Aged Like Fine Wine

I always thought that when I'm a parent I'd be one of those cool, hip parents with the cool hip house where all the kids would want to hang out at. If I have a daughter, I will take her to the (equivalent of) Hannah Montana or Backstreet Boys concert. She will get her first Barbie before she turns 28. And if I have a son, he'll get drum and guitar lessons. If he wants, I'll take him to the (equivalent of) Hannah Montana concert.

Today I basically threw myself under the bus.

The topic was whether or not a school should implement uniforms. I think I'm cool. I think I'm hip. I think I understand the younger generation.

Really? I'm just delusional.

I vote for uniforms, and to hell with a kid's freedom of expression. Have you seen what kids are wearing today? Holy shit! Skirts are shorter than my undies! (and for the record, I DO NOT sport granny panties). I'm not a big fan of guys wearing pants so baggy the belts are to keep the jeans at the knees.

When did I become such an old fogie? Have I really become more 'sensible'? Am I just a hop, skip, and step away from talking about the merits of a minivan over an SUV?

Pray for my unborn children...

Regression Progression

I told my dad way back in the day that I mentally matured at 16. I'm 28 and man-did I have insight back then. Every time I think I'm immature and need to grow up, J-Unit comes and saves the day. She's the only other person that 'gets' me, but that's just because she's like me. Here are some pics from our weekend.

First up...


Dinner Thursday night. I'm not sure why in the whole restaurant, we decided to pose with the cross at our table. Trust me, we didn't all of a sudden get religious. The restaurant?? Pink Taco.


We went to SeaWorld San Diego on Saturday. When J-Unit flew out here, San Diego was not in the picture. During work on Friday I thought that we should do something fun and spontaneous. SeaWorld actually was back up. I tried to find us cheap Vegas flights a day before departure. Yeah--that wasn't going to happen...


This was one of the shows we saw. I like this picture because the orca on the left reminds me of me: lazy slacker that just wants to be fed.



We didn't get the memo that this really wasn't put up for posing...but J-Unit's got it down pat.



She didn't want Big Bird to be left out.


Big Bird's really Asian.


He lets people pose with him when he's not filming Budweiser commercials.


He's camera shy.


His fifth leg.


The doggy trains Clydesdales.



This is about the most adult thing we did all weekend. Anheuser Busch is a big sponsor of SeaWorld, so they have a Brewmaster's Club. We went beer tasting. Almost like wine tasting but not--similar yet different.


You like big butts?

I Would Walk 500 Miles

This weekend J-Unit was in town. It was a last minute kind of thing. Spontaneity is pretty much my middle name.

J-Unit took the Asian honors by taking a million and a half pics. Me? I took 3.

We stayed at the Westin at Horton Plaza. Dinner was in the Gaslamp Quarter, which was literally a quarter mile away from the hotel. But with both of us in 4 inch heels, there was no way we were walking more than 2 blocks. So we get my car from valet, drive the 5 blocks over, realize there's not restaurant valet, but there's a general parking garage. After we're going down the ramp, we realize its 20 bucks to park the car. No way Jose. High tailed it out of the garage, valeted it at the hotel again, and cabbed it back to the restaurant. I think if we walked across the hotel parking lot, it would have taken us 5 minutes to get to the restaurant. So...0.43 miles took us driving my car to the restaurant, driving it back to the hotel, and then taking a cab back. We are brilliant. At least on the way back to the hotel it was raining, so it seemed half a notch less pathetic that we cabbed it back.


Saturday night we ate at Cafe Sevilla, which is a rustic Spanish style restaurant. This is my gazpacho, which is my favorite soup. Weird eh? Since its vegetarian. I really dug the presentation. Usually when I make soup for myself I eat it straight from the pot. Classy.


This is our main course. J-Unit got the seafood paella, and I got the meat paella. Oh yeah baby! There was a ton of meat. Imagine my surprise when I went digging around in my dish and found a chicken drumstick!!! Yummy. And my sangria. That was basically my fruit allotment for the entire weekend.

Shorty Swing My Way

My spam box and I have a nice working relationship. I give him shit I'm not interested in (going on Carribbean cruises, getting saved by Paul the minister, extending the length of my non-existent penis), and he makes sure I don't receive any more of these wonderful offers.

But someone has out-smarted him. That someone happens to be the ABA. The freaking ABA. American Bar Association. What the fuck. They are incessant. Every damn day its something: ABA wants your opinion on tort reform, ABA wants to recognize ten outstanding women lawyers, ABA this, ABA that. I dinged one as spam, thinking that was the end of it.

OMG they are out to get me. They are on me like a fat kid after the dessert aisle at the buffet. But the ABA got smart. They stuff my gmail inbox with news from their various divisions. Do you know how hard it is to fill a gmail inbox? The darn thing keeps on growing, and the ABA keeps on sending out more superfluous crap I'm not the slightest bit interested in. I wouldn't be surprised if ABA 'newsletters' hit my inbox faster than my inbox can expand (Gmail: you guys need to fix this). But--with their so called 'divisions' you can't get rid of them. They have 'divisions' for everything: Asian lawyers, Hispanic lawyers, women lawyers, lawyers right out of law school, lawyers who don't practice law, lawyers who want to shoot themselves because they do practice law. Its mindblowing. I somehow got subjected to the torture of the 'Young Lawyers Division.' My latest email from them is the midyear roundup. The midyear roundup congrats lawyers on their excellent service to the community (ha)legal profession (ha ha), and...the kicker: 'reputation for legal ethics and professional responsibility. HAHAHA.

This email thing is like regular mail. When I move, Esurance and the Victoria's Secret catalog follow me all on their own. Like little puppies following their owners. Awwww. But my credit card bills? No way. Lost like a white kid in the heart of Harlem.

This isn't my dog, but since I don't allow comments, no one's going to dispute me. So...this is my dog. His name is Toby.

And his girlfriend Penelope (I had no say in that one).


Here he is again. Trying to eat my face. We get along like that. I guess my breathe smells a lot better than my cousins.

All That and a Box of Chocolates

I got my new Blackberry Curve today. Yippee!! I feel so hip. So IN with it. So posh. My Verizon phone is on the fritz. Sometimes it'll work-sometimes it won't. Depends on the day, the hour, the barometer reading-I have no idea.

Usually I'm one to just dive in and start using new things instead of reading the owner's manual ie all my other phones, my car, my laptop. I like to learn by doing, not by reading. But this is different. This is my new baby. The instruction manual will teach me how to set up email, send txt messages, take pictures, surf the web, schedule appointments. What does my new Curve not do? Nothing. It even has GPS!

This phone is so damn snazzy and sleek, why the fuck can I not figure out how to turn down the keypad volume?

My Brain: On Hiatus...Indefinitely

Last night after running errands I decided to pop into Borders to see what's new. The answer: a lot.

Of course of all books to peruse, I choose "Shopaholic and Baby." It's pure chick lit. I'm happily reading away when a guy sits down at my table and proceeds to talk to me. His mouth is moving but I can't make out the words that are coming out. Its not that I'm not interested. Its more like I can't focus. So when I see his mouth stop moving, I know that's when I need to nod my head and act engaged.

"Blah blah blah blah blah."

"really? that's crazy!!"

"blah blah blah blah blah."

"uh huh."

"blah blah blah blah blah."

"i totally agree."

I did catch one question, which pretty much signaled the beginning of the end.

"so what book are you reading?"

"Shopaholic and Baby."

"oh..."

Well you know what mister?? I'm a rockstar. And I mean ROCKSTAR. Not groupie. I'm going to a top tiered b school! So don't you dare fucking look at me like I'm a ditz. My five remaining brain cells will stop ricocheting off my skull long enough to kick your ass.

I Ain't Sayin' She's A Gold Digger...

The only thing worse than having shameful guilty pleasures is roping someone else into them.

There was a point in time that I watched quality tv: Daily Show, the Colbert Report, Family Guy, Cash Cab. Hell, there was a point in time when I didn't watch tv, but read. Well...needless to say those days are long gone. In reality, I don't watch that much tv, but what I do watch is just downright pathetic.

Roomie tapes The Millionaire Matchmaker for me. For us. Its horrible reality tv that we can't pry our eyes from. The Matchmaker is a hypocrite to the nth degree, and she's fascinating. All of her guy clients are millionaires that are looking for true love. The women are non-millionaires looking for true love. Or a free expensive meal (I vote for the second one). But...Miss Matchmaker says that the girls can't be gold diggers. HUH? What the fuck is the reason why girls sign up to date millionaires if its not to dig for gold? Isn't that the main point of this whole shebang?

And what's sad is the sorry state of these millionaires. Granted, humans are flawed and quirky, but still...most of the guys are over 40 and are eager to get laid. Eager like prom night. Miss Matchmaker is trying to set them up with a bombshell with intelligence that can be brought home to mom. Funny. I always had the notion that intelligence was a rare commodity and not highly sought after anyway. Not sought after like a good lunch hour lipo and boob augmentation anyway.

Upton Sinclair: you are officially on hold. I'm too busy letting my brain rot away to bother with your books.

Reporting to Active Duty

Although its not on the list of top 100 things I would ever tell people about me, the wonderful state of California decided back in 2006 that I met their substandard requirements for practicing law and thus, I have my license.

Its got its perks. I'm still confused as to what they are.

My membership card is pretty sweet. Its plastic-but doesn't quite work like a credit card. I'm supposed to sign the back of it like a credit card. Also confused as to the purpose of this-who is going to steal my bar card? A lawyer who all of a sudden finds himself in a moral dilemma and needs to call the ethics hotline?

Well, if you want to 'steal' my bar card, I keep at my cube, in my pencil holder. It doubles as my ruler.