So, I generally avoid blogging about personal things, mostly because (1) people I know read this blog; (2) no one needs to read my whining and (3) I like to keep a certain air of mystery about me. Okay, maybe not the last part, but you get the drift. I mean, even the stories that are about my life – like getting accosted in Cosi or breaking my closet – are not really all that personal to me. Mostly, my goal is to post somewhat amusing diversions.
But today I need to vent. Just a little.
I was hoping that telling Justin this story on the phone would ease my urge to write it down, but apparently, it’s done me no good. So, here goes:
The office was Antarctica cold again, what with the air conditioning being fixed, but other than that, it was a pretty good, quiet day. I was wearing my cute new white pinstriped suit and my favorite Kenneth Cole crocodile slingbacks, and I managed not to spill anything on myself, even though I went out for a late lunch with Pigface.
Last week, I had agreed to cover a deposition for one of the partners in a matter that I had briefly worked on several months ago. At 7:00 p.m., I found out that the opposing counsel is someone that I know. Not just someone that I used to work with, or that I was friends with, but no – someone that I used to date.
Yep, of all the random coincidences. . . .
Not that we hate each other or anything. We were friends that started dating only to realize that we were completely incompatible. But because we still had to work with each other and have several friends in common, we couldn’t just completely ignore each other. Over the past several years, it’s evolved into this weird détente.
And, wouldn’t you know it, we both left the government job at around the same time, and started working for law firms. We hardly ever see each other, unless we’re both invited to something by a mutual friend -- which is perfectly acceptable to me.
So, of course, of all the people at his giant law firm, he’s the one taking the deposition. And, of all the people at my giant law firm . . . well, you get the picture. Fucking random.
My conclusion: The universe is conspiring against me. Or, to look at it in a My Name is Earl-type way, it's the giant middle finger of karma.