You remember (and who could forget), the two stylistically challenged, greasy wrap wearing sistahs from Michigan right. So it just so happened that my sweetie was hosting a work related function on Thursday and his homegirl showed up with one of them. I stopped through solo to show my unwavering support (you know the drill), peeped his homegirl and her hopeless friend talking tomy guy. I of course spoke to his friend and purposefully avoided eye contact with the other. Who would want to look at that anyway! Shortly thereafter, her friend tapped me on my shoulder and said what's up. Now this is the part I don't get. Weren't you just talking ish about me, wondering why I was the chosen one and now you want to say hi. FOR WHAT!!! I hesitantly gave her a little head nod and muttered hey. She commented on the fact that I was holding 2 drinks...I gave her a fake ass smile and disappeared. Latter on my sweetie, let's call him Heathcliff (only because I sometimes like to refer to myself as the 2007 Claire Huxtable, hehe!), was approached by his homegirl asking whether or not he told me about the conversation which transpired after dinner. Of course he did and he let her know. She later approached me, smiling, saying that she noticed my fake hello I gave to her girl. Now this I can respect, she accepted what it was and treated me, and it, accordingly. Now she could have gotten mad at me, or Heathcliff but the reality is we would have never known had she not opted to tell on her girl. Oh well!
I added to my THINGS TO DO LIST, never tell someone's boyfriend that my friends were talking ish about his girlfriend.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Jury duty...
So I’ve temporarily abandoned my blog to perform my annually required civic obligation, jury duty. Anticipating spending one day maximum downtown at the courthouse disgruntled like the rest of my peers, I surprisingly got picked to sit on a jury. Quite honestly, I’ve always wanted to be a juror thinking maybe I would luck up on an OJ-like trial and reap all the benefits, you know…write a bestseller recalling my experience as juror #11 and have a TV movie made from the book. A girl can dream can’t she? But to no avail, my case, a civil matter, is nothing more than determining liability in a bus to car accident. No broken bones, no shattered pelvis, no disfigurement, nothing, nada, zilch.
What’s interesting about this case is there is a video tape of the accident and yet it’s still not as simple as one might think. The bus was equipped with a camera facing traffic which captured the movement of the bus, up to and including the collision. However, it was a rainy evening and things aren’t as clear as they could be. Opening arguments, 3 days of testimony, 12 pages of notes, closing arguments, 20 pages of jury instruction and the jury finally gets the case. BUT WAIT, there is one little thing left before deliberation. 2 of the 14 jurors will be chosen randomly as alternates, in other words, 2 of the 14 jurors will have NO say so WHATSOEVER regarding their opinion in the matter. You can see where this is going right? The first selection, none only than Mrs. Esquire herself, what a freakin’ crock!!!!! Plaintiff’s attorney looked at me with frustration. I think he ultimately knew which position I would take in this matter given the fact that I am an attorney myself. The cards were written and I was ousted like Star Jones from The View. Now you would at least think that I would be free to go and continue with my life after I had already lost 3 whole days behind this nonsense (yes now its nonsense!). OH BUT NO!!!! To add fuel to the fire, I have to sit with the jury and listen WITHOUT emotion to their deliberations, JUST IN CASE one decides not to show up or God forbid something happens to one of them which would prevent their participation.
I’m infuriated…I had it all planned out, of course I would have offered my services to sit as the jury foreman and facilitate discussions amongst the oblivious jurors. Not that they were unintelligent but that they were not as in tune with the proceedings as I, paying attention to certain things when they should have been aware of others. But that’s neither here nor there. I was going to run the show and minimize time spent deliberating. It took them quite awhile to discern that negligence is not simply a question of “yes he was” or “no he wasn’t.” California follows the comparative negligence theory in which Plaintiff and Defendant can be equally at fault, or 60/40, 70/30, you see what I’m getting at. Very few believe Plaintiff is not wholly responsible nor do they believe Defendant is entirely accountable. They must now come up with some reasonable figure determining each party’s liability. This could seemingly take another day or two out of my life analyzing with scrutiny, poker-faced, as these 12 individuals determine the amount Plaintiff will ultimately be rewarded for injuries sustained on the evening of March 18, 2005.
In addition to this grave injustice, I must then head across town to my office and work an another 4 hours or so playing catch up. By the end of the night all I want to do to cuddle up with a warm body and sleep my aggravation away. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t secretly wish one of the jurors did not show up on Monday but I won’t get my hopes up too high. Let’s just hope that after Monday I can return to my daily routine, working hard and playing even harder.
I added to my THINGS TO DO LIST, avoid jury duty at all costs!!!
What’s interesting about this case is there is a video tape of the accident and yet it’s still not as simple as one might think. The bus was equipped with a camera facing traffic which captured the movement of the bus, up to and including the collision. However, it was a rainy evening and things aren’t as clear as they could be. Opening arguments, 3 days of testimony, 12 pages of notes, closing arguments, 20 pages of jury instruction and the jury finally gets the case. BUT WAIT, there is one little thing left before deliberation. 2 of the 14 jurors will be chosen randomly as alternates, in other words, 2 of the 14 jurors will have NO say so WHATSOEVER regarding their opinion in the matter. You can see where this is going right? The first selection, none only than Mrs. Esquire herself, what a freakin’ crock!!!!! Plaintiff’s attorney looked at me with frustration. I think he ultimately knew which position I would take in this matter given the fact that I am an attorney myself. The cards were written and I was ousted like Star Jones from The View. Now you would at least think that I would be free to go and continue with my life after I had already lost 3 whole days behind this nonsense (yes now its nonsense!). OH BUT NO!!!! To add fuel to the fire, I have to sit with the jury and listen WITHOUT emotion to their deliberations, JUST IN CASE one decides not to show up or God forbid something happens to one of them which would prevent their participation.
I’m infuriated…I had it all planned out, of course I would have offered my services to sit as the jury foreman and facilitate discussions amongst the oblivious jurors. Not that they were unintelligent but that they were not as in tune with the proceedings as I, paying attention to certain things when they should have been aware of others. But that’s neither here nor there. I was going to run the show and minimize time spent deliberating. It took them quite awhile to discern that negligence is not simply a question of “yes he was” or “no he wasn’t.” California follows the comparative negligence theory in which Plaintiff and Defendant can be equally at fault, or 60/40, 70/30, you see what I’m getting at. Very few believe Plaintiff is not wholly responsible nor do they believe Defendant is entirely accountable. They must now come up with some reasonable figure determining each party’s liability. This could seemingly take another day or two out of my life analyzing with scrutiny, poker-faced, as these 12 individuals determine the amount Plaintiff will ultimately be rewarded for injuries sustained on the evening of March 18, 2005.
In addition to this grave injustice, I must then head across town to my office and work an another 4 hours or so playing catch up. By the end of the night all I want to do to cuddle up with a warm body and sleep my aggravation away. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t secretly wish one of the jurors did not show up on Monday but I won’t get my hopes up too high. Let’s just hope that after Monday I can return to my daily routine, working hard and playing even harder.
I added to my THINGS TO DO LIST, avoid jury duty at all costs!!!
Monday, March 5, 2007
The good, the bad and the UGLY
Friday night…
After a long week, research, motions, court, and a tyrant for a boss, dinner with friends, even if they weren’t mine, was welcomed. I arrived first, glass of red, conversation with the waiter; slowly my sweetie, his home girl, and her home girls arrived. Trying to make a good impression (it’s always good for your sweetie’s home girls to like you), I tried to be as sweet as possible, more than usual, it definitely takes an effort.
After small talk, exchange of inquiries, chats about careers, I erroneously thought that these stylistically challenged, greasy wrap wearing, brace face having misfits liked me but turns out they drank haterade with their dinner my sweetie paid for. Questions about whether we were boyfriend/girlfriend surfaced first. Then a phone call relaying their meaningless concerns about my sweetie’s choice of companion followed. Perturbed, a little; concerned, not in the slightest. My dog has more style than these two, and I don’t even own a dog, lmao. My sweetie wants to spit on them, but of course being the lady that I am I would never allow that. That saliva is better used down my throat ;).
I added to our THINGS TO DO LIST, a letter to the mayor of Detroit and/or Flint, Michigan proposing a statewide cease and desist to wearing a wrap after it has obviously ran its course.
Saturday night…
As movie dates rise to the level of couture rather than thrifty, box office blunders become more of a reason for argument over dinner than for whisperings of sweet nothings. Over the weekend, my significant other and I opted for a night at the movies. We both had different agendas. He wanted to see Ghostrider, namely because of Eva Mendes. I wanted to see Reno 911: Miami cause I was in the mood for a good laugh. Wild Hogs and The Number 23 were somewhere in the middle. The Number 23 started first and the decision was made.
Thirty eight dollars and twenty-five cent later, snuggled up on a crude imitation of what the movie theatre deemed comfortable seating, the lights were off and the curtains were up! A slow start prompted a couple of gazes into each others eyes, rubs up my leg, and kisses on the cheek. Not that I mind that at all but 40 minutes into the film and we still had no idea what was going on.
Casting Jim Carrey, albeit one of my favorite comedic actors was a grave misappropriation of resources. The movie was slow, uneventful, the art direction mediocre, the acting sub-par, the writing AWFUL, and it didn’t even warrant toughing it out and staying until the end to see if it could possibly get better. We gladly walked out shaking our heads in complete and utter disgust.
My sweetie added to our THINGS TO DO LIST, a letter to the director/producer relaying our concerns and requesting an immediate return of our money.
After a long week, research, motions, court, and a tyrant for a boss, dinner with friends, even if they weren’t mine, was welcomed. I arrived first, glass of red, conversation with the waiter; slowly my sweetie, his home girl, and her home girls arrived. Trying to make a good impression (it’s always good for your sweetie’s home girls to like you), I tried to be as sweet as possible, more than usual, it definitely takes an effort.
After small talk, exchange of inquiries, chats about careers, I erroneously thought that these stylistically challenged, greasy wrap wearing, brace face having misfits liked me but turns out they drank haterade with their dinner my sweetie paid for. Questions about whether we were boyfriend/girlfriend surfaced first. Then a phone call relaying their meaningless concerns about my sweetie’s choice of companion followed. Perturbed, a little; concerned, not in the slightest. My dog has more style than these two, and I don’t even own a dog, lmao. My sweetie wants to spit on them, but of course being the lady that I am I would never allow that. That saliva is better used down my throat ;).
I added to our THINGS TO DO LIST, a letter to the mayor of Detroit and/or Flint, Michigan proposing a statewide cease and desist to wearing a wrap after it has obviously ran its course.
Saturday night…
As movie dates rise to the level of couture rather than thrifty, box office blunders become more of a reason for argument over dinner than for whisperings of sweet nothings. Over the weekend, my significant other and I opted for a night at the movies. We both had different agendas. He wanted to see Ghostrider, namely because of Eva Mendes. I wanted to see Reno 911: Miami cause I was in the mood for a good laugh. Wild Hogs and The Number 23 were somewhere in the middle. The Number 23 started first and the decision was made.
Thirty eight dollars and twenty-five cent later, snuggled up on a crude imitation of what the movie theatre deemed comfortable seating, the lights were off and the curtains were up! A slow start prompted a couple of gazes into each others eyes, rubs up my leg, and kisses on the cheek. Not that I mind that at all but 40 minutes into the film and we still had no idea what was going on.
Casting Jim Carrey, albeit one of my favorite comedic actors was a grave misappropriation of resources. The movie was slow, uneventful, the art direction mediocre, the acting sub-par, the writing AWFUL, and it didn’t even warrant toughing it out and staying until the end to see if it could possibly get better. We gladly walked out shaking our heads in complete and utter disgust.
My sweetie added to our THINGS TO DO LIST, a letter to the director/producer relaying our concerns and requesting an immediate return of our money.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
WHAT
Good Afternoon and welcome to Legally Beautiful, a quasi-diary of my somewhat jaded past and propitious future. A real genius stuck in an unusually sexy shell. PUT UP OR SHUT UP before I comb your hair... this is how I do it.
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