Something About September

In 2005, I quit my job on the Friday before Labor Day weekend and spent the rest of the month trying to get the hell out of Dodge (aka Boston) before the rapidly-approaching winter. One of the most popular songs on the radio at that time was Green Day's "When September Ends," and it felt quite fitting to be asking the universe to hurry up and get me through this month and out of this life I had decided I didn't want anymore.

Fast-forward four years, and in September of 2009 my life was about to experience numerous earthquakes but I didn't realize it just yet. Two co-workers had left and a partner had announced he was leaving the practice of law altogether. I had taken on some of their responsibilities, and out of the blue I had also received a phone call from a federal goverment agency asking me to interview for the same job I had interviewed for in January, because I had been their #2 choice but the guy they had chosen to hire had decided to jump agencies just 6 months after starting. They were only interviewing me and one other guy, and they wanted to move quickly, so it seemed like getting hired was a VERY real possibility. At the very same time, I knew my coworker was in the final stages of interviewing for a fantastic opportunity elsewhere. We joked just before the Labor Day weekend about wanting to be the first of the two of us to give notice, because the rash of departures had started to freak people out. (Ultimately, she got the call first and put in her notice a year ago tomorrow, and I didn't get the nod for the government job because they were concerned I would decide to leave after a year or two in order to earn more money. They were probably right.)

Because the government job would have paid a lot less than my current job, my parents decided I needed to buy my house from them (long story made slightly less long: when we found my house I wasn't yet working and didn't qualify for a good mortgage rate, but they did, so they were the official buyers but I paid the mortgage for the first 3.5 years), and found a way through a mortgage broker to make this happen. We locked in a rate in late September, and a month later we closed and I took on the crushing debt load of my very own. We also discovered during this time that my roof was leaking (right after the Atlanta floods last year, September 18-22) and some other renovations were needed, so we hired a builder and started planning for the renovations that began in October.

At the same time, I had been talking off and on since July with a guy who I wanted to go out with and I was pretty sure he wanted to go out with me too, but despite a few abortive attempts to meet up somewhere we still had not yet gone out face to face. We shared a mutual friend (who had actually tried to set us up a year earlier but I said no), and she finally talked to me and then talked to him and basically found a way to push us both into getting the hell on with it, already. Right around this time we finally started talking on the phone and made plans for our first date, plans that I would ultimately have to cancel because I got sick. We ended up going out for the first time later in September, and having a great time. It was the start of something different and exciting. (Things didn't work out in the end, but it was still a VERY fun fall...)

I was about to become insanely busy at work, and I was about to get sick 5 times in 6 months (likely because of said work insanity.) Because of that sickness streak and my limited free time due to work, I would stop working out for more than six months and gain back half of the 20 pounds I had lost from March to September of last year. I would stop having time to go play poker on Thursdays, to go out with friends on Friday nights, to visit my family on Sundays, or to do anything but work all the damn time. I knew things were about to become difficult, but I had no idea just how difficult, yet.

I was also about to experience a fundamental realignment of my social circle. At the end of September I recall driving with a close friend, listening to a sad song about goodbyes and regret that suddenly brought forth the tears. I didn't know why I was crying, yet. I knew things needed to change and had already started to, but I didn't realize that what really needed to happen was finality, an ending. That earthquake came in October. But on that late September day, part of me already knew, and was already recording that moment, as one place I may never go in my life again.

Looking back now, a year ago I was on the brink of everything. I had no idea at the time how fundamental the changes would be, but it got me here, and for that I am grateful. The last year has put me in such a better place, and this September I am just hoping that I can keep building on the positive change of a year ago. Through a combination of my crash Vegas diet and a week of being sick, I've lost enough weight that my low point from last year is once again in sight and I'm inspired to keep going. I have met some fascinating and truly amazing guys in the last year, and made some fantastic new friends while strengthening existing friendships with others. I was promoted at work and got a raise after I really rededicated myself to my job and I ended up with a house that love and put my own mark on forever.

Septembers are always full of change for me, but as I sit here today reflecting on all the positive change that started a year ago, I just can't wait to see what happens next.

Counting My Blessings

I've done a lot of bitching and moaning here about life in a big law firm and my desire to escape this climate at some point. But I'm not going to do that today. I've been at my job for over four years now, and at times it has been intensely frustrating and something I just wanted to walk away from. But I didn't.

And at times I am quite certain that some people at this firm wanted to walk away from me, such as when my workload suddenly dried up and I was the heftiest salary among our group's associate ranks with not nearly enough work to stay profitable. But they didn't walk away from me even though over 10,000 BigLaw associates all over the country lost their jobs in the last 2 years, often with a lot less justification than my firm would've had for pulling the rug out from under me. They stuck by me, and so I've stuck by them. After a very rough year or so, I have good cases again, I'm busy as hell (hence no blog posts), and I have a chance for the brass ring promotion at the end of the year if I play my cards right. Much to my great amazement, things are good again.

It's been sort of like a tough marriage to a good man who can be mighty annoying sometimes. Neither of us is always happy about our mutual obligations and commitments, but during the worst economic crisis of my generation, I feel tremendously lucky to have found loyalty from a big, soulless corporate law firm...the last place I would have ever thought to find it.

I personally know at least five people who have been laid off during this recession, and it feels like that number grows every day, often when I least expect it. Every single time I hear their pained announcements of the unexpected news, I feel a gut check--like I know I am tremendously lucky not to be in their shoes. And who knows? I still could be before it is all over. But for now, I am turning over a new leaf. No more whining about it here. My law firm ain't perfect, it has its quirks and drawbacks, but we've stuck it out all these years depsite all the difficulties, and that means something.

To draw the relationship analogy out as far as it can stand, maybe after getting screwed over so many times by the dashingly handsome assholes I've made questionable commitments to in the past, I now understand and can warmly appreciate the simple pleasures of life with a decent, honorable guy who may not seem as superficially perfect at first meeting, but has turned out to be much more real and enduring than anything I've ever known.

I would never have thought I would still be here by now, but I am, and I'm learning to be happy. For a girl who has said often that my theme song is Steve Earle's "I Ain't Ever Satisfied," that is a surprise. A happy accident.

Adventures in Dating #4: One Night Only

Today as I returned to my car from withdrawing a sizeable amount of cash at the bank (long story), I noticed that I had a missed call on my phone from a guy I had been texting with earlier about meeting up tonight. I called him back without checking to see if he had left me a voicemail, and he told me he had accidentally called my phone without realizing it. Thankfully this conversation was not terribly awkward, but it did cause me to remember a similar one that inspired this Adventures in Dating story.

A few years ago when I lived in Boston, fresh off of the breakup of my 6 year relationship and some post-breakup dating disasters that included this infamous tale, I was persuaded by some friends to try internet dating for the first time. This was in approximately 2002 or 2003, when the prospect of meeting someone over the internet was still a vaguely terrifying thing to most people (as opposed to now, when it is normal for many but still creepy and/or terrifying for others), so I was very wary of trying it. Still, I created an account on Matchmaker and went on a couple dates with guys I had absolutely zero chemistry with and prayed that they would never call me again. Some will be featured on future Adventures in Dating posts, so I don't want to shoot my wad entirely here...but let's just say I was reluctant about this whole shebang.

Then I got an email from Joe (at least I think that was his name...it's all a little hazy) and we actually had several good email conversations so I let it progress to phone calls, and after several good phone calls I decided we should go out. Joe had recently left the military, and was a single dad to boot, so he'd moved back to Massachusetts from wherever the hell he had been stationed and was living in the suburbs with his parents while he got situated. He suggested that I take the T out to a stop near where he lived and we would go to dinner, so I did. We met and had a perfectly normal dinner, and then intended to see a movie but the only thing either of us wanted to see was sold out at the one theater in this sleepy suburb. So, Joe suggested he could drive me home and we could grab a drink near my place. If you are halfway intelligent, you see where this is heading.

In a move that shocked even me, and I'm the one that did it, I invited Joe back to my place and he became my first (and to date only) one night stand. It was awful, though I will spare the particular details of why it was so bad. But I fully expected never to hear from Joe again after that night, and I wasn't real bothered by that prospect because I saw nothing I felt the need to go back to.

But ego is a funny thing, and after a few days without getting a phone call or email, I was kind of bummed that he hadn't wanted to see me again and hadn't called. Then one night, I ran downstairs quickly to the CVS next door to my apartment building for something, and when I got back there was a missed call on my cell phone from Joe. Huh, maybe he did want to see me again after all! At least now I'd get the satisfaction of not feeling rejected, even if I had to decline any future dates on account of the worst sex in the history of the universe. (OK, it wasn't THAT bad, but by God it wasn't good or even decent.)

I didn't have a voicemail message icon yet, but since I had just missed the call a couple minutes earlier, I decided to call back and see what he wanted. Joe answered, and the conversation went like this:

Me: "Hi, it's Sara, I just noticed I have a missed call on my phone from you."
He: "Um, I didn't call you."
Me: "Okaaaay...but my phone says that you, in fact, did call me and I just called back the last number that called me, and it was you."
He: "Nope, didn't call you."
Me: "Hm. Nevermind then."(This is awkward.)
He: "OK, bye."
Me: *MORTIFIED*

I never heard from him again. I suppose there are a thousand reasons why he could have not realized his phone had called me. He could have accidentally hit a button, he could have been trying to delete my number and accidentally hit send, one of his parents or a girlfriend (or, God forbid, a wife he neglected to mention) could have dialed the last number in his received calls list...who knows. It was all very shady and strange and awful. But I came away from the experience feeling completely smacked down for my naivete in calling him back without thinking for a second that perhaps there had been some mistake.

And that feeling, I think, is why I have been unable to bring myself to have any one night stands since that time. I think it was just such a dehumanizing and demoralizing experience because of that stupid non-call afterwards that I decided then and there never to expose myself to such humiliation ever again.

Mood Music: a song and a story

It's been a weird week, folks. Thanks to Monday morning's email from the ex-boyfriend, I've had more occasion to think about my life in Tallahassee and Boston many years ago than I have in ages. This morning the following song came on my iPod and it immediately transported me to 2002.

But let me take you back even further, to the fall of 1995 when we first met. I was a young, inexperienced and woefully naive 20 year old FSU student. My roommate convinced me to run for student Senate, and while campaigning for our seats I met Gabe. I actually met him for the first time at the house just on the edge of campus that we used as our campaign HQ--known as the "House of Kaos." I was at a party there, and Gabe walked in. (He was also a student senate candidate.) It was one of those moments like out of a movie, when you see someone and for no apparent reason you realize they are going to be significant to you in ways you cannot possibly anticipate. A few days later, we spent an afternoon campaigning sitting at a table outside the English building talking to students who stopped by and wanted to know more about our party, the Progressive Coalition. I was intrigued by him, and the die was cast.

During the course of that senate campaign, I also met Susan, who was running for one of the other Arts & Sciences senate seats. We became fairly good friends almost immediately, and in the months that followed after we won our senate seats and took over the FSU student senate, we spent a lot of time together. Susan was there for the budding romance between Gabe and I, including the disastrous first date (wherein SOMEONE neglected to mention to me that he would be rooting for Miami until we arrived together at the FSU-Miami game), the dream I had that convinced me to give him another chance despite said disaster, and the growing realization that there was more than just a spark at work.

Susan probably also knew it would be an eventual catastrohic failure. In some very obvious and important ways, he and I were so different.

For reasons I've long since forgotten, Susan and I fell out of touch. Gabe and I moved to Boston for several years before we finally broke up at the beginning of 2002. At the end of that year, I bought Aimee Mann's Bachelor No. 2, and I can still remember the slow, sad smile that crept across my face as I listened to this song for the first time. It was just so right.

In a happy quirk of coincidence, Susan and I have now both ended up living in Atlanta, and last fall we reconnected via Facebook. There is something so wonderful about reconnecting with someone who knew you at such an incredibly important formative point in your life, and I am privileged to have her as a friend again. I have never told her this story of how this song has made me think of her for the past 7 years, but hopefully she will listen to it and smile as well.

Well Hello There

So, I've been a slackass blogger lately. Work has been insanely busy thanks to yet another coworker leaving (for the job I desperately wanted--Assistant U.S. Attorney!), and there just hasn't been much out there to inspire me lately even when I do have time to peruse the internets. I go through periods where I lose the will to write, but I have to remember to force myself to carve out a little bit of time because when I do have occasion to go back through and review my archives, I remember how much pride and joy I have invested in some of my old writing. And I did some of my best writing when I was working every bit as hard as I am now, so that's no excuse. I promise to try to do better.

I had occasion to peruse my archives a little this morning because something I knew would eventually happen finally happened. My ex-boyfriend found my blog. I saw it on my sitemeter last week, the Google search for "sarawaraclara" from Mexico followed by hours upon hours of reading the archives in order. Nobody else could take that dedicated an interest in my inane ramblings, so I knew it was him. I knew I had been less than kind in certain past posts, but unlike before I didn't even think a second about finding or deleting any of them. I own it all--and even though I am sure he will disagree, I think I was actually pretty fair. I always bend over backwards to admit my own mistakes and foibles (almost to a fault), and I certainly played a healthy role in our breakup. The difference is that I closed the door on that chapter and my feelings about it years ago, while he has been unable to stop examining it over and over again like he is searching for clues in an unsolved crime. Perhaps he never will.

This morning, I had another long email about him, and us, and why he read every post on this blog, and how it made him feel. I am not enough of a bitch to either quote it here or to say too much about what I think about it; that is for me to express to him in my response. But I find it so interesting that someone who used to know me so well has essentially reviewed the last three years of my life in reverse, like it was our own little version of the film "Memento." I'm not the same person now that I was in 2006 when I started this project, and certainly not the same person I was when we lived together. How strange it must have been to watch my de-evolution, in a sense? How disorienting to see my wailing a few years ago about this heartbreak or that betrayal, when he already knew from posts he'd already read how it would all shake out in the years to come. If I had the time and the inclination, I'd go re-read this entire blog in reverse just so I can see what he saw. (Perhaps it would explain why he recommended I get therapy!)

There are a lot of things changing for me right now, mostly in good ways. I haven't had a chance to write about them much lately, but this experience is making me want to put in the effort. I was greatly inspired and saddened by this story of the 18 years' worth of daily Polaroids someone found, and how upsetting it was to learn they ceased on the day the subject had died. I don't want this to fade off into nothing, like a movie with no ending. So, my story will continue, even though I now know who is reading.

Adventures in Dating #3: The Lawyer

In law school, as you might expect, there were dozens of hookups amongst the single law students and by third year we had numerous engagements on our hands. I never understood the desire to date, let alone marry, another lawyer. While some of my best friends are lawyers, I think that the sort of strange and stressful lives that we lead lend themselves to needing the escape of a person with a fresh perspective. But, I must admit, most of my law school friends who married other lawyers are still with them. Perhaps it's because only another lawyer can put up with their shit.

I have dated a lawyer only once, and it was not a pleasant experience. This was about 3 years ago, and again I met the guy through Match.com during brief spurt of dating activity shortly after getting dumped. I was hesitant to date a lawyer, but he was a few years older than me and had been working for years as a County Attorney, so I hoped he would be less douchey than the male attorneys I generally encounter in large law firms. We agreed to meet at Sala (which is now El Taco), a nice Mexican fusion restaurant near my house.

Warning flag #1: We ate at the bar at Sala. I forget what he ordered, but I ordered the carne asada. It came with two pieces of steak that were each approximately the size of a deck of cards. It was very good, but after I ate the first piece and about 1/3 of the second, I was getting full so I asked him if he wanted to try it. His response was something along the lines of "wow, I can't believe you ate that much." Guys, it is NEVER appropriate on a first date to comment upon the amount that a woman eats on a date. Never.

Warning flag #2: After the meal, we decided to go have beers at Taco Mac down the street. I'm not sure why we picked that particular bar, but since my car was right outside the restaurant and his was down the street, I drove. As we got into my Passat, he said "wow, you must be really frugal. I figured all big firm lawyers are so loaded that you only drive Beemers and Benzes." Strike two for Dwayne! You insulted my car AND indicated you have a complex about how much money I make. Way to go! (He also mentioned during dinner that even though he makes less than I do as a county attorney, he's in court way more often and he works a normal 40 hour work week so "hour for hour we probably make about the same." Even though I did not bring up how much we make, ever, because I find that completely inappropriate. Ugh.)

Warning flag #3: At Taco Mac, there was a college football game on and we began talking about our respective teams. I graduated from FSU and am an avid fan and season ticket holder. Dwayne had gone to another ACC school, possibly Georgia Tech...I forget. Anyhow, in addition to being a rival school, he had a major pet peeve about FSU and proceeded to trash my team even as I told him I was preparing to go to a game in the near future. Then he told me he would be betting against FSU in that game because he was convinced we were a garbage team. Now, that year we probably were a garbage team. But if you are trying to get off on the right foot on a first date, don't trash my alma mater. So, for me, that was pretty much the final straw.

I became concerned midway through the beers at Taco Mac that whereas I was hating this guy a little more with every passing second, he was looking at me and licking his lips like a starving man hallucinating the image of me turning into a bucket of fried chicken. I knew we were going to have an expectations problem on our hands later, because no way in hell was I hooking up with Dwayne by that point. I grew ever more nervous as he leered a bit more obviously with every beer.

We drove back to where his car was parked, and the whole way I was worried of what was coming next. Ideally he would have had a lousy time too so that we could just forego the agony of him deciding whether to call me again and me waiting for the call (or, much worse, me trying to figure out a way to politely reject him.) Instead, as I pulled up next to his respectable Honda Accord, in a very brazenly confident move that might have impressed me on a different guy, Dwayne leaned in for the kiss. With a quick turn of my head he got my righ cheek, and there was actually an audible gasp of entitlement and surprise from him that I had denied him the lips. He was pissed, and he got out of the car, barely saying anything, not even bothering with the usual lies of "this was fun, we should do it again" or "I'll call you." I almost felt bad for a second.

Thankfully, Dwayne never called or emailed me again and I haven't run into him at any lawyer functions since then. That is my great fear, however.

Adventures in Dating #2: Big P*ssy

I'm going to skip straight to the top of my list of bad dating stories for installment #2, because let's be honest, I'm probably not going to complete many more entries in this series before I grow tired of it and decide it's not really that interesting. So, easily far and away the worst dating experience ever was with a guy we'll call Tony because of his surprising resemblance to a character on the Sopranos. (I actually have forgotten his real name at this point.)

I was living in Boston's North End at the time, and was walking to the grocery store one day when two guys in a car pulled over and a guy hopped out and asked me directions to somewhere. I gave them to him, and then he said I was cute and asked for my number. I had just broken up with my long term boyfriend earlier that year and still hadn't really re-engaged into the dating scene, so I decided to give him my number. I figured he wouldn't call, or if he did it would be good for me to go out with someone and reacquaint myself with dating life after 6 years off the market.

A few days later he called and asked if I would accompany him to a friend's Christmas party. I reluctantly agreed, not entirely comfortable with going to a party where I would not know a soul as our first date. (To this day, I refuse to go to parties with guys before I have had a chance to get to know them, for this very reason.)

During this first call, he told me a bit about himself, like that he was a real estate developer and was a few years older than me, in his mid-30's. (Later he would describe to me a business that he owned that made predictions of who would win football games and other sporting events. I'm pretty sure his actual job description was "bookie.")

So, the plan was for us to meet at the apartment of one of his friends who lived near where the party was taking place. I arrived there without any real trouble, and while his friends were getting ready in the other room (or maybe they were having sex...it was all very shady), Tony decided to teach me how to play craps. He also asked me if I got high, and I said I did not. He claimed he didn't either, but every 20-30 minutes or so he would walk into the kitchen and I would hear the telltale bubbling sound of a bong hit. I could also SEE the reflection of both Tony and the bong in the refrigerator. But, probably because he was so stoned, Tony was convinced I was none the wiser.

We ended up waiting a LONG time for his friends to get ready for this party, like well over two hours. Shortly before the friends finally came out of the bedroom and were ready to go, Tony suddenly attacked me in the kitchen, all hell bent on making out. It was very awkward. But even more awkward was a few minutes later when his friends came out of the bedroom and I was introduced to them, and Tony decided to announce to them that we "just had our first kiss." Um, WHAT? I was just speechless with how incredibly weird that whole thing was.

We left with the friends and headed to the Christmas party, where much to my relief I did actually know someone after all because a friend and her sister were at the party as well. That relief was short-lived, because Tony's guy friend who was clearly high as a kite on illegal substances of his own had dated my friend's sister, and decided to pick a massive fight with her. He eventually had to be escorted out of the party, and Tony had to take him home. Our first date ended there, but Tony had been very smart about things and had made arrangements with me very early in the evening, before things got weird, for us to go on a second date to the Celtics game the following Wednesday. (He apologized that the first date amongst all of his friends at this party, so he said in order to make it up to me he wanted to go to the Celtics game, just the two of us. I stupidly agreed.)

A few days after the Christmas party debacle, Tony called me to make arrangements to go to the game. He had to go to his father's company Christmas party first that night, so we might miss the first quarter, but he would come to my apartment as soon as he could and pick me up to go to the game. I was even more wary at this point, but I gave him my address. On the night of the game, I grew angrier and angrier as it got later and later and Tony was still not there. The game was nearing the end of the third quarter when I got a call from Tony saying he was walking down my street, and asking me to come meet him.

I headed downstairs, figuring we would walk to the Fleet Center from my house since it was only a few blocks away. Instead, to my great amazement, here was Tony wearing a suit, walking up my street rolling a suitcase behind him. I must have made a confused face, because his first words were "you're probably wondering why I have this suitcase." Uh, YEAH. "I've got a change of clothes, a bottle of wine, and some other things in here," he said. He wanted to change out of the suit before the game, so we headed upstairs (yes, very much against my better judgment) so that he could change.

When we got to my apartment, rather than changing clothes in the bathroom or bedroom, Tony changed out of his suit and into a sweater and a pair of jeans in the middle of my kitchen. I was at this point seething, as the Celtics game was about to head into the fourth quarter. It was obvious we weren't going. It was also fairly obvious what Tony's "other things" in the suitcase were intended for. I was having none of it, and told him that I did not feel well and would probably not be very good company. This was my not so subtle hint that he and his suitcase could skedaddle. And they did.

I thought that was the end of the saga, with a very uncomfortable situation narrowly averted, but I was wrong. A few weeks later, I received a call from a blocked number on my cell phone. Normally I would not answer such a call, but a guy I'd become involved with in the interim had to use a blocked number when he called me from work so I assumed it was him. Instead, it was Tony who was obviously drunk and with a rowdy group of friends. He began the conversation with "I just wanted to explain why I wasn't going to call you again." I started to say that it really wasn't something I had been wondering about, when Tony launched into a strange and rambly list of my faults. I was so shocked that I only remember two of the things he said: 1) I let my cat scratch up my arms like a crazy cat lady (okay...), and 2) "you obviously weren't going to put out." At this, his rowdy friends in the background cackled.

Yes, a man in his mid-30's was still using failure to fuck by the second date as a reason to dump a woman.

I was so surprised by this strange conversation that I really couldn't formulate a response. I think I said something along the lines of "you really didn't need to call to tell me this," but that was about all I could muster. We hung up, and only about 10 minutes later when my brain had time to process it all did the witty comebacks start flowing freely. But of course by then it was too late.

A year or two later I ran across his profile on an online dating site, and felt a twinge of sadness for all those women who would be enduring similarly strange and awful first and second dates with this dweeb.

Adventures in Dating #1: Daffy Duck

A few years ago, I went out a few times with a guy named T. (All names in this series will be changed to protect the innocent.) I met T on Match.com, which was my "get back on the horse" method for re-entering the dating pool whenever I got dumped, which unfortunately was not that uncommon. T was cute, had recently moved here from Virginia, and apparently was recently divorced. I probably would have seen these last 2 things as warning signs if not for the cute part, but in the mindset I was in I wanted to date as many people as humanly possible, so I gladly agreed when he suggested we meet in person.

We planned to meet on a weeknight at a restaurant in my neighborhood. I work until 7 most nights, and T had a dentist appointment after work on the day we were going to meet. He said he would call me once the appointment was over so that we could plan a place and time to meet (presumably because he did not know how long his dentist appointment would take.) I left work a bit early that day to go home and get ready, and on the way home, T called me. It was the first time we'd spoken on the phone, and he sounded cute--as much as someone can "sound cute" over the phone, anyway--but he also sounded like he had been pumped full of novocaine and was slurring his words. I worried he would want to cancel because the procedure had been more invasive than he expected, but to my surprise he wanted to confirm that we would meet at Atkins Park.

I asked him if he was sure he wanted to go ahead and meet when he was so full of novocaine, trying to be thoughtful and considerate. He asked "what novocaine?" I said I assumed he had been pumped full of novocaine at the dentist. He said that no, it had just been a routine cleaning. To my horror, I realized that T wasn't slurred with drugs, he just had a lisp. A very pronounced one.

We met that night and had a decent first date, decent enough that we were willing to go on subsequent dates. But after I took him to the Willie Nelson/Merle Haggard concert a few weeks later and was terrified the whole way home that his lispy mouth was going to attempt to connect with mine, I decided I had to break it off. It is never a good idea when you are actually afraid to kiss someone.

(T was also the only guy I have voluntarily dated who was shorter than me, and that may have contributed to things ending as well. For years my shorter female friends have lamented that I am being stupid by foreclosing dating shorter men, and so I decided to be open-minded for once. It never stopped bothering me that even with flats I had at least 2 inches on T.)

Jobs I've Had Part IV: the Lobbyist

When I returned to FSU for my junior year, I unfortunately had far less money saved from my summer job than I'd hoped. I had moved into an expensive apartment with my crazy friend Amanda (crazy like she went to a Bush concert while tripping and believed for over a year afterwards that Gavin Rossdale was in love with her crazy, not like haha wacky crazy) and knew that at some point during the school year I would need to get a job. Unfortunately I'd also gotten roped into running for and winning a Student Senate seat, thanks to Amanda signing us up to volunteer for a student political party and saying yes on behalf of both of us when they called to ask if they could run us as candidates instead. It was fun, but it was time-consuming and made even moreso because I met the man who I would almost marry, Gabe, while campaigning for the seat. So suddenly I had this extra-curricular activity and this boyfriend, and a full courseload, and no money. It was kind of a problem.

Luckily in January I heard about a friend who had been working for a lobbyist in the Florida legislature. He had fired another employee because she dared to get mononucleosis, which when you are working to accomplish lots of legislative priorities in a session that is only three months long is apparently an unforgiveable sin. The friend managed to talk me up as the sick girl's replacement, and I was hired for what at the time was the obscene rate of $10 per hour. There were two drawbacks: first, I'd have to be there every day at 7am to open the office. Second: I had to agree to work whenever he wanted, or I'd be fired just like the last girl. I was desperate for money, so I didn't mind. As added bonus, we were all paid under the table so I wouldn't have to worry about taxes.

This was about 1996, and Florida's legislature had just gone Republican for the first time in ages. The lobbyist I worked for was from South Florida and was also a political consultant to various Democratic politicians in the area. He was still coping with the change in the power structure, as were we all by extension. Most of my day was spent sending faxes on upcoming votes, important legislative priorities, and other news items to the various legislators' offices. Any fax that we sent out had to go to well over a hundred people, and it could take hours to complete. I remember on one occasion being called in early on a Saturday morning for a faxing project, and the document I was sending was so long that it took roughly 10 minutes to send to each recipient. I would type in the number, put the document in, and hit send and take a nap on the floor. When the fax was done it would beep, I'd wake up, and send the next fax. I did this for 10 hours straight.

At the time, many of the people who are now making a name for themselves nationally were in the Florida legislature. Charlie Crist, Katharine Harris, Debbie Wasserman-Schultz, and Robert Wexler all started out as state legislators and were serving in about this time period. Katharine Harris in particular stands out to me because she had this hilarious official portrait of herself hanging in the Capitol. She had her hair in a bun with a massive bubble at the top, looking like she was a librarian or a school principal (think the principal's hairdo in the movie "Pump Up the Volume"). Even then the rumor was that she was crazy. Charlie Crist was known as "Chain Gang Charlie" back then for repeatedly introducing legislation to bring chain gangs to Florida.

In addition to the endless faxing, we also ran various errands at the Capitol for the lobbyist. Often it was delivering donation checks or picking up revised versions of legislation. I recall two legislative initiatives that he was really working hard that session: viaticals, and tow trucks. I don't really recall the particulars on the tow truck issue but I know that a lot of tow truck owner organizations were donating a lot of money that session so they were obviously working some issue hard.

Viaticals were a much more compelling story. The viatical industry essentially buys up the beneficiary rights to a terminally ill person's life insurance policy and pays them out a portion of the proceeds in advance while they are still alive. The company makes its money when the person dies and they collect the full value of the policy. At the time, the industry was flourishing primarily by contracting with individuals with HIV. In the mid-1990's HIV was still considered a certain death sentence within a decade, and many of the individuals who were diagnosed did not have children or any other family that they particularly wanted their life insurance proceeds to go to. They argued powerfully and persuasively that they should be allowed to enjoy the fruits of their life insurance now to make their remaining years more comfortable, rather than living austerely and then seeing the money go to next of kin once they were gone. It was a tough issue and there were strong opinions all around. We were lobbying in support of the industry and against legislation that would have prohibited viatical contracts in Florida, and the strategy was to put the real stories of people who had entered into these contracts before the legislators and allow them to hear how the availability of this option had improved their last few years of life. We were able to defeat the legislation, though the industry has been under continued attack in Florida since then.

This job was certainly interesting and it looked good on a resume, but it wreaked complete havoc on my life that semester. My work hours were supposed to be from 7-10, go attend classes until 1, come back and work until the lobbyist told me I was done. I frequently worked until 9 or 10, sometimes later. Instead of going to classes during my midday break, I was often so tired that I went home and slept from 10-1, and I started missing a ton of class time. I was also so constantly exhausted from waking up at 6 to get to work by 7 that I would fall asleep in my car at red lights, or at the table when we were out at a restaurant. Gabe and I went to a Barnes and Noble one Saturday and I ended up sleeping in a chair for three hours. I normally am awakened at the slightest noise or movement in the room, so I have to be completely wiped out to sleep in a public, bright place. It was then that I decided being a morning person was never going to be my thing.

I'd stopped going to all of my classes by midway through the semester, and I expected to fail all of them. This was supposed to be my last semester in school, because I had been on track to graduate a year early. Instead, I had flunked out. I was a complete mess about it, but sort of felt immobilized about the whole thing. I would ultimately take the next semester off, convince the school to let me retroactively withdraw from all of my Spring 1996 classes, and restore my GPA to its former respectability before applying to law schools in spring of 1997. I was extremely lucky in that regard, as law school would not have been an option if a flunked out semester had stayed on my transcript. It helped that my grades had been fantastic except for that one abberration, so I'd been able to argue that I was working too much and that it was completely out of character for me to miss so much class. Thankfully I was able to get my transcript fixed BEFORE my parents found out about that semester, so I could tell them that the situation was already taken care of. I thought they were going to absolutely lose their shit when they found out. To this day, I still have nightmares about that time in my life and all the anxiety I felt about having screwed my future.

After the legislative session ended in May, there was talk of me continuing to work part time for the lobbyist while he was down in South Florida, checking the mail and completing various administrative tasks. I didn't particularly want to keep working there, and I was not at all disappointed when the lobbyist never contacted me with details about continuing part-time work. I turned in my key and started looking for something else.


Rusty's posts inspired this topic, and Garrett and Thomas are writing about their former jobs as well. Join in the fun, and I'll link to you too!

If this is giving up

I think I'm going to have to make peace with the notion that I will be one of those women who ends up alone, with far too many cats. Better to just accept it and find the concept palatable than to maintain the illusion of hope otherwise.

(Nope, this isn't even PMS-fueled. Just sick of guys and their guy ways and my neverending inability to find an actual unmarried straight good one who treats me halfway decent.)

The weekend that was

All in all, it turned out pretty well I really must say. Despite driving 11 hours in 2 days and sleeping way too little, I got to see my team win live and in person for the first time in 11 years. You can't beat that.

So, Saturday morning I drove down to Jacksonville. It was a lovely day and the drive was just fine despite a little traffic in the city near the exit for the stadium. I drove past that and met Sam on Amelia Island, where our hotel was located. If you've never been, Amelia Island is one of the mostly unspoiled Florida beach towns that is about a polar opposite of places like Daytona and Panama City that are tacky and dirty. In contrast, the beaches here are beautiful, there are hardly any touristy shops or clubs or hotels, and the trees lined with old mossy live oaks are just quintessential old Florida. Anyhow, we met there, changed into our gear, and headed to the stadium with little time to spare.

After my post on Friday about her concern about clothing attire, you might be wondering what Sam wore. I'd brought about 4 FSU t-shirts or tank tops for her to choose from, but none of them were really what she had in mind. Sam was wearing a skin tight miniskirt and wanted a shirt that was girly and flattering, but also a little forgiving over the top of that miniskirt. Everything I had was either too big or too small, but she ultimately selected the stretchy baby tee that I wore to every single game last year. I had decided that shirt was cursed, so I was hesitant to let her wear it.

We got to the stadium midway through the first quarter due to a serious difficulty finding parking, and headed up to the top deck where our seats were located. Due to the demand for this game, not all FSU season ticket holders who requested them were able to get seats, so even though I'd been willing to pay more to sit in the lower deck I was happy that I got tickets at all. And surprisingly, as you can see from the photo above, the seats were still pretty good. It's a nice stadium, though I was surprised to hear that yesterday's game was better attended than the recent Super Bowl hosted at this stadium. What's up with that?

So we arrived to find a sputtering FSU offense and a 0-0 score. Up in our section the fans were rowdy, young, and largely very very drunk. I tried to explain to Sam that unlike at regular FSU games where everyone tailgates and gets shitfaced but then they sober up during the game because of the lack of alcohol in the stadium, that here everyone is not only shitfaced but has access to as much alcohol as they want so the situation was likely to continue to degenerate. At least 4 different people fell down the stairs while we were in our seats, including one girl who plowed right into the back of me and nearly knocked me over, then burst out laughing, then announced "let's try that again!" and proceeded down the stairs.

Shortly after we arrived, an orange T-shirted guy who stuck out like a sore thumb showed up and sat almost directly in front of us. Yes, that's right, a Gator fan game to an FSU-Alabama game and wore a Gator T-shirt. I have decided that the Gators are now the college equivalent of the Yankees. They're cocky, obnoxious, but unfortunately have been insanely successful lately. And everyone hates them, except for the douchebags who are their fans. This guy was a supreme douchebag, standing up and loudly insulting our team and openly seeking the hostility he quickly got. Being that most of the people in our section were pretty hammered, the jeers were of questionable hilarity. "Santa Fe Dropout" was a nice touch (for those who don't know, Santa Fe Community College is located in Gainesville near UF and is where the wanna be Gators who can't get or stay into the university usually go), as was "don't tase me, bro!" but the one that really stuck was "he wears jean shorts!" Apparently this is a massive faux pas, and even though I was sitting with a former fashion editor we really didn't get it. Things were tense for awhile, with security even coming up the steps to see what was going on. (This prompted one guy to say "he's right there, officer, get him!" while pointing out the Gator. That was freaking hilarious.)

Midway through the second quarter I noticed that suddenly Xavier Lee was playing at quarterback, which I was thrilled to see. I don't know how it translated on TV, but the energy of the offense totally changed when he took over. And as we know from the results in the second half, Lee definitely got it done. I don't want to say I told you so, but I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO! So happy for Savior Lee and I hope he gets the start at NC State. If I never see Drew Weatherford throw a pass again it will be too soon.

Somewhere in the second half Sam disappeared for about 20 minutes. Turns out she decided to go buy an FSU shirt and try to rip it up into some sort of halter top. Lacking in scissors, she did this with her teeth and it didn't really work out as planned. So, she ripped the back of my cursed T-shirt up and tied it into something...strange. Let's say it was a work in progress. Anyhow, she takes credit for breaking the shirt's curse and I think she's slightly insane.

So, we won the game and it was awesome, and the people around us were fun and hilarious. Sam and I each had 2 Foster's oil cans and since we are lightweights with the booze we were pretty well hammered by the end of the game. Somewhere in the third quarter this really hot guy standing behind us started getting seriously flirtatious, and in my younger and dumber days I probably would've gone for it. But in my heart, I knew that he was really drunk and way younger than me and that it wasn't worth it. Call it maturity or getting fucking old, but despite Samantha's exhortations to me to make out with him (because there were people making out all over the stadium--like it was a nightclub at 2am, seriously) I ultimately declined. But I have pictures of him, because he was seriously fucking hot. So, yeah.

After the game we eventually made our way back to the hotel, and stayed up talking til the wee hours. We also had to listen to all the voicemails left by the drunk boys after we suddenly and mysteriously disappeared. Finally we got to sleep, but then crazy early this morning we both had to get up and head back to our respective homes. Sam left before I did, so I headed to the beach for my first taste of ocean air in 2 years, and soaked it up for awhile before beginning the long drive back. (Beach photos will be in a separate post.) It was glorious.

I feel so rejuvenated by the whole weekend--by seeing my team win, by seeing Sam again after over 6 months, after getting hit on by a hot guy who probably would have run screaming if he'd known my real age, and by sitting on a beach soaking it all in. Even though I am exhausted, I am recharged too. Bring on October.

I'm prejudiced

I've never dated anyone who was politically conservative, or at least not anyone who I dated long enough to actually find out their political views. I am pretty tolerant of a lot of things in the guys I get involved with, but conservative politics has always been an immediate turnoff. Those who watched Seinfeld may recall that Elaine wouldn't date any guy who wasn't pro-choice; well, I wouldn't either. I think a lot of conservative politics are so revolting that I would not be able to respect someone who holds those positions. And yet, I come from an entire family of people who agree with most of those positions even if not all. My parents are lifelong Republicans, fer chrissakes. (See, "fer chrissakes" probably doesn't go over well with most conservatives. Nor does my frequent use of the word "fuck.")

So now I find myself wondering if it's realistic to exclude such a wide swath of people or if I should treat a person's political views like any other trait and wait and see if it's a plus or a minus before going any further. Hell, I can argue virtually any position so why should I be scared of getting involved with someone I vehemently disagree with? And just think of all the angry sex!

So, anyone else have some good personal Carville/Matalin stories to share where you've made it work despite wildly divergent political positions? Or will I only be wasting my time?

We could've had something real

There was a security guard in my office building who I'm pretty sure had a little crush on me. I say pretty sure because he was always overly-friendly and would in fact be staring at the elevator whenever I got out. (This creeped me out for awhile when I realized that there are cameras in the elevator, because he had to turn all the way around to be looking at the doors when they opened, but I got used to it.) Lately he had felt the need to offer to come with me to my car if I was carrying a large box or if it was late at night, even after I insisted it was unnecessary. And once about 2 weeks ago I took the elevator to my car, and as I walked out of the elevator vestibule and got halfway to my car I turned around and could see him peering out of the vestibule watching--because he'd taken the other elevator up to watch me leave. It was weird, but mostly harmless, and I didn't really care all that much. He seemed pretty non-threatening with his Sancho Panza mustache and affable ways.

On Friday, as I was leaving and said goodnight and have a good weekend like I always did, he decided to tell me how much he had enjoyed working in our building. You see, he was leaving and it was his last day. I became a little concerned he was going to try and make a move now that our love was no longer forbidden by the rules of security not dating those they protect, but luckily he just left it at a handshake. A little part of my ego wants to believe that he swore at that moment not to wash that hand for days. But then I start to get mental images of him sniffing his hand and it quickly creeps me the hell out again.