cindy's world

Just for kicks, and for Hump Day HaHas, and for giggles and shits, here are the first 2 paragraphs of my last post as translated by Gizoogle.

Pizzost # 1378
Two thugz contacted me yesterday ta nudge me ta pizzy (one was very gentle, tha crazy ass nigga was kind of a brizzay `bout it), so okay, I’ll just sit on tha blog here n see whiznat nigga falls F-R-to-tha-izzom mah finga.

Speak’n of fall’n wanna be gangsta I did a 45 minute H-I-Double-Lizzy run yesterday at lunch fo` mah workout. I Hadn’t run in a long time, n it surprised me thizzat I was hustla out of breath, n mah brain neva bitched ta me `bout how awful tha run was n tried ta bargain wit me fo` cutt’n tha run short with the S-N-double-O-P. My only limit was tizzle ta help you tap dat ass. Howeva, tha fizzirst half-mile ta mizzy of tha 4-mile run was painful on mah stomach n abdomen, coz all tha thick steppin’ around made mah skin ache cuz its a G thang. I wished fo` a fitted bodysuit. I wished fo` a jog bra fo` mah entire body fo yo bitch ass. (There, That’s some TMI fo` everyone who wants ta tell me I’m not fiznat.) How do those seriously obese thugz on “The Biggest Loser” do it? I enjoy tizzle show, BTW. I find tha participants’ weekly 15-lb weight loss mackin’ in tha same impossible wistful way thizzat I aspire ta live like Shot Calla Teresa . Throw yo guns in the motherfuckin air.

Crap, I’m revealing too much emotion to my jurors. Straight face, Cindy. Straight face. mmrrrrpphh
*shaking*

In an ongoing email conversation, I asked a jujitsu friend today whether he thinks I think too much. He replied, “if you didnt think as much, do you think you would end up getting in trouble?”

Me: “Huh. I never thought about that before. (See, I DON’T think too much!)
I wonder if my thinking is mostly after-the-fact, justificational thinking, or whether it’s consideration-thinking where I think out a situation before acting and therefore avoid poor decisions. I daresay it’s mostly the former and occasionally the latter. Well, maybe not, cuz I think a lot about random things in an attempt to compulsively explain things to myself. Like, how the hell are Dippin’ Dots made? Cuz if they’re ice cream droplets on a surface that are then frozen, they wouldn’t be as round. If they’re that round, that’d imply they were mid-air when they were frozen, but they couldn’t have been too impacted by gravity because they’re not droplet-shaped, they’re spherical. So how are they being so quickly frozen before they’re even allowed to fall? What were we talking about again?”

Him: “what? sorry… i wasn’t paying attention…. “

This is lame, but because I’m still laughing at it, I’m gonna post it.

Mass email to all courtrooms from my supervisor this morning:

Please let me know with the hour whether or not you have an “imperative” case set in your Courtroom tomorrow.

P.S. I arrived late this morning. Sorry for the short notice. I will use mare common sense the next time.

My email response back to him (yes, within the hour, as requested):

Wow, mare common sense? Neigh, you have the common sense of a stud!
Sorry, couldn’t resist. No imperative cases set tomorrow unless we get a trial from F today.

I saw him in the elevator after lunch and he was too emphatic in his hello to me, so I knew he’d read the email. I asked if he was offended, and he said that he’s “unoffendable” by now and admitted he did enjoy my email because I didn’t just write “You wrote ‘mare’ when you meant ‘more,’ you idiot” like most people would’ve done if they wanted to call someone out on something. Hee hee!

You don’t want to turn 5o around HERE, man.

Today is a court reporter’s 50th birthday. Everyone knew it was her birthday, but she didn’t know that we knew it was the big 5-0. A few of us waited around after hours yesterday until she went home. And then we busted out some decorations and got busy.

I would say we “trashed” her desk, but it’s so much more FESTIVE than trash. The clerk of that courtroom said that when the reporter came in this morning and walked into the courtroom, she screamed for about 10 minutes.

Aside from the obvious large decorations of the black desk covering, balloons, signs and streamers, there are also AARP magazines on the top of her desk, 3 cans of not just Ensure, but LIGHT Ensure, stacked at the front edge of her desk, a diaper, Tiger Balm medicine pad, and “Over the Hill” sparkly confetti sprinkled everywhere. I even put some in her desk drawers and cubbyholes. She’ll be finding sparklies for weeks. Some more details:

Even as I was having the best time doing this yesterday, I was secretly glad that these people with the crazy decorations will be retired when *I* turn 50. Whew!
And yes, the judge took the bench and went into session with all the decorations in place, conducting business as usual. The litigants were delighted at the decor, I heard. Who says Family Law isn’t light-hearted?

You can just barely see the top of the court reporter’s hair over the top of the cards on her desk.
(I don’t know if this happens on your computer, but for some reason on these photos, about 15% is cut off on the right margins when I view them on the site, so all the photos look off-balance. In the full photo, you can actually see a litigant’s arms on the counsel table in the last shot. Roll mouse over each photo for caption, as always.)

This is Cindy the Cartoon Part III (see C the C Part I and II here), or Cindy Simpson Part II (see CS Part I here).

Since I couldn’t get the Simpsonize Me site to work, my friend who told me about it, Erin…

took this recent photo of me and cropped out most everything (including Mr. W) but me…

and created therefrom this version of Cindy…

as in…
.

She also took Mr. W out of the same cruise photo, and here he is…

as in…
.
I laughed out loud when I saw him as a Simpson.

Thanks, Erin, for doing this and emailing me with the pictures!

You guys didn’t know I was doing a blog-quote contest, huh? Well, I didn’t either. But when I ran across this quote on a recent post of Wilco‘s, I knew I had found a winner.

“i have played as a woman for the last two years and was ready to finally play as a man.”

I’m sorry, girls…as impressed as I know you must be by this man merely by his one quote, you must swoon in secret because there is a great woman by his side who’s about to trade in her fiance status to become Mrs. Wilco next month.

“I hate Sandra Bullock. I’m not watching any of her movies.” (early90s)
“I hate rap.” (junior high, late 80s)
“I’ll probably be marrying my first or second boyfriend because I’m so picky that by the time I agree to be in a relationship, he’d have to be perfect.” (1st year of college, mid 90s)
“I hate computers. When I grow up I’m never touching another one.” (elementary school through 7th grade, 80s)

People think my judge is a strict fuddy-duddy. But they’re not around when he says goodbye to me every evening, each time in a different way. “I’m off like a thief in the night.” “All right, the lazy people are goin’. See ya.” Today, it was

Judge: *door opening, poking his head in* All right, you’re not gonna have the ol’ judge to kick around anymore.
Me: *wailing* What’m I gonna do all evening, then?
Judge: *heartlessly* I don’t know. Get a soccer ball.

Fun, fun. As I sit here at my desk and divorce people.

James bugged me to blog about this, so I’m time-bombing it to post on Saturday when I’m on the cruise, despite the fact that I’m writing it at 1:48 a.m. Thursday night/Friday morning.

I was on my own for dinner tonight, but didn’t feel like spending a lot of money. James owed me $10 for when I spotted him at The Yard House last nite at dinner with Vanessa, so I called to see what he was planning for his own dinner. We agreed to meet up for Japanese so he could be my debit account. I’m paranoid about getting fatter lately (I seem to have grown somehow softer and wider in the past couple of weeks, even tho it’s not reflected in the body fat scale), so I ordered a sashimi plate. I’d gotten to the restaurant first, grabbed a seat at the sushi bar, chatted a bit with the two sushi chefs, before James got there. In spite of that, the two chefs revealed they were clearly first-generation immigrant Japanese men, which I would’ve known even without their accents or their use of Japanese when they spoke to each other. Here’s why.

Toward the end of dinner, the two chefs asked us, or more specifically, asked James, what race he was. Was he Chinese? James said he’s half. They then asked him where he worked. James gave the city, and the chefs exclaimed how far away that was. Then they asked him what he did for a living. James said he built speakers and sound cards for computers. They were impressed. I’m sitting there, totally ignored, wondering why they were asking him this and not also asking me. One of the chefs finally turned and nodded at me, and asked James, “Is this your wife?” They were lucky I had a mouthful of orange, so that James could reply, “No, we’re friends.” How patriarchal was that? Despite my being there first, having a rapport with the chefs first, sitting closer to the chefs than James, they ask the man about his career and personal information, like I didn’t have a job or something, and then only involve me insofar as I relate to the man, and then not even asking the question directly to me, but asking it as if I were some non-human possession, like “Is this your briefcase, sir?”

I would’ve demanded feminist retribution, but then James paid my entire bill, so I was happy to leave it at that. =P

I was just on the Happy Bunny site and saw this. I suddenly laughed so loud it woke up my cat down the hall.

Can you imagine driving by a car and looking over, and seeing THIS window cling looking back at you? HAHAHA! Alas, I don’t have the balls. You know how you’re behind a car and see their window sticker or license plate frame saying something like, “Powered by HAWT” or “Don’t hate me because I just had your boyfriend” and you want to look in the driver’s window to see just how hot this obnoxious girl is, and no matter how hot she is, you’re gonna scoff and think she’s too ugly to make those claims? *Sigh* This Happy Bunny window cling is going to go into the same pile of wishful thinking as that t-shirt that says “O.K. I’m perfect. Stop staring” (a Happy Bunny T my gym trainee got me that I still haven’t had the courage to wear), and that tank top that says “Well? It ain’t gonna lick itself.”