Few and Far Between

I realize I haven't been blogging much.
Well, not HERE, anyway.

I've been spending all my free time writing.
It's not easy juggling everything
and keeping it all in the air.
I keep dropping stuff.
It's not pretty.
And to be quite frank, it's stressing me out.

This is my half-ass way of apologizing,
and assuring everyone that I will continue to blog,
though it will be less frequent.

I'm on a mission.
I want to complete my book by the end of the year,
set it aside for a while,
then finish editing by next Spring.

At least, that's the plan.

Life has a way of messing things up.
Which is why my posts will be far and few between.
Be patient with me.

Horse Power

Thanks to Budge for sending me this:

On the farm lived a chicken and a horse, both of whom loved to play together.

One day the two were playing, when the horse fell into a bog and began to sink.

Scared for his life, the horse whinnied for the chicken to go get the farmer for help!

Off the chicken ran, back to the farm. Arriving at the farm, he searched and searched for the farmer, but to no avail, for he had gone to town with the only tractor.

Running around, the chicken spied the farmer's new Harley Davidson Motorcycle.

Finding the keys in the ignition, the chicken sped off with a length of rope hoping he still had time to save his friend's life.

Back at the bog, the horse was surprised, but happy, to see the chicken arrive on the shiny Harley, and he managed to get a hold of the loop of rope the chicken tossed to him.

After tying the other end to the rear bumper of the farmer's bike, the chicken then drove slowly forward and, with the aid of the powerful bike, rescued the horse!

Happy and proud, the chicken rode the Harley back to the farmhouse, and the farmer was none the wiser when he returned.

The friendship between the two animals was cemented: Best Buddies, Best Pals.

A few weeks later, the chicken fell into a mud pit, and soon, he too, began to sink and cried out to the horse to save his life!

The horse thought a moment, walked over, and straddled the large puddle.

Looking underneath, he told the chicken to grab his hangy-down thingy and he would then lift him out of the pit.

The chicken got a good grip, and the horse pulled him up and out, saving his life.

And the moral of the story?? (yep, you betcha, there is a moral!)

When You're Hung Like A Horse,
You Don't Need A Harley To Pick Up Chicks!

The Extra Mile

We have nice boardrooms in our office.
The firm spent a lot of money on presentation.
The boardrooms have a beautiful view of
Lake Ontario and cityscape.
It's quite lovely.
Clients are always impressed.

And we often have clients who will ask
to use our boardrooms for meetings.

We're nice people.
So we say "Sure!"

Boss #1 had a client call for such a request.
It seems he needed neutral ground for a meeting.
No problem.

Boss #1 was meeting out of the office,
so when Mr. Client arrived, I went up to greet him.
I ushered the group into the boardroom,
showed them where the washrooms were,
gave them my telephone extension in case they needed anything,
made sure they had coffee, juice, water and cookies,
then left them alone.

At the end of the meeting, Mr. Client sends me an email:

Thank you for your hospitality this morning. The meeting went very well. My guests were suitably impressed.

I read the email to Boss #1.

"It sounds like I did more than just shake his hand
and bring him to the boardroom."

Boss #1 gives me a thumbs up.
"Good girl."

One Ringy Dingy

Boss #1 tells me that
John Doe, a consultant client,
will be meeting another lawyer in our office.

"Phone him and see if he's available to meet with me at two."

So I call him.
The voice on the other end of the phone says:
"John Doe Consulting, how may I help you?"

I smile.
The guy sounds like he's 15 years old.
How cute is that?
Somebody got themselves a summer job
answering the phone at mummy or daddy's office.

I ask, in my professional voice:
"May I speak with John Doe's assistant, please?"

"One moment, please," he says.

I hold for about 15 seconds.

Then there's a click,
and the call is picked up,
and the EXACT SAME VOICE comes on the line.

"John Doe speaking."

There was no mistaking the voice.
It didn't just sound a little bit like him.
It was EXACTLY like him.
It WAS him!

Dude, if you're gonna fake having lots of staff,
at least disguise your voice.

It was all I could do to keep from laughing,
while visions of a Lily Tomlin skit ran through my head.

Summer Slam

It's summer, and you know what that means.
Office Summer Parties.

Ho hum.
Or, in the words of Vampire Willow:
Bored now.

Our party is tonight.
A BBQ on the patio behind our building.
Burgers and such.

The interesting thing to note is that
we're expecting thunder showers today.
Hmmmm...

Regardless, I can't go.
I'm staying at the Sleep Clinic tonight
and have to go straight home after work.

Oh well.

I was using my sarcastic font on that last line.

M'Licious sent me an email yesterday,
bragging about her office summer party.

Our summer party, she writes,
is at La'Maquette at King and Church.

And she sends a link.
Which I click on.

The first thing I notice on their site
is their claim to fame:

VOTED "MOST ROMANTIC" 2007

I see.
And this is where you're having your office party?

I want to read her job description.
I'm guessing it's a little more 'involved' than mine.

Had drinks and snacks and drinks and drinks
(in that order)
with the girls last night for a
belated birthday celebration.

Lady Fairchilde,
Robi,
M'Licious, and
Trampy.

A motley crew, to say the least.

One Guinness was all I ordered.
One.

But then...

Lady Fairchilde decided she didn't like Guinness
and pushed her pint over to me.
sigh
There's no accounting for taste.

And M'Licious orders a round of
Swedish Berry shooters.

Deeeeeeeee-Lish!
It was like Kool-Aid for grownups.

Not the wisest choice on a school night,
but I had a great time
and for a drinking light-weight,
I was none the worse for wear this morning.

Which probably isn't a good thing.
It sends the wrong message.
The message should be:

yurrr no 20 inee moorrre, hen.
ye canny be doin' this ta yurrrrself.

Instead, the message is:

ack, hen! trrreeee? Ohneee trrreeee?
ya kin do bettah 'n dat!

Since the group agreed that
this should be a monthly
*ahem*
"meeting"
it may be difficult to ignore the voices that cheer me on.

Even if they're speaking with a drunken Scottish slur.

Adventures in Babysitting

Do you have children that need to be looked after?
Are they rude?
Condescending?
Spoiled?

Send them here.
We have a whole bunch of them,
Yours will fit right in.

Our Summer Students are a pain in the arse.
Spoiled, pampered and a little too haughty.

I want to tell them ...
you ain't all that,
nor are you a bag of chips.
And even if you were,
you'd be Sour Cream and Onion.
I hate Sour Cream and Onion.

They're Summer Students.
Not even Articling Students, yet.
They haven't finished school,
they have no clue what they're doing,
yet they insist on acting like they do.

The worse part is that they cannot fend for themselves.
I don't know what parents are doing nowadays,
but whatever it is ...
stop doing it!

You're raising an entire generation
of spoiled brats
who cannot take care of themselves,
have no respect for others
and insist that the world owes them.

Today = Straw = Broken Camel Back.

One of the students comes over to
the network printer next to me.
Not everyone gets a printer, especially the students.
There are several high speed printers
on every floor for people to share.

So the student comes over to the printer.
I conclude that he has sent something to print.
The printer makes no sound.
It's not printing.
Printer Boy just stares at it.

I type at my computer and make no eye contact.

I can see him out of the corner of my eye.
He looks up at the shelf above the printer.
Squats down and opens the cupboard below the printer.
Opens the printer tray.

It's clear there's no paper.
Not in the printer,
not below in the storage area,
not above on the shelf.

Printer Boy stands there for about 30 seconds.
Stands on his toes again to look at the top shelf
(he's short),
squats down and opens the cupboard doors,
checks the printer tray.

The paper has not magically appeared.

He stands there another 30 seconds or so.
I continue to type at my computer,
avoiding eye contact.

Printer Boy goes through the routine again.

Really?
The paper is not going to just appear, you know.

Then finally:

PB: Do you know where I can get more paper?

Me: Supply Room

PB: Oh.

(I know he hesitated to see if I would volunteer to go.
I don't. Screw that!)

Printer Boy finally walks away.
He surprises me by coming back with a package of paper.
I really expected him to just forget the whole thing.

As he opens the package,
I ask him (already knowing the answer),

Me: Did you tell them that we were out?

PB: Oh. No.

Me: Well, that wasn't really smart, was it?


And you want to be a lawyer when you grow up???