The Eye of the Storm

Having just gotten through the entire weekend’s coverage of Hurricane Irene, and the non-stop media reporting of the pending category 1 storm and the after effects of said storm, I found something quite jarring.  The blatant lack of self-preservation which apparently is inherent in reporters during a massive storm.  There are tons of these reporters, just standing out in the middle of this hurricane, holding a metal microphone and reporting on the storm’s effects.  The absolute disregard for their own personal safety just so that they can report an as-it-happens first hand account of the storm is absolutely ridiculous.  I just do not comprehend the thought process that goes along with this.  Does it go something like this:

News Agency Honcho:  “Hey guy/girl that wants to be a reporter!  Here’s your big break . . . take this microphone and cameraman and get on out there.  Talk about what’s happening.  Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be fine.  Here’s a parka and a hat.  Oh, don’t forget to sign this waiver and next of kin notification.  You know, just your basic stuff.  Yes, I know they have evacuated the entire city/island/shore, but that doesn’t apply to press.  Think of it this way, you’ll either be on TV or DIE.  But either way, you’ll be famous.  What do you say?”

Reporter/sacrificial lamb:  “Sounds GREAT!!  Give me that microphone.  Let’s do this!!!”

Then they stand outside, in the middle of a fucking hurricane, with no other protection but that stupid parka and sometimes a hat, which they are usually trying to hold on to their head so it doesn’t blow away, and talk about something that you could report on while standing inside looking out a window!  Sometimes they can barely stand.  They are getting blown here and there, and still they stay outside.  They are usually completely drenched, soaked to the bone.  And still, they stand outside.  They talk about the rain, the wind, the destruction, the flooding, and the fact that every other person in the general vicinity of their area has been evacuated!!  Except for them and their cameraman that is.  They are hard core.  They are true journalists.  They are idiots.

This weekend I watched as a man reported on the flooding in an area.  He stood in thigh high water while grasping onto a fence so that he would not float away.  That is dedication.  Thank god I saw that, because if you had not stood in the middle of that flood, I never would have figured out that there was water that high.  I mean, you could have shown me the water rushing by a house or car for depth, but no.  You are a professional.  By golly, you will stand in that thigh high water until it gently washes your nether regions to show us the true depth and effects of this storm!  You will hang onto a fence with one hand while holding a microphone in another to prove just how hard core you are.  You are so brave, you stupid douchewad.

There was one guy reporting in front of dunes on the beach in the dark with no electricity, with his car headlights providing the only lighting for him, while the sand and rain pounded him in the back (and consequently right into the camera guy’s face).  You couldn’t see anything, but he still stood outside reporting.  He stated that the hotel they were staying in, right beside them, had floor to ceiling windows looking out on the beach.  Still he stood outside.  Why?  Because he is a hard ass obviously.  Because for some reason there is a requirement for reporters to stand in the middle of the goddamn eye of the storm to show people how bad it is out there.  To show them that only morons would go outside during a hurricane?  Well, maybe that’s it then.

Obviously I am having a difficult time understanding the mindset of these fucktards who feel the need to stand in the middle of a weather catastrophe to “report” on the weather condition.  I do believe this is why we have windows.  Or those cameras that are mounted on buildings.  Or, just maybe, we can just look outside on our own and see that it is raining . . . and keep our asses inside!

Ok, I’m done ranting now.  But speaking of crazy people out in the rain and reporters, check out this video.  It’s pretty hysterical: 

Weekly Whacked: Hi. My name is Misty . . . and I’m a racist.

Well, there was one very momentous event that occurred in Court this week, besides the earthquake, which I felt I was duty bound to share with you.  I was informed, and of this I was previously unaware, that I am apparently a racist.  Who knew?  I have already shared this information personally with all my black friends and colleagues, and will inform those members of my family who are of the african-american persuasion as soon as I see them next (probably this weekend), just so everyone is aware and can avoid me if necessary.  I’m wondering if I should also inform my Mexican friends, my Filipino friends, my Korean friends, etc.  Probably should.  Just to be safe, no?

So here is how I came to this realization about myself.  It actually came from a very helpful lady who was a Plaintiff in a case the other day.  Now, she wasn’t my Plaintiff and it wasn’t my case, but I somehow got involved with it and was confronted with this oh so helpful information.  I mean, if you were a racist, wouldn’t you want to know this about yourself?  I would think so.  And to this wonderful lady I have to give a heartfelt thanks.

It started innocently enough, as these things often do.  I was eating a late lunch at my desk in the courthouse.  Next to my desk, but behind a partition (like a foam cubicle type thing) sits one of my colleagues.  She was interviewing this Plaintiff and explaining to her why she needed to dismiss her case.  Now this woman was being very hostile to my colleague (who is also a good friend), and my friend was just taking it and trying to be professional.  The conversation got more and more heated with the lady becoming more hostile and accusatory to my friend who was “not doing her job behind that desk” and “needed to stop inconveniencing her and making her come to court” etc, while all the while getting louder and louder.  She felt she was being seriously wronged and that it was my friend, and by extension our entire company’s, fault for her burden.  She was not being particularly logical.  She was being extremely rude and obnoxious.  My friend was still just trying to be professional and taking this woman’s bullshit.  I would have told her to get the fuck out at this point.  But my friend tells her to go have a seat in the Courtroom so she can call her case.  

Well, at this point I am pretty incensed on behalf of my friend and the fact that this woman is clearly a huge asshole and/or mentally unstable.  So my friend walks away after telling her to go have a seat, and the woman is following her and still yelling at her.  So they walk by my desk.  This is how I get involved.  I tell my friend to just walk away and stop talking to her because she is “obviously crazy and cannot have a reasonable or calm conversation with anybody.”  Oops, now I am facing the wrath of the beast.  So she walks over to me and starts yelling at me, all “how is this any of your business” and “you don’t know nothing about me” etc.  To which I respond, it is my business because you are being abusive to a friend of mine who is trying to be professional and inform you about what is happening in your case, and I am just telling her to walk away and not take any more abuse.   

Well, obviously reason was completely lost on this woman because then she starts going off on me, yelling and carrying on and being a total fucking nutjob.  So, I inform her that if she doesn’t stop yelling at me I will call the sheriff to take her away for being disruptive, to which she of course is like “bring it!  Get the Sheriff!  Do it!!”  So I get up to go push our little emergency button, and she starts to leave.  But then she gets brave again once she has moved away and behind a desk and turns to scream at me again.  And unfortunately at this point I am very heated and am yelling back at her (but sadly not the obscenities that I so want to yell at her, but am keeping inside with every once of resolve I have), telling her that she is being extremely rude and nasty and she needs to try to be a reasonable person when speaking to people (ha!  I think that ship has sailed long ago).  Well, just when I realize this is a zero sum conversation and decide that I need to stop stooping to her level, she decides to oh so helpfully inform me about my obviously racist nature.  She says this:

“Well, YOU are the MASK of the KKK!!” 

 And then she ran away.

So now you know.  Since she was so helpful as to inform me of this, I thought it necessary to share.  Kind of a public service if you will. 

Oh, and later, as we were all evacuated from the Courthouse (yes, this was about 20 minutes before the quake, great day all around), my colleagues and I saw her outside, and she once again gave us some helpful information.  She yelled over to us that this was obviously “Yahweh’s attempts to punish us!”  (Of course my thought was, I think God is actually trying to smite you, ya crazy nutbag!). 

So, yeah.  I completely understand if you don’t want to associate with me any longer.  I mean, unless you are white.  Whities are ok I think.  I’m not sure.  I have all this self-doubt now.  Maybe I’ll ask her next time I see her.  Since she obviously knows these things about me.

Earthquakalypse!!

Hey there.  How ya doing?  Anything new?  Oh, same old stuff?  Ok, then.  What’s new with me?  Oh, nothing much.  Well, except for this one little thing.  Hardly worth mentioning.  Not sure if you heard, but there was this little event yesterday on the East Coast . . .  No?  Oh, well we had a bit of an earthquake.  Just a little shaking really.  I’m not sure if anyone else even noticed but me to be honest.  Someone mentioned it was a 5.9.  Eh, who knows.  It’s not like there was any media coverage or news reporting.  In fact, if you don’t live in Virginia, you might not even be aware!  Just figured I’d mention it . . .

Ok, so as everyone is probably aware by now, there was an earthquake on the East Coast yesterday around 2:00 pm, with effects felt all up and down the East Coast.  If you live on the West Coast or Midwest or somewhere West of say, Chicago, you might not have actually heard of it.  Not sure how far the news travelled.  But I will tell you that the East does not regularly get earthquakes, so it was big news.  The good thing is that it seems nobody got hurt and there was no serious damage (a few bricks dropping to the ground, a few cracks – most notably the Washington Monument, and the National Cathedral lost some spires).

My experience with the earthquake is as follows:  I was working in the Courthouse.  (Just for a frame of reference, this is how Wikipedia describes the building:  It is of steel frame construction with concrete floors and tile roof, basement of granite, and outer walls of white Indiana limestone. The structure is six stories in height and provided with basement and two sub-basements. It was completed in 1932 and features classical ornamentation.)  So I am standing there and everything starts to shake.  My immediate thought is:  Oh, this is an earthquake.  My next thought is this:  I wonder if that ceiling is going to fall down since it is now making this god-awful clattering sound?  Then followed closely by:  Where is a damn doorway?  By the time I found the doorway and stood in it, it was over.  So, a couple minutes later, after the initial discussion about it is over, we all start to get back to work.  Then, immediately following that, we are told by a sheriff that we have to get out as they are evacuating the building.  Not really understanding why that was (we had power, there was no damage, nobody was hurt), we still had to comply.  I made the comment to my friend that California would be laughing at us right now, and she, having lived there for 13 years, was like, “I am laughing at you all now!” 

So, there we are, standing outside the Courthouse, surrounded by 6 story buildings, waiting to see if we can go back inside to call our docket, or alternatively, I guess we were waiting for an aftershock, which most definitely would have crushed us if any one of those buildings came down.

After standing outside for about 45 minutes, we were finally informed that the Courthouse would be closed for the rest of the day and we headed back up to our office building, which is about 2 blocks away and was not evacuated at all (even though it is mostly glass and about 25 stories high).  Well, when we get back, our boss tells us that we are free to go since they closed the Courthouse (the main office is in the Courthouse and even though we are not physically in there, if the Courthouse closes, we are off.  This policy is one of the only ones I really like in our office!!). 

So, it’s 3:00 o’clock.  People are fleeing the city in droves.  What to do?  Should I head home and just sit in traffic for the next hour?  Or should I stay in the city and wait it out for a bit?  It seems only reasonable to do option 2.  However, what to do during that hour?  Hmmm . . . I know.  Let’s go drink!!  So that is exactly what we did.  I grabbed a few colleagues, headed across the street to the bar (tried to con the hostess into giving us special “earthquake happy hour” prices, to which she just gave me a funny look), and got our drink on.  Best Earthquake EVER!!

While we were in the bar, I got my first taste of the overreaction that was prevalent in both the Media and on Social Media.  There were reporters stationed at the Courthouse that were reporting that as the earthquake struck, people were running screaming down the halls and there was “pandemonium.”  Say what?  I was there.  I did not experience said pandemonium.  Then I realized what they were doing.  Since nothing really serious had happened, yet they had to do this special earthquake coverage for the next 4 hours or so, they had to come up with some news worthy story about this quake.  So they were making shit up embellishing.  They also kept showing this one church that lost either a spire or some bricks because the sidewalk below was roped off and there was a little bit of debris on the sidewalk.  I think that was the extent of the damage in our city.  It was kind of sad that they really wanted there to be more drama to report, yet there really wasn’t much to talk about.

On FB, people were hysterical.  Every post was all about the earthquake.  From “did you feel that?” to “was that an earthquake?” to “I feel the earth move . . . ” it was continuous.  This was my favorite one of course:

DC Earthquake devastation . . . oh the humanity!!

So, now you can say you knew me when I become famous.  No, not for my blog.  For being a survivor of the great Quakapocalypse of 2011!!!  Autograph lines start to the left.  No touching or photography please.

Weekly Whacked: Court Craziness

Lots of fun stuff in Court this week . . .

First, a Defendant told the Judge the reason that she didn’t get a lawyer for her case is because she thought the PD from the last hearing was going to “offend” her this time.  I’m thinking maybe she needs a new lawyer then.

Then, there was a guy in Court who was wearing a cardigan . . . and these:

Freaky shoe

Those things kept freaking me the fuck out.  I just kept staring at his feet as we were sitting in Court.  He probably thought I was some weirdo, but dude, don’t wear freaky toe shoes to Court for pete’s sake!  You are not running a marathon.  You are sitting in a courtroom.  With a cardigan on.  You are not Bill Cosby.  And you are 19.  Weirdness.

Of course, my favorite of the day was this young punk I had, that during the interview he insisted on sitting across from me texting and having a whole written conversation on his phone the ENTIRE time I was trying to talk to him.  Then when I presented an Order for him to sign, his reaction was:  “I ain’t signing shit!”  So I was like, a hearing then?  Ok.

Then at the hearing, he proceeded to tell the Judge that he was trying to get a scholarship and had 3-a-days, which were hard and really hurt so he couldn’t possibly go get a job.  (Ahh, to be young and stupid again.  Yes, life is hard now.  Oh, just you wait, sonny!  Crap, I just turned into a grandma right before my very eyes.) 

Then he said this:

“I do what the white man tells me to do, because they take care of me.”

Excuse me, what now?  Now, he was a young black boy.  I am a not-so-young white woman.  Who exactly are these white men who are taking care of you?  My head just about snapped off when he said that.  I actually had to check with a colleague after the hearing to make sure I actually heard that shit right.  Damn.  I didn’t realize I had travelled back into the 1850s.

Speaking of going back in time, I also saw this at the store last night:

Mmmmm, Tab.

I had no idea they even made this stuff anymore and really feel like I’m in some sort of 80s time warp.  Excuse me for a moment while I go get my leg warmers . . . .

Anything crazy happening in your life this week?  Feel free to share below!

“Let’s Go To The Mall!!” (sing it in your best Robin Sparkles voice)

Ok, let’s get one thing straight from the get go . . . I hate the Mall.  Mostly this is because I just hate shopping in general and prefer to do most of my shopping online and not in stores.  Although Target seems to be exempt from this aversion for some reason.  Probably because it’s awesome.

But, getting back to my Mall hatred . . . I try to avoid it pretty much at all costs unless I absolutely have to go there.  If I need to return something I will go.  If I have to take my kids for pictures, I will go (hellish!), and during the holidays, I will very very reluctantly go (kill me now!!).  But otherwise?  No thank you.

All this is leading up to the story of my mall trip this past weekend.  No, there was no shady character with a gun pointed at my head, threatening both my own and my family’s physical demise if I did not go.  I went willingly.  I stayed willingly.  God help me, I even shopped willingly.

It started innocently enough.  I had made plans with a friend to go to the movies.  When I told the hubs I would be out for a bit on saturday afternoon and he would have to take care of the kids for a while, his response was “go, have a good time, I’ll see you later tonight.”  That’s right, he said tonight.  Not, later today.  Not this afternoon.  But TONIGHT.  That meant I was released and covered for the entire day from kid duty.  Woo-hoo.

Anyway, so I met my friend for a 12:45 movie, which ended a little after 3:00.  We saw The Help by the way.  Excellent movie.  If you have read the book, go see the movie.  They did a really good job of translating the book to the screen, and I am usually a harsh critic of movies completely annihilating all semblance of an author’s story, but this was well done.  Ok, that was my ever so brief movie review . . .

So, the movie theater was right next to the mall.  The movie ended a little after 3:00.  I didn’t have to be home for hours according to my hubs.  What ever should I do?  My friend said I needed to go shop.  She had to go home to her kids because her hubs was not planning on taking care of the kids all day, but she said since I had time, I most definitely must go shopping.  In the mall.  Yeah, see that was the problem.

But, seeing as I didn’t have anything else I needed to do, and I most definitely did not want to go home early when I had been released from servitude parenting duties, I decided to venture in.

Now, not having any specific destination or plan, I just started walking around, looking at the stores and trying to figure out what I was going to do.  Then I saw it.  Not sure why I even thought about going in there, since I am not a 15 year old girl, but I went in regardless.  It was a Spencer’s.  I have not been in one of those for years.  Once in and walking around, I realized why.  But then, I did see this:

Winning, duh!

He talked every time you bobbled his head.  He said very Charlie Sheen, “the crazy years,” type things.  I’m just wondering when we will be over him.  I’m hoping it’s soon.

Then I was walking along and decided to go into the Children’s Place to get some stuff for the kiddies.  I am much more apt to buy clothes for them than for myself.  Safer that way.  No dressing rooms involved.  No trying on clothing.  No homicidal rages at being too fat to fit into any damn thing designed for a size 0 super model, and going on a kill crazy rampage through the mall.  Like I said, safer.  Anyway, I saw the most fantastic shirt for my 3 year old and was gonna get it, but then I had the not so brilliant idea to check with the hubs first.  I texted him:  “too scary for 3?”  His answer:  “Yes.”  Bummer.

Caaaannnddddyyyy!!!!

Then I decided to go into the Hallmark store to buy some cards.  And as I walked in, I was greeted with this abomination:

Fa-la-la-la-what the fuck?

Yep, that’s right.  Ornaments.  Christmas Ornaments.  In the middle of August.  I thought seeing all the Halloween candy and decorations out already was bad, but you are selling stuff that I will put on my tree in FOUR FUCKING MONTHS?!?!?!?  What in damnation is wrong with people?  By Halloween I will already be sick of Christmas and I will still have 2 entire more months to wait before it gets here.  This is just wrong on so many levels.

Oh, and don’t forget about this:

Beat the rush! Get yours now! I dare you to try to find it in 4 1/2 months . . . .

I don’t know who in their right mind would buy a calendar for next year in August.  You need to wait until the middle of January to get those suckers half price like any self respecting person.  I mean, that’s what I do anyway . . .

Thus ends the saga of the mall.  Hopefully, I will not have to return any time soon.  For everyone’s safety that is . . . . .

Weekly Whacked: What’s the Haps?

Well, for our weekly round-up of the craziness of court, I must report that unfortunately nothing really that exciting or bizarre has happened this week.  Well, at least not to me.

My colleague on the other hand received her first marriage proposal.  That’s right, while at work, in the courtroom even!  It was very exciting for her to say the least.  Even more exciting?  He was a prisoner.  Oh, but don’t worry, he assured her that he was soon going to be “out of the box.”  So, spring wedding perhaps?  I love it when true love can blossom in any circumstance.  I mean, if they hurry up the nuptials, she could even have conjugal visits.  And what little girl’s dream isn’t of visiting her husband and true love behind bars for their first intimate moment?  Ahh, c’est l’amore!!

She also wasn’t feeling well today and while interviewing a Plaintiff she was asked if she was either drunk or hung over.  We just get the sweetest people in our court.  Jealous?  I know you are.

I did have one of my Defendants ask me a ridiculous question.  No, there was no proposing involved.  Instead, he looked right into my eyes, and with his most sincere tone, asked me, “don’t you trust me?”  So I looked right back into his eyes (albeit it was tough to look at both eyes because of the lazy eye and it was hard to figure out which was looking at me.  No offense to anyone out there with a lazy eye, but when trying to focus on his eyes and getting the sincere eyes back at me, it was just distracting to say the least) . . . where was I again?  Oh yeah, so I looked right at him and said, “No.  Not based on your history of only doing what you are ordered to do when you come to court, but never in between.  No sir, I do not trust you to follow the court’s order and am not going to dismiss your case and hope and pray (fingers crossed) that you will just magically start doing what you are supposed to.  No.”  You crazy crackhead.  I said that last part on the inside by the way.  I don’t really want to get fired.

Well, unfortunately that’s about it.  No crazy pictures or anything.  Sorry.  This is gonna be short and sweet.

Hopefully more kooky stuff will happen soon and I can report back.  After all, I think it is soon to be a full moon.  That’s usually when all the craziness happens.

Until then . . . have a great weekend all!

I gots to go pee!

So there I was . . . trapped!  In a bathroom stall.  With this crazy woman not allowing me to close the door to the stall and pee in peace.  She had grabbed my face.  She was surrounded suddenly by other women backing her up.  She was adamant that I had been rude.  I believed she was incorrect and told her this.  Then all of a sudden I was grabbing her face.  She was yelling something at me.  She was insistent in her claims.  It was like I was being attacked by the manners mafioso! 

“You must say PLEASE after you say EXCUSE ME!!!” she was saying.

I felt that “excuse me” sufficed.  But apparently she felt very strongly about her position, hence the attack.  This shit was just too weird.  Maybe it was just a dream ……….

____________________________________________________

Ok, it was just a dream.  But a really disturbing one.  Here is how it played out:

I was entering a public bathroom and pushing an empty stroller (why? not a clue).  As I entered the bathroom, a woman was standing at a sink, blocking my way to the bathroom stalls.  So I said “excuse me” to her so that I could get by her with my stroller.  Then, as I entered the stall, she was there behind me, holding the door open, demanding that I say “please” after my “excuse me.”  I tried to reason with her that it was not necessary, and that “excuse me” was enough and sufficed as a polite way to ask someone to move the fuck out of the way. 

This is when shit started to go down.  She wouldn’t let me close the door.  She grabbed my face.  I grabbed her back.  There were like 20 women behind her.  There was gonna be a riot.  Then, all of a sudden I am throwing her head against a metal rod above the stall to try to get her to let go of me and go away (that’s right, apparently I’m a badass in my dreams.  Don’t mess with me in there y’all or you’ll get fucked up!). 

Eventually she must have let go, because I was then dreaming that I had the door shut and was peeing.

But I woke up soon after that wondering, first, what the hell was wrong with my brain.  And secondly, wondering who was right . . . dream ME or dream CRAZY LADY? 

Does it suffice to just say excuse me?  Or must one say please following this to make it polite? 

Also, what is wrong in my head that apparently a beat down occurs for rudeness in my dreams?  Maybe that is the root question.  Am I just nutso? 

Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller . . . . ?

My My Heart Like A Kick Drum

So I have a new favorite thing.  The kick drum. 

I was watching one of those VH1 unplugged things the other night with Mumford & Sons.  I sort of dug the music, but the most notable thing was that the singer was standing there singing, playing a guitar, and at the same time he was using one foot to constantly punctuate his musical phrasing with a kick drum.  It was completely awesome. 

(Plus the lead singer was sort of hawt, in a dirty British Brendan Fraser type way.  Ok, not the point, moving on . . .)

So I have decided that I need a kick drum for my own personal life.  You know, just to use on a daily basis.  I’m thinking that as I have conversations with people, if I am also punctuating my statements with a kick drum, it would make all of my statements that much more significant and dramatic.  Not sure how I would do it while walking around though.  I think it is solely a sitting and standing during conversations sort of instrument.  But how cool would that be?

Objection!  BOOM. (Sustained!)

Hey boss, I need a raise.  BOOM.  (He knows I really mean business)

Can I have a large caramel iced latte with skim milk, please?  BOOM.  (I REALLY need some caffeine, man)

Hon, can you pick up the kids from school?  BOOM.  (This is not an option)

Stop jumping on the couch and throwing balls in the house.  BOOM. (The sound of my anger and disappointment . . . don’t make me come over there)

I need a drink.  BOOM!  (yeah, I really mean that one)

Drive your fucking car, asshole!  BOOM (probably can’t hear my drum from his car.  Note to self:  get some type of enhancement device to project kick drum sound to all the fuckwit drivers) 

Can’t you see how this is an excellent idea?  It would take any random thing I say and turn it into an EXTREME EXCLAMATION.  I love it.  And I believe that, just maybe, people would begin to Respect Ma Authori-tye!

Anyone want to join my band?