Pervert, Esq.: Part One

There are so many social interactions with BigLaw Partners that can be tough for an associate to navigate: digging yourself out of a conversational black hole with a drunk one at the firm’s holiday party, trying to avert your eyes from one’s soggy old ball sac staring you in the face at a 7 a.m. workout at the office gym, running into one at the Four Seasons with a companion who’s clearly charging by the hour.  None, however, is trickier than one that finds you bouncing around naked on top of one them in a sweaty, groping marathon of intra-firm sexcapades. [Read more]

No Laughing Matter

I used to be a lot of things.  Funny.  Creative.  Limber.  Up for a good time.  It didn’t take much to make me laugh.  And when I did, it was genuine.  And then I became a lawyer.  And last night, I found myself at a hole-in-the-wall vodka bar with a group of fun-loving, actor-writer-creative types, and I realized that I had nothing to say.  I couldn’t form the words in time to jump into a good riff or a joke.  I had no cool work anecdotes or funny stories.  I couldn’t relate to 98% of what these people were laughing about and I actually felt bad for anyone who had to sit next to me.  It’s official: I’m no longer funny or interesting. [Read more]

Lawyer-Hot or Hot-Hot?

I should’ve known better. I should’ve just left the pimping to the professionals and none of this would’ve happened. But it did. It started this past weekend when I was having brunch at City Bakery with my newly single, ex-BigLaw friend, Max, and I suggested a perfect set-up for him: She’s a fourth-year in my firm, cute, funny, just transferred in from the Paris office and doesn’t know anyone. Max’s first question, of course:

“Is she hot?”

“Well, I guess. Yeah. Definitely. She’s adorable.”

“What, like, a 7? Or are we talking 8, 9?”

Gross. “I don’t know, Max. A ‘7,’ maybe? Whatever. She’s hot.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, but is she lawyer-hot or hot-hot?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Is she hot for a lawyer or hot for a, you know, real person?” [Read more]

Online Dating for Lawyers: A Primer

I get it, people—we’re Big Firm Associates—it’s not easy to find dates, no less get laid on a steady, or any, basis.  Of the cool professions guaranteed to elicit flirting at a bar, “lawyer” is right up there with mortician and actuary in terms of its panty-melting effect. (Believe me, I’ve had to find out the hard way. Just ask this guy.) So, as much as it pains me to admit it, if you’re anything like me and you want to go on an actual date anytime in the next millennium, you’re probably going to need to enlist the help of the world wide internet. Sorry. And my immediate mission is to help you do it without looking like a total loser when your senior associate—nay, every associate you’ve ever met—sees your online profile.  And then sends it to everyone you know. In other words, I want to spare you the humiliation I went through a couple of weeks ago. [Read more]

Hindsight Is 20-20

You’d think that nothing could be more pathetic than primping for a welcome-the-new-associates cocktail event sitting at your desk, touching up your makeup using some tissues, cherry chapstick and a hand mirror that’s balanced on top of a bound copy of ’34 Act. You’d be wrong. Because I’m sitting here doing just that and in an attempt to blend the chapstick onto my cheeks more efficiently, I just put on my new glasses—the ones that I only wear “for the computer”—looked into the tiny mirror and reached a new low: I realized for the first time what I actually look like to people with good vision. And it’s a problem. [Read more]

Sweet Dreams

When I popped my BigLaw cherry, I expected it’d hurt. I figured that working in a Big Firm would screw with my social life, my love life, my life life—basically, I assumed that most of my waking moments would be your standard-issue bucket of corporate misery. Christ, was I off the mark. Don’t misunderstand—the effects of Big Firm life do indeed poison all aspects of your waking life, but they don’t stop there. They also infect your dreams. No, not your dreams of a classic six on Park, being the next Marty Lipton or having a foursome with Brangelina and…Marty Lipton, but your actual dream dreams. The ones that happen when you sleep. [Read more]

Look Everyone, Jeans!

I won’t lie—when I walked into my office this morning, I was convinced that it was shaping up to be a pretty crap day.  I had 20–30 pounds of REIT diligence waiting on my desk, had just heard that the hot, single new lateral on 55 is also the new chair of the Firm’s Gay and Lesbian Committee, and had become fairly certain that my new birth control pills are making my eyebrow hairs fall out.  But then I heard the ding of a new email hitting my inbox and all was right with the world again.  Why?  Because, friends, word’s just hit that this Friday is Jeans Day! [Read more]

Office Sex

Lots of interesting things happen when you work 90 hours a week as a Big Firm Associate.  You stop thanking God it’s Friday.  Because it’s always Monday.  You start keeping a Walgreens worth of toiletries in your office.  And sex?  Ha.  You’re too tired to even take The Rabbit out of the nightstand. And then one day when you least expect it, you find yourself having drunken, frenzied sex on the floor of your office at four in the morning with someone you barely know. [Read more]

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