Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Weight loss.

Disclaimer: This entry is girly and whiny and pretty obnoxious.

I am all about instant gratification. So even though my exercise/eating better program only started on September 15, I am impatient. And even though I've lost six or so pounds and a few inches from my waist, I am not satisfied.

Which makes me one of those crazy, weight/size obsessed women I hate.

The fact that I allow myself occasional chocolate or fries doesn't help my position much.

But I apparently made a mistake a little while ago. When getting rid of all the clothes that no longer fit me, I held on to a pair of J. Crew corduroy pants. I found them this morning in my closet and took a peek at the size.

Size 4.

Hell, I can't remember ever being that small. But apparently I was, because I remember buying them only two years ago at the outlet, during a shopping excursion with a girl from the legal clinic I was in.

I am all about instant gratification. And now that I found these damn pants, I simply hate waiting for them to fit. (Though to be honest, I can't imagine that they ever will).

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Reason #438 to hate the Red Sox.

I preface this entry by stating that it's not just the Red Sox I hate. It's all professional sports. Baseball, basketball, football, etc, etc, etc. I am indiscriminate in my hatred. I view professional sports as an excuse for grown men to get drunk and act like moronic babies.

But today, the Red Sox really incurred my wrath.

I had a motion to suppress scheduled. This is the second time it has been scheduled; the first time, the state trooper did not show up because he hadn't enough notice of the motion (even though I filed it on the agreed-upon "file by" date). The judge granted the opposition's continuance, over my objection.

We showed up today. While one of the troopers was there, the one that was actually present when my client was stopped was missing. And why? He was sent to Boston. Because Boston needed extra manpower. For the parade.

The parade? What effing parade?

The parade for the Rod Sox.

The opposition explained this to the judge, who granted the continuance over my objection.

So the Red Sox get their parade, while my client sits in jail, waiting to vindicate her rights. Which only proves that professional sports are more important than the Fourth and Fifth Amendment rights of poor people.

Go Sox.

So. Tired.

I've been very tired lately. More tired than I should be. Exhausted, in fact.

The fact that I've never been able to sleep very well for very long doesn't help much.

I left work early yesterday, told my boss I wasn't feeling well, was too tired to accomplish anything. Which was true. I spent the day looking at the world through a thick, hazy fog. I took work home with me, but didn't look at it. Why? I was asleep by seven last night.

I woke at midnight, briefly.

And again at five of five, before my alarm went off (it was set for 5:03).

I got to work at little after six to do the work I didn't do yesterday.

I printed a few motions I need to file, discovered a tragic typo on one I have already filed, and went over some material for the motion to suppress I have scheduled for today. But I'm still tired -- even though I slept last night. Too tired to even really be nervous about my hearing today. Too tired, in fact, to watch horrible '80s music videos on youtube.

Yes, you heard correctly: too tired to watch horrible '80s music videos.

Something must be wrong.

Friday, October 26, 2007


The truth is (and I know this may be viewed as blasphemous by some), I hate poetry. Hate it. It bores me and gives me visions of pretentious high school and undergraduate students. Even the so-called good stuff irritates me.

Or maybe it's just that I don't "get" poetry.

I have a theory that most people don't get poetry. They just pretend to in order to sound deep and smart.

Much like the people who claim to enjoy the film "Lost in Translation."

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

On rehydrating beef jerky.

We were supposed to have pizza at work on Friday. However, the natives were getting restless before lunchtime, and I was very hungry. Guy From Work and The Investigator were in my office when I decided to pull out my emergency bag of beef jerky. Lo and behold, someone had forgotten to seal the re-sealable Ziploc-esque seal. My jerky had gone stale.

"My jerky has gone stale," I announced.

"Jerky can't go stale," Guy From Work said. (He's a real know-it-all sometimes.)

I disagreed with him, and we got into a discussion on the merits and downfalls of stale jerky. Somewhere along the line, we decided to attempt to rehydrate the stale jerky.

I took a small piece of jerky, ran it under water, wrapped in a piece of paper towel, and put it in the microwave for twenty seconds.

The jerky did not rehydrate. It started smoking.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

On grammatically incorrect graffiti.

In the public restroom on the second floor of the courthouse, the following is written in black permanent marker:

Susie sucks more cock than whores on a Friday night


I mean, come on. If you're going to insist on defiling an already-disgusting public restroom, at least do it with proper grammar.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

On sex (in the context of long term relationships).

My friends all seem to be getting married or divorced.

The folks in their late twenties to early thirties are getting married. The folks in their mid to late thirties and early forties are either getting divorced or have been divorced.

The ones in between... Well, the newlyweds are all happy in their townhouses and condos. They're still glowing with recent post-marriage bliss. They're planning on squirting out children. The ones who've been married for a while mostly bitch about how they're not having sex. (It should be noted that my newlywed friends tend to be women, while my friends who have been married for some time tend to be men.)

Based on this, I've become hesitant towards marriage. I've found few people who are married and happy. The general trend seems to be married or happy. One of Chris's professors even told the class that once a couple gets married, it's all over; there's nothing to work towards anymore, and so the romance dies. The marriage is the end result, and children are apparently a reason (maybe the reason?) to stay together.

This seems a sad commentary. Especially for me, who feels neither the need, nor the desire to reproduce.

The lack of sex in during marriage seems to be epidemic. I hear it from everyone. I hear it from the divorcees as well as from the married-for-a-while folks. And so I ask them: How often do you have sex? How little is not enough? The answers always astound me: once a month. Once a month!

I don't understand. I mean, sure, I can see the novelty wearing off. I can see sex becoming routine, or even perfunctory. People have to work at keeping things fun and lively and exciting. That's just the reality of long term relationships. But once a month?? Hell, once a week is too infrequent for me.

As if that weren't bad enough, I am now hearing of people in long term relationships (non-marriages) who have sex infrequently. Friends who have lived with their girlfriends for less than a year are having sex twice a month. I am simply aghast.

I mean, sure, I'm the girl who has stayed in dead-end relationships just because the sex was good and plentiful. But twice a month? After having lived together for six months???

Which made me start thinking about Chris. I adore Chris, but he claims that he never had exceptional sex prior to our relationship. Whether I believe him entirely... well, I've not decided yet. But I don't want him to move in and then get to the point where sex is a chore. I don't want him putting out only once every week-and-a-half and then being resentful that I'm asking for too much. (I know he's a guy, but this has actually happened to me before.)

I just don't get it. I don't understand why people stop having sex. I don't understand how people let it get boring. And I really, really do not want to become one of them.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Tea and soldiers?

My boyfriend, Chris, wrote me an e-mail this afternoon describing what he wants to do this weekend. At one point, he said, "We'll make tea and soldiers."

I became confused. Tea and soldiers?

At first I thought that perhaps "soldiers" is a euphemism I'm not familiar with. Or, perhaps, there was some obscure definition. So I looked up "soldiers" in the dictionary. And there is an obscure definition:

A sexually undeveloped form of certain ants and termites, having large heads and powerful jaws.

For some reason, I don't think that's what he meant.

So it was off to Wikipedia. Nada.

With that depressing result, I realized I had to do some further research.

First, I turned up a comment on a political blog:

And to think, our founding fathers went to war over some taxes on their tea and soldiers sleeping in their barns. How much will we put up with?

I mean, sure, the sentiment is kinda cool. But I have not found my answer.

Next was some more history from Peter Parley's Universal History, On the Basis of Geography, by Peter Parley, Elizabeth Manning Hawthorne and Nathanial Hawthorne. Page 474 reveals the following:

They made so strong an opposition to the Stamp Act that parliament was forced to repeal it But a tax was soon afterwards laid on tea and soldiers were sent to America to enforce the payment of the duty.

Oy. That can't be it, either.

My final discovery was a thread having to do with childhood memories. In one, a woman talked about cooking with her mum. Her final fond memory was:

Staying at Grannie's and having half a grapefruit, boiled egg, tea and soldiers in her little kitchen.

Hmmmm. She did say "mum." Which means she must be British. Chris did live in England during his boyhood. Hmmmm. Interesting. It must be a whacky English thing. That's it!

Of course, I still don't know tea and soldiers entails. So help me out and let me know.

On being in court. Or: ARGH!

I have been in court every day for the past twenty-one work days. I am in court for the next two. Then I have a blissful Friday in the office, followed by a week with four non-court days.

I've had full weeks before. But I usually get at least a day to, you know, actually prepare cases rather than just sit in court waiting for my cases to be called.

But oh, oh, oooooh. I can't remember the last time I was this excited for the week to be over.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

I am a bit concerned.

I usually get to work somewhere between 7:20 and 7:40. Most others arrive about an hour later. I like the time to relax, prepare for the day, and read my work e-mail. It's quiet. I am not tempted to talk to colleagues when I should be working.

But today, I am a bit concerned. I got in, got some water, and sat down to read my work e-mail. And I found this message from my boss concerning an "important directive":

Effective immediately all personnel will stop calling employees by their Christian names and will cease wearing pork-pie hats...

I find this a bit odd.

Post Script. I did some research and found the following that sheds some light on the e-mail I received:

The hat was prevalent in New Guinea in January 1944, when Australian troops had just defeated a Japanese stronghold at Kankiryo Saddle. The book Australia in the War of 1939—1945 Series 1—Army Volume VI—The New Guinea Offensives (1st Edition 1961) states on page 766:

According to the historian of the 2/10th Battalion, when word was received that General Vasey would visit the area on the 2nd, a signal was sent to all companies: "Other ranks will cease calling officers by their Christian names and will cease wearing pork-pie hats."

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Then Tony shaved the llama.

Do I really need to tell you which misheard lyric that really is?

The Great Hoodie Caper.

I am convinced that there is a magical misfit out there. His commits all sorts of crimes. He is a nefarious creature. A drug dealer, gang banger, and thief. He is the lowest of the low, the bottom rung of humanity, lower and less intelligent than a single-celled amoeba. Less intelligent, even, than a horny, Republican law student (and second only to this man, they are the worst types of creatures out there). He sells drugs in school zones, he robs convenient stores, he beats his girlfriends and pimps them out to support his habit, he holds people hostage inside fast food restaurants. The amazing thing? He does all these things without ever getting caught.

His name is Hoodie Man.

Hoodie Man resides in high crime areas, where men wearing hoodies are virtually ubiquitous. And how does he avoid getting caught? He wears his hoodie during his crime sprees; people rarely see his hair or his face when he is in action. And when he is not committing crime, he takes his hoodie off. Which is why no one can ever recognize him.

So what happens? Some other poor chump who happens to be wearing a hoodie gets accused of Hoodie Man's crimes.

Hoodie Man usually wins, at least when it comes to pinning his crimes on other people. (We don't know whether he'd actually win at trial, since he's never been caught.) My poor clients who own hoodies get picked up again and again because of Hoodie Man's actions.

However, occasionally, I am triumphant. I received the judge's findings today on a recent motion to suppress. He allowed the motion, finding that because the only description given of a suspect was that he was wearing a hoodie, the police did not have reasonable suspicion to warrant a pat frisk of my client, who was only stopped because he was wearing a hoodie.

Take that, Hoodie Man.

Monday, October 8, 2007

Poor grammar nauseates me.

Every now and then someone will say, "I'm nauseous."

This always makes me giggle a little bit. Sometimes, if I don't like the person, I'll think to myself: You sure are nauseous, bitch!

The word nauseous means causing nausea. Something that makes other people feel sick. If you feel sick yourself? Then you feel nauseated.

Of course, all this is falling by the wayside. If you look up the word nauseous in an online dictionary, you will find that the common usage (read: incorrect usage) wins over, and the first definition is: to feel nauseated. This is wrong. It is as wrong as using the word melancholy as an adjective (it's a noun; the adjective form is melancholic).

Alas. Language is ever-evolving. Which means that when people misuse words long enough, they become "proper."

As for me, I implore you all. Bring proper usage back! You are no longer nauseous, friends and neighbors. You are nauseated! Change your usage. Do it in the name of grammar. Do it to feel intellectually superior. If those reasons aren't enough for you, then just do it for the Saucy Vixen.

Saturday, October 6, 2007

Kitty cat.

A colleague has a former client who wants to sleep with her. He comes to the office on occasion to bring her little tidbits. Two weeks ago it was a very vaginal-looking plant and a tiny cat figurine.

Yesterday, I pointed out to her that both are vaginal gifts.

Her response: "A kitty isn't vaginal."

My retort: "It is if you call it a pussy."


The official spelling is Daylight Saving Time, not Daylight SavingS Time.

Saving is used here as a verbal adjective (a participle). It modifies time and tells us more about its nature; namely, that it is characterized by the activity of saving daylight. It is a saving daylight kind of time. Because of this, it would be more accurate to refer to DST as daylight-saving time. Similar examples would be a mind-expanding book or a man-eating tiger.Saving is used in the same way as saving a ball game, rather than as a savings account.

Nevertheless, many people feel the word savings flows more mellifluously off the tongue. Daylight Savings Time is also in common usage, and can be found in most dictionaries.

Adding to the confusion is that the phrase Daylight Saving Time is innaccurate, since no daylight is actually being saved. Daylight Shifting Time would be better, but is not as politically desirable.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Motion denied.

Big fuckin' surprise. I mean, being a prosecutor is like being a Yankees fan: Your team wins even when it shouldn't.

Trial is scheduled for tomorrow. Mandatory minimum. Turd of a case. But at least we'll go down fighting.

Disclaimer: I am not now, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever be, a sports fan. I bow out of the Yankees/Red Sox controversy, which -- trust me -- is very difficult to do. I just stole the analogy from someone else, who said it back when the Sox were still losing all the time.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Cops versus Clients.

When cops do it it's called a "pat frisk."

When my clients do it it's called "indecent assault and battery."

And they say there's no justice.

Monday, October 1, 2007


I had a motion to suppress today in a case involving a search warrant. I argued an extremely narrow issue. The factual issue: the police report failed to mention a detail regarding how the warrant was executed.

I have no doubt that the search occurred the way it was written. That is, the detail was left out of the report because it never happened.

The prosecutor presented one witness; while the officer who testified was on the scene, he was not the officer who wrote the police report. Also, he was not the officer who purportedly did the thing that was never mentioned in the police report.

I told my boss this morning: "The cop'll take the stand, lie about what happened, I'll put my guy on to testify to contradict it, and then the motion will be denied."

It's not so much that I think police officers actively lie. Rather, I don't think they remember one case from the next. As this officer said, he's executed over a hundred warrants during the past two years. The purpose of the police report is to record the details because, really, cops can't be expected to remember the details on every single thing they do. Do some cops actively lie? Sure. But for the most part, I think they fill in the blanks and connect the dots during testimony. They know the standards and the rules; they know what they have to say to win.

Conversely, a defendant likely remembers pretty damn well what happened. He's had a single encounter that is pretty life-changing. The execution of a search warrant isn't just work to a criminal defendant. It's something out of the ordinary. It's something particularly memorable.

(The above should not be construed as a dimwitted notion that defendants never lie. That would be silly and naive. It's merely an illustration that a defendant is more apt to remember the details of an an interaction with police than a police officer is to remember an interaction with a citizen.)

The really irritating part? Even when the cops fill in the empty spaces (or just out-and-out lie), they're generally believed. People want to believe their police officers.

In the meantime, the judge took the motion under advisement. The trial is scheduled for Friday. I await my denial.