AN OMEN
You know the day is going to be sketchy when:
You wake up and it's pitch dark out. Bloody Hell. Still, it's time to get up.
You sit up, swing your legs over the side of the bed, and gingerly step down. Alright, upright.
Okay, you begin to stumble to the bathroom, only to realize that there is something disgusting stuck the the bottom of your left heel. Shit.
You get to the bathroom and find a leaf adhered to the bottom of your left heel, due to the outrageously enormous tail of one fat ass cat who drags in everything but the homeless when he comes in at night.
You get in the scalding hot shower, remove the leaf and find that the sappy tar from the leaf WILL NOT COME OFF.
Curse and swear. Put on socks that bunch up and curl under your heel due to the tar residue.
Gather the troops, drive fast, avoid idiots, and deliver the "perfect children" to school on time. Go the the gym. Dive off of the eliptical trainer seven times to adjust that STUPID F**KING SOCK.
Take off the sock. Resume workout. KEEL OVER AND DIE. (Just Kidding Mom).
Limp to the car. Vow to strangle the cat. Vow to strangle the kids. Vow to strangle the damned twenty year old TV "star of the moment" asshole who gets coffee at the same place you do, due to his incredibly intelligent request that the owner stop playing beautiful Italian music over the speakers, and instead play Arrowsmith really, really, really loud.
Resume mantra: I will not do harm. I will not do harm. I will not do harm.
IMPRESSIONS GIVEN, IMPRESSIONS RECEIVED
As TGG, Mr. B and I stood in the security line to enter the Los Angeles County Superior Court, I could not help but admire the irony of the music the courthouse chose to emit from the surrounding speakers: Ellie Campbell's "You're No Good".
you're no good, you're no good,
you're no good, baby you're no good
(i'm gonna say it again)
you're no good, you're no good,
you're no good, baby you're no good.
We made it by the walk-through device with no trouble, although security had to search Mr. B's 17 bags of personal items.
As we waited with approximately 60 other juvenile delinquints and their accompanying parent or guardian, I noticed that we were clearly in the minority. As TGG put it, there were some very "shady characters" in those hallways. I positioned myself right in front of the door, and after waiting 40 minutes the door opened and I was first in line. TGG signed the requisite acknowledgement of rights, and we sat and waited to be called.
In the meantime, TGG and I made our best attempt at the LA Times Sunday crossword, while Mr. B sat jiggling next to me. Sure enough, it happened. PPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT. "Scyoooooooze me."
The entire row behind us got a hearty good laugh out of that one. The giggling went on (and on) until we were called in to the judge's chambers.
TGG had chosen to wear a suit (no tie) and dress shoes for the occasion. Very different than his comrades out in the waiting area. The judge got down to business, and soon enough, we were out of there with a warning. No fine, no classes to attend, nothing. She almost seemed amused at the three of us Westsiders there in Long Beach, all dressed to the nines, and respectfully attending every word she muttered in the 90 seconds we were in her glorious presence.
So, it's finally done. My heart goes out to every one of those kids and their parents making their way through, with circumstances much different and much more difficult than mine. They reminded me that we all, in our humanity have such innocence in our eyes, even when awaiting the changing hand of fate.
We. Live. On.
