Better than Court TV

Wow!  The comments and emails from all of you really helped me through a rough patch.  Come on, everybody, group hug!  I still can’t say that I love my body but I am working on it.  Thank you so much for your encouragement and tough love.  Well, except for the person who found my blog through the Google search old lady tales.  You, not so much. 

If you noticed that I was a little late commenting on your blogs today it’s because I spent the day being a fine upstanding citizen.  Yes, I had jury duty today.  I have never served on a jury so I was a little excited about today, especially since I was reporting for duty in criminal court. Oh yes, I was excited.  Nerdily excited (yes, that is a word, I just used it, didn’t I?).  That is until I found out that I had to be all the way downtown at the crack of dawn.  Day-um, y’all! The guilty thug accused probably robbed some drug dealer of his ill-gotten gains and now he’s robbing me of much needed sleep.  That is the true crime, my friend, and I expect the defendant to be punished accordingly. 

Of course, I was up all night the night before worried that I would get on some sort of organized crime case and have to go into witness protection.  Mr. Dingo tried to assure me that only actual witnesses go into witness protection, but I think he was trying to put on a brave front for my sake.  I had my whole life on the lam planned out.  My alternate identity as Busty Dawn, my demands for a baby blue Bugatti Veyron, and hookers and blow was all mapped out.  Mr. Dingo and I could certainly fly to Argentina for plastic surgery but what about Dingo Girl?  I could never leave her behind and I really don’t think she’d take kindly to any sort of alteration.  I just can’t picture her as a Collie or Black Lab.  So, I will just have to take my chances and hope I do not end up with a horse’s head in my bed tomorrow morning.

Another reason I was looking forward to jury duty is because I thought I would have an unending source of blogging material.  Alas, it was not to be.  Everyone that walked into the jury lounge looked and acted relatively normal.  There was the Wild Bill Hickock wannabe in full western wear that had me wondering if we were going to be dispensing some sort of frontier justice. He dashed my hopes for any lunacy when he settled down for a nice long nap.  He didn’t even snore.  If he’s there tomorrow, maybe I’ll get him to teach me Texas Hold’em while we wait to be called for service. 

Toward the end of the day when I still hadn’t been placed on a jury, this rather distraught man came into the jury lounge.  He walked up to the clerk and said, “I need your wifey.  It’s important!” While our clerk was amusing and kept referring to us as “his people,” I am pretty sure that he was not into the whole spouse-swapping thing.  But maybe he was, because when the clearly agitated man asked again for his “wifey” the clerk responded, “But I don’t have a wife!” Mr. Man was not to be deterred.  He looked around the room frantically, “The wifey!  The wifey!” he exclaimed as he gestured to the “Wifi access in this area” sign.  I don’t know what happened after that because my wifey and I were busy doing potentially life-saving research by scouring YouTube for Key Largo and Face/Off film clips.

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