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([personal profile] twopoint Jun. 22nd, 2009 01:15 am)

What I learned in jury duty this week:

  • I have a serious attorney fetish.   Still not sure whether it was the suits, the Windsor knots, the smug-self confidence or my own lack of visual stimuli in a government office, but omfg – I’m going to start writing lawyer porn. The old southern attorney stereotype is still alive and well in these here parts.
  • I am in hot demand as a juror, much to my chagrin. And I tried my hardest to appear unsavory. I answered their questions as creepily as possible and I didn’t brush my hair. My name was the first chosen for the first case
  • Whoever breaks the marriage engagement doesn’t retain ownership of the $26k diamond.
  • The American justice system is flooded with unnecessary cases.
  • If one says something with confidence, one has the ability to sway a room of twelve adults. And I’m usually the stupid one amongst my little circle of friends. If a fellow juror turns to the stupid one and asks, “Where did you go to law school?” we should rethink the system.
  • [ profile] levadegratchets : The week gave me the chance to get three quarters of the way through Kushiel’s Dart. I’m a little in love with Joscelin and I love Carey’s imagery. 

And now we shall cut for:

I do not make this stuff up.

[ profile] victoriawiley moved back to town last week and she cooked the most awesome southern dinner for me and the Turk Friday night. I do not cook. I do accounting. So the very culinary capable Turk was literally bouncing all day at the barn knowing that he was going to go home and consume food not cooked by his hands. It was glorious and tasty and perfect having old friends and very easy talk with great food in the house again. We all sat around in a stuffed haze afterward.

Summer came in earnest this week, six thousand degrees and 100 percent humidity – so as the sun went down and everyone else was playing with their laptops, victoria and I decided it was cool enough to go for a drive in the ancient mercedes (no air conditioning) so I could show her some rental properties I’d scouted for her and we could bookmark some abandoned textile mills to later photograph.

We drifted around the old mill villages for an hour until I grew weary of my gas gauge/tripodometer/odometer not functioning and decided to go in search of diesel. The first gas station we came to was closed! Closed! So we meandered along until we found another. Certain we wouldn’t be stranded on the side of the road, we drove some more and stopped for coffee. The ancient car is quite sluggish, so I look three, four times each way before pulling out into traffic. It also has no cup holders, so I held my coffee in one hand, changed gears with the other and we slowly made our way back to my house. I couldn’t remember feeling so perfectly at ease in a very long time. The night was cool and perfect, I had my friend with me – the sort that can take six shades of meaning from three words, the sort you don’t have to explain anything to.

As I waited to cross a four lane highway that led to my house, victoria asked if she could hold my coffee as I turned. I thought the question was weird at the time, later she said that she didn’t even know why she asked. If I had handed her that coffee, I would have waited for one more car to pass before I turned, and we’d most likely be dead right now.

We hadn’t traveled ten feet up the side road when we heard an explosion. At first I thought the suspension had collapsed in the back of the car, then I thought both rear tires had blown out (anything is possible with this car) and then I thought something had ignited in the building beside us. I came to a stop twenty feet up the road and looked in my rear view window. A massive steel sign was mangled and dragged across the street and a car was steaming in the bushes. One second, two seconds – no more – and that car would have slammed, sixty miles per hour, into my driver side door.

We called 911 and watched as people ran from a restaurant to check out the damage. I’d turned around and my headlights were pointed at the wrecked car. Slowly, we watched four extremely drunk teenagers crawl out, all unharmed. The steel sign they’d decimated was twenty feet tall, bolted to the asphalt.

I went back the next day and studied the police lines and trajectory. The driver never hit the brakes. Two seconds at the most and my world would have been irrevocably changed. I started thinking about all the problems I bitched about last week and realized they really didn’t matter. I will find time to write. If that’s my biggest problem, I’m good.

We went home and I gave victoria the best tarot reading of her life. Well, it was her first, but the cards were dead on.

After everyone had left my house or gone to bed, I sat up staring interchangeably at my notebook and a palmetto bug crawling across the window. My accounting seemed in order. I really like my life. A plastic grocery bag was on the floor near my feet and I listened as one of the cats messed around with it and then laughed my ass off when the handle became stuck around the cat’s middle and she went tearing through the house.

Two hours later, 3am to be exact – I had to be up for lessons bright and early – the cat was still stuck with the bag and had knocked over every object in the living room. I couldn’t catch her and she was freaked; I wasn’t laughing anymore. I TRIED TO CATCH HER ALL NIGHT! My upstairs is an unfinished attic room, reachable by a staircase that I keep open for the cats. I bought the house from my great-grandmother and the attic is still filled with all of her things and ten years of my compulsions. 

This was Friday night. Today – Sunday – the Turk and I started ripping up the wood floor upstairs. We found the cat, no worse for the wear, bag still wrapped loosely around her middle.   She purred brightly as we removed the bag and is now re-hydrated and content.

I have started throwing out everything in my house.  Everything. I even, god help me, tossed three books. 

Other than that, the writing has sucked this week. I made my way through one rambling Schwarz piece where Nagi becomes Schuldig’s financial advisor, but I don’t know if it will ever see light of day. I started, for the seventh time, [ profile] ahpookishere ’s letters (I swear!) and I have tiptoed around the original thing. I’m thinking this week will be better for all that. It better be. I’m going to go make sure there’s no plastic bags laying around and then I’m going to take my wine to the porch and stare at the notebook, and the palmetto bugs.

From: [identity profile]

Oh, wow, just…wow. Heh. ^^; You’ve had a very…busy few weeks. I’m glad you are still alive. o.o -hugs- And yay for cats out of the bag (literally). And an all around happy [Bad username or site: “two_point” @]

From: [identity profile]

Thank you! I take broken wells over car crashes. No more whining from this direction. You are very sweet to keep up with my rambles from start to finish. I hope you are having a wonderful week and that you're also all around happy!

From: [identity profile]

1. You are juror extraordinaire. May I ask, are you coping with sarcasm and cursing? Do they allow you to curse in the court room?

2. Whoever hurts two_point shall suffer a very unpleasant demise at my own hands.

3. I want a tarot reading. Immediately, please.

4. Even if you do not post Schwarz piece, please e-mail it to me ASAP. Schuldig needs a financial advisor. I'm just worried about poor Nagi's ability to handle it.

5. I am willing to wait on letter, in favor of co-writing. In fact, I will probably send you a massive brainstorm e-mail in the next few hours. I have too much fun with this stuff, so I apologize.

From: [identity profile]

Sarcasm in abundance, from attorneys. I think that's why I was so inexplicably drawn. The problem with the whole system is the lack of cursing. If people were allowed to say, "Fuck you, give me my ring back!" more cases would settle in the hallways of the court house. Or be moved to prison, where they most likely belong. I did start laughing like mad during jury selection when the bailiff said to someone, "It is the highest form of disrespect to keep you sunglasses on top of your head. Remove them immediately."

It was all I could do to not beat the hell out of all the drunk teenagers, but I think they would have missed the point. It eases my mind to know I would have been avenged.

Remote tarot reading you shall have. Any specific question, or a general overview?

When it is typed, I will force you to read it and tell me if Nagi is suitably tortured.

YES! Anxiously awaiting massive brain map. I've been thinking about possibilities all night, but I need a spark, an entry, to make it all cohere.

From: [identity profile]

A general overview, I suppose. My questions are all like, "Where is my missing Adidas sneaker?" and "Should I send my teacher a corrupted file, so I have more time to work on the actual project?".. Not very worthy of mystical tarot powers.

Nagi, Nagi, Nagi. I can't wait.

Brain map has been sent (to your msn address). It is not massive, alas. Perhaps a spark will be provided.

From: [identity profile]

Nothing like near death of the physical (and mental, if the jury was anything like the one I served) to make you appreciate what you have. Even if it stinks at times, it's life.

Which, I've been told, is far better than death.

I haven't tried it myself, so no comparisons.

Cats are insane. Dogs are loyal and loving and even if they slobber all over you, you know they love you. All bets are off with cats. They love, love, love you then they slash your hand apart.

Who writes all those attorney books, the ones my sister reads and re-reads... You'd love them. They're set mostly in the south too (I think). NOw that is going to bug me until I think of his name.

Kushiel's Dart. Joscelin Verreuil. Oh yes. There is something to be said about the corrupting of a strong man. That sounds awful. Did she really corrupt him or did he just become more of a real person?

He's quite despised in that fandom from what I've seen. Not sure why.

Glad you're alive and well and with us, Two Point!

From: [identity profile]

I HAVE MISSED YOU!!! And when I stop laughing about far better than death I'll be able to welcome you back in the manner you deserve.

Bring me the hated in fandom. I will . . .I will . . .I'm not sure what I will do with them, but it will involve much daydreaming and possibly some writing. I've yet to finish the first book, but I love her prose and will give you my full thoughts on character corruption when I finish.

And I'm writing you a very lengthy email this afternoon, my sweet gypsy.

From: [identity profile]

Make that an email tomorrow. I started throwing everything in my house out when I wrote the above reply and I just finished for the night. There's still more stuff. How does this happen? The guys at the local dump and I are going to be very good friends when this is all over. I wonder if Goodwill moves pianos?

Again, I've missed you terribly.

From: [identity profile]

No worries! I've missed you too, but it was better no one but poor Ramie was around me.

Even she probably didn't want to be but as a Sibling, she's contracted to it (I think... ;)

One of the joys of moving (and that's serious, not sarcasm) is tossing things out. I love it! D is a hoarder, I am a throwitouter.

If the piano is in good condition maybe? Good luck!

From: [identity profile]

Well, I can't exactly toot my own horn on this point; there was that exchange with the fucking bone, after all.

*reads through the contract* I don't think that there are any provisions for bones, fucking or otherwise... *flip flip* .. there's one in case of muses that will not leave one alone in the bathroom, however.

Kim, just throw it out, whatever it is. And if you get good at it - teach me how? Gods curse my damnable clutter!!

From: [identity profile]

*peeks over shoulder to read* No? Hmm...well, we're bound to snarl once in a while, hmm? *HUGS* Even lovers have spats, daaaaaaaaahling.

Besides, you said to throw you a fucking did. Very literal and Aries of me, ne?

Actually, I don't know that it had actually ever fucked or not. Big enough to have though, right?

Bathrooms and muses? All I can say is WTF. XD

From: [identity profile]

Well, I vote we let all these nice people make up their own mind about the virginity, or horrifying lack thereof, of the bone in question.

Exhibit A, Boneus copious debauchus

It was very literal and Aries of you, I'll freely grant that. It was pretty obnoxiously Leo of me to shout Throw me a fucking bone! instead of Oh Sibling; how may I best lighten your burden?

It could be worse, I could have offered sex, I suppose. *flip flip* I don't think that's covered in the contract, either. Pity. *HUGS!*

From: [identity profile]

It was only a matter of time before someone got propositioned here. There's just so many bottled bones and a writer who cuts away at inopportune moments, it was bound to happen.

That was one big, fucking bone.

I really want to title a story Fucking Bones now.

From: [identity profile]

I would like to see Crawford and Schuldig experience the strange, prehistoric, El Nino battered, Southern summer. Can you imagine Crawford struggling with the humidity? Schuldig spying a tick as it frantically raced up his trouser leg? That would be too much fun.

I am glad you did not die. I would be lost without you.

From: [identity profile]

[ profile] ahpookishere did this in Four Cities ( Go read it immediately.

I'm still nervous about who would have shown up to visit us in the hospital if there was just a lot of battering rather than actual death. It's a public place, the hospital, so we wouldn't have much control over who they let in.

*squeezes* Thank you.


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