I’ve come to accept the yearning and melancholy that arises whenever I wake up late and ride the El after 8 AM—that’s rush hour for all the girls with fun, interesting (and ostensibly low-paying) jobs. They’re all so freaking happy and healthy looking, with their Equinox memberships that they actually use and the kind of…
This past weekend, I was angling for a posh, Ivy League alum and instead found myself waking up next to a snoring Hoosier.
Apparently, when it comes to lawyers having a mid-life crisis, Facebook is the new Ferrari.
In a few days a bunch of cretins in the form of summer associates begin their 12 weeks of pathetic play-acting around the firm.
There are two things I’m certain of: (i) I am a fantastic associate; (ii) I am profoundly miserable. And I’m afraid there’s a direct link.
Was I to believe that the only people desperate enough to spend $1,800 on It’s Just Lunch were the mothers of gay sons and divorced men?
I’m looking for a high-earner with the financial wherewithal to slip a $20,000 ring onto my left hand after a whirlwind courtship
The key to maintaining a lawyer-civilian relationship is to mentally delete all those asocial, annoying tendencies that make us good at our jobs
Of all the things about this firm that make me writhe with discomfort and despair, perhaps the most notable is the Women’s Initiative. I can say with great conviction that I would rather trade places with a paralegal, and spend my days doing whatever the hell it is paralegals do, than join that miserable group. …
Male law firm partners are awkward, middle-aged, sex-starved men who tend to mistake my professional attentiveness for flirtation