No. 1 Kitchen

I love my power drill. I thought lovingly about it this morning, recalling the ease with which I drilled holes for the handles in my new kitchen cabinets last night. The drill also screws in screws in a marvelously quick and easy fashion. Anything that makes a job quick and easy is A, number 1 in my book. That's why I love my egg steamer/toaster, microwave, dishwasher, hand blender, apple corer, Google, email, text messaging, and DVR/Tivo.

My contractor is here right now, putting in my sink! I am so happy about that. It's a beautiful new sink too - glossy white porcelain, farmhouse-style. I couldn't be more pleased with it. My kitchen is mostly modern, toned down by some cottage-y elements - stainless steel appliances, plain white cabinetry with stainless steel handles, steel cabinet legs in lieu of toekicks, shelving on the walls instead of wall cabinets, butcher block countertops, farmhouse sink, wood floors. I'm thinking of painting one wall a pumpkin/paprika color, one wall a faint sky blue, and the others a glossy white.

Yes, I am aware this post sounds very pretentious and yuppie. HOWEVER, I chose everything for its reasonable price. I didn't get marble or granite countertops, although I love the look of white Carrera marble. My cabinets are from Ikea and are not custom-made. I assembled and put the cabinets in myself. My dad and I gutted the kitchen. So, anyway, when it's all done, you're all invited over for a kitchen-warming party! And I'm not even registered at Pottery Barn.

Some stuff

Had my first interview today. I liked them very much, particularly the hiring partner, who is a very well-regarded litigator in this state. They said good things, like "If we don't call you right away, don't think we're not interested. We go slowly on these things." And "If you get another offer from another firm, call us right away and we'll speed up the process." And "You'll find that you'll have no problem meeting your billable hours." Sounds promising, but I won't be excited until I get a call that goes something like "Welcome to the firm! You'll be making twice what you're currently making, i.e. a living wage!"

Blahblah. I feel blah today, overwhelmed a bit, out of sorts. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I have no functioning kitchen at the moment (getting new cabinets & sink put in) and I have to wash my dishes in the bathroom sink.

I am not Demi Moore

The Judge has a new intern, who is 23 years old, entering his second year of law school, has lovely white teeth, and looks smashing in a business suit. My co-clerk and I went to lunch with him today and, there, found out that he can cook the perfect omelet, make a good cup of coffee, eat, wash the dishes, and be out the door, all within 10 minutes' time. Have mercy.

1 for 3

Got an interview for next Tuesday at a firm downtown. It's the 19th largest law firm in Baltimore, around 45 attorneys.

Father's Day

Yesterday, my dad came over to my house while my girls were at their paternal grandparents' house. He came over bearing tools and the capability to help me tear out my kitchen cabinets. I saw him at the front door and I was sort of shocked at how little my dad looked. Short, slim, old. Briefly, I felt sad, but brushed that feeling away like a cobweb in my face. It was the first father-daughter time we've had in decades, probably. We worked in silence, me taking out the cooktop stove, him taking out the garbage disposal and sink plumbing. He liked my supply of tools in my Bucket Boss organizer. He also said that I do good work on this sort of thing for a girl; these are both great complements from my dad, so inside I felt all shiny.

When my girls came home, Char had made a card for her dad, who she did not see. I don't know what he was doing, but he didn't visit with the girls. Maybe there was an emergency in the dog food aisle. She also took $1.00 of her allowance, made her granddad take her to the store, and bought her dad one of those chocolate-covered cherries wrapped in red foil, the kind you can buy just one of, near the cash registers ("Because Daddy LOVES those!"). I can't bear to look at the card, because I know what's in there. Every year, Char makes a card for her dad, and on the inside is a drawing of her holding hands with him. There are birds flying all around, the sun is happily shining, and bees are buzzing around. My heart breaks for her every year.

I need a J-O-B

I sent out some resumes earlier this week, to law firms in Baltimore, Towson, and Rockville. As of today, I've heard back from 2 firms, both indicating that they aren't looking for new associates at this time. I'm 0 for 2.

Baby, it's cold in here

I've been accused of being "cold" by at least 3 guys I've dated in the past. I always snickered inside when I heard that, those little girly wimps. There's nothing wrong with being cold, if it means being able to figure out when it's time to end the relationship and move swiftly into and through the breakup. There's no reason whatsoever to dwell on the past; I've never been a mourner. Yes, I have regrets, but I cannot, will not, and do not revisit those regrets with "would'ves" and "should'ves." And because I don't mourn relationships, I don't get sad or angry or jealous. That's great. But I'm not sure I get deliriously, silly happy either. Maybe that notion of what is good existing only because of the existence of what is bad is true. Maybe God only exists because the devil exists (I hate this analogy, because I'm not sure there is a God, much less a devil, and even if both did exist, it still doesn't make God seem all that good all the time). Maybe the cool breeziness of autumn exists only because of the sweltering heat of summer. Maybe clean laundry exists only because you have to go through the horror of sorting, stain-removing, washing, drying, folding, and putting away.

I'll be 35 soon. What am I doing? Where am I going? What does friendship mean? What does trusting another human being entail? Where do I begin and my fears end?

Bad Soccer Mom

When my daughter plays soccer, or any sport for that matter, I feel competitive with the other parents, as if success on the recreational soccer team means success as a parent. Mind you, my daughter is 7 years old and collects stuffed lambs and those plastic gift cards from various stores. She is also really smart (a genius, really. sniff.) and, quite honestly, beautiful. Look:

But the moment she steps onto the field, my eyes are glued on her for the rest of the game, practice, whathaveyou. I'm surprised she doesn't shield her eyes from my laser-beam stare. I love how she watches the ball and the moment there's an opening among all the frantically kicking legs, takes the ball, dribbles it down field, and scores. I'm pleased that my offspring has come out on top. Maybe it's my own personal mini-Darwinism, maybe it's the fact that I'm living vicariously through my daughter, who will feel such pressure due to this, that she will become an art history major and then work as a barista in Seattle somewhere.

I hate OPEC

I filled up my gas tank this morning - 17 gallons, $67.