cindy's world

We weren’t gonna do Christmas this year, mostly cuz we’re just feeling lazy. Christmas seems to be more about the kids anyway, and since Mr. W’s kids aren’t with us and Dodo doesn’t seem to care one way or the other, we decided to skip it. But then there was always the “Well, this IS our first Christmas as a married couple, we ought start SOME tradition” guilt hanging over us.

And then, Mr. W’s parents decided to drive aaaaall the way out from Vegas (where it SNOWED last week! we saw photos!) and then the decision was made to have Christmas at our house. Up went the Christmas lights and lawn decorations and pine mantlepiece and garlands wrapped around the stairway railings.

My mom sorely disappointed me this year. They were invited but she immediately had a ton of excuses why she (meaning her, my dad, and her mother) can’t make it. It was so ungraceful and left me in the awkward position of having to explain to my new in-laws why my parents and grandmother won’t be joining us, while I could not think of any reason that wouldn’t make them look bad. So the in-laws arrived yesterday, did indeed ask about my parents, and I chose the least offensive reason my mother gave me.
In-laws: When’re your parents coming?
Me: Oh…they’re not coming.
In-laws: They’re not? [Mr. W] told us they were invited.
Me: They were…but they think we live in Egypt.

The in-laws chuckled and nicely left it alone. If it were MY mom in their place, she would’ve said, “We drove all the way from VEGAS and she thinks driving from your home town is too far for one day, even though you guys drive out there EVERY WEEKEND to see them?!” But luckily we only have one of those kind of moms in this marriage. =P

Okay, enough talking crap about my bloodline. We’re gonna have a nice few days together, just me in a house of white people. Including Mr. W’s daughter’s 18th birthday party on Sunday at our house, just her and her closest 7 friends for a winter-themed semi-formal dinner, games, and firepit fun. We’re having it catered by the Newport Rib Company and I know there’ll be good music because she sat with me for a couple of hours last nite picking out 90s R&B, which I grew up with. I’ve always thought it was the best decade of music, but wasn’t sure if I was falling into the ol’ stereotypical, “All this crap you kids listen to these days is just noise! Now music in MY day…”

The mountains around us are white with snow;
Surrounded by furry bodies and flannel sheets,
the tapping of rain lulls me to sleep.

Two nights ago, I spent a couple of hours watching the season finale of The Biggest Loser. I hadn’t seen any of the other episodes this season, but that show always inspires me to work out. To watch these people push themselves at the gym with fitness trainers yelling at them to suck it up and give them 5 more, and the triumphant weigh-ins as their lifestyle changes begin to remold these morbidly obese bodies…makes me feel guilty that I’m sitting on my butt popping Junior Mints after not seeing the inside of a gym for weeks. That night I dreamt I jogged to work, jogged at lunch, and was surprisingly not winded.

Last night, I spent the evening watching the Victoria’s Secret 2008 Fashion Show. I LOVE the below segment, the Ballet de Fleurs, which has great music and my favorite wings of this year’s show: a gorgeous pair of butterfly wings with an assortment of floating life-size butterflies around the model’s big wings (1min30secs into this video). I also love that these models were allowed to show off their angelic smiles, and not just strut around smoldering. And they DO strut…I couldn’t strut so hard my hair’s bouncing like theirs without everything else on me jiggling, too. Blech. Mr. W was shockingly disinterested in watching supermodels strut for an hour in lingerie. He said he doesn’t understand fashion shows because who in their right minds would wear crazy concoctions like giant feathered gold wings on the street? I had to explain that they are exhibiting their 2008 lingerie collection and the decor is just eye candy interest, like when you order a simple vegetable at a French restaurant and it comes out on a plate decked out in swirls and whorls of sauce and shaved truffle and decorative hand-carved carrots in the shape of a rose. You’re still just eating that vegetable in the plate, but the presentation adds a lot. I’m sure model after model in just lingerie would start to look the same after awhile, too. Nevertheless, Mr. W’s attention was unbroken from his computer while I called out name after name of stars the camera panned to in the audience of the fashion show. You’d think he was watching porn or something. What could be more interesting than half-nekkid strutting? Here, see for yourself.

So anyway, I was again inspired to hit the gym. I should watch this video daily for motivation. So I can hit the New Year on a running start, instead of just starting out New Year’s Day on a diet resolution like everyone else. It takes awhile to get going so I’m gonna start early, hit the ground running.

I hadn’t blogged in awhile. I guess I feel like nobody would really miss me, anyway. When I started this hobby, it was because I needed it the way I needed journaling. With my thoughts, anguish, fears, and hopes written down, safely captured in black and white and bits and bytes, I could stop the swirling emotions and wide-eyed fear that I’ll miss something life-threatening or -enlightening simply by forgetting to process it. And then I could sleep again, the record perpetually tangible and accessible for future mulling over. Yes, it sounds insane.

I read an article the other day about how journaling stimulates both the left analytical side of the brain, as well as the right creative side. Just 20 minutes of journaling a day reduces stress and anxiety, helps memory, improves intellectual acuity. Jotting one’s thoughts down is far more beneficial to the mind as a whole than something like crossword puzzles or number games, which only exercise the left side of the brain.

As my need for anxiety- and stress-relief waned and my social life picked up again, the blog posts got farther and fewer in-between. But I kept on blogging as much as I was able, finding a few minutes here and there, because I had created a world of readers and friends that I enjoyed entertaining and communicating with through Cindy’s World. I met people I never would’ve run into in real life, nurtured and tightened friendships that distance and busyness would’ve otherwise tested. I found value in my blogging as my online presence seemed to be even beneficial to some other people.

And then I lost internet access at the place I spend the most time at in front of a computer. Blogging became far more difficult, but I still tried, thinking maybe my words would be sought after, if for nothing other than entertainment purposes.

I’m not sure that’s happening anymore. As much comfort and convenience as I had derived in the past from being able to look up records of what I’d done on a certain day, or do a search on this blog for a specific topic for future reference (such as a restaurant whose name I couldn’t remember but know I’d gone to for a specific occasion that I’d blogged about), I am seriously considering stopping. I’ve long since lost my need for creating these records, and it seems people have lost their need for my writing. I will always, however, value what I’ve written up to this point. Anything I write becomes my child. I am reminded of a phrase a college English literature professor once quoted, although I had been too poor of a student to pay attention to know whose quote it was: Cut these lines, and they bleed.

I had JUST written about how I’m “happy” with my figure despite the weight gain when the unthinkable happened to me yesterday.

A friend emailed me some photos of a mutual friend’s wedding (which I did not attend), and I had the photos open on my computer at work, examining the bride and groom. This was the first I’d seen the bride, and we were talking about how some brides go all out and hire expensive hair and makeup artists for their wedding day… and there’s no way to say this without sounding catty, so I’ll just say it straight out. We were discussing how unfortunate it is that, a wedding being one of the biggest, most important, most photographed event in a woman’s life up to that point, and some women just look awful. It’s like, “With professional hair and makeup and a year’s advance notice of your big day, and this is the absolute BEST you’re able to look?” Don’t roll your eyes at me, you’ve all thought that when you’d gawked at the forwarded internet/email circulations of hideous wedding photos. This bride in particular appeared to be wearing quite a bit of makeup to no avail, her hair was slicked all up and back to where all you see looking at her head-on is a narrow clump of bangs which fell in the center of her forehead much like that weird feather-thing on the forehead of a quail, and although not ugly, she was a big girl who would’ve benefitted from SOME hair framing her face and falling over her shoulders. I did like her long form-fitting chiffon-wrapped wedding gown, but I thought it looked like lingerie on her and she may have looked better in a less clingy dress, given her size.

Karma wouldn’t let me get away with these criticisms. In the midst of my judgmental thoughts, my courtroom assistant — who was AT MY WEDDING and knew what I looked like on my wedding day, by the way — walked in and looked over my shoulder at the photo up on the monitor. And asked, “Oh, is this you at home?”
:O
AAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
I instantly wailed to the friend who’d emailed me the photos. The only thing the friend could think of was that my courtroom assistant was kidding. But I know she wasn’t, she had truly thought it was me, a case of mistaken identity.

I forwarded the wedding pictures to Mr. W, along with a brief description of what’d just happened. His short emailed response was, “You’re Asian….You all look alike.”
Gym trainee was at least more sympathetic, writing back, “Are you ok? I know you’re pissed.” I asked if this was life’s way of poking me for not having gone to the gym all week. She comforted me with, “Look at the source. Please, WE look alike some days.”

Even so. That was yesterday afternoon. Today, I hit the gym for the first time this week.

Last night, I sat on the couch in our living room, my husband on an adjacent couch, and watched history being made. It was also a special evening for another reason. Daughter had called me a few hours before the polls closed and asked if it was all right if she came over and stayed overnight with us, since she has a late start for school the next morning and her first class wouldn’t start until 9am. It would be the first time she stayed overnight with us. Her life at home with her mom and half-brother has been getting increasingly hectic so it was nice that she could come to us for some peace. She’s talking of getting a part-time job near us and staying with us on nights she works, so we will hopefully see a lot more of her.

Daughter was in the shower when John McCain gave his extraordinarily gracious concession speech, talking of new president elect Barack Obama’s acquisition of his respect, how our democracy has performed its function in the election and he hears the will of the people spoken loudly and clearly (Obama winning more than 2 to 1 in electoral votes), and how despite their differences in opinion, McCain has, in his congratulatory phone call to Obama, offered Obama his support and help in running this country as “my president.” He urged his supporters to join together as Americans to heal and strengthen our country under the guidance of the upcoming 44th president of the United States. Daughter was still in the shower when Barack Obama gave his “yes we can” speech full of optimism and hope and faith that we will overcome our present two wars, the worst economic condition in 100 years, and severed international relations, and we will rise again and be great as a united people. He promised to be honest with us and to always listen to us, “especially when we disagree.” He outlined all the major healing to be done, warned us the uphill battle is steep, and it may take more than a year, even more than one term, to turn this country around, but that change IS at hand, and anything is possible, and “yes we can.” And then daughter came down and sat with us as we all watched and discussed the Proposition results as they started rolling in. So far, without all precincts reporting, Prop 8 is ahead. Daughter had just gone through a school-wide mock election of their own (letting high school students vote on the same issues on our ballot) and she had been in support of Proposition 8, but seemed to understand my perspective on it when I explained the “banana ban” analogy to her. And then later, she cheerily hugged us goodnight and went upstairs to bed.

So some candid thoughts on this stuff, since I threw PC out the window in my last post anyway. I want to nakedly record my memories about this election that lead to this point. Don’t read on if you’re so political that you’re gonna get offended.

I’ve been disappointed and ashamed of the immaturity of a number of McCain supporters.
* A few weeks ago, there was a woman on the news, all beat-up looking with a black eye, who reported to the police that she was at a gas station pumping gas in her car when she was robbed by a stranger. After taking her stuff, he looked at the McCain/Palin sticker on her car and then because of that, alleged beat her up and damaged her car. Both John McCain and Sarah Palin personally called her to check up on her and to give her their sympathies. The implication is that Obama supporters are barbaric and criminal. And then, a week later, investigations find that SHE WAS LYING. She had apparently fallen unconscious at some point and had no idea WHAT happened to give her the bruises, and made up the whole beat-up-at-the-gas-station-by-an-Obama-supporter story. What does this say about McCain people and what they’d stoop to, to create negative publicity for Obama supporters?!
* I heard an interview on the news around the same time period about an older black man who, because he has an Obama/Biden sticker on his car, took extra care to be courteous and polite to people he meets, BECAUSE he doesn’t want to give haters an opportunity to judge him and hence judge Obama’s campaign and character based on his supporters’ behaviors. It’s a sad commentary on what social environment this man felt he lived in, and what he has enough discipline and resolve to overcome starting with one man’s — his own — actions. What does that say about Obama supporters?
* I was DISGUSTED when McCain gave his concession speech last night and as soon as he mentioned Barack Obama’s name, his camp actually BOO-ED. McCain, who’d done his share of mudslinging in his campaigning style, had to put his hands up repeatedly to silence the crowd’s hostility. This is still our next president, people, whether you wanted the other guy to win or not. Oh, and I was really proud of Americans when the polls showed that whenever McCain dealt low-blows during his campaign against Obama, that his popularity actually went DOWN. He’d hurt himself by trying to mudsling the opponent.

I’m nervous about the really high expectations various people have in our next president, and how they may judge him if he doesn’t walk on water adequately enough to people’s demands.
* I work around a lot of black coworkers and the whole way through, they were saying that if Barack Obama doesn’t get elected, it would be because of this country’s racism. I have heard smatterings of promises of riots among malcontent black Americans if the “white guy” wins again. There was a recent exit poll taken under the subtitle of “Who’s REALLY racist?” and it shows that 50% of white men voted for Obama, over 60% of women, over 80% of Hispanic voters, and 96% of black voters voted for Obama. It seems from my own experience also, that many black Americans are the ones who REALLY see color lines today and are supersensitive to perceived prejudice. So I’m thinking that our black votes for Obama did so largely NOT because they truly stand behind his platform and beliefs, but simply because he’s black. They forget he’s also half white. They didn’t see that, as Colin Powell pointed out, Barack Obama ran not as a black man, but as an American. Nothing in Obama’s campaign and nothing in his victory speech last night lauded black power; instead, he mentioned a variety of groups as a unified American whole — “black, white, Hispanic, Asian, gay, straight, disabled, not disabled,” “not red states and blue states.” He talked about the progress reflected in this country’s history, mentioned not only black history but also Lincoln, women’s suffrage, our original founding fathers. So what I’m getting at in a long-winded way, is that I’m afraid the people who voted for him ONLY because he’s African American will expect him to do impossible things for the African American community, and if he doesn’t, or if he looks out for the better interest of the country as a whole (in which black America is still a minority), they will call him a sell-out or Uncle
Tom.
* He harped on “change” as his platform. I hope people aren’t unrealistic about what they expect to happen overnight. The war is not going to go away tomorrow. International differences are not going to settle next week in a magical civil conference. He is still one man who is subject to a government controlled by checks and balances.

Proposition 8’s passing.
* I don’t know what to think about a state that is so progressive it votes a black man into presidencial office by such a large margin, but at the same time is bigoted enough to pass Prop 8 and go backwards in progress.
* College roommie texted me earlier today: “What’s with all the so cal people voting for pro 8? Only bay area and nor cal coast voted against it.” I wish I could’ve voted against it. I hear a large part of its passing is due to the Mormon votes. You know, the people who think it’s okay to have multiple wives. Around me, I see the Christians and Catholics supporting it. How could people think depriving a small group of Americans their basic civil right to marry their loved one is Constitutional? Is that what Jesus would do?! In talking to the adamant supporters of Prop 8, it appears they’re all delusional enough to think that passing Prop 8 is a demonstration of OPEN-MINDEDNESS and ACCEPTANCE. They say the homosexual community is trying to force their agenda down everyone else’s throats and this stops them. WHAAAAAT???

My thoughts and feelings on this presidential win so far.
* I like him. Not because of I’m a Democrat or because he’s a minority figure. I like that he’s calm, educated, hard-working, open-minded, respectable and honorable. I like that he was able to stand against an opposing campaign full of low blows and mudslinging and not stoop to that level. I like that despite the “inconsistencies” the other campaign accused him of having, when you look at the facts, he’s been consistent. He’s always had this Palestinian friend from Harvard. He’s always had his differences with this professor, despite his friendship and respect for him. He’s always voted for Israel despite his friendship with this Palestinian friend. When a big to-do was made about the supposedly scandalous video tape showing his “support for terrorists” at the party of that Palestinian friend, in that tape even THEN he’s shown as saying that he’s sat at the dinner table with this friend and friend’s wife, and that those dinner conversation disagreements have made him aware of his own biases and presumptions, and that he hopes to continue these disagreement conversations for years to come, and that all around the world, people should be having these conversations. I like that he stood by that again in his speech last night, giving us the hope that he will sit down and have these conversations with international disputes, too. It shows a humility and maturity that says, “If we disagree, I could be wrong, and I would like to hear your reasons so that I may see if I should change my position.”
* I don’t expect him to walk on water and create miracles to heal our country. But I am comfortable under his leadership. I’m not scared under his lead. I think I would have been uncomfortable and scared under anyone else. But I trust him and have faith in his future decisions based on what I’ve seen him do thus far. (Plus, if he’s your cookie-cutter politician who cheats on his wife and sells his soul, that surely would’ve surfaced with the McCain campaign run the way it had.)
* It takes a strong man to want to take over our drowning panicking country at this time, when everything seems to be failing us. Countries hate us, we’re self-destructing from the inside-out, we’re in war. This is not a prestigious time when he could just step into a gravy situation and reap its riches. He has to really want to take the reins and make the hard decisions, to be scrutinized and criticized and condemned by our country, to guide us back on course for the greater good at even greater personal sacrifice. Kinda reminds me of our governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger.
* Nevertheless, I am nervous about various Democratic principles that I can’t get behind in my present state. I don’t like giving those who take advantage of the system continuous access to this country’s teats at the hard-working people’s expense. I don’t like having laws about immigration and then not enforcing them. I don’t like paying for people to keep committing illegal acts.

I guess we’ll all see how it goes.

I am SO bitter.

Since we moved recently, Mr. W called the county registrar-recorder last week to see where we’re supposed to vote. Would I be voting in my hometown, where I was previously registered? Or had my changing my address with the Department of Motor Vehicles effectively changed my voting place to our new city? Turned out, I was to vote at neither location. I’m not allowed to participate in this election AT ALL.

Mr. W gave his date of birth and name, and was told he is still registered to vote in his old city, but when they looked me up, they said that because I had not voted the last few years, I was “purged out of the system.” What?! What does that mean?! It means I’ve been involuntarily, automatically un-registered. Well, how do we reverse that so that I could vote?, Mr. W asked them. It’s too late. “She won’t be voting in this election,” they told him.

When he called me at work last week to tell me this, I was dumbfounded. “You didn’t vote the last few years?” he asked me.
“Why would I vote the last few years? There was no presidential election!”

I can not believe that I am alive during this amazing ground-breaking pivotal election, which will be recorded in the history books forever as the first presidential race in which a black man AND a woman were the front runners for the Democratic party, and a black man is the Democratic candidate, and a woman is the Republican vice presidency candidate, Barack Obama is taking the country by storm (especially in my home state of California) not because he’s black, but because (and I truly believe this) Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s dream has finally solidified into reality and this educated innovative respectable man, who just happens to be black, is being judged and taken seriously by this country based on the content of his character, and not by the color of his skin. I am economically conservative, but I cheer the progress of this country on in its ability and eagerness to accept and WANT Barack Obama as its leader.

Sure, there are bigots. Sure, there are racists spewing blood and chanting bloody murder right now, but they are the minority. I think in LARGE part, this country has become pretty colorblind. But speaking of small-minded idiots, I also REALLY wanted to participate in this election to vote NO on Proposition 8, which bans gay marriages. Our town, it turns out, is tightly conservative. For weeks on end, people have stood on street corners during rush hours holding “Vote YES on Prop 8” signs. “Prop 8 for Religious Freedom.” “Proposition 8 Supports Families.” They have TICKED ME OFF beyond reason. All the cars honking their support driving by these sign holders, lots of whom have pulled their young CHILDREN out of school to wave these signs with their prejudiced parents on corners, have caused me to rave at least 3 minutes straight every time we drive by them on the way to and from work. Most of these people, come to find out, were volunteers from a very large local church. Mr. W one day offered, “Do you want me to print out some signs for you that you can post up?”
“YEAH, how about BIGOTRY IS UNGODLY?”
Cuz here’s my view on it. Who the hell are YOU to judge what other people do with their lives? Who are YOU to say you get to dictate what’s right for everyone else? That’s like saying, “I don’t like bananas. I don’t eat bananas. And because of that, I’m going to pass a law that NOBODY gets to eat bananas anymore, either. A ban on bananas!” What the hell. Maybe some people only HAVE bananas to eat. Maybe some people LIKE bananas. Maybe some people are allergic to apples. If you don’t like bananas, DON’T EAT THEM. That’s it. There was a floater who came by my courtroom the other week and decided to sit down, make herself at home, and spew all sorts of one-sided uninformed garbage at my courtroom assistant, and one of the things she raved about was supporting Proposition 8. “If that’s what you choose to do [be in a same-sex relationship], that’s what you choose to do, but don’t try to change the Constitution to say it’s correct. It isn’t.” That’s an exact quote cuz I wrote it down immediately. She also insists that Prop 8 doesn’t ban gay marriage, it just doesn’t allow the Constitution to change the definition of “marriage” as “being between a man and a woman.” “They can still get married or whatever they do,” she said. She’s WRONG. Even Prop 8’s own radio ads say that it “eliminates right of same-sex couples to marry.” And to same-sex couples, a “commitment ceremony” not legally recognized by the state is NOT the same thing as getting married. And what are they gonna micromanage next? Are they gonna say that they don’t want different races to intermarry? That only people within 5 years of each others’ ages will be allowed to marry? What the hell does someone else’s same-sex marriage have to do with Prop 8 people? As for the supposed child impact about how same-sex marriage destroys family units, what proof is there that same-sex couples are unable to provide the same nourishing, loving home environment for children? What makes parents flawless just because they’re dual-gender? Do they think that if a lesbian couple raises a boy that he will have zero access to other men in the world and hence will miss out on influence of adult men? PLEASE. And mandatory school teaching about same-sex marriages? WHOT the FOCK? I’ve asked everybody and nobody was taught marriage in school that I’ve talked to. And if a child in a classroom asks a teacher about same-sex marriages, that teacher SHOULD be able to explain, without being lynched by religious paranoid parents, that some people emotionally lean toward and fall in love with people of their own gender. It’s a REALITY. It HAPPENS. It has ALWAYS happened throughout history. It happens in BONOBOS MONKEYS, our closest primates. Sticking your heads in the sand and trying to force your own kids’ heads in the sand does not change the fact that the world is made up of DIFFERENT PEOPLE.

Because this post has gone on for way longer than I thought, I’m gonna not touch on any other issues. That, and I feel a little better now. But I am still EXCEEDINGLY SALTY that in the future when some kid, maybe even my own kid, asks me how I voted in that one historical election where [the first black man became president] or [the first woman became president cuz she was the first female vice president when the man who did win presidency died of old age] and they tried to do away with fundamental civil rights to marry, I’d have to say, “I didn’t vote.”

I sat here after work watching Mr. W vote.

My Canadian cousin Mark text messaged me right then, “Did you vote?” (The world’s watching us.) I had to tell him the same thing I told the two volunteers giving out “I voted!” stickers when they offered me a sticker asking the same question. “I didn’t vote.” The volunteers actually physically drew away from me and their “Ohh” involuntarily carried a scornful/disgusted tone as they looked at me being unAmerican.

Now I know how my 10-year-old godson Evan feels every year his mother, Gym Trainee, takes him with her to vote. He’s been ranting for years about how age-discriminatory it is that children are not allowed to vote. Each year as he stands in the waiting area watching grownups vote, waiting for his mother and grandmother, he sulks. One year he tried to follow his mom into the voting booth. She told him to stay in the designated waiting area, he was not allowed to follow her in. “But you can’t HEAR my opinions from THERE!” he’d complained.

We’ll both be sulking this year, Evan.

I’m very excited, for today is D-Day. What’s D stand for? Donnerstag? Yes, it IS in fact Donnerstag (Thursday in German), but more than that, it’s the night when, if you’ve been a very good girl or boy, you get a personal visit at home by Dwaine! It’s kinda funny when we planned this because we both woke up on the same morning thinking that we miss hanging out with each other. So he’s visiting what he calls our “Castle” for the first time. We’re gonna have dinner on the lake!

But as I’m a very nice person, to alleviate everyone else’s jealousy over my D-Day (I STILL have coworkers talking to me about how hot the twins are at our wedding!), here are some funnies to brighten up the rest of your quickly ending week.

Lawyer joke from my judge:
The prominent middle-aged attorney was walking in the woods when he heard a booming voice from above say, “You are going to live to be 100.”
That must be God speaking, the attorney thought. Immediately he began doing good deeds, figuring out that he now had ample time to make amends in order to enter Heaven. But as he left the homeless shelter where he had just volunteered an hour of his services, he was hit by a bus and killed.
Coming face-to-face with God, the attorney protested, “You promised me I was going to live to be 100. Instead, the very first day I did a good deed, I got hit by a bus and here I am. Why?”
“I didn’t recognize you,” replied God.

“Sharing Peanuts” from my coworker:
A tour bus driver is driving with a bus load of senior citizens down a highway when he is tapped on his shoulder by a little old lady. She offers him a handful of peanuts, which he gratefully munches up.
After about 15 minutes, she taps him on his shoulder again and she hands him another handful of peanuts. She repeats this gesture about five more times.
When she is about to hand him another batch again, he asks the little old lady, ‘Why don’t you eat the peanuts yourself?’
‘We can’t chew ’em because we have no teeth’, she replied.
The puzzled driver asks, ‘Why do you buy them then?’
The old lady replied, ‘We just love the chocolate around them.’
**Moral: It pays to be careful around old people**

Mr. W and I went to take care of some business with our rental property manager Tom on Tuesday after work. We somehow got on the topic of being unfairly pulled over by the police, and Tom told us that when his son was 17, the son had borrowed the grandparents’ van, picked up some friends, and went to a local 18+ club. His son is the very responsible sort and always returned home before his midnight weekend curfew. This day, however, it was about 1:30 a.m. when Tom was woken up by his worried wife. The son hadn’t come home. As this was before the age of the ubiquitous cell phone, the parents made phone calls to each of the son’s friends’ homes, only learn from other frantic parents that none of those kids had returned home, either. So now at 2 a.m., our manager was out trolling the streets, even passing another of the kids’ fathers doing the same thing. Not seeing any accidents or oddities, Tom returned home at 2:30 a.m. to see that the van was now in the driveway and the son was inside talking to his mother.

Turned out that as soon as the son drove out of the club’s parking lot, they were pulled over by local sheriffs who, without telling the kids what they did wrong, had all of them out, searched, sat them on the curb, and then searched the van. Eventually, not finding anything, the sheriffs allowed the kids back in the van to go home. Tom was furious at this violation of the kids’ civil rights and drove his son over to the sheriff’s station the next morning. He ranted and raved to the sergeant in charge, saying that the officer did not have good cause to pull over the kids but did so anyway and detained them for hours for nothing. The sergeant called in the sheriff who pulled the kids over, and the sheriff explained that it’s often the case that when kids come out of that club, they have just purchased or sold drugs, and that the pull-over was to make sure that the kids in the van were not hiding drugs. There was still the civil liberty, no-good-cause stop issue, so Tom demanded a written apology from the sheriff to each of the kids who were in the van, saying these were good kids who don’t do drugs and don’t even drink. And the sheriff did it. Tom was obviously a hero to the other parents, until the next day.

The next day, before returning the van to his own parents, Tom decided to wash and clean the vehicle. He stuck the vacuum hose extension into one of the handle slots in the back, and heard a clink. Reaching in, to his utter horror, he pulled out a glass marijuana pipe.

This time, he was furious at his son and drove immediately to the son’s friend’s house, where they were hanging out. The son and his friend had no idea the pipe was in there, but they speculated that it must’ve been a particular kid who’s the friend of another friend they’d invited along, and described where in the van the kid sat. That was indeed where Tom found the pipe, although he never told that to the boys. (Tom also knew that if his son had known about the drug paraphernalia, he never would’ve let Tom clean the car.) Tom said that because this discovery made him an ass for going to the cops demanding apologies for something the kids actually WERE guilty of, he was now going to rectify the situation by bringing the kids to the police station to MAKE an apology. None of the other kids would go, but Tom’s son went, scared the whole time he was going to get arrested. Tom reassured his son that nothing bad would happen to him, but that for the sake of decency, morality, and fairness, this had to be done.

The son went to the same sergeant, explained about the pipe and how he had no idea it was there, that it didn’t belong to him or his friends, and that had he known of its existence, he would never have allowed that acquaintance kid into his car. He swore up and down he would be more careful with his company and that this would never happen again. And he gave a written apology to the sheriff who’d pulled them over, whom they’d made write apologies to the other kids. And Tom’s kid didn’t get in trouble.

As I was listening to this story unfold, when Tom got to the part about how he found the pipe, my immediate mental reaction was, “Whew, that was close! Good thing the cops didn’t find that, and how funny/ironic that they had just made the cop apologize for something he was right about! They got lucky!” So of course I was shocked that although I had thought how great it was they’d gotten away with it, Tom did not let his kid get away with it. I said incredulously, “You made him go back and tell the police what you found, even tho you guys were done scott free and going back made you look like an ass?”
He was like, *blink blink*, “Of COURSE! What kind of parent would I be, what kind of example would I be setting, if I made the sheriff do something for the sake of righteousness and apologize, and when the shoe’s on the other foot, I don’t do the same thing on the other end?!”

I’d like to think that although I fantasize about doing wrong things more often than I’d like to admit, that when it really came to decision/action time, I would normally take the high road. But now I don’t know what to think of myself that my instantaneous reaction was to sheepishly skulk off knowing I’d narrowly gotten away with something. Maybe I’d be an unfit parent.

Today’s “lawyer joke of the day” that my judge put on my desk could’ve been a page out of a certain somebody’s certain psycho ex’s personal handbook. I’ve certainly been on the receiving end of such sophomoric behavior:
“At one time there was not only an etiquette of greeting people but also an etiquette of not greeting them. This ranged in degree from the coldly formal bow to the ‘cut direct.’ The cut direct was delivered by looking right at a person and not acknowledging his acquaintance or even his existence. This is no longer done. It has been replaced by the lawsuit.
-P.J. O’Rourke”

I have been text-messaging and checking internet sites through my Verizon Wireless phone in my courtroom. YAY! I don’t have great reception all the time, but it’s 100% better than what AT&T Mobility was giving me. It’s still a pain in the butt to do much typing or web surfing through a text cell phone, so I still leave much of the emailing, blogging, etc. for my home laptop, on which I have learned to truly appreciate the use of a mouse.

After work Mr. W and I went to Costco, where he was stopped by some guy demonstrating and selling his company’s vitamin energy drink. It’s in powdered form contained in cool little portable vials, and you simply pour the premeasured powder into a bottle of water, shake it up, and it supposedly replaces your daily multivitamin as well as your semi-toxic energy drink. It’s a cool concept; too bad the young sales guy was an ass to me. There was already an older white lady in front of him he was talking to about the product, then he got Mr. W to stop. And so I wandered by, joined him, watched the lady and Mr. W get handed drink samples in a little cup as the sales guy talked up his product some more, all the time totally ignoring me. He then opens up another flavor and pours the powdered contents into an entire bottle of cold water, giving a bottle to the lady and to Mr. W. By this time other people had walked by, all of whom received samples and if they like it, he does a full bottle for them. I got annoyed and tried to walk off a few times but Mr. W wasn’t following so I always ended up around the table again. The guy started citing some recent study done by UCLA about sugars and energy drinks or something; I was likely the only person within a 20-foot radius of the table who even went to UCLA. Mr. W didn’t end up buying the stuff, but he also noticed that I had been totally ignored. He brought it up in the car by asking, “Do you think it was racism? Or what was it?” I dunno. But I do know that I can still stand by Mr. W and have people confused about who I am to him, or flirt with him in front of me, thinking he’s alone.

I’ve taken advantage of some of these racist assumptions. I usually don’t get mistreated or anything, people just don’t automatically register that we’re together the way they do when he’s with a white woman, especially one closer to his age. For example, our Lake is private gated residents-only access. We both have a photo-ID card. Guests may enter with a resident, but are supposed to pay $2 per guest. Mr. W had driven up with his white friends before, flashed his Lake ID and been waved through. When he’s with me, if they look in the car, they’ve nodded at his ID and then asked if I had membership as well, so that I have to show my ID also. Well, last weekend we had enough friends over for a lake and boating outing that we had to take 2 cars to the Lake. I did it the easiest way possible to not have to pay: I had Mr. W drive his car with a carload of his white friends, and I sat in another car with his Korean neighbor and Gym Trainee (who’s black). After flashing his Lake ID, Mr. W was waved in with his carload sans question, as I knew he would be because the gatekeeper assumed everyone was family in the car, and when we were stopped, I waved my Lake ID, predicted correctly that the gatekeeper assumed Mr. W’s neighbor is my husband or some other relation, and he simply asked, seeing Gym Trainee in the back, how many guests are with us today to not sound TOO presumptuous. I lied and said one, so we only paid $2 and got 6 guests in.

Maybe I shouldn’t be admitting this publicly. But karmically, it rounds out. I get ignored and not offered energy drinks, my friends get free entry for the day to our Lake. We’ve certainly paid enough guests entries for half-hour strolls to have earned some free entries, anyway.