12 Angry Men…errr I mean 35 or so bored people

So today I performed my civic duty, I answered the call for jury duty. I’ll be honest… I bitched and moaned pretty much every day for the last month since I received my summons, but secretly I was rather looking forward to it. I had elaborate dreams about what a good juror I would be; certainly the courts upon recognizing my superior skills of objectivity and reason would surly assign me to a truly exceptional case, or even fly me to California to replace some moron placed on the Michael Jackson fiasco. I would be humble in my juror-perfection, well coifed, professional…simply, the beacon of justice.

The day went a little differently then I had expected…

6:45. What? The alarm is going off? 30 minutes early? Oh why did I stay up late watching GI Jane last night?? Damn Demi Moore. And Ashton Kucher. Not that he was in the movie, but damn him by association.

7:00. Shit shit shit. No time to wash and dry hair. Will find classic tortise shell clip and fashion a french knot or chignon or whatever they call it.

7:10. Crapola. Cannot find fancy clip. Rusty barette will have to do. So much for visions of being well coifed. Fuck it.

7:15. Mascara, check. Lip liner, check. Blush (a nice gel made by Hard Candy that I am partial to), check. Lip gloss? Hellloooooo lip gloss where are yooouuuu?

7:19. Does Jury duty have a dress code? What if I finish early and want to go to the office? Nah. Jeans will do. And my favorite (aka old) black sweater and boots. Professional…? Maybe not. Whatever.

7:20. Officially late. Run to the T.

7:40. Arrive at Park Street, change trains to the Red Line. I feel like I am going to throw up. Why didn’t I get a coffee??? I can’t see straight. My eyes feel Soooo heavy. Damn Demi Moore!!

8:20. Arrive in Dorchester. Yes, Dorchester, that’s almost an hour from my apartment. Why couldn’t they assign me to one of the many downtown courts that are practically within walking distance??? Legal system jerks.

8:35. Arrive at the courthouse 5 minutes late. Not bad. I look like crap and I might smell. Oh well.

8:36. Security Station. I put my bag through the machine. I walk through the detector. I set the bells off. They confiscate my camera. I asked for some kind of receipt for it, so I could claim it later. They laughed at me. I am sent to the jury pool room which is half full already. I grab a diet pepsi (egh. pepsi) in lieu of a coffee. I wait.

9:00. waiting.
9:05. waiting
9:10. you get the point. This was a major theme throughout the day.

10:00. The jury liason comes in, tells us the rules. Shows us a tape shot circa 1978 showing us the rules again. She repeats the rules one more time. Alas, the magic words… at 11:00 a coffee truck will be outside and we will get a break.

11:00. A trial needs a jury. Coffee break is cancelled (damn!) and we are led into the courtroom. The defendant is on trial for drunk driving and leaving the scene of a crime. He’s the only person in the room who looks like he is having a worse day than me. I am sure he is.

11:10. I am picked as one of the 6 jurors for the trial. Then the lawyers start striking us down (or whatever they call it). They strike anyone who looks even vaguely non-caucasion… and me. The judge said not to take it personally. I should’ve worn a suit.

11:30. I start chatting with the two girls behind me, Lori and Amanda aka Mandy. We bond in our jury pool room. They also had to trek from Boston out to Dorchester. The rest of our conversations are punctuated with various explamations of exasperation the rest of the day.

1:00. We are sent to lunch. Lori and I go to the only place within walking distance… a KFC. You may be surprised to know I had never been to a KFC before. And I have no future plans to revisit.

2:00-3:00. Spend time staring at the door below in picture of the day #2 hoping the jury liason will come back and take us somewhere (note the comfortable chairs). Finally she does. She lines us up and leads us down the hall towards a court room. Just as we are about to go in, she yells, “Stop! Go back to the jury pool room” and she ushers us back to our cave. No explanation is given for the retreat.

3:30-4:30. Waiting some more. The fried chicken isn’t sitting well.

4:30. We are quickly lined up again and marched through the hallway. After we are all seated, the judge outlines the case for us. The court clerk reads the list of witnesses in this case, of which there are over 20. This is going to be a long case… the judge tells us it will take 2 or 3 days. I pray my number won’t be called again, but of course #03-02 is called to the bench after 2 others. That’s me. I take my seat in the jurors box.

4:45. The lawyers review our papers and start to strike the jurors they don’t like. I am the first one called to return to the jury pool. I am relieved, but also a bit offended and disappointed. What’s wrong with me? Oh why am I being rejected again? Can’t they recognize that I am the epitome of objectivity and reason? Are they blind? My two jury buddies are called as well, and are not stricken. I am sent home.

And that, my friends, was my big day in court. I guess my superior juror skills will have to be proven another day. Next time I’ll be sure to shower first.

That 70’s Party

Last night a small group of us congretated over at Ashlee’s to partake in a 70’s inspired mystery party. In attendance were Andy Warthog, Gloria Stunnem, John Revolting, Lyza M., Bruce Leap and Diana Rush (me). Our generous hostess provided yummy 70’s treats like Harvey Wallbangers, wine spritzers, chips and dip, and spaghetti bolognese (all of which were new and trendy in the 70’s according to Ashlee’s mom, Linda). What’s in a Harvey Wallbanger, you ask? Well, it is like a screwdriver with the addition of Galliano. All I can tell you about Galliano is that it claims to be a spirito italiano but is made in France. Can someone explain that one to me?

Carmen…errr I mean Lyza M., apparently being quite competetive, would certainly appreciate that I mention that she was the only one who guessed the mystery correctly. But in reality I think she was just lucky. Who knew Jimmy Hoffa was still alive and posing as a woman?

After the mystery was solved we played a few rounds of 60-second speeches (which is certainly entertaining after more than a few rounds of drinks) where we learned about the proliferation of herpes in the 20th century, the problems associated with having a chonically broken toilet, Carmen AND Carmen’s competetive side, the waxing habits of goth’s, and breast plate armament (to name a few). Since we were on a roll, we strayed from the 70s theme and played some Balderdash where we learned that a gay vamp is not called a gamp.

Collage of the Day: That 70’s Party

Fiedler’s Friends

Pic of the day: Fiedler

This is Fiedler, who is master of the house at Ann and Dabney’s, who I had the pleasure to visit last night for some great food, lively conversation full of wild gesticulations and a short yet intense round of Texas Hold’em. Around the table were also my dear Ashlee, Liza, and Jeremy. I was very pleased with myself that I was not the first to go out in poker (sorry, Dabney) and in the last hand I even managed to “steal the blind” whatever that means. I am convinced that any success I have with poker is pure luck. Jeremy tried to teach us some skills, some tactics, some tricks of the game, but I have to admit that all were lost upon me. I get the feeling that thinking about strategy too much might take some of the fun out of the game for me. That’s why I am doomed to be a very poor poker player. But I have fun while I lose. Same with pool. So now you know that you should always invite me to be at your poker table, since you are most likely to come away the big winner. Just don’t gloat.

I also had fun shooting a few pics of Fiedler and Ashlee, who Fiedler apparently worships. She must keep treats in her pockets although this picture below seems to indicate that really the tables are turned and it is Ashlee who is worshiping Sir Fiedler.


Do you share my addiction for haircolor experimentation? Although a tame sandy-blonde now, I have experimented in the past with colors such as dark brown, red and platinum (and everything in between). A hairdresser once said to me, “New hair-do, new attitude” and I still live by that very important philosophy. That is why I am so happy to have found the Clairol Website recently. You can upload a photo of yourself and “try on” all kinds of cuts and colors. Fun Fun Fun!!

Check it out for yourself and send me the results. The site currently has a few flaws in it, but still well worth the visit. xoxo.