time slime

One thing about slime is that it does conjure up some nice memories, like being a kid, Ghostbusters, and 'You Can't Do That on Television'.

My slime for this week is billable hours. I think BCF life will be a complete mystery to me on that front for a very long time. I don't know if I'll ever understand it. Ben offered to 'take me through the basics' over coffee in the kitchen this morning. But that could be interpreted in so many ways that my only option was to decline his offer. That's a whole other kind of slime.

billable hours
they could give you flowers
instead of this sour
feeling inside

every month
I grind and I crunch
squeeze and punch
this lovely BCF slime

its green and its gooey
slimey and fluid
how disgusting
is entering time

Monday morning

Thank Christ! The tie on the chair did not belong to anyone inappropriate. It is John Claude's. He left it there when he and Kate went to have a 'quiet drink' (wink wink) at the bar around the corner.

The rest of the night is still a bit of a blur. I am in the process of trying to piece it all back together when I see Ben saunter past my office with one of the young paralegals tagging along behind him like some sort of love sick puppy.
This merger is going to change things a lot round here. And in ways I don't think I will like very much.

Already the boys from ABC have sent around an email trying to set up a footy tipping competition. There was no footy tipping competition before they arrived. The most exciting sport discussion would happen in hushed whispers in the kitchen over a cuppa before it was quashed by a detailed consideration of whether Meredith should in fact have drowned on Grey's Anatomy last night.

I miss those days. They were nice and safe.

My nice and safe feeling is slowly disappearing. First I am subjected to 'footy tipping' and now I have to go and meet with Uncle about the splendidly disastrous court appearance last Friday. I know he will rip the rug of independence from under my feet and I will be babied. I understand why he has to do it. Keep up appearances etc. But it just feels so nasty and awful. It's like being slimed. BCF slime.

the clean up

Champagne haze. It's a special state of existence that generally kicks in on Friday nights after the fourth or fifth champagne on an empty stomach.

I think I had a serious case of champagne haze last night. There are a number of clues. The fact I've woken up with my clothes still on with lipstick all over my face and contorted in some weird position on my office couch. There is a champagne bottle and a cigarette butt on my office floor. I am not entirely sure how they got there and I am not entirely sure I want to know.

I feel a bit like Inspector Morse trying to piece together a crime from objects found at the crime scene. All I can find is the champagne bottle, cigarette but and a gorgeous Armani silk tie dangling from the back of my office chair.

I remember the champagne and the bumping into Peters and Jones and even the nasty Ben. I do not remember much after that.

Oooohhhh… I do also remember Kate and John Claude, I hope there is some nice gossip there.

Note to self, never smoke in office again. There are no windows. It will smell. Hopefully, come Monday morning, I will be able to slink into the background masked by my monumental mess up at court yesterday. And, more importantly, no one will remember anything that I don't.

snaps to Lawyers Weekly

Lawyertrix gives snaps to folklaw at Lawyers Weekly this week for the shout out and recognition of her poetic style and grace (even if it is a bit long winded).

In honour of the folks at folklaw I have composed this short and concise haiku…

every Friday
with baited breath I await
lawyers weekly kiss

the merger

Kate and John were perfect. I felt every bone of my body tingle with the excitement of the setup. I can't believe I had never thought of it before. It was brilliant. I know that it seems contradictory for a woman as anti-relationship and men as I am to be so pro set-ups but they really give me a thrill. I figure that anyone who has had as bad a track record with men and heart break as I have has to get their thrills by watching others try and fail or (hopefully) succeed.

"Two champagnes and beer please," I ask the barman. I am really quite giggly and am starting to question the sensibleness of yet another glass of champagne when I catch John lean in and whisper something into Kate's ear as she smiles and rests her hand on his chest. True love was possible (although clearly not for me) and was blossoming right before my eyes.

"Make that three champagnes and a beer." This was worthy of real celebration. I downed one glass of champagne and was about to make my way across the floor to Kate and John with the other drinks when a hoard of suits knocked my back, led by Peters and Jones, the managing partners of ABC.

Champagne and beer burbled down the front of my no-longer-so-perfect-Friday night black dress with shirt underneath.

"I am so sorry young lady, look what I've done," said Peters or Jones, I could never remember which was which. Although I knew that Jones was the one who had been struck off for a while because of malpractice I could never remember whether he had the grey hair and glasses or the grey hair without the glasses.

"It's ok, my dress had a bad day anyway," I joked.

Uncle appeared from the back of the men laughing, "Ah Trixie, it's been a bit of a day all round for you hasn't it?"

"I guess that's one way of describing it."

"Gentleman can I introduce you to Trixie Allan. My niece and our newest Senior Associate. She is our pro-bono guru and is taking BCF by storm."

"The Federal Court too from what I hear…" a voice from someone I could not see. Ben moved out from behind Jones portly belly and faced me, "rough day love?"

Arrogant son-of-a.... I wanted to punch him. But I resisted.