Before I impart my thoughts on last night’s debate, I have to let out a big world wide web sigh of happiness. I returned to California last night to a screaming mess of glorious cars and smog. Ahhh! When I saw that California license plate, I damn near cried. Seriously. The cab driver said to me, “Where are you going?” And when I replied, in sobs, “I’m already here!” I did not give a damn that the cab driver thought I was crazy.
On the way to AM’s awesome new house, I passed by old stomping grounds. There was the gelato shop, the new Whole Food’s Shopping Center, Manhattan Village Mall. As we passed by Target, I screamed in glee, while my cabbie (who already thought I was nuts) stared at me in the rear-view mirror. I reminisced about times spent at Round Table Pizza and Mr. Pockets. I opened the window and inhaled the warm ocean breeze. Ahhh!
This morning, I woke up to not a cloud in the sky and power-walked to the beach. I stared at the water crashing onto the sand and began a jog along the Pacific Ocean. As I passed other beach-joggers, I waved “hello!” and they all waved back. I saw children and puppies playing in the sand, right next to a duo of beach volleyball players practicing for the next AVP tournament. I went down to the water and touched the sparkling (dirty ass) water; splashing it on my face. Like an extra in a commercial for southern California tourism, I was in bliss.
Next up? A Coffee Bean Vanilla Soy Ice Blended! That will be the perfect drink to partake during my bitchfest of last night’s debate!
The exclamation mark in no way signifies any happiness for my return to the real world. Please understand the exclamation mark for what it really is–a mark reflecting the sarcasm with which I return to my place in life and a mark encompassing the frustration residing in me as I let out one big sigh of despair.
I will be taking a minor hiatus from postings. Not to say that I will never post, but the postings will be more infrequent. Something is in the works . . .
Last night, I returned from Lexington after spending the day with opposing counsel–one looks like a Jerk, another looks like Goose, therefore I will call them Jerk n’ Goose. After spending 7 hours with them dealing with their bullshit and engaging in verbal warfare, I was happy to finally be leaving Lexington and, more particularly, to be leaving the company of Jerk n’ Goose. I was able to procure an earlier flight home, and I happily boarded the first leg of my flight to Charlotte.
By the time I boarded the flight, I had already changed out of my, “Don’t f*ck with me” suit–the same suit that makes me look somewhat less like a law student and more like a lawyer. I was comfortably dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a college sweatshirt, and ready to retire in my oh-so-uncomfortable plane seat. I was prepared to slide into fetal position and rest my head on the window of the plane to fall into a horribly unpleasant but yet-so-satisfying nap. The plane lands and I rise out of my torture seat to see, across the aisle, Jerk n’ Goose, who are still in their Brooks Brother gear. I waved hello and bolted out of the airplane, cursing the fact that Jerk n’ Goose had now seen me in less-than-professional clothing.
I then ran through the terminal (if you ever fly on US Airways, you will realize that 50% of the people in the US Airways terminal are running at full speed to get to their next flight). I stopped at Sbarro to pick up a quick meal and guess who I see? Jerk n Goose–because of course, out of the hundreds of choices at Charlotte airport, they decide that Sbarro is the way to go. (Side note — has anyone thought Sbarro was actually Sharro? They really need to close the “b” on their logo. Bastards. Making me feel stupid . . .)
Next time I see them, they will probably carry smug grins on their faces, in an attempt to intimidate me. Try me Jerk n’ Goose. I may look young. I may enjoy the comfort of sweats. I may eat crappy Italian food. But at least I don’t look like an asshole. So take a look in the mirror my friend — and realize that you belong on the Island and that you can bite me.
Filed under Legal Woes, Life
Check out this video. Sara Tucholsky, a softball player for Western Oregon University, was never a power hitter. On a fateful day, Tucholsky hit a pitch on its sweet spot, sending it over the fences. Elated by the first homerun of her career, Tucholsky missed first base. As she turned to correct her mistake, Tucholsky felt a pop and crashed to the ground. The rest, you have to see the video, and take out your tissues, because this video reveals that female athletes rock!
I remember when I popped my ACL. The moment was not quite as touching as the story of Sara Tucholsky. Instead of being carried by opposing players or even teammates, my teammates were scared shitless of the chick on the ground screaming obscenities of every kind and proclaiming that death would be a better option than the pain that befell the soon-to-be volleyball-sized knee that would continue to be a pain in the ass even until today. But I’m not bitter.