Positive Reinforcement

I swear that positive reinforcement makes or breaks your work experience.

I have had PLENTY of work experiences. Some where I felt like the human-extension of a computer data program. Some where I felt like a work horse. For example, the summer I did freshman orientation at my college and had to wash linens, make beds, and rearrange furniture for over 800 rooms every week- wait, I WAS a work horse. (P.s. you won't believe the nasty stuff we found in those rooms after the ever so responsible soon-to-be jesuit college students were done with them- just NASTY).

By positive reinforcement, I do NOT mean being hit on constantly by foreign, barely english speaking pizza delivery men at the deep dish pizza place. One man showed me pictures of his six year old kid in Mexico and then begged me to marry him so he could live in this country. As flattering as that was, that's not the positive reinforcement that I'm talking about.

I'm talking about being in a work environment where your boss tells you when you do a good job. That's the environment I work in now. Recently my boss, the managing partner at the firm, assigned me to a case because all the associates were swamped. I was nervous as hell but did the best I could. Apparently he was impressed and told me that if I was an attorney already, they would hire me on the spot (I really didn't think it was that great but they must have low expectations for legal interns). The other partner told me they would hire me when I graduated, if I was interest. Wow. What a way to end a long work week.

Of course when I'm an actual attorney and they expect me to constantly produce high-quality, professional work product, I will probably only hear about my mistakes. I'm going to enjoy this while I can.

This just proves you don't need perfect grades, you don't need perfect LSAT scores, you don't need to make law review or be on moot court. In fact, this post proves you can pretty much be the biggest law school slacker on the planet, still not know what the phrase "stare decisis" means, miss half of your classes due to morning sickness/laziness and STILL get a decent legal job.

Maybe the standards in the profession are going down or maybe it's true what they say: how you do in law school is totally unrelated to how you will be at practicing law.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I found something that I am good at (for lack of talent, I previously had to give up on a number of other careers including but not limited to: painter of landscapes, astronaut, writer, victoria secret model, speech writer, President of the United States). I really feel like I belong to this profession. It's such a good feeling. (I need to remember this feeling next time I review the summary of my law school tuition debt).

ARGH! HAIRCUTS!

I hate when it's that time. You know, that time when your highlights have grown out to such a ridiculous length that your head has become two-toned. That time when your split ends have become about three inches long.

I HATE getting my hair done.

I hate the smell of chemicals. I hate people telling me my $1.50 Suave shampoo is ruining my hair (when I lied and said I used Pantene Pro-v, I got the same reaction and when I lied again and said I used Garnier, same lecture). I hate those ugly bib-apron things. I hate getting hair shavings stuck down the back of my shirt and itching like hell all day. But mostly, I hate sitting still! Seriously, I can feel my body aging each time I sit in a hair salon chair.

I made the mistake two years ago of trying out some highlights. Bad idea. They are such high maintenance. Once you get highlights you have to keep getting them done. I'm basically stuck in hair hell. I can grow my highlights out but that would result in me looking ridiculous for about a year or I can try to get my hair dyed all over, which totally scares me.

So what's a girl to do? Keep subjecting herself to the tortures of two hour long, million dollar haircuts in order to look somewhat decent? I'm considering shaving it all off and starting over but I'm not that desperate. Not yet anyway.

I used to get cheap-o 15 dollar haircuts. I miss those days. Except: for the crookedness of each cut, the imprecision of each style and the frustration of looking like my dad took a lawn mower or machette to my head. It's like a drive through for hair and just about as good in quality.

For each good hairstylist I've encountered, I've had to endure about five awful ones. It doesn't matter what hair school they went to either. I've had stylists from top-notch respectable schools botch up a simple foil. My favorite was the guy with the blue highlights. Let this be a warning to you all. NEVER get your hair highlighted by a guy with blue highlights. He took the first piece of foil off my head and said, "oops!" Not a good experience. I looked like a skunk.

So I tried the more expensive salon across the street. I basically got the same over-bleached look there too, except it was $114 instead of $45.

Today, I think I've finally found the stylist for me. I drove by her salon, the only one open today, and decided I looked nasty enough to drop some moolah on my hair. She did a great job. I spent enough money but it wasn't too bad considering the haircuts I've had in the past. And besides, I'm pregnant- so I deserve to spend money on my hair, be slightly superficial and have at least ONE part of me look good. I hope my hair stays this awesome for the post-delivery photos.

VIA MESSENGER

The Legal Messenger is an interesting creature. Until two weeks ago, I had actually mistaken the shaggy-haired, cut-off jeans wearing, arm tatooed, unkept man with the large dirty knapsack that kept showing up in our office for a bum who I presumed had repeatedly gotten lost or followed an attorney in looking for handouts.

But apparently he is our firm's trusty Legal Messenger.

And, as the legal secretary pointed out to me, he wears a bicycle helmet. I guess bums don't wear bicycle helmets? So really, the only way to distinguish a Legal Messenger from a bum is by the bicycle helmet.

I don't know about you but when I draft an important letter (cause everything I draft is important- of course!) to opposing counsel or when I put together a stauts report for an insurance company about their case, and I mark "Via Messenger" at the top, I kind of picture my important document as being delivered by a clean shaven man in a freshly pressed suit. At the very least, a man with a UPS-ish uniform.

I also expect my important document to be delivered via a secured and professional looking suitcase, not a knapsack that looks like it has been camping in the Alaskan wilderness for about a year.

I guess I should learn not to judge people by their appearances or to be so presumptuous. I just have to remember not to offer our Legal Messenger a dollar next time I see his scrubbulous self in the elevator.

Nesting Is For The Birds

My husband's favorite part about my pregnancy so far is hands down this weird nesting phase I'm going through. My husband, the neat freak, is ecstatic due to the fact that the kitchen is sparkling clean even though he hasn't placed one 409-wielding hand in it all day.

The baby's clothes are all washed in special baby detergent, folded according to size and organized by type in the baby's dresser. The baby's room is organized, yes even the closet *gasp!* I'm know for throwing all clutter into closets when I clean a room. Isn't it amazing how quickly a room can become presentable when everything is in the closet? It's like, once something is in the closet, it doesn't even exist! Hmm....that's must be how I lose everything too.

I made dinner tonight- from SCRATCH. I even prepared some meals for the next couple days. Then I made toffee peanut butter cookies! I totally broke the world record for putting cookie dough batter together in just three minutes flat. Then I did the dishes. All of them. EVEN the silverware (which I usually leave in the sink for the next poor bastard who comes along in desperate need of a spoon- almost always my husband). The kitchen isn't just CLEAN, it SPARKLES and is 99.9% bacteria free (why do cleaning supplies always claim to kill 99.9% of bacteria- can that be scientifically proven or is it another marketing gimmick?).

Before my husband went through the house collected trash for garbage day tomorrow- I pulled the plastic garbage bag out of our kitchen trash bin and put it next to the front door for him. You should have seen the look on his face. Wow... I wish my priest had told me this was all I had to do in order to achieve marital bliss.

My outfit for tomorrow is picked out, washed and ready for me to wear. This means that for the first time in probably 6 months, I won't have to get dressed in the dark. I won't have to rummage through the mixed laundry on the floor in an attempt to carry out Mission Impossible: distinguishing clean panties from dirty panties with the help of three out of five senses (no sight and no taste- thank god).

Really, I don't know who this new person is who has taken over my body. I can't decide if I like her or not. I mean, on one hand, my husband is as giddy as a school girl and has given me multiple approving looks... and cleaning is a turn on for him which mean I will probably get lucky tonight. *Wink*wink* On the other hand, I'm pretty exhausted and I have no idea where my day went.... Now where will I possibly find the time to sit on my butt and do nothing?

A Questionable Cliche

We go through toilet paper like crazy. I like to think it's my husband who is the "heavy wiper" (he is the anally clean one- woah, pun was not intended there).

So after going through roll after roll, we finally smartened up and stopped buying the four roll pack. We now buy the hefty 24 roll pack. One problem: we have no where to store 24 freaking rolls of toilet paper. For the past three days, the package of toilet paper has decoratively adorned our entrance hallway. Right when you walk in our house you see, a row of scattered shoes, the armoire we use as a shoe holder and... 24 rolls of toilet paper.

In the past three days, I've walked by that toilet paper a million times. Only tonight, at 11:30 pm did I notice something odd. There is a picture of a smiling baby on that pack of toilet paper. Hmm, now that I think about it- many toilet paper commercials also feature babies. Maybe it has something to do with the cliche "soft as a baby's bottom."

But WAIT A SECOND!? Babies don't use toilet paper!

(come to think of it, neither do bears but that hasn't precluded the use of those creatures in toilet paper ads either) Wow, why hasn't this bothered me before? Maybe because I never had to buy diapers before? Ridiculous marketing campaigns will get me to buy anything- literally.

Can Parents Be Friends Too?

Yesterday we headed out to my husband's friend's mom's house to celebrate the Fourth. Every year all of my husband's friends (and their girlfriends and their one-night hook ups- oddly, we're the only married couple of his friends- at least until next week) gather there.

My husband's friend's parents show up too and everyone plays a huge nine-hour game of bocce ball (an interesting game I am just learning about). My first point is that these friends whose parents show up are so lucky. They have awesome parents. Parents that aren't embarassing. Parents that match their kids beer for beer. Parents that laugh and engage in their kids' conversations, even when it becomes borderline inappropriate. These are parents who have hung up their hats after successfully raising adult children and can now relax and accept who their children have become.

My parents will never be this way. My parents are really amazing, don't get me wrong. And I love them so much. But I wish that they knew how to "hang out" with us. My mom is a little crazy. I know everyone says that- but my mom TRULY is. Ask my husband. She's super religious and conservative- so the things we joke about would not be tolerated by her. She could never engage in our conversations. She's always trying to convert my friends and give them religious "trading cards" as I call them. She loves to tell people things about me that are no longer true and that are completely embarassing. She likes to wear the muu-muu she purchased in Hawaii ten years ago around our house, and she frequently likes to dance by herself while wearing it.

Recently, my mom started having little moments of forgetfulness or absentmindedness. During these moments, her mind goes blank for like 10 seconds and she doesn't repond to anything. The doctors told her these episodes might be little seizures and they wanted to do a psych evaluation on her. She replied, "I'm not crazy. When I don't respond right away its because God is telling me what to say. He talks to me." This might very well be true. But it's not the kind of thing you say to doctors when you are trying to convince them that you aren't crazy.

There is nothing wrong with my mom self expressing herself. It's great that she is so full of joy and that she is comfortable with herself. But when she does things like that around my in-laws or my friends, something inside me curdles and I want to be anywhere else. I feel awful for feeling like this, but I can't help it.

My mom and my dad will never stop being the kind of parents who have to always be teaching us, lecturing us, or managing us. My dad is super cautious. I can't tell him half the things I do because all he does is worry. Now that I'm pregnant, its 100 times worse too. He tells me how to drive, how to mow my lawn, how to paint my house, how to juggle family and work. Sometimes, I just want him to have a little trust so I can show him that I'm responsible and really do know how to handle my life. (ok, I don't really know how to handle my life but I'd like the opportunity to learn and experience it anyway).

Long drawn-out point being: my parents could never participate in our activities the way other parents do. They just don't know how to be "friends" as well as parents. Maybe it's my fault or maybe it's all in my head. While it's nice to have parents that are always looking out for me and trying to protect me from the "bad things" in life, parents that I can always count on for guidance and unconditional love, it would be great to have parents that can also be part of my "friend" circle once in a while.

When I become a parent, I might feel differently, but I would like to be the kind of mom that kids feel comfortable being themselves around. I want to be able to participate in some of their activities as more than a mom (when they are adults of course). I can't imagine missing out on a whole part of who my children are just because I cannot accept that part of their lives or because I'm always trying to change that part of them.

Me & My Latte

Coffee is pretty revolting stuff. Straight up black coffee smells, tastes, and looks like it could peel the lining right off your stomach and small intestines. I have absolutely always hated coffee.

Then I went to law school. After too many consecutive mornings where I felt like a card carrying member of the walking dead and too many late nights huddled over my incomprehensable property notes, I became desperate. Desperate enough to plug my nose and chug down a cup of bitterness. I eventually became inventive and started to douse the bitterness with some milk and five packets of sugar. Try a latte? A frappucino? A carmel maciatto? No way. I'm not paying $4 for a drink I can't even pronounce.

I stuck to my tall drip with room (topped off with half a cup of milk and five packets of slenda) for two years. My drink was tolerable, starting to grow on me. My drink was affordable. And I was caffeinated. Mission Accomplished. I even splurged once in a while and ordered a shot of vanilla syrup.

Then one day in June 2008, my "tall drip with room" world was turned crazily on its head. On my way to work, I stopped in at the local coffee stand and asked for a tall drip with room and a shot of vanilla. Hmm, odd. The price came in a little high but I was late for work and didn't stop to check my order. I also noticed that the drink took a little longer to make. Finally they handed me my Cup of Life. I rushed to my office as fast as I could.

About a block away, I finally took a sip. The taste was, surprisingly, amazingly DELICIOUS. This wasn't my normal drink! My receipt revealed that I was drinking a tall vanilla latte. OMG, the milk was deliciously steamed and it mixed wonderfully with the shot of vanilla. There was just the slightest hint of coffee flavor swirling around in the background.

If heaven had a taste, I knew it was staring back at me in my coffee cup.

So this is what I've been missing out on?! From that moment on, I have not been able to go back to my old world of drip coffee. I'm officially addicted to vanilla lattes, irregardless of price and irregardless of calorie content. My morning is just not the same when I skip my latte. And why should I? That would be like eating an oreo without the white frosting filling!