A Tale of Two Weekends - or Adventures in Hair and Photos of Tango

This was a weekend of civilizing character. It was not fast; nor was it furious. Indeed, rather sedate. BUT I am proud to say that between us Andrew and I accomplished some fairly magnificent long-overdue tasks. Most important of all for me was getting to a hair person for a damned trim. I seriously do not remember the last time that my hair was properly trimmed and it was beginning to show. My hair was scribbling out little SOS messages across my decolletage, and I'd wake to it weeping, I assure you. Andrew also managed to get his hair cut. I say cut, because although we probably took the same amount of inches off, an inch for his hair - though it be long for a man's - is still a far greater proportion of hair. He also managed to buy some slacks after officially being without any. Each of these in good turn.

The hair cut experience is always fairly painless, as I am now devoted to a quick and easy place in Barkley Village. When my mom was anticipating losing all of her hair back before her chemo, this was the hair place where she eased into it with the short cut that was so fabulous she now intentionally maintains it as such.  I am pretty sure I went back for a second cut after this point (I hope), but I can't recall for sure any of the details about the experience. Anyways, they were so nice to her and so speedy and cheap that I'm a fairly loyal customer, if only in theory most of the time. The challenge was largely one of committing to going. Of course Andrew was turning a fair bit shaggy himself, causing a fair bit of Fabio-hair tossing and prompting me to play with it in ways that perhaps he was ready to not have to experience:

Although i think the braids are quite lovely, personally!As always, the place had him in and out of the chair in a few minutes and gave me some more clear demarcations of layering and took off the deadest of the dead in my hair. I probably could have gone a few shorter given how long it's been, but I am stubbornly devoted to hair that is too long, despite my secret belief that long hair is not my most flattering style. I think Andrew looks adorable.

Kind of a bit of a Prince Valiant look going on. The shaving will come soon, since he's about to see his mother and always remembers to shave before seeing her. Also, yes, it's almost finals week so he is appropriately lost in deep and abiding consternation reviewing what he calls "really really hard math" and what I call "total and utter gobblety-gook" whenever he (as he frequently does) attempts to narrate his steps towards solving a problem or ten. Needless to say that most of the weekend, he was staring at equations like this and I was ... not. It actually was some great down time and I managed to do a fair amount of cleaning, cooking, straightening and otherwise pretending to be a grown up after about a month of allowing a figurative cyclone of negligent housekeeping to devastate my living quarters.

After fervid lucubration over said "really really hard math" it seemed apropos to escape the study quarters, and we made a slight jaunt to The Blue Moon Ballroom. I had originally planned for tango, but the tango didn't start until after nine o'clock and inevitably - since it was live music - it would have started late. And that really meant ten o'clock given Daylight Savings was lurking around the transition into Sunday. And it cost twenty dollars. And, well, I like seeing Molly and Marcus and this is where I know I can find them. Not only did we get to hang out there for free, but we came away with a coupon for 40% off at the Gap. Now, I don't really shop at the Gap directly. I find that they make high quality clothing, so I own quite a lot of The Gap/Banana Republic line, but usually only after somebody else has worn and then donated it to Goodwill. I'm honestly a little afraid of any store in which salespeople actually approach you in any way shape or form. I'm a skittish shopper and such interactions tend to leave me fleeing for the door holding out a crucifix and screaming "stay back"... but Andrew needed slacks, so before he headed off this morning, he bought some. At the Gap. With the coupon.

The best part of this experience was watching him shop, since we have very different styles. For one, he isn't afraid of salespeople. Ambivalent, yes. I don't think the sales girl's insistence that no the slim fit pants really did fit and she liked them even registered with him. But not freaked out by it like I am. He also does have opinions. He is not one of those boys who is dressed by his girlfriend. I agreed pants were not him when they weren't, but he was pretty clear on what he wanted, or his uncertainties about what he wanted: we're soo over khaki,black is too waiter, dark green is too gardener... and so on. Slim fit was a definitive no, but he found some pants of a brownish greyish hue (I think, it was all pretty fast and I didn't take photos) in his size and fit that he described as potentially dowdy but he could pull off with the right tie.

So, all in all, we successfully pulled ourselves back from the brink of barbarianism and groomed ourselves a bit this weekend. Before finals, even.

We are now a week and a day and counting from our ski vacation with Andrew's family. I'm fairly terrified, as it's been over two years (holy crap, over two years??) since I had my first skiing experience. That went quite well, but I am sure I've forgotten everything and am just begging for some kind of horrible accident. I'm secretly relieved that my-boyfriend's-mother's-boyfriend (and again, I defer to German to come up with a word to define his relationship to me) is also going to be along and also is fairly new to skiing. So I won't be the only one slowing things down and somersaulting down the mountain like Jack's Jill.

Anyways, on a topic swerving as wildly as me on skiis... The weekend before I did a short tango performance at the Skagit Valley College's World Fiesta. It was a confusing event, all together. Upon showing up, I found virtually no particular organizer who could direct me to... well pretty much anything and the music was all messed up (I suspect this was my performance partner's responsibility as one does not give a dj a disc full of songs and then tell them what track numbers to play with any hope of getting the right tracks). So I danced to two songs I'd never heard before in my life, and the other couple we brought with us danced to the one song I thought we might be dancing to. There are some great and some not so great photos, as always with dance photography:

Tangolates... Here, our performer shows us the tango squats... ok, really
she just had to pee reeeaaally badly

Ok, what the hell song is this now? You said Pugliese!
This is... I don't know what this is!
You think I'm going to dance to this??

Finding a lead in a sea of fair-goers, Adella marks her territory by
peeing on his leg!

Brooke understands it's a close dance, but she also knows
that it is particularly important to make room for Jesus... 
if you know what she means

Adella, not knowing how to make any kind of room for Jesus and having
already marked her lead, moves on to other...er... pet like embarrassing
behaviors. She will climb him like a tree and meow from on top of his head

And some rather lovely photography as well:

While you can't quite see the contrast of the lilac tights and pink bows, I still rather love this photo. Brooke, the other dancer took it. I had no idea she was an awesome photographer as well.

They call it a practice for a reason... probably not this one

Last week, I had the marrow-chilling experience of seeing my first hearing (I know! Get the scrap books out!) scheduled on our office calendar. It's silly, but I was nervous and jumpy for the rest of the day. It may not help that I ultimately want to build a practice bereft of hearings due to personal inclinations towards this collaborative divorce nonsense, but I also recognize it's something that I will realistically need to get used to doing as I build the other side of that practice. Unfortunately building that side of the practice will probably involve a lot of just that: practice practice practice. And sweaty palms and sad clients out too much money and feeling no sense of closure after the commissioner justly splits the proverbial baby (hopefully only the proverbial one... I don't support child mutilation as a proper interpretation of the best interests of the child!) are not necessarily my favorite practices.

Well humph! One of the proofs we won't be using for our Collaborative
Professionals Ad: I think I have the best lawyer/model pout ever!

Nobody overtly told me that I'd still basically have exams once I finished, but a hearing is kind of like that... at least now and at least for me. Except instead of some number, it's my client's life and my reputation kind of on the line. I'm not sure how that fares compared to the heavily vaunted ABC-ing of the law school curve (shudder). I should say there's a decent chance that we can all have a four-way (and the true lesson of law school is to addle your dirty brain so thoroughly, that you don't even snicker when you say things about scheduling three and four ways) and get things maybe resolved, and I feel far more comfortable in this potential future environment, as it's a variation on real world work that I've done in mediation and negotiations.But it reminds me that someday - and someday soon - I'll be called upon to come to court. Yes, Jack Nicholson, I can handle this truth, but with a few palpitations.

Despite being an actual attorney for three or four months, I still feel pretty ... unsure of myself, sometimes. Largely this is because all the research in the world is irrelevant to the 90% of non-weird cases that don't make it to some recorded level of appellate review. Meaning the "legal rules" that you find are less applicable to a highly discretionary but systematically evolved system of shortcuts to interpret wiggly words like best interests and fair and equitable.

As I've bemoaned, it's odd being demonstrably excellent on paper (Judges and other attorneys are still commenting on how impressed they were with my list of accomplishments read at my swearing in) and how flailing I can feel in practice. I went through three years of intellectual boot camp, two months of bar-prep agony, and three of the longest most surreal days of my life... and really our paralegal can do a vast swath of my job far better than I can. I have glinting moments of searingly intelligent competence, but I'm still easily flummoxed by those little unexpected details and curve balls. And sometimes I swear, in family law there are nothing but curve balls.  Reminds me of the Tolstoy quote about happy families all being alike and unhappy families... well coming to me and making me stutter before running to my Family Practice Manual (or mother if she's available) muttering the trademark phrase "I'm going to look into that and get back to you."

I don't think that who gets the stupid
wagon-wheel coffee table is covered by the RCWs... anyone?

I don't think that an occasional feeling of terror and negative "oh crap!" remorse after-the-deer-in-headlights-fact are intrinsically horrible. Sometimes we need that fight-or-flight focused shot of adrenaline to keep our head about the details. And regret may have a bad rap, but a negative emotional memory causes the strongest memories. In a learning experience, the memory of what-I-did-wrong so that I don't do it again indelibly sears certain facts and procedures in a mind otherwise awash in vague details. The downside for me is that I am bright and capable when I am confident, but I can be a walking self fulfilling prophecy when I'm not. So a tightrope of remembering the bad, talking myself up with the good, and remembering that these next two years are an opportunity to learn (while hopefully paying my way, but maybe not crusading through the annals of family law on my white-straw-man-horsie).

In pursuit of the ever elusive confidence/competence, I've decided to keep a short work journal, kind of like we had to when we were doing externships. Instead of focusing too much of bigger picture law school questions of justice blah-blah-blah, I'm just writing down a quick note about I learned in a given day, what went well, what I could work on... I can't jump straight to the acuity of an experienced lawyer any time soon, but I can make each moment count. I'm also going to keep a copy of the Family Practice Manual at home with me and do little Family Law devotional readings for a little while. As much to keep my confidence in what I know as to know more, since practical knowledge is still more important. 

In pursuit of the ever elusive practice building, I am thinking of a few different ideas to really get out there and try to attract the kinds of clients I really want to work with.My first idea is to offer a free consultation abbreviated exclusively about the collaborative divorce proceeding in addition to the regular discounted consult about just about anything. My other idea is to make a list of all the organizations who may host informational sessions and speakers and so on and just send out a form letter with a list of topics I could offer to speak on. Although I am low on experience in attorneying, my background in mediation and my research work done during law school give me something to offer to the public. And I actually am quite good at presenting information in engaging and understandable ways. I take suggestions, but I'm thinking of offering to talk about collaborative law and the process (duh), the legal aspects of love: marriage/cohabitation/having-children to know before taking the plunge, and tools for a mindful dissolution process to keep the sanity intact and transition into co-parenting and mental health. We'll see if I get any bites, but I do think those are subject I'd love to address and get out there with people.

or... maybe people aren't my thing

Or I could just sit at home watching Die Hard, browsing the internet and waiting for my Prince to come ... and tell me he needs to make sure his prenup with Snow White is ironclad... That's always an option too!

All this uncertainty aside, I should mention, I am definitely taking referrals, guys... so start them gushing my way. Maybe I'll throw in half hour consult with a half hour private tango lesson to really get y'all running into the door.

La danse petille

Some milongas are peppered with perfect tandas, some are functional,  others are meh, and then sometimes an evening is simply an ebullient insouciance, with no regard for the heartbreak of dolorous string strums or the ecstasy of a perfect intimacy. Last night's milonga certainly veered in that direction. Perhaps partially this was influenced by my slight wobbliness, which makes taking much of anything seriously a challenge. I persist in wearing the shoes that do not fit quite correctly, but which sadly match my favorite socks. I attempted to mitigate the fit with even thicker socks, but to no avail:

Yes, it's hard to tell, but these are my fuzzy penguin socks (only hazard being the little string on the front that provides yet another heel trap for front passes in closed dancing) AND these are my new sparkly jeans that fit.. Well "fit" would be more apropos, since they are about two inches shorter than I'd like, but this works okay for tango dancing.I ordinarily despise jeans for tango, since they limit leg movement compared to skirts and stretchier fabrics. These were more or less fine, though, and honestly I'm enough of a leggy-terror on the dancefloor that it's probably fine to keep some of the high kicks closer to the ground from time to time.

But to indulge the jeans! tangent, yesterday evening was a jeans kind of night and I have grown tired of the few classy and simple dresses that allow for pretty feet and no major costume malfunctions. Also, I have to admit, my personal style and figure are far better flattered by pants (provided they remotely fit, which is always a challenge) and a certain head nod to adrogeny achieved through a blending of masculine clothing paired with obscenely girly accessories. In this case - and no, no pictures, sorry - I paired my tight sparkly jeans with my favorite tuxedo shirt and my blingiest I-was-inspired-by-my-previously-Puerto-Rican-coworkers-after-work-hours gold earrings and what Andrew called a "delicate punk" gold bracelet from my aunts.

I am also sure that Leslie - the office paralegal/manager/goddess-of-all-things-I-can-never-keep-track-of-because-I'm-more-or-less-gunning-for-a-cross-of-crazy-cat-lady-and-absent-minded-professor (yes, this is totally on her business cards) - will be proud to hear that I took her suggestion for my hair. She came into the office one day, rather randomly, and announced to me that she had seen a hairstyle that was a really good idea. It involved a side-pony tail, looped over itself once and then pinned into a messy side bun. I'm sure there are instructions and pictures of starlets out there doing this somewhere), but you can just take my word as I took hers. And I will say, it took enough bobby pins to set off metal detectors, but it was a nice "casual" look.

Ok, but I was talking about my shoes and dancing. Here they are again!

And so no, my balance was not 100% and it was a slightly different crowd at the EXPERIENCE A PRESIDENTIAL POST V-DAY TANGO EXTRAVAGANZA!! (see, I named it, thus ensuring it would be more engaging than the last milonga I hosted where I had a migraine and didn't dance much). If you haven't seen the event site, I am rather amazed that people let me organize based on how I write these up, but I suspect my sparkly jeans distract people with oooooooh shiny. Or nobody actually checks these pages out and they just show up because it's always on the same night anyways.

Anyways, kind of a funny theme, since the real theme of the milonga was Canadians! We asked instructors Emiko and Francis from up North to be our DJs. This turned out to be quite the stroke of strategic brilliance, since a huge swath of US Citizens had fled down South to Valentango or were otherwise long-weekending far away. So, we had our contingent from Oak Harbor and a large influx of British Columbians filling out the floor between the odd (and I mean that in both senses of the word) regular who hadn't made the trek down to  Oregon.

And, as may be expected of Canadians (off the freeway, at least) they were all extraordinarily nice and positive people. I didn't feel any oozing of overly serious self-taking and while no dances caused me to melt into chocolate fondue, many of them fizzed away into delighted laughter by the end.The music was definitely traditional, but very well mixed, and on the spot, I might add, which is always impressive. It was not the "Best of Golden Age 2 CD Mix" that I suspect some traditionalists resort to when arranging music. And they played a few of my favorite quirkier Canaros and more playful Biagis. The valses, were particularly fun. I get the sense that they must focus quite strongly in their instruction on playing with the music and varying tempos and paces. This would be confirmed by my few tandas with Francis, who is utterly and absolutely adorable (adding to more delighted giggling) and quite the opposite of snotty or self-important.

We had the usual "I have never seen you before! Where are you from..." conversation reflecting a sort of similar under-the-surface sentiment that you hear in "you don't seem like a lawyer!" The tone is essentially that it is odd that somebody with a nice personalty in the latter case or the ability to dance in a former could not conform to the expectations associated with these things (not a lawyer in the latter and familiar due to frequent dancing in the former). I did not feel I was doing my best following with him, but I think part of this was that we were still figuring each other out. He has an excellent sense of rhythm and whimsy, but just drives a little differently than other leads with whom I'm better versed. Our final songs of the tandas we danced were much closer to perfection and over all a lot of chucklingly good fun. I didn't dance with the other two Canadian leads who looked to be frequent dancers. I wouldn't say they were cliquish, but they certainly had their familiar faces to dance with and I am often hesitant about opening up to an unfamiliar cabeceo when I'm not feeling on and I have plenty of familiar glances to meet already. Yep, call me a situational coward. I dare you to. And yes, I was very boring at Truth or Dare when I was a kid.

I dare you to call me out on something I already
know about an occasional personality
trait of mine that may diminish my exposure
to pleasant new situations!

At any rate, it was a fun evening with a few particularly silly dances and no blood on the floor by the end. This coming Thursday I'll be stopping in at The Muse in Conway, another place David teachers. They're doing their live music Tango Cafe and I am going to a CLE in Bellevue the next morning, so I figure I can just finish the drive to Andrew's house afterwards and get up bright and early to learn about advanced counseling for dissolution clients based largely on systems theory. I am kind of excited about that. And the dancing should be fun as well.

Until next time kiddos, I have no clever ending... because life continues far beyond the Happily Ever After nonsense anyways. Happy President's Day

Pants, Shirts, and Scarves oh my!

So, this is why the rampant vanity sizing plague must be stopped: I am fairly ambivalent about what number is hanging out around the back of the pants I wear. honestly, half the time my underwear is already hanging out the back of my pants, so some little label is fairly well dwarfed by enormous day-glo cotton (hopefully day-glo, since that sort of off-color white granny look is far less stylish). Whether I'm size 10 or size 1+0  is pretty irrelevant to me... in theory. I am not a number; I am a free (wo)man!!!

And I'm sure as h*#ll not a size SIX, damnit!

But over the years, I've been unilaterally downgraded to what seems to average out to be about a size 4 in most marketable brands of clothing. It varies within brand, and I even found a 4 in Gap's long and lean selection to be baggy as all get out while another long and lean 6 fit pretty well... but on average size 4 in today-size-speak. And, therein lies the rub: good luck finding a 4 Long in your average store. After I think size 6, many manufacturers shorten the inseam. It also can make shopping at Goodwill or Value Village (etc.) pretty interesting, because not only do you have the usual challenges of different makes and models of jeans (times one hundred because the store is no longer selling jeans branded towards a typical customer, so there are as many brands as imaginable), but different vintages of your recognizable brands. Is this a Gap last year or twelve years ago? Because I assure you this will matter and it's not always clear just from sight. I guess in a a good day, it makes the whole experience feel like one grand scavenger hunt, but I tend to find clothing shopping to be more draining than invigorating.

But I have prevailed. I went numb, blacked out and split my resources between Fred Meyers and Value Village. I now have pants that fit! For the next few months until I randomly gain/lose weight or wake up with my current body-fat redistributed as per some redistricting law that I hadn't been following closely enough. A standard pair of Banana Republic Jeans, a pair of unfamiliarly branded glittery jeans, and a pair of black jeans that are actually suitable for work.The work pants are a bit odd for me, being straight legged and skinny fit. Most of my pants flare a touch from the calf, which I think is generally more flattering, while these are not quite as neurotically clingy as a pair of jeggings, but still follow the narrowing effect of my legs. Makes my black and pink Sketchers really stand out, let me tell ya. But they do not show off my underwear or other questionably suggestive lady-part-previews, so they are quite full of winning on that regard.

Ok, it's kind of hard to see the skinny leg and the outrageous shoes. In fact, it's hard to self-photograph really at all. But I like to think I've gone artsy enough to make up for that. I can't really demonstrate that actually I am now able to wear many of my tops that cut off a little bit short of my hip, since I don't have the emerging underwear problem to cover up! And yes, I'm flashing some stomach, but how often during my regular working hours do I hoist my arm up over my head? Only like five or six times a day! It is, I assure you, very exciting. Here's another horrifying picture of my joyous leopard print trimmed shirt.

Oh my god, you're taking a photo of me, me? I'm sooooo surprised! Now that's what we call candid photography. But admit it, it's cute.

The downside, of course, is that they are very revealingly tight and this means that Nate - my dance teacher - can see every horrid detail of shoddy leg work when I am wearing them. I suppose this is good for me, but so many things that are good for me are awfully much like cod liver oil sometimes. Of course, he says that to really figure out what looks good while dancing, a dancer must practice in front of a mirror... in his/her underwear!! Oh the horror!

In other fashionable news, I've decided that I am ultimately not bound to wearing suits in order to look professional. Instead I have decided that I can wear pants and shirts and maybe top it off with a nice scarf. Yes, I've decided again that I am a scarf person at work and in play. Which incidentally leads me into another acquisition and completion of a long-standing fashion goal. I now own a hounds tooth scarf! It's long been a dream to own something in hound stooth and finally I do. I am victorious!

And a total narcissist. But I really did enjoy this outfit. I rarely go for full on coordination and most days go for just barely passable - i.e. not covered in food stains and more or less covered in the applicably scandalous areas.

How's Salad Rides Again... to the mall

It's been an awfully long time since I did a How's Salad post. I occasionally comment on various restaurants elsewhere, but haven't started discussing the restaurant options for somebody of my - er - particular tastes and preferences in Bellingham. And actually there are a decent amount. I have an ongoing google document that I share with my mom so that we can refer quickly and easily to restaurants that will both feed normal folks like her and her boytoy (ok "normal" may be a bit of a stretch for anyone sharing genetic material with yours not-always-entirely-truly, but it's all relative) and people like me.

One of those that has risen to the top for me has been somewhat surprisingly The OLD COUNTRY BUFFET.

Surprising, because it is in many regards a paean to American excess. The majority of the meal is oiled white bread, fried food and meat, with sides of grilled cheese, mac and cheese, pizza and cheese, cheese and cheese, and maybe some sour cream. Then of course there is the dessert wing. And it is a separate wing. Lest we forget, we also have fifteen choices of soda and a slurpee machine in the beverage bar.


 Going to the OCB,one will encounter about three categories of people that occasionally intersect: old people, extremely obese people, and Asian people who immigrated to British Columbia but come to the mall for shopping. They are rarely either old or obese. Oh and parents of young children for obvious reasons. I never imagined it as a place I would consider eating, but appearances can be deceiving.

This person, for instance is actually a professional
ballerina with the PNB!

The first time I went there, it was sort of a funny jokey thing to do with an old boyfriend. I guess he had a coupon and I wanted to go to the carnival, which was in the mall parking lot that year. So we thought "ha ha, old people and fat people gumming food... how sociologically interesting." I refuse to call the endeavor ironic in that horrible hipster way, but there were some of those intentions going into it. We were early twenties and our first date had been at a bowling alley, so there was a lot of pressure to top that in terms of the novelty factor.

Color me surprised to discover that they had a salad bar. And not your typical bag-of-iceberg-and-specks-of-cabbage salad bar. A real salad bar. Pretty much any restaurant with a halfway decent salad bar wins my thumbs up and this one is competitively good. When it comes to my rabbit-food dietary preferences, I actually eat a lot of food, but not the kind of food you can usually find at restaurants in any quantity. At an ordinary restaurant you usually have the option of a heaping amount of food with degree of transformative processing that makes the food disagree with me (very few cooking methods add much for my personal tastes - steaming is nice, but even then there can be excessive salting) or a very very small quantity of something edible. This is why I often come home from eating out and immediately make myself something to eat. Honestly, I usually eat out for the experience of being with people far more than for the eating, which is far more easily satisfied when I prep food for myself. But here, it's all I can eat! I can stuff myself with two or three community gardens' worth of food!!! The list goes on. Here's a sampling of my last meal at the OBC:

You'll have to forgive the poor photography, since my camera phone is not exactly genius and I start to get weird looks when I try to frame up better photos. But as you can see: beets, diced tomatoes, onions, cilantro, spinach, romaine, field greens, corn, peas, cucumbers, chopped egg whites, broccoli, and cauliflower all made plate number one. And I don't have to ask for salad dressing "on the side" or for the fancy cheeses and weird meat products to be left off and anticipate the lecture from a particularly self-righteous waitperson about how I could have requested a smaller jar of salad dressing if I didn't really want to have it (this has happened to me twice in the last few years), or the awkward interaction of sending something back when my request has been ignored. In fact, aside from saying "hello" to the bus person and occasionally letting him or her (ok, it's always been a her for whatever reason) take my empty plate, I don't have to interact with anybody in order to get my food... exactly the way I want it.

And they do have some steamed veggies of varying qualities (the corn this time was buttered and thus not great for my stomach, but it often isn't). More beets, because I adore beats, carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, onions and greenbeans with a little bit of kidney beans and garbanzo beans.

And of course, for dessert, buffets actually work quite well for me since my eye is far more ambitious than my tongue which is far more ambitious than my stomach. As I may have mentioned I tend to have a tendency to want just a nibble of ... well... everything. But after a nibble, my tongue is done and oversaturated with the sweet or the fatty, and then my stomach kicks in and I am unable to continue. Ordinarily, I get into a mite of trouble reaching across the table to sample each and every dessert on every person's plate. But at buffets, it's actually ok in a way that would otherwise be considered rude, to take just a teeny tiny sample of everything. I cut off bite sized portions of about a third of the fifty billion desserts, taking sips of decaf coffee in between each to cleanse my palate. Completely sidesteps the diminishing marginal returns of an ordinary dessert experience for me. They also shockingly offer sugar free yogurt, sugar free cookies (I guess with old and obese customers being your mainstay, you've got to accommodate for diabetics somewhere along the lines) and reduced sugar pies and puddings. So even if I sample everything, my stomach doesn't start to do the sugary flip flops.

Vanilla pudding, bread pudding, chocolate pudding, banana pudding, apple crisp, reduced sugar apple pie, key lime pie, sugar/fat free vanilla frozen yogurt, ranger cookie, oatmeal cookie, and ... ok I totally forget what's on the upper right hand but I think it was good. I'll admit to not finishing the larger bites on my plate, but at least I didn't feel guilty the way I do when I return a plate to the ktichen ("no box, thanks") that still looks completely full except for one or two bites. Here, my plate comes back to the table looking mostly eaten so there is no judgment. Also, I get to take multiple micro-walks between courses.

The atmosphere is admittedly a little odd at times. There are not necessarily clearly delineated lanes of traffic for circling the various buffet aisles or tables and so inevitably there are many near-misses and people there are often perfectly satisfied being surly and unwilling to recognize that you exist as a person beyond a mere annoyance. We have a few regular bussers who are not the high school kids who are extremely nice and the staff are surprisingly efficient about refilling food between disgruntled diners. If you go on off-hours, the capacity is expansive enough that you can find a good seat far flung from the feeding frenzy in the center. You will likely encounter a screaming toddler at some point, but again, you can usually find a way to avoid them. But for me, what it lacks in ambience is more than made up for in the heaping amount of control I have over what goes onto my plate and the visual satisfaction of infinite dietary possibilities without the commitment of having any of these portioned onto my plate.

not every milonga can have a perfect tanda... and a stab at an actual workweek

The malaise of holidaze lingers everywhere, really. I suspect that January will simply be a wash, but fortunately it is nearly done and I have good thoughts for February. 


This January's milonga is an instance of the sad truth that not every milonga can have a perfect tanda. Or feel quite as personally rewarding as they often do. The cards were simply stacked against such things occurring, I suppose. For one, we had a guest dj this month. I strongly support having guests and I mean no malign against her playlists (since I left early, I couldn't even fairly comment!),but I'll admit to feeling far less of an obligation to stick around or mentally get excited about the milonga when I'm not putting together my perfect playlist. It may also interfere with my plans to reserve partners for said perfect tandas.Then there was the fact that between residual winter vacations, the snow storm, and The Port Townsend Tango Festival, the attendance list whittled itself down to a bare minimum. And as a coup de grace, not only was I under malaise, but I also acquired a migraine earlier than day, which persisted well into the evening. 


My migraines are fairly mild, rarely manifesting in the knock-out pain that many experience. I didn't even realize until a few years ago that they were migraines - it's mostly manifested in the aura, in which noises feel echoey, light reverberates about my corneas, and I feel spacey and dizzy. Which is not an ideal way to dance, since doing many turns - or even a few - with one's eyes closed is already slightly dizzying, and I have a very difficult time keeping my eyes open in close embrace. Particularly when the lights are not down that low for whatever reason and any light caught peripherally makes me dizzy as well. I was doing pretty well staying on axis while dancing, particularly (again with the particularly, I know!) in shoes that are too beautiful to chuck but which actually don't fit in the heel very well. But walking off the floor belied the addled state my head was in.

Or maybe my own outfit was the culprit for the dizzies. I've always been proud of how these socks complement each other. I also wore a bright purple sports bra under a slightly low cut top (take that perpetual wardrobe malfunction that is my life!) and a pair of earrings that are particularly pretty and apropos to such an event (ordinarily):

Alas, all my finery could not retrieve an evening destined to fail and I feel a bit like I did on Halloween where I used my totally awesome Elvis costume to go to a party that wasn't much fun and left early. Yes, I'm planning on reusing it again in that case because almost nobody saw it (and you wondered why there were no Halloween pictures... never waste a good outfit).


I hate being so blase, but I virtually abandoned our lesson, which somewhat disjointed due to the fact that there was one complete beginner, one near beginner and a handful of regulars. This means the class was essentially moving too fast for the one beginner and terribly slow for almost every one else. It's an orientation class so it should have been moving more slowly with technique for the more advanced dancers. I ordinarily leap in and try to regulate this balance, but I just didn't have the energy. It may have been the worst class I've taught (or didn't teach) in a good deal of time. 


There were a few good dances, mostly with Mr. (W)right and mostly good because I spent the tanda biting his ear or otherwise harassing him, dipping myself, and not trying to dance upright. For "serious" (I'm never all that serious but sometimes I stumble into a reverie or two) dancing, I had two tandas that worked for me: one with a favorite student/practice partner of mine, and one with my Harry Potter partner, who is as always a surprisingly sweet and smooth dancer. I am not familiar enough with him that I will seek out dancing with him when I'm not on my game - I don't want to ruin the positive impression and we're not at the unconditional connection stage in our dance relationship. But he asked me to dance and I could hardly turn him down. I warned him I was feeling lightheaded but we managed quite well. It was not pure tango ecstasy as I really was feeling dizzy and slightly distracted, but it broke through the blarg into at least a very nice. 




Beyond tango: We're  in my first official workweek of 2012 after a lot of dalliances and inconveniences and days off and the office is feeling the crunch. I am as well in oddly ambivalent modes that are becoming familiar to me. I go back and forth between feeling excited to have three whole clients, a number of files to work through, and a whole 'nother consult just next week(!!) and feeling discouraged that I only have three clients and every one else in the office has soooo much more work to do.. It's all perspective and which expectations I am holding myself up against, at this stage in the new-lawyer process. 

There's a part of me that is discouraged at how few consultations I am getting and is wondering if I should be out there more or lowering my rates or... well I don't know exactly, because ultimately most referrals are inevitably word of mouth and nobody really has enough experience with me as an attorney to be spreading that word. And, while occasionally we do get the "I need an attorney" people calling in, most of the time, people call here - to the Law Offices of Pamela E. Englett - because they want Pamela E Englett (and I don't blame them - she's pretty damned good!). The other part of me feels like I am getting a boatload of valuable learning experiences working with and for my mom's official clients and wading into the full fiduciary boatload is a fantastic approach. 


There's a part of me that feels like I should have already made any kind of negotiations with other parties, or gone in front of a commissioner or two by now, or just generally be able to do what I'm doing now much faster and more cleanly! Aaaand there's a part that is just totally thrilled at the fact that I can draft set of papers without having to call the Crisis Hotline or locate my security blankie and give fairly decent advice when clients ask. There's a part of me that feels exhausted trying to generate work when every one else is already so in the habit of keeping it for themselves that they don't even realize they're overburdened and I am not. And a part of me that's proud of days l where I scalp a load of it and rush through it, while simultaneously updating case status sheets and reminding people of various case issues and - joy of joys - maybe doing some legal research which is so totally my area. 


So, I waffle (Wafflebot HATES PANCAKES!!). Inevitably sometimes feel liike Superlawyer and sometimes feel like lame-o-loafer-lawyer leaching off her mother's goodwill despite my astoundingly excellent credentials. Comes with the territory, I guess. Not that I, as an attorney, am not supposed to embrace my bloodsucking instincts, but I think I would be turning them in the wrong direction at that point. It's at least a comfort in my less optimistic moments that I know all too well that it is only one way of looking at things. And it is even more of a comfort that many times I have felt such anxiety and told myself to just be patient with myself and things have indeed worked out. In hte meantime, I will continue to boggle at the idea that any one would let me have the sort of full on fiduciary duties that I have yet to fully flex on behalf of another human being. It's as if they didn't get the memo about my being a child in disguise as as professional. 

Your honor, my client has no memory of the bananas to which
respondent refers!

Is is February Yet? Not on track to get back on track.

It has been a thoroughly disorienting toe-tipping-wade in 2012 (the year, not the disaster movie) so far. January has yet to be the business-as-usual return from the Holiday insanity of December that I ordinarily expect. I'm not sure I recall the last full week I've worked, but I do think there was one squished in there somewhere. No, actually not in 2012. The first week of January we had Monday off in observance of New Year's. Since I am now on the board of the Whatcom Collaborative Professionals - and this happens to meet on the first Monday - this necessitated a rescheduling to Friday, after which I took off to meet my financial planner (oh my god, I have a lawyer and a financial planner and an ad in the Weekly: barring the fact that I have fewer clients than fingers, I have so totally made it!). The week after that, of course was my delightful deposition (see previous post). And that brings us to this week.

This Monday was MLK day, after which Washington got what has regrettably been called Snowpocalyse (regrettable because the term is tired and I think it played out last year already) and its companion ICESTASTROPHE (or ok, I just made that up - you'll have to look on the polls to figure out our official storm title).

I'll get to weathercondition+disastersuffix in a second, but more about my work weeks that weren't weeks. I have actually been into work many of the days of this week. On Monday, I dropped in to check on messages and get client numbers in case things took a turn for the wintry. I actually did work on Tuesday. And on Thursday of this week. And today! That's three outta five. I even took work "home" (decided to stake out at my mom's house in anticipation of some form of end-of-the-world-Day-After-Tomorrow-with-wolves-and-stuff disaster, so that I could fight wolves and die with loved ones) with me for Wednesday. I didn't really do it, I have to say. I tried many times, but it was ultimately a snow day and we'll not be billing any one for the repeated hours of "oh yeah I should get to Client X... huh oh look snow!"

 On Tuesday I even met with a prospective client and everything. It was mildly terrifying, particularly because she had brought her father, and I still feel like I may be a child in disguise. I figure people around my age may be fooled, but doting parents will inevitably out me. Also, given all the snow and wet, I was sporting a rather spiffy pair of leather pants instead of my usual enormous suit pants. I did, however, resist the urge to snap my gum or swear and/or otherwise emulate My Cousin Vinny despite looking appropriate for a female update on the role.

Thursday, I also had a consultation for what could be my first official COLLABORATIVE CASE (yay, hurrah, wheeeee, pleeeeaaase). The great thing about collaborative law for consultations is that CL operates on the level of personal interests, options, opportunities and relationships. The law's still there, but there aren't the abstruse forests of timelines and arcane details over which to quibble while questioning whether the font size of your current pleading meets the local standards. Massaging egos, addressing cognitive biases, rebalancing power differentials, identifying interests etc. is *exhausting* but it's something that I am (1) intuitively inclined towards and (2) well trained to handle. So I feel a lot less like I'm perpetually screwing everything up and committing malpractice because there's a case about what the world "substantial" means in RCW 1034.401.304214 that I haven't read but which is utterly controlling.

Epic struggles with being-a-grown-up aside, it hasn't been a particularly ordinary week. I think next week will be my first full week since mid-December. And, you know, if I could be independently wealthy, I wouldn't mind working part time, I've gotta say. I hope I don't go into some form of shock at the prospect of five whole days in a row!

Honestly, though, I'm looking forward to it. I feel like being so out of any kind of routine leaves me perpetually unsure what day it is and the uncertainty actually makes each individual day seem longer and less like it has a natural rhythm. It doesn't help that my regular excercise/social events have also been on the back burner since some time in December due to a conglomeration of simular circumstances to those already outlined.

Because honestly at the moment, every day is feeling like this!

Oh yeah, weathercondition+disastersuffix: it happened. It was rather a lot like other winter storms that we get. Cities shut down, people were cold, the weather suddenly became the most interestsing topic of conversation and internet obsession ever. I seriously spent a large portion of Wednesday watching the weather coverage on King 5, while reloading my radar map on The Weather Channel, and checking that against wunderground... while staring out the window. It was oddly riveting. This is what my life has been reduced to! I am so disoriented by the lack of time frame reference that all I want to do right now is go home, bundle up in my ugliest sweats and overload myself on the hour to hour details of the weather. No, I don't want to read a book, watch movies, hang out with my loved ones. Loved ones can talk to me about the weather. They can even add their input from their smartphone widgets. But they are mere accessories in my current weather-fantasia. Even right now, I'm dolefully staring out the window wondering "where is my freezing rain? Will there be floods? I wonder what King5 would say about the projected dew point for two hours from now!"

Be still my heart!

Fashunnnn - His and Hers (on loan) Leather Pants

I like what isn't mine. I guess this is human nature. I never really want dessert, cheese, pasta, but I do want a nibble of somebody else's. Most of my loved ones have learned to accept this to the point that I really have to be careful to remember which people it is and is not acceptable to pick from. I know the day will come where I'll be out with a colleague or friend and meet their horrified gaze as I reach across the table to pick out a particularly attractive piece of tofu, or nibble on a cookie before leaving it back on their plate. I am so lucky to have people who tolerate me on this, because sampling what others have is one of the spices of my life (other spices include turmeric, cayenne, chipotle, cumin...)

I may do the same this with clothes. From time to time, I end up appropriating some item or other of Mr. (W)right's. Maybe it's a pair of pants or a baggy sweater, but it's often something that makes it way from temporary loan to Property of Adella Thompson (goes with the tattoo that I've secretly been inking on his nether regions while he sleeps).

Yesterday, it was his hallowed college-days leather pants. He's worn them a total of once since we've been together and categorically proved to himself in that experience that (1) leather pants were not meant for warm steamy blues dancing, (2) they don't fit him quite like they used to in "the old days" before he developed a little more junk in his trunk since college, due more to a few too many 15% grade hill climbs on a bike than a few too many chocolate cheesecakes, although to be sure the man can put away quite a lot of both steep hill climbs *and* insanely caloric desserts.

At any rate, my pants continue not to fit (see every other blog posting or so I have ever made) and I continue to be a cold blooded animal in a household without much insulation, so they have been my saving grace. Leather pants are warm! Also these stay on me without threatening to fall off. It tends to amuse Andrew when I wear his clothes, and he kept remarking about how differently they fit me than him, so I thought it only fair to do a his and hers FASHUNNNN spread to supplement my intentions of releasing fashion catalogs for super hip-hip-hipster-wannabes:

So that's the "hers." Andrew seemed to think I'd hate the final photo, but I think it's really kind of the most fashion forward of the bunch. I'm feeling a contract with American Outfitters in my disgusted-yet-quirkily-posed look of hepwilderment. 

 Andrew kind of cheated, so it isn't a fair comparison. Mostly he demurely posed to hide the fact that the pants don't button up on him anymore, or at least not without severely compromising his future fertility and possibly requiring a trip to the ER. Also he limited the control sampling by not wearing my little white tank top or quirky striped socks. But at least he's got the high fashion pout and one-legged posing going on. We could almost be twins (except then we'd be veering into Greek Tragedy land, so maybe not!)

You can't really tell from the photo, but they're really a bit too short on me and were definitely made for men, since they actually have too much room in the quadriceps, which no women's pants ever would do on somebody with my musculature (I am kind of awesomely ripped in the legs).  

Anyways, they are on loan to me for now, since I can wear them without risking being arrested in public parks. This plus the pair of (size 4 - yes, we are verging into vanity sizing of even more thrilling proportions! and these proportions are definitely a bit lacking in the inseam division) pants that I bought on sale a few days ago equals a pants wardrobe of two whole pairs that mostly fit but are too short on me!

Thank god my fellow is such a fashionisto (that's the proper masculine form of fashionista right?) so I can pilfer his wardrobe and come out looking spiffier. 

For my future catalog collection, we will also be featuring the latest in trendy-trends: cycling wear. It is screaming for a hipster conquest: 

I'm really quite excited about heading up the men's pantalon style. Kind of like the women's harem pants, but shinier and poofier.And more likely to be orange, red or yellow! Also who doesn't need one of these hats? I mean you can see this damned thing from space!

Also, after about a week of angsting and miscommunications and sizing mayhem, Andrew has a new rain jacket. I can't really steal that from him ... yet. He's rather attached to it. 

As of two twenty today, I have been deposed

Deposition I say? How exciting! How salacious and legalistic and utterly thrilling and important! I love the smell of Grisham in the morning! "You can't handle the truth!" Etc. etc.

For those who don't know me very well - or are terrifically poor stalkers - I was involved in a four car pile up at the end of my first year of law school. I'd make a witty comment about the experience, but I've already made all of them explaining the story to various people. Suffice to say, it was apparently in April of that year. I'd forgotten when, just that it was a sucky month, but all the legal documents I've seen have said April. It is, or so I hear, the cruelest month, so that makes sense. I do remember "it" nipping at the heels of a half-expected break up over Easter weekend mixed in with about 16 weekend hours of intensive detail-oriented writing homework for a one credit class that made up for being one credit by only lasting two and a half weeks and thus actually requiring roughly a full-time job's worth of attention during its duration, in turn meaning no post-breakup sniffling or margaritas. Oh and I had yet to get back any of my grades really for the entire year so I was fairly certain that I was either failing out of law school or - horror of horrors - stuck there for another endless two years. As an aside, I will say that the following two years felt far shorter than the first half of the first quarter of my first, and far more pleasant, thank goodness. But anyways. Mostly I remember hitting something and sitting at the side of the road laughing, because at a certain point it is just horribly funny and you kind of have to shrug and say "ok, life, you got me."

Needless to say, when I was - three years minus change later - served with papers on my birthday, I was not entirely optimistic about my chances of escaping liability that would then fall to my insurance company to address. For one, I was admittedly at the tail end of a really crappy Country-Western-worthy week at the time, so it wasn't a stretch to imagine I wasn't driving all that brilliant. And lawyers actually are notoriously poor drivers, so imagine how much worse law students are! It's a miracle I wasn't turning every road I drove on into a demolition derby, really! For another, I was at the back of the crash-pack and rear-enders are presumptively at fault in our state. Not to mention that I got a ticket for the whole thing... Damage is pretty much done (har har) to my insurance rating. Once I got the insurance company to engage an attorney, I was pretty much ready to ignore the whole thing, aside from my lingering PTSD panic attacks on the freeway and random rants about people tailgating and how *DANGEROUS* it is. Never ride with somebody who has been in an accident - they are insufferable passengers.

Anyways, car cases are weird and I'm only peripherally involved, so have paid very little attention to the case as its developed since August But it was D-day today! So time to be involved again. I hit the road as is typical of my insane over-preparedness with obscene amounts of time to spare -slightly more than an hour earlier than needed, just to have some "wiggle room" if I got lost. I figured,if all went well, I would wait at the Starbucks for a while. I also figured that I would probably get into some kind of accident on the way day, because well, it would just figure wouldn't it? I figured incorrectly on both. No accident, but no luxurious wait at Starbucks tinkering with my smart phone either.

In fact, I ended up getting there with only two minutes to spare, because - if the accident itself didn't make clear - driving in Seattle is God's punishment to mankind and some car had "stalled out" which for some reason took up two lanes on the freeway in downtown Seattle. It took me forty minutes to get myself from North Seattle to an exit remotely close enough to downtown to wing it and wind my way through the abstruse/obtuse city "grid" of one ways, curving streets, roads to nowhere, and pointless swerving vehicular dervishes that is Seattle traffic.

But, hell, I made it. I found the parking garage. I found guest parking. After wandering a bit, I found the elevator to emerge from the bowels of the earth where the parking garage was located. I found an escort at security.I found a bathroom (thank god!) and I found my deposition room with lots of surprisingly nice attorneys. I then proceeded on to give twenty minutes of perhaps the most worthless testimony under oath in the history of depositions.

Two and a half hours of turmoil and tooth-gnashing to go on record saying "I don't remember anything except that it was really really scary." The attorney for the plaintiff didn't even bother to question me other than to ask what field of law I was in and congratulate me on passing the bar. The attorney for my co-defendant asked some questions but then said she wouldn't need a record of my deposition when the clerk asked. So... it was pretty awesome and I'm sooooo glad I had to take the entire day off to be useless! Yeesh! I can be useless at the office! Har har, just kidding potential clients. I'm super useful, I swear. For one, I look pretty sitting next to you at hearings!

Really your honor, my client is a super
nifty parent! *wink* *wink*

Anyways, I found out why on earth this hasn't settled yet. I guess the plaintiff has no damage to the back of her car. She was second up in the pile up and is claiming my co-defendant pushed her into the car in front of her and then I pushed him into her and this pushed her more into the front car. Or something like that. My co-defendant is pretty sure that she hit the car in front of her and he never actually hit her. And I'm pretty sure that it was pretty scary and I just wanted to go home. Aaaaand apparently there is virtually no evidence of impact in the back of the car, she wouldn't give a straight answer about where she was living, and she was recently fired for stealing from the BGO... I guess her attorney is opting to keep her away from a jury so it will likely go to arbitration instead of trial. Darnit! I was so hoping to pull some kind of exciting Matlock in the courtroom. I can sniff out a murderer and trick him into confession while being sassy and swelly in a grey suit! I just know I can. Family law cases - particularly collaborative cases where there are binding contractual agreements to stay out of court - so rarely go to trial that I'll have to commit a crime to have my moment in court any time soon!

As an incidental update to the treaddesk epidemic - this will tie back to the above story, just bear with me - I still love mine and no, I do not get dizzy or have problems typing etc. etc. It is a little loud to talk on the phone while walking - or at least the quarter mile *beep beep beep* set against the background whirrr of the treadmill starts to make people think that maybe I'm at an airport and a bomb is about to go off. But for basic operational typing, emailing (I have permanently pushed the Do Not Disturb button on my phone, which I will eventually have to redress, but so far so good), and researching, it works well. I should add the proviso that it works well when I am walking. I used the treadmill to run this morning in order to pump myself up for the long drive to Seattle and expectedly even longer sit-and-grill of a deposition (I taste better lightly sauteed, but grilling is a healthy alternative to frying anyways... I'd say I actually emerged from the deposition fairly raw but with a slight smoky taste).

Using a mouse, clicking in little text windows, and things of the like do not work as well when you are running at 7 mph (yeah, I'm not a track star, so that's a good pace for me). In fact, they simply do not work.  I have been able to use my smart phone at these speeds, but that little devil has more or less burrowed under my skin and achieved perfect symbiosis with me. I will soon have an app that regulates little details like respiration and digestion so I can free up my brain for more important details... like looking at animated gifs of cute little kitties.

Thank you for your time and patience. I am now going to sit at my boyfriend's house - he is still in class - and stare at a wall while muttering "I took vacation time for this?"

My Twelve Days of Holiday Break - Welcome 2012

Well happy National Back-to-the-cold-bleak-reality day! I hope all had a wonderful holiday and I look forward to seeing more of you skulking around now that your wild and fabulous fantasies and families have wrapped up for the foreseeable future. In case you missed the play by play, here are my twelve (in honor of 2012) days of holiday break.

Dec 22: Closed the office after a fairly harrowing week of emergencies, etc. and decided to prepare for Christmas at my mom's house. We got out the tree, set up the lights, and watched Scrooged. There was a lot of passing out and low energy, so not the most festive day, but probably necessarily restful, all considered.

Dec 23: Andrew came up and met me at my mom's house. Since he's Jewish, I have started insisting that we have our "Christmas Eve" dinner at Chinese restaurants in his honor, even if it's not really Christmas Eve and other restaurants are open, and he ultimately probably doesn't care. But hey, Chinese food is always good, right. We hit Xing's Panda Palace, which is actually awesome. They have these health plates of just steamed veggies and meat or tofu. I think I'm in love. They also have a gallery of ornamental chopsticks and gigantic koi fish in an appropriately huge aquarium.

Dec 24: Our version of Christmas, take one.

Proof that I am (1) thoughtful and
(2) unable to spell pancakes

Dec 25: Babootie time with my dad. Andrew came back to stay with me for the rest of Christmas break. It's kind of an interesting twilight area for both of us, due to the distance. I'm glad in a lot of ways that circumstances have postponed our eventual living together, since I think that is one of the biggest steps a couple can take, and too many take it far too lightly. That said, because we live so far apart, staying over means that we don't quite have our regular morning routines or private areas and still feel accountable to our roommates for any messes/noises/distractions the other causes or access to our full menagerie of possessions, but that maybe we both have some of our stuff at each other's places and feel some accountability for taking care of ourselves beyond what guests would. Anyways,we inhabited the limited space together well, and I even managed to get a decent amount of sleep. It was nice to have that much regular time to spend together and/or do our own things without that sense of time crunch that can come with weekends-only.

Dec 26: No work for me, so Andrew and I had our first official day off together for a decently long time. Andrew set up his trainer and did some spinning in his insanely bright shorts and new jersey. Instead of the original plan of watching Rocky while he was training, he finished up and we went to see My Week with Marilyn. Michelle Williams is brilliant (and amazingly curvy for her usual frame) in the role, incidentally. Definitely worth a see. In the evening, I hauled Andrew to The Blue Moon Ballroom, where he was a lead in their Crash Course - East Coast Swing edition. I read the book I've been neglecting for months until my phone started to lose battery power.

Team kit- Captain America Edition

Dec 27: Back to work. I had an emergency consult wander in. Her problems were far beyond my depth, which was marginally stressful as I ran back and forth from the room to pssst to my mom "ok, so I told her X, but ___"  So I was quite ready for the day to wrap up when Andrew picked me up at about 4. We gloriously went TO THE CHRYSALIS DAY SPA to get the massages I'd purchased for Xmas (making us yuppies - broke yuppies, yes, but yuppies!) I only get one or two massages in a year and a massage is useless to me unless I feel the need to scream "ok, ok, I'll tell you where the weapons are, please just STOP!" I had a different kind of soreness the next day than usual, so I call it kind of a win. Also I drooled in the quiet room for a good period of time. An interesting contrast of pain and relaxation, getting a deep tissue massage at a spa.

Dec 28: Intense morning of hearings beginning with waiting through a protection order hearing with a disturbing paranoid schizophrenic who was in custody at the time for violating the prior order and kept accusing his wife of being sent by the US government to kill him, etc. Danced off some of the uck with Nate, in the karate studio that used to be a church... love that venue. Then in the evening, I dragged Andrew back to The Blue Moon to fill in as a lead for the waltz.While there, I ran into two old friends from Uandme days whom I hadn't seen in years. I gave them both my card, which made me inordinately happy.

Part of my ongoing effort to give Mr. (W)right diabetes

Dec 29: Got most of my work caught up and started on some notice of withdrawal I promised I could handle for Leslie if I had time (to be billed as a paralegal, but hey, at least it was billed... to people who we are likely not representing because they don't get our bills or pay...meh, details!).Drowned in paper and felt pretty AAAAAAAAHHHH by the end of it all. I have to say, it made me feel a lot happier about those three agonizing years in law school. Paralegal work is stressful!! Dragged Andrew back to the Blue Moon for a crash course in salsa, and ended up filling in as a lead, myself. Shockingly, I had a blast, and felt really comfortable leading a dance I rarely do. A couple of women said they could really see me working well as a collaborative lawyer, etc. given how patient and clear I was when sort-of-teaching. Not sure they'll remember my name, but I feel like I'm fulfilling my pre-swearing in mandate to go out and do things I love as the preferrable means of networking.

Dec 30: Got those durned notices of withdrawal handled and we closed the office a little bit early, thank goodness. Dragged Andrew back to the Blue Moon, but this time for his first ever zumba lesson (making us, as Matt aptly pointed out, his middle-aged parents).I had a stupid-good time and he seemed to enjoy it as well, despite or because of the excess estrogen in the room at the time. He was of course the only guy other than Marcus.

Ooooh baby, showin' us some GAMS!!

Dec 31: We got up early to go to the ice skating rink, where they were offering free admission and rentals. It was swarming! About fifteen minutes into the skate, they turned off the overhead lights, pumped up the techno music and put on some black lights and flashing ones... so the closest I will be getting to a New Year's Eve party started up at about 9:30 a.m. and somehow I'm ok with that. After wandering around town attempting to find gas that was neither "a rip off" by some internally defined personal sense of outrage or "a huge long wait," we went to my Dad's house to de-Christmas the house. He took us to dinner and dessert and then we went home and watched the totally un-New-Yearsy Spinal Tap and went to bed early. We are rockers

Jan 1: Resolution Run, baby. Every year there's a run around Lake Padden followed by a massive Polar Bear Dip. We went for hte first part. I'd been tempted to do the dip too, but I woke up in the full throes of a chest cold and figured that would be ill-advised. So we circled Lake Padden and called it good. Then went to see Hugo, which is an amazing film that actually used all of its 2 and change hours to positive effect (shocking!) We checked out a new Chinese Buffet, which was pretty appropriately massive and eclectic - and they had wanton soup which Andrew had just been saying he hadn't had in a long time and wanted to. Then we rented Bridget Jones's Diary, since Netflix didn't have it (perpetual let down is Netflix these days) and it is technically kind of a New Year's Film.

Jan 2 One more Monday off.Andrew finally had to go back to get ready for his first quarter as a fully matriculated graduate student (!!) We had breakfast and he put my new turtle shaped bicycle bell on my bike and drove away. I manned up enough to replenish my completely tapped reserve of groceries and then called it a day, not wanting to handle the inevitable holiday mess of laundry and vacuuming and sorting left at my house. Just to belie my status as a grown-up, I fled to my mommie's house and spent the day on her couch, while she and her boy-toy, David charged in and out with big heavy boxes. As previously mentioned, I work at a treadmill desk. Until recently, this "desk" had just been a plank set across the treadmill with a laptop on top. David made a far more attractive and more permanent desk this last month and it has inspired him, so there will be a tread-desk at my mom's house now as well.

It symbolizes the rat-race/hamster
wheel of modern office work

Anyways, the treadmill desk idea for David began approximately yesterday and has now manifested with a new treadmill, the computer desk entirely gone, and a new flat screen monitor. It will be interesting to see how it works out, now that the option of sitting at the computer upstairs has been eliminated. I take no responsibility for however this might turn out.

Completely random, but blessedly absent
from the holidays

But to bring us back to the twelve days... they ended in a stupor and the days of regular work as work begin again today with a few grunts and groans, but a modicum of optimism. I hope all had fantastic Decembers and find January blizzard-free (Dairy Queen Blizzards excluded) and fairly manageable.