"The Mexican in me came out". That's my standard go-to every time I blow a fuse and lose my temper.  This, depending on who you are, and whether you know how to push my buttons - could either be all the time, or rarely ever.

"Do you think you're hurting me with those tiny little fists of yours?" The non-boyfriend would often ask as I pounded them rapid-fire into his big barrel chest.

"No. But I WANT to," was my standard response.  Then we would both break out in hysterics, and go back to our usual business.  And that's how a typical day would go for us.

Sometimes I just like to pick a fight. Depending on just how bored I am.  Other times, it's because you really did f@#king piss me off, and I'm so effing mad at you, I could shoot you! But it's only because I care.  Otherwise, I just wouldn't. So, think about it, HP (honey pie)... which one would you rather have? ... What? You're buying me diamonds? To make me feel better? Oh, um...okay. Thank you. You're so sweet!

I get PAID to argue - dammit!!! It's what I was trained to do... It's what I KNOW...It's in my Blood!!!

I couldn't very well deal with opposing counsel in that same way. For one, he would NEVER have been invited into my bed.  For another, he probably couldn't afford to make me laugh and keep me in good, FORGIVING, humor.  So, I had to think fast about how I was going to win this case before it got to trial.  Trials were expensive, and they ate away at the bottom line faster than a fat bitch at a buffet!

At the last settlement meeting, it was my turn to grab my briefcase and run. We didn't end up taking it outside, even though opposing counsel responded to my invitation to do so with a resounding, "Let's go!"

I had lost my composure in front of my clients. That was a big misstep in the legal world, and I was a bit embarrassed.  However, it turned out that my clients were quite impressed with my "negotiating" prowess, and went on and told their friends about it, earning me an even greater reputation as a hardnosed lawyer - opening up my practice to a new type of clientele - the young, reckless, and accident prone.

Preparing for war was no easy task.  Co-counsel and I had to think deep, organize, strategize, come up with a battle plan, align the troops, and get ready to strike!  This wasn't going to be any kind of ordinary war.  We had to outmaneuver this man, and hit him where he least expected!

So, we did what any other savvy street lawyers would do... we went on Craigslist, and engaged the services of a Cuban Voodoo High Priestess as a "litigation consultant" for the remainder of our negotiations. 

At first, she seemed a bit sketchy.  She showed up at near midnight to the little cottage I was renting, smelling of patchouli and nag champa incense, and wearing full ritual regalia - a long flowing skirt reaching to her ankles, a breezy purple, black and gold high priestess blouse, a turban wrapped around her head, many layers of necklaces, bracelets, anklets, big hoop earrings and a nose piercing. From underneath her turban poked out the ends of her dreadlocks here and there.  She LOOKED legitimate enough. She SMELLED like she knew what she was doing. So, sure...why not? We hired her on the spot!

On our first night, we got straight down to business. We went over the Wiccan Rede, and the Law of Three... why? I'm not really sure...she was supposed to be doing Voodoo on this dude, not the goody-goody Good Witch Wiccan stuff. We could have done that all by ourselves - if that's what we had wanted to do. But we went along with it anyway. No strangers to Wiccan witchery here.

After she nearly smoked us out of the place with her burning sage and a million tea-lights, the Priestess went for the biggest soup pot I had in the kitchen.  She boiled us up a sinister ritual wash made of dried herbs, scented oils, some sugar, honey and bad little puppy dog tails.

Next came some tantric moves practiced to the sound of her chanting along to the rhythm of beating drums emanating from her iTunes hooked up to the Bose - (we did the best with what we had, don't judge).

I'll leave out the part here dealing with the few droplets of menstrual blood, and fast forward to how I was able to obtain an energy sample - the Voodoo equivalent of an FBI DNA sample - from opposing counsel. It was easy enough.  I just asked to borrow his pen at one of our meetings, praised him on what a lovely pen it was, and then asked him (in front of everyone) if I could have it.  It was a lot of "ah, um, well... sure, why not?"... before he gave it up.  I was a bit discomfited having to ask for it (as if I couldn't afford my own fancy pen), but it was all for a greater cause. Worth it!

With pen in hand, we got down to some serious work. The Voodoo Queen would schedule her meetings with us always late at night - "when sexual energies were at their peak" - and worked until one or two in the morning transferring those energies back and forth until she could almost guarantee our sweet success.

By the time we ended our nightly rituals, we were fully empowered and ready to take on this twerp!  He had another thing coming!

The next settlement meeting turned out to be our last.  It started out with a much more pleasant exchange of courtesies, was highlighted by the flirtatious exchange of risque text messages as we sat across one another at the negotiating table, and ended with a nice settlement offer where all parties involved were more than satisfied.  This was followed by an invitation to a gourmet pancake breakfast the next morning at his "favorite romantic little restaurant" tucked away in a "quaint little town" nearby "where he sometimes likes to take his wife."  Wha...?

My co-counsel, the now accepted for who she is, non-lesbian (just looks like one, anyone could have easily made that same mistake - surely you can understand that, right?) was not invited.  And, I politely declined his pathetic (and not so subtle) little attempt at buttering my biscuit at breakfast. Uh... no, thanks. Here's your pen back.