Face Off

I was right to be nervous. Nothing about this process makes any sense at all. This is why lawyers get to bill you whatever astronomical figure they can pull out of their asses to save YOUR ass. It simply can not be saved without them. If I had it all to do over again...

My lawyer, Deb, is a gem. She is funny and quick minded. Snarky and observant about people. We are two peas in a pod. A pod brimming with sarcasm. We spend a few minutes in the room (dungeon) of the courthouse where paperwork gets filed. The woman at the desk has a beard. Yes, a beard. And it isn't that she doesn't know she has a beard and therefore has not found a salon willing to wax-on-wax-off that thing. There is evidence that she has shaved. Just not recently. I am so distracted that I almost don't hear what she is saying.

I had filed the first petition. I should be able to withdraw it. She has to look at the file. I notice as she walks past that she also has a mustache and sideburns. Jo Jo the Dog Faced Boy. She and her unfortunate facial vegetation return to the window. She says I can't withdraw the petition without Lars' consent.

Like I am going to get THAT. He won't do anything without his lawyer Randee's approval. She has convinced him that he's an idiot, that only she can make competent decisions, and that without her, I would lead him to the gates of Hell and give him a shove because I am a wicked, evil, incendiary bitch on wheels. (She comes by her opinion honestly; it's not like Lars made me out to be Mother Theresa when we were going through our divorce). She has Lars by the short and curlies. He will spend a fortune getting advice to do exactly what I propose because she will spend countless billable hours thinking out loud to him and talking in circles, in a voice that could curdle milk, eventually arriving at my original proposal. Only she's put her grubby little mitts on it and has found a way to make it Liza-proof by writing a bunch of precipes and stipulations that I have to sign and she gets to bill for. It's brilliant actually.

So we walk away from the hairy-faced lady and step into the stairwell to call Randee. Deb calmly tells her the situation and what we'd like. Pauses for a moment to take a breath and then jerks the phone away from her head as Randee launches into her tirade. Deb's eyes widen in professional disbelief. She puts the phone on speaker so I can fully hear the details of the bombastic rant. In fact most of the county employees can hear it as it echos up the metal stairway.

It is one long breathless harangue - not about anything of import. No, what Randee does to buy a little time to think before she provides an actual response (and thumbs through her book of statutes and codes and such)is rail against me. ME! Name-calling, character assassination, hauling out every well-noted shortcoming I have according to Lars. It is brutal. It is humiliating. It is loud and inflammatory. I want to rip the phone from Randee's hand and go all Estelle on her. I learned how to rant at the right hand of the Master. Step into the ring with me, Randee. I will bury you.

So simply put, she didn't agree to withdrawing the petition. She insists that I owe Lars a bunch of arrears and I was cheating the system by not telling anyone what I was earning (when I was earning) because telling Lars isn't good enough. Telling Lars is like telling a railroad tie.

Deb manages to squeeze in a sentence noting that as promised, I had paid Lars' legal bill from Randee in exchange for the arrears. And that she was supposed to withdraw the order if I had not begun to work by LAST MONTH. So it was really Randee fumbling the proverbial ball.

That mere suggestion going over like a fart in church, Deb terminates the discussion and we ascend the stairs. The court liaison may be a little more amenable. Deb knows her. She wields a lot of power. And she will not be cowed by Randee and her demonic personal presentation.

Once again, the click of my heels on the stairs of the courthouse. And another pang of angst.