Grrrrrr….

Ohhhhh Kay….

… no, this isn’t my stepson. He weighs a lot more then Weed does

Weed gets out of jail Friday night. He comes over to my house Saturday morning.. stays all day. Comes back Sunday morning.. stays all day. He was a no-show on Monday and Tuesday and then yesterday and today his skinny, scabby ass was sitting on my couch not doing nothing.

Just sitting. Watching tv .. going on Facebook.. playing video games.. eating my food and using my facilities.

That first Saturday he was there, I told Chief that if Weed was planning on perching in my nest then he was going to have to put him to work doing SOMETHING. Since the baby was born, we’ve been spending a lot of time at the hospital so things around the house have been falling by the wayside a bit. The garden needs weeding.. the back porch needs cleaning.. the grass needs to be mowed. You get the idea.

Chief was completely on board with it.

… and then I mentioned it again on Sunday. And Wednesday. And before I left for work THIS MORNING.

Make him do something, Chief.. I don’t want his bony ass sitting doing nothing because he could be siting doing nothing in jail. He gets all oh-hell-yea and if he were Italian, he’d put in a fist pump for emphasis.

Right before this little convo, the baby’s Child Youth Service’s case worker called. We had to notify her that Weed was released from prison and she was calling to make sure that Weed was still on board for us to get custody of the baby. Since Weed has the Crack Whore’s phone, Chief gave her the number but told her it was 8:30am and she may not be able to reach him.

Now color me silly but to ME? .. this was kind of important, right? Like.. it’s the kind of information that you want to keep the person who’s life and finances are being altered because of this baby informed of. Right?

So after I have the convo with Chief on the front porch about making Weed do something, I drive to work and start my day.

By 3pm, I hadn’t heard anything from Chief so I give him a call and he’s all groggy because, once again, I interrupted a nap. I do feel bad about that because for one reason or another he doesn’t sleep much. Or at all, for that matter. But that’s neither here nor there.

Anyway.. so I call him and he’s asks me how my day is going and I tell him it’s going and then I ask him if anything was going on at the house.

He says something like if there was anything to tell he would have called me and I’m like.. are you kidding me?.. did the case worker get in touch with Weed? Have you heard from Weed? Did you hear from your dad? Like.. W! T! F! .. I don’t call to just shoot the shit.

He says he hasn’t heard from my father in law.. that the case worker did get in touch with Weed and he told her that he wanted us to have custody and that Weed was sitting there ON. THE. COUCH.

Oh? Well.. what was he doing?

Why, playing video games of course.

He goes on to say how pissed off he was and how he was going to tell him whatever he said he was going to tell him.

Whatever.

I was kind of put out that it was 3 in the afternoon and this whole conversation hadn’t happened yet and after hearing that you would think that he would know better then to ask me if I was going to stop at the super market on the way home to pick up dinner. Bad move. He caught on to my attitude pretty quick and apologized if he was frustrating me.

Too late, bucky.

So basically my afternoon was ruined and I got that pit in my stomach knowing that this kid was lumped on my couch doing nothing and I’m not even coming home to dinner. I don’t ask for much.. but after busting my ass all day, I like coming home and eating dinner. Call me silly.

So I got all this something or other churning around in my brain and when I get home, I am NOT in a good mood. Especially because I have to go home and then go food shopping.

I walk into the house and don’t say anything to anybody. Chief knows that I’m pissed so when I go into the bedroom to change out of my work clothes, he comes in.. closes the door.. and tells me that after he got off the phone with me he told Weed that he couldn’t hang at the house.. that he should be looking for a job.. blah blah blah fucking blah.

Whatever.

We leave to go food shopping and that takes forever. When we get home, Chief tells me that he’s going to get Spaz to help with the bags and that mentions something about IF Weed is still there he better get his ass out to help to.

Excuse me.. but where exactly WOULD he be?

Sure enough, he was there .. which meant he was going to be fed.. which really pissed me off more.

But let’s be honest.. there was NOTHING that WASN’T going to piss me off at that point.

So as we’re eating dinner, I passively aggressively ask Weed what the hell he thought his plan of life was going to be. I basically told him everything I felt Chief should have told him and added in that if he thought I was a bitch because of it then he better realize that he’s just getting poked by the tip of the iceberg.

I told him I didn’t want to here, “I’m trying”, or “it’s hard”, or “I can’t” or whatever because the only thing that would be acceptable is I START WORK TOMORROW. I told him it was pretty presumptuous of him to think that he can come up in here and act like he’s entitled to my castle like a prince with a crooked halo when I am literally flipping my whole life for 18+ years and changing every single plan I had made and taking care of his kid.

His first retort was that I didn’t have to.. that nobody is making me.. and I think when I shot up out of my chair he kind of realized he said the wrong thing because he backtracked real quick and said that he knew we didn’t have to and how lucky he was that we were. Then he kind of had a little meltdown and said through sobs and tears that we were worried more about the baby and not about him.

Not phased. At all.

I told him that HIS son was 23 DAYS old.. and HE was 23 YEARS old… get my point?

He had the good sense to shut the fuck up AND the good sense to not ask for a ride back to where he came from. When he did leave, he walked out the door the same way he walked in. No chariot waited.

Now let me just say this.. unless you walked in these Iron Fist clad feet, you have no understanding of the emotion and heartbreak and feelings of failure when your kid is a junkie. And while you can say you would do things differently.. and would have different results I’m here to tell you that those thoughts are bullshit.

I’ve watched enough “Intervention” to know that anything less then tough love is enabling. No one wants to see him get his life together more then we do. But understand, he’s not a kid. He’s an adult and if he can’t get his shit together now.. that what makes anyone think he’s going to get his shit together when he’s 25? 30? 50?

Who am I kidding.. he won’t make it to 50.

 

City Girl With A Country Soul

Growing up in the heart of South Philly, there was a LOT of opportunity to get into “street” trouble ..

My father was having none of that so from a very young age, my brother and I spent weekends and summers at his family’s 80 acre horse farm upstate. They were family in that “Italian” way .. not blood related but closer then close is close.

I LOVED the farm .. no matter how old you were, there was always something that had to be done and you did it from sun up to sun down.. and when dinner was finished *and if you were still awake* there were bonfires or night rides or fire works… you were outside more then you were in .. in fact, I remember not being ALLOWED IN the house until dinner time! .. some thing a lot of kids today know nothing about .. well, at least my step kids know nothing about that.. or hard work.. or making your own fun.. or a variety of other things that I don’t want to bring myself down thinking of..

I lived and breathed horses.

There’s nothing I loved more as a kid and well into adult hood.. then slapping on my Ariats.. turning the horses out.. mucking stalls.. loading bales of hay on the ‘gator’.. feeding.. grooming.. taking riders out on the trails..

You name it, I loved to do it ..

There were some real characters up there, let me tell you.. and my family led the pack.

ALL of them needed some type of Prozac.. and probably still do!

I’ve lost contact with them after I got divorced. For some reason, they sided with my ex.. probably because he was a mental head just like they are.. and I wasn’t welcome there anymore. It broke my heart and still does. My mother never understood why I would be upset .. she hated it up there. Loathed it. But funny that my mom brought it up a little bit ago when we were looking for a place upstate to move …

Yea.. it would have been nice but what are you going to do, right?

Anyway..

I started thinking about all those days at the ranch after having a convo with my Texas Rose Gfriend .. and how I always knew that my ass was meant to be in the country and not the city.

City life never appealed to me .. yea, I had my days at the clubs and running the streets when I was a teenager but it felt more like an anomaly more then a way of life. I’d much rather be in jeans, flannel and boots then panty hose and skirts.

Oh.. but the heels were ALWAYS near and dear to my heart!

Wasn’t giving up the heels! LoL!

Thankfully,

Chief feels the same way about living in the country .. he HATES the city. He’s a suburban boy by birth but his dad had had a piece of property further upstate that he had built a house on and that’s where he took Chief and his brother’s .. and where they learned to hunt.. fish.. a survive in the wilderness.

Unfortunately, his mother wanted half the property when she divorced his father so he had to sell it.

What’s with taking something you hate from somebody that loves it in a divorce? I’ll never understand that!

Again, anyway ..

When trying to explain ranch life to people, I always told them that is was as easy as it was hard .. no doubt it’s hard, physical work.. but it was easy because you didn’t have to think so much …

You knew what had to be done and you did it .. complete opposite from working in an office with figures and contracts and abstracts.

Get up.. Work.. Go to sleep

Doesn’t get much easier then that!

So my heart is kind of missing that life .. missing the horses, especially.. missing getting chased by the peacocks.. watching births.. chasing down the horses when they broke free from the pens.. being covered with dirt and hay and manure ..

It was my  life for a long, long time and there’s nothing wrong with missing..

Maybe one day I’ll have it back..

And when I do, I’m going to have a big ass cook out and y’all are invited!!

Catching Up With Weed

I’m sure you all know Weed’s story but if you don’t.. or if your new here to my little insane world that keeps me sane, then here’s the down low:

Weed is my oldest stepson who decided that drinking and doing drugs was NOT the only thing life has to offer.. so he started dealing. And not only was he dealing from our house, he was also dealing out of our store. Along with the fact that one of his cronies robbed our house three times in a week ( the first week of December ’08) he was kicked out and has been living with the Crack Whore ever since.

The Crack Whore being his mother who drinks and drugs as much as he does.

Oh.. not to mention that he was arrested last year for breaking into neighborhood cars at 4am with no shoes on. The fact that he had no shoes on was disturbing enough. I mean, he literally walked out of our house and started trying door handles. But what was REALLY messed up was the things he stole.. a half roll of pennies, a shower cap, a candy bar, a car manual.

I mean.. REALLY!

So it’s been a LOOOOOONG year with him.. from trying to get him into rehab.. to trying to convince him to take rehab seriously.. but the straw that broke the proverbial camels back was when the things HE was doing caused Chief to get arrested last January.

Parents? Never name your son after their father if there is ANY CHANCE that he will grow up to be a drug dealing junkie with a vendetta for being thrown out of your house.

I honestly never thought that I would be able to look this kid in the eye again without dropping him on his ass. He still has no idea how much suffering he caused and how getting his father arrested almost cost us everything.. including custody of his brothers.

But that’s a junkie mind for you.. never look past anything that has to do with you and what you can get for what you need.

At any rate..

I, of course, have a different perspective on things because he isn’t my kid. And I had to give Chief a little bit of a lead because that’s his son and I don’t think any father could completely right off their kid. Well, maybe they can but I know Chief can’t.

I think a lot of his feeling had to do with not wanting to believe Weed was as far gone as he was… dunno. I wasn’t in his shoes but I did have to take a stance a while back and tell him that if he had any intentions of Weed moving back in that have him use the back door because I’d be moving my shit out the front door.

But time does make a difference and about two months ago, the Crack Whore contacted me in a panic because Weed needed to pay for his GED test before his next court date. Of course, the next court date was the following day and so to make sure he did what he was suppose to do, we put up the money.

He took the test and then he got another letter saying that if he didn’t pay his 1400.00 in fines, he was going to be removed from whatever program they had put him in for first time offenders and go to jail.

Of course, the Crack Whore was in a panic again.

And of course, it was me being the adult and stepping up to the plate.

I talked to Chief about what I was thinking and then talked to Weed.

Since he wasn’t able to get a decent job without his GED :: he has since been notified that he passed :: I told him that I would pay his fine BUT he had to work a few hours in the store for it. I wouldn’t give him the money.. I would send it directly to the courthouse. If he didn’t work, it didn’t get paid.

He readily agreed .. well, he really didn’t have a choice.. and I gave him a letter outlining the deal for him to present to the judge.

Everybody went along with it and I’m really surprised and excited to say that he’s been keeping up his end of the bargain. Without bitching or complaining or being a pain in the ass.

He comes in when he’s suppose to .. does things that need to be done without being asked.. and has taken a load off of both me and Chief.

He isn’t unsupervised .. not left in the store alone.. or has his friends in.. or is near the register without Chief being over his shoulder because let’s face it, neither of us really trust him .. but it seems to be working out and relationships are in the processes of being mended. Won’t say “fixed” because I don’t think they ever will.. but it’s gotten better so that’s a good thing.

Plus he’s been putting on a little weight and generally looking not as junkie-ish as he was:

April 08

December 09

Hmm.. he does look a little wasted in this picture, doesn’t he??

Anyway, I know he wasn’t because he was with us the whole day and there wasn’t really any opportunity or alcohol around to entice him.

He seems to be getting his life in order.. or at least straighter.. and for Chief’s sake, I couldn’t be happier.

This is another “keep your finger’s crossed” thing

Me + Jury Duty = Contempt Of Court and A $400.00 Disorderly Conduct Fine

Ok…

So my girl Jen512 wanted to hear about this.. this.. um.. “experience” :: for lack of a better word :: so while I have some time to kill before starting dinner, I figured I’d tell you about my day of civic duty in the new county I live in.

Before moving into suburbia, I lived my whole life in a very large urban city. Jury Duty in the city was simple. You basically showed up.. indulged in the burnt coffee and stale donuts they provided as a “thank you for showing up”.. sat.. waited.. waited.. sat.. collected your 9.00 check and went home.

I really have no idea who the people who actually sit in the jury box during trials are because as God is my witness.. NO ONE was ever picked from the huge room of potential jurors that sat there with me each time I went.

But anyway…

So here’s the thing… I may grumble about going. It may be an inconvenience to go… but I really don’t mind it. It’s like going to the gynecologist. You don’t REALLY want to go.. but it’s a necessary evil that once you get there, really isn’t so bad.

On with it..

So I moved into this county in November 2007 and in less then a year, I get the jury summons.

In the city, it was basically a post card that asked if you were a citizen.. if you were ever convicted of a felony.. if you understood English and if you needed someone to help you answer the questions.

Honest to God.

Here in the county, the questionaire is SIX FREAKIN’ PAGES long and includes questions about how exactly lives in your household.. what they do for a living.. how old they are.. what their relationship is to you.. if they’ve ever been arrested..etc.

So I fill it all out and mail it back it and then am given a time and date to show up. Oh.. and a number. I’m given a number. My number was 104 or something like that.

Anyway.. the day comes and there is a torrential down pour. It was a miserable fucking day but I have my handbag full of snacks and puzzle books and reading books and magazines and everything else I can think of that would stave off boredom for the 8 hours I was going to be there.

So there are about 120 people sitting in the holding cell potential juror’s room and we watch this video and get lectured a welcome speech from one of the high judges.. all the shit, basically.

It just so happens that on the day I had to go, they were starting to pick the jury for an abnormally high profile murder case. I can’t go into anymore detail then that for ambiguity sake but believe me.. it was an abnormally high profiled murder case. In fact, it was so abnormally high profiled that I would have actually LIKED to be in this jury.

That is.. until I found out that the trial was probably going to be about 3 or 4 weeks long and that because it was so abnormally high profiled, the jury would have to be sequestered.

Hell No.

Not doing that.

A point of the case was that it dealt with homosexuality… and although I am in no way a homo-phobe, I figured that my good Christian values would dictate that I SHOULD be and that would be my out to be dismissed by the defense team.

One day.. One trial and I’m free.

NOTE: Before you start typing hate mail, save the time. I don’t believe that my good Christian values dictate that I should be a homo-phobe. I was just trying to get out of being sequestered into the Thanksgiving holidays!

Because this was a big case :: I promise I will never say “abnormally high profile” again in this post, they brought all 120 potential jurors up into the courtroom. Where we sat.. unable to eat.. or drink.. or talk to the people sitting next to us.. or read or do ANYTHING until we were dismissed.

Wonderful. There goes my handbag full of diversion, huh.

The worse part was.. in an attempt to hinder you further from maybe whispering to the people sitting next to you.. they had white noise playing on the speakers.

You know the “shhhhhshhhhhshhhhhshhhhshhh” noise? The sound that the “snow” channel made on old tv sets?

Talk about cruel and fucking unusual punishment for people that a few hours before you were welcoming with open arms of thanks :: no stale donuts, though ::

Anyway.. they pass out a set of questions that they want you to answer. These will be reviewed by the judge, defense team and prosecution team.

One of the questions was:

WOULD YOU HOLD IT AGAINST A DEFENDANT IF THEY DIDN’T TAKE THE STAND?

Something to that effect.

HELL YEA I wrote.

And I would. Definitely.

So all the papers are collected and then the questions are read aloud for which everyone who answered a certain way has to stand to acknowledge their answer to the question.

Not sure if I’m explaining this right. But like, they would say:

All those who answered YES to Question 5 regarding a friend or family member convicted of a crime please stand up with your juror number displayed.

Personally, I think that sucks but as you will find out I think about this sucked.

Anyway.. so they get to the question about holding it against someone who won’t take the stand in their own defense and I promptly stand up. So did the girl to the left of me.

Remember, we’re not able to talk to one another and there’s enough flying monkey’s from the Wizard of Oz trolling around making sure we don’t.

So after they get done all that.. they start speaking to the potential jurors one by one.. up at the judges side bar.

Remember, there are 120 people in there. They are interviewing people NUMERICALLY. It’s almost 3pm by this time.. I am number 104… they are on number 23 or something and I’m thinking.. Welp.. court ends at 4.. there’s my one day / one trial thing done and over with.

NO.

SUCH.

LUCK.

4:00 rolls around… then 4:15… then 4:30… THEN 4:45.

The judge then tells us that we would ALL have to come back tomorrow.. no IFS.. ANDS.. or BUTS.. because to NOT come back tomorrow would mean serious.. serious consequences.

Here’s were things get dicey. I really should learn to never leave my house without a filter on my mouth or at least learn how to control my impulses because as soon as the Judge said, “… you all have to come back tomorrow” all ANYONE heard coming from me was OH. NO. I’M. NOT!

It was kind of like that old EF Hutton commercial.. the one where EVERYONE stops to listen? Yea.. well.. that’s kind of what happened. And since all eyes were on me I, of course, had to stand up for the rights of citizens everywhere.

Right?

Um.. yea.. they didn’t think so.

Anyway.. so I start ranting about how the jury summons had said ONE DAY or ONE TRIAL. This was our ONE day because we certainly weren’t involved in a trial. You cannot tell me that NO ONE in this court room figured out at .. like.. Oh, I don’t know.. 2pm? 3pm, maybe? that they weren’t going to get through ALL 120 jurors. Could they have NOT let anyone know then so that they could make the appropriate arrangement for say.. oh, I don’t know.. they’re JOB maybe? Because as of NOW.. my office and certainly OTHER people’s offices were closed so how the HELL am I suppose to notify my boss that I have to come back HERE! again?

Every body started fist pumping the air… chanting my name.. comparing me to Norma Rae!

Well.. no .. actually they were just agreeing with me with a head nods and mumblings of “yep, that’s right”. But hey, a girl can have a fantasy right?

All of a sudden, one of the flying monkeys rushes towards me and tell me that I better “knock it off” :: really. He said that :: or he’d give me a fine.

“A fine?, “ I asked making that smirky face I made once in a while. “For WHAT?”

“Disorderly Conduct,” he said.

I think I responded with OH. COME. THE. FUCK. ON! and added something about him being a kindergarten drop out who couldn’t get a real job as a policeman.. and if he DIDN’T know, I was a United States Citizen who had every right to oppose the sanctions placed upon me BY the court when I was here doing my duty TO the court. How fucked up was that??

One thing you need to know about me… in situations like this, I tend to pull out the big 10 cent dictionary words and go into “lawyer”-speak, as my psychotic ex husband used to say.

He had about enough of me, I’ll tell you what!

He whips out his little citation book and tells me that I am definitely getting a fine and incredibly, asks me my name and address.

I tell him in my most billowing Norma Rae voice that:

I AM JUROR NUMBER 104.. LOOK IT UP IN THE GODDAMN PAPER WORK

And then I walked out of the courtroom… down the hall.. down the steps.. across the courtyard.. across the street.. into the parking lot and into my car muttering, “… what the fuck did you JUST do you simple ass mother fucker?” Quickly proceeded by “.. dammit, I need a coffee STAT!”

So the next day comes and I head back to the courtroom :: like instructed :: taking the same seat that I had before.

All the flying monkeys were giving me the hairy eyeball and the other potential jurors were sneaking me smiles and nods.

Again they put on the white noise.. and again you have to sit there with no source of entertainment or access to caffeine. This was going to be a LONG day!

There happened to be some kind of issue with Juror 103 :: on my right ::. I’m not sure what it is because you know, we aren’t aloud to inter act, but at some point she grabs hold of one of the flying monkeys and tells him that there is no possible way she can continue to sit in the court room because the defense attorney was the same guy that her old babysitter used when she was on trial for shaking her :: the juror’s :: baby to death. She got off and apparently, this woman held it against the defense attorney.

DAAAAMMMMNNNNN!!! The things you find out when white noise doesn’t work as well as you think it does!!

Anyway, the flying monkey tells the woman that she cannot leave the court room but that he will speak to the judge. She gets all hysterical crying and asks if she could use the ladies room. The flying monkey then gives a not to the crypt keeper and a set of doors rivaling the beginning of Get Smart opens and she leaves.

She eventually comes back and about an hour or so later, when the judge and all were finishing up grilling Juror 87 or 88, the unexpectedly call Juror 105 :: the girl on my left ::.

Immediately there is a buzz in the room. What did this mean? Is everyone else going home? Are they going to keep everyone else? WHY. THE. HELL. WOULD. THEY. SKIP. OVER. ALL. THESE. PEOPLE? What was so special about HER?? Why did SHE get called next? Did she have naked pictures of the JUDGE?

It was craziness. Pandemonium would be a better word. All the official court people start shushing everyone and the judge is banging his gavel and calling order and all this stuff and finally, everyone calms down.

Juror 105 was questioned and then released.

Lucky bitch.

Anyway.. so fast forward to when they finally call my number.

I go up before the judge, the prosecution and defense and the judge asks me about the answers to my questions. But before he could get to any specific one, I tell him that I didn’t answer one question truthfully. I told him that it would be difficult for me to serve on the jury because I morally opposed homosexuality and the reason why I didn’t answer truthfully is because there were obviously people around me who were gay and I didn’t want to either offend anyone or make anyone uncomfortable.

The defense attorney poo-poo’d that sentiment. Which.. okay.. he TECHNICALLY was right about but he really didn’t know that for sure. I mean, I COULD really feel that way.

The judge then asked me about THE question.. the whole defendant taking the stand thing.

I said to him that I understood that it was a defendants constitutional right NOT to take the stand but I firmly believe that an innocent person had nothing to hide and that if I were accused of something I didn’t do then I you wouldn’t be ABLE to keep my mouth shut about it.

The defense attorney huffed at that but instead of cutting my eyes at him I just remained with the persona of a dutiful potential juror.

I thought this was it… given what I said, no one in there RIGHT MIND would want me on a jury and I would be excused. I figured it was early enough in the afternoon that I could get some shopping done.. maybe check out Border’s… go to DSW… I had it all planned out.

But they shot me a curve ball.

They told me to go back to my seat.

WTF???

I gave a grin… and politely made my way back to my seat.. mentally calling them ever curse word in English AND Italian!!

And I sat.

And sat.

And sat until they finally got everybody interviewed.

It was then that the judge called on me to go to his chambers.

All eyeballs on me.

Fuck.

As I made my way back.. escorted by a flying monkey.. I swear I was waiting for the cuffs to be put on and was trying to figure out how the hell I was going to 1) let Chief know that I was probably the only potential juror ever arrested and 2) explain to Chief why I was the only potential juror ever arrested.

I get to the chambers and the judge and both attorneys were there. I sit down and the judge tells me that the reason why I’m being called back there is that the defense attorney feels as though I was not being honest about my answers.

Are you KIDDING me?

This is already 2441 words so I’ll cut to the chase.

Remember that juror that they interviewed out of order? Well apparently, she said the same thing about THE question that I did and he was convinced that we had some conspiracy thing going on between us.

Are you KIDDING me?

I asked him if he was insinuating that the flying monkeys didn’t do their job and keep us from talking.. because there was no way in HELL you could have a conversation .. even with mental telepathy.. with them around.

The defense hack also said that he didn’t believe my rant on homosexuality and suggested to the judge that I be held in contempt of the court.

Are you KIDDING me?

I was getting really REALLY pissed at this point so I turned around and told him why it was so damn important to have me on this jury? Obviously, his client wasn’t going to take the stand because he was guilty as hell :: yes, I did say that :: so he wasn’t going to win me over on that.. and he definitely isn’t going to win me over on the gay thing… so why was he wasting MY time, the JUDGE’S time and the COURTS time by grilling me unless, of course, the reason WHY he wanted me on the jury is so that WHEN his client is found guilty as ALL HELL, he’d have an out to get him another trial.

I have to admit that that came to me at the last minute but I can tell you that it did peak the Judge’s interest.

The defense attorney said that that was ridiculous and told me that I was making a mockery of the law.

That really inflamed me. I told him that on the contrary, HE was the one mocking the law. That even though one may not always agree with the law.. it is the LAW and he was the one trying to dance around it. And as far as the constitution goes, I’m sure he didn’t agree with everything in it.. but even though it preserves certain rights, that doesn’t me that I have to agree with those rights.

The judge asked me again if there was any shadiness with the other potential juror and I told him that he could look up every single juror sheet that I ever filled out in the city and the answer to that question is always the same.

He seemed satisfied… the prosecution was literally getting a kick out of all this and the defense guy was all twisted up in knots.

The judge told me I could leave and as I was walking out, I remembered the fine. I decided to be bold and ask him if I still have to pay it. He seemed a little taken back by my boldness but I told him that considering the defense attorney basically wanted me drawn and quartered, wasn’t that punishment enough?

He told me he would see what he could do and if I got the citation in the mail then to just mail it to his office.

Ordeal over.. I made my way home.

Quickly.. before anyone changed their minds!!

BTW … the guy on trial? Yea.. they found him guilty as all hell!

You Never Get Away When Dancing With The Devil

Heh…

I know that getting some semblence of joy from the following may be wrong. And I know that it is going to have an adverse affect on Spaz… but y’know… so fucking what?

A few things happened today that I’ll post about later :: I have dinner on the stove and Chief will be home soon :: but I couldn’t put this one off any longer.

This morning Chief told me that Bubba relayed to him that the Crack Whore had an appointment today with her parole officer.

The PO told her that if she didn’t get a job soon, she was going to jail.

<< INSERT GIGGLES HERE >>

She, in turn, went back to her apartment and told Spaz what the parole officer had said and finished with, “… so I guess I’m going to jail.”

The sad part in all this is.. as Chief pointed out.. is that Spaz is the only one who cares about her. And of course, his over-worked nerves are going to go into yet another tail spin because of her.

Chief said he was going to talk to her about saying stuff like that to Spaz :: but we already know that if he does, it isn’t going to be with the same intensity that he tells me he’s going to speak to her ::

That aside… I can’t help but laugh at her simple ass.

You would rather go to jail then find your lazy, junkie ass a job.

Incredible, isn’t it?

Even the most brain-dead junkie I know whould rather to whatever it takes then to be hauled off to an 8X8, right?

AND to pass this on to a child?

Do you SEE what I’m dealing with here?

I think the chicken is burning so I gotta run…