March 31

I went on a date yesterday. I "met" this woman via a dating website. Dates like this go in one of two ways - either you do a bunch of pre-date texting/emailing to establish the basics about one another's lives (what you do, where you live, broad biographical sketching) or very limited pre-date communication - you've established via the mutual "liking" of each other's profiles that there is some initial interest, so let's save all that conversational lubricant for the meeting. 

This date was the latter. It was fine, which is to say I spent an hour or so of pleasant conversation with a complete stranger who, when the meal was over, I parted with amicably with no expectation of ever seeing again.

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March 30

I am reading a funny-as-all-get-out collection of essays in a book titled We Are Never Meeting In Real Life. I am definitely not the demographic for this book but I am thoroughly enjoying it.

Anyway, in one of the essays, the author, Samantha Irby, is talking about when she applied to colleges and although she had a very high SAT score (1520 on the old 1600 system) her grades were mediocre. She writes: "This is the problem with neither applying oneself nor working up to one's potential, these moments when you are reduced to a bunch of abstract letters and numbers whose unflattering reflection cannot be charmed or joked aside."

Damn. It was a sentiment expressed slightly differently many years ago by @annadrozzy who, while I was lamenting my work-related frustrations (yes, they go back a LONG time) said "it's your talent, you can choose to squander it if you want to." 

For a long time, I did focus on why I did not reach my full potential or lamented that people who I did not think were as talented as me seemed to get ahead while I was spinning in place. It has not always been true, I have had a few moments of glory in the sun, but what I have come to accept is that I got to where I am in spite of the myriad of shortcomings I have - the awful interpersonal skills,  inability to filter myself when I think someone has said (or done) something idiotic, and my total lack of respect for authority, among others - and that I should feel good about overcoming these huge, honking roadblocks instead of crying over the fact I did not become a judge.

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March 29

A few solid days at work were foiled by the news that one of the people I absolutely loathe is not only coming to work in my practice group, but may have been given the job I interviewed for recently. I am fuming. This is someone who had a nice perch in another part of the office, so her transfer seems curious to say the least. Upper management is being very tight-lipped about things, but I will know more on Monday. It seems like a never-ending series of kicks to the balls, especially because this person's reputation as a rat-fucker and back-stabber is well-known. How is that some people continue getting promoted into positions they do not deserve and the rest of us sit there, idling away the time, trying to get ahead and never succeeding?

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March 28

I have a unique skill of attracting women who show some initial interest in me, only to disappear (or "ghost" in the parlance of our times), and then, once I've moved on emotionally, slide back into my life looking for attention.

Take today for example. A woman, we'll call her "A," texted me for the first time in several weeks asking if I wanted to do something this weekend. A and I had been out four or five times late last year and I thought things were going somewhere (they were not) and had exchanged sporadic texts (invariably initiated by me) in January and February. 

So did I tell her to buzz off? Of course not. I am a sucker. I take the bait every time, I never stand up for myself, and I let people walk all over me. And then I wonder why I am so unhappy.

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March 27

When I grew up, I wanted to be Bruce Lindsey. That name probably does not mean anything to you. Bruce is not a famous rock star like another guy named Bruce. He is not a star athlete or a famous movie star. He did not cure a disease or win a Nobel Prize. No, Bruce was a fixer before that term was polluted by Michael Cohen. 

Bruce stood a step behind (and invariably with his down) Bill Clinton. Bruce was Clinton's aide-de-camp, his consigliere, the guy with a portfolio of work that was as broad as it was vague. He disappeared into the background and made things go away or happen, as was needed. He was the guy behind the guy, never quoted, seen but not heard, and trusted implicitly to deal with the stuff that was some combination of fucked up, complicated, and political. 

Today, we might call that being a fixer. Some attorneys have rebranded that into "crisis communications," but I only tangentially got to experience it. I have honed many of the skills - I have made problems go away, distilled complex information to its essence in order to get a resolution, and my counsel has been relied on by the people who are not choosing between good and bad options but between bad and worse options. You would be hard pressed to find me quoted on the internet and my fingerprints are usually not found in the final decision, which is as I like it. 

But the thing is, and the thing I did not appreciate when I was in my 20s and watched Bruce operate, is that to do that job you have sublimate your ego and accept that you will never receive credit - publicly - for what you do. Part of living in the shadows is understanding that people either will not or cannot see your hand in the final product. 

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March 26

As I watched the Duke men's basketball team somehow pull out a victory over the University of Central Florida Sunday night it dawned on me. I have hated Duke's basketball team for more than half my life. As a teenager, Duke was like the the rich WASPs from a John Hughes movie. They were very easy to root against and when the UNLV Runnin' Rebels crushed them in the 1990 NCAA title game, it was glorious. But that was the high water mark for Duke haters. The following year, and with the Rebels just two games away from the first perfect season since 1976, Duke beat them in the national semi-finals. The year after that, Christian Laettner pulled down a three-quarter-court inbound pass from Grant Hill in the East regional finals to beat the University of Kentucky on their way to a second straight title. 

Four more national championships have followed and, as the cult of Coach K has expanded, the students at Cameroon Indoor have become that much more obnoxious, and the reverence for the program has grown. It is so annoying. It is like rooting for Goliath. They already attract the best talent, do they need to get all the calls and all the luck too? 

It is one of the cruelties of sports that so much hinges on so little - a rotation of a golf ball, a toe dragged across the sideline, a spin of the basketball on the rim; and so it was that Duke, losing to UCF by three with just a few seconds to play, somehow ended up winning by one. Because even when they miss a foul shot, they get the rebound and score. Even when they allow the other team to get off a good, potentially game winning shot, it just spins out. Because the player who tries for the put back, who happens to be the son of one of Duke's all-time best players, taps the ball a bit too hard and it rims out. Because it is Duke.

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March 24

There is a guy in my boxing class who weirds me out. He looks to be in his early 20s and I am pretty sure he has a mental illness. I think he is autistic. His dad drops him off at the studio and the instructor takes time to help on with his gloves etc. He does not follow the combinations, he just sort of swings at the bag. He does not do the calisthenic exercises. He wanders around the studio between sets mumbling to himself with his head down. It is super annoying. 

What he does do is leer at the women in the class. He also leers at the women in the studio next to ours. It is really creepy. I have thought about saying something to the instructor, but I don't know, is it my problem? Is it his fault? I don't know, I just know it's creepy and weird and it messes with my flow.

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March 23

Mueller wrapped up his investigation yesterday. I am despondent. So many threads are dangling and yet, it looks like Trump and all his cronies are going to get away with it. And the "it" looks like a laundry list of shady behavior on multiple levels. I do not know if I am more bothered because as an attorney I care about the rule of law or as a Democrat who cares about our country's future. Either way, it is amazing to me that the whole investigation is ending with this whimper and no bang. 

I know there are active investigations going on elsewhere, but after all this build-up, I know what is coming. Lots of Goebbels-level "no collusion" messaging, a call for everyone to move on, and probably a few "lock her up" chants for good measure. It sickens me.

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March 22

I finished reading Courtenay Hameister's book Okay Fine Whatever. The title is about how I felt about the book. Ostensibly, it was about Hameister (who has generalized anxiety disorder) spending a year doing things outside her comfort zone. And she does do some of that, but it is really a book about her dating escapades, and in an entirely predictable ending, she meets and falls in love with a guy. Good for her. It is the problem I have with books like this, especially ones masquerading as one thing when they are really another - if it worked for me, it can work for you. Hameister went out with 27 men over the course of a year, got laid a few times, and then, #28 was the one who stuck. I've been divorced for almost nine years, am still single, and go out on like three dates a year. 

It is not to criticize her, but the reality is that books like that do not end up getting written unless there is a happy ending because to do otherwise would reinforce for the people who read it that life does not always have a happy ending. But hey, you too could be in your mid-40s, still trying to decide what you want to do with your life (her description) and somehow scratch out a living teaching writing to adults (?) and picking up some freelance work, and making a go of it. Sure Jan.

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March 21

Can I just pause for a moment to tell you how much I love my cats? It is funny, when they started spending nights indoors, and then ultimately became "indoor only" cats, I set up my basement as a separate bedroom for me so they could have the other two floors of the house at night - it seemed like a win/win. They could get into whatever shenanigans they got into nocturnally, and I could get an uninterrupted night's sleep. 

Things worked well, but for whatever reason, and I'm not sure why it was, but I started letting Ghost sleep on the bed. At first, it did not go so well. Any time I shifted my body, he would claw at my legs, as cats are wont to do. Then, Pumpkin would start trying to muscle in on his turf and they would get into fights that would wake me up. Eventually though, the kinks got worked out and we can spend a (mostly) unremarkable night all curled up together. Now, if one (or both) don't come to bed with me, I feel off. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and hear one of them snoring contentedly, and my heart breaks a little bit at the adorableness. Pumpkin has to be the first one to say "hi" in the morning by curling around my legs when I get out of bed, demanding a back scratch. Ghost is a little more demonstrative, meowing to get my attention or tearing ass downstairs to be the first one at the food dish. We are a happy little family.

Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy