The hunt concludes & thoughts on the regrowth of souls

The house is rented! Two [seemingly] lovely individuals have decided that my house would make a perfect home for them during their stay in [currently] rainy Tampa. A lease of my own creation was complimented upon and then signed, and money changed hands. As soon as they left my house, I jumped for joy and started laughing like a madman.

It's almost scary how everything seems to be coming together for my move to the far away land of waving porcelain kitties and Tsunamis. Okay. It is scary.

This week marks the end of a long, and sometimes painful, working experience in the world of criminal defense. I've learned how to use the internet to learn damn near anything about anybody and how to be a better criminal. I've become a better liar and a better judge of people. [is it strange that I see these as good things?]

Unfortunately, working here as long as I have has left me with the feeling that my soul has been whittled away to a nub; a shadow of its former self. Can one regrow one's soul? If so, how does one go about regrowing a soul? Or are souls like brain cells? Once they're gone, they're gone?

I guess the important part is that in getting out of this unhealthy work environment, this cancerous work environment, if you will, I will be able to at least slow down the inevitable erosion of my soul. In only a few days time I am going to jump for joy and start laughing like a madman as I run out of this place and into the great unknown. I daresay the people of this office would expect nothing less of me.

Non-refundable

The travel gods must be smiling down on me! I found a one-way ticket to Narita for only $466! It was so cheap that I actually bought the insurance they offer.

Now I'm committed. No backing out. Japan, here I come! [unless, of course, the Japanese Government denies my visa request... And just in case you're reading, members of the powers-that-be within the Japanese Consulate, I didn't mean any of that stuff I said about George W. and the country on the whole. I was just testing my friends. Honest.]

The fall of the house of spider

There's nothing like coming home after a long weekend of wandering the streets of Manhattan only to find that an enormous spider [along with its egg sack] has taken up residence on your front door. Now I'm not talking about a daddy longlegs or even a widow. These types of spiders, to use the wording of my dear friend T., "Belong in a laboratory!"

People always laugh when they find out that I'm, how should I say, terrified of spiders. Again, I'm not talking about the friendly household spiders which I can ignore completely or kill without any difficulty. I'm talking about monsters. Big, hairy monsters with the ability to steal your firstborn if you turned away for just a second. See what I mean?

So there I am, fresh off the plane from the Isle of Manhattan, ears needing a good pop, sinuses needing a good vacuum, body needing a good rinsing and soul needing a good drink. I'm walking towards my front door, key in hand, with T. walking up behind me, when I catch a glimpse of something big, dark and hairy very near my outstretched hand. Having lived in the House That Spiders Built for over a year now, I've learned that it's best to jump first and allow the eyes to focus second. I'm convinced this [now] instinctual behavior is the only way I've avoided having one of these beasts actually come in contact with my skin.

After the initial jump and recognition of the monster, the next 15 minutes or so of utter freak out is a blur. There was a lot of screaming, nervous laughter, jumping around on one foot, and bizarre plans of attack. I do remember that T. was as much of a basket case as I was. At one point I said, "You and me combined equal one big, festering pussy." [And for those of you who don't know, no man likes hearing this!]

The final plan of attack was this: I would spray it with the wasp spray--which stays outdoors for this very reason--and when it's stunned and on the ground, T. will whack the hell out of it with the broom. Finally, between the two of us, we found enough of one teste to actually go ahead with the plan. T. stood behind me with the broom, ready to whack the hell out of it, while I held the can of wasp spray and started dousing the entire door, occasionally hitting the target. Normally, you can hear these beasts cry in pain when they're hit with the spray, but this one just winced a little and fell to the ground. T. attacked it with the broom while I was, by that point, on the other side of porch yelling, "Whack it again! It's not dead! Smash the babies! Kill it!"

Did I mention this was happening at about 11:30 p.m. on a Sunday night? The neighbors must love me.

After the twenty minutes it took to kill the monster, it was off to the bar! When one attacks a monster like that and lives to tell the tale, a celebration is in order.

Giving Notice--Finding a Replacement

It's always been an interesting experience to listen in on your bosses while they are interviewing your future replacement. It never ceases to amuse me to see my bosses trying very hard to make themselves seem like normal, kind and level-headed individuals. I keep trying to remember how long that act lasted when I first started here... When did that veil come down? Was it during the first week? The second?

They tell these poor prospective employees that they need to have umpteen years experience in various aspects of law, despite the fact that they really don't practice that type of law and any experience in that regard would be completely useless.

After four years here, I know what they're really looking for in an assistant: a young girl that looks cute in a dress and will blow it off when she gets hit on by one of the partners. Drunken Christmas party anyone??

The hunt begins

Before I can flee the country, I have to find some able bodied person to rent my house. This is turning out to be much more difficult than I had expected.

Last night a woman that can only be described as the female equivalent to Humpty Dumpty came to look at my house. She was under the misguided presumption that she could come into my house and try to fast talk me into not only cutting her a deal on the rent [because she doesn't have a job!], but also allowing her to store her furniture in my house for a week before she actually moved in. She did a convoluted song and dance about how clean she was and how trustworthy and honest she has always been. While this woman was sitting there going on and on about her cleanliness, I couldn't help but notice her feet. She was wearing fake snakeskin slides that had certainly seen better days, and her toes, which were hanging out of the shoes all helter-skelter, were running a close second for the most disgusting I have ever seen. Her toenails were all gnarled and rotten with fungus and some of them had the remnants of nail polish which had probably been put on weeks before. How can one claim to be a clean person and have toes that look like that?

On top of all of this, she couldn't keep her multiple stories straight, which, as we all know, is the most important part of being a convincing liar. Lying to people is an important part of my current job duties, and after four years I believe I've gotten pretty good at it. The old adage, "You can't bullshit a bullshitter," rings true yet again.

So the reasons I will give for not renting her my house will be the obvious ones, i.e. she doesn't have a job, she can't afford the place, she's got a German shepherd, and it won't be ready when she needs it.

But the real reason I'm not going to rent her my house: I do not want a filthy Humpty Dumpty lady who doesn't have enough imagination and/or memory to form a convincing lie living under my roof. After all, isn't that nail fungus transmittable through bathtubs??