Only a Lawyer Could Get Lost Going to Court

You may or may not know that I am severely directionally challenged.

Today I was on the other side of the law - the Juror.  Called to Jury Duty.

The instructions said arrive at 7:45.  Right.  I happen to know nothing happens in that Courthouse (or any courthouse) that involves juries before 9am.  Last time I got called to Jury Duty and actually showed up at the "appointed" time I sat for 90 minutes waiting.  So I figured I'd get there around 8ish.

I left a little later than anticipated.  So 8 would be a hustle.

But around 8 I was approaching the courthouse.  Or So I Thought.

I turned a block early to catch the better parking (forget what the jury instructions said about parking.  Amateurs.).  I looked for the parking garage I knew behind the Courthouse.  No Parking Garage.  No Courthouse.  Huh?

Drove around and around and around a few block for 10 minutes.  WTF  did they move the Courthouse?!  OK I've only been to this one once because I practice all over the state, but seriously?  I've been downtown dozens of times at an opposing lawyer's office who is right behind the courthouse....OMG he's right behind the FEDERAL courthouse and I need the STATE courthouse.  I am an idiot.  And totally blanking on where the state courthouse is.

Finally I start to panic at 8:10 and pop up the GPS.  Oh my holy hell I'm 4 blocks off and have to cross the damn bridge I've been avoiding because I thought for SURE it was on this side of the bridge.  I forget a parking garage all together, dump it at a meter out front and run in at 8:15.

I get to the Jury room, literally hundreds of people are there, sitting in the dark, staring at the dumb girl coming in 1/2 hour late, and getting all kinds of instructions.  That I'm missing.  But really? I think I know what I'm supposed to do.

So the really nice (not kidding) woman from the clerk's office asks me about my parking ticket validation.  I say, "Oh I'm at a meter."  And a look of horror crosses her face as she informs me a meter won't do as I'll likely be there ALL DAY.  Then I have to admit.  "OK I'm a lawyer, totally directionally challenged and couldn't find the juror parking garage."

So she hands me THIS:

And there it is, in giant letters and arrows, how to go around the block and magically find the juror parking garage.  At least I'm not the first person who couldn't find the juror lot.

But this kind lady takes it one step further.  She points to the windows, orients me behind the map in the proper geographic position and says, "HERE is where we are, HERE is where your car is HERE is where the garage is."  GO!

Only a lawyer like me could get lost going to the Courthouse.

And of course I spent the whole day there and did not get picked for a jury.  Which I would have LOVED.  Hell I didn't even get as far as a jury PANEL.

Sigh.

Back And Ranting! Tragedies All Around

I doubt there's anyone out there still reading, but the events of this past week have awakened my need to write...and to rant. I can't promise I'll stay, but I'm thinking writing is a good thing for me so maybe I will!

I cannot imagine a single American who hasn't been touched by the Colorado Tragedy.  I find myself scouring the online news for information about every single victim, especially those killed.  I want them to be remembered, I want their names and their accomplishments to live on forever.  I hope they never, ever print another word about the purported "Human" who did this.  Don't care about him, don't want to give him a second of any kind of "fame."  But the people involved?  They need recognition.  And rememberance.

And so, I read, and click, and watch, and cry.

And then, I see it.  Stories of CHILDREN at the movie.  No, I have not seen the movie.  But I have seen other Batman movies.  And they are violent.  And they are rated PG-13.  That's right PG-13

Why in the HELL would someone think it is appropriate to take a 4 year old or a 6 year old to a violent PG-13 movie?  Never mind the MIDNIGHT showing?

I think back to the last movie I did see in the theater (I rarely go - too cheap to pay all that money to fall asleep....).  The Captain and I saw Hunger Games.  We had read all the books.  I didn't really want to see the movie - the books were far too violent for me and gave me nightmares, despite the fact that yes I did think they were relatively good books (obviously - I read all 3 in 5 days).  But my large family convinced me the movie was well done and "not that violent."

HA

Not that violent?  Kids getting killed left and right?  OK so maybe they don't actually show the kid getting killed.  See kids running.  See kid getting chased.  See attacker carrying large, sharp object.  See kid on ground not moving with blood everywhere.

That's not violent?

OK but I'm an adult who went to the PG-13 movie.

Someone explain to me what could possibly be right about 5 and 8 year old little boys going to a movie like that????  I about ripped their Dad's head off and reported him for child abuse, but the Captain steered me clear of such a confrontation.  (Besides, such actual violence would have been even worse for the kids).

Apparently too many parents lack any kind of judgment.  And therefore I propose that not only do movies have rating restrictions, but also that the restrictions apply without parental override.  Well, ok, maybe moderate override.  Such as, "PG-13, under 13 not admitted without parent, under 10 not admitted under any circumstances."  Same goes for R movies. 

Children are like a fine paella, cooking and maturing, adding ingredients at the right time.  If you just dump everything in all at the same time, they won't turn out right.  You have to prepare them for some of the ingredients and add them when they are ready to receive them.

I think I just have to stay away from movies.  Because the next time I see an inappropriately young child at a movie like that, I WILL confront the parent.  And probably get arrested. 

Just a Working Girl

In 1988 I was a new college grad.  And a Newly Wed.  I dreamed of "being someone."  Maybe being Mrs. Someone.  And being Mrs. Career Someone.  They were big dreams.

I remember going to see a movie.  Working Girl.  C'Mon you remember.  Meg Ryan Melanie Griffin (I have been corrected) (a little chubby?) Harrison Ford (a little skinny)  Signourney Weaver (awesomely bitchy).

And I remember thinking I could definitely do That.  I could Be Someone.

Fast forward 23 years.  I married (maybe I was married when I saw that movie - I was definitely at least engaged).  I had two awesomely perfect children.  I went to law school.  I divorced.  I chucked my law career at the Big DC Firm and moved South to be with the Most Perfect Boyfriend. 

He's away tonight on business.  And Netflix reunited me with Working Girl.  And reunited me with Me.  I remember seeing that movie in the 80's.  I remember the dreams.  And as I look around my cute beach house, with my nice stuff, with my knowledge of manners and etiquette and having all the right champagne and wine glasses, wearing the Right suits and owning ridiculous amounts of shoes, I realize something. 

I am blessed.  I have Made It.

Wait - that sounds ridiculously materialistic.  It's not the Stuff.  Believe me, I have ditched truckloads of Stuff this past year. And I am so ready to ditch more of it. NO it's not Stuff.   It's being Me.  Being the person I dreamed I could be when I was 5 and wanted to be a lawyer.  Being the survivor I dreamed of when I was 30 with two 3 year olds living in a foreign country and facing a man who never loved me.  When I was 35 and walked across the graduation stage #3 in my class, with my awesome parents and entire extended family cheering me on.

I am Meg Ryan Melanie Griffin in Working Girl.

What, tell me you can't see the resemblance?!!!

Day One of Birth Week

Tonight I came home to something awesomely Wonderful - the Captain.**

Oh right, I forgot.  I live with him.

And then, after he fed me an awesome dinner of greek olives and hummus and cheese and fish and salad and stuff, we sat down to watch a horrible football game.... I love football, this one was horrible.  Nuf Said.

And then he said, 'OH I forgot.  I have something for you!"

And he gave me this. 

I was a little confused.  Then he said, "It's your birth week. "

And I remembered reason number 38 why I love him.

And I went to put some lotion on so he could feel how soft I am.....

Night Night.

**note "day one" wasn't exactly today but with the issues with Chessie I'm a few days behind.  But Monday was day one.  Believe me it was an awesome week.....**

Saying Goodbye

Sometimes life doesn't always go as you planned.  Sometimes life throws you curves.

Queen bee, she only cared about whether you were throwing a ball or a treat. 

Curves?  Bah.  No such thing.

Queen Bee was my mother's day present in May of 1999.  She came at the end of my first year of law school.

We spent the summer together, me loving my newest baby, her learning to be a part of a family.

She was born in a drought - I remember when it finally rained, I had to take her out under an umbrella - she would NOT go outside.

Queen Bee was my baby and our family's rock through many tough years.

When we divorced, Queen Bee provided the stability to the children, changing houses with the kids to give them the support they needed.

When the kids went to college, she was my constant friend and companion, keeping me occupied and giving me the strength I needed to carry on.

When I finally made the move south, the was right there with me through all 1070 miles.  She was a little worse for wear, and I had a feeling she was just not right, but yet she kept on.

Last week, I couldn't ignore it any more.  We went to the vet.  At first, it was just arthritis.  But tests revealed something much more sinister - Cancer.

We took her home, not sure how many days she had left.  We decided to bring her home and make her last days great. 

We took her to the beach.  We fed her pasta and steak and mint chocolate chip ice cream.

She said no thanks to the rum.

But tonight, after a gigantic dinner of cheese and crackers and tomatos and pasta and hummus, she went to her bed. 

She didn't look right.

I took her outside, where she collapsed.

We called the vet who met us at the clinic.  Where he confirmed her spleen had ruptured and it was time to say goodbye.

For anyone who has loved a pet, you know the pain of "doing what's best."  I couldn't let her suffer another minute and I let her go.

As I sit here in tears, remembering the best dog of all time, I remember what made her great. 

I remember how she taught herself to open the pantry so that she would never go hungry, even if it meant eating Lipton Onion Soup from a dry pouch for the few hours she was left home alone.

I remember how she went sledding with us in the winter, pulling the kids down the street.

I remember how she curled up with me in my bed when I was alone.

I remember the patient posing for for hundreds of photos - first and last day of school particularly.

I remember your tolerance as we dressed you as "SuperDog" and in other crazy costumes.

I remember how she ate 2 pounds of Godiva chocolate that I unwittingly wrapped and put beneath the tree, not thinking about her penchant for chocolate.  Yes, she survived.

I remember how she sat on the small bank in my backyard on the edge of the line between my house and Pop's next door (before the Ex lived there) and would watch for him.  The minute he passed by the back door, she went nuts until he came over to play.

I remember how much she LOVED her grandparents and quickly learned that when Grandpa took out his cigarettes it meant, "Time to go OUTSIDE!"

I remember how she accepted Stinky Butt from the moment we brought her home.

I remember how she filled up the lonely space inside me when I was alone.

Goodnight Chessie.  I hope you find the land of neverending waves and bottomless bowls of steak.

Thanks for delivering me safely to Florida and the Captain.  You are the best friend and best dog ever.  Always.

About Living with the Captain

Some of you have commented or asked if I am living with the Captain.

Well yes, yes I am.  And No, no I'm not. 

What?

The Captain has kept a place of his own, but really, we are living together.  We didn't plan it that way, but it just sort of happened when plans started changing and lives started changing and houses sold but then they didn't and buying became renting.  His "place" is his boat - which he has lived on in the past and loves to do, but I am not ready to live on a boat.  He lives on it now and then and figures when my kids come home, he may disappear for a couple days.  Or maybe not.  But he has that option, because he is amazingly thoughtful and careful in his life.

Living with the Captain is an amazing experience.  Last weekend, I chased the Hurricane to Charleston to visit Daughter at school and trade cars with her.  While we were going to the beach and shopping and eating out and dancing and generally enjoying ourselves, the Captain did the following, (without being asked):

• Installed a shelf in the guest bath
• Installed a new curtain rod in the guest bath
• Installed a dimmer switch in our bathroom
• Fixed the hinges on the fence so that Queen Bee can't let herself out
• installed my stereo system and surround sound speakers
• built stands for the 4 Surround Sound Speakers
• Unpacked all the TV/Stereo stuff, got the whole internet/tv/netflix thing working and put all the boxes away so that the living/family room almost looks like a room and not a college dorm
• installed under the counter lights in the kitchen near the stove and cooking areas
• Fixed the wi-fi in the house
• Did laundry
• went shopping
• Did a dozen other things I have forgotten at the moment.

The Captain is thoughtful, caring and utterly amazing.

And when I called him on my way home to inform him that I had been "delayed"?  He worried about the car - I said, "No, um, I hit a little traffic.  Then I stopped to get gas....across the street from the outlets and I had to go buy shoes and clothes and a new Kate Spade purse...."  He laughed and said, "I can't wait to see everything."  And he meant it.  When I got home and showed him my new Cole Haan shoes that I practically stole from the outlet?  ($1000 of shoes for $200?  Yes I did!!), his response was, "Those are beautiful!  Try them on for me!"  Not kidding.

Yes, I love living with the Captain. 

And no, I don't have pictures of the shoes.  Yet.

At Last! I have ARRIVED

The rooms were all empty...it should have been satisfying after 8 weeks of packing.  After 2 years of planning.  After Eons of dreaming.  But instead, it was just sadly devastating.

The kids and I spent the last night on air mattresses, telling stories, crying, laughing, being together.  Early the next day, Daughter headed out early for work.  I gathered the last of my belongings, said goodbye to Stinky Butt....

Hells yes that's me crying my eyes out and Son trying to make me forget.  Ironically, this is in Ex's house....next door....

And then, the hardest thing I've had to do in a long time.  I had to drive away.  With Son standing in the driveway.  Crying along with me....

 I had made the drive south on 95 before.  I stopped in SC overnight, having cried my way through 3 1/2 states.  I awoke the next morning and finally crossed a new border I had never crossed by car.  And I was tear free!!!

 Queen Bee slept through it all....

 I began to see sunrises and opportunities I hadn't seen before...

And before I knew it - I almost missed it - My Welcome Home Sign!!!

BUT WAIT what's this??!!  Found in the "Welcome Center"  You are kidding right?  Because I am driving 600 miles right back North if you are serious!!!!!!

After 2 days and 1000 miles, I was happy when the miles left to go equaled my MPH....

No More Tears.  We are almost home!!!  (What?  Driving and taking photos?  Hey I'm not texting....)

Yeah, that's my exit...

Laughing at myself.  "WHAT  They give away POOLS here?  Love it!!  .....oh wait they mean like billiards....

I recognize this sign from the rental photos I saw on line!!

What, you didn't know I rented this without actually seeing it in person?!

Yes I trust the Captain THAT MUCH.  HE picked it out...

Queen Bee Sniffs the new turf....

No more tears.  Ahhhh yes, this is what the moving, the upheaval, the packing, the tossing, the trashing, the selling, the crying, the broken nails, bruised limbs, sleepless nights, THIS is what life is all about.....

Queen Bee Agrees...

OK oK so we didn't have any furniture yet.  We had love.  And the Captain loves my dog.  OUR dog....

WELCOME TO MY NEW HOME EVERYONE

HERE, I AM NEXT DOOR TO PARADISE......

STAY TUNED.....