Dear Wannadoo City:

Dear Wannadoo City:

First: I hate your name. A lot. And I hate that I always have to hear about it at work, because everyone's sticky children love to go there. When I think about it, it sounds like a kid telling me he has to take a shit. I hate your name.

Second: I hate your song. "Wannadoo ciiiityyyy, where kids can do what they wannadoo!"

Sick.

Third: That commercial you have out now? With that five-year-old who needs Speech Therapy? Who's bugging his mom about being an astronaut, and a firefighter and God knows what other cliche'd "big-boy" career the little fag wants to be at Wannadoo city...? You know that one? Where he lisps and mispronounces words for thirty seconds and I don't understand his garbled retard speech? You know that commercial?

I fucking hate it. It's the most annoying thing I've ever seen in my life. Seriously. I hate that kid. Where does he live? I want to rent a room at the Lowes and throw him out the window (ooh, bad taste!)

I've never had a commercial make me homicidal before, but that one does. Especially with his dumb bleach-blonde, bad-nosejob Weston mom, putting away glasses in their granite-countered kitchen, with her orange tan and her early 90s length hair-band groupie hair with poofy bangs.

UGH. SERIOUSLY. STOP ADVERTISING. YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE ME BURN WANNADOO CITY DOWN. Or at least murder that kid, and kill whatever casting director was like "You. You are perfect for for this commercial! Even though NO ONE CAN UNDERSTAND YOU! It's adorable!"

Um. Like... where's Dakota Fanning and her ilk? Those Welch's Grape Juice Kids? They'd be adorable in your low-budget commercial. For God's sake, get little Guillermo Martinez-Fraga off the commerical. I hate the little bastard.

An Exchange:

Scene: Jessica and I are sunkissed, with light streaks in our hair and sand on our ankles. We're salty, and smell like Coconut from the Banana Boat 8 SPF lotion. We amble, beach bags on our shoulders, into the CVS on Lincoln Road between Collins and Washington Ave on Miami Beach. Jessica buys some fizzy water and Gatorade and some Reuniti (on ice, that's nice.)

As we make our way up to the cashier, a crazy Cuban lady with wild gray hair, buying mops and ham and beans tries to make line conversation with us in broken English. But we're focused on getting Jessica's Gatorade and getting outta there.

Jessica goes to a CVS at least three times a day. There's one about 10 yards from her door in Tampa. She knows the system. I do not. As the cashier is ringing her up, she swipes her card, before the cashier has rung in all of her liquids.

Me: What are you doing?! Don't do that yet! She's not done ringing you through! You're gonna mess it up!
Jessica: It's okay, I do this all the time, I can swipe my card before she's through.
Cashier: You know, you shouldn't be telling her what to do. She's an adult.
Me: It's okay. She likes it when I tell her what to do.
Jessica: He's right. I like when he tells me what to do. It makes me feel loved.

All three of us bust out laughing. We take our gatorade and wish her a good day. As we're leaving, Jessica and I are doubled over. Once outside, on the dirtiest most horrible part of Lincoln Road, you know, one of the last Bastions of the realm of the Bum and Sad-Dying Old People in dirty wheelchairs with stained and ragged clothing, the Kings and Queens of the Beach from 1980-1996, if you will, until the Gays REALLY started moving in and classing the joint up, the conversation continues:

Jessica: How AWKWARD was that?!
Me: I think we just made her day.
Jessica: We're her favorite customers of all time. She'll never forget us.
Me: "I like when he tells me what to do. It makes me feel loved." Hah!

And, Scene.

If it's not funny, then screw you. I guess maybe you had to be there.

Keys to the Kingdom

While the rest of my office enjoys hour-long coffee breaks and rolling in whenever they please, I have just had 10 years taken off of my life.

I've been left with the Keys to the Kingdom.

My boss is on vacation, and I'm the only attorney. That means, in addition to working on all the tasks I've been assigned, the largest of which is a cryptic and daunting task involving "Research Issues Presented in Motions to Dismiss" (not ours) (also, each is like 12 pages long full of rules and cases I've never heard of) and it's co-task of "Prepare Memorandum to be filed in Court, see research in file," I have to handle the rest of the day-to-day activitites of the office.

I'm freaking out... not because I don't think I'm capable of doing this, per se, I'm a lawyer almost a year now, so... things are starting to click, but more because I... don't want to. Is that so wrong? I don't feel like doing all that work. I've read our Counterclaim that the other side wants to dismiss...and truthfully... I agree with the other side. The previous lawyer that wrote the thing... didn't do a very good job.

Meh. I also have to do a lot of "negotiating" with opposing counsel. That always scares the bejesus out of me, because it's so obvious I have no idea what I'm talking about, and I feel like older lawyers love to toy with the new kid.

Oh, and I hate opposing counsel. I'm a nice opposing counsel. I'm friendly and upbeat, and cheerful, and not impatient. I mean, I have no reason to be, AND, you get more flies with honey than vinegar. But I know I'm going to have to deal with this one basketcase of a Ft. Lauderdale lawyer, who, in my humble opinion is 1) a bitch and 2) incompetent, and 3) wore a dusty, yellowing drop-waist dress, akin to a sailor suit to my Motion to Dismiss her Complaint (that I won) which coined her the nickname "Dusty Lampshade" and made me hate her for eternity...well, that was a combination of the dress, and the fact that she then moved for contempt against my firm saying we were acting unethically - another motion of hers that was dismissed, and yet... I was the one who got yelled at by the Judge...

Bitch, if there was anything unethical in that room, it was you, representing your client in that godawful dress.

But I digress -- I'm taking a little breather before launching into this five-inch thick file. I think I'm going to re-read the file, and then closely examine the motions against us, starting my research there. Although, I really don't see what the rush is all about. Nothing has happened in this case since like February '05... except for an unsuccessful appeal by us about...some...non-issue.

Okay. Off to work for me. Wish me luck. I'm now like a solo practitioner with a full staff. That's nuts!