Well F**k You, Too, Performance Review!
31 Oct 2011 40 Comments
This week I got a performance review from the main office of my employer. This is something they do rarely, but has happened a couple of times in the past 10 years of my employment with this agency. They pretty much mean nothing in the grand scheme of things, so much so that when my boss brought mine into my office, he prefaced it with this statement: “Well, this is pretty much an exercise in futility.”
It had been a while since we had received a performance review and there is a new administration that is now in charge of the office since the last review, so the review is in a new format and possibly completely revamped from the last one. It’s been a while and they are pointless, so I don’t really remember the details.
Anyway, the first thing I noticed on my performance review was the rating system employed by the office. There were 3: Unacceptable, Successful and Outstanding. There were also 5 different categories we were judged on: Case Development, Case Presentation, Case Resolution, Professionalism and Legal Research & Writing. Down the line I received all “Successful” ratings. My first question to my boss was, “why no Outstanding? You know damn well that I am Outstanding in all areas, damnit!” To which he responded: “I didn’t even get any Outstandings. Nobody did.” Comforting to know that.
So, I’m flipping through this piece of shit review and notice that there are multiple pages, each one for a different category and listing the specific skills needed for each category. Then on the bottom of each page . . . there is a comments section. They were mostly unremarkable and more like something needed to be written, so each page had a general statement. Nothing glowing. Then again, I am not Outstanding, so what did I expect.
Then I saw this comment written on the last page:
Thanks a freaking lot.
In case you can’t read it, the Comment says, “Does well here.” Three words. What a glowing review of my performance. After 10 years, the best I can get is “does well here?”
Then, I found out that my boss was the one who actually wrote the comments (not the ratings), and because he pretty much thinks this is a huge waste of time, decided not to waste any more of his precious time putting any thought into what it should say. Most of my colleagues had similar phrases on theirs. We are so valued here.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so disappointed with being called “Successful” before, but it feels kind of like a back-handed compliment or something. Not feeling all warm and fuzzy inside is what I’m saying.
Every had a bad performance review? Ever been called Successful and wanted to punch someone in the face? Or is that just me?
Weekly Whacked: Ren Fest
28 Oct 2011 24 Comments
You’ve heard the tales of pirates and improv. Now prepare yourself for the wild and wacky sights of the Ren Fest . . .
As I was walking the mile and a half distance from my car to the front gate to meet Thoughtsy, I happened upon quite the specimen. I wasn’t even past the gates of the Festival yet and it was already necessary for me to whip out my camera. I present to you . . . some type of fucked up frat boy impersonation of an American fetishist Santa? Not sure what he was going for here. Pretty much nailed “douche” though.
WTF?
There is so much going on with this I don’t even know where to start. The cowboy boots? The leather bondage stocking things? The boxers peeking out underneath the red shorts he is wearing to match the Santa coat? Or the goddamn mother loving Uncle Sam hat to top off this ensemble?
Alternate view
Here’s the thing. I get that you are a douche. Sure, it happens. I also get that you heard “Ren Fest” and thought, hey, don’t they dress up for those things? I have some stuff in my closet I’ve been meaning to wear all of at the same time. That counts, right? Yeah, um . . . no. This injured my eyes by looking at it and now I have to sue your dumb ass for assault with a deadly eyesore. Isn’t there a kegger happening somewhere where you are missing your chance to roofie and date rape some Chi Omega? And really, unless there was some type of drive-by clothing attack, this guy intentionally put all this shit on his body, looked in the mirror and then walked out of the frat house, all “I’m good.” Freaking poonspackler!
Ok, moving on to other fun stuff at the Festival. This just made me laugh:
They be serious, yo!
I’m thinking this one is probably breaking some type of Ren Fest code of conduct or something:
Ye Olde Texting
This guy was confused. He thought he was showing up for a casting call to be an extra in the much anticipated upcoming film – Braveheart 2: The Douchening:
"They may take our lives, but they will never take our . . . BEDSHEETS!!"
This guy’s job is to stand next to a tree wearing boots, a kilt, a chest bearing shirt whilst holding a basket-tray of flowers and trying to woo the ladies with his come hither stare. Who do you think got the short end of the stick when all the Ren Fest employees were choosing jobs that morning, huh? He looks like Carrot Top’s surly nephew or something.
- I hate my life.
They are firm AND ripe.
This next store sold all the essentials. You know, for your wizard and witch potion necessities:
I can probably get these cheaper at Target, actually.
Hey guys? You can stop looking now. I found him. He’s at the Ren Fest, enjoying a pint. I give you . . . the Travelocity Roaming Gnome:
Hmmm . . . TV makes him look a lot shorter.
I love so much about every part of this next picture.
Take your son to Fest day.
Now, I don’t dress up for these things. In fact, the last time I went to a Ren Fest was in college with my Old English class when our goofy professor (dressed as a monk) took us all on a field trip in PA. I think I was 19. The only other time was when I was maybe 15 at this very MD Ren Fest. So, it’s been a long time and it’s not something I do regularly, is what I’m saying. It’s not my thing, it’s just something we decided to do this day for fun. Having said that, I think the fact that this guy dressed up and then bought a corresponding outfit for his very infant son, who looks completely adorable, is fucking awesome. Please also note the motherfucking sword that the baby is holding!!! That kid is adorable and hardcore, yo! He will distract you with his cuteness and then stab your dumb ass.
What do they call it when you have both a muffin top and a tail? Oh yeah, that’s right. A whore.
Gettin' some tail.
Psst, Tazer. I don’t wanna cause a commotion or anything, but I happened upon this large congregation of sporks, and well . . . it looks like they are getting together in a large group to plot something. Just thought you should be aware. Sporks are devious, yo.
Verrry suspicious.
There was a lot of this . . . not sure if they thought they were at some sort of fairy convention or what, but it was everywhere:
Fly fly away. Please.
This is another bring your kid to Ren Fest example. He is a wee little viking, complete with horned helmet. So precious.
Ready for battle . . . pre-school can be tough!
My pirate friend, Chris (I will never get tired of saying that!), saw me subtly try to take a pic of this approaching couple, and since he was a drunken pirate with apparently no sense of tact left in his body, he stopped them and made them pose for this picture. They were very gracious about it, thankfully.
Kilt? Check. Wife? Check. Necklace? Check. Hmmm, I still feel like maybe I'm forgetting something. Oh well, must not be that important.
And then, of course, we have your cod pieces:
Fancy!
These 2 were just bizarre. The one on the left apparently just decided he was going to wear the MD flag as his costume. While the one on the right is a . . . ghost? He has arrows sticking out of his chest and has blood spatter all over him. I mean, I’m no CSI or anything, but I’m thinking you don’t survive arrows through the heart.
I guess even ghosts enjoy a cold beverage occasionally.
This next one really caught my attention because it was just so godawfully bright:
Shiny!
And of course I immediately was thinking, “Phew! I am so glad I didn’t also wear my bright pink/turquoise skirt and matching half shirt with puffy sleeves. That would have been soooo embarrassing!!”
And then I saw this:
How embarrassing!!
Notice the hair. This is a different person entirely. Apparently they shop at the same store. I mean, who knew there were 2 of this monstrosity available for purchase.
This next one is for Jen . . . happy birthday, wench!! Sorry you can’t have it in person:
Yum?
And no, in case you are wondering . . . I did not try it. I was going to, just for the novelty of eating Chocolate Dipped Bacon. Especially when I saw them pour additional caramel sauce over top of it. But then I saw the price: $5 for 2 little pieces. I thought that was somewhat exorbitant. Plus, I wasn’t really hungry, so I didn’t get it. Sorry Jen. I know you would have wanted the play by play, morsel by morsel. Maybe next year you come with us and you can get your very own?
Thus ends the magical tale of my experience at the Ren Fest. I know that is a lot to take in, but I wanted to truly encapsulate all the wondrously bizarre and whackadoodle things I experienced and share them with you. No thanks necessary. I’m a giver. 
Ye Olde Show and Tell
26 Oct 2011 17 Comments
Earlier in the week, I mentioned that Thoughtsy and I attended the MD Ren Fest this past weekend and whilst there enjoyed some entertainment. The first show we saw was listed as ”Bloody Drama (Comedy)” in the program. How could we possibly avoid something with that title, right?
It was basically a group of guys doing improv. I would liken it to a Medieval Who’s Line Is It Anyway. They took suggestions from the audience members for types of food and then did a bunch of “A ____ walks into a bar” jokes. The food that was suggested was cheese.
Demonstrating the ooohhs & aahhhs to be made by the audience.
The guys then took turns thinking of “A cheese walks into a bar” jokes. The only one I could remember was this one:
A cheese walks into a bar. The bartender says, “We don’t serve cheese here . . . but, well, eh I don’t know . . . maybe . . .” The cheese say, “Hey, don’t string us along!” Ba-dum-bum.
That's Bob.
Then the audience suggested a non-food item for the jokes: a mime. There was only one joke . . . but it was enough:
2 mimes walk into a bar . . . nobody cared.
They also did a routine where one of the guys had to guess what type of activities the other guys were acting out, once again based on audience suggestions. One was playing baseball, with the ball being a fish and the bat being a coin. I can’t remember the others.
They were funny. I found myself laughing quite a bit, but then again I used to like that Who’s Line show back in the day, so I was probably their target audience. Plus, I had just finished a glass of wine, so that might have helped with my comedy appreciation.
The next show we saw was actually suggested by our pirate friend, Chris. They were new to the Ren Fest this year, but apparently perform regularly in Minnesota (I think?). The were called The Danger Committee. (cool name, right?). The players consisted of Rodolfo, with a lovely German accent (German? Thoughtsy, was he German?), Nick (bald guy) and Jay (other guy). That is actually how Rodolfo described his compatriots, stating “that is how they are going to remember you anyway.” So true, Rodolfo. So true.
But before the show began, a warning:
Then, there was juggling:
There was knife throwing:
Getting really close
Maybe this is how he gets such a clean cut?
There was comedy:
- This while singing Iron Man . . . dun dun dun, dun dun da-dun
There was . . . . sexiness?
His "sexy pose?"
And risking the future ability to procreate:
Good thing that pouch is there for protection, eh?
And more comedy:
He seriously could not get this off his head for like 5 minutes.
Then there was the final act. You really have to trust your co-worker with his knife skills to be the person balancing on that thing whilst holding your arm out towards the knives. Yikes!
Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of . . . port.
24 Oct 2011 29 Comments
in Ma Peeps
This past weekend I got to meet another blogger!! Thoughtsy from Thoughts Appear. She has a 35 before 35 list of things to do (having already completed her 30 before 30 list and needing more fun and interesting goals for her next 5 years on the planet), and on this current list is #22 Meet fellow blogger. Well, Hoody, of Hoody Hoo fame, suggested that she would like to volunteer her services for #22, especially if it involved #4 Go to the Renaissance Faire (also known as the Ren Fest). Of course, when I saw this, I couldn’t help but jump in and invite myself right along! So we had this plan that we would all meet there this past Saturday. (Unfortunately Hoody was unable to attend because when I told her she was required to dress authentically like a wench, she misunderstood authentic and thought that meant she had to also contract the Bubonic Plague to represent a true sense of the 14th century, so therefore she was too ill to join us. Poor Hoody!). 
So it was just Thoughtsy and I, who did indeed meet and experience the infamous Maryland Renaissance Festival. First of all, it was really great to finally meet Thoughtsy since I have been stalking following her blog for a while now, and also because she is super nice and fun in person. We had a really great time. We wandered around that sprawling place for hours; we had some drinks, sampled some delicious food, watched a couple of fun shows and got to meet some really interesting people. Also, the people watching was divine. Imagine a place where it is not only accepted, but truly encouraged and embraced to let your freak flag fly, in any permutation you can imagine, and you have the Ren Fest. Then imagine someone like myself . . . there with a camera. Yeah. Good times all around.
So, after Thoughtsy and I walked around for a bit, we got a tad thirsty, so we decided to get a drink. While we tried to avoid any activity that had a long line, as we were not keen to waste our time standing around waiting for stuff, the one line that was unavoidable was the line for alcoholic beverages, thus we were forced to wait. Oh the tragedy. But alas, a wench must do, what a wench must do. Once we both got a glass of wine (not mead, just some yummy raspberry wine), we were looking for a place to sit and drink our wine for a bit, but all the tables in that area were full. Until . . . we were summoned over by a large older gentleman in a bright green and yellow paisley costume who was just getting up from his table, who told us that there were seats available there and that he and his compatriots were leaving. So we sat down. However, it seemed they were not leaving just yet, so the fellow sat down again beside us. Thus began our experience with our pirate friend, who regaled us with tales of whimsy and local lore . . . or just basically hit on us the whole time. But he was harmless and somewhat entertaining.
His name was Chris and he was actually an unemployed artist, so he told us. He also persisted on calling me “the hot chick” while Thoughtsy was “the single Sicilian” and said he thought I was probably late 20s/early 30s, and even if he was lying out of his teeth (most probably), I still loved him for that!
Him and his buddies were very gracious hosts. They told us of upcoming shows which we would enjoy (which we did . . . more on that later in the week), they offered us some private stock of port wine (which we were both hesitant to try, being smart girls who have learned not to drink mystery substances from strange men . . . and these were indeed strange men. However, Thoughtsy tried it and didn’t immediately pass out, so I was game. Plus, what really did it for me was the fact that when I looked at the tiny shot glass sized goblet of wine, I saw an engraved “Busch Gardens” emblem on the side and it was just so touristy and dorky that I decided it had to be safe), and then also invited us to breakfast the next morning (not like that. Perverts!). It seems that these guys dress up every weekend in the fall, come to the Ren Fest early in the morning before the gates open, and have breakfast in the parking lot together before going in for the day. It’s like tailgating before the game. But for the Dungeons and Dragons geek set. We of course declined the invitation to breakfast (and all other things intuited or invited by our pirate friend).
We actually ran into him later after attending one of the shows they recommended and he glommed unto us for quite a while. He was very chatty. He seemed like a nice man, but Thoughtsy and I didn’t go to the Ren Fest to spend the entire time with a guy who dresses up as a pirate and goes to a festival every weekend to hit on young women. It just got a bit old after a while. But like I said, harmless and good for a few laughs for a bit.
Here is our buddy Chris, the pirate, and a random wench friend of his:
Arggggghh. So, come here often?
More to come later in the week on our time at the Ren Fest. You know there will be pictures. Lots of pictures. Stay tuned . . . .
**and make sure you check out Thoughtsy‘s site this week, as I’m sure she will be regaling us with her own tales from the Ren Fest.
Spork me?? Spork YOU!!
18 Oct 2011 24 Comments
in Ma Peeps
Tazer Warrior Princess, most recently of Oh Noa’s League of Funny Bitches fame, just posted a plethora of spork pics which she has collected from all and sundry, including yours truly. Go check out her post here.
By the way, my pics start with the House of Blues one and go to the bottom.
Enjoy!!
Uh-oh . . . I’m scared.
17 Oct 2011 19 Comments
in Workin' It
Ok, so you know how I mentioned that little thing last week about me sort of kinda maybe almost going to jail? Well, you would also remember that when I presented the Judge (you know the one I was a total asshole to?) with the statutory evidence of my position (of being right!), that he still didn’t believe me? Well, what I forgot to mention was that he said he knew there was case law out there that supported his position and he would show it to me.
So this morning, I got this in the mail in my office:
Dun-dun-DUNNNNN!!
It is a package from that same Judge. It is a plain manila envelope, legal sized, with about a half inch of what seems to be papers inside. Or so he would like me to believe.
What if it is really some sort of ingenious incendiary device? Maybe the Judge dabbles in mad bomb making skills and has been stewing all this time about how I was so damn disrespectful and decided he would send me this “present” to teach me a lesson. These damn kids these days.
Or . . . what if it has anthrax in it? Remember that scare we went through a few years ago where people were sending ordinary letters with suspicious white powder inside and people were dying from that white powder? Is that stuff still around?
I’m not sure I should open this package. Maybe I’ll just say I never received it. The post office is whack anyway, right? I can just bribe my paralegal to conveniently forget he ever handed it to me. I’m sure a sixer of Bud would do the trick.
I will just have to practice my best, “Letter? What letter? I never received anything from you, Judge” the next time I see him. And of course I will monitor him closely to check for any surprised looks at my continued existence when he first sees me still breathing. Then I will know that my instincts are correct! Unless he has a really good poker face and plays it off like, “oh hey, totally expected you to still be walking around with all your fingers and face. No surprise here.”
Damnit. Well played, Judge. Well played.
You win this one. But I’m not gonna open that damn package, that’s for sure. But you won’t harm me physically this time. Maybe just mentally. And emotionally.
If anyone needs me I’ll be cowering under my desk, contorted into a small and quivering ball of goo.
***************************************************************************
Ever get any suspicious packaging from someone that you know hates you or that you have pissed off? Did you open it?
By the way, I did eventually conquer my disabling fear and open the package. Get ready, y’all. Scary stuff:
Case law . . . ahhhhhhhh!!!
Weekly Whacked: AC Style!
14 Oct 2011 34 Comments
So the hubs and I went up to Atlantic City last weekend for a little time away, just the 2 of us. It was really nice to be without the kiddies for a bit, plus, we both enjoy gambling (the hubs moreso than myself, but then again, he is a degenerate gambler). While we were there, we had some nice dinners at the restaurants at the casino we stayed in, we watched The Hangover 2 in our room one afternoon (Bradley Cooper . . . rowr!), we went out and took a walk on the boardwalk (more on that below) . . . oh, and then there was this little thing:
Yeah, baby!!
That’s right . . . Royal Flush. Boo-ya!! This happened at the beginning of the trip, but unfortunately I lost a good amount of it back to the casino as my luck ran out after this (not all of it, I’m not the hubs afterall).
Well, some interesting people were seen and also some interesting things on ye ole telly. Before I get to the freak sightings, did you know there was a bed bug sniffing dog? Well, there is. And apparently she lives in Jersey. So, if you have bedbugs, you may wanna talk to someone in Jersey. Maybe the doggy will travel for the right fee.
Also, there was this commercial for a news station (NBC 40 in case you were wondering) that had this song playing while showing different scenes of south Jersey (one of which was a shirtless Guido in a boat, natch), and while the song was playing, there were the words to the song on the bottom of the screen with a follow-along bouncy ball. One of the phrases of the song that struck me as odd was this: “We don’t live in Philly . . . and neither do YOU!” What’s with the Philly hate, Jersey? What’s up with that?
Oh, and then we caught the very end of SNL and got to see Foster the People play some song that isn’t Pumped Up Kicks. Now, here’s the thing. I know it had been a long day of gambling and walking around on the boardwalk and all, so I might have just been hallucinating from exhaustion, but I swear at the end of the song, FUCKING KENNY G came out and started jamming with the band on his clarinet. Was I in the twilight zone or did anyone else see this hot mess? Just wondering here, because I think I may have lost my mind a little in AC.
Ok, on to what you have been waiting for . . . freak sightings, courtesy of AC:
Let’s start with this one. Rather tame, but there was a lot of jiggle with the betting and so much ink (note the obligatory chest tat), that I had to capture it. It was much more impressive in person:
Put it all on RED.
Ok, now that you are sufficiently warmed up, I will hit you with the good stuff. The hubs (who was on freak look-out duty) caught this one. In his words, “oh, I see she wore her good sweatpants to the casino.” Love that man.
The sox are making me hawt!
Are you turned on yet? How about this . . .
Side view
Didn’t think it could get any better, did you? Well, you’re welcome.
Ok, on to the boardwalk, where there were all manner of fun and exciting sites to behold. First, we passed this:
Take me around the world, baby.
You know, for when you are all stressed and uptight while you are walking along the boardwalk. What you obviously need is a happy ending!
Next, we stopped in the obligatory head shop, and saw this specimen of awesomeness:
Wanna smoke?
Let me tell you, this was one impressive hookah. Next time I’m having 20 or so people over for a little smoke break, I am getting this mother.
Then we saw this, which just was not fair:
Mmmm . . . Reese's
I didn’t get any, in case you were wondering. Didn’t want to spoil my appetite for dinner since we were going all fancy and shit. But boy did I want one!
Ok, now for the people on the boardwalk . . . I give you: Pimp-mobile!
That is a sweet ride, my brotha!
I don’t know, maybe it’s just me . . . but I feel like you may lose a bit of your thug status if you are tooling around on a scooter. It’s much tougher to slap a ho from a sitting position as well, I would imagine. Those hookers wear some tall ass heels.
Ok, you guys. I just don’ t know what is happening with this ensemble:
No words for this
I’m not sure even where to start . . . the booty heels with super short shorts all ripped to shreds, making sure to show the tattoos on her upper thigh? The long string of pearls that she is playing with? The half shirt with the lace doilies on the shoulder? Or the cheetah print wrap on her head (if it’s a religious thing, my bad)? I’m really not sure how she doesn’t have a chest tatoo, though. I thought those were mandatory.
And we saw this, and I asked the hubs if he thought it was sexy. His answer was yes. I think it’s crass. But I’m not a guy, so what do I know. Fellas?
Oh baby, show me your ass crack.
All right, y’all. I guess it’s time. Hooker-time!! Da da da da, da da, da da-Hooker-time!!
Hookers are fast!
This is blurry cuz this Ho obviously had somewhere to be, and quickly. That girl was moving. Didn’t wanna keep the john waiting I guess. Maybe her pimp is Mr. Scooter-slap-a-ho?
I really wish this one had turned out better, because the whore outfit was truly spectacular. You get a taste with this, though:
Um, you may have forgotten your dress, lady.
And yes, that is one whole dress. And there was a lot hanging out all over the place. She was lovely.
Well, that’s pretty much it for the sights and sounds of AC. Hope you enjoyed living vicariously through my telling of the tale. And no, you cannot borrow any money. Damn slacker. Get a job!
I will leave you with this . . . on the way home, somewhere in Delaware I believe, we came upon this magnificent creature. Behold . . . a 50 foot Virgin Mary:
Holy Mother Of GOD!!!
Conversations with My 6 Year Old
12 Oct 2011 18 Comments
in Silly Boys
Last night, my son & I were watching the second hour of Dancing with the Stars that I had recorded on Monday night. It was movie score night. He has watched the show with me a couple times this season, so he recognizes a few of the dancers. The first couple he saw dance last night was Maks & Hope. They were dancing to the Toy Story theme….
6: Why are they dancing to this?
Me: It’s movie theme night. Every couple dances to a different movie song.
6: Gasp! Did they already do Mickey and Beauty & the Beast???
Me: Not Disney sweetie, just movies.
Then later, as the next dancers were dancing (Rob & Cheryl maybe?):
6: Is it always boy/girl dancing together or can there be boy/boy or girl/girl?
Me: Only boy/girl on this show (I am NOT prepared to explain Chaz, yet).
6: Why?
Me: That’s just what they do on this show. But I’m sure when you get older & have school dances, you will see boys & girls dancing with each other because there are lots of different people and couples in the world, right?
6: Right.
I love how accepting he is.
Then, during the scoring of Ricki & Derrick:
6: Wow! Is that the first 10 of the year???
Me: Yep.
He’s so damn observant, that boy.
Later, it was time for bed, but it was right before the last couple’s scores……
6: I want to stay up to see the scores!
Me: No, it’s late. Up to bed, now.
6: Will you tell me the scores in the morning?
Me: Yes.
After he is in bed, I come downstairs & watch the end where they say the scores, and I see a head peek out of his room….
6: Ha ha, I heard the scores!
Me: Go. To. Bed.
Oh, and then he treated me to this vocal gem all night as well:
“All the other kids with the rum ba dum, gotta bum da da bum, faster than my bubbles.”
(that would be Pumped Up Kicks by Foster the People, in case you didn’t actually recognize the alternate lyrics).
Love that kid!
Guilty!! Of Being an A$$hole.
05 Oct 2011 32 Comments
in Workin' It
I almost had to write this post from behind bars. They allow blogging from prison, right? Anyway, the reason I almost went to the big house this week, was because I was a complete and total asshole to a Judge. Any other Judge might have thrown my ass in the slammer and then thrown away the key. Luckily, I was not in front of any other Judge.
So, this is how it went. I had a case scheduled for hearing. The defendant was unrepresented, so I had a chat with him before court as to what he wanted to do. Whether he wanted to have a full hearing or he wanted to admit that he was guilty and have me just read a statement of facts (basically outlining the facts I would need to prove for him to be found guilty). He chose to admit guilt and I told him I would request that disposition/sentencing be postponed so he could do certain things to get back on track, and that I would not ask for incarceration that day. He was completely and totally fine with it and I did not twist him arm in any way. Basically, I had a very strong case and he knew he was guilty. It is quite common with my cases that we proceed this way because we often are not trying to throw the defendants in jail, but attempting to get them to do certain things to make the Plaintiff whole, so to speak.
Anyway, we are all set to proceed this way, so we all go into the court, the defendant is advised of his rights on the record (by me), and waives his right to a trial and states he wants to proceed by admitting guilt and with a statement of facts.
Now, I am not going to get into the details or facts of the case, but I will say that this defendant was actually adhering to his order a little. Not completely and not as he should be, but a little. The law is clear that it has to be complete though, so he was obviously guilty, but there was that.
So, I read the statement of facts, making sure to make this point as well about his partial-compliance, but being sure to note his ability to do more to fulfill his obligation and his failure to do so.
The Judge at this point starts asking the defendant questions about what he has done, etc. He then starts to make comments about how he doesn’t really think that the defendant should be found guilty in this case. So I start to make a legal argument and present the facts supporting my argument, but the Judge just doesn’t seem to buy it. He starts talking about how he thinks it should be X and how he doesn’t see that here, and I try to explain that X is not a requirement of this law.
So after a bit of back and forth between the Judge and myself about what the law actually is, the Judge finally says that “well, since you are saying you are guilty, I guess I’ll find you guilty. But only because you are admitting it. If you weren’t, I probably wouldn’t be finding you guilty. Oh, and if you get a lawyer, you might want to tell him to appeal this case, because this is a perfect case for that.”
Ok, so this is where I start to lose it a little. Well, maybe a lot. I am steaming. First, to tell the defendant that he otherwise wouldn’t be finding him guilty except for the admission is ridiculous. The law is clear and the Judge was wrong. Second, to then give the defendant legal advice about the how he should go appeal this case? Yeah, that set me over the edge.
Well, the Judge, after saying this bullshit, then says to me, “I know that you and I don’t agree on this . . .” to which I immediately replied, in my snarkiest of tones:
I AGREE WITH THE LAW, YOUR HONOR.
And that was the moment I almost lost my freedom. The Judge, a tiny little elf of a man who retired years ago but was just filling in for the morning, was physically taken aback. He moved back in his chair and said, with a shocked look on his face, “oh oh oh OH.”
Of course I realized I had fucked up at this point, and said, “no disrespect intended your honor,” to which he replied, “oh no, that was disrespect. I will remember THIS!”
Uh oh. Now I was in trouble. I had never meant to be nasty to the Judge. I was just all fired up and it slipped out. I mean, I totally meant to say it, it wasn’t an accident or anything, but I didn’t mean for it to come out so flippant and harsh.
See? I AM AN ASSHOLE.
Once the case was over and I slinked with tail between my legs back over to the side of the courtroom, the Judge told me he wanted me to show him this law I was referring to. So of course I ran to get the statute book, hurriedly flipped through pages so as to make sure I was right (I had to be right! I mean, if you are gonna kick a bear in the balls, you better be wearing steel toed boots), and finally found the legal reference that saved my ass.
When I approached the bench to show him my statute, I started by apologizing profusely and admitting it was unprofessional and inappropriate (yes, even I can eat crow when it is warranted), and the Judge graciously accepted my apology.
Then he proceeded to argue with me, statute in hand, about how he still thought I was wrong. Pfft. Whatever Judge. But I was gonna have to just let that one go, obviously.
So, that is the story of how being a rude asshole to a Judge is not really a good idea. Reign that shit in.
Any inappropriateness that almost got your ass locked up? Ever tell off a Judge? Or is that just me . . .
Bringing it . . . again!
03 Oct 2011 16 Comments
Well, after a couple days, I needed to go retrieve my watch from the clutches of my new sugar daddy and his minions of watch repairing elves. When I walked into the shop, there was a different guy there and of course my heart was immediately crushed. Might I not see the man of my dreams again? So, even as heartbroken as I was, I did still need my watch, so I handed the man my ticket. A couple minutes later, much to my delight, out comes my man. He was smiling like he was a ten year old girl and I was his pony under the christmas tree. In his hand was my newly repaired watch. While I had been waiting for my watch to arrive, I had picked out a car charger for my phone as well, yet there was no price on it. So when he emerged, I asked him how much. “For you? $10.” A reasonable price, no doubt. And obviously being discounted for my fabulousness, I’m sure. There is no way that is the actual price. Nope. That is so the do-me discount.
The watch that started it all.
So, I give him my credit card to pay for my items. After he takes it, he leans in close, and I mean really really close (be still my beating heart), looks right into my eyes and says, “you always look good.” What a sweetie.
Then off he went to ring up my purchases. When he returned, still grinning like the love struck fool that he was, I signed my credit card slip and was about to make my way back to the office. This is when he felt that he needed some type of contact. Some touch before I retreated from his presence. So he stuck out his hand for me to shake . . . and said, “I will see you” with a slightly upturned you on the end, almost like a question. So, of course, having never experienced something so magical in all of my life, I gratefully accepted his outstretched hand, matched it with mine and responded, “um, yeah, I guess I’ll see you next time. I need a battery. Or something.” I feel that spoke to our unspoken love. He knew my true feelings and I knew his. Words are not needed in these situations. I will see him again. If I need . . . something. You know what I’m saying.
Oh, and then returning to the office, there was a gentleman in the elevator. He was a tall dreadlocked man who was wearing his best sweatpants and rasta T-shirt. Probably had a job interview. He did hold the elevator door open for me, so he was an actual nice person. And as I was exiting the elevator, 2 floors prior to his destination, he said to me, “your hair looks really nice.”
Bringing it. Like I said.
Want some styling tips? Ways to woo the menfolk? Dress in your sexiest business casual attire? I’m here for ya. I’m an expert, apparently.
