So, every night this week, I've had to call in to see if I needed to report for Jury Duty. And every night, I heard the same message, "You do not need to report in tomorrow" and I'm always all, "Yeah, baby!"
Well, last night (Thursday) I completely forgot to call in so when I got up this morning and went to check my e-mails, I saw my jury summons and was all, "Crap! I forgot to call in!" and immediately called, expecting to hear, "We don't need you because it's Friday and who decides to start trials on a Friday?" message.
Ha ha, right. This time, I hear, "You are to report for jury duty at 7:45am this morning" and I'm all, "CRAP!!!" because it's 6:30 and I haven't had a shower or fed the dog or made Thing 2's lunch (yes, I make her lunch every day) and I'm all, "Crap, crap, crap!" It felt like such a dirty trick, making me think I'm home free only to have someone, the voice on the automated system, yell, "PSYCH!!"
I have just enough time to shower and throw on a pair of pants and shirt but no time to apply any makeup other than mascara, which really made no difference so I don't know why I even bothered with that, grabbed my purse, a book, a pad of paper, a couple of granola bars and hightailed it out the door because by this time, I had about 20 minutes to make it from my house on the east side of Long Beach to the courthouse located downtown.
But first, I needed to make a quick trip through the drive-thru at the local Crack House for My Usual because I was STARVING and I could just eat while I was driving. That didn't work out so good because I managed to drip salsa verde on my lap AND down my top and I'm all, "Crap!" although that's not quite the word I used but we'll go with it.
And then, because there's traffic construction every other street, I pretty much had to take the Ho Chi Minh Trail to get to the courthouse because every time I made a turn, I'd hit yet another "Detour" sign that would send me in another direction and at one point I could have sworn I ended up driving in a big circle thanks to the stupid "Detour" signs.
So I finally get to the courthouse and totally make an illegal left turn into the parking garage and me and my stained clothes scamper to the entrance where I pretty much have to disrobe to go through the metal detector and people are staring at my chesticle area because of the big stains and I'm all, "What, you've never seen green sauce from Del Taco before?" before tossing my clean but mostly uncombed mane of hair and heading for the escalator. Which isn't working.
Anyone who's ever been to the Courthouse in Long Beach knows the place is on the verge of collapse and really should have been condemned and torn down in a massive display of pyrotechnics years ago but no, no such luck. Ironically, in today's paper there was an article about how the Long Beach Courthouse is the worst in the state. Half the time the elevators and escalators are out of order, like this time. So I start hoofing up the non-moving escalators which is a weird feeling because the steps are different heights and it really throws your balance off. But I make it all the way to the 6th floor without having a coronary and arrive in the jury room with the other 50 or 60 Law Abiding Citizens who didn't ignore their Jury Summons the way I've done a time or two. Uh, I mean, put it aside and forgot about it. Yeah! That's it! I FORGOT about it.
So all of us Chosen People are sitting there, staring at each other or our cellphones in various states of irritation, exhaustion and resignation. Then we're instructed to take out our jury summonses because they have to be filled out and turned in and guess who didn't have her jury summons to fill out and turn in? That would be me. Mine was still sitting on my desk back at home. Of course.
So I tell the nice lady who's in charge that I didn't have my summons with me to fill out and turn in and she tells me I have to go and talk to "George" and I go and talk to "George" and tell him I forgot my jury summons that needed to be filled out and turned in and he gives me The Look, sighs heavily and looks up my name on the computer and prints out a new one and I return sheepishly to my chair to fill it out and turn it in as everyone is staring at me because I was the ONLY person to have forgotten her paperwork. Or they were staring at the big stains on my boobs. No, I'm pretty sure they were staring because of the paperwork issue.
By the time everyone had filled out and turned in their paperwork and/or been excused for whatever reasons, it was 8:45 and it was Break Time until 9:15. So I went out onto the rooftop deck, which is really the only redeeming feature because it overlooks the Long Beach Harbor and I look down on Ocean Blvd, watching the cars go by and then I look out toward the harbor and watch the ships in port and then I jot down some notes and then I stare out at the harbor some more and then it's time to go back in to the jury room and wait.
Around 9:30, 9:45, about 15 people get called to go to a courtroom. I am not one of them, which on one hand, I'm all, "Whew! Dodged another one!" but on the other hand, I'm all, "Dang, I didn't get picked." So the Unchosen of us sit there and wait. And we wait. Aaaaand, we wait. Those people who didn't bring laptops or netbooks are either reading, dozing, staring stupidly in to space or are on their phones.
Even though I had brought a book, I wasn't in a hurry to start reading because the last time around, I brought a book that wasn't a quick read and by the time I was finally dismissed, I had read about 2/3 of it and my neck was stiff from looking down at the book and my eyes were aching and my head was blurry.
I tried to keep occupied by checking my e-mails, posting status updates on Facebook, commenting on other people's status updates, responding to comments about my updates, texting my kids even though they were both in school, texting my favorite non-biological son Adam who was at work but was as bored as I was, surfed the web, played the Yahtzee app on my phone a dozen times, looked around the room but not make eye contact with anyone, played "here is the church and here is the steeple" with my hands and then I did that thing with my hands where you clasp your hands and then flip one hand over so that the two middle fingers wiggle and I looked at all the pictures on my phone including a picture of my new Boyfriend and then I Google more images of my Boyfriend because he's THAT HOT but I had to stop doing that because I was Heavy Sigh-ing a little too loudly which drew even more stares and I'd post pictures of my Boyfriend but Blogger is not letting me post pictures at this time (Bastards!) so if you want to see my Boyfriend just Google "Jason Statham" and you'll see what I'm talking about. HOT is what he is.
So by this time I'm about to go nuts (and No, I do NOT have ADD or ADHD; I was just bored) and am thinking how I will last until we break for lunch at noon but at 11:00, we're dismissed for lunch, which means I have 2-1/2 hours to kill. I could have gone home but then I wouldn't have wanted to drive back so instead I went to my sister's house and hung out with her cats and ate some lunch and called TheManTheMyth to find out what he was doing (finishing concrete with no time for idle chitchat).
Back to the courthouse at 1:30 and I finally decide to read my book after making arrangements to have Favorite Son Adam pick up Thing 2 from school (this is why he's The Favorite and Thing 1 is Not). Just as I'm getting into my book, we're dismissed and told we have completed our annual Civic Duty. It's 2:15.
So let's see, we sat around for an hour, took a 1/2 hour break, sat around for roughly 1.5 hours, took a 2.5 hour lunch, sat around for 45 minutes and that's it. We're done.
Despite my inability to keep my mouth shut which, for some reason, is frowned upon when one is serving on a jury, I really would like to experience being on a jury at least once. But, something tells me that probably won't happen because of the whole, "Don't talk about the case" rule they have and we all know, it's not in my genetics to stay silent.
But as long as they keep calling me, I'll keep trying. Because it's my Civic Duty.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Doing my Civic Duty
Or, not. At least, not today. Yes, I'm talking about jury duty. I got me one of them summonses and why I'm a-talkin' like this I don't rightly know. Anyway, I had received a summons several months ago and like many people do, I tossed it aside and completely forgot about it. Until I received another Official Summons that told me that if I did not respond This Time, I would be in big, BIG trouble and since I really don't want to be in trouble with The Man, I followed the rules and was told I needed to report for duty today but to call first just to make sure. So I did. Called first and lo and behold I did not need to report in but I still have to call in every day this week. No biggie.
I'm probably one of the few people who doesn't groan and moan when I get my annual summons for jury duty. Not because I'm all, "It's my Civic Duty and I'm Proud to serve!" but because there is some really, REALLY good people watching when one is doing jury duty. And I'm all about the people watching. Plus, it provides some good blog fodder, something I seem to be short of lately.
Actually, I've only had to report to the courthouse one time and was sent to a courtroom for jury selection. And that was where the fun began. It was a burglary case and 11 of the 12 jurors had been selected. Juror Seat #12 turned out to be the hot seat. Or cold seat since everyone who sat in that seat and was questioned about their eligibility to serve was excused. While waiting for my number to be called, I noticed the gal sitting next to me was doing an odd thing. She was plucking out her hair, a strand at a time. She'd pluck out a strand and then break that strand into small pieces. Then she'd do it again and again I'm all, "What the hell?" and then SHE's called up and is being questioned about being able to serve and then I get it: she's nuttier than a fruitcake. And was ineligible to serve because she was a defendant in an assault case (on her own mother, no less) and was in anger management therapy and I'm all, "WHACKJOB!"
Finally, my number is called and I'm asked questions that ranged from what I do for a living (Domestic Goddess) to the number of kids I have (2, sometimes more depending on the day of the week) and other stuff. I was being my usual witty self and causing chuckles from the other 11 jurors, the lawyers, the judge and the spectators. I'm passing with flying colors and it looks as if I will be Juror #12. And then they blew it.
They reminded me that as a juror, I will not be allowed to discuss the case with anyone and I'm all, "Well, you just lost me right there" and they're all, "What? What do you mean?" and I'm all, "Well, you see, I'm a Perkins Girl and what we do, is Talk. I will talk about the case with my husband, my sisters, the ladies of the message board I post on because it's what I do, I talk. I'm a talker, it's who I Am." And the two attorneys keep trying to get me to understand that I can't talk and I'm all, "You're joking, right? Have you even been LISTENING?" and they keep trying and even the judge gets into the act and I'm all, "Hey, I swore to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God and if I said I'd keep my piehole shut I'd be lying and God will come down and beat me up and I'm not willing to risk opening a jar of God whoop-ass, thank you very much" and even the defendant is laughing and after going round and round, finally the legal eagles all throw up their hands in defeat and I am excused and thanked for doing my civic duty and I'm all, "Any time!" and as I walked out the door, I looked back and the judge was sitting there with his head in his hands.
I think I broke him.
And thus, I completed my Civic Duty for the year.
I'm probably one of the few people who doesn't groan and moan when I get my annual summons for jury duty. Not because I'm all, "It's my Civic Duty and I'm Proud to serve!" but because there is some really, REALLY good people watching when one is doing jury duty. And I'm all about the people watching. Plus, it provides some good blog fodder, something I seem to be short of lately.
Actually, I've only had to report to the courthouse one time and was sent to a courtroom for jury selection. And that was where the fun began. It was a burglary case and 11 of the 12 jurors had been selected. Juror Seat #12 turned out to be the hot seat. Or cold seat since everyone who sat in that seat and was questioned about their eligibility to serve was excused. While waiting for my number to be called, I noticed the gal sitting next to me was doing an odd thing. She was plucking out her hair, a strand at a time. She'd pluck out a strand and then break that strand into small pieces. Then she'd do it again and again I'm all, "What the hell?" and then SHE's called up and is being questioned about being able to serve and then I get it: she's nuttier than a fruitcake. And was ineligible to serve because she was a defendant in an assault case (on her own mother, no less) and was in anger management therapy and I'm all, "WHACKJOB!"
Finally, my number is called and I'm asked questions that ranged from what I do for a living (Domestic Goddess) to the number of kids I have (2, sometimes more depending on the day of the week) and other stuff. I was being my usual witty self and causing chuckles from the other 11 jurors, the lawyers, the judge and the spectators. I'm passing with flying colors and it looks as if I will be Juror #12. And then they blew it.
They reminded me that as a juror, I will not be allowed to discuss the case with anyone and I'm all, "Well, you just lost me right there" and they're all, "What? What do you mean?" and I'm all, "Well, you see, I'm a Perkins Girl and what we do, is Talk. I will talk about the case with my husband, my sisters, the ladies of the message board I post on because it's what I do, I talk. I'm a talker, it's who I Am." And the two attorneys keep trying to get me to understand that I can't talk and I'm all, "You're joking, right? Have you even been LISTENING?" and they keep trying and even the judge gets into the act and I'm all, "Hey, I swore to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God and if I said I'd keep my piehole shut I'd be lying and God will come down and beat me up and I'm not willing to risk opening a jar of God whoop-ass, thank you very much" and even the defendant is laughing and after going round and round, finally the legal eagles all throw up their hands in defeat and I am excused and thanked for doing my civic duty and I'm all, "Any time!" and as I walked out the door, I looked back and the judge was sitting there with his head in his hands.
I think I broke him.
And thus, I completed my Civic Duty for the year.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
A Young Man's Fancy
Ok, so this past Monday morning, not the previous Monday where he was mowed down by a hit-and-run driver who the police are doing nothing to apprehend, but THIS past Monday, my son Thing 1 walks into my office and plops down on the sofa while I'm busy working at reading various message boards and blogs and ignoring the pile of paperwork that is taking over my desk. So he sits there for a few minutes, saying nothing and it finally occurs to me that he's not sitting there to provide companionship in the minutes before he leaves for school. I realize that he wants to talk to me, his mommy. The majority of talks in our family take place in my office, for some reason. I think it's the sofa. Even Thing 1's cronies head straight to the sofa when they want to talk or ask advice while I sit in my desk chair, feeling all therapist-like. I need to get a clipboard and pad of paper to have on hand for these moments. "Tell me how you FEEL."
Anyway, I swivel my chair around to face him and say, "You look like there's something you want to talk about" and he has this self-conscious grin on his face and nods. And I'm expecting something about how he needs even more $$$ for school or something but what he tells me just about knocks me over with a feather.
"Mom" he says, "I want you to know that as of Saturday, I'm officially seeing someone" and he sits there all nervous and I say, "Oh." The last time Thing 1 had a "girlfriend" was in 6th grade and he's shown no further interest since then because he's been focused on his motorcycle racing career and a girlfriend would just be a distraction.
I ask him who because as far as I knew, the only girl that he's shown much interest in is the younger sister of his best friend who told him there is no way in hell he will allow Kevin to even go near his sister and it turned into a running joke and fun to watch Adam froth at the mouth at the thought of his little sister dating one of his friends.
Anyway. I ask Kevin who he's seeing and once again, he manages to surprise me. He's seeing a girl who pursued him to the point of stalking their Junior year and he got all freaked out by her "attentions" and blocked her number from his phone and let her know he WAS NOT INTERESTED and to please leave him alone. That's his new girlfriend. I guess she finally wore him down. Once upon a time, I used the same ploy to pursue the object of my affections and I finally got him so I kind of like her already.
We have a mature, serious talk about his new relationship (do NOT make me a grandmother any time soon!) and then he has to leave for school. As he's walking away, he stops and gives me a puzzled look and I, who know my son, say, "You're thrown off because I didn't react the way you expected, right?" and he's all "Yeah, I thought you'd get be all, "My little boy! and squeal and make a big deal out of it and embarrass me" and I'm all, "No, I'm saving that for when you bring her home to meet the family. Duh."
Oh, and he says, "You're probably gonna run to the computer and blog about this as soon as I leave, aren't you?" and I'm all, "What? No! Are you kidding?" as I study my cuticles and look everywhere except at him.
Please. Does he not know me after 18 years? OF COURSE I would blog about it. But I did show restraint and waited several days instead of the minute he left for school. And I also showed remarkable restraint by not running out the door after him when she picked him up last night. Kevin said he's not ready to introduce us yet. I have no idea why.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find all the pictures of him taken during the period when he was "Naked Boy" and would run around the house wearing nothing but a red cape.
She'll want to see them. It'll be a bonding moment for us.
Anyway, I swivel my chair around to face him and say, "You look like there's something you want to talk about" and he has this self-conscious grin on his face and nods. And I'm expecting something about how he needs even more $$$ for school or something but what he tells me just about knocks me over with a feather.
"Mom" he says, "I want you to know that as of Saturday, I'm officially seeing someone" and he sits there all nervous and I say, "Oh." The last time Thing 1 had a "girlfriend" was in 6th grade and he's shown no further interest since then because he's been focused on his motorcycle racing career and a girlfriend would just be a distraction.
I ask him who because as far as I knew, the only girl that he's shown much interest in is the younger sister of his best friend who told him there is no way in hell he will allow Kevin to even go near his sister and it turned into a running joke and fun to watch Adam froth at the mouth at the thought of his little sister dating one of his friends.
Anyway. I ask Kevin who he's seeing and once again, he manages to surprise me. He's seeing a girl who pursued him to the point of stalking their Junior year and he got all freaked out by her "attentions" and blocked her number from his phone and let her know he WAS NOT INTERESTED and to please leave him alone. That's his new girlfriend. I guess she finally wore him down. Once upon a time, I used the same ploy to pursue the object of my affections and I finally got him so I kind of like her already.
We have a mature, serious talk about his new relationship (do NOT make me a grandmother any time soon!) and then he has to leave for school. As he's walking away, he stops and gives me a puzzled look and I, who know my son, say, "You're thrown off because I didn't react the way you expected, right?" and he's all "Yeah, I thought you'd get be all, "My little boy! and squeal and make a big deal out of it and embarrass me" and I'm all, "No, I'm saving that for when you bring her home to meet the family. Duh."
Oh, and he says, "You're probably gonna run to the computer and blog about this as soon as I leave, aren't you?" and I'm all, "What? No! Are you kidding?" as I study my cuticles and look everywhere except at him.
Please. Does he not know me after 18 years? OF COURSE I would blog about it. But I did show restraint and waited several days instead of the minute he left for school. And I also showed remarkable restraint by not running out the door after him when she picked him up last night. Kevin said he's not ready to introduce us yet. I have no idea why.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find all the pictures of him taken during the period when he was "Naked Boy" and would run around the house wearing nothing but a red cape.
She'll want to see them. It'll be a bonding moment for us.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
The tires are flat on the Wheels of Justice
It's funny, the other day, June over at ByeByePie asked us, her faithful and devoted followers, for input on relieving the stress in our lives and what we did to relax. I am not a highly strung person, I'm not a stress case, I have no need of anti-anxiety medication because I'm just about the most easy going person you'll meet.
Although when Thing 1 born, shortly after his birth I noticed I was having terrible headaches and my jaw ached so I went to The Doctor and it was discovered that I was clenching my teeth in my sleep (what little sleep I got during the first 2 years of Thing 1's life) due to the stress and shock of being a new parent to a VERY colicky baby. So he prescribed Xanax to be taken at bedtime to help me have a relaxed and restful sleep. I took it and boy, did I sleep the sleep of the dead. Not only did I sleep through the night all relaxed and uninterrupted, I slept through my crying infant, my alarm, the back up alarm and the numerous phone calls from my job when I did not show up for work. I finally emerged from my drug-induced sleep around 11:00am. Good times. I rarely take anything stronger than ibuprofen these days.
But in the last week, my stress level AND blood pressure have been at dangerously high levels. Why? Let's blame the Long Beach Police Department, shall we?
As I mentioned in my last post, Thing 1 had been the victim of a hit and run driver and after a week of calling the LBPD every day and getting nowhere, I finally make contact with the detective in charge of the case and what he told me nearly made me pop my cork.
What he told me was, basically, nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. The extent of their effort to apprehend the driver of the car has been, get this, sending a letter to the registered owner and await a reply. Uh huh. Like THAT'S going to happen. Someone who leaves the scene of an accident where they mowed down a kid in a crosswalk isn't going to call the police and say, "Um yeah, I got a letter from you and what? You want me to come down to headquarters? Oh, sure, I'll be right there!" And, it gets better, they will not release any information. If we want any information, like the name and address of the car owner and the accident/police report, we have to pay for it. And it will take about 3 weeks to receive the report. If we don't fork over the "fee" we will have absolutely nothing. Except a destroyed bicycle and a driver who is free to mow down even more unsuspecting people in crosswalks.
Oh! And when Kevin requested the report and pointed out that victims of crimes aren't required to pay the fee, he was told he wasn't a victim of a crime. I believe my eyes bulged due to the sudden spike in blood pressure when Kevin reported that little tidbit and there was steam coming out of my ears.
It's so nice to know that Kevin is a victim of not only that maniac behind the wheel but also of the Long Beach Police Department. And the police wonder why citizens get so angry and riot in the streets.
Hmmmm.
Although when Thing 1 born, shortly after his birth I noticed I was having terrible headaches and my jaw ached so I went to The Doctor and it was discovered that I was clenching my teeth in my sleep (what little sleep I got during the first 2 years of Thing 1's life) due to the stress and shock of being a new parent to a VERY colicky baby. So he prescribed Xanax to be taken at bedtime to help me have a relaxed and restful sleep. I took it and boy, did I sleep the sleep of the dead. Not only did I sleep through the night all relaxed and uninterrupted, I slept through my crying infant, my alarm, the back up alarm and the numerous phone calls from my job when I did not show up for work. I finally emerged from my drug-induced sleep around 11:00am. Good times. I rarely take anything stronger than ibuprofen these days.
But in the last week, my stress level AND blood pressure have been at dangerously high levels. Why? Let's blame the Long Beach Police Department, shall we?
As I mentioned in my last post, Thing 1 had been the victim of a hit and run driver and after a week of calling the LBPD every day and getting nowhere, I finally make contact with the detective in charge of the case and what he told me nearly made me pop my cork.
What he told me was, basically, nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. The extent of their effort to apprehend the driver of the car has been, get this, sending a letter to the registered owner and await a reply. Uh huh. Like THAT'S going to happen. Someone who leaves the scene of an accident where they mowed down a kid in a crosswalk isn't going to call the police and say, "Um yeah, I got a letter from you and what? You want me to come down to headquarters? Oh, sure, I'll be right there!" And, it gets better, they will not release any information. If we want any information, like the name and address of the car owner and the accident/police report, we have to pay for it. And it will take about 3 weeks to receive the report. If we don't fork over the "fee" we will have absolutely nothing. Except a destroyed bicycle and a driver who is free to mow down even more unsuspecting people in crosswalks.
Oh! And when Kevin requested the report and pointed out that victims of crimes aren't required to pay the fee, he was told he wasn't a victim of a crime. I believe my eyes bulged due to the sudden spike in blood pressure when Kevin reported that little tidbit and there was steam coming out of my ears.
It's so nice to know that Kevin is a victim of not only that maniac behind the wheel but also of the Long Beach Police Department. And the police wonder why citizens get so angry and riot in the streets.
Hmmmm.
Monday, September 20, 2010
It's a Hit!
So, last Monday, September 13 at 1:38pm Pacific Standard Time, my phone rings. RING RING! It's my beautiful little boy (yeah, he's 18 but he's still my little boy). Mom, he says, I need you to come down to right past the freeway." Just as I'm thinking he's going to tell me he got a flat tire on his bike on his way home from school (I had told him he needed to put air in his rear tire) and doesn't want to push it the final 150 feet home, he says, "I JUST GOT HIT BY A CAR and the police are on their way." And I'm all "WHAT THE EFF?!?!?" and he tells me he's the victim of a hit-and-run and I'm all "WHAT THE EFF?!?!?" and I don't know whether to run to the scene of the accident or drive and I elect to drive, although I probably would have got there faster by running (don't laugh; I actually CAN run).
So I turn the corner from our house and I see fire trucks and paramedics and police cars, all with lights a-flashing and I'm thinking to myself, "Cheezus Christ what's next with this kid?" what with his broken knee and then injuring his shoulder and now he gets HIT BY A CAR.
A car that decided not to stop for a) the Stop Sign and 2) the 6' tall blond teenager on the Schwinn beach cruiser that was in the middle of the crosswalk. I mean, c'mon, it's not like Kevin is easy to overlook, especially when he's IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CROSSWALK fercryinoutloud.
So the lady in the car t-bones Kevin, he flies through the air and lands on the hood of her car. He falls off the hood onto the pavement and yells, "WHAT THE EFF?!?!?" (Note: neither of us actually said, "EFF;" we said the whole word). The driver takes that opportunity to hit the accelerator, runs over the bike still laying in the street and takes off down the road like a bat outta hell, with the bike trapped under her car and being dragged like roadkill if roadkill was made out of metal and caused smoke and sparks to fly like something out of a fireworks display. Kevin said it was really something seeing that happen. Something BAD.
There was another car at the stop sign and when Kevin got hit, the passenger jumped out to assist Kevin while her husband took off after the culprit. The bad news is, he didn't catch the driver; the good news is, he got the complete license plate AND retrieved the bike, which was about 1/2 mile away from the accident scene. Looking like bicycle roadkill.
The handlebars were actually ground down to wafer-thin:
And one of the pedals was torn off and scorched:
At the time of the accident, the police asked Kevin if he would be able to identify the driver and he said, "considering I was sprawled on her hood, staring at her through the windshield, I'm pretty sure that won't be a problem." And they asked him if he would want to press charges and that answer was pretty much a "No shit, Sherlock" although that's not a direct quote.
Luckily, our local police department has been right on top of the case. Oh. Wait. Scratch that. We have heard absolutely NOTHING despite my calling the department multiple times. The only information we received was at the scene of the accident when the license number was ran through the system and indicated the car was registered to a business in Gardena, which is several miles north of Long Beach. And that's all we know. We've received no accident report, no calls for Kevin to come down and identify a suspect, no calls from the driver's insurance company, if they even have one. For all we know, the driver, a middle-aged female, hightailed it to Canada to avoid arrest.
We don't want to have to call Larry H. Parker but it may be necessary if we don't get some answers here.
So that's what's going on in my neck of the woods. And one of the reasons I haven't been entertaining my 3 followers with my views and outlooks on Life lately. And because the creativity well just isn't producing and also too, I've been lazy.
I'll keep you posted. And try to start producing my usual witty and profound views to keep you entertained and coming back for more.
So I turn the corner from our house and I see fire trucks and paramedics and police cars, all with lights a-flashing and I'm thinking to myself, "Cheezus Christ what's next with this kid?" what with his broken knee and then injuring his shoulder and now he gets HIT BY A CAR.
A car that decided not to stop for a) the Stop Sign and 2) the 6' tall blond teenager on the Schwinn beach cruiser that was in the middle of the crosswalk. I mean, c'mon, it's not like Kevin is easy to overlook, especially when he's IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CROSSWALK fercryinoutloud.
So the lady in the car t-bones Kevin, he flies through the air and lands on the hood of her car. He falls off the hood onto the pavement and yells, "WHAT THE EFF?!?!?" (Note: neither of us actually said, "EFF;" we said the whole word). The driver takes that opportunity to hit the accelerator, runs over the bike still laying in the street and takes off down the road like a bat outta hell, with the bike trapped under her car and being dragged like roadkill if roadkill was made out of metal and caused smoke and sparks to fly like something out of a fireworks display. Kevin said it was really something seeing that happen. Something BAD.
There was another car at the stop sign and when Kevin got hit, the passenger jumped out to assist Kevin while her husband took off after the culprit. The bad news is, he didn't catch the driver; the good news is, he got the complete license plate AND retrieved the bike, which was about 1/2 mile away from the accident scene. Looking like bicycle roadkill.
Luckily, our local police department has been right on top of the case. Oh. Wait. Scratch that. We have heard absolutely NOTHING despite my calling the department multiple times. The only information we received was at the scene of the accident when the license number was ran through the system and indicated the car was registered to a business in Gardena, which is several miles north of Long Beach. And that's all we know. We've received no accident report, no calls for Kevin to come down and identify a suspect, no calls from the driver's insurance company, if they even have one. For all we know, the driver, a middle-aged female, hightailed it to Canada to avoid arrest.
We don't want to have to call Larry H. Parker but it may be necessary if we don't get some answers here.
So that's what's going on in my neck of the woods. And one of the reasons I haven't been entertaining my 3 followers with my views and outlooks on Life lately. And because the creativity well just isn't producing and also too, I've been lazy.
I'll keep you posted. And try to start producing my usual witty and profound views to keep you entertained and coming back for more.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Where's the gift receipt?
Dear Mother Nature,
We need to talk. I understand you have a job to do and that your job description includes delivering a "gift" on a monthly basis but lately, you've been getting a little out of hand in the delivery department.
It's called a "MONTHLY" gift, not a "BI-WEEKLY" gift. What, you're having a promotion? Get Two "Gifts" for the price of one month? That's mighty generous of you but you shouldn't have. Seriously, you shouldn't have. Getting a second "gift" in the span of 2 weeks is not what I call, well, a "gift."
And what's the deal with deciding to add in a little something extra, like HOT FLASHES? Really? Hot flashes at the same time? What is this, one of those "But Wait! There's More!" promotions? It's bad enough with the cramps and bloating and headaches and boobs that suddenly weigh the equivalent of a 1959 Cadillac along with the sudden desire to eat a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough and the ability to turn into a rabid wolverine at the drop of a hat without adding in sudden spike of body temperatures while in the midst of a cramp attack. I mean c'mon! It's not like you're working for UPS and get paid by the package. And worse, this is a gift that can't really be returned and exchanged for something better because you never include a gift receipt the way Target does.
You know how in every office there is one person who annoys everyone else because she makes an ostentatious display of just how hard she's working and how efficient she is and goes around changing everything and not for the better so that nobody knows where anything is anymore and it just creates more unnecessary work for everyone else and she's only doing it to earn suck-up points with the boss and everyone wants to just shrink-wrap her to her rolling desk chair and push her out the door and into the parking lot that just happens to be on a hill?
Yeah. You're rapidly turning into THAT person. So unless you want to be shrink-wrapped to your chair and shoved down a hill, KNOCK IT OFF!
Sincerely,
Crabby McHotFlash
We need to talk. I understand you have a job to do and that your job description includes delivering a "gift" on a monthly basis but lately, you've been getting a little out of hand in the delivery department.
It's called a "MONTHLY" gift, not a "BI-WEEKLY" gift. What, you're having a promotion? Get Two "Gifts" for the price of one month? That's mighty generous of you but you shouldn't have. Seriously, you shouldn't have. Getting a second "gift" in the span of 2 weeks is not what I call, well, a "gift."
And what's the deal with deciding to add in a little something extra, like HOT FLASHES? Really? Hot flashes at the same time? What is this, one of those "But Wait! There's More!" promotions? It's bad enough with the cramps and bloating and headaches and boobs that suddenly weigh the equivalent of a 1959 Cadillac along with the sudden desire to eat a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough and the ability to turn into a rabid wolverine at the drop of a hat without adding in sudden spike of body temperatures while in the midst of a cramp attack. I mean c'mon! It's not like you're working for UPS and get paid by the package. And worse, this is a gift that can't really be returned and exchanged for something better because you never include a gift receipt the way Target does.
You know how in every office there is one person who annoys everyone else because she makes an ostentatious display of just how hard she's working and how efficient she is and goes around changing everything and not for the better so that nobody knows where anything is anymore and it just creates more unnecessary work for everyone else and she's only doing it to earn suck-up points with the boss and everyone wants to just shrink-wrap her to her rolling desk chair and push her out the door and into the parking lot that just happens to be on a hill?
Yeah. You're rapidly turning into THAT person. So unless you want to be shrink-wrapped to your chair and shoved down a hill, KNOCK IT OFF!
Sincerely,
Crabby McHotFlash
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. Well, for the most part.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwcYbo7pjto
I don't know how to embed a video so you get to just click on the link to get the awesomeness of this commercial.
Anyhoo, My darling daughter, Thing 2, who FINALLY was able to get her registration handled after last week's fiasco, went back to school today as a Sophomore. No longer the annoying Freshman yet still not able to obtain an off-campus lunch pass because those are reserved for Juniors and Seniors only unless you know someone who can make counterfeit lunch passes. Which was another of Thing 1's nefarious enterprises along with making counterfeit parking passes, God help me.
So we're halfway to school when Thing 2, aka "The Dawdler" for her penchant to take forEVER to get ready in the mornings, tells me that I didn't take the traditional First Day of School picture. Ever since Thing 1 was in kindergarten, I have always, ALWAYS taken a picture of my kids on their first day of school. Ok, not always. When they were in elementary school, the school took First Day photos every year and sent them home with the kids along with an urgent message to please join the PTA. So lemme rephrase that. I always, ALWAYS had a First Day of School picture. And because I'm so meticulous in keeping my photos cataloged in acid free containers and by that I mean I toss them into a paper sack, I can only find one picture of my two offspring from the Elementary School years:
That was Kaylyn's first day of kindergarten and doesn't her brother look so excited to a) have his photo taken and 2) stand in close proximity to his little sister? Yeah, that's some brotherly love right there.
So the reason I didn't get a picture of Thing 2 this morning of her first day of her Sophomore year was because, wait for it, she was dawdling and we were late getting out the door and traffic is ALWAYS a nightmare so I completely forgot. But since she looks pretty much the same as last year, I'll just use last year's picture again. Recycle, reuse, reduce is my motto!
Just imagine that her shirt is white instead of yellow and there ya have it.
However, I DID get a photo of Thing 1 on his first day of college although he wasn't aware I took said photo and it wasn't exactly a portrait but I think it captures his true essence:
My little college boy. Who spent the weekend familiarizing himself with the dorms and the resident coeds and has now changed his tune from, "Why would I want to live in the dorms? That's for losers!" to "I wish I could live in the dorms" but since we live a whopping 1/4 mile from the campus and don't have the $10K in residential fees, he gets to sleep in his own bed. He also attended his first Frat party ("It was INSANE!") and BBQ/Mixer at the dorms and has spent every evening at the brand-spanking new State-of-the-Art Student Wellness Center with the swimming pool, jacuzzi, gym, bowling alley, volleyball courts including a Beach court, basketball courts, etc. And best of all, students have FREE use of all the amenities. And we like the word, "Free."
However, what's NOT Free is school supplies, including books. And lots of them. That's the bad part of school starting back up. Last week, Thing 1 gave me a list of the books he needs and I ordered every single book on the list he gave me (remember that part) and they arrived on Monday. Yesterday, he informs me that I didn't order all the books he needs and he needs them NOW and why didn't I order books that he didn't include on his list and why am I not able to read his mind and just KNOW what he needs? What kind of a mother am I? We went round and round arguing over his incomplete list and I was able to pull said list out of the trash and show him that, once again, I WAS RIGHT.
And Thing 2 will be coming home from her first day of school with a list of items that she HAS TO HAVE BY TOMORROW and of course we won't find everything we need at one location because by now the stores are pretty much picked clean and the cash register in my head is going Ka-ching! Ka-ching! Ka-ching! and Aunt Flo decided to show up today unexpectedly and despite all that, it's still The Most Wonderful Time of the Year!
Note to self: Don't forget to pick up Thing 2 from school this afternoon!
I don't know how to embed a video so you get to just click on the link to get the awesomeness of this commercial.
Anyhoo, My darling daughter, Thing 2, who FINALLY was able to get her registration handled after last week's fiasco, went back to school today as a Sophomore. No longer the annoying Freshman yet still not able to obtain an off-campus lunch pass because those are reserved for Juniors and Seniors only unless you know someone who can make counterfeit lunch passes. Which was another of Thing 1's nefarious enterprises along with making counterfeit parking passes, God help me.
So we're halfway to school when Thing 2, aka "The Dawdler" for her penchant to take forEVER to get ready in the mornings, tells me that I didn't take the traditional First Day of School picture. Ever since Thing 1 was in kindergarten, I have always, ALWAYS taken a picture of my kids on their first day of school. Ok, not always. When they were in elementary school, the school took First Day photos every year and sent them home with the kids along with an urgent message to please join the PTA. So lemme rephrase that. I always, ALWAYS had a First Day of School picture. And because I'm so meticulous in keeping my photos cataloged in acid free containers and by that I mean I toss them into a paper sack, I can only find one picture of my two offspring from the Elementary School years:
So the reason I didn't get a picture of Thing 2 this morning of her first day of her Sophomore year was because, wait for it, she was dawdling and we were late getting out the door and traffic is ALWAYS a nightmare so I completely forgot. But since she looks pretty much the same as last year, I'll just use last year's picture again. Recycle, reuse, reduce is my motto!
However, I DID get a photo of Thing 1 on his first day of college although he wasn't aware I took said photo and it wasn't exactly a portrait but I think it captures his true essence:
However, what's NOT Free is school supplies, including books. And lots of them. That's the bad part of school starting back up. Last week, Thing 1 gave me a list of the books he needs and I ordered every single book on the list he gave me (remember that part) and they arrived on Monday. Yesterday, he informs me that I didn't order all the books he needs and he needs them NOW and why didn't I order books that he didn't include on his list and why am I not able to read his mind and just KNOW what he needs? What kind of a mother am I? We went round and round arguing over his incomplete list and I was able to pull said list out of the trash and show him that, once again, I WAS RIGHT.
And Thing 2 will be coming home from her first day of school with a list of items that she HAS TO HAVE BY TOMORROW and of course we won't find everything we need at one location because by now the stores are pretty much picked clean and the cash register in my head is going Ka-ching! Ka-ching! Ka-ching! and Aunt Flo decided to show up today unexpectedly and despite all that, it's still The Most Wonderful Time of the Year!
Note to self: Don't forget to pick up Thing 2 from school this afternoon!
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