You asked for it...

...You got it.

First, me in 1988 with my prom date, Spencer:
Ah, the 80's. Note the trendy slash cut skirt that was all the rage. I simply glowed under the disco ball. And look at my hair, and the Lee Press On nails that matched my dress. I later ripped the acrylic nails off in a bathroom stall at Denny's. I have no idea how women survive with long nails. Yes, I was a bit nerdy in high school - builds character folks.

As for my date, Spencer was a classmate in my advanced placement classes. Very smart. If I remember right, he drove a maroon Yugo and was a very soft spoken and caring guy. He asked me to the prom and I said yes. We went with a group in a limo. Incidentally, I do remember that Spencer wrote in my yearbook, "I know you will become an international lawyer someday if you want to." That was back when everyone knew I was heading off to join the Navy to become a truck driver. Yes, he was smart, and thoughtful.

Before you scroll down to the hilarity that was last night's fitting room session, keep in mind that I was 5'2" and weighed 88 lbs when I joined the Navy at 17 - I remember because you had to weigh at least 92 lbs to get in and I had to gain 4 lbs before I could ship out. I'm now a little over 5'5" and 120 lbs...so here I am, stuffed into my prom dress last night:I know it's blurry. That's because I was laughing so hard at myself it was difficult to take the picture.

And the front view:
Of course, you know I Googled good old Spencer and guess what? He too is a marine biologist scientist type (remember Mark Marks?). In fact, Spencer is currently a visiting professor at Harvard University and will be giving a lecture on squid-bacteria stuff next month. Apparently some of his research is into how squid bacteria can help cure human ailments. Congrats to Spencer on all his success.

Finally, here's something to think about: I went to three proms. One with Spencer (above), one with Lazaro (a guy from the local movie theatre that I had a huge crush on and invited to my senior prom), and one with Scott (a friend and neighbor from high school who now works at the University of Texas Marine Science Institute).

Both Spencer and Scott asked me to the prom and are now productive members of society. Yes, I am a great influence...

I asked Lazaro to the prom. He ended up ditching me at an after party to hang with a girl who would put out. I can't remember his last name to Google him, but I'm fairly certain he isn't contributing much to society.

That about sums up my judgment when it comes to men.

The Irifro and other oddities

Last Wednesday I had one of those giant construction-sized dumpsters delivered to my house in anticipation of moving. The plan was to empty the garage, clean up the yard, and figure out exactly what was in all those boxes in my extra bedroom. Keep in mind that I've lived in my house almost eight years and had a total of six roommates along the way.

Going through your old crap can teach you a lot about yourself. Here are some of the artifacts of my life I found amidst the dirt, rubble and termite dust:

1. This old family picture of my mom, biodad, neighbor with her baby, and the four of the C kids circa 1976:Notice the man-perm/Irifro on biodad? He said it was great when he had it but didn't last long and took on a frayed look. Still, it is proof of my genetic disposition to an Irifro (Irish fro). To beauty on the left is my mom providing more proof of the Irifro gene through her massive mane. I'm the little one in front with the bad haircut, big belly, paisley bell bottoms, and box of Cracker Jacks.

2. The 1988 prom dress that my mom made for me. I think it speaks for itself, and fashion in 1988:Don't worry, it's much more scary on. I'll try to find the prom picture because it's got a tale of it's own to tell. Incidentally, why I still have this prom dress is beyond my imagination. If you are interested in it, it will be at a thrift store in Ventura soon.

3. My letterman's jacket: It's hard to believe I ever ran for anything other than beer. I'm not sure why I want to hang onto this, but I kind of do. After all, what exactly does one do with an old letterman's jacket? I'm thinking I'll start wearing it out on the town again.

4. My Seabee uniform and hardhat:Back when I was a Seabee, we still wore the old Army greens a la M*A*S*H*. Seabees get the bottom of the surplus barrel when it comes to supplies. And check out my old boot camp issue chukka boots. Those things weigh about 8 lbs each. Seriously, when I picked on up I thought there must be a giant dead rat it in because it was so heavy.

5. Speaking of giant, dead rats, this was my most bizarre find of all:It's my ponytail from when I went into the Navy. I had to cut my Irifro and for some strange reason decided to keep the ponytail. I do not recall bagging it or saving it but I obviously did. It actually frightened me when I came upon it - I thought it was some dead beast in a bag. Come to think of it, it still frightens me. It is kind of creepy to have 15 year old hair lying around in a plastic bag. Fortunately, I've found a good use for it. I'm going to send it off to Locks of Love so some kid (maybe two?) can have genuine Irifro wig.

Here's what I think archaeologists finding these items would say about me in 100 years: 1. She was either a basket case or leader of the free world due to extreme taunting as a child, 2. She never knew how to dress herself in a socially acceptable manner, 3. She likely spent too much time reliving the glory days of high school sports, 4. Although she would have been considered cool because she could drive a bulldozer, and 5. She was probably a serial killer who kept souvenirs, such as hair, from her victims.

In the end, there was a whole bunch more crap I found - 1980's neon ceramic earrings the size of a dinner plate, my old Cabbage Patch kids (all mysteriously naked), a lot of really hideous clothes, all my old journals, tons of pictures I have yet to peruse, and a whole heap of junk - about 640 cubic feet to be exact.

I'll post more pics if I get around to it. In the meantime I'll be cruising around Ventura in my letterman's jacket and chukka boots.

Speaking of lawyers and court...

I went to a continuing education seminar at the courthouse on Saturday. It was an all-day affair wherein about 50 lawyers sat in the jury room listening to various lectures on ethics, bias, and other legal mumbo jumbo. We are required to do it or, gasp, do pro bono (free) work for poor people. And you know lawyers don't do anything for free.

Anyhow, I was in the lecture and noticed that the defense lawyer from my recent jury service experience was one of the lecturers. He recognized me immediately so I went up to say hello. In our brief conversation, he said, "I wish I'd have kept you as a juror. Especially after I read your blog".

Huh? What? He read my blog?!?!?! I was a bit shocked that he had read my blog and that it would encourage anyone to select me for anything other than immediate residenciy in an insane asylum. When I asked how he got my blog he said, "Oh, the judge gave it to me." I thought he meant the judge I did an internship with (aka my crush. He said, no, not him, rather Judge C - the judge for the case on which I was in the jury pool.

This shocked the heck out of me because I knew neither the judge nor the defense attorney. Then I remembered that a local lawyer who has a real lawyer blog had linked to my blog about jury service. Then I got a little paranoid and thought, 'Shiite, I wonder how many judges know about the blog, and that it's mine.' Then I thought about some of the stuff I've put on here that the more conservative set might find offensive or outrageous. Then I considered deleting the blog to erase all evidence. Then I thought I should get more serious on the blog and write lawyer stuff and contribute something to society to redeem myself for all the antics I've participated in. Then I thought, 'Hell no, I won't cowtow to conformity and self-censorship.' Finally I remembered that judges have seen and heard it all and we lawyers are here for their entertainment anyhow.

So read on Honorable Ones, read on.

Return to Amity

Okay, I lied. I'm back from hiatus. What can I say? Wallowing in depression is boring. I don't know how some folks do it.

Met a tired MM for lunch today. He was exhausted because he was up until all hours of the night watching Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. It reminded me of the first time I watched Shark Week while similarly afflicted with insomnia a few years back. Turns out as I was watching I recognized one of those world-famous shark experts from college. Here's a picture of him at work:
You know a guy who grabs a great white by the snout has some cajones. And you know it takes cajones to hang with me.

I remember good old Mark Marks for a number of reasons. First, my roommate had a crush on him. Problem was, she was vegan, a wee bit uptight, ultraliberal, and had a list of requirements for her future mate. He was a short, meat-eating Army Ranger who taught a self-defense class, a card-carrying Republican, and didn't tolerate crap well. She invited him over for cous cous and brussel sprouts one night. As she was cooking I went in the kitchen to get something, she introduced us, and he and I struck up a conversation. He too was a Desert Storm veteran and into running. It was quite clear he and I had a lot more in common than my roommate and him. I left, they had dinner, and he wasn't there in the morning (not really a surprise). Two days later I literally ran into him on a trail behind the college. We ran together and talked. We ended up meeting for regular runs, becoming fast friends and eventually dating - much to the "I never liked him anyway" chagrin of my roommate. (I did ask her permission, not sure why since they had only had dinner the one time).

Mark was a cool guy and his apartment was full of strange shark stuff, including shark embryos floating in formaldihide, shark jaws, shark toys, shark everything. He even gave me an official 'Shark Protection and Preservation Society' t-shirt. I think only 25 were ever made. I still have it. And I had a shark tooth necklace he gave me until I gave it to a friend's son who was more into surfing than I was into sharks. I also remember he was a fireplug of a man, wore a floppy camouflage hat, and wanted to experiment with spanking. He was ambitious, passionate, energetic, and focused. And he had a moustache that made it look like he had a big, fat caterpillar stuck on his face.

I don't recall how long we hung out but I do remember it ended in December of whatever year it was. He had gotten a grant to study great whites in South Africa and needed to leave soon. He asked me to come along and be his research assistant. I considered but was mid-way through college and really wanted to finish. I wished him well, we exchanged a letter or two, and never spoke again. In fact, I hadn't really thought of him until I saw him that time on Shark Week and noted that he had married a nice-looking strawberry blonde who appeared to be his research assistant. I smiled when I saw him on tv and was happy for him.

So after MM and I spoke about sharks at lunch today, I came back to my office and Googled 'Mark Marks sharks'.

Remember the last time I googled an ex? I was hoping something better had become of Mark than had happened to old Bill.

Turns out Mark is okay himself but had some recent tragedy. Some of you may recall seeing news of a plane crash off the coast of Florida a few weeks ago. A charter plane heading to the Bahamas had inexplicably crashed at sea and all 20 people on board were killed. Sadly, when I Googled Mark, I learned that his wife was the pilot of that plane. Here's a link to the story. I feel pretty sorry for Mark because, based on the article, it sounds like they were a great pair.

Looks like he's starting a foundation in her name. I think I'll send a donation and some cous cous when it's up and running. I also think I'd better quit googling exes - it seems to guarantee trouble.

Isn't that just how life works?

Woke up early yesterday morning to a call from my mother. The is-she-up-yet 6 am calls are always my favorites.

Seems my troubled brother walked up to their property at about 3:30 Monday morning. The thing is, my parents live in the middle of nowhere in the high desert. At least a mile from pavement or marked roads. He had run out of gas and began walking looking for their house. But he had only been to the property once - a few years back before there was anything more than a shed on it. He spent a few hours wandering the desert and then I guess he followed the smell of reindeer and camel dung to find their place.

Of course, when a strange man comes wandering onto your ranch in the middle of nowhere in the dark of night, you get nervous so my father met him on the porch with a shotgun. It took a few minutes for all the parties to calm down. Luckily, no one was shot. We are, after all, a trigger-happy bunch.

Turns out my brother is out of money. I know what you're thinking - 'Didn't he get $95k from selling his house a few months back?' Yes, he did. Apparantly he put $40k into a CD and blew the rest. Yes, that's $55k in five months. And yes, he has something to show for it - a 1970's Chevy Nova, a new Gibson guitar and a knocked up crack whore. I don't know about you, but I could probably do a bit more with $11,000 a month. He spent his last $18 on gas trying to get to my parents' house, ran out of gas a few miles down the road then just started walking. Oh, and he left his girlfriend and dog in the truck while he wandered around. She finds it difficult to walk long distances in her sensible stripper platform shoes.

My folks gathered them and a gas can together and everyone crashed at their place for the night. Not wanting them at their place (probably my father speaking), they took him up to my mountain getaway and told him he and the whore can stay there until he gets his act together. No, he hasn't called to ask me if it's okay. No, he doesn't plan to. Yes, my family seems to think that it's acceptable. I think its enabling since the two of them will probably go pawn the few possessions I have up there, use the money to score some drugs in Mojave and hole up in my trailer and either kill eachother or burn the place down.

So I guess the moral of the story is that if you ignore your family, lie to everyone who cares about you, go on a drug binge, blow more money than you make in a year in a few months, and bring along the convicted felon who is sending you to jail in a couple of weeks (trial next week), you get to live in peace on five beautiful acres in the mountains, rent free, with no responsibility, have your mother bring you food and supplies, and have $40k waiting for you in the bank to use if you get your act together.

Yes, that was the first rant of 2006. Don't worry, I'm going to take a vacation soon and we'll get back to our regularly scheduled programming and antics. Sans tequila shots, of course.