Ahhh . . . Sometimes I Tickle Myself

I went to court today. After the conclusion of trial proceedings, the judge told a strange story of a shackled defendant who shocked the court by displaying a scar, which was located in an intimate area. My own sense of propriety failing, I made the following request:


ME: May it please the Court? Counsel would like to show the Court her C-Section scar.

JUDGE: Counsel’s request is adamantly denied!


I didn’t really want to show off my scar, but I always hate to lose a motion.

Potty Paradox

As I sit impatiently at my desk waiting . . . waiting . . . and waiting, it occured to me:


The longer you have to wait on the person ahead of you in the restroom:

1. The more you need to go to the restroom, yet
2. The less you want to actually enter the restroom.

I need to invest in an S.C.B.A. for office use.

I'm pretty sure that was not my search.

Google keeps track of the terms you search. For those of you to whom this is news, I suggest you go back and clear your history. Trust me on this, you don't want your kid to be looking up "Bunsen Burners" for her science project only to discover that you have a deep seeded bunion fetish.

Anyhoo . . . I typed in the letter "f " into Google this afternoon and noticed this odd search term:



For the life of me, I cannot recall any projects that would have required "fat chicks" research.

What I have here is a real-life whodunit. WHO has been using my office computer? WHAT were they looking for? WHEN did this happen? WHY the hell didn't they use their own computer?!

If anyone has information that would assist in my office sleuthing, please drop me a line.

Time to retire the sign

Seeing as how teeth are nature's way of saying "time to ween," my days of pumping at work are coming to an end.

While I won't miss the inherently awkward experience of running a dairy operation out of my office, I will miss the sign I placed on my door while I was pumping.

Nothing says "don't bother me" like a cow on your door.

People wouldn't even knock when I had my sign up; documents would just magically appear under my door to be signed at my leisure.

It is with a heavy heart that I bid farewell to the deference, privacy, and quiet that was utterly commanded by my bovine sign (forgive the pun).

.

Smart Alec for Hire

I have three questions for you:
(yes you)

1. Are you an attorney living in Salt Lake City area?
2. Do you know an attorney living in Salt Lake City area?
3. Are you aware of law firms in the Salt Lake City area who need to hire a wise-cracking attorney?

If you have answered "yes" to any of these questions drop me a note! I would like very much to be employed when we move to Utah this summer.

My pitch:

• I am a hoot to have around the office
• I leave snacks in the break room
• I know my way around the courtroom

Until I have at least three decent job leads I will be on a humor strike! No more funny for you unless I get my way.

Office Senility

I found something rather troubling in the refrigerator of our office's kitchenette.

Lysol in the fridge? Huh.

I wonder if this mix-up explains why the toilet seats are so sticky and smell of Sunny Delight?

Due for a weekend

So far . . . it has been a long, long morning.

It all began when I was walking though the courthouse while trying to disguise my limp.

The reason for the limp: on Wednesday, I took an unpleasant spill down the stairs at my office. My left ankle got banged up and is a bit tender and swollen. I will say this with great pride, though, I did not cry (even if I may have wanted to a little bit). That's right, this kid is a toughie.

Oddly enough, my ankle feels much more comfortable pointed than flexed, so high heels continue to be the most appropriate footwear -- which is good, because I have a fantastic new pair of shoes -- strappy numbers with an itty bitty skinny heals. Love 'em!

Fortunately, I managed to keep my hobbling to a minimum as I jogged though the courthouse.(YAY!) Then, as I was hustling down the courthouse's marble staircase, my dainty little shoe caught on the step. (BOO!)

Falling down the stairs Wednesday sucked. Falling down the stairs this morning S-U-C-K-E-D! I would rate the overall painfulness of both falls somewhat equally. However, in the embarrassment category, today's fall blows Wednesday's clear out of the water. Here's how it went down:

• I was talking with a client while going down the stairs.
• My heel caught, and I went down like a sac o' potatoes.
• I slid down four or five steps while the file I was holding went flying into the air -- papers scattering in every direction.
• Two very nice gentlemen ran to collect my papers.
• The commotion apparently attracted the attention of the security guards who darted up the stairs with hands on their firearms to see what the hell was going on.
• Eventually, I brushed myself off, told everyone that I was OK, and tried to scrape together some degree of decorum as I passed the people on the ground floor who were trying to disguise their giggles. (bastards)

After I got back to my car, I took inventory of any potential injuries. Sure enough, my left ankle had begun swelling to match my right ankle. This was the first time I noticed that my elbow, calf and finger were bleeding. I sighed and started to pull out of my parking space.

That's then the parking attendant flagged me down. Perfect! Why not add parking-ticket-insult to injury?

Fortunately, Parking Attendant Dennis did not want to issue me a ticket (YAY!). Parking Attendant Dennis just felt like chatting (BOO!).

Here's an overview of the topic that Dennis and I discussed: (Well, he discussed, I uncomfortably smiled and nodded)

• The weather;
• Dennis' childhood home in Boston;
• His father's military service record ;
• Dennis's Naval experience;
• Somebody's cremation and tastefully tall urn;
• Submarines and Rolls Royce limousines;
• Dennis' trip to the North Pole and his coming to terms with the realization that Santa Clause was nowhere to be found (I really, really wish I was kidding).

After a good FOURTEEN MINUTES, Dennis decided that his ramblings had reached a satisfactory conclusion, and allowed me to leave the parking lot.

While I may not always learn from my mistakes (like how not to go down stairs), there are some lessons that do stick with me. For instance, I did not offer to buy Parking Attendant Dennis a giant sandwich.

Thank you for listening to my Dennisesque rambling tale of woe. I feel better now

(Dear God, I am due for a weekend)

Distracted Today

Modern-Day Achilles

I am such an elegant young woman. Ask anyone who knows me. "A the paragon of grace and poise," they'll say.

So I was running slightly late for an appointment, which just means that my 15 minute to half-hour pad was getting trimmed down by some other work. I rushed to finish up, grabbed directions to where I needed to be going, and hopped in my car.

Here's where I really went wrong. I missed the turn that would take me to the interstate, and wound up having to navigate my way through downtown during lunch hour traffic. DAMNIT! I could see my schedule padding disappearing before my very eyes!

You should have heard the filthy string of profanity that spewed from my lady-like mouth as I came to a dead halt for 15 minutes in traffic! I should have written some of it down, really. Many phrase were sheer profane-artistry! Something about the construction worker in front of me making sweet, sweet love to one of those pylons blocking two lanes of traffic for no identifiable reason. I forget exactly what I was shouting. I may have blacked out for rage, I'm not sure.

Something did go my way though. You had better believe I made an utter mockery of the posted speed limit, and I did so without receiving a huge ticket (which I would have amply deserved).

I arrived in the parking lot of my destination at the exact minute that I was to be at my appointment. I figured if I could manage to make my appearance within the next 60 seconds I would be GOLDEN. However to make it on time required some running. That's OK though because I consider among my most marketable professional assets, the ability to run in heels.

I just wasn't expecting that crack in the sidewalk . . .




That's my shoe on the left.


To the right you will find its dismembered heel.







Sadly, this little incident set me back a few minutes.

So, in summary, despite my very best attempts . . . I was late.

Even so, you will be happy to know that I managed to pull together a degree of wobbly decorum. I stand (unevenly) before you, a modern-day Achilles.