The Problem with Holiday Gift Buying

Thanksgiving barely gets any attention these days. Halloween ends and the next day "Jingle Bells" is blaring from every radio station and the malls are decked out in full Christmas mode two months early.

I have no problem with Christmas. Just because it's not my holiday, I don't begrudge the rest of you your celebration. For many of you, I know this is your favorite time of year. But come on! Why do I have to be tormented with nothing but lousy Christmas music for months on end?

Not just that... Malls become dangerous places. I hate malls to begin with. But I am not about to take my life into my own hands just to fight some stupid woman for the last Tickle Me Elmo in the store. Nor do I have any interest in mowing down a little old lady just to buy my husband a Blu-Ray DVD player.

I like to try to find the perfect gift for everyone on my list. My problem with buying gifts, other than a total lack of time, is that I lack the knowledge find hubby the perfect techy gift and my sister the right girly girl present... Sure, I know generally what they'd like. But if I went to the store and tried to buy hubby a new tuner, for example, I'd come home with whatever the store told me was a really good one (read: probably the most expensive in the store) and it wouldn't be the one he wanted. And then we'd have to deal with the annoyance of the malls right AFTER the holidays to return what I bought for him.

So...I thought that I'd run down some other problems with holiday gift buying. Yeah, I'm sure there's a lesson in my ramblings here somewhere.



Jewelery. I am already sick to death of all the damn Zales and Kay and other commercials proclaiming that the PERFECT gift is a diamond.

Let me begin by professing my total bias. Grandpa is a jeweler. And when you have a family member "in the business," you don't buy retail. Ever. He made just about every piece that I wear and quite a few that I can no longer squeeze my fingers in to.

So... lesson number 1. If your significant other has family in this business, go to them. Don't hit the mall to buy her something sparkly. And while we're on the subject, if you do venture into the diamond district, bring cash and be prepared to haggle.

But for something that might be a little more relevant... there are some strong preferences when it comes to the shiny and sparkly. I, for example, hate pearls. They're too grandma for me. I tried to talk a friend out of buying his girlfriend of 3 months a pearl necklace (get your damn minds out of the gutter)... He wouldn't listen and she hated it. Some girls don't care. Some do...


Okay, so jewelery is out. Who doesn't like a nice box of chocolates? I mean, Godiva comes in a lovely gold box with a green and red bow for Christmas and a blue and white one for Hanukkah. Some have cute little ornaments or dreidels on top.

Except if your woman is on a diet, or even remotely hinting that she doesn't love the way she looks, SKIP THE CHOCOLATES! Yes, it's the easy gift. But if you think she's bitching about the size of her ass now, just wait until you have contributed to the typical holiday weight gain of 10-15 pounds. Do you want that on your head? Or filling your ears?

I didn't think so... Moving on...


Perfume. Not a bad gift, but difficult to do right. It's easy if you know exactly what scent she wears and she's running low. Otherwise, you might as well skip right over this one.

I worked in Bath and Bodyworks for a whopping 3 days. I tried to help a guy buy a present for his wife. When I asked him the obvious, he had no idea what she liked - but didn't want to ask her because this was supposed to be a surprise. I spent literally an hour with this man, who unfortunately knew better than to have me spray stuff on the test strips I carried in my apron. "It smells different on the body."

Absolutely true - but damn it - I had different scents sprayed all up and down both arms and both sides of my neck by the time we were done. The perfumes were nauseating when combined together. I couldn't wait to get off shift and take a freaking shower. But, despite my best efforts and losing out on the commissions for all the easier sales, he still couldn't figure out what to get her. He finally conceded defeat and called his woman, who wanted the first scent we had tried out. (Are you surprised I only lasted 3 days in retail???)


Let's be honest, shall we? If you're buying lingerie, you're buying it for YOU - not HER. But it is still her body this is going on. Try to keep that in mind. No matter how much she loves you, if crotchless panties aren't her thing, they ain't going on her bod.

You have to buy the right size. No, you can't ask. You should know these things. And if you don't, be careful if you raid her drawers. Most women have bras and panties in there that are the completely wrong size.

Don't go too small. She'll be pissed that: 1) You don't know the right size. 2) She can't even hope to squeeze herself into whatever you picked out. 3) She USED TO BE that size and can't even remember the last time she fit into a 36B.

Don't go too big. She'll be equally as pissed that you don't know the right size and can't fill out the truly lovely piece of lace you want her to prance around in. Oh. And you're fucked if you THINK she wears something 4 sizes larger than she really is. You can hear it now, can't you... "Do you really think I wear a 42DD? DO YOU THINK I'M THAT HUGE????" Or even better, you'll get the "my chest isn't big enough for you?"

Chances are, you've probably seen her dancing around in a teddy or a slip or something before. That's most likely the stuff she actually likes. If she's the pink filmy chiffon kind of girl, the leather bondage get up probably isn't going to go over well and vice versa.

But, like I said in the beginning. This isn't a present about her. It's about you. Just remember: get the size right boys.


Gag gifts?

They have their time and place. But choose your gifts carefully. I, for one, do not find anything poop-related funny. Save your money.
Matty thinks I should get him a shiny new car for Christmas. In return, he's going to get me this loveliness... The new Betty Crocker bake set.

*Sigh*

Okay... #1 - house stuff is not a present, unless she specifically asks for it.

#2 - if she doesn't cook or bake, BUYING her cookware is not going to turn her into Betty freaking Crocker.

#3 - If she's buying you a car, you are NOT buying her bakewear.

Now... If anyone wants some ideas about what I'd like to find wrapped up for me for the holidays...

Yummy.

I don't get it...

Just a few things that I don't understand...

Why anyone watches "Dirty Jobs." It's just gross. Who wants to watch a grown man wade around in shit?

How my son has so much energy from the second he wakes up until the second he collapses...and why can't I bottle that energy and sell it!

Why the ending of "New Moon" was such a cop out. I know it's a set up to the rest of the series, but the ending could have been a bit more satisfying.

Why it takes days to prepare the thanksgiving meal - and the meal itself is over in less than an hour.

How I managed to get through the entire weekend without eating any cakes, cookies, cupcakes or anything with sugar.

I don't understand the allure of Black Friday shopping. The idea of waking up before the sun in order to fight thousands of people over stuff just to get the best deal? No, thank you. As my sister would say, "I'd rather knife myself in the eye." Give me my laptop and I'll do all my shopping on line thanks.

And really...Why I have no idea what to write about in a real post.

Got any ideas for me?

Thanksgiving

Welcome to my place at Thanksgiving. I'm so glad you could be here. Now pull up a chair, grab some coffee and let's talk. You don't mind that I'm working away furiously in the kitchen, right?

I got up to my parent's late. By late, I mean I still hadn't left the office by the time I normally have my sleeves rolled up and am up to my elbows in batter. So it's now 9:30 and I'm officially on my face and still have a couple hours of cooking to do before morning. But the bread's in the oven and the cranberries are chilling, so I have a couple minutes to relax before I start in on the sweet potatoes. (You know the irony of this is that everything I've made so far, I'm technically not allowed to eat...)

Anyway, I've been thinking what a difference a year makes. Last year this time, Andrew was barely out of the hospital and still recovering from the kidney infection that scared the hell out of all of us. I think we all were still trying to get over what happened. I mean, one minute the kid was fine, happy as a clam, cruising around daycare like the king of the classroom. And the next minute, he had a raging fever that wouldn't go down no matter what we did... The week long stint in the hospital was a nightmare but right around Thanksgiving, after more tests, bloodwork, MRIs, CT scans and ultrasounds than a kid should ever have to deal with in a LIFETIME, we got word that whatever was wrong with Andrew, it wasn't cancer. We all breathed a little easier around the Thanksgiving table after getting that news.

I'm so happy that the family is going to be together. That my grandpa is doing well enough to make the trip out from Long Island with my grandma. That my uncle, his wife and kids will all be here. That my sister's in from Florida this week and I can enjoy this time we have together, now that we arent' constantly trying to rip each other's heads off every second, like we did when we were little. I get to try to sneak stuffing with my dad in the morning, while my mom somehow manages to catch us, no matter where she is in the house. And, of course, if he isn't snoozing on the couch all weekend, I actually get to spend some time with hubby. With how crazed things have been for us both at work, those moments have been too few recently...

Unfortunately, hubby's family is down in Florida this year - but rumor has it next year we'll all be together. Yeah, I said it. Holidays turn me sappy, what can I say?

Okay...break's over and there's a mountain of sweet potatoes calling my name. Hope you all have a happy Thanksgiving (and to anyone who doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving - have a great weekend).

Masquerade

Rain fell gently outside, the scent mixing with the hay and Chrysanthemums. Fires crackled in the fireplaces throughout the room, barely audible above the string quartet's warm up. The combination of scents and sounds always made her think of fall.

Jane smoothed her hands over the silken folds of her gown. The fabric was a brilliant blue that matched the color of her eyes. Her chestnut locks fell in waves to her shoulders. She fastened her diamonds at her throat and around her wrists. Finally satisfied with her reflection, Jane secured a mask over her eyes, silently cursing the stupid tradition of the fall masque. Then again, it was somewhat fitting, since she had been wearing a mask of sorts for some time now. She was tired of pretending she was okay, like the past hadn't happened, hadn't been devastating to her.

Jane entered the ballroom alone, plastering a fake smile on her face. She was departing from her usual tradition of being escorted in on the arm of a handsome man. For the past three years, it had been the same handsome man. Jacob.

Jane willed the tears not to fall as she thought back to the last time they were together. He had picked her up early for their date, excited to show off his new ride. When he opened the door for her, a single red rose rested on the passenger seat. Every time they were together, he always brought her one.

They talked excitedly as he eased the car onto the highway. Then Jake's need for speed clouded his better judgment. He lost control of the car, careening into the concrete barrier before shooting off into oncoming traffic. They were struck head-on, the impact flipping the car. It skidded on its roof to the side of the road.

Jane still dreamed of that night. Her screams still echoed in her ears. She was able to escape from the car, somehow managing to drag her battered body through the hole left when half the windshield shattered and broke away. Jane tried to save him, but Jake was still trapped inside the car when it caught fire.

Two firemen had to physically restrain her from the wreckage. She sank to her knees, overcome by the sobs racking her body. She begged for his safety, offering to take his place if he would be spared, wishing with all her heart that she could have him in her arms one more time. Not one day went by that she didn't ache for him, feeling tremendous guilt that she was the one who survived the crash.

Jane tried in vain to shake the images from her head and enjoy the celebration, but the memories were too strong. Particularly tonight...the accident was three years ago tonight. She quickly slipped from the ballroom, seeking refuge in the library. This was her favorite place in the house with its leather couches and tall bookcase full of classic first editions. A fire burned in the corner of the room. She pressed a button, opening a panel in the wall to reveal the hidden bar. She poured herself a glass of brandy before melting into her favorite armchair, sinking into its plush cushions.

She didn't remember closing her eyes, but she must have slipped into a booze-fueled dreamless slumber. Jane sensed someone else in the room. Opening one eye, she saw a man dressed all in black, his long cape brushing the floor. He wore a Guy Fawkes mask that covered his entire face and his hands were encased in thick leather gloves.

As he walked toward her, there was something familiar about the stranger's presence and the way he moved. Glass clinked on the bar as he helped himself to the brandy in the decanter. Jane closed her eyes again, pretending to be asleep, as Guy made his way toward her.

He knelt before Jane, snaking his arms around her waist. Jane breathed him in, the combination of his musky cologne, brandy and smoke intoxicating. Guy nuzzled at her neck, weaving his fingers tightly through his hair. He pulled her against him, feeling the heat of her body and her pounding heart against his chest.

She lowered her head to his, but he moved away before their lips could meet. Guy shook his head sadly. "You should be more careful what you wish for, Janey."

That voice... It was so familiar. But no one called her Janey anymore, not since the accident. Guy brought her close again and whispered in her ear urgently. Then, as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.

Jane opened her eyes, completely disoriented but feeling so much...lighter. As she stood, a blood red rose fell from her lap. She smiled at the sight and quickly tucked the bloom behind her ear. She threw open the library doors, leaving her mask behind, ready to rejoin the party.

time out

My boss dropped 6 briefs on me on Wednesday. Then he took off to Florida. He did this without asking me what else was on my plate, which was probably intentional because I also have a major arbitration cooking this week and I have to get my other boss prepped for it.

But while soaking in some rays, the big guy had a brilliant brainstorm that involved "us" writing 3 more briefs for 3 more motions that "we" will be filing on Friday. Of course, you know that "we" and "us" is code for "Jaime, give up sleeping, eating, seeing your family and blogging for the next week because YOU got a shit load of work to do while I'm out of town..."

So don't expect to see me around this week. Since I won't be entertaining you for a little while, go check out these other blogs, which are some of my favorite blogs and my choice distractions during the day when I should be working...

Brad - He gets top billing with Diaries of the Professor and not just because he knows me well enough to have a shit load of dirt on me... Despite being a Mets fan, Brad's a great guy and an amazing writer. Whether he knows it or not, he got me into blogging. So you all have him to thank (or curse) for these posts... Brad was on a blogging hiatus for awhile but now he's back and better than ever. So go check out his blog and give him some love...

Mr. Condescending - Mr. C's blog is just the right mix of humor, condescending and sex. He's always a great read and he takes some incredible pics.

Otin - Yeah...Who doesn't know Otin? With the 9 million blogs he reads and comments on every day, you probably already know him. But if not, he's a must read. His stories are great and always come with a little something unexpected at the end, making him king of the twist.

VE - VE's gnomes are working overtime coming up with some great fantastical nonsense. I find his blog addictive and I am always amazed at the creative stuff he comes up with everyday.



Matty gave me this award, probably to show that he wasn't totally bitter about losing our bet. But I do give good blog. So it works... And I in turn pass this award on to Brad, Mr. C, Otin and VE. VE hates getting these awards, but he always does some kind of spoof on them and I can't wait to see what he comes up with for this one!

Have a good week everyone. Wish me luck and I'll catch you on the other side...

When Opportunity Calls...

Tim knew better than anyone that one moment could change your life forever. By age 30, he was worth millions. Tim was a whiz with money. He sold his little start up for $30 million and was quickly named CFO of the largest lending institution in the US. He married the girl of his dreams and they lived together in a palatial estate in Malibu. They had the villa in Tuscany, the loft in New York City and a fleet of cars and a private jet waiting to take them where ever they desired.

Tim’s wife stopped working after they married and had a major problem with shopping. She spent his money as fast as he could make it, but there was always plenty coming in and lots in the bank. He loved her, so he indulged her lavish tastes.

Tim thought he was immune to the layoffs going on around him. But he was wrong and six months ago, it was Tim’s head on the chopping block. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his wife. So every day, he packed up his briefcase, pulled one of his finest suits and headed out. For the first four months, Tim searched for work, applying for jobs well beneath him just so he could have money coming in and a purpose to his days. He lost hope last month when he was turned down for a sales gig…at the mall.

Tim now spent his days at the local aquarium. Staring at the barracudas, he tried to figure out the right words to tell his wife that he was a failure. They had no money. He had sold off their cars, the jet and their other properties. Their safe deposit box at the bank, once flush with cash and jewels, was empty. He had pawned his watches and most of his possessions. He still couldn’t keep them afloat. The bank was about to start foreclosure proceedings on their Malibu home. Tim wept for all that they had lost, all that he had cost them.

At the end of the day, when he would be expected home from work, Tim entered the gates of the long, winding driveway – surprised to find a large truck in front of the house. Two men were unloading box after box of his wife’s most recent purchases. When they were finally done, Tim’s wife was smiling broadly as she unwrapped what was the ugliest – and most expensive – painting he had ever seen. “Isn’t it lovely?” she asked. “I thought we could put it in your office.”

Tim would rather die than have that monstrosity hanging on his walls. “ENOUGH!” he screamed. “Don’t you ever stop shopping? We can’t afford this!” Shit! He thought immediately. He didn’t mean for it to come out that way. But now that he confessed, the words couldn’t leave his mouth fast enough. It all came out in a jumble, his termination, his inability to find work, the imminent loss of their home. He apologized, profusely, and Tim was not a man who ever apologized for his actions.

His wife was silent for a moment, stunned by Tim’s confession. As she walked toward him, Tim opened his arms, expecting the comfort and support of his mate. Instead, she drew back her hand and slapped him across the face. Then she packed a bag and left without a word.

Tim was stunned. He never expected her to leave him. He thought she would be there, that they would find a way out of this together. Tim felt as if his world was crumbling around him. He climbed into bed, sank into the plush mattress, pulled the covers over his head and slept.

Time seemed to stop as Tim stayed in that bed. He had no idea how long he lay there, not eating, not moving, not paying the ever-growing mountain of bills. He tried to call his wife, but she never answered the calls. The last time he tried his cell, the line was dead. The damn telephone company finally made good on its threats to disconnect the service.

Tim didn’t know how to get himself out of this mess. He was literally worth more dead than alive right now. The thought had popped into his head, but he began to obsess over it. He had ruined them, but if he weren’t around, the insurance company would at least give his wife something…

A telephone started ringing somewhere in the house. Tim looked at the cell on his nightstand. It was lifeless, another victim of his stupid financial blunders. He dragged himself out of bed and began racing around the house, trying to follow the noise. He went from room to room, searching for the source of the ringing. Tim's search brought him to a little used portion of the house. His wife always loved the formal dining rooms and fancy ballroom over here.

The ringing led him into a small room, decorated in frilly lace and a shocking amount of pink. Definitely his wife’s room, the place she would retreat to when she wanted to be alone. Being in her private space, he missed her so badly he could hardly breathe. Tim looked down on the hideous pink sofa and found a tiny phone, one he had never seen before.

He grabbed the thing, pressed it to his ear. Before he could say hello, a gruff voice on the other end spoke. “It’s about time you got your ass out of bed! Now get your shit together and write this down.” The voice gave him a series of numbers.

Tim tried to question who was on the line, what the numbers meant. The only response was a cryptic, “You want to turn this around? You play those fucking numbers. I know you only have $10 in your wallet. Go down to the damn liquor store and lay down the ten. Do it now you loser. You have one hour. This is your last chance.”

The phone went dead. Tim stared at the numbers and tried to place the voice. It almost sounded like himself when he would growl out orders at his subordinates. Impossible, the thought to himself.

Still, Tim pulled on his jeans and stumbled outdoors for the first time in ages. He had no car, the last one having been repossessed earlier in the month. He ran down to the store, drawing stares from everyone he passed. He didn’t need a mirror to tell him how disheveled he looked. Tim walked to the counter of the liquor store and laid down his $10 and his picks. The cashier rang him up and handed him the ticket. Jim stuffed it in his pocket and returned home.

Affixed to his front door was the notice he had been dreading. The sheriff’s sale was coming up. He had lost his job, his wife, his last dollar and now he was about to lose his home. Tim would have cried if he had any tears left. He had nothing. Tim slumped down on the porch, head in his hands and wondered where the hell he had gone so wrong.

He was still there in the morning, stiff and cold, when the paper hit his porch. Strange, Tim thought. His subscription had been canceled months ago for non-payment. Who cares? He eagerly tore into the paper, bypassing the business and financial sections he used to spend hours pouring over. It took forever to Tim to find the section he was looking for. Maybe it wasn’t in the paper?

THERE!

Tim removed the crumpled ticket from his pocket and pressed it against the paper. He rubbed his eyes, twice, to clear them. Tim shook his head, making sure that was clear too.

Every one of the numbers matched up. He held the winning ticket. The ONLY winning ticket according to the article. Tim screamed…

Twenty seven million dollars was more than enough money to buy him a fresh start. And this time, he was going to make it count.


Check out the other Theme Thursday telephone stories.

the last shot

I promise this is my last shot at the Phillies...til next season anyway. But this was too funny to pass up!




Who's your daddy, Pedro!

the job

It's rare when people need lawyers for a good reason. Although I typically deal in commercial litigation, I also do most of the work for the firm forming nonprofit organizations. I love those files. I get to help someone create their vision, form something from nothing, and hear later how what we created helps others.

But most of the time I see people at their worst, being the victims or perpetrators of terrible wrongs against others. I've spent most of my week working on prepping a file for arbitration. The poor guy's business partner ripped him off for the tiny, insignificant sum of $10 million (that we know of anyway). Now he's on the verge of filing bankruptcy and his partner is going on lavish vacations and buying up properties, spending my client's money. The file pisses me off. I hate the injustice of it.

Friday afternoon I met with a prospective new client. It's never a good thing when a client wants to come in at the end of the day, right before the weekend begins. I'll give her a little bit of credit though. She was prepared and sent me all of the documents in advance so I could actually know what her case was about before she came in.

She leased a laser, couldn't afford the payments and now the loan company is suing her. She admits to owing the money and making a stupid business decisions. So I was prepared to tell her there was nothing I could do for her...

Except I took the time to meet with her, for far longer than I was supposed to without charging a consult fee. And I feel so badly for this woman. So I let her retain me to negotiate a settlement with these guys.

This is always a bad idea. You never want to be retained by someone who you know has financial difficulties for an insignificant amount of money... It's very hard to sign a limited retainer agreement and have the client actually stick to the limited agreement. But my heart broke for her, so I let myself get sucked in.

Anyway, there you have it. Proof that some lawyers actually transcend the lawyer jokes and really do have a heart...

The Bet

If not for bad luck, I usually have no luck at all. It's why I don't gamble. Well, that and I work too damn hard for my money to piss it away...

A few years back, I made a bet with my future brother in law on the baseball post-season. Mike is a huge Red Sox fan and I was confident my Yankees would take them down once again. So we bet. WHEN I won, Mike would have to prance around all day in a Mariano Rivera jersey. It would kill him because of all the Yanks Mike dislikes, Mo is the one he hates most. IF I lost, I had to buy him the Sox hat of his choosing.

The Red Sox NEVER win the Series. They lose, year after year. And they don't just lose. They rip their fans' hearts out doing it. So I felt this "bet" was really a "sure thing." Except that year, as the Yanks were poised to trounce the Sox, the Red Sox made an unbelievable comeback. They swept the rest of the games against the Yankees and then quickly won the World Series for the first time in almost a century.

Though it pained me, I am a woman of my word... I bought Mike his hat. I can't even put into words how DIRTY it made me feel. I put the hat on my credit card, went home and shredded the damn card. Every time I see Mike wearing that stupid hat, it gets me all over again. I lost. The Yanks lost. And he'll NEVER let me forget it.

When hubby and I got married, Mike and his hat made an appearance during the toast. I was pissed and chucked the thing across the dance floor. I wanted to aim for a candle and torch his hat, but that was a little too Bridezilla for my tastes. Hubby knew it was coming and I'm still pissed he didn't tell me. Because at the last second, I decided to be nice and not play any pranks on Mikey at the wedding. I was going to have him walk in to Mo's entrance music. (For the non-baseball folks, Mariano Rivera runs out to the pitcher's mound to "Enter Sandman.")

Anyway...my bet with Mike was the last real bet I made. Until this year. I was having some fun with Matty, who loves the Phillies almost as much as I love the Yanks. We spent weeks sparring over email. I forget what he said that really got me going, but I threw down the gauntlet and proposed a bet. He took the bait and, just in case you hear him complaining, let's not forget that HE was the one who set the terms.

Unless you've been living under a rock, you know that my boys in pinstripes won the Series at game 6 on Wednesday. Matty's a good guy and a man of his word. So he didn't hassle me at all when I told him to pay up. Check out this post on his blog and his guest post below.

_______________________

As the 2009 major league baseball playoffs were winding down, and it was becoming evident that the Phillies and Yankees would be squaring off in the fall classic, Jaime and I decided to square off. In support of our teams, we placed a bet with the baseball gods. She laid down her pride on the Yankees while I put mine down on the Phillies. It seemed like a sure thing. Phillies won it all last year, and were back to defend their title. I'm all good with that. What could go wrong?

So, in support of our teams, we agreed that the loser had to write a post on their blog acknowledging the winner. Additionally, the loser had to make a guest post on the winner's blog admitting that they were wrong and the winner was right.......and........say that the winner was a "baseball guru".

So, here is where I swallow my pride and pay up. Why? Because I'm a man, and a fan, of my word. I step up to the plate ( yes.....pun intended) and do the right thing.

Jaime, you were right and I was wrong. You are a (cough cough) baseball guru.

Until we meet again.....this time next year.

Matty

What a day

I rolled out of bed yesterday morning both excited and terrified. The thrill of going to game 6 of the World Series was tempered by the horror of the deadline looming on my first article for the American Bar Association. I had exactly 6 hours to get drop off my son at day care, get into the office, bang out my article, get it approved by the guy I was writing about and fire it off to my editor. Oh sure... No problem.


Except that I was suffering from the world's largest case of writers block. So I frantically emailed my favorite writer/editor/blogger asking for advice. I considered myself fortune that his advice didn't begin with "I NEVER wait to the last second to write my articles" or "I'm so talented, writers block doesn't apply to me." But his words helped me find my own and in 2 hours, I wrote one hell of an article.

Except then I ran my word counter and saw that my article was literally less than HALF the size it was supposed to be. My 750 word article was a paltry 314 words. I spent my entire day writing and then rewriting this article. But finally - 9 minutes before I had to leave the office for the ballgame - I held my breath, hit the word count and saw my total had reached 751! I didn't bother proofreading the thing again, fired it off to the guy I was writing about for his approval and shot it over to my editor with a note that the article was still waiting for final review and comment by the subject.

I'll be honest. I don't have a freaking clue what I said. It could have been the best article ever written... And it could have been utter crap. I have no idea. But I got an email today from my subject telling me what a great job I did with it, how honored he is that I chose to write about him and that the piece was "beautifully done." (Okay. I love the compliment - but the guy's no idiot. He's not going to slam someone who's writing an article about him in a national publication) Except I also got an email from my editor telling me it was a great article. So I guess I have to listen to her. She'd tell me if the article was a piece of junk.

That left me feeling pretty good.


Oh. Did I mention that the votes came in for the Super Lawyers and Rising Stars? (Super Lawyers are the best and brightest lawyers in the state. Rising Stars are basically the same thing, but for young lawyers) Guess who's a Rising Star this year?

Anyway, I digress... So at the end of the day, I wrote my first article, which actually turned out pretty decent all things considering. I got a pretty cool award. AND...



THE YANKEES WON THE WORLD SERIES!!!!!

And I got to be there to watch it. For all the games I've been to since I was 5, I never got to see the Yanks clinch the Series before. Such an unbelievable experience.

To top it off, I won my bet with Matty. But that's a post for another day...

Have Fun Storming the Castle

One of my all-time favorite movies is The Princess Bride.

Okay, right now I can hear most of the ladies nodding in agreement and quoting their favorite lines from the movie. And I hear most of the men groaning as they imagine everyone saying:

"HELLO! My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!" or
"There is a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. It would be a pity to damage yours" or
"No more rhymes! I mean it!... Anybody want a peanut?" or
"Inconceivable!... I don't think that means what you think that means."

I love the scene where Buttercup walks out of the castle and the old woman starts booing her, calling her the queen of filth and putrescence.

I could go on and on. At one time, I could probably recite the entire movie by heart. I watched this movie so often, my dad would start coming into my room asking "How's the sickie" every time I didn't feel well.

And in high school every morning, my dad and I would have the exact same conversation as I went to leave the house...

Me: Bye dad!
Dad: Have fun storming the castle
Me: Think it'll work?
Dad: It'll take a miracle.
And then some days he would follow this with "Good luck and good hunting."

Even if I was in a bad mood, running late for school and freaking out about my chemistry exam, this exchange would always lift my spirits. I may not have always let him see the smile on my face, but it was always there. Just like it is now as I write this and remember all those mornings.

For more Theme Thursday castle stories (which might actually resemble a story about a castle unlike this one), click here.

In other news, as you guys read this, I'm sitting in the Bronx, freezing my butt off, rooting on my boys in pinstripes. Here's hoping they clinch tonight. GO YANKEES!

Writers block

I worked all the angles and got myself an appointment as an associate editor to one of the American Bar Association's publications. They started me off easy with writing a 750 word article on something community service-related that's going on with young lawyers here in Jersey.

Except New Jersey isn't really doing something community service-y right now.

Except they shorted me on time because I got appointed about a month after assignments were doled out for this issue.

Except I didn't manage to interview the people I needed to for this article until FRIDAY.

Did I mention the article is due...tomorrow?

Guess how many words I have on paper. Go on. Take your best guess.

That's right boys and girls. I have written exactly ZERO words and I don't have a freaking clue what to say. ME - without words. I don't know how the hell I'm going to get this thing done.

Part of the problem is I'm just so damn impressed by the guy I'm writing about that I want to do him justice. I can easily bang something out, but this guy deserves better than a thrown together at the last second job. And now, regrettably, that's exactly what he's going to get. If I can ever manage to put into words how impressive this guy is.

Wish me luck...