cindy's world

*Warning: Raunchy, Unladylike, Crass Post Ahead*

Today, an ex-DA returned to our courthouse for a hearing on his case, so he thought he’d visit his old courthouse coworkers and get as many people together as possible for lunch. Lunch turned out to be 6 DAs and me. I’ve always enjoyed these DAs’ company, however, because it frees me to put on my bar hat, which is a persona I haven’t worn for a long time. And they seem to accept me for it, and everyone gets a good laugh, no one gets offended at my lack of political correctness. I got to do stuff like this:

DA next to me on cell phone: …It’s definitely brown.
Me: [looking at 2 DAs across from me, who heard the conversation the same time I did because our conversation had just died down when the DA next to me spoke] But with some yellow specks. Yeah, it’s definitely corn.

And then it just went downhill from there, something about stored corn poopies in 25 baby food jars, referencing a story the phone DA told earlier about finding himself in line at the store with 25 tiny baby food jars and a Playstation game.

Or the conversation about one of these DAs’ current trial in another department. I told them I was coming up the elevator with a cup of yogurt in my hand this morning for breakfast, and a court reporter was saying something about her trial. Another reporter said, “Oh, is that the yeast trial?” I said, “Yeast?” thinking it’s a civil lawsuit over product liability and bad bread yeast that didn’t rise or something. The reporters said, “Yes. And it’s the bad kind of yeast, too.” I said, “Oh. Ew!” They confirmed my thoughts with, “Uh-huh.” I looked at my yogurt and suddenly didn’t want it anymore. So at lunch, I asked which one of these DAs have the “yeast trial.” Turned out it’s one of my favorite female DAs, and I asked her what the trial’s about.

Apparently a woman has bruising and rips in and around her vagina and they’re alleging assault, or rather, forced digital penetration, by the male defendant. There are actually photos of this woman’s nether-regions as exhibits. I asked where the yeast comes in. And then the DA said that the defense theory is that the woman did it to herself. She said the alleged victim is about 250 lbs at a height of 5’1″, and the defense says she had a vaginal yeast infection at the time of the alleged crime and the itchiness must’ve made her scratch herself down there so hard that she caused some damage.
I said hesitantly, “Well, large women’s fat folds tend to prevent evaporation so it’s moister down there for ideal yeast cultivating conditions –”
The DA said, “That’s exactly what the defense’s expert witness nurse said. But I argued that to scratch that hard to cause that kind of damage would be like a guy having some jock itch that makes him scratch so hard that he rips off bits and pieces of skin. It’s just not very probable that you could itch that bad.”
The phone DA said, “As we all know from our own itching experiences.”
I followed, “Well. The last time I had crabs…” and had to reassure two of them that I was really just kidding. They laughed, and in the post-laughter silence, I said, “So who ordered bleu cheese?” Everyone did the “Eww!” thing while laughing and exclaimed that they were not going to be able to eat the food when it gets to the table. One proudly touted his decision to have his salad dressing on the side.

I had to run out on them early since I was in trial and had to get back, and it wasn’t until I had said my goodbyes and gone back to my car that I saw I had the guest ex-DA’s suit jacket in my car. I ran it back into the restaurant and as I put it on the back of his chair, I said, “When you strip in someone’s car, you have to make sure to remove all the evidence.” Everyone laughed and he topped me with, “Oh, I thought I’d just pick that up from you tonight.”

Good stuff.

Story 1:
10 of our building’s sheriffs worked overtime yesterday at the polls. This morning, some of them told me about one particular man there making some sort of a show for the TV cameras. The polls close at 8pm. At a few minutes past 8pm, a man in his 60s or 70s makes his way toward the lobby on crutches, taking his time. One of our deputies opened the door for him but told him the polls close at 8p. The man made like he was going to fall, staggering wildly, so our deputy, aware of the TV cameras in their direction, deliberately looked away so he couldn’t be accused of pushing the old man out and depriving him his citizen’s right to vote. Our deputy explained again that the polls were closed and that he was going to call a sergeant to escort the guy out. The guy started writing furiously on a pad of paper about how he was being deprived of his right to vote, he “DEMANDS” that he be permitted to cast his vote, etc. And then he handed the pad over to the deputy. He could talk, but put everything down on paper and handed the deputy a pen as if he wanted the response to be written down for the record. Our deputy refused to write anything, but read the notes and again stated that the sergeant was on his way down. The guy had a fit with other deputies and polling authorities there, and by the time he was done, 40 minutes had gone by, and the polls had closed by law before he had even come in. And yes, he was escorted out back to his car. Other deputies who were stationed outside that building stated that they saw the man in his car at 7:30p circling the parking lot aimlessly, and even after parking in the handicap spot, he was just sitting in his car fiddling and shuffling and not getting out. They had even thought him suspicious at one point, wondering what he was doing there, and he didn’t even get out of his car until past 8p. Other regular poll authorities working there said this man does this every year; coming in late and having a fit with everyone about not permitting him to vote. Gosh, and the most exciting thing I saw yesterday at the voting station was a woman volunteer collapsing a voting booth machine and disassembling the computer table’s legs.

Story 2:
The district attorney and public defender in trial with us right now just told me the story of their “favorite defendant ever,” whom they tried in another department last month. Apparently, this woman had some beef with a specific police officer, so what she did was she took a firearm (and she’s a convicted felon so it is illegal for her to be in possession of firearms) to the police station this guy was assigned to, walked up the front steps, threw the gun down on the ground and loudly demanded to see this officer, calling him names and basically having a fit. Other officers came out and took her into custody immediately. (Hey, it was a convenient walk to the holding cell with many many deputy witnesses.) I read about this in the newspaper when I was in Hawaii, not realizing it was our case. In trial, she insisted on appearing with a shaved head, such that the jurors were given a clean view of her forehead (which displayed the tattoo “F— YOU” completely spelled out), her left temple (which displayed the tattoo “I don’t give a f–k” or something to that effect) and her right temple (which displayed a lesbian pride tattoo in derogatory slang). She insisted on taking the stand, and her attorney, after ascertaining before the jury that she did not see nor speak to the targeted officer that day, asked her what she would’ve done if the officer had been there. She said gleefully, “I would’ve told him he’s a bitch.” That’s it. That was all she wanted. She went through all that, went thru trial and got sentenced to 16 months in state prison, just to create a public stage in which she could call this officer a bitch. She did it several times in trial, and very happily so. I asked, “If that was all she wanted, why couldn’t she just walk into the police station, ask to see the officer and then call him a bitch to his face, and then just simply get a misdemeanor for disturbing the peace or get escorted out? Why did she have to bring a gun to the scene and be charged with felony gun possession?” The DA and public defender looked kinda stunned. “I guess she just didn’t think it through,” the DA said. The funniest thing about her not thinking this through is, the day she did all this, the officer she wanted wasn’t even working that day.

I actually had a productive day already! I still didn’t pack, but I figure I’ll save that for Friday.

This morning, I got to sleep in like I always wished I could on work days (hitting the snooze button for an hour straight), then I got up, showered, spot-cleaned my carpet (Oxy-Clean is freaking amazing!), vacuumed both floors, did the dishes, cleaned the cat area, changed Dodo’s litter box, fed him, swept my garage floor, sucked up spider webs from my vertical blinds and walls (I KNOW, I need to clean more, shut up), and then, at 11:20p, I went to Vons and got the perfect Pooh balloon to tie to the tiny baby Pooh for my coworker’s baby shower. Then I got to the courthouse at 11:40, just in time to hand over my house keys to my coworker, whom I ran into in the parking structure, who’s going to check in on Dodo while I’m gone next week. Whew! And it’s only 2:38!

Oh yeah, the baby shower was cute. It’s like some huge infant puked baby blue fluffy stuff all over the Judge’s Lounge. (Say that three times fast!)

Now I’m at James’s house, where I hope to manipulate him into helping me wash my car or working out with me or getting drunk at a bar or SOMETHING, until 6:30 when I’m off to jujitsu. After jujitsu ends (about 9p), a bunch of us are going running on a nearby college track.

I’m feeling pretty good about my productivity this week. All I have left to do for tomorrow is pack. Which will probably be a huge disaster and I’ll forget something really important, like my ID or money or dive knife.

I’m at my desk processing paper divorces. In reviewing these files, I see a trend. The parties are married for a short number of years, and then I look down and see they have offspring(s) of the marriage listed. The offspring are often older than the length of the marriage. So I can only imagine that the people had a kid or two together, didn’t get married for awhile, and then decided, “Eh, let’s do it, let’s make it official,” and then in a short married time they realize it doesn’t work.

This isn’t criticism, since I have no experience in this arena, but don’t they know beforehand that it wouldn’t work? I mean, there’s gotta be SOME reason the two hesitated in getting married when they first got pregnant, right? So if they knew then they aren’t compatible, why bother getting married when the kid’s like 4, and then it turns out they were right originally and they SHOULDN’T be together, but now they have to go thru formal divorce proceedings and explain to the kid why mommy and daddy aren’t gonna live together anymore? What happened there? Anyone have any stories/examples for me? I don’t think this is about a woman getting knocked up to trap a man, since if that was gonna work, they would’ve gotten married before the kid’s that old. I just don’t understand why, if you’re already holding back, you’d go ahead and take the plunge so much later.

And then it makes me wonder about other stuff, too. My mom says that today’s society is so full of divorce because people (in this country) don’t value the relationship enough to compromise. People these days are selfish, and if something doesn’t make them happy, they just up and leave instead of work toward a solution. Sure there are things you shouldn’t stay and accept (cheating, abuse, etc.), but there are a lot smaller things that people leave over these days. Like finding a porn magazine in his briefcase. I used to think that going from relationship to relationship is just the dues you have to pay to eventually make it to The One. But now I wonder whether today’s fast-paced world doesn’t leave room for The One, it’s just whatever fits in your lifestyle or desires right now, i.e. Mr. Right vs. Mr. Right Now. Life and times and careers and friends keep evolving, so maybe someone perfect for you now would no longer fit in in a few years when you advance in your career or develop new interests. We’re no longer in a small town life where you can marry your high school sweetheart and stay together forever because all you’ll be doing from that time on would be minding the farm together, and if he can milk a cow now, he’s gonna be great at milking the cow later, and nothing’s gonna change. But if it’s true that life today doesn’t lend itself to stability, then why contractually obligate yourself to anyone? It’s like building an expensive house on a fault line when you know earthquakes hit there every few years and plate techtonics will tear the property apart as a law of nature.

Isn’t that freaking scary?! To think that we may no longer be able to make a beeline toward a juicy rewarding hive; that we’re just spending life flitting from flower to flower, forever.

Don’t know what it is about my body lately. I’m absolutely uninspired at the gym. Yesterday I dragged myself around the small city gym at lunchtime with weights that are just too heavy for me to deal with (yes, I know that’s the point of weight-training), oozing from set to set of exercises, reducing the number of reps per set as the whining drones on in my head. Today, same thing. Gym trainee couldn’t get out of the courthouse until late, so we just did cardio for a little under 40 minutes on the elliptical trainer.

In the elevator on the way out to lunch earlier:

Random bailiff: Where’re you going?
Me: [dully] I’m going to the gym.
Random bailiff: [looking at me so not excited about that prospect]
Me: I’m so tired, I’m probably gonna drop a weight on my face.
Random bailiff: Well, that‘ll wake you up.

For the millionth time, I think about how I could push my body through a workout despite my mind’s uncooperation, and hope that the brain and body are disconnected enough such that I get the exact same benefit to a workout unenthused as I would enthused.

And yet, and yet, it occurred to me as I drove to the gym that tonight is belly dancing, and Vanessa has resolved to go to the private gym after every session of belly dancing until Hawaii, so that means she’d be there tonight after class. And I want to go along, too. I can call up some friends (like Vicky, who Vanessa saw there last week) to be at the gym, and that’ll be fun! So despite the fact that I feel so blah, I may have 3 workouts today.

I was standing in the elevator earlier with a judge, who mentioned to me how bad traffic was this morning. I replied, “Yeah, is it just me, or are people ruder now on the road than they were even 5 years ago?” He said in a calm, pacifying tone, “Society in general is in a decline, and there are obvious reasons for that.” This would’ve been an interesting conversation to pursue, but I was about to enter my courtroom door and he was about to walk down the hall to join other judges in their morning coffee klatch.

His implications are obvious, however, especially given his conservative political views and the fact that we’re in Southern California, working in a largely unprivileged area, on a job that deals directly with people who have gone wrong in their life choices. But I don’t want to get into politics or education or funding or immigration reform.

I just think that people in general, in the areas that I frequent, drive like jerks. I drive more and more defensively because I don’t want to get suckered into one of their traffic messes, where they’ll claim I was at fault somehow because they see an affluent car and they’d want to sue me. Worse yet if they’re illegal and uninsured, like the guy who hit Vanessa a few months ago. But aside from their aggressive driving where they’ll cut people off and try to piss you off by slamming their brakes in front of you while gesturing with their arms and trying to instigate something, people are also just audacious in what they do in their cars. This morning, I was stuck at a section of traffic lights in close succession, so that although my light was green, I couldn’t go because the block in front of me was full of cars waiting at a red light. If I went forward, I’d be stuck blocking the intersection. So I didn’t go. The guy behind me honked at me, then went around and blocked the intersection in the next lane (altho he did see the cop car in front of me, the last car in the block, and hesitated. HA!), and the woman behind him almost did the same thing except the block in front of me loosened up and I moved forward so she came back. That’s a peeve of mine, when people KNOW they can’t go anywhere because the block is all stuck at a red light, and they go up and block the intersection anyway, ignoring people trying to turn left or pull out of the intersecting street into the blocker’s street. And these jerk blockers make a point of looking straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with people they’re selfishly blocking off. The last time I checked, blocking an intersection like this is illegal, and I really, really want patrol cars to start giving tickets for this. It’s becoming an epidemic!

OH, and later on in the same intersection this morning, I pulled up to see the driver’s side door 2 cars in front of me was open. I wondered what he was doing, because the light had just turned green and he was taking his time closing the door. Turned out he was pouring coffee or some beverage out his car into the street. The car right behind him splashed into it driving forward and it got the side of his car all wet. What’s so urgent you can’t wait to get to your destination to throw that beverage away?!

I was telling an ex-coworker today about my dull blogging topic (in italics, 2 entries below), and he was laughing, calling it a Jerry Seinfeld episode. So maybe all there is to liven up writing on a dull topic is in the telling. So lemme try that again.

So today, I RSVPed for my coworker’s surprise baby shower next Friday at lunch by pre-paying five bucks for the food. Then I come back into my courtroom to write the event into my planner and I see, *gasp* I’m on vacation all next week. What kind of a loser forgets a vacation?! That’s all that keeps some people alive, is longing glances at the calendar as they count down the days till the shackles will be dropped for a week, and the iron cage door swings open. And my retarded self forgets about it. “So I guess you’re not going to attend the shower,” you think. Dude, I am still Asian, I’m not happy to have paid five bucks for nothing. I do realize that that’s lame, but going up to the shower organizer to ask for a refund on five stupid dollars is lamer and embarrassing, especially when I explain my reason. I’m also not crazy about looking like a cheap ass.
So I’m gonna have to go.
“But Cindy, isn’t going all the way to work for a baby shower on your week off even lamer than just letting the money go?” you ask me logically. And I’ll answer you logically. Yes, yes it is.
But I already paid.

You know there is no drama going on in your life when you consider blogging this:

I RSVPed today for a coworker’s surprise baby shower which is to take place next Friday at lunchtime, and went downstairs to the event organizer and gave her my $5 contribution (for the catering). Then I came back up to write the event down in my planner, but in doing so I realized that I’m on vacation all next week so I won’t be here! But I think I’m gonna come in to work during lunchtime for the shower anyway. Since I paid my $5. I get to dress casually. Yay!

I’m not sure what to think about the peaceful state of my life right now. It’s not boring, exactly, as at just about any given time, I have various things I could choose to do and various people to do it to. Err, with. 😉 Take weekdays after work, for example. I could go to Mr. W’s to hang out, or I could go home. Once home, I could go to jujitsu for a few hours and hang out with the people there who’ve become good buddies, or I could go to the gym, or I could call up some friends to have dinner, or I could stay home, hang with the Do-fuzz, and do laundry. There’s not much stress on my mind these days, unless I let my imagination run wild and freak out for the exercise of it. I think this is the peace that I kept dreaming about when I first started this blog, but honestly, I didn’t think I could ever find it unless I was alone with no one to bring me down or disappoint me. And let’s face it — alone is good, but only for a limited time. After the initial sigh of relief as you wriggle into your own skin, you start looking around and goin’, “Hey, how come no one’s hitting on me? I don’t have a date to bring to my friend’s wedding! I want to try this new restaurant, but I have no one to take!” I feel so balanced right now. I got my friends for me, I got my exercise for me, I have stable work, stable relationship, I’m healthy, my parents are healthy (for the most part). I have Hawaii in a few weeks with my jujitsu dojo. But I still look around for what’s next. What’s hiding around the corner? Anything? Hello?

I hope this isn’t the calm before the storm.

This may be too early to tell, but my day’s been balancing out in my favor.

I woke up later than I expected, and didn’t leave at the 7:15a time I’d planned. 7:15 would’ve gotten me to work at just before 8a, per Mr. W’s estimation (I was leaving from his house to work for the first time). Instead, I got up at 7:17a, and couldn’t leave the house until 7:50a. ACK! The specialized courtroom I’d been assigned to opens its doors at 8:30a, so I oughta be in there before then. In my haste, I also stubbed my toe against my bag in the bedroom. Which toe? Only the one that was already injured from the half-marathon run last month, the 4th toe on my right foot, where the nail has begun to lift off the nailbed. I heard it. It sounded like a plastic flick. Scared, I looked at it and it did indeed lift from the nailbed. But it didn’t rip and I pushed it back down into place.

BUT, traffic was cooperative and I was at work before 8:15. I called my supervisor asking if they got someone else to cover the specialized court because my courtroom was sort of in chaos. He said not yet, they’re still working on it. Within 10 mins, however, he called me back and said to stay in my own court because the clerk who I’m supposed to be covering, who was supposed to be at a medical appointment, actually came in. Huh? Why? Who cares, it’s great! So yay, we’re all set up and ready to go!

*dancing in sparkling good luck dust*

Whoa, I just realized that tomorrow is Friday the 13th. Appropriate, considering my jury deliberation has just taken a turn for the wicked, my judge isn’t here this afternoon to address their issues so we’ve put it over to tomorrow, and tomorrow morning, my reporter has a root canal scheduled and won’t be here if they request readback of testimony, and I’m being assigned out to work that one specialized courtroom again, so I don’t know who’s going to cover my courtroom. Of course it also means the specialized courtroom will have a day from hell and I’ll be working late.

Well, how about this. I hereby sprinkle imaginary protection dust on all who read this today and tomorrow. Except if you’re a bad person, or I don’t like you. Then no protection for you! Save my fairy dust for someone who deserves it. (That last part’s gonna ruin my karma for the day.)