Notes from the Breadline: Alone, Alone, Alone
Ed. note: Welcome to the latest installment of “Notes from the Breadline,” a column by a laid-off lawyer in New York. Prior columns are collected here. You can reach Roxana St. Thomas by email (at roxanastthomas@gmail.com), follow her on Twitter, or find her on Facebook.
On a drizzly Thursday morning, my friend Giovanna calls to invite me to lunch. “I have a window between a meeting and a conference call,” she says, referring to concepts that are increasingly foreign to me. “Come and meet me.”
“I don’t know,” I say guiltily, tallying the lunches, dinners, and coffees to which she has treated me in the past few months, “you just bought me dinner.’
“Don’t be silly,” she says cheerfully. “Consider it a public service, since you’ll have to shower.”
“Whoa!” I tell her, “let’s not be rash.”
“Take a shower,” she says sternly. “I’ll meet you downstairs at one.”
A few hours later, we are sitting at a restaurant. Giovanna is dressed beautifully for work, her hair and makeup perfect. Although I have showered, I realize that I could easily be mistaken for her maid. We talk about her new colleagues, her most recent deposition, and my job search, before the conversation turns to what women invariably talk about when they talk to other women: men.
Sitting at the table — hands wrapped around our coffee cups, voices lowered conspiratorially — I am reminded of television commercials in which women confide sheepishly about unseemly problems, like occasional irregularity or embarrassing ring-around-the-collar. But, before a chipper paid spokesperson can appear, offering us laxative yogurt or assistance with our laundry woes, we identify the issue at hand: DWUI.
No, puzzled readers — not that DWUI. Without diminishing, in any way, the seriousness of operating a motor vehicle after tossing back too many suds or hitting the pipe, let’s be clear: we are talking about something entirely different. We’re talking about the insidious problem of Dating While on Unemployment Insurance.
Read about the perils of DWUI, after the jump.
DWUI comes up in the midst of a conversation about Giovanna’s forays, since her breakup with Tony, into the dating pool. I am debriefing her about a text message she sent me while having drinks with a man — a lawyer — she met at a hearing. After a few fawning emails, he asked her if they could get together for a cocktail.
Giovanna told me about her putative date with the same degree of enthusiasm one might muster to announce a trip to the grocery store. “I don’t want to go,” she said glumly. “It’ll just remind me how much I miss Tony.”
“Just go!” I told her, trying to sound upbeat. “Better to tell yourself that you’re moving on than to pine away for him”
“Yeah,” she said, unconvincingly. “Okay.”
Despite her misgivings, Giovanna went out for drinks with Nick, the lawyer. “I didn’t feel a connection,” she reported on her way home. “Maybe it’s just too early to tell.” But, she told me gamely, “I’ll go out with him again. You never know.”
Alas, Giovanna’s second date with Nick was equally uninspiring. “Still on date,” her text message read. “I got nothin’. Nice guy, but he’s a typical lawyer. He has nothing to say and I’m out of stories. Can I go home now?”
When Giovanna finishes telling me her story, over coffee in the restaurant, she announces that she is through dating, at least for now. “I’m not even going to try for a few months,” she tells me. “I just need to be alone, focus on work, and try to figure out why I’m not where I want to be in my life.” Besides, she adds, “I don’t really have the time to date. I get home at 9:00 at night, and I don’t really feel like talking to anyone when I do. It’s not exactly conducive to a relationship.” She pauses, looking wistful. “Maybe unemployment is a mixed blessing for you,” she says. “At least you have the time to date.”
The thought catches me off-guard. “I don’t know,” I tell her. “I never really thought of it that way.” A gentle wave of anxiety washes over me. Have I failed — again — to see the silver lining in this situation? Should “Meeting guy; spending abundant free time dating guy” be on my “Things to Do While You’re Unemployed” checklist, along with reading Moby Dick and finishing the sweater I started knitting six years ago?
“Well,” Giovanna says, “you had more time for Cliff when you guys were dating, right?”
Yes, I tell her, I suppose I did. But the more I think about it, the more it feels as though my ill-fated relationship with Cliff happened a lifetime ago. Since then, something has changed, and although I’m not quite sure why, DWUI now seems nearly impossible. Why, I wonder, has unemployment given rise to a monastic need to be alone? When did joblessness render me unfit for human companionship?
As I ponder my reclusiveness, a few answers present themselves readily. First of all, I have been a little bit lazy about showering … although that could be circumstantial, I tell myself quickly, pushing the thought aside. I start again: first of all, I met Cliff, and — moments later, it seemed — I was laid off. I didn’t have time to think about unemployment as something — a circumstance, a life event, or a life-altering event — distinct from our relationship; they were, as we say in the trade, inextricably intertwined. And, in truth, our timing had some fortuitous aspects. I wasn’t working on weekends, and my schedule was more flexible than it had been in years. I had no deeds to do, no promises to keep. One time we went skiing on a Wednesday.
But Cliff also shared the early days of unemployment, when, in hindsight, I was still blundering, dumbfounded, through its weedy underbrush. We formed a connection before I could fully understand how unmoored I would become, or appreciate the extent to which joblessness would sink into every crevice of my life. Because Cliff saw me take the first (of many) awkward steps, I didn’t have to explain why, figuratively, I resembled Steve Martin’s character in “The Jerk.” And, of course, he was on my side, which he expressed by channeling his impressive capacity for contempt in the direction of my former employers; rather than fussing with a nuanced analysis, he was quick to assure me that they were “fucking savages.” Support, I learned, comes in many forms.
Of course, things with Cliff ultimately began to fray, for reasons unrelated to my unemployment. But before they did, I started to sense the weight of my joblessness on our shoulders, and felt the strain — of worrying about money, looking for work, and fighting the rising tide of panic — trickling through the cracks in our relationship.
Post-Cliff, the fact of my unemployment has become mine, and mine alone. Perhaps, as Max told me, it is because unemployment isn’t something that you share with other people (give or take a few thousand readers). Perhaps a layer of emotional Magic Shell has formed over whatever nougaty vulnerability I once had. Whatever the reason, DWUI suddenly seems immensely complicated.
In the weeks after Giovanna and I talk about it at lunch, DWUI suddenly becomes a reality. My friend, Trey, breaks up with his girlfriend, and — through a combination of subtle hints and distinctly high-schoolish gossip sessions with girlfriends — it becomes clear to me that Trey wants to be “more than friends.”
Rather than presenting itself as a fascinating possibility, the thought of dating someone fills me with apprehension. Why? I ask myself. What’s to agonize over? Trey and I are great friends; we get along beautifully; he dotes on me incessantly. Why not forge ahead? My other friends are enthusiastic. “Take a chance!” they tell me. “It might work out for the best!”
Still, I can’t shake my sense of uncertainty — and it’s not Trey. It’s me. My life has none of the parameters that were there a year ago, no shape that I can readily define. I have no roadmap to guide me in a particular direction from here, and (if I am honest with myself) no real idea where “here” even is. I feel as though I live on an island, with only one coconut tree. I’m not sure that I can accommodate visitors.
“Don’t rule out the possibility,” my friend Haley pleads. “You guys spend a lot of time together anyway; just see what happens.”
But what happens, among other things, is that I am quickly confronted by one of the perils of DWUI: money. Money is increasingly tight, and Trey knows that, although I am not selling pints of blood or collecting bottle deposits, I am definitely on a budget. So, no matter where we go or what we do, he insists on paying. “Don’t worry about it,” he says lightly, waving off my attempts to contribute when a check comes, or as a cashier waits expectantly for us to settle up.
“You can’t pay for everything,” I tell Trey, but he insists. We are soon embroiled in an epic battle to see who can throw their money down first. We leave more than one waiter standing helplessly by the side of a table while we smack each others’ hands away from the check, and on a few occasions he distracts me with the tried and true, “Hey, look who just walked in!,” snatching the check while I search the restaurant for a familiar face. At some point, he starts getting up to “go to the bathroom” before the bill comes, and then pays furtively, before I have a chance to protest.
“I can’t deal with this,” I tell Giovanna. “I mean, Trey is incredibly generous, but I don’t feel comfortable with this whole thing. I didn’t think money was that important to me, but I don’t feel right about being treated all the time … I don’t feel like I can pull my weight.”
“Of course it bothers you,” she says matter-of-factly. “You’re a single woman, you’re used to making it happen for yourself, and all of a sudden you’re forced into the 1950s? No wonder you feel uncomfortable.” Her tone softens. “Look,” she tells me, “there’s nothing wrong with having a guy take you out. I don’t think money is the issue here. Maybe you’re just not ready to be in a relationship right now, while you’re still working things out with your job situation.”
What, I wonder, does my joblessness have to do with dating? Over the next few days, I turn the question over in my mind. Is my sense of equality, of being a true partner, tied to financial security? Am I lost without a job to define me, like King Lear? Or, after months without work, do I feel as though I am defined by life in the breadline? Moreover, can I, in good conscience, drag another person into my personal quagmire?
A week later, I meet my friend Jimmy for lunch. While we eat, I tell him about the situation with Trey.
“Why am I so reluctant to get involved with someone who seems to really care about me?” I ask. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
He thinks for a moment, studying my face. “Do you remember what you told me when you and Cliff split up?” he answers. No, I tell him, groping for the memory. It seems like a long time ago.
“You said, ‘I just wanted something extraordinary, and if I can’t have that, I don’t want anything.’ Do you remember?”
“How will I know if anything is extraordinary if I’m not even open to the possibility?” I say, surprised by how urgent I sound. I feel a surge of frustration, a hot spear of anger at something I can’t identify. “Why am I fucking frozen this way? Is life supposed to stop until I find a fucking job?” I kick the leg of our table, rattling the dishes and spilling coffee.
Jimmy looks amused. “Easy, tiger,” he says, laughing. I try to scowl at him, but I can already feel myself smiling, moderately chagrined by my own schmaltz. I throw a lemon wedge across the table and it lands, with a dull plop, in Jimmy’s coffee.
“Look, Rox,” he says, when we have stopped tossing the detritus of our meal at each other. “I know you, and I know you’re going to try to weather this thing on your own. You’re not going to try to share it with someone. So give yourself a break.” He fixes me with a hard stare. “Besides,” he says, “you need at least one hand to grab something extraordinary if it comes along, and, at the moment, both of yours are full. Am I right?”
Jimmy is right. He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to say it. Finally, I give in. “You’re right,” I say. “Ass.”
Jimmy smiles triumphantly. When the check comes, he makes me pay.
___________________________________________________________________________
Roxana St. Thomas is a laid-off lawyer living in New York. You can reach her by email (at roxanastthomas@gmail.com), follow her on Twitter, or find her on Facebook. And check out the Notes from the Breadline t-shirt store here.
(111) Comments
Comments
First to say ZZZZZZZZZ
TOO EFFING LONG.
enough with the shower bit...god dammit i hate this crap
such constant vile hatred......you know you don't have to read it right?
Jesus fucking christ Roxana we get that you're a huge loser. Your writing is so fucking uninteresting it's pathetic. It's also a complete lie because no one on the planet would date your boring whiny ass.
I've seen commercials and women don't talk about men. They talk about yogurt and indigestion, right?
tldnr
This running column no longer has value to me.
I second #4. If you don't like it, don't read it.
It is pretty loser-ish of you to bother posting a comment expressing your dislike.
"Am I lost without a job to define me, like King Lear?"
Seriously?
whiny bitch.
This column should be on the Lifetime Network's website. What a bunch of self-absorbed whiney garbage. Next Notes from the Breadline: Roxana and friends discuss menstrual cramps and yeast infections. What bullshit.
Here's a neat unemployment tidbit. I like to masturbate to hot asians in the audience during Judge Joe Brown.
9 & 4, commenter 5 here, who the fuck are you douches, the blog police? Have you ever been on this site? We rip MysTTTal, LaTTT, and Kash all the fucking time. 9, I'll tell you what's even more "loser-ish" than expressing my dislike in a comment, how about commenting about how commenters shouldn't comment about their dislike on a story. Fuck off.
4 & 9 = Roxana and her hose bag friend Giovanna.
Roxana, would you have sex with me later if I read your story?
James Colliton
I love you Roxana! Don't let the haters keep you down.
Roxanna,
Ignore the haters, I enjoy your writing.
Maybe it hits too close to home for some (the unemployment, not irregularity)
Roxanna - I will happy to service your baser needs without seeking the hallmarks of a relationship or pondering what might be if only you had a job. I could care less if you are a coke whore, employed attorney or Master of the Universe. I have been on the breadline myself. Meaningless trysts with fellow vagabonds is a great way to get through it. Before you know it, you'll be working 16 hr. days again, wondering why you didn't drink, snort and bang your way through the city when you had the chance. Stop whining and start living already!
I used to like this piece, which is why I bothered to read it and post. But this was unbelievably boring. BORING BORING BORING BORING BORING. What the fuck am I supposed to do during the day waiting for job results and an alleged start date?
Citizen: "But Mr. President, you're going to destroy the economy, the wealth of this country and many, many lives."
Obama: "It's called social justice."
I don't know what DWUI is, but I met my wife while I was "between jobs."
17 & 18=Roxana.
This column shows just how uninteresting a person Roxana is. Didn't take her long to run out of entertaining material, did it?
What's up with Roxana supporters lashing back at commentors? This is quite new.
Anyways, I am not a "hater," but this one is really way too long. Remember, lawyers read this, so you really have to mix in something remotely legal to keep us interested. Relationships, showers, and feminine problems are not why we read ATL.
roxana's grasp of basic human interaction is f*cking retarded and so is this column
roxana if you read this, here is some heartfelt advice:
a) nobody can make you be a better you except you. play with the hand that you're dealt. don't hmm and hawww and wait for everybody to finish your turn.
b) if your half of a conversation is anything like this column then you need to cut content-per-interjection by about 70%.
Self-pity and whining about being single won't get you a job or a man, missy!
always readable and mildly entertaining but I'm waiting for the time that Roxana takes one of these guys home
"I don't feel like I can pull my weight."
Buy a tractor.
I think you should date Jimmy....but I have a feeling he is the gay friend
Roxana, I would rather a bum shit in my mouth than read one word of this excrement.
1. Waiting for something "extraordinary or nothing at all" means you will die alone. The whole head over heels crap is not realistic.
2. A man still wants you after you've been unemployed forever, aren't even looking and are waiting for a job to fall in your lap, AND you aren't even showering? Beggars can't be choosers, lady.
Signed,
A happily married and employed woman
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah--I want to stay in a Manhattan apartment even though I lost my job
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah--I am too good to find a non-legal job to pay the bills.
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah--I am too self-important to let dates pay for me
How many people have it much worse than you Roxanna? After this post, you have jumped the shark and officially crossed into whiny little bit*h territory.
5 and 14 - Take a deep breath. Everything is going to be fine. Now, just push yourself back from the computer, stand up, and go take a walk. There's a whole world out there, and if you spend some time in it, you might find that it's not really worth getting upset about anything anyone says on the website. Douche.
You shouldn't take dating advice from Jimmy. He wants to get into your pants and is just trying to get Trey out of the picture.
Wait, so the cops knew that Internal Affairs were setting them up all along?
Don't you think it is a little soon to start with DUI/pipe jokes?
Here's all you need to know about women in NYC. They had a casting call for extras Cunts and the City 2 yesterday and there as a five hour wait to get in.
This is how pathetic they are.
35 wins.
36 FTW
This stuff is killing me. Seriously, if this is the sort of crap stirring around in a female attorney's head, it is of little surprise that their partnership levels are so low.
These haters are f'ing ridiculous.... I hate this article so much I'm gonna keep reading it and then write about it.....
Yes, TTThis came off as incredibly whiny. And long.
Garbage like this only reinforces the most negative stereotypes of women.
Roxanna,
May I suggest you take up a hobby...how about ham radio?
--a friend
14 made me LOL. FTW!
My eyes started to bleed after reading the second sentence of this article. Ms. St. Thomas should concentrate more on finding a job than writing these painful to read articles that have no substance or meaningful content. Ms. St. Thomas, why don't you apply to become President Obama's "Cash for Clunkers" Czar?
42 - agreed. There seems to be this lame subculture of angry, young, male lawyers and law students who have a compulsive need to vent all of their hate and anxiety by posting something in response to everything on ATL.
I hope you never find a job because this is the most interesting stuff I've ever read.
I would hope someone would just kill me if I became so inept at handling problems.
33 wins.
41 - Roxana does NOT represent female attorneys any more than Elie represents male attorneys.
48 -- There seems to be a lame subculture of bitchy females defending the crap Roxana writes. Buy yourself some Vagisil and shut the fuck up.
Whilst I originally enjoyed this column for its insights into the plight of the recently unemployed associate, I now loathe this piece and read it only to provide something at which I can scoff. Madam, your prose proceeds like the annoying drivel of an eighth grader in a creative writing class trying to compose a script for a soap opera. Perhaps if you would spend your free time watching more Judge Judy and less Days of Our Lives, this column might return to the semblence of something interesting.
This column started off as an interesting and useful view of biglaw layoffs from the inside. The inside take on an unfamiliar, yet possible, future was probably what got most people to keep coming back.
It is quite obvious that this column stopped giving any of this useful insight, which sparks the anger in the readers. All it contains these days are the incessant ramblings of an emotionally fragile, mentally unstable person. It is worthless, except as a window into the personal relationships of a clinically depressed person.
While some may enjoy such a view, those who once read this column for content can get annoyed. Because it sucks.
#51 is correct. Speaking of which, can we hear from an out-of-work male attorney? I can't read Roxanna any more. ATL give her a job, can you?
This is America--not Mogadishu, Somalia. Stop complaining..
Get a job, any job, brush your self off, and stop wasting time on the internet talking about your inability to get a job.
People are born with incurable diseases and children die from malnourishment and curable diseases... and you have the audacity to complain about being laid off from a job you were overpaid to perform at a relatively young age due to a massive recession??
Sack up.
55:
I got laid off. I spend my morning sending out resumes, my afternoons eating cheesy poofs on the couch watching tv, and my evenings getting drunk and trying to find someone to sleep with.
"Besides," he says, "you need at least one hand to grab something extraordinary if it comes along, and, at the moment, both of yours are full. Am I right?"
Dick joke and/or orgy reference in 3 . . . 2 . . .
Is this idiot still unemployed?
I need to know:
1. why these articles suddenly started sucking so much
2. why it's been how many months and she doesn't have a job yet
3. why she doesn't suck it up and get one of the MANY job openings at small and mid size firms
get a job and start writing about that or stfu already. it's not cute anymore (if it ever was)
Maybe Roxanna doesn't need a man right now because she just bought a rabbit and is content to play with it, for now.
He fixes me with a hard stare. "Besides," he says, "you need at least one hand to grab something extraordinary if it comes along, and, at the moment, both of yours are full. Am I right? Now, can you spit on it for me, sugar?"
Jimmy is right. He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to say it. Finally, I give in. "You're right," I say. "In the ass."
Jimmy smiles triumphantly. When the check comes, he makes me pay.
Roooooxxxana, you don' have to put on the red light.
Rooooooxxxana, you don' have to sell your body to the night!
Let's play along and pretend for a second that Giovanna is real. "I have a window between a meeting and a conference call," she says, referring to concepts that are increasingly foreign to me. "Come and meet me."" I bet Giovanna added a lot of value in those meetings. She's thinking about meeting Roxana beforehand rather than preparing, then having a long lunch meeting with her instead of (take your pick) (1) strategizing after the just concluded meeting, (2) doing other work, or (3) most logically, preparing for the next call. Presumably she's doing none of them because she will just sit there throughout and do nothing before or after remotely related to the meeting/call. Maybe she got in real early to do all this preparation? I doubt it, since she was "dressed beautifully for work, her hair and makeup perfect," which probably consumed a couple hours that morning.
This type of thing portends more laid off litigation associates going forward. Most of these people are just useless. At least if the deal flow picks up there might be a need for corporate attorneys to actually do work. Do litigation clients realize there are usually about 3 times the amount of litigators necessary in every meeting or call?
The message to Giovanna is, better keep spreading your legs during/doing your lipstick after those meetings, or else rejoin Roxana in the "Breadline."
I was about to comment on Jimmy's orientation and how it seems that there's a reason why Roxana seems to fit very nicely into the role as his hag, when I noticed this at the bottom of the post:
"Roxana St. Thomas is a laid-off lawyer living in New York. You can reach her by email (at roxanastthomas@gmail.com), follow her on Twitter, or find her on Facebook. And check out the Notes from the Breadline t-shirt store here."
For the love of God, what does she talk about on Twitter? Can you imagine getting this stuff all day - "Should I take a shower?"
"I smell my BO, but I won't take a shower until I'm done with my resume"
"I'm lonely and nobody understands me"
"I'm a good person, and darn it, people like me"
"I wish I could date Jimmy, too bad he's into guys"
"Giovanna called, I had to pass on lunch so I could recycle the unused litter in my cat's box to save money"
"That guy Dan the librarian from last week was cute, too bad he's a librarian, I only date hip lawyers from the Village"
"I was asked to do client devlopment once"
"I'm available for 200 roses an hour, always a girlfriend experience"
Makes you want to jump out of a window just thinking about it.
As for the T-shirts, when did this appear? Is this Roxana's alternative to a life of Craigslist massage therapist?
64 - Wow, so this is how you express your frustation at being the LAST person anyone at work would EVER have sex with.
Roxanna,
I LOVE your work. YOU Rock!
BTW, please advise dates/times you will be frequenting the Lifetime Fitness center on the upper west side.
AGAIN, you are the best!
--Giovanna
Great post, 65. I just noticed the T-shirt link. Jesus, $30 for a fucking t-shirt? Getting a bit greedy, are we?
65 -- Damn funny stuff!
Back off 66, I'm not 64 but I understand 64's position, this is a fictional series, and it understates the real world struggles of young attorneys truly unemployed and in dire financial straits.
This passage is particularly fictional:
""Look, Rox," he says, when we have stopped tossing the detritus of our meal at each other. "I know you, and I know you're going to try to weather this thing on your own. You're not going to try to share it with someone. So give yourself a break." He fixes me with a hard stare. "Besides," he says, "you need at least one hand to grab something extraordinary if it comes along, and, at the moment, both of yours are full. Am I right?" "
No guy, straight or gay, has ever made any comment resembling the last sentence, it is something only dreamed up in authors' minds.
two posions for which Roxanne could apply after several hours at her neighborhood watering hole:
ld apply:
a) on her keees
b) on her back.
But she is probaly over-qualified for both.
Get a grip, girl...
.
Rox - You're a woman. It's perfectly OKAY for a guy to pay for dates, and even manditory in the beginning. Go out with the poor guy, enjoy yourself, and get laid on a regular basis. Maybe that will help to lift your spirits!
70 - Back off? Howza about you relax your sphincter. This is snarkapalooza in here.
Given that it is a fictional series, why the hell are you and others getting wound up so tight about it?
Cheeses-H-Tap-dancin Christ, get a grip.
66 I hope that you've hitched your wagon to the right star as far as who you've chosen to bang at your firm. And I applaud you, it's as good a strategy as any to survive in these lean times, especially at places as afraid of litigation (and with as little secrecy as far as those types of shenanigans) as your average large law firm. No matter how useless your work product, you will always have that "mentor," and at the very least the potential sexual harassment suit card still to play.
Please rename this series "Birdshit from a Cookoo Clock". The Bread has gotten stale.
Straight out of the plot of "In Her Shoes." Very original...not!
File under: "If her work product was when she was a lawyer was as bad as this column has become, then it's no wonder she's out on her ass."
This is my favorite article on this site. I read the article for the fodder. Of course, the best part is the comments when people mercilessly rip "Roxana". Still, this article is the ATL highlight of the week.
i dont have a problem with roxana or her writing. i'm just tired of this storyline. its boring and overplayed. have roxana write something else.
Rox, you're awesome. Can i have your number?
God I hate you Roxy. Stop fucking whining. Or entertain me and become a craigslist hooker already.
Too long? Crimony, most lawyers can plow through a 15 page 2nd Circuit decision in barely a blink - this doesn't even approach "long."
Roxana, I look forward to your articles every week, hoping to read "Got a job! Thanks for all your support. Oh, and Commenter #31? I slipped a bum a $50. He's on his way to your place now. Enjoy!"
Don't let the suckers get you down. People love the internet because it lets them be as cutely cruel as they want without facing the consequences of their actions. I enjoy the writing...well, except the haikus, really.
I never read her atricles (any more). But I always read the comments. THEY are entertaining.
Sorry for the typo. Don't kill me.
-- 83
65 FTW
too long did not read
60--which small firms are hiring?
#83 Speaks for many of us. I barely read the story on most of these posts, and head straight for the comments, alway looking for ER to raise his prose up high. Except for the bitter boys, the comments are usually exactly what people feel, clever, informative, smart, and very funny.
Enough. Get a job. Any job. It doesn't have to be a legal job. Go do something already!!!!
You have to hand it to Roxana. Every week the commenters rain down criticism of her writing; her boring narratives; and her try-hard attempts to come off as something more than the mediocre writer that she is, and yet every week thereafter, she keeps on trucking. I mean, there's little doubt that she really is a poor writer, or that her stories are boring, so don't get me wrong. Only the 3% of you-go-girl bimbos who like her insipid drivel think otherwise. But you have to agree, lesser women would've been discouraged and run off by the torrent of harsh responses, by now. Kudos to Roxana for her tough skin, if not her inelegant pen.
Roxana is Lat, I can't believe you don't understand this.
I look forward to these posts.
In the words of Henry ford : whether u think u can or think u can't, you're right
Go get em tiger
Reading the comments on this blog confirms the real-life observation that a large fraction of lawyers are douchebags.
Makes me want to take a shower.
Reading the comments on this blog confirms the real-life observation that a large fraction of lawyers are douchebags.
Makes me want to take a shower.
81-Actually funny. I applaud you.
90-Can't you make a contribution like 81? You're just raining shit. "GFY" which almost certainly only means "Good for you" and nothing else.
This might be out of left field, but I see a SWF storyline involving Giovanna coming up. Roxanna will become bitterly jealous of her friend when she begins banging Trey, and simultaneously picks up all the tabs for her dinners with him.
Roxanna will wander into Giovanna's apartment in a crazy haze, her foul odor lingering behind her. This would be the same odor that allowed her to easily bypass Giovanna's doorman - he conked flat out from the stench. As Roxanna keys into Giovanna's pad, there is a moment of sheer panic when she realizes that the apartment overlooks the park... and is obviously more expensive than hers.
Roxanna's first hints at the foul play afoot are the Chinese food cartons littered about the sprawling living room, and the subtle moans wafting in from the bedroom. She spots a receipt for the dinner - Shun Lee (her favorite)...and Giovanna paid! Roxanna's left eye begins to flutter with that twitch, the one she lost years ago when she was kicked in the head by an ornery mule at a camp upstate for troubled teens. Well, it wasn't her fault C-Lo didn't wear a condom when he swore up and down he would. If only her love cavern hadn't been so stretched, she might have felt its absence...mama said there'd be days like this.
She is inexorably drawn towards the moans growing louder from the master suite. As she cautiously slides her tattered Sergio Rossi knock-offs up the long hallway, one that anchors the ample pockets of Giovanna's pad, a headboard begins rhythmically chiming thuds, like a bell tolling for Roxanna, beckoning for her to come forth and embrace the light. As her eyes round the corner, they are forever emblazoned with the image of Trey taking Givonna from behind with the fury of a Roman gladiator fighting for his life. Yet he is the Emperor in control - he ferociously grips and tugs a leash chained to a spiked dog collar around Giovanna's slender neck. His tugs on the leash keep in time with his violent thrusts, and when he finally delevers a severe a case of blue balls, Giovanna gags just a little bit, overwhelmed at the sensation, and her own orgasm.
It has been so long for Roxanna. As Giovanna licks Trey's lollipop like a good little sub, Roxanna cannot bear anymore. She doesn't even feel the egg roll she pockets as she delicately lets herself out - her fingers are numb, her brain is numb, her spirit is broken. No matter, the egg roll has gone cold. The salt from her tears couples well with the Hoisin sauce.
Commenter 5 & 14 might be the most hilarious comments I have ever read on ATL. Seriously, you can tell this guy (obviously a male) is a 4th year hard working associate slightly insecure about his future. (Although his future is probably fine considering his comments).
-Female who graduated law school in '06 and hates the normal lawyer doucher.
I agree with the posters who generally enjoy Roxana St. Lat's writing style, but find her subject matter stale and depressing.
Yet again again with another installment, we are seeing this once-upon-a-time interesting and once-upon-a-time well-written series suffer its slow and inevitable death. It is not interesting anymore. It is not worth reading more than a few paragraphs (although I did this time). At one point I would have never imagined saying this, but even the wedding watch crap is more interesting nowadays.
Like King Lear?! Where on earth does she get that from? Look hun, if you feel bad about having the guy pay, then just fellate the bugger or have some virginal sex with him and you will not have to live with the guilt of using him as a wallet. Who knows, the possible orgasm might even help you feel better about your situation and since good sex is really one of the foundations of a stable marriage, you will also be well on your way towards selecting a potential life partner.
Roxana, I know we are in a tough economy and it is tough to find a job. However, with each article you write I visualize another five or ten people crumpling your resume. You are terrible. Your articles are not remotely interesting. I almost want to hire you myself just to make it stop, except for the fact that in every single awful article you write you point out how you never shower. Please take a shower. And get a job. Then stop writing.
this trash has gotten progressively worse
"Don't be silly," she says cheerfully. "Consider it a public service, since you'll have to shower."
"Whoa!" I tell her, "let's not be rash."
-------------
Ew. I don't care how long you've been laid off - take a damn shower.
Since Roxana is having such a hard time dating, she may want to consider that most guys won't date a girl who sits around wallowing in her filth.
-100
Can I take you to lunch?
-104
Only if you are virgin who will fellate me in between courses :). And oh yeah, we go Dutch.
P.S. I meant to say vaginal sex but changed it to virginal sex in part because I am a real gentleman and did not want to give offence to the damsel in distress but also because I hear from some fat and ugly spinsters who are forever gossiping in the pantry that women who do not have sex for a long time “re-virginate” and I suspect that the writer of the blog really needs to get some hot choo-choo in between her legs. Since you offered, I have decided to throw decorum to the wind and come straight out with the real V word. You can handle it right?
@ 18 you go girl....
-La - A (its pronounced ladasha bitch)
Wow. I get that I'm generally very different from most biglaw lawyers I work with, but I really tend to like most of my colleagues. Thank god I don't work with any of the assholes who have posted above - I'd leave the field tomorrow or more likely go back to solo practice.
She's _human_, folks. And she's fessing up to all of the unpleasant, human emotions we _all_ hate to confess, even when we're smack in the midst of them, even when we hate ourselves for feeling them. It's a human story, and the commenters here are painting themselves as pretty inhuman.
I care about her story because it's a parable for how fragile and external-validation-dependent we all are. And if you think it's not, I guarantee you something will knock you on your ass so hard in life you can't imagine who it turned you into - and you will think back to the callous things you said here and feel ashamed. As you should be.
Roxana - I like your writing and I love your unflinching honesty about all the ugly parts of this process. You're not crazy - you're human. I appreciate it, and I bet there are a lot of people out there that do as well.
Actually, being laid-off/fired has long lasting emotional effects. Studies show the rejection of being canned turns people into hermits. I think this story provided emprical evidence support that conclusion.
I'm kind of a feminist (oh whatever, you would like me IRL), and this shit -- also SATC, also the Lifetime channel -- offends me more than tucker max, roissy and xoxo combined. Collectively, Roxanna and her ilk are right up there with fundamentalist islam. DIE.
"Sitting at the table -- hands wrapped around our coffee cups, voices lowered conspiratorially -- I am reminded of television commercials in which women confide sheepishly about unseemly problems, like occasional irregularity or embarrassing ring-around-the-collar. But, before a chipper paid spokesperson can appear, offering us laxative yogurt or assistance with our laundry woes, we identify the issue at hand: DWUI."
11 modifiers in two sentences. Less is more, R, and adverbs are weak. Avoid them.
Roxanna please go volunteer to provide legal services. Sitting around stinking all day is not helping you or anyone else. At the very least volunteering at a legal services organization would infuse your blog with much needed substance.