cindy's world

So apparently, this woman (no one I’ve met) has a crush on one of the guys I know, and the guy knows about it because word came back to him that this woman was saying stuff like, “If I was an ice cream cone, I’d want him to lick me like this and this…” (I know, ew ew ew)

While the guy was telling another male friend of mine about the above, I asked, “So what’s she look like? Is she hot?”
The guy responded, “Lemme put it this way. I wouldn’t even touch her ice cream with a ten-foot pole.” The two men started laughing about how they’d only use the pole to knock the ice cream away from her.
My friend, the other guy, said to the 1st guy, “She’s so nasty, I wouldn’t even lick her with your tongue.” More guffawing.

How’s a girl supposed to feel confident with a crowd like this?!

You know what I find amazing? I’ve just read 4 consecutive blogs in which I was mentioned in a new post, either by initials, first name, or some nickname. Wow. I’m so flattered. This totally makes my day. This, among many other things, like a DA who’d recently left his job to start a private practice (see 6-30-05 post, “Geezers“) emailing me to grab people and have lunch w/him tomorrow; a phone call I made in which the recipient greeted me with “Hi beautiful.” Anticipating gymming at lunchtime today with my trainee.

Oh yeah. There’s a DA I hang out w/here and there whom I expect to run into at the gym today. At least yesterday, when we spoke after work, he said he’d be there. The ex-DA who emailed me to hang out said he wants to “slap him across the back of the head and tell him to snap out of his funk”, and I responded, “I can do it for you! I’ll probably run into him at the gym today. I’ll just come up behind him and wap him upside the head with a dumbbell and say, ‘THAT one’s for MIKE!’ ” Mike responded, “Do it, Baby!”

Here’s to lawsuits for Negligence and charges for Assault & Battery and Conspiracy.

PS – I didn’t go to sleep until almost 2am. So I still only got 5 hours of sleep. Haha.

My coworker and I have started this little game. Last Tuesday, I entered my courtroom to find a Hawaiian flower resting on my keyboard. I was gonna top it by leaving 2 wallet-sized “modeling” photos of me at age 21 (2 outfits he said were his “favorites” out of the tons of shots I took in that photoshoot and showed him for amusement purposes) in his desk drawer, and then calling him and saying something like, “Hey, I hear you’re a pervert and have photos of little 21 yr old girls in your drawer.” Unfortunately, he was there when I snuck up there so I just handed him the photos. =P Failed topper.

Today, when I walked in, on my desk were two gummy bloodshot EYEBALLS (one green, one blue) with the note “MY SMILIN’ EYES… ONLY THEY ARE TIRED…And different colors. : )” Who puts dismembered EYEBALLS on a desk? I got a good laugh, and vowed to top that one. My wheels in the brain are turning on their rusty axels.

When I lived with my friend Brian for 6 months in 2003, he and I had this “hide-the-alien” game. I have a foot-tall inflatable silver alien that’s positioned to hug things, like a koala bear. He and I had opposite work schedules, so we’d each arrive home and find the alien in a different spot of ours and rehide it in a spot of theirs. He placed the alien so that only his silver head popped up in the midst of my stuffed animals. I put it under his comforter and pillow so that when he pulled it back at nite, an alien squeaked at him. He put it hugging my TV antenna in my bedroom. I put it hugging his jacket arm in his closet. He put it hanging off the caddy in my shower. I deflated it and put it inside his bathroom medicine cabinet. I’d wanted to drain the water from the toilet and place it inside so that when he lifted the lid and the seat (we keep both down because my cat would drink toilet water otherwise), he’d be looking at an alien. But I was afraid he’d use the bathroom in a groggy state in the middle of the night and do something to it that would cause me to throw it away and deal with it nevermore.

I was actually parked in my local gym’s parking lot yesterday evening, gabbing on the phone w/a friend, when my long-lost friend Dwaine called in thru call waiting. I had been trying to track this guy down for a year, so when he said he was in the local area and asked if I was free to meet him, I scrapped my workout plan.

I met him at BJ’s and since I was there first, sat down at the bar and ordered a bottle of Belgium Kriek Ale. (I wasn’t classless; I poured it into a curvy glass.) A man approached me to my right. “Everybody’s betting that you’re waiting for a guy friend,” he said.
It sounded like a line to me, so since I’m kind of an ass, I said, “Who’s everybody?”
He looked put on the spot and turned and pointed in a general direction of a large table behind me. “So, are you waiting for a guy friend?”
I looked at him again. “How much is at stake?”
“What?”
“What are you betting?”
“Oh, just a beer.”
I waved my hand dismissively. “That’s nothing. That’s inconsequential. I’m not going to answer the question.”
He badgered me a little, and I finally admitted I am waiting for a male friend I’ve known since junior high whom I haven’t seen in years. He said, “You look like you’re barely out of high school!”
I laughed. “I just missed my 10-yr reunion.”
“I just missed my 30-yr,” he said. And then he went on about how he was at his daughter’s wedding last weekend instead. So wait. You’re 47, 48, you think I’m in my low 20s and you’re HITTING on me? Nevertheless, he insisted on talking to me until my friend arrived, which he did, and Dwaine admirably simply introduced himself to this guy and shook his hand. I smiled at the stranger and thanked him for making my day.

Dwaine and I hit up a few different bars in Fullerton, in search of a place with good drinks and some form of entertainment that isn’t so loud that we can’t hear each other. We do have some great conversations; in a restaurant years ago after the two of us exchanged incredulous looks when the next table’s conversation traveled over he’d said, “Just once, I’d like to overhear a conversation that’s half as interesting as ours.” We ended up at a restaurant/bar that had a live jazz band, and a guy happened to be there filming a documentary on the bar. I wish I remembered what the bar’s called. Anyway, Dwaine and I charmed our way thru (as usual) and we were interviewed, signed releases, and we may see ourselves on TV sometime in the future.

Me: I hate spring cleaning.
Friend: why clean then?
Me: it needs to be done to avoid my possible embarrassment.
Friend: just invite ppl over and don’t turn on the lights
Me: so I can only invite them at night.
Friend: ya
Friend: or close the curtains and window dressings
Me: or immediately gouge their eyes out upon their entry into my house.
Friend: ya that works too
Friend: save u from cleaning
Me: well, at least it’s for a good cause.

I know the title has nothing to do w/this post, but it was just something I’d just said and I like it.

We just had a 10 minute break in our trial, and the defense attorney and I got into a conversation about dating. He told me about a girlfriend he had long ago; the relationship was cut short when she was murdered by her ex-boyfriend. We discussed the mentality of these jealous stalkerish murderous exes.

“The moral of all this, of course, is that men suck,” I concluded matter-of-factly.
“What? Not all men! I have single male friends who are wonderful people,” said the attorney.
“Yeah? Then why are they still single?” I challenged.
“Well, by the same token, I can ask why you’re still single.” Typical attorney talk.
“Because men suck!” It’s a simple concept to me!

…in retrospect, I should’ve gone for the shock value answer. “Because the State of California won’t legalize same-sex marriages!” would’ve been a good choice.

The A/C at work is ridiculous! They let us decide how long to put a man in prison for, but they won’t let us decide what temperature the courtroom should be. The result is we’re at the mercy of the unpredictable air conditioning. Each floor’s different, each courtroom’s different, and most of them are extreme.

I can literally hear the air blowing all morning. It’s like I’m sitting in a blizzard, except I’m in heels, a skirt and short sleeves. I told my reporter just now, “It’s freezing! If there were a baby white seal in here right now, I’d club it and make myself a fur coat.”
My vegetarian reporter whimpered, “Oh! Cindy! Take that back!”
I looked at her pained expression. “Okay, I wouldn’t. I’d hug it for body heat.”
“That’s better!”

Talk about utter disregard of the advice in my horoscope. I must’ve been drunk last nite. Except I didn’t drink. So maybe I was delirious from lack of sleep? Went to bed Sunday nite (technically Monday morning) at 4am, and last nite (technically this morning) hit the hay at 5am. And yet today, I managed to look semi-decent for work. I was at the Clerk’s Office downstairs earlier writing file requests and a coworker buddy of mine walked over and said, “Hey. You can’t come down here lookin’ all hot like this.”
“Why, what happens?” I asked him.
“You’re a distraction. People can’t get their work done.”
I thanked him for making my day so early in the morning.

Last nite, walking down the hallway, I passed Dodo who was lounging on the floor. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” he meowed at me.
“You wouldn’t feel that way if you weren’t neutered,” I quipped.

(See 8-20-05 entry, “Friday, and the Promise of Good Things.”)
Brad thought it would be a cakewalk to get his DUI charges dropped, until the surprise witness walked in the door.

We all know “who dunnit.”

Me, Brad & Val reconciled after I took Brad’s bribe and only imposed a sentence of having to take us out to dim sum on Sunday.

I don’t like it when photos are taken by people taller than the subject. We look unproportionally midgety. (I forwarded this photo to the judge. He phoned me from chambers and said in a mock-stern voice, “Ms. [my last name], a photo shows you standing in my well.” I forgot about the evidence of us being in the forbidden space, but hey, it’s my bailiff’s job to keep people out and posing us in the well was HIS idea!)

I was telling a friend about the awful IM conversation I had yesterday, and I came up with a brilliant idea for AOL. “AIM should add to its muti-media functions with one of those boxing glove things that come out of the monitor and hits the other person on the head.” I thought it was a great idea and I should patent it right away. After all, I AM close friends with a patent attorney who has been MIA for the entire weekend. *nudge nudge* My friend said, “I think that that would be highly hazardous to men’s health.” Especially men who talk to me. The vision of lawsuits made me tuck that idea away for now.

In another conversation, we were talking about drama queen women who seem to only fall for men who are impossible to get. You know, where she’s out in search of the fairy tale where she has to surpass obstacles and puzzles to win the happy ending against all odds.
“Look, I’ve built a boat out of leaves and sailed thru alligator lake and tricked the evil dragon into eating the enchanted berry so that while it slept I could search thru the cursed castle to find the magical harp so that I could bring it back to you and sing you a song with it to break the curse of blindness that an evil enchantress had cast upon you years ago! How could you not love me?”

Well, it was funny to me. How come no one else is laughing? No one gets me. *sigh*