People will say just about anything...
to get out of serving on a jury for five to six weeks.
"I need a cigarette every few hours."
Upon reading this, Judge remarked, "Well, I think maybe it is time we help this guy quit smoking." No release for Smokey McSmokerson.
"I am in the middle of planning a wedding."
Upon hearing this, I could only think "Seriously? Do you use that excuse to try and get out of assignments at work?"
"I am planning on going to China."
Upon reading this, the prosecutor inquired as to how serious those plans were. From what I could tell, the plans were made right after the woman read the part about the trial being five to six weeks.
"I need to be in West Coast City on X day during the trial to witness the settlement of a class action."
Upon hearing this, I chuckled to myself and thought this guy was screwed. At least Judge would want to hear why his Big Firm couldn't send someone else in his place. But Judge released this guy without blinking an eye. Lawyers watch out for other lawyers, I guess.
Judge was pretty tough on the potential jurors. The questionnaire required the potential jurors to identify why it would be impossible to serve. And he really harped on that word "impossible." Five to six weeks is a tremendous time committment - talk about disrupting your life. I get it. But at the end of the day, jury duty is important. Our judicial system can't function without the crucial role that jurors play. I guess that is why I can make light of these excuses - from what I learned today, I just need to write some high-brow lawyerly nonsense and I will be released without question. Which is incredibly ironic to me - all the lawyers I know would love to serve on a jury, but very few ever will.
Oh and for those looking to get out of jury duty, the following reasons (besides being an attorney) resulted in immediate release:
1) any invocation of hearing problems
2) any reference to anxiety attacks or depression
3) interestingly enough, only a limited number of other medical reasons - seriously, one person indicated that he/she had knee surgery coming up and the attorneys wanted further explanation as to how invasive the knee surgery was.
4) those who are truly self-employed but again Judge was a bit of a stickler about this.
5) on-call doctor
Yeah, I am cool
I am spending my Saturday evening watching one of my favorite movies. A Time To Kill. Though it doesn’t live up to the book, I do think it is the best book to movie of all of Things Grisham.
Watching this movie is rather appropriate as on Tuesday, my judge begins a seven week capital murder trial. Jury selection should take a few days and hopefully by the end of the week, we will hear opening statements. The case is being tried by the Top Dog from the prosecutor’s office and the defense attorneys are highly reputable. This is Top Dog’s last stand before retirement and only a capital conviction will satisfy him. There will be no last minute plea offers as once the defendant finishes with us, we send him back to California where he will return to death row. Yep, this is not a John Grisham novel where the reader sympathizes with the defendant. I am vehemently opposed to the death penalty and this case presents a rather interesting issue. I mean, the defendant faces a death sentence in California and has come to Virginia charged with a murder that occurred almost 20 years ago. When he finishes the trial in our county, he will go to another county in Virginia and face another capital murder trial. The amount of money being spent by the Commonwealth of Virginia to try and also defend as the Commonwealth is footing the bill for his defense is astounding. I understand that he must answer for every crime he has committed and that the family members of his victims deserve to see him be held accountable for their loss. I just wonder when this will all be over.
In other news, I have made it halfway through the weekend and have not consumed any alcohol. I decided to have an alcohol free weekend for a number of reasons. One being that I am exhausted and going out will just exacerbate that problem. Two was just to test myself to see if I could do it as the last few weekends (okay, pretty much every weekend in recent memory) have centered heavily on alcohol and my body needs a break.
As an aside, while I absolutely love this movie, two things drive me absolutely crazy. One being that everybody is sweating through the entire movie. Dripping in sweat. I realize it is Mississippi and it is July, but I was in Mississippi in July and I managed to keep it together better than these people. The second is the complete lack of Ashley Judd’s southern accent. Everyone else in this movie layers the twang on thick, but not Ashley Judd. I guess since she grew up in the South but doesn’t have a thick Southern accent, she felt she didn’t have to fake it for the film.
Tomorrow, I am taking the two kids I tutor to the Mall. [That’s capital M mall, so not shopping.] Last week, after I accidentally locked the kids out of their apartment and had to drive the boy, O, to get the keys from his mom, he said something about how their last tutor used to take them places. Ouch! I suggested the zoo and O told me that he has been to the zoo seventeen times. Doubtful, but I guess the zoo’s out.
Oh, now Jake Brigance is giving his summation. I must go and get a tissue because I am about to cry. What a great movie.
Without speech
DISCLAIMER: This post is not very well-written. From the title, you can probably guess that I am speechless. The speech I managed to string together in this post is barely coherent and most certainly not eloquent. But I am enraged. Outraged? Whatever – there are not enough words to describe how incredibly angry I am at the ridiculous workings of the Universe. Because frankly, this is all just a bit much.
Yes, I expressed frustration last week about the SK parking at my house. I chalked it up to coincidence and tried to let it go. But, of course, that wasn’t enough. I ran into him on Friday night. The conversation was incredibly awkward. He couldn’t look me in the eyes, mumbled something about my being Catholic, and our connection, while obvious, had been deemed not capable of longevity. Okay, fine. Not the nicest thing to say to a girl, but at least I could put it behind me. My feelings were rather hurt, mainly because in my opinion two dates is not a whole lot of time to invest in a connection before writing off its potential distance. He also mentioned something about having two friends on my street. And my being worthy of an explanation. [If the details of the conversation are rather vague, it is because the conversation took place around 1:15 a.m. and following the consumption of a good deal of alcohol. Hey, it was Friday. That’s how I roll on Fridays.]
Saturday morning, I pieced together what I could from the conversation and concluded, while it sucked, at least I could put this whole thing behind me. If it was indeed a religious difference, that’s fine. If he is just a jerk, then better to find that out now rather than six months down the road.
But this, my dear Universe, this IS THE LAST STRAW. The two people he knows on my street? The two guys who live below me. And so when I got home tonight, I saw his car again parked in front of my house. I rolled my eyes and decided to just let it go. Until I noticed three guys hanging out in my driveway. And, no I am not kidding you. He is hanging out in my driveway with my downstairs neighbors. My mouth drops open to the floor and I can barely contain myself. What are the odds?? What are the effing odds??? I mean, it is just too much of a coincidence. I walk into my apartment absolutely dumbfounded and Roommate and her Boyfriend proceed to find the whole thing hysterical. And it is. Because, really, who does this happen to?
Me, PEOPLE. Apparently it happens to me.
Conversation with Confrontation
I was griping about my need to have a difficult conversation with someone and how much I hate difficult conversations and even though I am an attorney and thrive on legal confrontation, I like to live a peaceful, non-confrontational existence outside of work but why does everyone make that goal so ha-ard [that's me, champion whiner with my ability to turn a simple one syllable word into two] to realize? And she sends me this:
I want you to meet someone. Here is your introduction:
J: Hi, my name is Jersey.
C: Hi Jersey, my name is confrontation.
J: Oh no, I don't like confrontation.
J: Well that isn't very nice, and was somewhat confrontational to say to me. Sometimes I can actually be very helpful and cathartic, just give me a chance.
J: But what if someone gets hurt?
C: That is always a risk, but if you avoid me, you might end up hurting yourself.
J: Why Confrontation, that is a very good point. I will think about it and get back to you.
C: Okay, but don't wait too long, otherwise I'll track you down and confront you and accuse you of ignoring me, 'cuz that is what I do, I'm confrontation, and I don't take things lying down.
Dreams
I had a dream last night that I had a baby. And my baby of unrecalled gender had problems sleeping. So, I put said baby under the kitchen table to convince he/she that it was night time and he/she should go to bed. I do not think this dream bodes well for my maternal instincts.
So, the Youngun...
…Is most certainly young. While we had a good time at dinner, not a fabulous, I am so completely blow away with our compatibility first date, but a good time, I am just not chomping at the bit to see him again.
[And yes, chomping at the bit is a horrible phrase and while I am rather annoyed that I couldn’t come up with something better, my writing confidence took a beating on Friday at the writing class I attended at Big Firm. This snooty, hoity-toity professor person lectured us for approximately three hours on the finer points of legal writing. And while I am willing to admit I learned something, I had some reservations as to whether I belonged in this fancy Big Firm conference room with its unlimited supply of coffee, a variety of soft drinks, and four types of sugar. I had to stop myself from walking out with a can of Coke for the walk to meet KS for lunch. Until September, I am banishing all doubts about my new job as there is simply nothing that can be done between now and then. I need to give it a shot – I will not be intimidated by spiral bound notebooks and Blackberries and the seemingly unlimited beverage supply.]
[As another aside, I just walked by the elevators, where a repairman is hard at work. He is standing with his back to the elevator, which is halfway opened and stuck between floors and is surveying the parts and tools in front of him. He notices me and calls out, “I am just so confused!” and then laughs a bit. Um, yeah. Officially avoiding the elevator on the right.]
[And final aside,
this guy decided to park in front of my house last night. See, my street is just a few blocks from restaurants, bars, shops, etc. Oh and of course the quintessential yuppie gym. It is not unheard of for yuppies to park along my street rather than fork over $1.50 for a spot in the numerous parking garages. And yes, I find it incredibly ironic that a person can shop at Pottery Barn, Jos. A. Bank, and Williams Sonoma but cannot spare a few bucks for a parking garage. So, people park in my neighborhood. BUT I think there should be a prohibition against people who you went out with, had a lovely time with, and actually were chomping at the bit to see again from parking in front of your house. SK, there is most definitely a parking spot reserved for you in the incredibly affordable parking garage around the corner. So, please consider this a warning – the next time I come home to find your car taking advantage of my house’s prime location to neighborhood establishments…okay, I admit it. I can’t figure out an appropriate threat to end this sentence. I am certainly not going to damage his car, nor am I going to wait for him to return to his car and then confront him. I am neither violent nor confrontational. But I will be annoyed. Of course, that annoyance will not affect you in any way. But it will be your fault.]
I guess the brackets were unnecessary as really, the asides were the substance of the post.
With Youth
Comes persistence.
I am going out with the Youngun on Thursday.
Comments like "I may be a few years younger, but I read at a 30 year old level" were witty enough to secure himself a date. He wanted to meet up Saturday night, then asked again for tonight, and after two rejections (for legitimate reasons, mind you), the plan is Thursday.
I plan to leave all my pre-conceived notions about age at home and just try to have fun with a very cute, very tall, and very witty boy. FROM CANADA! What an adorable accent.
Oh, and one more funny thing: he asked me to go to a work dinner with him tonight. I declined, not only because I have a meeting, but because I am pretty sure you are supposed to know where someone works before you agree to accompany them to a work function.
Emails
Slightly edited between KS and myself today:
For context, Crazy BT is approximately 75 years old, a divorce attorney, and a raging b*tch. I worked for her for approximately three weeks until I was told not to return (I am pretty sure that means I was fired). She has super bleached blonde hair, she clearly still goes to the tanning bed, and spoke to me like I was about 5 years old. Even though I was a second year law student. The entire office had white furniture and we actually had to walk along throw rugs that were placed just so across the white carpet. The entire office treated Crazy BT like she was a goddess, but to me, she just seemed mean. She rarely smiled, she permitted no one to address her by her first name, and she refused to let anyone consume food with even slightly noxious orders. Seriously, yall she is wack.
Me: "Crazy BT is wearing pink jeans. TO COURT? I mean, really. Pink Jeans. I am speechless."
KS: "Pink jeans? Is she serious? And is that any better or worse than wearing white jeans to the courthouse? I think it is worse. White jeans are marginally stylish, colored denim died back when I was a freshman in high school. I know that b/c that was the year my dryer caught on fire and my absolutely favorite pair of light yellow jeans from Express and matching plaid flannel shirt got destroyed. It was traumatizing."
Me: "I love my white jeans! But yes, colored jeans went out with wigwams and big bangs."
Although now I wonder if with the resurgence of the 80s onto the fashion scene, if Crazy BT isn't incredibly hip and I should possibly be asking her fashion advice. Then again, I just looked at her again and she is wearing frosted pink lipstick. I should point out that the pink jeans are actually less offensive than the white skirt suit with matching gogo boots I last witnessed her wearing. Shudder.
Work Gripes
I am one of 15 law clerks that clerk at this courthouse. Although we all work for different judges, the law clerks function at their best when they are working as a team. Getting 15 people to always work together can be a challenge as there are fifteen different personalities, work styles, work ethics…the occasional conflict is inevitable. The group is not perfectly cohesive, but things have been relatively smooth for awhile now. We have four months left and the attitude seems to be let's enjoy our time together.
But I found out something yesterday that has me feeling disgruntled towards two of my fellow law clerks. You may recall
DailyOrderGate. Daily Orders are a fact of life here and after that infamous meeting, Daily Orders are also a source of tension. See, the thing is that we are supposed to pick them up every day. Hence, the Daily. Sometimes, though, on rather busy weeks, it is easy to forget to check your Daily Order box. It is two floors down from your office, your arms are already full when you do make it down there, you are already overwhelmed by the amount you currently have in your office and increasing the pile will only result in a panic attack…a law clerk may have legitimate reasons for not picking them up every day.
The person in change of Daily Orders is this super nice woman who tries to evenly disburse the orders among all 15 law clerks. She has a system – she tried to explain it to me, but I quickly lost interest. Suffice it to say, she has a system. She is not trying to screw anyone – she is just trying to do her job and go home to her adorable kids. Who sometimes come to work and I may or may not be obsessed with how adorable they are. The point being, that Nice Daily Order Woman has no favorites and simply does her job.
Yesterday, another law clerk informed me that two other law clerks have decided to create a spreadsheet of how often law clerks pick up their daily orders and how many daily orders each law clerk receives from the NDOW. Apparently, they are feeling put upon by the rest of the “not exactly every day checking our daily order boxes because sometimes things come up and really, I am working pretty hard here so take your spreadsheet and shove it up your behind” law clerks. Whew. Sorry. That last part may be a bit much.
When I found this out yesterday, I was stunned. What gives them the right to keep tabs on my productivity? I answer to my Judge and I answer to Cool Mom, who is my direct supervisor. I do not answer to fellow law clerks that are going to spend their days counting stacks of daily orders rather than just doing the three or four extra they might occasionally receive for being so on top of their game. Because here’s the thing – we are all a team and team members help each other out. So, if you happen to be a Daily Order Rockstar and the NDOW occasionally loads you up, well, good for you. That just means you excel at your job. And maybe others drop the ball occasionally. And when they do, Cool Mom and the Judges will address it. It is not for us to point fingers at each other about slip ups. I have been asked by Judge about certain other law clerks and every time, I have stood by my co-workers. Because that is just what we do.
From an outside perspective, it is easy to understand that one could be frustrated if she feels she is doing more than her fair share. That her fellow law clerks are neglecting their duties and creating more work for her as a result. I get that, I truly do – but first, I honestly don’t believe anyone is getting screwed by the system. And second, I don’t think that this is the way to address a potential problem. To go behind the backs of your peers and track their progress? Based on their spreadsheet, the two law clerks have already identified law clerks that they feel are offenders of the daily pick up rule. So, now what? Are they going to turn in their spreadsheet to the Chief Judge? Who will most likely laugh in their faces and inform them that if they have enough time to count stacks of daily orders and update a spreadsheet, they certainly have time to process a few extra orders.
My gripe is not with their concerns about getting screwed by co-workers because that may be a legitimate concern. My frustration is with how they’ve chosen to address their concerns. Resent is too strong of a word, but I really don't appreciate people keeping tabs on me like that. People whose job is to work with me, not against me.
But a number?
Last year, I went through a bit of a younger man phase. The cut-off was 25, which was approximately two years younger than I was at the time. Now, I am a year older, but apparently still only able to attract significantly younger guys.
Case in point: Saturday night.
I entertained friends with homemade sangria, peach and brie quesadillas, roasted tomato salsa, and the Editrix’s guacamole that most definitely contained some crack-like substance that made it positively addictive. After the pre-Cinco de Mayo feast, the group headed to a local bar, at my insistence, to see a Journey tribute band. I love love love Journey. And I am okay if you choose to mock me.
During the show, a few of us decided to get right in the midst of the crowd and rock out with other fans. At one point, I noticed a tall, very cute, but very young looking boy behind me. We eventually made eye contact and he came up to talk to me. We started trying to talk over the loud music and he asked how old I was. I narrowed my eyes and rather than answer, turned the question back to him.
He answered that he was 28. My mouth fell open slightly as he didn’t look a day over 22. After confirming with my friends that it was acceptable for me to talk to him since he was 28, we continued to talk/dance. At some point during the night, we were at the bar and he said, “Well, okay, I am actually 26.”
Slightly indignant over the lie, I asked if this time he was telling the truth. “Yes, absolutely”, he promised this time was the truth.
And you guessed it – about 15 minutes later, he knocked it down to 25. At this point, we were back with my group of friends and I drunkenly announced that we were right to doubt his age because he kept changing it. Lil AG demanded to see his driver’s license, but frankly we were both a little unsteady at this point to read his DOB. KS came to our rescue and declared that he was indeed born in 1982. And wasn’t yet 25.
Right then, the band launched into “Any Way You Want It” so I decided the Great Age Debate would be postponed a few minutes. After the show, we wound up talking so more and he continued to apologize for lying about his age. And he seemed so sincere. And incredibly into me. Which I don’t encounter very often. So, do I judge him by his age? (Putting aside the whole lying thing, of course) I guess if I am just looking for a fun guy to hang out with and exchange silly text messages with, I should be all set. But is that fair? To think that is all he is capable of because of his age? Part of me thinks that I shouldn’t concern myself with age – I want to meet someone nice and great and fun and if he is older or younger, what doe it matter? I have imposed these age cut-offs because I think I need them. And maybe because I think that a 24 year old is just not looking for a serious relationship right now. Which bears the question – am I? I think I might be. And if I am, isn’t age a very easy and appropriate measure of who I think I can get serious with?
Great. Now my head hurts.
