurance.

Like all of those that came before you, you shall be missed.

Stolen Lines #6

2009-08-03T22:03:00.004-05:00

Ok, even I pussed out on the last one. It's been a while. Let's go again. New Stolen Line will be posted on Monday, August 10. I am recommitting. Y'all should too.

Now I have to get back to prepping the closing argument for my jury tomorrow. Wish me luck...

Hey... if anyone has any interest in choosing a stolen line (Ahem, Colby, Butterflyfish, Brita) just say the word!

Sleazy Defense Attorney

2009-08-01T13:43:00.006-05:00

Not too long ago, I'm in my courtroom. I'm having a terrible day. The courtroom is packed, my trial partner and I are...not getting along to put it extremely mildly. The judge is annoyed with everyone. I had already cried twice and almost cried about three more times. Professionally, it was the worst day I'd had since I became an attorney.

The only thing that could make the day worse, I thought, was if the sleazy defense attorney showed up in court. I actually for real had that thought. Not ten minutes later, Sleazy Defense Attorney ("SDA") walks into my courtroom with his client.

Now, I see him enough in my courtroom, that I am not shocked and horrified anymore. Also, I usually know when he's coming in, because I obviously know what cases are on the day's trial call. Unfortunately, he motioned the case up, so I had no idea.

Anyway, he steps up to the bench right next to me, and asks the judge for what he and his client want. He manages to ask in such a way, that he makes the judge so mad she takes a recess, and stomps off the bench.

By this time, the courtroom has died down a little. My trial partner had long since abandoned me, so now I'm stuck in there with him. Feeling pretty bad. Feeling pretty sorry for myself.

All of a sudden, in walks my beautiful and perfect friend Kori Amsterdam. I felt like angels or something sent her. She walked over to me with her big gorgeous smile wearing her fantastic gorgeous suit and I just wanted to jump into her arms and kiss her. Being in a court of law, I refrained. She came in just to say hi. I pointed out SDA to her, and she was horrified for me. I told her about my day, and she suggested we go to one of our favorite downtown bars after work for a drink. I love Kori. She's perfect.

After court finishes for the day, I went back to my office, did a little work and then headed across the street to meet Kori. I saw her outside, smoking a cigarette and talking to her boss on the phone. I signaled to her that I'd grab some seats at the bar and meet her in there. Our other friend, the Dirty Hippie, would also be joining us.

As soon as I sit down, who do I see across the bar? SDA. Of course. He's at the other end of the bar.

By the way, I know I'm not telling this story well. I am famous for being bad story teller. Sorry.

So anyway, he sees me see him, and I guess I made an obvious "Are you fucking kidding me?" face, because he does this laugh- this "Wow, you sure are having a bad day, you poor little thing" laugh which makes me want to jump across the bar and punch him in the mouth. He's acting like we're somehow "in this together" or something.

I debate whether or not I should leave, but here's the thing: IT'S MY FUCKING FAVORITE BAR! IT'S MY FUCKING FAVORITE BARTENDER! HE SHOULD LEAVE - NOT ME. So I decide to stay. And I wait for Kori and the Hippie to show.

At the same time, I keep my eye on SDA. He's downing dirty martinis at a pretty quick pace.

Finally, Kori and the Dirty Hippie join me. I point out SDA to them, who both note that he won't stop staring at me. Fantastic. Fucking fantastic.

There are two bartenders. One who I know and love, and one who I don't know. the one I know and love comes up to us, and asks if we know SDA. I say yes, and ask him why he's asks. He tells me that he's been asking questions about us. I told him to please not say anything about me, as there's pending litigation. (He is also defending the cab driver in the civil suit) The bartender says of course he won't say anything.

SDA continues to stare at me. He's trying to fuck with me. He's trying to intimidate me. He's sort of winning. I try to keep up with the conversation between Dirty Hippie and Kori.

A few minutes later, the other bartender, the one I don't know comes up to us and says- I am not making this up- "The guy at the end of the bar wants to buy you ladies a round of drinks."

The three of us sit there for a moment, completely shocked. Completely and utterly shocked. Just to be clear, I ask the bartender WHICH guy at the end of the bar wanted to buy us a drink. Sure enough, it was the Sleazy Defense Attorney. I say to the bartender "Please tell him, no thank you."

The Dirty Hippie says "NO! Don't say 'no thank you,' say 'no fucking way.'" I love her.

We then decide that it's been enough, and we leave. He won. Again. But not really. He just proved, again, that he's the sleaziest man alive.

I mean, how fucked up is that? Pretty fucked up.

I don't know why I'm even telling this story. Maybe because I was scared to tell it before. And this is all part of my not being scared to write about whatever the fuck I want to.

Thank you, Dirty Hippie and Kori Amsterdam for being there for me. I love you both very much. And to the person who afterwards fed me Chinese food and wrapped me in a warm blanket: thank you, too.

**UPDATE- at dinner tonight, I was informed by Ms. Kori Amsterdam that she in fact was the one who told the bartender to tell SDA "No Fucking Way." My apologies, Ms. Amsterdam.

Dear Readers,

2009-07-30T08:02:00.001-05:00

There have been a few bloggers lately who have either changed names or taken down their blogs altogether. Some have been open about their new blogs and the reason for the new change. Daisy, for instance wants her blog to be more...family friendly. Some, citing privacy concerns have taken them down altogether, while other anonymous bloggers have reached a point where they don't feel they can say what they want, for fear they will hurt someone's feelings or they could get fired. That makes me depressed.
I suupose I should have the same fears. Well, I don't. Or rather, I won't anymore.

Here's the deal. I write this blog for me. I write because I like to. I write about things going on in my life. The good, the bad and the fucking weird. I don't blog from work, nor do I reveal any confidential information, nor do I say bad shit about my co-workers. I also don't write about breaking the law. Because I don't even fucking speed. I am a government lawyer and am held to a higher standard, and I welcome it. So what I write on this little blog has nothing to do with my employment.
Now there's the other part: not wanting to hurt other people's feelings. That's a little bit more difficult. Lately, I have had a lot of things I've wanted to talk about. Good and bad, there's been lots to say. However, I've totally been censoring myself. If I talk about the bad, I get threats. If I talk about the good, I get hurt feelings.

Well this fucking sucks. So now I'm stuck writing about the fucking office softball team? That's all I get? Fuck that.

I think people read my blog because I don't censor myself. Because I say exactly what I mean on this blog. And I'm not afraid of controversy on this blog. So, I'm not going to stop. I'm actually going to recommit to it. Now that I'm starting to feel a little more like myself, I feel more comfortable saying this: If you don't like what I have to say, please, feel free to go the fuck away. It's perfectly acceptable. I'll never even have to fucking know. Just stop reading.

I'm going to write about whatever the fuck I want to write about. And apparently I am going to use "fuck" every third or fourth word.

If you know me personally, don't worry. I'm not going to start identifying you. I never did it before, and I'm not going to start now. I'm also not going to talk about relationships. (I am in one, though)That's mostly because talking about relationships is a snoozefest. It's also because he (yes, it's a he) doesn't really follow blogs, and I think he would think it's weird if I wrote about him. Also, I want Scott Rose to think I'm still available to marry. Scott Rose, if you're reading this, please disregard this paragraph.

So. I guess I just had to get that off my chest. Thanks for reading.

Oh my fucking god. Quizno's is delicious. Why haven't I had it before? It's like a whole new world has opened up to me. Toasted deliciousness.

Softball

2009-07-28T23:08:00.003-05:00

Rather than talk about what I have been trying to talk about for several weeks on this blog, let's talk about my new venture.

I. Play. On. The. Office. Softball. Team.

Today, I did well. I hit what is called a "Lined Rive" and some guy, as a result of my "Lined Rive" scored a goal. And I got to second base. My teammates were surprised by my batting skills.

Then, I did not fail my team later. I told them that under no circumstances would I catch a ball that is flying at me in the air, however, I also told them that under no circumstances would I let that ball get past me. I was accurate.

Later, because my office is full of hilarious angry people, the guys almost got in a fight with guys from the opposing team. We totally would have won.

That's all I got. Trying to blog more... not every post is going to be a winner. Especially after post softball beer.

To All Lawyers Everywhere:

2009-07-27T19:46:00.002-05:00

Let's all take a moment and be grateful. Let's raise our collective glasses, and cheers each other. Why?

We're not taking the mother fucking bar exam tomorrow.

And to all the bartakers? From the bottom of my heart, I wish you all the best of luck. Especially Butterflyfish. You got this, Baby!!!!!

Dear Criminal Defendants,

2009-07-24T12:40:00.000-05:00

I know you guys aren't necessarily the smartest bunch, so here's a tip from me to you.

When you are in a criminal courthouse, generally, there are a few different kinds of people. There are people wearing black robes. Those are the judges. There are people wearing little blue jackets. They are the clerks. There are people with black uniforms and guns. They are the deputies. There are people who look like they smoke a lot of pot. Those people are either you or your public defender. There are people who are carrying a crapload of file folders and wearing black suits. Those are the prosecutors.

Now that you know that, let's take it one step further. If you are standing outside of your courtroom, waiting for the courtroom to be unlocked, and you see a woman in a black skirt suit carrying a crap load of file folders, don't assume she's a fellow defendant and ask if you can lick her legs. First of all, the answer will almost always be no, and second of all, there's a good chance she's there to prosecute your pervy ass.

Best Regards,

Grace (your prosecutor)

Dear My Darling Psycho-Out-of-Your-Minds, Want-to-Die Bartakers,

2009-07-23T21:49:00.004-05:00

So, the bar exam is coming up. You are undoubtedly freaking the fuck out. As I have said before, I have no advice on how to pass the bar exam, as I am likely the dumbest person to have ever passed the fucking thing. A lot of people have asked me to repost this letter that I wrote from back when I took the bar exam. So, here you go. Pass it on if you want to.

Dear everyone taking the bar exam,

I want to wish everyone who is reading this good luck. We've all (mostly) worked really hard to get here, and we'll all (mostly) be fine.

Personally, I'm scared. I'm really scared. I feel like everyone around me knows more than me. But then they turn around and say that they are feeling the exact same way.

I've made a decision on how I'm choosing to think about these next few days, though. I've heard from lots of people, that these are going to be the two worst days of my life. Without having actually taken the bar, I can't be sure, but I'm going to go ahead and respectfully disagree. I think I've had worse. I've also heard that this is the hardest thing I'm ever going to have to do. Again, without having taken the bar, I am going to disagree.

There is no way this can be true. Not to be a Debbie Downer, but my parents are both alive. One day, they won't be. Dealing with that is going to be way harder than the bar exam. I've had to sit across the table from my fiance and tell him I didn't want to marry him. That was pretty tough. I'd rather take the bar than do that again. I've had to listen to someone I was in love with tell me they no longer loved me back. I'd rather take the bar 10 times than do that again. There was this guy. Bar exam wins. I've been the victim of a pretty bad crime. Sorry, but the bar exam MUST be better than that.

Don't get me wrong, the bar exam is going to SUCK. and I am going to give it the respect it deserves. However, it deserves no more respect than any other loss, grief, fear, anger,panic or heartbreak that I, or any of us, have ever already experienced. And survived. For my own sanity, this is the way I'm thinking about it. The bar exam is just another fucking hurdle. No biggie. And Wednesday, it will all be over.

So now, I'm going to quit rambling. I'm going to go do a few more hours of studying, then I'm going to pack a bag and head downtown. I'm going to meet Ms. Kori Amsterdam, we're going to check into a hotel, check out our test sites, and then go eat a nice dinner. Then we're going back to the hotel, going to watch some Will & Grace, and go to bed.

Then tomorrow morning, I'm going to go over to my testing site, and give the Illinois Bar Exam the hate fuck it so rightfully has earned.

Once again good luck to everyone. See you on the other side.

Sincerely,

Grace

lame

2009-07-20T19:11:00.005-05:00

I can't believe I've only been writing like, once a week lately. I guess there's not a lot going on that's particularly funny or interesting. Today sucked. Like, really sucked. The only good thing that happened was I got like, 10 people thrown in jail. That's pretty good for one day.

I don't know. I just walked in the door, poured myself a martini, and ordered some Chinese food. Now I'm wrapped under a thick red blanket watching exceptionally bad television.

I want to wake up when it's 2010.

Somebody do or say something inspiring.

Unless you found this blog by googling something about the bar exam. Then you don't have to say anything. Just go look over holder in due course. Or drink a bottle of wine. Either way...

Magic Vag in The Midwest

2009-07-13T19:08:00.005-05:00

So, lately, my ego has been put through the ringer lately. Apparently it’s been a good week for people to inform me, rather matter of factly, that I am sort of an asshole. I’m a bad person, a bad girlfriend, a bad friend, etc…

And I feel like I have been just conceding to this. Like, just rolling over and being like, yeah… I suck. Thanks so much for allowing me to share the planet with you extra awesome people.

Fucking enough of that. I fucking rock. No one else is allowed to tell me how much I suck for 1 week. At least 1 week.

So, this weekend, my best girl and I met up in the cosmopolitan wonderland that is Indianapolis. We do this once a year, because she lives in Australia but her family lives in Dayton, and Indianapolis is half way between Chicago and Dayton. So we go to Indianapolis and drink all of its booze. Last night was no exception.

We’ll call her Magic Vag. Because that’s what she’s got. And everyone should be lucky enough to have a Magic Vag in their life.

She is absolutely, hands down, my biggest cheerleader, my best advocate, and she’s balls-to-the-wall hot. And a freakin genius. 24 hours with her, and I’m thoroughly convinced I am as good of a woman as she believes me to be. So if you don’t agree with Magic Vag, maybe it’s time to go read another blog. Or better, just go fuck a cat. While reading another blog. And if you know me in real life, and don’t share the opinion of Magic Vag, maybe it’s time to lose my phone number. And, of course, go fuck a cat.

On my way back from Indianapolis, I hit a little bit of traffic. Nothing major, it allowed me to slow down enough to send this Twitter message from my Blackberry. (Yes, I’m on Twitter. I don’t really understand it. You can follow me if you want, but unless someone explains to me how it makes sense, I can’t guarantee it’s going to be worthwhile.)

“Driving back from Indiana. Interstate 65 can bite me. In fact, Indiana can bite me.”

Literally 7 minutes later, if that, the tire on my car blows out. On a Sunday. In Indiana. I pull over to the side of the interstate, and get out of the car. Tire is shredded. Then it hits me: I have absolutely no idea how to handle this situation. At once I curse Indiana, and Twitter. Clearly, Indiana follows me on Twitter, and took offense. I don’t have a spare tire. You can read why here in one of my older posts. And I don’t have AAA. And I’m in a fairly skimpy sundress. Fuck. So, I grab my purse and start walking. A hundred bucks and an hour and a half later, I’m back on the road with a brand new tire. Why? Because I fucking rock.

Thanks for the reminder, Magic Vag.

Dear My Female Friends in Chicago,

2009-07-06T20:50:00.002-05:00

Ladies.

Stop getting in cabs by yourself. Especially if you've been drinking.

Ladies.

The next time you are ever inclined to say "Oh my god, Kristi is SOOO wasted!! Let's just put her in a cab and send her drunk ass home." Think twice. You are putting a woman, ostensibly, YOUR FRIEND in a situation where no one can protect her. It's her against the fucking cabdriver. The cabdrivers in this city are never held accountable. Neither are the cab companies. Think about it... would you let some random dude at a bar take your friend home? NO!! But you'll let a cab driver?

Ladies.

If you have friends in from out of town, and they need to get a cab after leaving a bar, GO WITH THEM.

Ladies.

If something doesn't feel right, it's probably not. And even if you're wrong, WHO FUCKING CARES? At least you acted in the interest of protecting yourself.

I don't know what the solution is. I think the bus, maybe. Chicago cabs are just not safe. They just aren't. They are most certainly not the safe haven solution we assume they are. those days MUST be over.

This was in the news today. And I can't get it out of my mind.

I fucking hate people.

Happy Pride, Chicago!

2009-06-28T09:09:00.002-05:00

"This Won't End Well..."

2009-06-20T14:31:00.011-05:00

You look into his/her eyes and you tell him/her that. It's the same warning you've given a hundred times. A thousand times. You've been right every. single. fucking. time. Being right is starting not to matter one. fucking. bit.

This is how it goes:

You smile at each other, eyelids getting heavy. Happy. It's more than a date, less than a relationship. It's not an interview, but not...not an interview. It's not daring to say it, but looking ahead and imagining your future with him/her. Your house. Your kids. Your in-laws. Your finances. Your pets. Your fights. Your compromises. Your secrets. His/her secrets. It all seems...good. You look into the eyes that are staring back at you. What is that look? What does that mean?

Your eyes open up wide again. Then, unfortunately, yet, predictably, you open your mouth. You start talking.

"This won't end well, you know, you see... everything you see about me that you think you like you will stop liking, everything you think is charming you will hate me for, everything adorable becomes painstaking wretched, you see, I can't do this, I am bad at this and it has never worked before and it will never work, everything I give to you I am taking away from me and I have so very little to start with that I can give nothing, not my time, not my space, not to mention I am a freak, I can't get close to people, I scare easily, I startle easily, I don't sleep, I disappear for weeks on end, I don't return phone calls, I cancel plans, I get scared to leave my house, I want to go away on vacations, but I want to go alone, I don't want to talk about my family, all I want to do is talk about work, because it's the only thing I am good at, and I am actually not that good at it, I am just good at faking it, and right now you're going to say it's all fine and that you like your space, too, and you hate those couples who have to be around each other all the time and it's awesome that I'm not like everyone else and if I were like everyone else you wouldn't be interested in me, and you don't like to talk on the phone anyway, and we can do this if I can just have a little faith in you, and I will have a little faith in you, but then in a week, two weeks, three weeks, what I have won't be enough, who I am won't "work for you" and yes although it's true I had given you that warning in advance doesn't mean you have to like it, and you will tell me that every chance you get, and then I stop calling, then you stop calling, then, you move on, I move on, or the other way around, and I am back to where I've started, and you are back to where you've started. So, you see? This won't end well."

He/she looks right back at you. A bemused half-smile on his/her face. Is it confidence? Is it an act? You have no fucking idea. He/she asks "And how many times have you given that little speech?" A lot, you admit. More times than you care to count. But now you've said it. You're now off the hook. You can now continue sabotaging your own life and your own happiness, and now it's all on him/her when this whole thing goes so horribly awry, which it is absolutely going to do.

You can't stop yourself. You're on a roll. You must continue. You tell him/her every bad thing about you. Just so there are no surprises down the road. You fail to disclose even one good thing about you, as if there is nothing ever good to tell. You never say how loyal you are. You never say how you look good in a gown. You never say how hard and often you will make him/her laugh. No. What you say is "this won't end well."

Maybe there's room for change. Maybe next time, you can shorten the speech, or what the fuck? Eliminate it completely. Because what if you're wrong? What if... it could end well?

What if you learned to just shut the fuck up?

Next time, maybe you should try it. Next time, maybe you will.

Unimportant Things That Make Me Happy- A Meme

2009-06-20T13:12:00.005-05:00

I saw this meme over at Hot Sauce Redemption, a truly fantastic blog. I love the writing. And I love the name. And I love that she called me a quesadilla. Normally, I don't do memes. Especially happy ones, because I am such a naturally miserable, negative and toxic person, but since today is the most perfect day ever, and it's summer and it's Saturday and it's not raining, and I am going to see fantastic live theatre tonight, and there's a good chance there will be lobster bisque before the live theatre and I just got a manicure and pedicure, I'm just going to go ahead and think happy thoughts.

Here are the rules:
1) List Six Unimportant Things That Make You Happy.
2) Mention and link to the person who tagged you
3) Tag six of your favorite bloggers to play along, and comment on their blog to let them know they've been tagged.

1. Rabbits. I love them. They fascinate and delight me. My landlord informed me that we "have a rabbit problem." I do not understand what the fuck he is talking about. Little furry things with big pointy ears who hop around looking all cute and weird and bewildered? I don't see where the fucking problem is in that. If Salvador Dali was instructed by god or whoever to invent a cute animal, he would have invented the rabbit.

2. New Socks. If I won the lottery, I would never wear the same pair of socks twice.

3. One way hugs. Here's how they work: I stand perfectly still with my hands at my sides. In other words, I do nothing. Someone I love hugs me.

4. The sound of handcuffs going on and locking. Whatever. I'm not ashamed. I'm a prosecutor. And before anybody decides to get all judgy, of course I want them going on only the defendants who deserve it.

5. Jogging outside in the rain. It's the only time I will ever jog outside. It's really fun, and if you make a big point of running through every puddle and splashing up disgusting city water all over yourself, it's fucking awesome. First people look at you like you're batshit-crazy, and then they wish they were doing it too.

6. The sound of my asshole dog contentedly sighing as she sleeps with her head on my thigh in the sun.

Bonus happy thing: Glass eyes. They are so sexy.

I am tagging everyone. Or no one. I might tag myself and come up with six more later.

To All Bartakers Everywhere Who Are Reading This Blog:

2009-06-16T08:49:00.003-05:00

Calm the FUCK DOWN.

Did you hear me? I'll say it again.

Calm the FUCK DOWN.

And maybe one final time... CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

Ok? Here's how I know a decent number of you are freaking out. In case you don't know, Sitemeter is this little tool that tells me who comes to my blog, and how they find my blog. Here are some of the searches that have led people to me:

"Bar Exam" & "Freaking out"
"Bar Exam Tips"
"I'm going to fail the bar exam"
"Bar Exam" & "want to die"
"Bar Exam" & "I'm a loser"
"Bar Exam" & "want to set myself on fire"
"Advice to those who failed the bar exam"
"Bar exam" & "can't stop crying"

Ok. Seriously. You need to chill out. I know that's totally unfair of me to say, because when I was studying for the bar, I asked my friend to hit me with his car, not hard enough to kill me, but just hard enough that I wouldn't have to take the bar exam. And I actually thought this was a reasonable request. So I get it. But he told me to calm the fuck down, and I did. And it helped.

I am in no position to offer actual tips on how to pass the bar, because quite frankly, I have no idea how I did it.

Here are just a few things I want to remind you of, even though I know you probably already know this.

Just because someone has all their barbri books tabbed and color coded, organized perfectly, with correlating colored flash cards, does not mean they are in a better position to pass the bar. This is not a method of learning. It's a method of feeling in control. It may not be your way. That's fine.

Most of you will pass.

Everyone feels the exact same way as you do.

Stop feeling guilty every time you catch yourself not studying. You need to take a break.

While I appreciate you reading my blog, YOU WILL FIND NO NEW INFORMATION ABOUT THE BAR BY GOOGLING "BAR EXAM" & "FREAKING OUT"

Right now, walk away from the computer. Take a breath. Take a walk. Have a drink. Have a smoke. Go have sex. Do something ELSE. The fact that you are googling the things you are googling to bring you to my blog is clearly a sign that you need to calm the FUCK DOWN, and take a break.

Just do it.

XO
Grace

My Stolen Lines #5

2009-06-15T08:46:00.002-05:00

Tell me, have you ever thought of changing your life?

In the interest of being the biggger person, I am removing my stolen lines.

However, it should be noted that a removal is not necessarily a retraction.

I can come up with something better anyway.

Pause

2009-06-08T23:09:00.003-05:00

Rather than feel badly about not posting, I'm just announcing I'll be back in a few days.

In the meantime, write your Stolen Lines.

Or watch this.

I am... life-raft searching...

Stolen Lines #5

2009-06-01T22:45:00.019-05:00

Tell me... have you ever thought...of changing your life?

Hopefully this line is more inspiring.

The rules: Start your post with the above line. End your post with "I stole the first line of this post from the play, Betrayal, by Harold Pinter" And maybe link back to me so people can understand the point of the post.

And whatever you put in the middle is up to you.

There's no deadline. Write whenever you feel like it. If you want to have your post included, just leave a comment or send me an email telling me you've posted.

PS. This is open to absolutely anyone. All you have to do is write it.

Here, you can find the previous Stolen Lines.

*Update: Stolen Lines by:

Brita

Butterflyfish
Pearly Blythe
Just Jenn
Vernacular
Jane Know
The Artful Blogger
Fianna Fianna Fianna
Colby in the City
Joy
Miss Foxy

Dear Little Girl Who Lives Below Me,

2009-05-31T20:43:00.004-05:00

I heard you and your family outside in the backyard today. I was stuck on my couch all day feeling like shit. I lifted my head long enough to peek out my window into the back yard we share. You all were out there. Having a little family barbecue. Your mom and dad were sitting at the table together. Your little sister was bouncing around a bit, and she seemed pretty happy. Your back was to me, and you were coloring on the walkway in pastel chalk.

At first I was happy for you. You all seemed like such a normal little family. Like a family that didn't scream at each other in the middle of the night every fucking night. For some reason, I just kept watching. I noticed that although your parents were sitting next to each other, they certainly weren't talking. Your mom was staring vacantly into the neighbor's yard. Your dad was tapping his foot impatiently, as if he couldn't WAIT to get the fuck away from her. Your little sister was acting pretty normal. And so were you. you were wearing a cute little green dress with purple stripes. And you were drawing pictures of a little girl wearing a little green dress with purple stripes. And the little chalk girl had a big frowney face. And on her little chalk face were little chalk tears.

Sweetie, that was the saddest thing I'd ever seen. You don't deserve that. I am so sorry. Here are some things that I really want you to know.

1. Honey, your dad is a fucking hick. Really. He's disgusting. There's a reason your mom left him, (even though she took him back). He's an asshole. Just as I was coming back from the store today, he came outside and asked if he could talk to me for a second. I stopped and listened as he apologized for the other night when there was glass breaking, you and your sister crying and he was screaming at your mom. Stupidly, I had actually gone downstairs to intervene. I only did it because I heard you crying. So anyway, your dad apologized. And here's why your dad's an asshole: He said "these things happen, you know?" Well, you know what, honey? No they don't. Not always. And certainly they shouldn't happen in front of you. You don't deserve that. You deserve to have parents who care so much about you that no matter how mad they get, they put it fucking aside. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a parenting expert. I don't have kids. But I have parents. And they got divorced, and they had rocky times. But they NEVER fought in front of me. Why? Because not scaring me was more important than any ugly thing they could possibly scream at each other in front of me. You deserve that. I'm sorry you don't get it.

2. Your mom, honey... well, she's kind of a harpy. And shrill as all get-out. I know this because the sound of her screaming "Get a fucking job you son of a bitch bastard" wakes me up at least twice a week. I could live with that, if I didn't hear you crying, too. ALSO, your mom is bad for yelling at you the way she yells at you. WHO CARES that you didn't pick up all your toys? In the grand scheme of things, Honey, you not picking up your toys, doesn't fucking matter. And here's what really sucks about how she screams at you: She won't remember each and every time she screamed at your throughout your childhood, but I bet you will. She might even later forget altogether that she EVER screamed at you. But you will remember. It's not fair. I hope that when you get older, you can put this into perspective, and realize that's she's the bad one. Not you.

3. Sweetie, it won't always be like this. Someday, you'll be old enough to drink.

4. I don't think your parents think much of themselves. And I don't think they think much of you. It's a shame, because you are a beautiful and precious and funny little person. TRUST ME, when you are older, people will see you for the wonderful extraordinary and sweet person you are. And, worst case scenario, you end up a stripper, you will ROCK that stripper pole like its never been rocked before. I promise you that.

5. I think your parents give your little sister way more positive attention than they give you. I'm sorry for that. But here's something I know. That girl has cankles in her future. Bad ones. You're going to be fine.

6. I don't imagine you are going to live here for long. It's a little too small for your family. And you are just young enough that you probably won't remember me. But I need to tell you that I will never forget you, and your crying chalk self. And for the rest of your life, I will be rooting for you. And I will always hope your future chalk drawings only have smiley faces.

Sincerely,

Grace

Meet Ingrid:

2009-05-28T19:34:00.004-05:00

I know what you all are thinking. I have a history. I can't handle another fish. It hasn't been that long since I lost Beth. But I can do it. I am ready to love again.

Ingrid is gentle. There's a quiet wisdom in her fins, yet, a fierce tenacity. I think we can be happy together.

Stolen Lines #5

2009-05-25T20:07:00.004-05:00

OK, so the last one didn't go so well. Most people told me they didn't like the line. I'll post a much better line Monday June 1st. And hopefully, people will like it better. Because it's only cool and fun when people participate.

Sorry it's been dead around the blog lately. I just have nothing interesting to say. I have the deposition happening this week. It's going to be fine. I won't die. Or maybe I will. Probably not though. It's weird, all my friends who do criminal law are not at all worried for me. My friends who do civil law, are telling me to expect the worst. We'll see...

Anyway, I just want to remind everyone to take a moment enjoy the beauty that is the best music video of our time. I have watched it 1o times just today. Check it out. Thanks Artful for reminding me that true geniusness really exists.

List

2009-05-17T14:33:00.006-05:00

**UPDATE**

Re: #12. The book is entitled "Are You My Husband?" By Rachel Carpenter.

1. Today I am doing one of my very favorite things. I am sitting in my backyard with my asshole dog. I'm wearing a long flowy summer skirt, a tank top, flipflops and sunglasses. I'm drinking a glass of white wine and I've got my laptop. I just bought some flowers for my deck. My backyard overlooks a park, and although there's a fence blocking my view, I can hear the sounds of very good looking people playing softball. It feels like summer.

2. I know how I am going to die. It's going to be in a snow skiing accident. Here's the thing, though: I don't snow ski. I never have, and now, knowing that's how I am going to die, I am not exactly willing to try it. I think that's a sign that my self-preservation skills aren't as bad as I sometimes think they are.

3. Speaking of death on this lovely almost summer afternoon, I have predicted the deaths of three famous people. Just a few days before Luciano Pavarotti, Rosa Parks, and Jerry Garcia died, I had dreamt they had died.

4. I'm really bad at lists. I use them as excuses to not commit to a topic. Lists in the grocery store would be helpful though. I see people who have lists in the grocery store, and they seem to get in and out of there pretty quick. What they do, the list people, that is, is they start at one end, and buy the stuff on their list as they go. they go up one aisle and down the other. I walk to the center of the store, and decide what I want or need the most. Then I get that. Then I go back to the center of the store, and decide what I want second most. And then I go and get that. And so on. And so on. It's not the best system. I know this.

5. There's a small child staring at me through a window right now. She draws me pictures sometimes because, in her words "that's what good neighbors do." She and her parents live below me, and spend the majority of MY sleeping hours screaming things like "GET A JOB YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" and "WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS SUCH A CUNT?" Good times, good times.

6. I don't really talk about relationships and stuff like that on this blog. And I will continue to avoid the topic. But I would like to say that I am really bad at relationships. Like, really really bad. And I have horrible instincts. But in my defense, I always TELL the person upfront how the relationship will end, and I am always dead on. If they choose not to believe me, caveat emptor. I think.

7. I really do think I am the stupidest person ever to pass the bar and become a lawyer.

8. I don't mean this in a braggy way, but I feel very very loved by a lot of people. Which is sort of weird. If I were my friend, I would not love me. I would Facebook de-friend myself.

9. I think the two grossest things in life are bananas and cottage cheese.

10. I gave up meat, dairy and caffeine, but it was supposed to be for only a month. And now, I want to ungive it up. But I can't. Because I am treating these things like cigarettes, which I actually DID have an addiction to. And having a piece of delicious smoked gouda is hardly going to have the repercussions as having a delicious marlboro ultra light, but Ive got the whole thing all twisted up in my head now. Like if I have a piece of cheese, It's just a slippery slope to a two pack a day habit. I don't imagine that makes any sense. It's a control thing. Whatever.

11. I have this new internet friend. She's hilarious. Bagels and Kegels. But don't start liking her so much that you stop reading me. I'm selfish like that. But she is way better. So whatever.

12. My sister just bought me a book entitled "Where Are You, Husband?"

13. Soy wasabi almonds are delicious.

14. I am currently in the middle of a huge argument, where I am being called all sorts of names, via text message.

15. I think I need to move back to Southern California. Scott Rose, if I agree to give up all things PC and devote myself to the Mac way of life, can we just get married and get on with it?

16. I am scared of almost nothing. But I am scared of the ball. And I signed up to be on the office softball team. They needed girls.

17. That's all. I'm bored with myself.

17. Is a really good number.

17. Pinot Grigio is delicious.

17. I have a horrible sense of direction. Anytime I ever arrive anywhere that I am supposed to be, it's coincidence.

17. Happy Almost Summer, Everyone.

My Stolen Lines #4

2009-05-09T19:46:00.011-05:00

Feeling both empowered and terrified as I drove into work, I looked up at the sky and started talking.

My name is Grace Law.

FUCKFUCKFUCK. I can’t even get out the beginning lines without fucking up. Ok. Slow down. Start again. MayitpleasetheCourt, MayitpleasetheCourt, Mayitpleasethecourt.

My name is Grace Law.

Oh my GOD. I did it again. I suck. I am an idiot. I am the stupidest person to ever argue in front of the appellate court. How did I ever get into law school? How did I pass the bar? It must have been an error. Why does God hate me so much? Ok. Start again. Don’t be an ass. Just do this.

May it please the Court. Good morning. The Defendant…

Fuck!!! Why can’t I get this right? Good morning is the first fucking thing that I say. Just fucking say it. Try not to suck at everything. “Good morning,” and THEN “may it please the court”.

Good morning, May it please the Court. I took the Which 90210 Character are you, and got Dylan McKay.

How did I get Dylan McKay? He’s the loner bad boy. He rides a motorcycle. I hate motorcycles for God’s sake. I see myself way more as an Andrea. Maybe even a Donna. I’m a Donna with an edge. Or at least a Brandon. Brandon doesn’t dance, I don’t dance. I am a Brandon. I’ll bet Brandon Walsh could do an oral argument. He could have probably done one while he was still at West Beverly! If a high school senior, albeit the class president could do an oral argument, I sure the hell can. Ok go.

Good Morning. May it please the Court. Grace Law on behalf of the people of the state of Illinois.

Wow. That sounded good. Wow. That’s who I am. That’s cool. I can do this. I am meant to do this. I know this case. I know the issues. I know the law. I’ve practiced this. I’m not scared. OK, do it again, and keep on going…

Good Morning. May it please the Court. Grace Law on behalf of the people of the state of Illinois. The defendant was in no way prejudiced by…

MotherFUCKER. Don’t forget the threshold issue! Do NOT forget the threshold issue. Maybe I am a Dylan McKay. He does tend to do his own thing. He’s a loner. I’m a loner. He can’t sustain relationships. I can’t sustain relationships. He’s brooding. He wears a lot of black. He’s got good hair. I’m brooding, well, sometimes I’m brooding. I wear a lot of black. I have good hair. My hair does resemble Kelli’s though. Am I a Kelli? Noooo, I’m no Kelli. At least I am self aware enough to know I’m not a Kelly. That's a good thing, right?

Good Morning. May it please the Court. Grace Law on behalf of the people of the state of Illinois. As a threshold matter, because the defendant failed to preserve the issue by including it in any post-trial motions or objecting at the time, the issue is procedurally barred.

Yeah. That sounded pretty good. That sounded lawyer-ey. Wait, that’s correct, though, isn’t it? Yeah. Yeah, it’s right. Of course it’s right. I know this. Oh my God, I am going to fuck up my first oral argument. And then the justices are going to call my boss, and tell her to fire me because I make a mockery out of the entire legal system. The cabdriver. Was that really just last week? Did that really happen? Stop. You don’t have time for that. Be a Brandon Walsh. Get back to your oral argument, Brandon Walsh.

Good Morning. May it please the Court. Brandon Walsh on behalf of the people of the state of Illinois…

*I Stole the first line of this post from Stay Tuned, by Jenniffer Weigel. This is part of my ongoing Stolen Lines Experiment. Feel free to play along. This one was hard, though! I'll try to pick an easier line to work with next time.

Update: Stolen Lines By:

Brita
The Shire Smarty
The Amazing Jane Know, who I love so much
Brand new blogger, The Rambling Law Student
The Artful Blogger
Colby in the City
Five Tomatoes To Freedom

Sigh... Public Defenders Come Up With The Neatest Stuff!

2009-05-06T20:15:00.002-05:00

So, the other day I'm in a courtroom that I'm not usually in. Basically, it's a courtroom for defendants who fuck up the terms of their sentence. Sometimes, it's entertaining. Sometimes it's very sad.

Sometimes, it's just annoying. This is one of those days.

So, this woman comes in, who's represented by the public defender. She's brought her kid. This usually means that she thought that the judge was going to throw her in jail, and if she brings her kid, the judge won't do it. However, judges don't fall for that very often anymore. In fact, I think a lot of judges get pissed off that a defendant would use his or her kid to save their ass.

ANYWAY...so the kid is running all around the courtroom, not really being obnoxious, but definitely being a kid, touching everything etc...

So here's what happened when her case was called:

Public Defender: Judge, this is sort of an odd situation, Ms. Defendant has her child with her today, and normally she would never bring her child to court, but she HAD to bring her child to court today, because her child was thrown out of school because he was (wait for it... wait for it...) suspected of having the SWINE FLU.

Awesome. Just Awesome. I threw a fit.

What to Do.

2009-05-02T14:50:00.004-05:00

I have so many things to write about, and absolutely no time lately, so this is going to be messy. Actually, no it's not. I'll stick to this one topic and then write more tomorrow.

So, a couple of people have suggested to me that I should file a civil suit against the cabdriver. I never responded, because... well, I don't know.

But the fact is, I did file a civil suit. I filed it on the last day possible. It took that long to make up my mind. Sometimes, I was just so desperate to have the whole thing put behind me, that I didn't even want to contemplate any further litigation. Then, other times, I felt so exhausted and so tired and so sad and so stripped of my old self because of this that I got pissed off, and wanted to do everything to make anyone responsible pay for the damages they had caused.

I never in my wildest dreams imagined the cabdriver would be acquitted.

And now. I'm faced with this other thing. This lawsuit. I sort of put it in the back of my mind, the idea of having to go through depositions etc.. because all you hear about is how long civil lawsuits take to be resolved. I figured that I wouldn't even have to do a deposition for a year or so. When I was way less actively freaked out by the whole thing. I was wrong.

I got a phone call from my attorney on Friday telling me that my deposition would be in roughly a week.

I'm not ready to go through this again. Like, at all. It's too soon. Right? This might kill me.

Or, should I be happy it's now and suck it up and not be such a baby? Now, when I am still fucked up about the trial, that way, I can heal from it all at once and never ever ever have to look back once it's all done. Unless of course I have to testify in a civil trial. Which apparently rarely happens. But it might. But what if this is the thing that breaks me completely? It hasn't exactly been the best last few months, and anyone who knows me can pretty much attest that I've been more awful than usual to be around. Will this make me worse or better? I don't know if I have the stamina to feel worse than I do now, let alone how I felt three months ago. But, i don't know.

I don't know what to do. Should I go forward with this lawsuit, or should I back down? Someone just tell me what to do.

Oh, and the reason I am not directly asking anyone, is because I want voluntary answers. That's the best thing about blogs. You never have to comment. You can just pretend you never read this.

I have good and funny stuff to write about, too. And Stolen Lines, which apparently no one is digging this month's quote. It's just going to have to wait a day or so.

so anyway. feel free to tell me what to do. i want to know.

Stolen Lines #4

2009-04-27T22:31:00.004-05:00

Feeling both empowered and terrified as I drove into work, I looked up at the sky and started talking.

The rules: Start your post with the above line. End your post with "I stole the first line of this post from Stay Tuned, by Jenniffer Weigel" And maybe link back to me so people can understand the point of the post.

And whatever you put in the middle is up to you.

There's no deadline. Write whenever you feel like it. If you want to have your post included, just leave a comment or send me an email telling me you've posted.

PS. This is open to absolutely anyone. All you have to do it write it.

Here, you can find the previous Stolen Lines.

Update: Stolen Lines By:

Colby in the City

Stolen Lines # 4 Announcement and a Very Important Question

2009-04-21T21:47:00.001-05:00

I'll post the next Stolen Line on Monday, April 27th.

In the meantime, here's a very important question...

If a judge has a booger, are you supposed to tell her/him?

I Have Protected Myself. From Myself.

2009-04-12T21:09:00.002-05:00

I may have had 5 glasses of wine too many yesterday.

Then, I thought it was a good idea to password protect my Blackberry.

I remember picking a very creative password.

One that I hadn't used for anything else.

Then I fell asleep.

Suffice it to say, I can't remember my very creative password.

Fun With In Court Identifications

2009-04-08T07:58:00.000-05:00

Grace: Do you see that person in this courtroom today?

Witness: Yes.

Grace: Can you please point her out and describe an article of clothing that she's wearing?

Witness: Sure. Black hair, blue jeans, see-through top.

Grace: (cough cough) let the record reflect (cough cough) the in court identification of the defendant?

Judge: (cough cough) record shall so reflect.

The Dog & Me: A Dialogue: Part VI

2009-04-05T11:53:00.009-05:00

Me: Why did you have to eat my entire bag of almonds? It's like the one food I am currently able to eat!

Dog: Because if I eat the one food you are currently able to eat, maybe you will die sooner. Why do you ask questions with such obvious answers, Skank?

Me: You don't even LIKE almonds.

Dog: So? I don't like blueberry jolly ranchers either, but I eat them. Why the fuck would I do something like that? Because the only joy in my life is depriving you of things you like. Oh, and making you clean up dog vomit. Get it, Asshole?

Me: You know, you are really abusive and hostile.

Dog: Fuck off, and take me for a walk. Those almonds are gonna hurt coming out. We're gonna be out there for a while.

Me: Great. And five thousand people are going to come up to you and you're going to act all cute, and they're gonna pet you and you're going to act all adorable, because you NEVER say the shit you say when other people are around.

Dog: Why would I? Other people don't repulse me like you do. And of course people are going to come up to me. I'm a DILF.

Me: WHAT... did you just say?

Dog: A DILF. It's a...

Me: Stop right there! Don't finish that sentence.

Dog: You don't want to know what a DILF is?

Me: Stop! I know what a DILF is.

Dog: Ahh... Of course you do, you naughty little tramp.

Me: No! That's not what I mean. I mean, I know where you're going with this. I mean, there's no such thing as a DILF. That's just wrong.

Dog: You're just wrong.

Me: Can't we just go on our walk and put this unpleasantness behind us?

Dog: DILF DILF DILF.

Me: Can't we please discuss something else?

Dog: OK. How about your flabby and untoned arms?

Me: No.

Dog: The dark circles under your eyes?

Me: No. Let's not talk about me at all.

Dog: Ok. Do you think my poop will be blue from the jolly ranchers or almond shamed from the almonds?

Victim Impact Statement

2009-04-04T18:03:00.002-05:00

When a person is found guilty of a violent crime in the state of Illinois, the victim (or the victim's family member) is given the opportunity to submit a victim impact statement. The statement must be written in conjunction with the State's Attorney's Office, and must be given in advance to the state's attorneys, and may be considered in the aggravation/mitigation portion of the sentencing proceedings.

Well, since the cabdriver got acquitted, I never got to do one. I don't even know that I would have done it though. Once I realized that I would have to let someone else help me write it, I kinda thought it sounded lame. Like, I would only be allowed to say things that the State approved of. Well, fuck that. Anyway, it doesn't matter. The point is now moot.

But I can write a victim impact statement here. Because it's my fucking blog. And it's sexual assault awareness month. Thank GOD... I was like, feeling so UNAWARE. Anyway...

Dear Cabdriver,

Over two and a half years ago, our paths crossed. That one night in July, it was a beautiful night. I haven't really thought about how pretty the night was until right now as I write this. It was perfect flip flop, tank top, summer skirt, weather. It was perfect drink outside, enjoy your friends, savor every moment of this glorious city weather.

It was a perfect night for you to cruise the city looking for victims.

The beauty of that night will be forever lost on me, as I am sure will the beauty of any future perfect July nights. That's on you. You took from me summer nights outside.

You took from me unlocked bedroom doors. You took from me open windows. Open blinds.

You took from me the color green. I was never a fan of black denim, but now it gives me flashbacks. Strong, vivid flashbacks.

You took from me my home. I had to move.

You took from me at least 20 minutes during the Illinois bar exam. The fucking bar exam! Something just hit me, and you were in my head. And you wouldn't go away. You took 20 minutes from me during the most important test of my life. All of a sudden I snapped out of it. Thank god I was able to. Sometimes I'm not. Sometimes you take my whole day. Like today. Honestly like, most days. You're always on my mind. Sometimes it's subtle, like a leaky faucet, that just slowly and methodically reminds you that something is not right. Other times, it's like I am stuck in a hurricane while concurrently being the hurricane.

You took from me some friends, and some family. I've never been the best communicator. And what you did that one night in July, was the nail in the coffin of my ability to communicate.

I don't trust myself anymore. I don't trust my decision making skills. You did that. That one night in July.

My great uncle died a week ago. To be fair, you actually had nothing to do with that. He was old and had cancer. I didn't know him very well, but I went to his funeral with my mother. In his eulogy, my cousin stated that my great uncle was the greatest influence on his life. At the luncheon afterward, the conversation turned to who in each of our own lives was the most influential. My mother, awesome lady that she is, said me. I, of course, said her. And there was a time that that was true. She certainly deserves to be called the most influential person in my life. But she's not.

You are. You took that title from her. and you have earned it. Every single thing I do is influenced by you. The way I walk to and from work. The way I talk to people. The way I colored my hair. The way I listen to sounds. The way I listen to nothing. The way I feel about my successes and failures. The way I eat, I sleep, I breathe. The way I hide from people who care about me. It's all about you.

I thought it would be easier after your trial two months ago. But, stupid me... I never contemplated you being acquitted. It's so much harder than I had ever anticipated. I actually cannot decide which was worse, the assault or the trial. Both of which you are responsible for. Maybe I'd be feeling better if I didn't have to see your scumbag defense attorney in my courtroom at least once a week. This week, I did my first jury trial, and won. I wasn't thinking about you. That moment was mine. My boss was IN THE MIDDLE of telling me what a good job I did, and congratulating me, when your scumbag lawyer walked right over and interrupted him to shake my boss's hand. So, by proxy, you stole that moment too.

I used to be someone very different. I used to be way cooler. I miss the person I was before that one night in July. I miss sleeping. I miss dancing at street festivals with awesome women. I miss feeling free and open. I miss my friends.

I try to find something positive out of this. Maybe this will somehow make me a better prosecutor. A stronger advocate. A more compassionate voice for victims.

Or maybe I'll go on, just as I am today. Easily startled and hyper-aware of my own mortality.

We are forever linked, Cabdriver. I will forever be your victim, and you will forever be my perpetrator. The thought of that connection that we will always share makes me want to tear my hair out and set myself on fire.

I hope and wish, Cabdriver, that whatever path your life takes, wherever you choose to go, and whatever you choose to do, you endure much grief and suffering. You and your family. And your sleazy attorney.

You took away the best possible version of me. And you took away summer nights.

Sincerely,

Grace

Dear Ridiculous Gossipy Bitches,

2009-03-29T14:41:00.003-05:00

Now, normally, I don't get uptight when I hear gossip about me. I hate it, but I understand that people do, in fact, talk. There are lines that shouldn't be crossed though.

I know you are still in law school, and as anyone who has been to law school can attest to, law school is the same as junior high school, but with booze. Therefore, you are given a little wiggle room in the maturity department.

Enough is enough, though. You've had your bitchy little fun. You've fucked with me. You've fucked with people I care about. You've invaded my privacy. You have hurt me very deeply. And you don't even know me. You just know things about me. Well, here's something you don't know about me: The time in my life where people get to fuck with me is over. It's just not going to happen. And I sure as shit am not going to stand by as you fuck with the lives of people I care about.

So here's the deal: Stop. Just stop. Or I will ruin your life.

Most Sincerely,

Grace

My Stolen Lines #3

2009-03-22T17:06:00.011-05:00

There's something that I've been thinking about and wondering about and I'm very curious: am I the only one who knows?

No, honey. Everyone knows. Well, most people know.

Clearly not everyone.

No, but everyone should. But don't forget, there are exceptions.

Not really.

No, there are!

If there are exceptions, there's no way he was one of them.

Are you sure?

What do you mean?

Maybe he's a cowboy?

No

Maybe he handles sharp objects often?

No.

Does he work at the Renaissance Faire?

NO! He's a professional boxer.

Oh. Well, then, no... he really doesn't fall into one of the exceptions does he?

No. (pause) Do you think I overreacted?

Well, I don't know. (long pause) Was there fringe?

No.

Then it's hard to tell. It was your boss's wedding. and you kinda just didn't show up. That's not cool.

I KNOW! But I didn't have a choice! It was black-fucking-tie!

Was he trying to be ironic?

No. He's too stupid.

How could you not have seen this coming?

WHO SEES BEIGE SUEDE PANTS COMING??

Touche. Lower your voice, Gracie. What were you wearing?

Sorry. My black backless Halston.

Ugh. What a waste. You should have just gone.

I couldn't. (pause) Did I mention there was a matching vest?

WHAT?

Yes.

I didn't know that. I would have faked an asthma attack too. And then beat him to death with the matching suede vest. You did the right thing, Grace.

A Public Service Announcement- Men: Stay away from suede pants. And skinny jeans, while you're at it.

*I stole the first line of this post from Then We Came To The End, by Joshua Ferris

Update: Stolen Lines By:
Legally Irrelevant
Butterflyfish
Brita James
EJ
Five Tomatoes
The Shire Smartie
Kelli
My Favorite Future Firetruck, Obsquatch
Daisy
Kristine

A Holiday I don't Hate

2009-03-20T00:35:00.004-05:00

So, if you've been reading my blog for a while, or you know me personally, you know I fucking hate the holidays. Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, Valentines Day, St. Paddy's, Mardi Gras, my birthday, Halloween... whatever. I hate them all. they make me sad.

Tonight, I found myself waiting to stay awake until midnight. Like many do for New Years, or their birthday, or Santa Claus...and when midnight hit, I cried with happiness and relief.

Today I realized that today is MY holiday. I am TOTALLY and with absolutely no cynicism whatsoever, going to celebrate today. The first day of Spring. And I am going to do it every year from here on out. I WISH I had known beforehand. I would have planned a party. I would have requested the day off.

Winter can go fuck itself. Happy First Day of Spring, everyone!

I am going to come up with themes and mascots and special foods and stuff for this new holiday.

And I shall drink a First-Day-Of-Springtini.

I am taking suggestions on what that drink is made of.

Dear White, Male, Private Criminal Defense Attorneys Over Fifty,

2009-03-19T20:25:00.008-05:00

This "Lady-Lawyer" has some suggestions for you. As always, in no particular order...

1. When you see me walk into my courtroom before the morning call has started, and I am carrying a HUGE box of case files, and I haven't even had a chance to put them down, don't come up to me to discuss the unique and particular needs of your client. I do not know who the fuck you are. I do not know who you represent. And I do not know what your client has done. Give me a moment. One moment to put my things down. It's the polite thing to do.

2. When I am talking to another defense attorney, do not walk up and start talking to me. Wait until it is your turn.

3. If you happen to know that I am new, do NOT, DO NOT, tell me "how it's done". I don't care if you used to be "in the office." I do not need to be "trained" by you.

4. Do not wink at me.

5. Do not tell me to smile.

6. DO NOT TOUCH ME.

7. If you don't like the offer I give you, don't go to my male first chair. He will not change the offer. It's bad form. Not to mention the fact that I'm new, and have to clear my offers with him anyway. Now you've just insulted me, and annoyed him.

8. If you want to tell me one thing in the hallway, and then the complete opposite thing in front of a judge, do not come up to me later and say "I'm sorry, you'll learn that is how it works." I do not accept that "that is how it works." No... "that" is not how it works. "That" is why lawyers have bad reputations as untrustworthy and dishonest. I strive to be better. That sort of sage advice is not welcome.

9. Did I mention don't touch me? OH! Don't touch me.

10. Do not, please, for the sake of humanity, don't send your client out of the room, and then proceed to tell me what an idiot/loser/fuckup your client is. Think it, if you wish. You are probably right. Your client probably IS an idiot/loser/fuckup. But your idiot/loser/fuckup client has paid you good money to not be a backstabbing asshole. They hired someone to be their advocate. They NEED that. BE their advocate. And not just to their face. You don't have to like them or respect them. But bashing them just makes you look worse than you already do for winking and touching and interrupting me.

11. I wear a skirt 2-3 times a week. Yes. I know I have nice legs, but we are IN A COURT OF LAW. It is not appropriate to comment on them. (Namby Pamby, you know you are the exception)FURTHERMORE, don't you DARE let me hear you commenting on my legs or any other part of my body to YOUR CLIENT. (IE "Perks of this courtroom, Jose, young, sexy prosecutors you can go home and whack off to..." You want to be a zealous advocate for your client? Zealously advocate for a happier and healthier future for your often young, often undereducated, often underprivileged male client. Don't demonstrate that it's ok to objectify women. If they see it's ok to disrespect a woman who actually has the power to get them thrown in jail, how do you think they are going to treat the other women in their lives?

12. Say please and thank you. I will, too.

13. Don't tell me what my first or second chair did or said on a previous court date, if it's not true. I will NEVER believe you. I will always ask them first. And then you're stuck looking like a fucking liar.

14. Oh my GOD. Jeans are not appropriate for court. Even with a sportcoat. And Betty Boop ties on anyone, let alone you, are so fucking insanely wrong. If I were a defendant, and my defense attorney showed up with jeans and a betty boop tie, I would ask for my money back. you disrespect us all.

That's all. For now. You may be wondering why this letter is directed exclusively to the white, male, criminal defense attorneys over the age of 50. Well, there's a reason. YOU ARE THE ONLY ONES WHO BEHAVE LIKE THIS!!!!!!!

For the first few weeks in this new assignment, I may have appeared vulnerable. I was. For many reasons. Some personal, and some professional. Now, I am not so vulnerable.

Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me.

Sincerely,

Lady-Lawyer Grace

PS Don't fucking touch me.

Stolen Lines #3

2009-03-18T00:10:00.009-05:00

There's something that I've been thinking about and wondering about and I'm very curious: am I the only one who knows?

The rules: Start your post with the above line. End your post with "I stole the first line of this post from Then We Came To The End, by Joshua Ferris" And maybe link back to me so people can understand the point of the post.

And whatever you put in the middle is up to you.

There's no deadline. Write whenever you feel like it. If you want to have your post included, just leave a comment or send me an email telling me you've posted.

PS. This is open to absolutely anyone. All you have to do it write it.

Here, you can find the previous Stolen Lines.

Stolen Lines #3 Coming Soon

2009-03-15T19:32:00.002-05:00

Stolen Lines #3. I'll post the new line on Wednesday March 18.

And thanks for all the sweet birthday wishes. Does someone wanna call either of my fucking parents and remind them it's their daughter's fucking birthday?

Ok. Stolen Lines. Wednesday. That's all.

The Ides of March. My Birthday

2009-03-15T08:34:00.004-05:00

Is today. I'm generally not a birthday person, because I think the wrong person gets celebrated. I didn't shoot something the size of a waterman out of something the size of a kiwi. My mom did. Thanks Mama Grace. I supposed I deserve some credit for STAYING alive, which I have managed to do. But that's not really the holiday.

Anyway. It's my birthday. I'm going to go walk the dog, then go buy some new sunglasses, a new sexy bra, and a bottle of champagne.

Then I am going to come home and drink my bottle of champagne while wearing only my new sunglasses and sexy bra and watch Law and Order Marathons.

Then I shall do some laundry.

OOOOH and if any of you care, I am no longer a sparkly blonde. I am a very light shade of brown. I mean, in some lights, it's still totally blonde. But it's really not. I think Grace just needed an upgrade.

Dearest Lilly Valencia,

2009-03-11T20:09:00.003-05:00

I was really sad after our IM conversation. I love you. And I am very sorry. I woke up this morning thinking about you, and I thought about you more as I walked to the el.

And then I saw this a few blocks down. And I knew you still loved me.

Kisses,

Holli Seattle

By Order of Court

2009-03-04T12:44:00.001-06:00

Or Order Of Grace... whatever.

Parmesian cheese is no longer considered dairy.

And neither is fresh mozzarella.

Whatever. It's true.

A 4AM rant. Totally Not Worth Reading.

2009-03-03T04:14:00.005-06:00

I've tried to write something several times now that wasn't depressing or whiny or whatever. And honestly, it just didn't sound right. It sounded false. And not at all funny. And I wish it didn't, because being funny is way better, but I guess the fact is there's not a lot that's fucking funny right now.

It's 4 fucking am. I went to sleep at about 1 am. That's 3 hours of fucking sleep. Which is sort of the standard lately. Ever since the fucking trial, it's like I've gone back in time to when it happened. Can't sleep. Even with Ambien. Can't get anything done.

I sort of knew, (because crappy books which never should have been bought told me so), that after the trial I would be a little emotionally... disheveled. And I was ok with that. Because I completely assumed that the cab driver would be convicted, and although testifying would be hard, it would be fairly easy to pick myself up, dust myself off and move on, because ultimately, the world was better and safer. Well that last part didn't happen. And the world is not better, and not safer. And I can't fucking sleep. And there are WAY too many cabs in the city of Chicago.

Oh, and by the way, giving up meat and dairy and caffeine is stupid. I am sticking to it, because I am not a quitter, but seriously, what the fuck was I thinking? It is a FACT, that the three best things in life, besides wine, are steak, cheese, and Diet Coke. That can't ever change. Not possible. I love them so much that if I could, I would wear a suit made out of steak, my bra and underwear would be made out of cheese, and I'd have a wreath of diet coke cans on my head like a tiara. I gave up cigarettes a couple of years ago. Shouldn't that be enough?

Oh, and another thing. My dog is useless. She's just lying next to me, asleep. As if nothing ever is wrong. I want to be my dog. She's so... content.

A few weekends ago, I went back to Los Angeles to visit friends. It probably wasn't the smartest trip to take, because a lot of people out there don't know what happened, so I spent a lot of time answering the question "How ARE you?" with a big fat fake fucking grin and then going on about how AWESOME everything in my life is and how happy and ok I am. It was exhausting. One night, a big group of us were leaving dinner, and we got into a car accident. The car behind us, also filled with my friends, just slammed right into us. Thankfully no one was hurt at all. As we all got out to check the cars and each other for damage, I actually breathed a sigh of relief. I wish it was solely because no one was hurt, but it wasn't. It was also because this time that crunchy, awful, smashy, noisy, car-accident-y feeling that had been recurring on a loop in my mind and body for the last few weeks, actually was a car accident. And not something else. So fucked up. This is who I've become. Awesome. Fucking awesome.

Ok.. it's 5:00 now. This post sucks. My dog is snoring. Time to go check Facebook.

Dear Loud Talkers,

2009-03-02T20:50:00.004-06:00

I have a new phone. I can take pictures on my phone, and I can also blog from my phone. And a bunch of other stuff that I can't figure out yet. But here's my point...

Shut the fuck up, or face the consequences.

Love, Grace

PS. Scott Rose, I'm sorry, it's not an Iphone. I am aware that you won't marry me until I succumb, but the iphone is not included in my work cellphone discount plan... care to pull some strings?

A Win

2009-02-23T21:58:00.003-06:00

All day long, I have been working my ass off, trying to figure out my new assignment, trying to field phone calls from angry and hurt people in my personal and professional life.

I have been trying to adjust to sticking with the most ridiculous life choice I ever made: I gave up meat, dairy, and caffeine. I don't know why... I feel like I need more opportunities to be in control or something.

I finally made it home after a 13 hour day with nothing to eat but fucking stupid ass grapes, and called my friend to vent.

Everything in my life has been so fucking shitty lately, that I completely forgot to even mention that something fantastic happened today.

I won my oral argument. AND the opinion was published. I am precedent. Well, not me personally... but... you know. It's still fucking cool.

I can't believe I almost forgot to even think about that.

Yay.

Yesterday

2009-02-21T08:34:00.005-06:00

I knew it would happen eventually. I just didn't think it would happen so soon. SO SOON. Less than one month. I'm in my brand new courtroom. It's a busy morning call. Defense attorneys are interrupting me, shoving files in my hand and asking for plea deals. Because I'm new, it takes an immense amount of focus to not fuck things up, and not slow things down. Our courtroom moves fast. I step out of the room to interview a witness. I step back in and approach the bench.

I make eye contact with a defense attorney. Following that eye contact was one of the most awkward double takes as we both realize who we just made eye contact with.

Yep. The sleazy defense attorney has a case up in my courtroom. The very guy who, in open court less than a month ago accused me of being a liar, a slut, a drug addict, an alcoholic, and a thief. The rapist loving attorney who built his career humiliating and bullying victims on the stand.

And there he was. Just sitting there at the defense counsel table. In my new courtroom. Maybe it's not him, I think, hopefully. There's nothing particularly remarkable about his appearance. He looks like the stereotypical sleazy defense attorney. Maybe it's someone else. My first chair asks me if everything is ok. I ask him what the name of the defense attorney sitting at the counsel table is. He confirmed it was him. My first chair asks me what's wrong. I tell him I need a minute, and walk out.

I walk down the back hallway. I am shaking like I've fucking got Parkinsons. I need some water and I need a quick cry. or a quick scream. Either one will do. There is absolutely no place in a courthouse to scream without drawing some seriously negative attention to oneself. I can go in the bathroom and cry for just a minute, however I will fuck up my makeup, and I will have to walk back into court with fucked up makeup and the sleazy defense attorney will know he got me. Again.

I sort of panic. I get in the elevator. I go down to the first floor. I walk outside. I take a few deep breaths of cold as shit Chicago air. I turn around, I go back inside. I get on the elevator, go back to my floor. Stop at the drinking fountain, take a sip, and walk back into my courtroom.

He's still there. As he sees me walk in, he makes a point of stretching out his legs, and leaning back in the chair. Making himself as comfortable as possible. He enjoys this. He finds this amusing. It's no wonder no one at my office, not the lifers, not the newbies have any respect for him at all.

His case is finally called. My first chair takes it. Because I am too big of a coward to stand up there and do it myself. All they do is schedule a new date. And then he leaves. I wait until I'm pretty sure he's gone, then I go get a second sip of water. But he's standing right there in my way to the drinking fountain. LAUGHING with his client. Probably telling him how fucking hilarious it was that the blonde woman in the courtroom was the same blonde woman he destroyed on the witness stand just a few weeks ago. HILARIOUS.

I have an overwhelming urge to grab him by the shoulder, spin him around and scream at him, "WHAT YOUR CLIENT DID WAS WRONG! WHAT YOU DID WAS WRONG! THERE ARE BETTER WAYS TO TREAT PEOPLE WHILE ADVOCATING FOR YOUR CLIENT. YOU'RE A FUCKER AND A LIAR AND A BAD BAD BAD MAN. AND I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL AND I HOPE YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY AND THE CABDRIVER'S FAMILY ALL GET HORRIBLE DISEASES AND DIE AND YOU TWO HAVE TO LIVE AND WATCH THEM ALL GO THROUGH IT." And then of course, the oft-mentioned punch to the nuts.

Of course, none of that happened. I stepped around them, took my sip of water, and went back to work.

Nothing I do matters anymore. I could yell at him. I could be cordial to him. I could be difficult with him when he comes into court. I could ignore him, and make him sit there all day. I might have to try a case against him. I could work harder than I've ever worked on anything to make sure I win. Ultimately, though that win would be nothing. The only trial that matters was the cabdrivers. And that trial is over. So none of this matters. Nothing changes anything. The cabdriver is still free to do whatever the fuck he wants. And I still have to go to work and pretend to be ok.

Later that night, I had to go to a bar in WRIGLEYVILLE and sell fucking raffle tickets for a charity I work with. Almost as traumatic.

Dear Bean Salad From Soprafina,

2009-02-18T12:32:00.000-06:00

You suck. A lot.

Sincerely,

Grace

My Stolen Lines #2

2009-02-15T21:25:00.012-06:00

"Ghosts definitely live here," I say.

I take one last drunken drag off of a Marlboro light and put it out. I lean back against the wall, and survey the empty living room. Then I survey her. Sweaty and luminous. She absentmindedly plays with my long thin fingers with her own long, thin fingers. To describe us you'd think we were identical: Long thin fingers, long thin arms and legs, long thin blonde hair, pale, often dressed in black. Even our names are similar enough that people often confuse us. I don't think it ever bothers her and I know it never bothers me.

She pours some wine from the keg (yes, we have a keg of wine) into a plastic cup. All of our dishes have been packed. Rookies that we were at the time, we had already packed our stemware.

I am going to miss her.

She puts her head on my lap. I play with her hair.

"Remember when that dude came over and set our couch on fire?" she asks.

"Do you remember how hard we all laughed?"

"I do."

We were both quiet for a while.

"It actually wasn't all that funny, was it?" she asks.

"Nope."

I lean over and kiss her impossibly soft cheek.

We stay there, on the floor for a while. Completely still. It's much too hot to do much else, anyway.

Quiet.

"Remember when those guys broke in, and stole everything in the living room while we were right there asleep on the couch?"

"Oh my god yes! And they accidentally left their sleeping bags, and that 6 pack of Rolling Rock?"

We both laugh. Hard.

"Fucking hippies."

Quiet. Again. She draws imaginary circles on my leg. I close my eyes.

"Do you know," she says, "that I hated you when we first met?"

"That's funny," I reply. "when we first met, I loved you with every fiber of my being... Do you think the ghosts will miss us?"

She sits up, and kisses me softly on the lips. "Naa. I think they're coming with us for a while."

*I stole the first line of this post from You'll Never Eat Lunch in This town Again, by Julia Phillips as part of the Stolen Lines Blog Experiment.

Update: Stolen Lines by:
The lovely Harmless Error
My very best, The Shire Smarty
Kelli
Daisy
Brand new blogger, Hope
The Artful Blogger
Brita
Obsquatch
Stacy
Melissa
Year Zero
Butterflyfish
Fianna
Kristine

Stolen Lines #2

2009-02-09T20:01:00.014-06:00

"Ghosts definitely live here," I say.

The rules: Start your post with the above line. End your post with "I stole the first line of this post from You'll Never Eat Lunch in This town Again, by Julia Phillips" And maybe link back to me so people can understand the point of the post.

And whatever you put in the middle is up to you.

There's no deadline. Write whenever you feel like it. If you want to have your post included, just leave a comment or send me an email telling me you've posted.

PS. This is open to absolutely anyone. All you have to do it write it.

Updates and Thanks

2009-02-09T11:47:00.001-06:00

Wow. Just so you all know, I keep on reading over the comments from my last post. Thanks, well... to almost all of you.

First off, to the anonymous poster who said I should have told him I was a dyke, and maybe the cab driver would have left me alone:

I know you meant that to somehow hurt me, or offend me, but you didn't. You're just another one of the anonymous assclowns that bloggers just have to put up with. Since you asked though, Yes, I did, in fact, tell him that I "dated women". And then he told me the really gross and painful thing he planned to do to me (that I had to repeat in open court, which was SUPER fun), and then he assaulted me. So, I guess your theory was wrong. So, there you go. I hope you're happy. Oh, and fuck you, of course.

Second, to all the people who said they'd kick his ass/punch him in the nuts, etc... Thanks. What girl doesn't need an army of nut punchers at her side?The idea made me all warm and fuzzy. But let's just all agree that violence is not the answer. I say that mostly because I think the sleazy defense attorney reads my blog, and I don't want him to construe anything that I (or anyone else on this blog) may say as a threat.

Which brings me to another point. I am really disturbed that the sleazy defense attorney found my blog. Here's why: while a significant number of people know my real identity (I don't keep it that much of a secret) very few people, until now, know about the assault. And then there are even fewer people who know about both, and even fewer people knew who the sleazy defense attorney was. So, basically, all I can come up with is that someone in my small circle of trusted friends told Sleazy Defense Attorney about this blog. And I don't understand why they would do that.

I mean, I guess the private investigator that was hired to find out all sorts of dish on me could have uncovered it, but I just don't know how he would. Hey, if any private investigators read this blog, and want to fill me in, let me know. Then maybe I won't feel like someone in my inner circle really sucks.

Anyway, I REALLY don't want this blog to turn into some whiny, self-indulgent ranty blog, because I do enjoy having, you know, readers. So I will try not to go on and on. But, just for a little perspective, in an eight day time span, the cabdriver trial started. On the same day, I got promoted and transferred to a new assignment so I am now in a courtroom every day prosecuting criminal cases, I had to take my first days off however, to go and testify at the cabdriver trial. Then he was found not guilty. Then I had a meltdown. Then I had to go back to work, then I had to take more time off of my new assignment because I had an oral argument before the Illinois Appellate Court, which next to testifying at the cabdriver trial, was the most intimidated I had ever felt. But I did an ok job, and I am pretty sure I won. It was a busy 8 days. In those 8 days, I slept only about 5 hours total, and lost ten pounds.

Now it's Sunday. And it's really quiet. I'm in bed. My dog is asleep next to me. Everything should feel peaceful, but of course it doesn't. All I'm doing is worrying about the stupidest shit. What am I going to do if I see the cabdriver somewhere? There's no order of protection in effect, so he can just hang out wherever I am. Not like he'd want to, but since I do work in a government building, he may HAVE to. What if I run into the defense attorney? What if I run into the judge? What if I run into a juror? How can I arrange it so I only hang out in areas where you have to pass though a metal detector to be in? Why aren't there metal detectors in my gym, on the el, at my favorite brunch place. At the dog park? LIFE NEEDS MORE FUCKING METAL DETECTORS.

A lot of people keep on saying that I was brave. I totally don't understand that. There's nothing brave about me. Maybe if I were granted a do-over, then I would have been brave. Not now though. I appreciate the sentiment, though. And by the way, writing about it, also does not make me brave. At least not in this forum. Don't forget. I am not Grace. This blog is anonymous. Well, semi-anonymous. You know what I mean.

OK. I got off the point. The fucking point of this post was to thank you all for your really thoughtful comments, and to tell you that I am not dead, because I know I haven't been returning a lot of phone calls and texts. So thanks. And I am not dead. Just a little fucked up.

PS. I've decided that all posts that have to do with the cabdriver will have pictures of annoyingly fucking cute cats. So that way you will be immediately tipped off that it might not be a happy post.

This is Not Going to Be A Funny Post. Unless You're an Asshole.

2009-01-31T14:36:00.011-06:00

The cat picture is just for cuteness. It's not even that cute. Actually it's kinda gross. And I bet the cat fucking hates it.

This week was a big week for me. I've alluded many times to "that one thing" that's happening soon, but I couldn't talk about what it was. Well, now, it is over. And I can talk about it.

Here's how it was supposed to go down:

The trial of the cabdriver who sexually assaulted me would start.

I would testify. It would suck, but I would get through it, because after all the waiting, I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

The jury would find him guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.

----------------------

Here's what went down:

The trial of the cabdriver who sexually assaulted me started.

I testified. On cross, the defense attorney (who is known throughout the legal community as a huge asshole, bully, and rapist-lover) accused me of being a liar, a slut, a drug addict, an alcoholic, and, get this: a thief. Naturally he didn't get away with saying all of this. You ostensibly, need a good faith basis for saying that kind of shit, which, he didn't have, so he was not allowed to continue. However, you can't really unring a bell. Especially in front of a jury.

The jury believed him, at least in part, and found him not guilty.

So he's free. Driving around in his cab again. Maybe you're his passenger. Lovely thought, huh? One thing is clear, my days of cab rides are over.

I remember two and a half years ago when this happened. I remember feeling life could never have gotten worse. I had no idea how I would ever survive it. Slowly, though, because eventually he would be put behind bars, it would be ok. Now, though. It's over. No do-overs. No appeals. No anything. Just the knowledge that bad things happen and they never get better.

Right now, I feel it would have been easier for the jury to say "We, the jury find the defendant not guilty, and now we shall proceed to the victim's home and shoot her in the temple."

Don't worry. I'm not suicidal. But I am definitely, definitely very lost. I have no light at the end of the tunnel. There's no silver lining. No other gaywad hopeful expression comes to mind. There is no hope. There's nothing to lift my spirits except the friendly doctors who are all too happy to over prescribe in times such as these. There's nothing. There is no hope.

I don't know what the next step is. I don't think there is.

I am so stupid for not preparing for the possibility that this could happen. Of COURSE it could happen. These cases are hard to prove. Obviously I should have considered the possibility that 12 strangers would think that after spending 15 SECONDS in a cab with a man, I clearly wanted to get it on with him. I should have been prepared. But no. I was prepared for this to be my New Year. Seriously. I didn't make New Year's resolutions because I knew this was just a few weeks away. I made cabdriver conviction Resolutions:

1. Write thank you notes more consistently
2. Return phone calls more promptly
3. Save more money.
4. Go out after work with Squid and Hippie less often and when we do, go to cheaper places.
5. Get out to Los Angeles and D.C. at least once a year.
6. Lose 10 pounds.
7. FINALLY OPEN MY BLINDS. This one is sort of specific to the cabdriver. Since it happened. I've kept my blinds shut. When he was convicted, I was going to open them. I told that to someone who was kind enough to come over and check on me the other day. She immediately opened them anyway. I shut them back as soon as she left.

There were others. But they don't matter now. There never ended up being a "New Year's." Nothing matters now. Yeah. Sorry. I told you this wasn't going to be a very funny post. But whatever. It's my blog. You can stop reading anytime you like, and you won't hurt my feelings.

Ok here's something nuts. I'm totally not kidding. The night before the trial started, I had this overwhelming urge to pray. Like really really pray. I know, that does not sound like me at all, but I am totally not kidding.

Ultimately, I made the conscious choice to not pray. To not to bring him/her/it into the whole thing, figuring that if I had been off of his/her/its radar this long, do I REALLY want to draw attention to myself? It would be like going to the DMV to ask for a copy of your Driver's License, and then all of a sudden they're like "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH did you know you have 34624656 unpaid parking tickets? You'll have to clear those up first before we will even hear what you need."

Maybe that was the wrong decision. Who knows? Maybe if I prayed, then 12 jurors wouldn't have looked at pictures of my half-naked and bruised up body and decided "Oh, yeah, she clearly wanted sex."

I am trying to find something- anything to gain from this. I need a lesson. But there is none. I am broken. I don't care how overdramatic that sounds.

I'm going to see the defense attorney around the courthouse. He's always around. He's super sleazy. I don't know what to do if I'm in a situation where I have to actually speak to him in a lawyer to lawyer sense. I think punching him in the nuts, while providing me the most satisfaction, would probably land me in the most trouble with the ARDC, however crumbling into a crying heap on the floor, while providing him some sort of giggle, is also not what I want to do.

I guess, I would just act dignified, even though I imagine he knows that his client robbed me of most of my dignity two and a half years ago, and he took everything that remained this past week.

His life is so different from mine. It's hard not to wish for this to happen to his own daughter. And have her attacker be represented by a man just like him. But ultimately, I wish no violence against women. I guess.

I don't even know what I'm saying. I feel broken. What's it called when you get in a car crash, and your car is beyond repair? Fuck.. I know the word. I just can't think of it.

Totaled. I feel totaled. I am totaled.

RIP Beth

2009-01-21T17:59:00.003-06:00

You weren't just another fish to me. You were special. Mostly because you lived longer than a day. I'll miss your sassy ways. I'm planning a very elaborate memorial for you. You'll just have to trust me on that.

You are totally in fish heaven, Little Lady. With your predecessors.

Getting Close to the Last Page of a Bad Chapter

2009-01-18T21:09:00.010-06:00

So, for those of you who have read my blog for awhile, you know that there's "this thing" that I can't talk about. Actually, technically, I CAN talk about it. I can talk about whatever the hell I want. I guess I mean, I don't, or won't, talk about it. Yet, anyway. I might someday. Well, "this thing" was supposed to happen about 5 different times in the last year or so, but it hasn't. It keeps on getting delayed for one reason or another.

However, now, it seems like, once again, "this thing" might happen. And this time, it seems like it will be for real. In a way, I am happy. Well, not happy. Definitely the wrong word choice. Relieved. It's time to start moving forward. I've been stuck with "this thing" hanging over my head for a long time. Although I haven't ever really believed in the concept of closure, I do believe that I've earned the right to give the concept of closure some fresh consideration, after "closure appropriate" events have happened. Which, it seems, may happen very soon. Hopefully. Honestly, I am really scared, though.

So, how was that for vague? Sorry.

Anyway, right on the heels of "this thing" that doesn't get talked about, I have a very huge, and very cool work thing going on. Truly something that few attorneys get to do. I had a practice today for the cool work thing, and suffice it to say, I sounded like an illiterate assclown, and not an attorney. Lots of improvement is needed and not a lot of time to do it.

Also something I'll be able to discuss later.

I don't really know what the point of this post is.

I guess just... wish me luck or something. Throw some good energy my way. Leave a funny joke in the comment section.

If you know me personally, I am apologizing in advance for not returning your emails/phone calls/text messages. I know that some of you who know what the fuck I'm talking about will want to know the outcome. I'll do the best I can, but as you know, I suck as a communicator. Thanks in advance for forgiving me.

Why

2009-01-15T20:35:00.007-06:00

Tonight in Chicago, it's -11 degrees. We've all known for a few days that Thursday was going to be the coldest day that Chicago has seen in over 8 years. I, personally, have been terrified of today. I don't handle the cold well. However, I have so much other shit going on in my life that I have tried to block out the truly terrifying. Mostly that consists of my student loans, and the weather.

Today, the Chicago Tribune ran an article, "Why we live in Chicago"

I read it, looking for hope, because lately, I've had no idea. I was hoping someone would say something that would remind me why exactly I live in this fucking place. Like the gorgeous summers, the fantastic street fests. The Goodman. Whatever. I needed SOMETHING.

I used to live in Los Angeles, for Godsake! It was gorgeous. I had friends. I had nice clothes. I had a body that didn't betray my love of cheese fries. Because L.A. doesn't have cheese fries. Except for this one place, Pinky's, which I was vaguely familiar with. My point is that I lived somewhere that NO ONE SHOULD EVER WANT TO LEAVE. Yet, I did.

Anyway, the article didn't have much in the way of inspiration. The answers pretty much ranged from "Because I'm an idiot." to "Because my wife made me." It may have been the least inpsiring thing I'd ever read.

I spent the rest of the day fighting back tears. I felt like every decision I'd made in the last 4 years was wrong. Being in Chicago was wrong. The worst things of my life have happened in Chicago. My closest friends don't live here. My future seems lonely. Yes, it's true that I have the best legal job in the world. The very best. But at what expense?

All day long, I felt anxious and awful. I left about 5 minutes early, so I could make sure I could get on a train without waiting outside. Well, that failed. One train came. Wrong train. 5, 10, 15 minutes went by. Another train came. Wrong train. Something was wrong... usually my trains come every six or seven minutes during rush hour. Whatever. Finally a Brown Line train comes along. It's packed. I squeeze on. After a couple of stops, it breaks.

I get on the next one. They decide that it's going to be an express train. So I have to get off again.

Finally I get on a train that takes me all the way to my stop. I get off the train, and begin the four block walk in the coldest weather I have ever experienced. After one block, I am scared, and I can't feel my fingers or toes. After two blocks, my skin hurts. Like, a LOT. And I am freaking out. After three blocks, I am wanting to give up. Just quit it all, and move and cry and hide.

Fortunately, there's a little liquor store on the corner. And I am pretty sure I would like a glass of wine when I get home, not to mention that I don't think I could survive that last block. So I go in. I smile at the owner. And I walk as far away from the front door and the cold as possible. I take off my gloves, and only then do I really realize how cold I am. And how sad I am. I look at the woman behind the counter and notice the heater she is standing next to. And I burst into tears. And I ask her if I can put my hands in front of it, for just a minute.

She immediately grabbed the portable heater and put it up on the counter for me. This little gesture of kindness just made the tears fall harder and faster. She held my hands in hers in front of that little heater on the counter, and we both warmed our hands in each others.

A woman, who I hadn't known was in the store, approached the counter with her bottle of wine. She looked at me, concerned and asked if I wanted a ride, telling me it was too cold to walk. Now, embarrased by my tears, I smiled and said no thanks, and that I only had a block to go. She asked if I was sure, and I said yes, but thanked her profusely.

A man walked up with a bottle of whiskey. The shop owner and I were still holding hands in front of the heater. He was young and funny and cute. He told me that the three of us should warm up by doing shots of the whiskey. We both laugh, and tell him, no thanks. Then, he takes a healthy swig off the bottle, and then does a 10, 9, 8 countdown before he leaves. He blows a kiss at us as he runs out the door.

Now, the shopowner and I are both laughing, I feel warm enough to grab my bottle of wine, pay, and face the worst weather I have ever been in, for one more block.

Why do I stay in Chicago? Because three random strangers helped me manage that one last block.

RE: Stolen Lines

2009-01-13T22:23:00.004-06:00

I am so glad that people are into it. I totally am thrilled. I want to take a moment and reiterate... there IS NO DEADLINE. I don't know where you got that idea! Write whenever you like! Just let me know if and when you post and I will let the Law With Grace readers know.

Dear "Dude" on the Brown Line,

2009-01-12T19:00:00.005-06:00

I didn't take your picture on the el, because, well... you weren't talking on your cell phone loudly, or talking to someone else on the train loudly, or masturbating, or crying, or muttering, or anything else that would actually warrant a picture.

But what you were doing was something that I, and perhaps I alone caught, and I was mortified on your behalf. Much like a trainwreck, I couldn't look away. You were going through the photos on your iphone. And wow, Buddy... those were some pictures!

Let's just talk about the ones where you were shirtless. Now I'm not sure if it's still called this, but that particular pattern of thick, swarthy chest hair used to be referred to as a "Treasure Trail" and dude, it hasn't been appropriate since the 70's. Oh!!! Strike that... I just talked to Mama Grace, and she told me that as far back as she can remember it's NEVER been acceptable, but she's going to call Grandma Grace just to be sure.

OK. Chest hair pattern aside, there are a lot more issues. Since there's no way I can cover all of your shirtless photo atrocities, let's just focus on the ones that I am certain will give me nightmares.

1. Kissing your bicep. I just don't understand. You kissed your own arm. In a photo. That someone else took. So, in front of at least one other person, you, with a straight face, allowed someone to photograph you kissing your own muscle.

2. Pinching your own nipple. Again, allowing someone to photograph you pinching your own nipple. And it should be noted that these weren't...boudoir photos. These weren't drunken, jokey frat boy photos, either of which I would be more fine with. Unfortunately, these were Hot Chicks With Douchebags photos, without the hot chicks.

3. Fake playing the guitar. Shirtless. Now, I can't be sure you were fake playing. But, if you were really playing, you certainly weren't playing to anyone, except the person who was photographing you. And you held that guitar, like... like... I would hold a hockey stick...or a golf club...or a placenta.

Dude. Please never do this again. And pretty, pretty please? Don't do it on the train at rush hour.

Thanks,

Grace

My Stolen Lines #1

2009-01-09T21:40:00.012-06:00

I tried to think of the right answer. Unable to think of that, I spoke anyway.

"He wrote Breakfast at Tiffany's, right?"

"No, Dear. that was Truman Capote."

"Oh. Right. He's the In Cold Blood guy. Of course."

"No, Dear, that was also Capote."

"Oh. So then maybe I don't know."

"You might be thinking of the Executioner's Song. He wrote The Exectioner's Song."

"Oh. I guess I don't know..."

Norman Mailer's personal secretary smiled at me sympathetically. It's not my fault, her octogenarian eyes tell me. Things just aren't how they used to be.

The flight attendant approached. She asked if we wanted something to drink. I ordered wine, and pulled out my wallet.

The beverages are complimentary on international flights, I am informed.

I must have looked incredulously gleeful, because Norman Mailer's secretary asked me if this was my first intercontinental flight. I admit to her that yes, it was. She then asked if it was business or pleasure.

I tried to think of the right answer. Unable to think of that, I spoke anyway.

"I just ended a relationship."

I didn't elaborate. She was a grandmother. Not MY grandmother, but someone's grandmother, probably. And she was Norman Mailer's personal secretary for God's sake! I can't tell her the tawdry details of my life. She doesn't need to hear that, even if I couldn't tell the difference between Norman Mailer and Truman Capote. She smiled at me, like she absolutely knew the way I could mend my heart, but also knew that I was too young to believe her.

"So, what is it you're watching?" she asked me, referring to the tv that is above my tray table. I love Virgin Airlines. We each get our own TV.

"Oh....umm...it's just a movie...umm... it's called umm... Wild Things?"

"I've never heard of it," she said "What's the premise?"

I tried to think of the right answer. Unable to think of that, I spoke anyway.

"Well, that's Denise Richards... and that girl she's kissing, that's Neve Campbell. And that guy who's making out with both of them, that's Matt Dillon. I think they are trying to steal money from someone"

Oh. My. God. This movie is porn. It's, liike TOTALLY porn!! And I am watching it in front of a REALLY old lady! Who seems like a grandma. Who claims to be Norman Mailer's secretary! She's watching me watch it. Oh my god. The pool scene? Oh my god. I am humiliated. You should NOT be able to rent this on an airline called VIRGIN!!!! But I couldn't turn it off. That would be too obvious. Once you've started watching porn in front of a grandma, it's disrespectful to stop. It's like ageism, or something.

"Are you enjoying the movie?" she asked me.

I tried to think of the right answer. Unable to think of that, I spoke anyway.

"Well. It's... kinda hot. Right?"

--
The first 2 sentences and its repetitions are stolen from Night of the Avenging Blowfish by John Welter. It's part of Grace's Blog Experiment.

Update: Stolen Lines By:
Brand new blogger, Kristine
Brand new blogger, Patently Irrelevant
My Girl, Harmless Error
Daisy
Thinking Fool
Anonymous Hottie
Amanda
Five Tomatoes
Brita
Butterflyfish
EJ
Obsquatch
Legally (Ir)relevant
Fannie
Fianna
Artful Blogger
The Laundress
Kelli

To everyone who participated, thanks! It was really fun. We'll do it again.

Stolen Lines #1

2009-01-05T18:12:00.027-06:00

"I tried to think of the right answer. Unable to think of that, I spoke anyway."

OK. So I've slightly altered the plan. Originally, I thought the title of the book should be the blog post title, but that might confuse people into thinking that what we write is actually an excerpt from the book. Which could piss off an author, if they were to ever notice. So let's just have it say "Stolen Lines #1."

At the end of the blog post, we should probably give credit to the guy who wrote it. So at the end of the post, I'm going to write "I stole the first two sentences from Night of the Avenging Blowfish, by John Welter."

I'm doing mine tonight or tomorrow morning. There's no deadline. And there are no rules. Write whatever you want as long as those are the first two sentences. Send me a comment when you're done, and I'll add your link to the list. Oh, and maybe somehow link back to me in the post, so your readers know where to find everyone else's posts. Or something. I don't know. It's all an experiment!!

Have fun.

To Person Who Found My Blog By Googling "Define Clam Jouster"

2008-12-31T16:55:00.005-06:00

It's a derogatory yet hilarious term for lesbian.

For example, at a lesbian bar, one woman might say to another, "I find you very attractive. Do you wish to joust with my clam?"

Hope that helps. Happy New Year.

Awesome

2008-12-31T11:38:00.004-06:00

Yay. Enough people are interested in the same line blogging thing so we're doing it. On Monday, January 5, I'll post the name of the book or article, which should be the title of the post, and a line from the book or article, which should be everyone's first line.

I think it's gonna be cool!

PS There are some bloggers I haven't heard from (ahem Fannie, Daisy, Namby, Jane, Wayward, Hellafied, Brita, Kelli, Justice Moustache, Thinking Fool, Obsquatch, A-Hottie etc...) I hope you guys do it, too!

Oh, and HAPPY FUCKING NEW YEAR. Don't get arrested. No one likes New Year's Day Bond Court.

Dear My Fellow Bloggers,

2008-12-29T22:36:00.007-06:00

I have an idea. An experiment. It might be stupid, but it might be kind of cool. I spoke with a couple of people already, and they seemed to be leaning toward the cool side. So here goes:

We pick a day. And on that day, I pick up a book or newspaper article, and the title of that book or newspaper article will be the title of everyone's blog post. I randomly select a sentence from the book or article, and that has to be the first line of everyone's blog post. And then we write whatever the fuck we want. It can be a story from our lives. It can be fiction, non-fiction, it can be commentary. It can be fucking poetry if we are so inclined. Whatever we want, the only thing these posts have in common is they all come from the same point of inspiration-one line of someone else's text.

Then, I'll post a link back to all of the posts.

I think it would be cool, and fun. And interesting. If it works, maybe we'll do it once a month or so. It obviously would only work if others did it, too. So... who's in? Doesn't matter if you're a new blogger or an old blogger... doesn't matter if you're a regular reader of Law With Grace, or if you just stumbled by. Just leave a comment and let me know if you wanna give it a try.

And just so you know... I read a LOT of blogs, and there are some of you I am REALLY hoping will play along.

PS, if you know me personally, you better say you're in. Or you get shanked.

Grace's How to Guide for Getting Through the Holidays

2008-12-24T14:59:00.003-06:00

1. Don't drink too much.

2. Definitely drink enough.

3. If someone starts crying, ignore them. If that doesn't work, ask them if they wouldn't mind getting something out of your car, and then lock them out of the house. Christmas is tough. No cryin

4. Don't call anyone fat.

5. If someone says something mean to someone else, mention to the hostess how good the gravy is. The next time, mention how beautiful the tree looks.

6. If you regularly take an anti-anxiety pill, don't stop cuz it's Christmas.

7. Don't ask the single people about their dating lives.

8. Don't ask your married friends if there are any hot single people at their place of employment in front of their spouse.

9. Don't talk about abortion. For or against it, it's not Christmas Dinner talk.

10. Don't EVERYBODY bring their dogs.

11. DON'T GET CONFUSED AND CALL ME A PUBLIC DEFENDER. YOU WILL GET CUT!

12. Stop buying your grandmother lotion. She has enough.

13. Don't get arrested. No one likes Christmas bond court.

MERRY CHRISTMAS ALL!!!

Squid's Away Message: Flossin' a Benz on rims that isn't stolen...

2008-12-23T16:35:00.004-06:00

2:50 PM Grace: what the fuck does that MEAN?

2:51 PM Squid: so much

2:51 PM Grace: whatever you're too cool for me. i don't care

2:52 PM Squid: it's a line from Tupac's "Picture me Rollin"

Grace: hmm.

Squid: and it means he actually has the money to buy rims for his benz, he is not just fronting like he has money, driving on stolen ones
it
all
makes
perfect
sense

2:53 PM Grace: that's like, the last thing to brag about.

Squid: rims?

Grace: not having to have stolen ones.

2:54 PM Squid: oh
right well, it's only the last thing to brag about if you can brag about it

Grace: sorta like saying "I don't even have an STD" is still saying you're kind of a slut.

2:55 PM Squid: maybe a little different, because with the rims, it'd still be kinda cool to have em if they were stolen, unlike the std

Grace: oh. see i was not aware of that.

2:56 PM Squid: well ultimately, yeah, you've still got your rims
with the std it's like oh, i'm a slut AND i have an std. great.

2:58 PM Grace: it's the way that the line of thinking goes. I think it suggests low self esteem, like, if you're so great that you have a benz, shouldnt you have it GO WITHOUT SAYING that you can afford rims?

2:59 PM Grace: or maybe I'm just bothered because "Flossin' a Ford Explorer" sounds gay, and not in the good way.

3:00 PM Squid: well that's the point
you wouldn't be flossin a ford explorer, unless maybe you were 16 and it was brand new
and the sad part is that flossin a benz doesn't always mean you dont have to steal the rims
you could be leasing your benzo for $300/month

3:02 PM Grace: you can lease a benz for 300?

3:03 PM Squid: less, probably

Experiment

2008-12-21T19:25:00.002-06:00

So, I don't know why we decided to do this, and I don't know what we will really gain by doing this, and most of all, as midnight approaches, I don't know that I can even do it...but here's the plan.

Squid and I, over drinks last week (duh.. who would decide this sober), decided that Monday would be our technology free day. No phone. No TV. No internet. No text messaging.

The phone thing isn't really going to be a problem for me, considering my phone is broken, but STILL... I can't get it fixed tomorrow, unless someone else tests it to make sure it works.

It's going to be interesting. No reading my emails, no reading your comments, no catching up with the news, or blogs, or the weather... it's making me itch just thinking about it.

The only exception is that we can be on Lexis, because well... that's a major part of our work right now. And the experiment isn't how to suck at our jobs.

Wish us luck. I am going to keep notes, and hopefully Squid will, too. We shall post our results on Tuesday or something. If we don't die.