cindy's world

I rode down the elevator yesterday with a coworker. She asked me what kind of trial we had going on right now, and I told her it’s some labor commission appeals case. Basically, this guy felt he was underpaid when he worked at a particular company, and that he should’ve been paid double-manager’s salary because he was doing the job of 2 managers. He lost the case, so he appealed and changed his theory; he’s now saying he should’ve been paid more than he was paid because he was NOT a manager and thus should’ve been paid salary plus overtime. Real interesting stuff, I say with more than a teaspoon of salt.
“At least that’s better than our gassing case,” she said. Gassing? What kind of gas? Is someone suing for gas leakage in a home? Or gas fume damage? Did someone get gassed by the police and is now suing over it? Did someone’s car blow up at the gas station cuz they used a cell phone while stepping back into the car, thus igniting a static electricity spark? My mind turned over all the possibilities. They were all wrong.
Apparently “gassing” to law enforcement means that someone flung his poo and pee at a peace officer. “Like monkeys?!” I GASped in wonderment. Yup. This happened in jail. The inmate is being charged with this bio attack on a prison guard. She was more awed that the officer who got hit was dumb enough to stand there and get hit.

How come we never get the interesting cases?

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 It has been replaced by the lawsuit.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.

[written at 3:50p today at work, emailed to myself to post at home]

My judge is driving his son to UC Davis this weekend, so since he took the day off, I was floated to another courtroom that’s doing a civil jury trial. As I am so interested in this root-canal-gone-wrong dental medical malpractice lawsuit, I am simultaneously reading a magazine. And I JUST learned…

* Eating 5 servings of fruits and veggies a day, being active, not smoking, and drinking in moderation could add 14 years to your life, according to a new British study. Even just exercise helps a lot; a recent study by the Nat’l Cancer Institute found that older people who got at least 30 mins of moderate exercise most days of the week were less likely to die over the next 7 years than those who didn’t.

* A plain large soft pretzel with a little cup of cheese sauce (like the kinds you get at the movies) is 610 calories, and has 15 grams of fat. This is the SAME CALORIE AND FAT CONTENT as having a hot dog on a bun with a packet of mustard plus a 2-oz serving of cotton candy plus a 12-oz draft beer! How many girls, thinking they’re being good, would do the former and shake their heads at their men who pick the latter?

* My gym trainee is a genius, as you can see from the following email exchange:
Me: “There is, like, nothing to do here except eat chocolate.”
Gym Trainee: “should I come get the chocolate? I’ll just tell you a little story instead. Once upon a time the person who placed that bowl of chocolate on that desk was small. Then one day they realized that their clothes didn’t fit. So the person decide well what the hey they make bigger clothes. The End.”
Me: “oh.my.gawd. I’m gonna eat my apple now. =P”
[Cuz we know whose seat I’m filling in here, and small and pleasant would not be adjectives to describe her.]
Gym Trainee: “I was gonna remove the bowl but I figured the story would be effective. That and tell you your goal is to prove all the people who think you are gonna sit around and get fat and let yourself go wrong. As your friend it’s my job to help you.”
[Proving people wrong; something else I love to do.]

* It’s a good idea to make a list of non-food stress-busters, and resort to something on that list to do instead of eat, if you’re a stress-eater. My gym trainee told me at lunch that she used to keep a coloring book and crayons in her drawer. It was soothing to sit and color a page if she’s angry or stressed, and she also said that if she had to draw her own pictures to color, she’d be taken away to the psychologist, so the coloring book worked well for her. Some other examples: reading, hugging your dog/cat, a chair massage at the nail salon, and for me, blogging, emailing my friends, and playing a round of Bejeweled. Right before you go for the food, ask yourself, “Am I actually, physically hungry? Or just bored/stressed?”

* Apparently the big fashion trend this summer was “anything Asian.” Well then my bridesmaids were just right en vogue! Yay, me!

* A wedding speech by a man of the cloth could be inappropriate, as relayed by one wedding guest:
“During my friend’s ceremony, the priest explained that a man has to love himself before he can love a woman. ‘That’s why I can’t take a 5-minute shower,’ he said. ‘I’m a 20-minute man. And when I’m towel-drying my smooth, chocolate skin, I look in the mirror and I ask, Can anyone resist me? And the answer is no. No, they can’t.’ ”

* A wedding toast by the groom could be funny as relayed by another wedding guest:
“The groom stood up and announced, ‘The bride is now off the market, and if anyone has the keys to her place, now’s the time to hand them over.’ Then he put a bowl in the middle of the floor, and all the men started coming up and tossing keys into it. Obviously he had prearranged it, but it was still hilarious.”

* A wedding toast by the father of the bride could be touching, as told by this relative:
“My uncle said to his son, ‘When I came to this country as an immigrant, I wanted to give you a better life than I had. And I know today that the woman you’ve found is going to do that.’ ” Awww.

You can learn a lot sitting through a trial.

I had an action-packed day!

I had planned to meet up with some coworkers in their jury room at 10:30 a.m. to decorate their jury room for a surprise wedding shower for another coworker. It was tricky and ingenious how we’d planned it; the guest of honor actually works in the courtroom whose jury room we were decorating, so it was nearly impossible to sneak the planning by her and yet somehow get her to go to the jury room at the right time, so we told her everyone was planning a surprise wedding shower for ME. And we told her to keep it hush-hush, and that she was to show up at 12:15p after leaving early at 10:30p to get her wedding license. Meanwhile, while she was at the County Registrar-Recorder’s Office in line to get her wedding license, a bunch of us collected in her jury room and decorated like mad, laid out the food, cake, presents, etc. to transform the dull space into a festive Hawaiian wedding (their wedding theme) party central. I’d bought all the decorations Tuesday after work and had white crepe wedding bells, metallic palm trees, a coconut monkey, silver Congrats banner, coconut shell bowls, butter mints individually wrapped in hibiscus print wrappers, wedding bell confetti, even an inflatable monkey and palm tree. The court reporter brought leis, food and cake, the clerk arranging this brought more food and went with the wedding couple to get the license so that she could keep an eye on their timing and sneakily be our double agent contact. They were shocked to say the least. The party was a raging success. There are photos forthcoming taken by other coworkers.

And here’s where it got complicated for me. Although I was supposed to be down there at 10:30a to decorate which from all signs seemed perfectly reasonable since we hadn’t been busy all week, right at 10:45a, as I was about to go down, a 16-count criminal molestation trial walked in our door. I couldn’t believe it. Now I was stuck and was going to have to pick a jury. Luckily, the defense attorney needed a little more time to talk to her client in lock-up, so my judge, also to free me up, excused the case until after lunch.

And THEN, as I was making my second attempt to leave, I got a call from my real estate agent. Some background: the bank financing our new home loan had been playing games with us and giving us an extremely hard time. It basically felt like it was stalling and trying to find a reason to reject us. We understood we’d have to submit the loan application fully documented in this economy. That’s fine. We gave copies of our paystubs, copies of verification of funds. A couple of weeks go by and we’re in Escrow at this point, but now the bank says they need more documentation. Two months of paystubs, three months’ worth of bank account statements for every bank account we have, verification of the current values of our cars (even though both our cars are paid off), current account statements of all our retirement plans. We keep clean records, so we provided all this stuff, shaking our heads at how intrusive these requests are. Apparently the bank’s digging around for collateral, looking for a reason to say we’re not good enough. And then last week, the bank’s final request: give them signed rental lease agreements showing that people are lined up to rent our current properties for our asking price, AND a photocopy of these renters’ deposit checks, AND proof that these checks were deposited into our bank accounts. WTF! We let our management company take care of these requests and he faxed the appropriate materials. How violating of our privacy! It seemed like we were going to miss our Escrow closing deadline before our loans would fund. We were in a 35-day Escrow, the last day of which is August 1.

Well, when my realtor called this morning, he said all the documents were received, written up, pushed through in record time and that we HAVE to be at the Escrow office that afternoon to sign the closing documents in order for the loan to fund by tomorrow to meet our Escrow closing deadline. “But I JUST got a huge trial and I can’t leave!” I wailed. It never fails; I hadn’t had much to do all week and now THIS today of all times. I said I’d see what I can do and call him back. And rushed down to decorate for the wedding shower after 3 failed attempts to get a hold of each of my 3 supervisors on the phone.

While I was down there in panic mode, late for the decorating and busting my butt to get it all done before the return of the guests of honor, freaking about needing to leave that afternoon but not being able to find a supervisor for permission, a coworker stepped up and volunteered to handle my trial mid-afternoon after her own hearing so that I could leave early. And then later, another coworker agreed to take over my courtroom immediately after lunch before the first coworker is available, so that I could leave even earlier than that. I was so touched!! As soon as the party was over at the close of lunch, I rushed off, but not before learning that my trial is going away; the defendant had decided to take a plea bargain! What are the odds on THIS kind of trial?!

Mr. W and I met at his house, dropped off my car, and we went to his bank to withdraw a cashier’s check for his portion of the down payment, and then went to my bank to do the same for my portion. We got to the Escrow office near our new house at exactly the time requested by the Escrow officer, a mere minute before our real estate agent himself showed up. We did a new incredibly efficient thing of “e-signing” our Escrow documents, signed off on the house stuff, and then Escrow said it needed proof of home insurance as the last thing before we’re done. Wait. I didn’t take out home insurance on the new house yet. I’d brought my insurance bills with me to work today, intending to call to cancel insurance on my current property, but wasn’t able to before all insanity broke loose. I remembered that coincidentally, my insurance company had called for me earlier as I was in front of the teller and I’d told her I couldn’t talk at the moment but would call back. I called back in the Escrow office and turned out they’d received a request from Escrow to send proof of insurance, so my insurance company and I, over the phone, set up the required insurance as Mr. W finished off the e-signing. By the time Escrow signing was done, my insurance was faxing the Escrow office our quote and new policy (at an incredible price, too!) for us to sign, and everything required was fulfilled perfectly and simultaneously. Escrow should close on time tomorrow, our loan fully funded. Even our agent was amazed.

WHEW!

But we still had a final inspection of the house to do. So Mr. W, myself, and the realtor did that after leaving the Escrow office. Everything was fine. I’m taking tomorrow off to pack so we can move over the weekend or at least at the beginning of the week. INSANE!!! And none too soon; our management company called Mr. W as we were doing our home inspection and said happily, “You need to get out! The renters want in ASAP!” Woohoo!

(written yesterday, Jul 29, around 10:30p; I’m borrowing a coworker’s internet access to post)

I had a quick run-in with an old DA friend yesterday after work. He asked how the wedding planning’s coming along, and I said it was great, no stress yet. The male friend he was with mentioned how his own wife got a bit frazzled as they’d approached their wedding date, and how he used to tease her with, “What do YOU have to be stressed about? You have a wedding coordinator!” I gave my theory that women stress because they place too much importance on small details, like the color of flowers and the exact combination of the tiny factors that go into making this day, most of which tiny factors wouldn’t be noticed by any of the guests anyway and are likely overpriced.
My DA friend said, “Well you’ve always been kinda immune to stress.”
That was the best compliment I’d received in, like, forever. Of course, he was wrong, but I was VERY happy he saw me that way anyway.

And then this morning while coming to work I ran into that other attorney who obscurely complimented me last month. He said, “Hello, nice to see you again.” I said hi, and asked if he works here. He said, “No, I’m just here a lot.” Even tho I didn’t receive any further lavishing about my appearance, the last compliment hung invisibly in the air, and again contributed to starting my morning on the right foot.

(written earlier this morning; borrowing a coworker’s internet access to post)

It’s 9:05a and I’m already having a wonderful day! I started the morning in a great mood because the meeting with the management company last nite went extremely well. This is a godsent company, which is not only professional with unprecedented response time in my couple days of dealing with them, but the CEO I spoke with was pleasant, had all the answers I needed and wanted to hear, was chock-full of experience, and was extremely flexible. The company also had tremendous resources. They can strip my bathroom wallpaper, retexture and paint, clean, replace blinds, etc. at a fraction of the time and expense for me to do it myself. They already have an interested renter in my place! So they’ll do all the applications, pull credit reports and background records on potentials. If an eviction is necessary, they’ll handle all that, too! I don’t even have to be there. They’ll pay the monthly bills and send me accounting at the end of the month. And they’re cheaper than any other management company I’ve heard of. Woohoo!

When I finally got my outfit put together for work, I had a strange “first” for me. I looked strangely “too” skinny in the mirror. I don’t get it; I looked chunky naked, I could see gross fat, but when I put my clothes on, they fit too loosely to look good. So I had to change the shirt a few times to go with the narrow short skort I put on (which I couldn’t get into comfortably for a LONG time). The shirt I ended up wearing was fitted across the shoulders and chest, but loose from the ribs down. Really, really odd. But it’ll have to do, so I left the house. I hummed along with my MP3s playing in my car in the drive to work, had a decent drive without hitting my usual 27 straight red lights, and as I walked from the parking lot to the building, I was aware that the skort was so roomy around the waist that it was actually riding up and getting even shorter at the leg. Good thing there’s shorts under the skirt part, but from outside it still looks like I’m wearing an extremely short skirt that’s growing shorter with each step. Oh well, I’m still a bit late, so I keep walking. As I walked through the metal detectors and collected my purse at the other side, a suited tall gentleman in front of me, who had turned to face me, said, “Hello.”
Thinking it was someone I knew, like a DA or private attorney, I replied pleasantly, “Hi!” Then I looked up to realize that this isn’t someone I knew, altho he looked familiar so I’m sure he’s a regularly returning attorney. Probably in his late 30s or early 40s, well-dressed.
“You are so pretty,” he said discreetly to me. Is this sexual harassment? I looked down and realized I am indeed wearing my employee badge, so he knew he was talking to court personnel.
“Thanks!” I smiled at him trying not to look as taken aback as I felt, pulling my purse strap over my shoulder and walking around the detector to get to the employee elevator.
“You’re welcome. You are so pretty.”
“Thank you, you’ve made my day,” I said nicely.
“Well, have a very nice day,” he waved and was off.
It must be because I only put on 2 layers of my BareMinerals foundation instead of my usual 3 as per Anny’s advice on the phone last night. Wow, she was right. Haha.

Going into the employee elevator, I was stuck with a floating court reporter who had sought me out in a stalkerish way earlier in the week. On Monday or Tuesday, I accidentally ran into him in the crowded elevator after lunch, and he followed me out on my floor then waited outside in the employee hallway for me in a very obvious way as I dodged out into my court reporter’s office to stall and wait for him to go away. But he didn’t. And I turned the corner on my way back to see him and pretended not to see him but he blatantly called me out so I had to stand there and make uncomfortable smalltalk for 20 minutes as nobody came to rescue me and he refused to take my body language hints of leaning into my door trying to get inside and not inviting him and not divulging personal information despite his prying and not looking him in the eyes. My supervisor even walked by a couple times and I’d taken the opportunity to tell the reporter, “Why does he always catch me when I’m not working?!” but the reporter didn’t take that hint to let me get back to work, either. When I finally ended the conversation after blaming my judge for a stack of imaginary work, I returned to my desk to email my supervisor that we need a secret code word when I’m stuck in a conversation I didn’t want to be in. My supervisor wrote back that henceforth the “secret word” shall be, “May I ask you a question about the death penalty case that we’re doing?” and he’ll rescue me. If you asked why I didn’t tell this reporter guy that I’m engaged, I DID. He went back and harped on that but did not leave me alone. And this morning, he gabbed with me for a bit, and then called me from his courtroom 15 minutes later to finish gabbing. And then he asked me if I had any single Asian friends. Like I would subject any one I cared about to this boredom! In the words of my gym trainee, he’s a total dork. But luckily I was able to be honest when I told him that each Asian female I know or am related to is in a relationship currently or married. He went thru his dating resume (stable job, nice guy, has a condo…) and asked me to keep him in mind as he’s currently looking for a girlfriend-slash-relationship. I agreed. Uh, any single Asian chicks out there wanna date a tall Korean court reporter, stable job, not dangerous personality, appears to be pretty educated, non-fobby, 34 years old? Leave a comment.

I was processing divorce cases last week when I came across three files in a row where the couple was married for 19 years and now requesting divorce. “What is this? They were married for 19 years and then suddenly realized that the marriage was sooo bad that they HAVE to be divorced before their 20th anniversary?”
My courtroom assistant said simply, “Their kids are grown.”
Oh! I’d never thought about that, and that makes perfect sense. They probably had a kid within a year of the wedding and 19 years later, when the child is now a legal adult at age 18, divorce is simple without issues of child support, legal and physical custody, and visitation.

Since I don’t have kids, I didn’t think about it in that kind of perspective, the whole counting backwards to see when the kid was born thing. I remember the first time it occurred to me to count backwards with respect to other child things. It was 1999 and I was in a computer lab as part of my training for this job. I was chatting with a big butch lesbian, another member of my class, about how growing up, all my friends and cousins with siblings had birthdays really close to their siblings. For example, my cousins Diana and Jennifer have a 3 year age difference, but their birthdays are about 2 weeks apart. MOH Vicky’s sister Karen is 3 years younger, but their birthdays are about a week apart in the same month. When I met a girl in grade school whose birthday was 3-4 months away from her younger sister’s, I refused to believe that they were sisters because their birthdays were too far apart. I laughed at the conclusions my childhood self drew at all the coincidental close birthdays of siblings. The classmate said, “It’s probably not a coincidence. It means that your friends’ parents kept having sex at the same time in the years.” I remember going quiet as I processed this new thought. Imagining friends’ parents having sex was new to me, even in such practical parameters. I only mention this classmate’s sexual orientation because it discredits me to not have thought of this obvious explanation before, when someone who wouldn’t be having child-making sex with a spouse was aware of this like it was nothing.

So of course now I always count backwards 9 months. My cousins were both born in late October/early November? What’s so special about 9 months before that spurred the sexual celebration? (ew.) Maybe Valentine’s Day. Maybe cold weather. MOH Vicky and her sister were both born in May? What was 9 months ago? (ew.) August. I don’t know of any special holidays in August. Maybe it was a wedding anniversary. (ew.) I was born at the end of June. What was 9 months before that? My parents’ October honeymoon. (ew ew ew!) This might be a curse.

I was able to breathe normally for the past 3 days. Today, one of our trial attorneys said that her 12 year old daughter (who has asthma) had my same symptoms this weekend. Thinking it was an asthma attack, they got her into the emergency room. Turned out it was heat exhaustion. I guess that does explain things for me, too, since I had the breathing problems the Monday after returning from Vegas, when the weather in California was in the 100s all week. This weekend was good because I stayed with Mr. W and he had the air conditioning on the entire time. Today, I didn’t even leave at lunch to go to the gym.

The #2 reason I didn’t go gymming today (#1 being the usual and omnipotent “I don’t feel like it”) was because I was feeling edgy about our housing offer. We were supposed to hear about our #2 house offer today from the bank, and also to get back to the #1 house people who countered our 1st offer by accepting our original price. The #1 house people know not to put themselves on hold for us, so there’s a chance that when their counter offer expired yesterday and if we don’t get the #2 house, someone else could snatch the #1 house away from us and we’re back in square 1. (What analogy is that, anyway? Hopscotch?) Our realtor doesn’t think we’re at high risk for #1 being snatched away, tho, cuz they’re still listed on MLS as their original slightly elevated price. He did call at the end of lunch with an update on #2. There is 1 other offer in aside from ours. However, that is a weaker offer because they offered $449K instead of our $450 (why wouldn’t you put in the extra $1K to make it an even number?), and they’re only offering 10% down instead of our 20%. So our realtor thinks we’re looking pretty good. However, the bank is STILL considering and wants to get back to us either end of the day today or tomorrow. I stayed at work till 6p just in case, waiting for the phone to ring, which it didn’t. Well, it wasn’t a total loss; I got the insane score of 320K+ in Bejeweled, beating the courthouse record of 126K points, so I made sure to email the record holder before I left to rub it in. I was stuck in that one last game of Bejeweled for so long, in fact, that when my judge poked his head in before he left, he didn’t say the usual, “Okay, see ya in the morning.” Instead, he said, “I’m gonna go out and see if I can find you some crack.”

Guess TOMORROW is the new d-day. *sigh*

The phrase meaning “to pant” is “sucking wind,” right? How come when I typed that in the title, I suddenly got the mental image of some big strange man bending over, my face behind his butt, and breathing deeply in with my mouth while he farts?

I was feeling better last nite after speaking to my realtor, but of course after the fight I was wheezing again. I went to the gym at lunch, did heavy weights which impressed a judge that happened to be at the gym, noted my slow recovery time in between sets as I gasped to get air into my lungs, and then when I got back to work, I staggered to a bailiff who used to be a paramedic before she became a sheriff. I asked her the symptoms of asthma, and she said she has her stethoscope in her courtroom so we went there and she listened to all 4 quadrants of my lungs and to my heart. She said altho my pulse is fast, it’s strong and clean, and my lungs sound clear. If it’s allergen-induced asthma, it’s still very mild. If it doesn’t clear up in a week, she said to see the doctor.

Then she asked if I was stressed or having panic attacks. I said I wasn’t stressed and how could I be panicking for 5 days straight? She said I may not be aware of my panic or stress, but my body knows. After all, I have a lot going on right now. Wedding’s coming up, there’s the house thing so of course finances are an issue. I shrugged.

When we got to Mr. W’s house earlier, I beelined for his laptop and got on my blog. Mr. W suddenly said, “OOOOH, I know what your panic attacks and stress is over! Internet withdrawal!” I said that Vanessa had already said that. She commented in the post about my breathing problems that my body is having stress attacks out of boredom since I can’t go online during work. Turned out Mr. W meant something slightly different. “You go right for the computer when you get home. You’re anxious from not being able to blog and write when you’re at work.” That’s true. Blogging has been a major source of therapy for me, and not being able to blog forces me to keep thoughts and emotions bottled up inside with no pressure release for HOURS. I also haven’t been sleeping much cuz what am I doing in the evenings at home? Getting my online time in! Maybe I should start writing blog posts at work to email to myself.

Because life is fair, and karma sees to the balance of experience in the universe, today was an incredible crap-ass day.

My judge is off for the rest of the week starting today, so I expected my work to be very light. I didn’t think I’d have to float anywhere or cover other courtrooms, since half the courthouse was also dark, so we had more clerks than judges available. Mr. W suggested we both take the afternoon off to go real estate hunting with our realtor, which was a great idea. We finally get to look “for real” now, since his financing came through last week. But this morning, not only was I reassigned to a busy criminal calendar courtroom, but I was reassigned to a busy criminal calendar courtroom that had the calendar from hell. Despite my explaining my desire to have the afternoon off to my supervisors, they still refused to move any other floaters around to help me out. We finally compromised by my promising to work through lunch, leave in the afternoon after making sure the courtroom was covered in case anything came up, and coming back in the evening after my appointments and working as late as it took to finish my work before leaving for the night. The morning’s workload was so famously horrid that another bailiff came by, saw me, and asked, “What happened? You drew the short straw this morning?”
“No,” I clarified, “The short straw was forcibly jammed up my ass this morning. I didn’t draw it.” I’d never used the f-word so much at work before. The bright spot was that another judge-less coworker floating next door helped me do 2 cases that got delayed into the afternoon, so that I could take off at 1:30p.

We looked at 1 house in Brea (eh…), 6-7 houses in Mission Viejo (my city of choice), and 1 house in Huntington Beach. Mr. W was already in love with the Huntington Beach house from seeing it online and despite my beef with a house that’s 14 years older than me, only 1 story, under 1700 square feet, and in an old neighborhood, Mr. W would not let me veto the property. We got into bickers about this house and he’d said multiple times that he was going to forego it since I apparently hated it so much, but the next day it was always back on the table as if we’d never had the discussion. After visiting the house itself, I had to admit that it was fully upgraded and done so impressively, and the neighborhood, although old, is not as slummy as previously viewed Huntington Beach neighborhoods that had scared me to the point I knew I’d be afraid to go to the mailbox by myself. But I still preferred the newer, bigger, more modern homes and floorplans.

So we decided to leave it to the hands of fate. We would put an offer down on his #1 choice, the Huntington Beach house, on my #1 choice, a Mission Viejo house, and a third offer down on another Mission Viejo house that was his #2 and my #3 choice. I love my #1 Mission Viejo house. I loved it the instant I walked in. I love the outside, the inside, the light and bright floorplan and the cute manicured backyard with a dropoff view (no residences behind us). Plus, it’s 24 years newer than the Huntington Beach house and $10K less on asking price. It’s 2 stories, has a full bed/bath downstairs, and both upstairs bedrooms are master suites. How can you go wrong?!

Our appointments went on till past 6pm, and I was weak and unenthused by the end of the trip because I had consumed zero calories the whole day. The morning at work was so insane that I never ate a solid molecule of food, never drank a liquid molecule of beverage, and never went to the bathroom. My first bite of food didn’t happen till Mr. W bought me a chicken chipotle wrap after we got back to work. I got my food to go, went upstairs back to the courtroom, ate real quick, and went right back to entering and processing the morning’s criminal cases. I left work a little past 8p.

I popped into my coworker’s house to check on her cats but she’d beaten me there after driving back from Vegas, so I just gave her her housekeys back and handed her a wedding invitation. Then I came home and highlighted my hair. I got a scare initially since the highlighting foam stripped my hair color so dramatically that instead of leaving it on for the recommended 10-30 minutes, I panicked at 5 minutes and washed it out. The instructions said that the color of hair after taking the highlighting solution out isn’t the final color, and that the final color would be shampooed in later, but I didn’t trust it. I ended up stripey, but it did come out much better than it’d originally looked. I think I washed it out too early; only the top of my head took. But that was okay, since the bottom half of my hair still had the lighter coloring in it, so what I did (inadvertently) was blend the top to the bottom. Oh well, you can’t win ’em all.

Based on today, tomorrow should be great.