The Legal Bandit

The tam who helped me with drivel

2009-05-05T18:15:00.000-07:00

Tonight I went to a friend's art opening and her shit is really good. It reminded me how much I miss being an artist. I'm glad I quit smoking pot, since now I have a house and good credit and can remember where I'm supposed to be most of the time, but I particularly miss poetry. Photographer bandit, however, introduced me to her friend, who was wearing a leather tam and runs poetry slams. Now, let me say I don't really like slams. They are a breeding ground for self centered babbling that often makes as much sense as eggs on a horse. This guy was pretty interesting and after we talked about our writing a while, suggested I try a slam, and write on this subject: what bugs you?

Ironically, it's what will probably keep me from a slam. One of the many things that bug me is drivel. And here's my slam on that.

I don't like drivel. Words are too precious to be piled together like unmanned freight trains, banging into a mass of sparks and crashiness. How many breaths do you have? Can you count them? No, you can't. Do you want your last breath to be spent babbling? Because any breath could be your last. Or hell, your first. Your first breath spent after putting together a cogent thought and driving it out of your mouth and into someone's head in one piece. Make it anything; just make it count. Words have led to marriages, and murders, and revolutions. In the beginning, there was the word. The word is a continually forming jewel in your mouth, ready to spill forth and change the world. Your world, built with people making plans and building bridges and dropping bombs all started with words. Shut up. Now speak. No drivel. What do you really mean? Come out from under the frieght train and drive.

And that's my silent slam for the day. I did not write it in a tam, but nevertheless, stand by every word.

Gimme money or give me grief

2009-04-21T04:13:00.000-07:00

I was talking to a friend from law school yesterday about how hard it is to decide what to charge people, and he pointed out that it was the people he gave a price break to who were the biggest pains in his ass. I realized the same thing happens to me. Then it hit me - that's why lawyers charge so much! If you charge enough, people shut the hell up. Try to help them? You're their bitch. That's fucked up, isn't it? I'm coming to the conclusion that appreciation just isn't human nature.

Of course, I do court appointed work, meaning I send in applications for $150 to the state and the client pays nothing. How do I get treated? Let's just see. I actually cussed an appointed client out a couple of weeks ago and yes, he deserved it. He'd apparently been running from a bad check to a used car dealership for about four years and they finally caught up with him. Rather than pay even 1/3 of it, the guy, who was a total dick, insisted that he didn't write the check. I pointed out the circumstantial evidence and the common sense questions, such as "If your ex wife bought the car, how are you going to explain coming home to a new car in the driveway and not asking how it got there, getting any of the letters or calls about the bounced check or seeing a big ass "INSUFFICIENT FUNDS" on your bank statement, which is right here?" No go. It was the first time I felt sleazy; I had to try to get this guy off and really didn't want to.

I felt bad for the car sales people, and my job required pointing out that if they didn't have anyone who remembered taking the check, the guy couldn't be convicted. The guy got pissy that he had to wait an hour for the sales guy to get there and said if this wasn't fixed today, he was getting a lawyer. I ignored him. Later I tried to explain where everyone was coming from, which was a big mistake. I knew if I didn't handle this nicely, I'd get stuck in a really shitty trial. He said he'd get a lawyer again to uh, uh, . . . "Appeal?" I said, thinking "beat some fucking decency into you, you arrogant peice of shit?" I explained appeals. The D.A. and I hung out over lunch with these people trying to work something out and while she was on the phone, he started threatening to get a lawyer again. I turned around and said "I am your fucking lawyer, and I'm here on my lunch break busting my ass to save yours, so why don't you just shut the fuck up?" He shut the fuck up, I got his charges dismissed and hope to hell someone beats the crap out of him sometime soon.

And now for another day of getting abused for helping people. No good deed goes unpunished. I'm doubling my fees today and this week, I ain't getting kicked around.

What 20 years will do, if you're lucky

2009-04-12T17:25:00.000-07:00

Girlfriend bandit, new neighbor bandits and yours truly have been doing some yard work, including building boxes and planting vegetables. Also, I bought a new jigsaw today. Let's see - can I say anything more fucking lesbian? I'm eating tempeh. There's an old cat on the couch. I should go buy an Indigo Girls CD, put it on and see if all the men on the planet disappear. Only I don't like the Indigo Girls.

New neighbor bandits are hippie chicks, young, newly in love, who like bartering and forming community, whatever that means. I think it has something to do with mowing our yard and planting some stuff here, since they live in an apartment. I told one of them today about some serious hell that broke loose this week, involving an elected official, a hijacked courtroom, suspicious motives and a day of frantic research that promises to drag on for ugly weeks ahead. She said that pain bodies attract pain bodies and there's lots of tough life experiences coming into courtrooms, which draw more bad experiences and feelings. I looked at her blankly and, with all my heart, said "what?" Speaking of bodies, she also said the other day that all bodies are beautiful. I've been to the beach. I disagree. There are some fucked up looking motherfuckers who are definitely not beautiful.

I envy them a little, though. All those positive thoughts! The idea that people are beautiful, and all good, and that it is never necessary to just beat the shit out of someone. I remember feeling a little like that, a few times in my twenties, when the drugs were right. I also know a few people over 40 who are like this, but they limit their interaction with the outside world quite a bit, and seem almost ready to float away when I try to talk to them. "Hello? Ya in there? You should listen to some Usher." I want to say. I don't, though. I just let them ramble about peace rallies and reading labels to make sure there isn't anything animal based in the vitamins or whatever. They clearly don't want to know any better, or they would.

So, I'm more than happy to share some zucchini space with these chicks, and remember what it was like to not have been robbed, ripped off, cheated on, arrested,to have comforted a molested child, punched a drunk asshole at a party, cussed out a crackhead, seen the worst and the best of humanity in myself, loved and hated, lied, fought, cried, and gotten puking drunk over a girl who wasn't worth it. In other words, to have lived. More power to them, but may they get to 40 a little worse for the wear, yet still willing to believe in themselves, humanity and each other. We should all be so lucky.

Picking a Jury

2009-04-06T09:38:00.000-07:00

Your lawyer's mind during jury selection:

Why is everybody white? Fuck! That guy has his arms all folded. Is that bad body language or is he just getting comfortable? Ok, just ask the questions. Shit, she's lying. I know she knows that other guy on the jury, I saw them talking in the hall. Why do people lie? Being on a jury sucks. It's 12 people not smart enough to get out of it. Yet, people lie to get on one. Why? Because they think my guy is guilty and want to convict him, I bet. This shit was in the papers,after all.

Shit, I don't know. This is such a crap shoot. That dude looks pretty reasonable. Hey, he drives trucks! Bet he's hired a hooker before. That should help. That lady beside him looks like she has a broomstick up her ass, though. Heh heh maybe she should hire the truck driver. Dammit, the D.A. got rid of the trailer chick! Argh! It's OK, it's OK. How is it that crackheads, tramps and theives get tried by conservative white people? Fuck it, just ask the question. Whoa, those four people just admitted they think if someone gets arrested they must be guilty. Get the fuck out of here. I think she's asleep. Wish I were still asleep. That dude's shirt has a fish on it.

Inside the mind

2009-03-29T06:23:00.000-07:00

I have a nasty trial coming up. I've done lots of trials down in district court, but this is my first jury trial, and true to my pattern of jumping right the hell into anything I do, the guy is facing decades in prison, the prosecutor is known for being underhanded, slimy and sneaky and the judge is notorious for being completely unfair and biased toward the prosecution, which he gets away with because people never have the money to appeal. I understand that my feelings and thoughts right now are pretty normal. So, I thought I'd share with you what's going through your lawyer's head the week before a big jury trial.

"Oh, crap! Well, I guess that bitch is showing up. Maybe she'll smoke too much crack and not make it. No, I won't get that lucky. Hell, my guy won't get that lucky; if he were lucky he wouldn't be here. Ok, Ok, I got this. No I don't. What the hell? We should have taken that plea. No, dammit, he didn't do this. And he wants a trial. What if we lose? I can't think that way. So, what kind of underhanded shit is Asshole D.A. going to pull? I just need to be ready for it. Surely the jury will see he's just being a dick. What if the jury is full of dicks? You never know about people and it's such a crap shoot. That's OK. I got this. I got this. What have I gotten myself into? Too late, got to get my game on here. Shit shit suddenly I can't remember a single rule of evidence. OK, I'm going to list all the hearsay exceptions. . . .this is a waste of time. I got to get ready. Hey, look! One of their cops got fired and moved to Florida! Oh, hell, wait - this is the one who shows that chick was telling conflicting stories. Wow, my paralegal's brother had some good ideas. Shit, he came up with things I missed and he's not even a lawyer! I am so going to tank this. No, I'm going to win it because I'm talking to people and getting ideas. It's going to be OK. Yeah. Fuck them. We got this. That cracked out 'ho isn't beleivable and the jury will certainly see that. She ain't shit. Fuck them. The cops didn't even know her stories conficted. Well, my guy's story isn't that believable, either. Just focus on her, just focus on her . . . "

and that's a day in the life. Why did I go to law school again?

Only in America

2009-03-19T06:07:00.000-07:00

I've loosely followed the AIG bonus scandal and honestly, can only get so mad. That's what these fuckers do - get rich irresponsibly and without principle at the expense of other people. That's how we got into this mess. Kind of late to get pissed now. Where were you hell raisers the past 8 years while big companies were allowed to run rampant like fat children at a pizza buffet, or frat monkeys at a kegger? Distracted by the flag waving? I have to give Bush that; he was a master magician. The public was properly distracted by the hand waving the flag while the other hand pickpocketed us. Hey, where's my retirement account? Stop, theif! Oh, hell, he's long gone.

It's nice that there is a bill to have the AIG bonuses, and perhaps others, taxed at a high rate. After all, that is taxpayer money. But the bonuses were 1/1000 percent of the bailout money. It's kind of like (watch out, metaphor #4!) telling the guy who robbed you that you want your pennies back. What does confuse me is that the bonuses were to entice the very people who fucked everything up to not quit their jobs. Really? It seems like they would want to fire those idiots, not pay them to stick around. "Hey John! You suck! Here's a million dollars!"

Only in America.

L-A-W yer!

2009-03-17T12:23:00.000-07:00

Sigh. The hot D.A. hasn't been flirting with me lately, and has been having lunch with cops, and dating some meathead state trooper, ( a guy, too; what a waste) and won't even cut deals when her case sucks anymore. This goes to show you that hanging out with cops is just bad for everyone.

I have a few theories on why. My favorite is that the stench of kevlar and misused power is toxic. I suspect it creates an invisible, soul-killing poison, all the more insidious because it is deceptively sexy. Stay away, hot D.A.! Stay away! It's gonna get you! They're out to get us all!

I still managed to get the proper legal argument through on one of the several guy D.A.'s, who I don't find hot, but are far more sensible. I crack on guys a lot, but if you break out a book and show them in black and white you are right, they will generally go along with you unless they are total idiot pricks who aren't going to listen to anyone anyway. The trick is to manage to break out a book, because it is you who will have to do this. I was in the front of the courtroom where the lawyers sit, reading the statute book, and this old guy lawyer makes fun of me, saying "Reading the statute book again?" "Uh, yeah." I said. "Huh", he says, followed by something mumbled and pointless."Well, I just got my client's DWI dismissed because I read the statutes, so I think he considers it worth my while." I told him. He seemed impressed and suprised. Dude, we're fucking lawyers. L-A-W yers. That means we 'yer' the law, which I think is an old english book for "read the fucking". Seriously? Cracking on a lawyer for reading the law? Where do I work? Of course, later I turned to a woman lawyer and asked if she knew the statute number for something, as I couldn't remember it. "Me? Know statute numbers?" she said. "Uh, yeah." I said. "Oh, I don't know any statute numbers." Dude. We're fucking lawyers. L-A-W yers. Whoa.

I work in backwards land where the hot D.A. is corrupted by jackbooted trooper stink, and the guy D.A.s will listen and the guy attorneys don't want to read the law and the women attorneys don't want to remember it. I am a lesbian in a strange land. But it's a land where I can kick some serious ass simply because I'm willing to read the damn statute book - unless I'm talking to the hot D.A., who is quickly becoming a lost cause. Just call me L-A-W yer, dammit. And bring me in some money when you do.

Query me this

2009-03-14T05:48:00.000-07:00

I admit it. I'm a total girl about those silly online relationship articles and short personality/love/are you a good kisser?/what kind of duck would you be? quizzes that abound online and in magazines these days. I'd be a Mallard duck! I am a good kisser! Yes, my girlfriend would make me a meatloaf if I asked! I even read the straight girl ones about what guys want in bed, which are utterly and totally inapplicable to me, just because. Of course, I usually say "ewwww..." at some point, but they're still fun.

The other day I read a dating article written by a man that was actually not half bad. I guess he got the job somehow. Lesbian lessons? I'm not sure. The thing that stood out was "men need sex to feel close. Women need to feel close to have sex." I think he's pretty much got it nailed. Even those crazy one night stands, speaking for myself, were preceded with feeling listened to and liked, yet I'd never thought about it that way. Ironically, as I write, I have on a cable radio station with a guy repeating, over a heavy beat, "smack my bitch up, smack my bitch up!" Wow, what a turn on.

So, here are some ideas for new quizzes, for you quiz writers out there. Feel free to use any of them. Publish them in Cosmopolitan or on facebook! I don't even want any credit. This is a public service, legal bandit style. Ok, here we go!

"Are you still a caveman?"
"Are you not getting laid because you are an ass?"
"Are you a candidate for castration as you sleep?"
"Are you a slut?"
"Are you Republican because you're an asshole?"
"Are you really a drunk, like everyone says?"
"Is she really a bitch, or did she dump you because you're fucked up?"
"How long before your boobies sag?"
"Would your breath wilt a squirrel?"
"Does your arrest record weigh more than your pet?"
"Would you rather be right than happy?"

Just some ideas. I think people should know themselves. Of course, the question is what we do with that information. Too often I think people think "Oh, that's how I am" and use it as an excuse for bad behavior, like we're made of formica or something. Of course, it's all in what you want. Want to be right, dammit, and smack your bitch up? Be my guest. But don't come bitching to me when no decent women will sleep with you and people want to stab you in the head. I tried to tell you. You shoulda listened.

I'll love your potluck tomorrow

2009-03-08T18:56:00.000-07:00

I'll miss the "L Word." It isn't that I know anyone who wears $300 bras, or looks like Jennifer Beals, or that any of the characters set terribly good examples. It's that otherwise, TV and movies have a serious dearth of lesbian relationships and sex. It just feels a little lonely to totally lack a reflection anymore.

There is an odd balance between a nod to a culture, to tradition, and to finding our own way. This weekend I went to a lesbian wedding. They got married in a church and wore white dresses. I, who desperately need lessons in wearing heels and what to do with a scarf, tried to help one of the brides figure out how to hold her flowers and walk and look a little less like a large tube of satin took her by surprise. I was the one eyed dyke in the land of the blind! Their mom/dads gave them away and they had a hotel reception and a first dance and everything. Of course, the first dance was, I think an unwitting nod, to lesbian drama, being "Will you still love me tomorrow?" I thought, "If you're wondering that, should we really be here, eating reception chicken?"

Far be it from me to deny any girl her white wedding, and I support any dyke who wants to have one wholeheartedly. It just isn't for me. I figure, if I'm far enough from tradition to do away with the fucking groom, what am I going to bust out a white wedding dress and a diamond for? Here's the plan. If my girl and I ever have a ceremony, I think we should go with evites and a potluck. Now, that's lesbian - a potluck! Lots of tofu and girls in pants! Maybe an herbal tea bar. Titanium rings of course, which I won't fuck up working on my truck and she won't fuck up trimming the hedges. We get flowers from the farmer's market and go camping for the honeymoon. Now that sounds like my kind of wedding.

But maybe the point is that we get to create our own traditions, or not. On the cutting edge of civil rights and politics, we get to decide what to take and what to keep on our own, at least so long as our churches and legislators will let us. What ultimately matters is that every day, I can look at girlfriend bandit, and say "Yes, I will love you tomorrow."

Queer advice for the straight guy

2009-03-02T04:15:00.000-08:00

I feel bad for straight guys. Recently I found myself freezing outside at a funeral and a guy I know offered me his jacket, which of course I took because I was freezing my ass off. Later we got into a conversation about how confusing it is to be a guy these days - open the door, or not? Offer to help carry stuff, or not? Guys are already operating at a deficit where women are concerned and I guess changing up the rules is pretty hard on them. It's not like they adjust easily anyway. Hey,maybe I'll adopt one! He can mow my yard and I'll call him George.

I do have a couple of long standing straight male friends who do pretty well. Otherwise, based on my experience wanting to strangle men and listening to straight women bitch, it appears that most guys desperately need a lesbian lesson. They storm around and have no idea what they're stomping on. Therefore, in thanks for the jacket at the funeral, I'm here offering a few basic lessons in girl 101 for you husbands, boyfriends, employers, employees, family members and general idiots. I promise it will not shrink your weenie to stop pretending you know everything for a minute.

Lesson one: You do not know everything. That's OK. STOP IT. That know all shit is really, really annoying.

Two: In a relationship, winning is almost always really losing. Next time you are pushing a point, ask yourself this - would you rather be right, or happy? Then shut the hell up. We aren't like guys; we don't argue the point then get over it like a soccer match. We tell you how we feel and if you keep pushing, you may get your way, but it will be very, very expensive. I'm not saying bend over. I'm saying listen and quit trying to shove things down her throat she's already spit out.

Three: What women want most is not money, power, security or your dick. That's what you want. Security is on the list, but it doesn't mean what you think. What women want most is to be listened to. Really listened to - not that shit where you get half drunk or jacked up on coffee, ask a question, listen for what you want to hear or evidence to support your argument for some retarded shit later, interrupt, take what you heard out of context then use it to your own advantage. That's not listening. It's creating fantasies of stabbing you. Try this: drink less beer and coffee. Be ready to be surprised and give up the notion you have to win anything. Ask a question about something she's interested in. Don't interrupt or get in your head strategizing. Look at her face, not her boobs. Think about what she said. Ask a related question. You will learn a lot this way and are far less likely to be stabbed.

Four: You can't even make all the rules with a lawnmower engine. What makes you think you get to make the rules with people? Get off your throne. You are not king. You do not get to do what the hell you want and expect everyone else to deal with it. "I yam what I yam" didn't even fly for a cartoon character. And you definitely can't expect to get away with whatever you want,complain about what another person does and expect them to give a fuck about how you feel. Play fucking fair. You are not made of rock - I mean steel - oh wait, I can't think of a single thing that isn't capable of change! Now grow the hell up and start relating if you want a relationship.

Five: Get some trimmers. Seriously. That nose and ear hair is NOT cute and yes, women notice. Clip your nails. Get some breath strips, especially if you smoke. Do some situps. That gut hanging over your belt? I don't know a ton of straight chicks, but none of them find it sexy.

Six: Security doesn't mean riding in on a white horse or paying for stuff. It means being there. See all those poor guys/girls with women totally in love with them? Yeah. Money and help are great, and financial stability is really important to some of us who do not want to pay your bills. But, they are not, ultimately, what women need. We need to know our partners will stick by us when the shit hits the fan; that they can be faithful, care enough about us to listen, will listen, can listen, (real listening, not the grab something and use it later like we're on fucking trial "listening"), believe in us, support us, care about our kids and pets, care about our welfare, will think to offer a jacket in the cold or pick up soup when we have a cold. That's security.

Of course, I generalize, and some women think all they want is another hit of crack or money enough to not depend on some neanderthal who treats women like they can be bought. But maybe this will help some dude who really is trying. I'm sure there are a few out there somewhere, loaning their jackets in the cold, and trying really hard to pay attention. Good luck guys, because this is definitely not a man's world.

Stimulate this

2009-02-25T14:04:00.000-08:00

Obama's speech last night laid out some pretty ambitious plans. Not like winning at beer pong, or farting quietly in public - I mean real ambitions. He also seems to get that waving a flag at things doesn't make them good. We seem to have forgotten that. Torture prisoners? No-bid contracts for politician's buddies? Government overseers of the oil companies getting coked up with the CEOs? Barely literate cowboy for president? Wave a flag! It will magically be just great! Dear Republicans: the flag is not magic. Have you seen a bunny fly out of your ass? It's because it is n-o-t m-a-g-i-c.

I am still not so sure I support the economic stimulus package, though. It's treating greedy CEOS like rich frat boys who fuck up all they want then get bailed out when things go bad. How the fuck are they going to learn? If you're gonna let companies gamble, you got to let them lose.

I still think there's lots of ways to save money, though, and get the country back on track. Here are a few of my ideas.

1. Bitch slap every company owner who shut down a plant here then opened one in bum fuck egypt where they can pay slave laborers fourteen cents a day so they can be grossly, obscenely rich instead of just obscenely rich. Then tax them the exact amount that they are saving on labor by doing that shit. Give the money to the people who would have had the jobs.

2. Legalize drugs and prostitution and tax that shit. $4 tax on a blowjob. Etc. We'll pay off the deficit in like 6 months. Unfortunately, I'll be out of a job.

3. Let people actually bid on government jobs. Ahem.

4. Fine people for non violent crimes and stop locking them up. You know what happens when you lock them up? They lose their jobs and stop paying taxes. You know how much money it takes to run a jail? Wardens, guards, water, heat, air conditioning, maintenance, sewage, electricity, uniforms, cameras, other technology, food. . . it's fucking expensive. Does the guy with the weed really need to be in there instead of at his cook job? Really?

5. Actually give out fashion tickets. $500 fine for having a mullet. $250 for acid washed jeans. $1,000 for a haircut with "wings". $100 for shorts with knee high white socks. $800 for having a big ass sticking out of a miniskirt.You get the idea.

6. Take away people's cars who go 90 on the freeway weaving in and out of traffic. Sell them. If they are passing on the right, make them wash the cars before we sell them and spray some of that smell good stuff in there, which they must buy themselves.Screw those assholes. If I stop writing in my blog, it's probably because one of them caused a wreck on my way to work. Jerks.

7. $10,000 fine for dropping out of high school. No money? Work it off picking up trash on the highway. Maybe when you scrape up enough possums you'll get your ass to English class.

8. No more handing out cash to corporations to help them expand and advertise and stay open and shit. Don't know how to run a business? Don't run one.

9. No more sick sized bonuses for the assholes who sit in board rooms and vote to pay shit to their workers and only give out 2% raises while they pay themselves $45 million a year. Cap their salaries and let the people who do the work have the money. Maybe they could keep one house each over their heads. Big shot does not need seven homes while other people are getting foreclosed on, I don't care what he says.

10. Let gay people marry and adopt children, creating more stable homes, less kids in government-sponsored foster care, more two income houses, more families buying family stuff, less volunteer money going to stupid organizations who hate us because it will be pointless.

Just some ideas, but the message he's rocking and the word I am sending is that it is HIGH motherfucking time for some reform. Jump on the bandwagon, y'all, a new country is hopefully about to leave the station.

You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but . . .

2009-02-22T07:45:00.001-08:00

Defendants may, overall, be irresponsible, short sighted, drunk, dishonest, and consider violence a viable means of problem solving, but they are my people. It isn't that I fight, drink, lie, steal or find myself utterly unable to foresee the consequences of my actions - for the most part. It's just that I understand.

I credit my upbringing. One of my great accomplishments is that I got through high school without getting in a fight. You may not think much of this. Let's draw a picture. My fondest memories are riding around with my bare feet sticking out of the window of a Camaro with a big joint in one hand and Mountain Dew in the other with Led Zeppelin playing really loud, on the way to the store to get Moon pies, then to cruise around aimlessly or maybe look for drugs. Yes, we were rednecks. People kept shotguns and were wont to bust out the trailer with one in hand if you showed up in a strange truck. I'm assuming cellphones have helped a lot, for those of them who can pay up their minutes.

My family was not unusual, so I don't know where I learned better. I was born in a trailer and encouraged to kick ass whenever appropriate, I just never really found it to be appropriate. My sister, on the other hand, caught on quickly. Once, some girl showed up at the house intending to beat up my sister, which was just a terrible idea, since she could probably single handedly conquer Afghanistan. The chick pulled up in the driveway, got out and cussed until sister bandit heard her, who promptly went flying out the side door and screamed (insert awesome southern accent)"Get the hell out of here, ya big-footed, hairy bitch!" Of course, the girl didn't leave, so sister bandit kicked her ass all over the front yard. Another time, my father lent her his car to go get in a fight, since she apparently needed to go teach some girl a lesson for something involving her boyfriend J.T. and could simply not put this off until her rusty Escort was running again. About an hour later, she came back without a scratch, but was holding her wrist. My dad, who was watching Nascar,, looked up and asked how she'd gotten hurt, with a subtle tone sugggesting she'd better not have lost - he taught her better. She explained she was so mad when she got back in the car, she slammed her hand on the dash and bruised it. Satisfied his progeny had prevailed, he dispensed the fatherly advice "well, that was stupid. You should have gotten back out and hit her again!" then returned to watching the race.

Knowing at some level something was just not right with this picture, I quietly resolved to get the hell out of Dodge when I turned 18.

However, the education has come in handy. I don't get surprised. Of course I understand that when the crack ran out, you had to drive a borrowed car without a license and go steal some things because you needed more, and of course when the car was wrecked, you had to just leave it there, since getting caught would mean getting that old warrant served. Well, duh, what else would you do? Of course when the bitch showed up with your baby daddy and started talking shit, you naturally busted a beer bottle and went after her. Bitch has to learn a lesson, right? Girl got her pride. I think it makes me a better lawyer. At any rate, it gets me through the day and when the clients find me in a sea of stuffy white guys, they know that someone, somewhere, outside the trailer park does, in fact, understand.

Vote for me

2009-02-18T13:28:00.000-08:00

I used to want to have an exciting life. I've changed my mind about this. Lately I've been privy to dyke drama including, in no particular order: amateur porn, public servants, a butcher knife, a broken beer bottle, an anonymous letter, drunk texting, and a slanderous internet questionarre. I don't particularly know most of these people, I just learn a lot by being in the right place at the wrong time. I've decided turning into a pumpkin at 10:30 and having girlfriend bandit get on me to eat more vegetables is really a fine little life. And it isn't even like "bitch, eat some damn carrots or I'm gonna cut you!" or like "Gimme those potato chips before I kick your ass!" or anything like that. It's just run of the mill encouragement to pack a lunch instead of having a velveeta cheeseburger, though I really do like the velveeta cheesburger, especially with a chocolate shake and a nap in my office. Sigh. Today I had mashed potatoes and turnip greens. And I'm not even fat.

What is it about lesbians that draws such drama? We can leap tall boundaries with a single bound; fall in love at boob-thundering speed; grow an emotional briar patch in like 9 minutes flat. Here's what I propose - we use our powers for good! All the lesbians of the world should unite their emotional powers and change the world over night. We could have the israelis and palestinians singing along to poorly arranged guitar ballads, have everyone in the world adopt a kitten/puppy/weird bird and through their love of that pet, embrace environmentalism and stop climate change; glue together the polar ice cap; help North Korea realize all they really need is love and feed the hungry with good, homegrown vegetables from co-op gardens. And if we can do these things half as fast as we can meet a new girl and practically move in with her, the world's biggest problems would be solved by next Tuesday - Wednesday tops.

Therefore, I am officially throwing my hat into the ring as mayor of the world. I will immediately order less clothing for hot chicks and that all hairy men wax their backs, then get on to the rapid business of reforming the earth by redirecting lesbians away from butcher knives and toward falling in love with the world. We would all be living together harmoniously with 175 billion kittens in no time. Vote for me! Our time has come! Just make sure the election results are in by 10:30 or so, because I'm going to bed.

Inside the U-Haul

2009-02-11T17:58:00.001-08:00

I have a couple friends in new relationships, (read: moved in but don't know each other's middle names) and girlfriend bandit has an old friend getting married to some girl she's known like five minutes. Lesbians. What is it about us that makes us get involved at the speed of flying pool balls? "Hi! What's your name? I love you! Hey, Anne, this is my new girlfriend! It's different this time. Can you help us move?" I suspect that double estrogen works like some potent drug. I know boobies aren't magic because guys don't act like this. They are really good about slowing things the fuck down; a butt scratch, noting that she's cool enough to sleep with again,then remembering the game is on with a mental note to call by like Tuesday or something.

There may be an advantage, though, of not knowing someone - you don't have expectations that get let down when people change, because people do change, and sometimes drastically. Hiking boots gather dust. The bookworm starts watching basketball. The hippie discovers a competitive edge. The gardener stops saying "I want to live off the grid" and gets interested in luxury vacations. Drunks sober up and introverts start wanting to go party. A few years in, you might hardly recognize your girl as the one you took home, played folk music on your futon for and moved in over your cat's objection.

I think this is where it matters whether love is a verb or a noun. Hear me out here. Love as a noun is very subjective. We feel love, we are in love, we glow and gush to our friends, and all that is great, but is a booby-soft pink cloud of love that just doesn't cut it to get you through everyday life for long. Then there is the verb, to love. To give something that matters of yourself. To show up when you don't want to, listen though you're tired, give her a chance to work her issues out though you really don't understand them, and maybe just to stop and ask if you're being respectful, supportive and kind. I think as lesbians we get really caught up in what we want to feel, which is necessary and great, but sometimes forget to pay attention to the love we do.

I'm not saying stick together when she's changed so much she doesn't hit all 5 of your top five requirements for a mate. Hey, if you really need someone who will play with your monkeys and she develops a deep dislike of all poop-throwing primates, though I've no idea why that would happen, by all means move on! I'm just saying that it is what you do that matters. My dad got in a car wreck a couple years ago and girlfriend bandit drove out to sit with him in the hospital for weeks in a row - without being asked. That was when she truly won me over; what she did showed me dedication, loyalty and a willingness to go out of her way for me and for my family, who are really important to me, though you'd never know it by how bad I suck at calling. It's that kind of stuff that gets you through the times when the pink cloud is black and shitting sleet on you and you have to scrape and scrape to get the ice off your car and realize you have a crappy scraper and then that it is Saturday and you didn't have to go to work after all and put on a suit and went out in the sleet for nothing. You know, those days.

And that is my valentine's day message: if you're going to rescue some kittens together, make sure to do some stuff that gets you through the dirty litterbox days. Years later, you'll be glad.

And the winner is: Soul!

2009-02-08T07:19:00.000-08:00

We won! The four black chicks with the lesbian coach are the freakin' national champions. I sat in the back, stomach in knots, heart thumping, as round after round, my girls stood up and laid it the fuck down. Their final closing argument was a spine tingling work of art. People told me they wanted to cheer.

After the competition, I needed to walk back because I just couldn't sit any longer. They walked, in heels and the drizzling rain, because they said if I was walking, they were walking. It was so wonderful to see them beaming with joy and reeling with their success. It was on the walk back that they told me they had wanted to win for me, and came out there determined not to let me down. "We couldn't have done this without you," they said. There in the craptacular neon light of Las Vegas, my heart broke. I thought I just gave them a good crash course in trial practice. Maybe I gave them something much more valuable.

In thinking about this over the past couple of days, I think I'm beginning to see why sports fans are so interested in the coach. It's the players, on game day, who matter. But before game day, it's the coach's job to bring out the best in those players. When organizers and a couple coaches were talking to me about how great my team was, I told them a little about my methods, which focused not just on the case, but on teaching them to believe in, speak for and understand themselves. I wanted them to be who they needed to be within the case. They grew. It was wonderful to watch, win or lose.

Maybe here it even went a little farther. They were all calling their parents (I envy how close black families are. I love my mom and dad and still haven't called them) and I heard one telling her mom that they were the only black people there. It might have taken a little extra to help them have the kind of courage and self assurance they showed in a white male profession against schools whose names people knew. "Oh, Rutgers. . . " they said, looking deflated. "Shit, they tried to recruit me and I didn't even write them back," I told them. "We run the courtrooms in North Carolina for a reason, and don't you forget it." While that's true, it is also true that our school is the state underdog. It's the old black college with the ghetto nearby. We let people in with lower scores and tougher backgrounds to give them a chance. So, "take that, white boy!" I say out loud. "This was right, and beautiful", I say to myself. I let them hold my St. Thomas More medal for the final round and asked that he guide them. I guess he did. And I'm learning that so did I.

Soul in Las Vegas

2009-02-06T14:34:00.000-08:00

I'm a Southern chick and haven't spent much time here in Nevada. So far as I can see, it consists of dust, rock, hoover dam, Las Vegas and people who smoke. Oh, and white people. I saw one black dude yesterday touring the Hoover Dam. We offered to take his and his boyfriend's picture together and they freaked out. Like they weren't as obviously gay as Cher's club music and size 19 heels. Sigh.

Specifically, I'm in Las Vegas, the craptacular center of the universe. I'm here as a trial team coach from my old law school, a historically black university that trust me, does more with less. We get shit for grants, no post-school loan support, an administration I don't even want to talk about and the local whitey schools stick their noses up at us. Know what? We virtually staff the state's courtrooms and have turned out some of the state's finest defense attorneys and prosecutors. So there, whitey 85 hour a week drink too much never see your fancy house fucked up kids lousy marriage potbelly corporate law spent 3 years in a corner writing memos monkey. Roll your high cholesterol ass up in the courtroom and try to make a hearsay objection. I dare you.

I figured since this was a national competition, we'd see the nation represented. Nope. We went to registration last night and stuck out like muffins in a toolbox. Every coach and student in the room was white and straight. My team is four black chicks with a gay white coach. Know what? I think we got it. My team rolled in all suited up and ready to impress. We were behind two guys that looked like they just rolled in from a drunk. If you don't have the sense to shower and put on a clean shirt before you meet the opposing team, how much are you really thinking?

I see who we are as a strength, though. We're people with the strength to break the molds and be who we wanted to be, not who society told us we should be. However, it took a while to convince my students. Law is a potbellied white male profession and sitting around reading case law does not help one find one's true voice. It helps one find a lot of dust and question the existence of a soul.

We only had a month to practice but after two weeks I suddenly realized these girls were trying to cram themselves into molds that don't fit and losing everything that makes them special. Black women, at least southern black women,have this incredible ability to put you and your silly ass who I KNOW didn't just say that up in my house in your place in two seconds flat. And black oratory is a fine, soul rocking, inspirational thing. Ever seen a sweating black dude stomping around a stage telling you about Jesus while the audience says "amen!"? I don't know if there was a heaven before black preachers, but their sermons have probably built one.

My students had lost that. Finally, I told them to put their notes up and tell me why I should let this sorry ass piece of crap defendant live, or, on the other side, how I could sleep at night after letting the state kill this idiot who never had a chance. It was like watching Neo wake up from the pod in the Matrix. The goop started wearing off as they talked about how they really felt. "Now that is a closing argument." I told them and beat their notes out of their hands.

Regardless of how we do, I'm proud. I've seen four women start to find themselves. They stand a little straighter, speak a little stronger, smile a littler wider. Maybe we win the competition and maybe we don't. But I feel pretty sure we have stood up against the stuffy old establishment and struck a blow for the soul.

I got nominated?

2009-02-03T12:00:00.000-08:00

So I'm pretty pleased that my list of rants here, otherwise known as a blog, has been nominated for a lezzy award at thelesbianlifestyle.com. Get your lazy ass there and throw in a nomination. Maybe I win something. I'm not sure what one would win, though. A dildo shaped pen? A signed picture of Cat Cora? Some wrenches? Tickets to a women's basketball game? Mmmmm, Cat Cora.

Apparently, I've been nominated in the best feminism and political blog category. This confused me a little since I would have expected it to be in the humor category, but I suspect, deep down, that I'm not nearly as funny as I think.

I suppose it now behooves me to talk about the lesbian lifestyle or something political or feminist now. Um, OK. More dykes should run for office. That's political, right?

Um, the lifestyle part is going to be more problematic. I'm not really sure what the lesbian lifestyle is. I'm pretty sure it involves a lot of pets and comfortable shoes. I have a girlfriend and a few lesbian friends. Our houses, incomes and bras look nothing like the "L Word." Neither do any of us. I don't really follow sports but did watch the superbowl. That guy with the ball ran really far! That other guy with the ball did pretty good too. I wore a turtleneck with my suit the other day. It looked soooooo gay. At least that's what neighbor dyke bandit said. Is that a lifestyle?

Truth be known, I'm not so sure I even have a life. Saturday night I played video games while girlfriend bandit painted shelves. Then we ate some broccoli and mashed potatoes. Neither of us drink or go to the bar. We are usually in bed with books at 10:30. I listen to loud hip hop on the way to work but can't rap. I know how to play guitar but don't. Is this a life? Does it have style? Do I have style? Probably not. I'm a lesbian. We like comfortable shoes.

I am happy and flattered, though. Now go fucking vote, you freeloading reader. Earn your political feminism lesbian blog reading keep.

What chair to choose

2009-01-30T03:36:00.001-08:00

I am never surprised at work. This doesn't mean it's boring. It means that, overall, I make my living off of people who just don't get it. Here are a few common characteristics. I'd suggest you check to see if these apply to you, but if they do, you probably won't recognize yourself, because you're too fucking thick headed.

1. You're too fucking thick headed.
2. If you don't like a rule, you think it does not apply to you. Guess what? People in uniforms will have a problem with you. Get with the program. That's the point of rules -to get your dumb ass in line.
3. When other people tell you that you are being a dumb ass, you justify your behavior until they get tired of arguing with you, then convince yourself you convinced them and should move ahead with your retarded ass plan. For the record, you probably should not.
4. Nothing is more important than defending your pride, even your record, employability, or freedom from strip searches. Guess what? That idiot talking shit to you will not give you a job, sign your paycheck or bail you out. Let him talk.
5. You regularly break more than one law at a time, or break two in the same day. Today I read about a public employee caught with some weed at his house. Later the same day he gets a DWI in the company truck. He tells the cops he wasn't impaired because he only smoked a roach. Dude. First, you were at work. Second, you already got busted once today. Did you really have to ensure you spent the night in jail and lost your job? Third, you don't argue with the cops about how little pot you smoked. It's all illegal and you just blew your defense. Go home and flush the weed. You are not using drugs successfully.
6. Distorted self image with respect to the rest of the world. If you look in the mirror and see a cool outlaw, an entreprenuer who just thinks outside the box, a risk taker, a gangsta, if you often say 'people don't understand', 'I had to' or 'it will be ok, and if it's not, I'll deal with it then', chances are that you are, on some level, an idiot who is begging for an ass kicking. Haven't gotten one yet? Ask yourself if luck, like hope, springs eternal. No, wait - ask some homeless guy or somebody in an orange jumpsuit with 'inmate' stamped on the back. That won't happen to you? Refer back to #2. Back yet? You are a dumb ass. Now refer back to #3.

These are my people, and I love them, and appreciate that they pay my mortgage. Well, them and my girlfriend, who makes a lot more money than me. And because I know them, they do not surprise me. However, I am acutely aware of how little space there is between our chairs at the defense table. You have to be ballsy, innovative, flexible and headstrong to be a decent defense attorney. But being able to draw those fine lines put me in a suit on the left instead of handcuffs on the right.

The moral of the story is - It is, in fact, the the subtle differences that make a life.

OMG, Prince Harry is single!

2009-01-25T03:42:00.000-08:00

I'm not much for tabloid news. There, I said it. I don't feel smarter, or richer, or better informed when I know where Brittany is in rehab or who some some skinny chick in a designer dress is blowing this month. I don't care who Jennifer Aniston marries. If she shows up at my house with a fruit tray and propositions, that's another matter, but frankly, I'm not holding my breath. I am holding my breath for Sandra Bullock, however, just for the record.

Of course, I'm not a teenager. Not anymore, anyway. On most days. Teenagers love that shit because they have such inflated senses of self-importance. Debbie and Tyrone breaking up is the end of the world! OMG, oceans are going to rush over the beaches and take out entire communities in their grief. Teenagers like to gossip loudly in malls or other unfortunate public gathering places, hoping to be overheard, because surely the adults passing by will be impressed that the blonde one got invited to Tony's party, and secretly wish themselves they could go, but they are so old and boring, but everyone wants to go to Tony's - whoever the fuck Tony is and whyever they should care that he's convinced some morally challenged 30 year old to buy him shitty beer while his parents are in Idaho for the weekend. It's Tony! Teenagers, all listen closely: Tony is not a real celebrity. His breakup with Jami'ka is not nearly so interesting as Prince Harry's breakup with Chelsy Davy, the law student who he's been seeing for 5 years, probably because Harry is in the army and she's in law school and that has got to be hard, but dude, what guy is going to want to follow up that act? She's been doing the potential next king of England for the last 5 years. Talk about performance anxiety! He's so cute though and doesn't at all seem like a total dick like his father was, OMG poor Diana, right?

That was just an example. Ahem. And now, the NY Times, so I can get depressed over the state of the world and have my ego deflated over a crossword puzzle I can't finish until girlfriend bandit starts asking about breakfast - the Sunday of an adult who is very, very not famous. Well, at least Tony and Qu'a'liitay won't be gossiping about what I wear to the grocery store this afternoon, and I might just go looking like shit just because I can.

Sing, Sing a song about flying cars

2009-01-22T17:29:00.000-08:00

I read today they finally came up with a flying car. Yay! Now we can have air traffic jams like in the Jetsons. Fortunately, it's about $200,000, so not too many speeding, tailgating idiots will be buying one, because the problem with a flying car is that when another flying car cuts you off, the wreck means you stop flying. Talk about whiplash from a fender bender! The bottom of the car will be jammed right up your ass and actually into your neck. Takes a hell of a chiropractor to fix that shit.

Of course, I want one. And of course, that isn't going to happen. I can't even afford to fix the cracked windshield on my 10 year old Nissan. Oh, wait, it isn't my Nissan, it's my girlfriend's old car. And that's with my student loans on deferment. My friend at the public defender's office makes more money than me. Now that shit is sad; NC has the lowest paid court officials in the country. And she gets benefits and all holidays off and can pay her student loans and bills at the same time. This gives rise to quite a few questions. Will this job translate into raises that allow me to pay the bills and eventually buy a used Honda, will I regret taking a job based on hope, will I snap one day when another atrocious and unnecessary hiring decision is dumped into the front office over ignored objections, will I make coffee, burn the toast, remember toast gives me gas, run out of gas, go running, run away, or sing, sing a song? Tune in next week: same broke-ass time, same broke-ass channel. Only time will tell.

I'm not giving up my Yoyo, even for king messiah supercool.

2009-01-20T14:55:00.000-08:00

Is it time to get real already? The reflecting pool was frozen, and Obama really could have walked on water. *Sniff.* He also let me down saying it was time to put away childish things. I got a new Batman yoyo for Christmas and I really like it. I'm not putting it away, either, so there!

I love this guy. I really do. I couldn't help but notice, though, that his speech gave a shout out to practically every conceivable group except gay people. OK, he didn't mention one-legged auctioneers, agoraphophic dentists, or blind cake decorators. But still, man! If the coolest guy to ever take office ignores us, who is going do speak for us? What, am I the fucking Lorax tree? I know I'm asking a lot; he's still a politician and has to work with a bunch of right wing not jobs. But come on, dude - you included atheists and ignored us? When we got our marriage rights stripped in California the day you got elected? Oh, shit, I forgot - it's all gay people wear their invisibility cloaks day.

And, the reality is, (mind you, I still have the yoyo) that he doesn't walk on water. And the truth is that it's a good thing that today, millions of us believed the message that 'we can'; can change, can grow, can save ourselves. But tomorrow someone will buy a Hummer, and someone will close an American plant to open one in China, and Karl Rove will accept his re-election in Hell, and some homeless family will freeze to death because there wasn't room in the shelter, and some one will learn to play the banjo, and someone smoke their first rock of crack because they can't get away from the guy with the banjo.

Maybe the lesson is patience. Black people had a long, hard road from slavery to this day, and the country still has a long way to go on that front. Homelessness, poverty, SUVs, bagpipes, and all of society's other ills are going to take some time to fix, and treating gays and lesbians like second class citizens isn't going to go away overnight either, even if Barak is president king messiah supercool. So, tomorrow, it's back to work. Today, it's snowing, and beautiful, and the messiah let me down, but maybe an imperfect world needs an imperfect leader, and I still believe in him.

Long live the king!

2009-01-17T04:04:00.001-08:00

So I'm really looking forward to Obama's coronation. I mean inauguration. People say it's more like a coronation and it's true, but fuck it, maybe we need someone kingly right now. We've just suffered eight years of having a drunk frat boy drive the country into a ditch like his dad's mercedes. Things suck. We need someone to put on a pedestal to prove the pedestal hasn't been reposessed.

We also need someone with common sense enough to not be a bully. I've been thinking and have come to the conclusion that the same rules apply to dealing with friends, coworkers, customer service representatives and smelly international diplomats who eat weird stuff. I'm particularly sensitive to being bullied, probably for some deep seated psychological reason I won't be paying a shrink to unearth because after all that money I'll still want to throw things/rebel/quit/bite when I feel that way, but still, I suspect that in any arena, being a bully is at best a short term solution that causes long term problems. Look at Bush - he bullied the UN, Iraq and pretty much everyone else. And for a while, he got what he wanted. But long term, he got the lowest approval ratings in history, a shitcan economy, lots of dead people, roadside bombs, more terrorists than ever, and the whole world thinking we're a bunch of arrogant assholes. I met a girl at a party who trains horses and explained how she works with them, not on them, and how animals who run in herds or packs never follow the bully; they follow the one who has shown good decision making abilities. Of course, Americans aren't too bright and reelected our dumbass in cheif, but we caught on eventually.

So, I think the same thing applies in personal relationships.I don't know whether we as Americans are particularly susceptible to this, but I do see a lot of people who confuse wearing people down with getting them to agree. It's not the same thing. Anyway, maybe the other guy had to be worn down because your idea sucked - like going to war in Iraq with no plan or evidence we needed to be there, for instance. So, here's a thought - if someone gives in because they're sick of telling you you're an idiot and your idea is not good/stupid/dangerous/inappropriate/makes them want to stab you/is going to get you sued/ etc. it doesn't make the idea a good one. Getting one's way by bullying also comes at the expense of creating resentments, damaging relationships and making people just feel run over - which does not make the herd want to follow you.

But Obama makes people want to follow him. 2 million people are trekking to D.C. in the fuck-me-oh-hell-what-is-this cold to watch him get sworn in for a reason. He makes people believe we're not a bunch of bullies; that we can listen; that we have the common sense to respect and build good relationships with people we need; that we're not just arrogant pigs, but people who are capable of growth and change for a greater good.

So, I say give Obama a fucking crown and some purple robes, I don't care. I'm so glad to trade in this illiterate schoolyard bully for a grown up with some self discipline and tact I don't care if he gets carried in on the shoulders of 6 men in turbans and fed grapes by local virgins, only the virgins should, of course, not miss school, since they're probably only in 5th grade. Anoit his head with oil. Whatever. If he can save some kid from a roadside bomb and make us look a little less like international date rapists, I say long live the king.

Sometimes it is their fault

2009-01-10T07:16:00.000-08:00

We've been repainting the interior of the house and rearranging. You may also call this an exorcism, since we're getting rid of all leftover furniture from my crazy ex and the ridiculous colors she picked out we've been living with for the past 4 years. It went like this: I woke up about 2 days after I took the bar, looked around and said "what the fuck is this and why do we have a bright green living room?" It took us a few months, but things look better and are beginning to feel a lot less haunted by something insane.

The last piece of furniture to go was a brown armchair that was worn out when crazy ex and I got it. We put it on craig's list for free, which excused not explaining it might be haunted. The city rescue mission called and talked to girlfriend bandit.

"Still have the chair?"
"yes."
"We can come get it today or tomorrow."
"Great. Come today."
"We can come tomorrow."
"Uh, Ok. when?"
"About 1."

So at 1:30 she calls and they say:

"Oh, yeah, we'll be there tomorrow."
"You said today."
"Really? OK, we'll be there at 4:00."
"Um, OK."

4 p.m. comes and goes. Apparently, about 6:30 they roll around and leave a note saying they had come for the chair.

And this is why they are unemployed and homeless.

New year, monkeys and here's to no bar

2009-01-06T10:01:00.000-08:00

Well, I got a new calendar. Otherwise, what did I tell you? Things are pretty much the same. The hoopla over a 'new year' is really just an excuse to get drunk and a money maker for defense attorneys, who profit from all the stupid shit people do when they are drunk: drive, break windows with firecrackers, punch people, pee in the street, drive trucks into houses, fight their baby's daddy's new baby's mama, break windshields, buy crack from an undercover officer any sober idiot could tell was a cop, yell in the street with an open bottle of shitty whiskey, stuff like that.

If I buy into the idea of a new year, at least I don't have to take the bar this year, which is really a measuring stick. House burn down? Bird flu? Monkey infestation? Hey, it's not the bar. Further, I'm on my way to having associates of my own to abuse and, if I'm lucky, enough money to buy a new car someday. It will probably be after I pay off my student loans, which I'm on track to do when I'm 73, at which time they will take my driver's license, but I won't care, because I'll have that new fucking car and will drive it, fuck them. Oh, that new car smell! A windsheild with no crack in it! A stereo with speakers I haven't blown yet! Dreams I cherish like a child, except I don't beat them. Sigh.

Until next time, glad you got to read me. Happy new year and may you visit bars, not take them.

Resolutions for the faint of obedience

2008-12-28T18:26:00.000-08:00

I don't really believe in New Year's resolutions, since I figure if I'm too lazy, selfish or insolent to do something different on any other day, why should getting a new calendar make a difference? However, I recognize the value of marking one's choices - such as getting married, buying a midlife crisis camaro or setting the now ex's clothes on fire, thereby making the breakup official. However, as I am a counselor at law, I've decided to hand out some potential resolutions for the faint of obedience: i.e., my clients, the theives and crackheads of the world. My suggestion to you is to resolve to:

1. To break only one law at a time. If you are drunk, don't run red lights or have your buddy stick their ass out the window. If you have no license, don't drive drunk. If you have 3 pounds of coke in the trunk, don't speed, or rob a liquor store.

2. To pay your fucking lawyer. Guess what? Until you've paid, you have no lawyer and are on your own when the D.A. gets sick of giving you continuances. Know how you thought you shouldn't go in on that robbery without a lawyer? You're going to, and I'm going to be in the back drinking coffee and probably not even wishing you luck. What, am I your guardian angel?

3. To not smack your girlfriend. If your girlfriend is a bitch, leave her. Smacking her up will not make her less of a bitch. In fact, she will, surprise surprise, probably just be pissed at you and get your stupid ass arrested. In a nutshell, "she deserved it" is not a defense.

4. To not come to court drunk. Seriously, it doesn't help.

5. To not come to court high, particularly on a drug charge. People can tell you are high. You are fooling no one. Your red, slanty little eyes and inability to dig your keys out at the security station will not be chalked up to allergies.

6. To pull your damn pants up. The judge will not be impressed by your fine choice in underwear.

7. To realize I am your advocate, not a miracle worker. See those other 276 people in the courtroom? They want to get out of here too. Sit down and shut up. If you didn't want to spend the day in court, you shouldn't have been buying meth in a stolen car.

8. To not smash windshields. Smashing someone's windshield only makes one point: you are an asshole with anger issues who needs to grow the fuck up. Find another solution.

9. To run your story by a couple people before you bring it to court. If they laugh, it is not a good defense.

10. To keep your car on the road: not to veer off into a ditch, a japanese maple, a convenience store, or someone's living room. Ass on the asphalt, it will save you a lot of money in the long run.

Good luck to you and happy new year. May your crimes be smart, your cops be lazy and your alibis strong.

Some Christmas ideas for the poor in wallet or heart

2008-12-24T15:23:00.001-08:00

Christmas is different when you're broke, which is the case for a lot of people in today's shitcan economy. I'm lucky enough to be employed. Many people these days are not, and spend the day drinking cheap beer and watching Lifetime movies in hopes of seeing someone whose life is worse. If you'll find it, you'll find it on Lifetime. 10 a.m.: "Hearts on a dove's wing: the triumphant story of a one-legged incest victim dumped in the Alaskan tundra by abusive wolves." Stuff like that.

Yet, people want to give Christmas presents. On the eve of this formerly religious holiday turned gaudy celebration of conspicuous consumption represented by a dangerously obese flying man, I thought I'd help by suggesting some presents that won't cost you any beer money. Here we go.

1. Love. Not the boring love your fellow man kind, though. Go fuck and ugly person who will appreciate it.

2. A paper bag with holes cut in it for the eyes and mouth. This is for your friend who is following the above suggestion.

3. Mice, decapitated birds, moles, voles, maybe a squirrel on a good day. I know these cost no money because my cats drag them in all the time and they are not getting an allowance. At least not from me.

4. Starbucks coffee. Oh, no wait. That costs lots of money. It just shouldn't because they're a fucking blight on America. They should pay us.

5. Stolen things. I recommend doing your Christmas stealing all in one place; the more security guards you encounter, the more likely you are to get caught. If you do get caught, however, it will be expensive. If you're in NC, drop me a line and say you were referred by legal bandit for a 10% discount on your defense, which will be "I was broke and stupid."

6. Crap in your attic you got last year and didn't want. Dust that shit off and pass it on. You should bust out some fresh wrapping paper though, and take off that "to Paul from cousin Doofy" tag. Just because you're broke doesn't excuse being tacky.

7. Give a present to the rest of the world and future generations - fire up a brain cell, haul your fat ass a few feet over and recycle your damn bottles and cans. Try using your grubby fucking paws to carry things out of a store instead of taking a plastic bag that will spend thousands of years in a landfill. Recently I saw this piece of shit leave his giant SUV running while he went into a convenience store, bought 2 sodas in plastic bottles, and let the clerk put them in a plastic bag like he couldn't carry them without a toxic handle. My Christmas present is that he and everyone like him be dragged out and shot.

So, there are a few ideas. Enjoy and happy holidays. Hope you get a job by next year and can come up with some present ideas on your own. If not, see you in court.

Is this over yet?

2008-12-23T06:15:00.000-08:00

Gee, thanks for the zero offers of ideas to cheer me up, you lazy fucks. I could have just gone and stabbed somebody, and where would your bandit blog be then? Written in jail, that's where. And the girls there are, so far as I've seen on jail visits, distinctly not hot. It's not like when Helena and Dusty hooked up on 'The L Word', at least not in rural NC where most of the chicks are in there for crack and meth, which has left their teeth looking like hedgeclippers.

But I digress. Now, to the holidays. I have noticed the past few years that holidays are very different when you don't drink. Less people to hang out with, less places to hang out, and you're stuck actually experiencing the whole thing - crazy aunt, gobs of shoppers, piped-in Christmas carols, hungover co-workers, the Salvation Army bell (or was that a drill in my ear the whole time I was shopping?), guilt trips, expectations that one nicely wrap things one did not want to buy in the first damn place, clients with no money to pay because they had to get their brat kid an Xbox to make themselves feel better for being shitty, drunken parents all year, traffic, blow-up santa dolls hanging out of windows and waiters with felt reindeer horns on their heads. No wonder people invented eggnog. It allows even old ladies an escape, and God knows everyone needs one this time of year.

However, happy holidays, and may your buyer's remorse not be too painful. If so, I suggest we all set our credit card statements on fire and create a new holiday which involves people boycotting corporate america, wearing normal clothes, ignoring our families and shutting the hell up for a couple of days. Let me know if you're interested. Unless I get something really cool for Christmas, in which case I suggest you down some eggnog, 'cause you're on your own.

Cheer me up, dammit.

2008-12-19T06:43:00.000-08:00

The end of the year, in reality, means nothing. People made up calendars to keep up with themselves and each other and to explain why grandma is so much more wrinkly than the baby. On January first we'll all be the same people dealing with the same shit washing the same dishes and changing the same baby and grandma diapers. Calendars mean nothing.

Yet, at the end of every year it seems like everybody's shit gets stirred up and we feel weird. I've been pretty depressed lately. Of course, the dead fish didn't help, or crap at work, or realizing suddenly that Christmas is next week and I just don't wanna. People around me are cranky. On the bright side, there's this D.A. with awesome legs who wears a skirt almost every day. Yeah.

This morning I started a list of cheer me up things. This is as far as I got.

1. D.A.'s legs. Both of them. In high heels. Mmmm.

2. Christmas will be over soon. No more stupid music in every store I go into because I need grapes and deodorant. People will stop wearing Christmas sweaters, which are an abomination and should all be burned. I will not be tempted to strangle some guy in a stupid Santa tie for 12 more months. Overall, good.

3. If I break down and stab somebody, I know several really good defense attorneys and all the local judges. I just need to stab someone in this county.

4. There's always chocolate.

5. Butt stick is only in the office for another week. (If you're confused, see post "butt stick.")I am looking forward to no longer having to deal with butt stick, who could probably benefit from a good ass kicking. Again, I do know some defense attorneys.

6. L word starts back up next month, even though retarded ass Showtime is taking it off the air and ripping everyone off with a 6 week season. Still, though. It's the L word.

7. I never have to take the bar again. Thank God, because I'd stab myself.

8. I'm running out of ideas. That's sad, isn't it?

Help me out here. Mail your happy thoughts on a postcard taped to the hood of a new BMW to: Bah humbug, 110 S. Dammit Street, Gimme-leggs NC. Don't use cheap tape and fuck up my paint, either. thanks.

Habeas is corpus

2008-12-16T07:24:00.001-08:00

I've apparently killed my fishie and am very sad. I really loved this fish. He lived in my office and I felt guilty every weekend when I left Habeas by himself with no one to talk to him or feed him, and apologized every Monday morning. I rescued him, since people are always stuffing bettas in these tiny, sad bowls, which I think is terrible; so he got a 3 gallon tank with live plants and was very happy. However, yesterday I thought the tank needed to be cleaned and I changed out the water and washed the algae and fish poop out of the gravel and apparently, he liked it better dirty because he was dead this morning. We buried him in a paperclip box outside my window and I cried in the parking lot.

This leads me to philosophize a bit about some of the fucked up people I see every day. The system punishes them and occasionally tries to rehabilitate them but maybe if they cleaned up too much, they'd go belly up. Maybe some people just need to be in a little crap to be OK. Who are we to say? Maybe the laws of nature apply to us too. For instance, a catfish wants to eat gunk off the bottom of the pond. It's what makes him big and fat and whiskery. Maybe some people are just made to have a continually revoked license, a pissed off family, a familiarity with the jail guards, a lawyer budget, and favorite games to play in a cell. They provide jobs for lawyers and judges and district attorneys and jail guards and legislators and police and probation officers and clerks of court and probably a bunch of people I don't even know about. Maybe some people just don't need the water changed.

Sigh. Well, guess I'll mourn the fish for a couple of days and find another, perhaps luckier, inhabitant for this lonely looking tank, and let him get dirty if he wants to. In the meantime, more power to the catfish people who pay for my office so I can give a dirty fishie a home.

Spring loaded! Look out!

2008-12-10T16:15:00.001-08:00

I work for a guy who is wound so tight I fully expect springs to start snapping and flying out of his body in all directions any day now, so sometimes I keep my distance, you know, just in case. I've got insurance but I also like having two eyes. They probably do eye transplants if yours get poked out by flying springs but I don't know for sure. Besides, I might get a set of big, googly eyes - the kind that makes people think "wow, look at those big, googly eyes! I'm glad I don't have bulging buglike googly eyes like that. I wonder if he's inbred?" or things like that. Mine are nothing really special, I don't think, but are not googly and are a reasonably nice size and color, so I want to keep them, and besides, having your eyes poked out probably hurts a lot.

I also might get crackhead eyes, which are incapable of seeing the next sensible thing to do pretty much ever. Here's a tip, in case you didn't know: crackheads are not reliable people. Today boss bandit wanted me to sit second chair on a jury trial. The case involved one crackhead hitting another in the head with a baseball bat. We were going to argue that it was self defense. Our star witness has been homeless since she got out of jail last. It took quite a bit of effort to find her. Unfortunately, the guy who got smacked in the head didn't show up and couldn't be found. The rumor is he's on the run after a local drug sweep in order to stay out of jail. He has no phone and I believe, no formal address. People acted surprised. Really? He's a no phone having, basically homeless crackhead, and the type of guy people hit with bats. How surprised can you be? Guys like that don't scrub up and appear on time in court to describe how a fight broke out over who got to sleep with the chick they passed around and,how, well, people were really cranky because the drugs had run out and no one was going to have any money until somebody stole some. The prosecutor got a continuance. I am not sure how much good it will do her, but hey, if it makes her happy, that's great. All things considered though, I still say she looks like she needs to get fucked silly and that would make her happier than a crackhead continuance, but who am I to judge? I'm just saying she looks like she has an ass of ice and that can't be comfortable. I'm just saying. I'd still do it if I didn't have a girlfriend, though. She's a rather cute uptight ice queen. Again, just sayin'. In the meantime, I gotta go unwind and fashion some sort of spring protector sunglasses for tomorrow. It's gonna be a long day.

Sell it to me

2008-12-02T10:43:00.000-08:00

'Tis the season to go buy crap. Years ago, I thought about going into marketing but was too stoned so I just sat around dreaming up funny ads, which I thought at the time amused my cats, but am now not so sure.

I still find myself fascinated with how people try to convince others to buy their crap (hot chick eats popcorn = suggestion popcorn breath will get you laid) and also by how people pick their target audience. "He went to Jarred's!" targeted to bridezillas who measure a guy's worth by the size and setting he chooses for a little piece of compressed coal dug out of a mountain by a Sri Lankan with one arm. That's love. Or so the marketers over the past 70 years or so have said.

My favorite thus far is a local shop: "Guns and Scooter sales." I'm not making this up. This, I presume, is aimed at gun totin' drunk drivers - people who have lost their licenses but may still legally defend their trailer or gang by popping a cap in somebody's ass. On second thought, just the trailer dwellers. People in gangs, in my experience, don't really give a fuck about some little license revocation. Besides, what kind of drive by shooting is that? "Putt, putt, BANG! putt, putt, BANG! BANG!" "Where did that come from?" "The dudes on the little scooters." "The scooter gang? Seriously?" After which, the unharmed targets chase down the guys on the scooters, who are fleeing the scene at 35 mph and kick their asses. So, I guess it's for drunk drivers who need to defend their trailers. Or people too poor or lazy to pay their speeding tickets, resulting in a revoked license but apparently enough money to buy a .22 automatic. The question remains why they take so fucking long to pay my bills.

Maybe we should start selling weapons. Here's the marketing idea: "Bazookas and bond reductions! Get your guns and hired guns at your one stop crime shop!" Or something like that. It's a work in progress. In the meantime, I've got to go hand out some business cards and get the bills paid so I can spend it on something marketed just to me: a left handed lesbian lawyer with a bunch of cats, a penchant for old trucks and a stomachache from too much coffee. Any takers?

JG8D69D

Haunt them for their Nascar hats!

2008-11-29T10:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, crowds of shoppers stampeded into a Wal-Mart and trampled a temporary worker to death in their hurry to snatch up cheap Chinese crap. When police asked them to leave the crime scene, shoppers refused, arguing they had been in line since the night before.

I don't even know where to start with this. First, who the fuck waits outside all night to get into a Wal-Mart? I won't get started on the evils of Wal Mart in general - I'll just ask: seriously? All night? To shop at Wal-Mart? Seriously? You been sniffing that $.56 glue or something?

A stampede - really? To get into a fucking Wal-Mart? Y'all actually endangered your lives and killed someone to get a discount on a $9 Nascar hat, stitched by slave laborers in some third world country and brought over in a big ass tanker that burned enough fuel to heat your shit town for a week that your cousin Enis is going to lose behind a honky-tonk after it falls off his head while he's throwing up.

And people refused to leave. I think the stampeded guy should haunt each and every one of those fuckers in turn. They stomped a man to death then didn't have enough respect for him or even the cops to stop filling their carts with cheap sweatpants and discount corn chips. I might be a defense attorney, but I have to go ahead and ask - where were the tasers? What the hell happened to billy clubs? Sometimes a cop really does have to knock some respect into some jackass. Do your damn jobs. You seem to be willing enough to bust some pimply teenage boy with a bag of weed, man - how about busting a few heads when the situation calls for it? I'd have defended you.

Overall, I guess I am saying something is really, really wrong. I for one suggest making a monument to this guy - this martyr there to show us what we have become: a nation of selfish, violent, crap-grabbers with as little respect for ourselves as we have for each other. Maybe next time a new Wal-Mart is getting ready to put every small business owner in in a new town out of a job, somebody will step out of his trailer and say, "Naw, man, I jes don't need me a new Nascar hat that fuckin' bad."

2008-11-27T10:24:00.001-08:00

Tis the season to excuse gluttony and watch a bunch of idiots jump in a pile repeatedly, also known as football. I wouldn't mind all the jumping in a pile so much if they didn't talk about it so long after each pile up, as if they'd done something really special. People suggest I just don't understand, which is certainly true. What they don't wonder is if in fact I understand perfectly and they're spending entire afternoons on the couch watching a bunch of idiots jump in a pile, which I suppose would be hard to admit as you barrel toward a chip and beer induced heart attack having spent so many afternoons of your life yelling at people on TV who can't hear you and don't care if you think they should have thrown the fucking ball in some other direction.

This year I am spending the holiday with the in laws, which is going fine. We are apparently deep frying a turkey. For those of you who have not witnessed such a thing, it goes like this. First you raise and kill a chicken, gut and defeather it, chop off the head and legs, throw the remains in some water and boil it. Then do whatever with the chicken. Put the chicken flavored water aside. Raise and kill a turkey. Pull off its feathers, take out its guts, chop off its head and legs, wrap it in plastic and sell it by the pound. Unwrap it. Inject it with the water from the chicken. Alternately, stick it in a plastic bag filled with salt water. Meanwhile, set an enormous pot out back and fill it with grease. Boil the grease. Drink some beers. Take the chicken-salt-water turkey and carefully lower it into the boiling oil. If you don't set anything on fire, take a drink. Hang out a while. Drink some beer. Somehow, this 20 lb. bird carcass will be cooked through in about an hour. Get someone sober to help lift it out of the boiling oil. If no one catches on fire, take a drink. Eat the turkey. This is apparently delicious. We'll find out in about an hour.

I do appreciate the opportunity to be thankful we can afford to be gluttons, though, and that history changes things. I am, for instance, grateful to not have woken up on a hay matress to build a fire for warmth, hope the natives whose land I stole won't kill me, wear a dress made of yarn I spun myself after shearing my own sheep, be miserably married to a musket-carrying pilgrim who bathes twice a year and live in a handmade cabin. Fuck that. When my tax refund comes in, I'm gettin' an Itouch and in the meantime, I'm in some store bought Levi's waiting for tortured turkey. Here's to tradition. Or not.

Here's to not being brain damaged!

2008-11-23T15:30:00.001-08:00

It is almost Thanksgiving. I have lots of things to be grateful about. For instance, I'm not brain damaged. Yesterday I told my acupunturist about our new office help and she said the girl is probably brain damaged. Apparently, this can cause people to be impulsive and not pick up on social cues - i.e. doing things like inturrupting an attorney getting ready for court to show them a 5'7" of your teenage spawn completely unsolicited. My acupuncturist suggested I work a question into the conversation as to whether the girl had ever been unconscious. I explained there really isn't any conversation. Allow me to demostrate why. This is an actual exchange in our office, as reported by my office manager.

Weird temp: I'm really particular about body odor.
Office manager: Uh huh. I wouldn't want to smell bad.
Weird temp: I'm really particular about it though.
Office manager: Uh huh.
Weird temp: I'm so particular, I use deodorant on my butt.
Office manager: What?
Weird temp: You know how your butt can sweat? I wouldn't want it to smell bad. So I use deodorant on my butt.
Office manager (regrettably, she takes the bait): How do you tell the difference between that deodorant and your regular one?
Weird temp: Oh, I have it labeled in my bathroom as "butt stick."

OK - first, who puts deodorant on their butt? Secondly, who tells people about it? Specifically, who tells a busy office manager at their temporary job? My next question - how does she explain 'butt stick' to her children? Do they think this is normal? Will her kids go to school and talk about butt stick to other kids and find out this is not normal and become known as "butt stick"? This is not entirely unreasonable, as I have begun to refer to weird temp as 'butt stick'.

Sigh. Five more weeks. You will enjoy this more than I will.

Ours is not to reason why

2008-11-19T09:59:00.001-08:00

I have been sworn in as an attorney for 10 weeks. I have decided my job is to be helpless for the hopeless. However, I have not yet turned off the impulse to wonder why people do the things they do, though I manage not to ask. Why, when you need your license to keep your job, were you drag racing? And why were you racing in a shitty pickup truck that can't outrun the cops? Why did you try to beat up the guard when you were in jail? Why did you throw beer on the cop? Why did you steal all that shit with cameras on you? Why have you been skipping court for the past 7 years and what, exactly, am I supposed to do about it? How did it seem to be a good idea to show up to court shitfaced drunk? The list goes on. In fact, it goes on and on, every day. This is how I make my living.

It would help if just the clients were confusing. The guy I work with collects stray dogs of the person type and dragged in this nutjob with no office social skills for 6 weeks to help her feed her kids because she can't find a job. I pointed out that this just means she'll be out of a job in 6 weeks but the logic seems to have escaped him. Yesterday she insisted on telling us all about how her husband told her she was fat then left her for a 500 lb. woman. I am still wondering how I managed to not say "maybe he meant fat in the head." We'll put that down as divine intervention. This saga was detailed in the car on the way home from lunch, so the staff was trapped in this sedan of sorrow with no way out. Help! I thought. I sweated with the exertion it took to not explain I'd probably choose being crushed by a woman the size of a refrigerator to being crushed by the daily torture of listening to her too. I looked around wildly, wanting to jump out in traffic but had on a nice suit and didn't want to rip it up, so I came up with the idea of counting blue cars and billboards. Then this morning I was rushing to get out to court and talking to the office manager about my files when chick interrupts to show me a picture of her kids. I have one question. How did this seem to be a good idea? Oh, right, I don't ask why anymore. I just try not to shoot people.

Ultimately, I suppose mine is not to reason why, mine is but to do what I can and collect fees. We'll see what I've learned 10 weeks from now. Maybe I'll be able to afford some new suits and hang them in the office in case I have to jump out in traffic and have everyone else staring at me asking "now why did she do that?" Time will tell.

Why straight people should fear gay marriage

2008-11-15T07:10:00.001-08:00

There was a Proposition 8 protest here yesterday, which was of course really about right to marry, since it would be really silly to just protest a ballot measure that had already passed last week 3,000 miles away. We don't love parades THAT much. Bad timing, still though - it rained so fucking hard my combat boots are still wet. I blame the Republicans. They probably had a prayer vigil and all the hot air affected the weather patterns. I have to hand it to the Army, though - my socks were amazingly dry. Go Army!

I've decided, though, since it looks like we're slowly but surely getting some rights, to come clean with the rest of you guys. Opponents are terrified of allowing same sex couples to marry, and supporters wonder why the hell the opponents care; how could a couple of people they never met getting hitched possibly affect them? What the hell is the problem? Well, here's the deal. It would be a problem. Yep. Other gay people won't tell you this but Legal Bandit is going to spit the truth here. I'll even describe how.

First, if gay people can marry, all straight marriages will suddenly become null and void. Yep, your fears are well founded, fearmongering gay haters. And the list goes on. You'll be forced to marry gay people to get back at you for forcing us to marry straight people for so long. Get used to it. Oh, and the sanctity of marriage is over. Churches will spontaneously combust, and God will send down inscribed tablets providing that your $10 marriage license is no longer overseen by the heavenly host. And here's the big one - yes, in fact, people from West Virginia and Kentucky are waiting in the wings, and will rapidly be permitted to marry their sisters and mules. In fact, dogs and mules will marry, gaining inheritance rights to each other's spots in the barn. Let's see, what else? Oh, we will be able to recruit, using billboards and You Tube ads. Your teenager, who would have otherwise been straight, will somehow have his/her hormonal and emotional framework altered and will become homosexual. This will be so widespread that everyone will be marrying within their own gender, of course not procreating, and in two generations, you guessed it - all your family lines will be wiped out and America will be entirely populated by Mexicans and Al-Qaeda. In the meantime, the country will be exceptionally well decorated, enjoy lots of snazzy dance clubs, and build a lot of pickup trucks plastered with bumperstickers and heard playing indie folk songs about relationships.

So, the truth is out there. No one else had the guts to tell you, but you can always count on me. Get to it, h8ers, your marriages and country is at stake.

Suffer me the little spouses

2008-11-12T16:10:00.000-08:00

I think I should address Proposition 8, also known as "Really? In 2008?", so here goes. I don't know why so many people are opposed to allowing us gay people suffer in marriage. We should have the same right as straight people to have our estranged spouses deliver the home and vehicle, per court order, by ramming the goddamn pickup into the side of our single wide trailer yelling 'here ya go' in a drunken slur then stumbling off. We should have wedding rings to lose in sleazy hotels with hookers just like straight folks, and be cornered at family reunions by aunt-in-laws who want to share the details of their operations, and drive to some godforsaken shithole in bumfuck for Thanksgiving because dammit, "we went to your family's godforsaken shithole last year, Charlie" and all the other stuff that comes with marriage.

Ultimately, I think this is what we get for a serious lack of literacy. The argument most Americans have against gay marriage is religiously based, which it wouldn't be if people could fucking read. Heads up, folks: the dude who stars in your religion didn't have anything to say about us. Yeah. That shit you keep quoting was some tax collector I highly suspect was butt fucked by a Greek when he was 10 and never got over it. The Leviticus argument doesn't wash either, unless you want to stop eating bacon and cheeseburgers, raise sheeps to kill on altars and stone adultresses to death. Here's the deal - if you're going to beat the shit out of a bunch of people with some 2000 year old Arabic social rules, have some integrity about it. Read up and get to herding some oxens for sacrifices. Just leave me the fuck alone; I'm not interested in wandering around in the desert with you. I've got a new Xbox and that's way more fun.

So anyway, really, what is the problem? Let us risk our retirement accounts, get cleaned out by shady divorce lawyers, raise brats who hate us, insist the ugly new dress looks great, and find out the life insurance policy was cashed out last year and spent on some slut like the rest of you. Pain shared is pain lessened. Share yours with us.

Solid as Barack

2008-11-06T17:13:00.000-08:00

*Sniff*. I admit it. I cried for joy when the election results were announced; I was, and am, so proud of us - by us, I mean 1/4 of the country, since only half of us got off the couch and voted, and only half of them didn't vote for Yosemite Sam. However, 25% of us elected the most inspirational person of my lifetime and I couldn't be happier.

I wonder, though, if our expectations might be too high. It's easy to do, when Obama gives you the impression he could part the clouds and that angels follow him about, singing hymns of unity. It's easy, with a guy like that, to expect more than is reasonable from him; therefore, I thought I'd check in with my readers and see if my expectations are, perhaps, a tad unrealistic. OK, here they are, let me know.

1. World peace

2.Mega millionares will only accept a living wage, then donate the rest of their salaries to Santa. Or breast cancer research or, you know, something.

3. Barack will light the rainy days with his smile, except over fields and flowers, which will grow and bloom under gentle storms as if touched by God.

4. Hip hop artists will stop rappin'about slappin' hos. They will start a new trend: mad lyrics about health care reform and why one's underwear should be a mystery. The belt industry will boom.

5. Barack will visit Arizona, ask it to cool down, and a sweet breeze will begin to blow. He will smile at Maine and the snow will melt, creating a fresh water source for the east coast.

6. Citizens of the world will gather, hold hands and, in unison and perfect harmony, sing "Kumbaya."

7. Kittens and puppies for everyone.

8. Everyone will be doing so well they'll stop using drugs and stealin shit, which will put me out of work, but I won't even be mad about it.

9. Detroit will develop cars that run on sunshine and buttercups.

10. The Shiites and Sunnis will hold a joint bake sale to rebuild the country, forgive the invasion and send our troops home with cookies.

So, these are my expectations; feel free to share your own.

Hopefully yours,

The Legal Bandit

A call to arms

2008-11-03T10:33:00.000-08:00

Hamlet (or some idiot) asked if it was better to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing, end them. What kind of retarded question is that? Is standing around having shit thrown and shot at you really an option? "Oh, no, no fighting back for me. I'll just take an arrow in the eye, thanks."

Yet, this is the question at hand when people decide whether or not to vote. Look here, people. How do you think the system got so fucked up? Dumb ass fuckers standing around taking an arrow in the eye. Worse yet, the dumber fuckers who vote on the basis of who they'd rather have over for a beer. How has that worked out for you in the past 8 years? Sure, Gore was boring. So what? How many parties has the president ever invited you to? Do you expect the leader of the country to start showing up at your family get togethers? "Oh, hi, Billy Bob? Yeah, this is Al. I'll be coming by for your pig-pickin' this Saturday down by Mosquito Lake." It just doesn't happen. When it does, I'll excuse electing a drunken frat boy who treats the economy like an experiment with his allowance.

Therefore, here is the Bandit's challenge to you: Get out and vote and decide who you vote for on some semi-rational basis - which, by the way, means forgetting absolutely anything you may have heard on Fox News. If you sit home tomorrow, may you get an arrow in the eye. You deserve it.

A shut mouth is a terrible thing to waste

2008-10-30T18:24:00.000-07:00

Today a high school student thinking about going into law came in to shadow the guy I work with for a day. We chatted some over lunch. I refrained from offering to just choke her with her sandwich until she lost half her brain cells and heart, thereby acheving the same result, just cheaper and without the degree. I figure, if she wants to ruin a perfectly good life, that's her perogative and anyway, it may be too late. What the hell is a teenager doing giving serious thought to their career? She's supposed to be smoking pot, eating pizza, riding around aimlessly, drinking shitty beer somebody's brother bought and getting groped in backseats. Kids these days. Geez.

But then, most people waste their lives. Today a guy with a rap sheet a page long turned down a plea offer - which did suck - and we'll be going to trial on enough felonies to get him 26 years. The D.A. was quite self righteous about him being seen by some drunks chasing a crackhead prostitute with no pants on, possibly while weilding a knife. I would have explained he was just trying to get the wallet back she had just stolen if I'd gotten a word in edgewise. He said he had no patience for plea offers from defendants that insulted his intelligence and pointed to the degrees behind him, saying he wouldn't have them if he were stupid. I found this interesting for several reasons. First, I have more degrees than him and so does my girlfriend. Second, if he were smart, he'd have listened a bit and tried to get me to tip my hand; I in fact know a few things about the case I'm pretty sure he doesn't. Like I dug up an unserved warrant on his prostitute from where she never showed up to court for being busted with a crack pipe and it's going back out now. I didn't mind, though. This shit is going to be hard enough, so I'm perfectly happy with being underestimated.

My theory is that he was a career minded teenager; that type seems to understimate the kid who rode around drunk with their bare feet sticking out of a Camaro's passenger window. Sometimes for good reason; but sometimes, not so much - getting questioned by the cops teaches you to keep your fool mouth shut, and sometimes, that's the best way to seize an opportunity, which is a terrible thing to waste.

The bee in the bonnet: a bridal story

2008-10-26T18:31:00.000-07:00

This weekend my BFF got married. BFF sounds retarded when you're our age but I've known her for 23 years and we've been through tubs of tequila, the 1980's, punker haircuts, punk rock parties, back surgery, shitty relationships, shittier cars, school, car wrecks, poverty, job hunts, dead pets, family problems, schools, graduations and now a wedding together so fuck it, I'll call her what I want.

The wedding was outside, and the day was pretty nice, which also meant the birds and bees were out. The groom had a ladybug crawling all over him which was not nearly as bad as the bee in my bouquet. So I'm standing there in 4 inch heels trying to look serious and there's this fucking bee crawling all over my roses. I sent psychic messages to the bee. "GO AWAY!!" I thought, but the bee was actually not psychic, so it didn't work and he crawled on. So I kept looking at the bee, wondering what I'd do if he stung me. Would I be able to keep my composure? I couldn't blow her wedding screaming "OOO! OOO! He got me!" but bee stings really hurt - would I be able to contain myself? I wasn't sure. Meanwhile, he just kept crawling. I thought I was going to be OK when they went to like the unity candle and he was still there, as this was the end of the ceremony, but then he started flying in my face and around my head. "Damn bee!" I thought, weaving my head around and hoping he got the message. Fortunately, rather than sting me in the eye, which was his perogative, he flew away at the last minute and I was able to regain my composure to so I could pick my way across the wet grass, teetering in my high heels, and swear if my girl and I ever get married we're wearing hiking boots and having a potluck and everybody gets permission beforehand to smack the hell out of any damn bee that fucks with us.

Seriously, I couldn't be happier. The guy isn't a total monkey with a haircut like all her previous choices; he's actually pretty cool and gets extra points for pulling off the words "burp" and "fart" in his proposal ( I witnessed this) so he gets my boot of approval. Here's to you, BFF, may the birds and the bees never sting you or peck out your eyes, and if they do, I'll kill them.

Asshole evolution

2008-10-22T10:12:00.000-07:00

I had been wondering how John McCain got to be the angry old fuck he is until yesterday. Then I realized that angry old fucks come from angry young fucks. It's a simple matter of evolution. Allow me to predict the future of one particular D.A. whose humanity I see shriveling before my eyes by way of illustration:

District Attorney A, who we will for the purposes of this illustration, call "Prick", started off with the potential to be a pretty O.K. guy. He's tall and was probably decent at sports in high school. This enabled him to hang out with the jocks and the seeds of his elitist attitude were thus born. He spent a couple years fucking cheerleaders and then joined a frat where they competed at slamming beers and fucked sorority chicks. Prick's dad wanted his progeny to be special so he could think some long forgotten premature ejaculation made him, by extension, special. Prick wanted to please his dad, at least more than he cared about pleasing the sorority chicks. He went to law school and believed this made him special. It did not. No one convinced him of this fact.

He got a job as an assistant D.A. working for a further developed dick, we'll call him Chubby. Chubby took Prick under his flabby arm and taught him that he wore an invisible white hat that gave him special powers. Prick began to gain weight, and to throw that weight around. Prick was not an exceptionally good lawyer. Secretly, he knew this, and therefore loved his invisible white power hat all the more. It cast a light of correctness on his inelegant arguments.

Now, Chubby couldn't keep employees and so after a couple years, Prick was promoted to be the head of the assistant district attorneys who handled traffic and misdemeanors. Prick swelled with pride.

Soon, a little lawyer got sworn in; we'll call her Bandit. She would go to Prick for help and find Prick was so full of himself that Bandit was frustrated at every turn. Even when Prick's colleagues, like Curly, were willing to help, Prick would storm in and insist he push forward in his own pointless, silly way until Bandit realized that Prick, in fact, had totally lost his head in his own ass and resigned herself to stealing victories when she could get Prick by the short hairs, which wasn't terribly difficult because, as we've said before, Prick had his head up his own ass.

(OK time to transition to future telling here - ready, set, go.) The years will pass and Prick will grow fat and limp, but will have learned that he felt powerful and potent when he swung his imaginary white hat and pointed down at hapless little lawyers, and poor people, and dumb people, and smelly people, and people who didn't have their shit together, and people who got in a lot of shit, and people who tried to help other people out of shit, for they should be more like him and pull themselves up by their bootstraps (though they had no boots) and be smart and act like they'd been raised right, which they hadn't.

Prick will run for political office and people will notice he responds to his opponent's optimism and well crafted plans with creepy smiles, smirks and that oh so delicious pompous righteousness. He will become a role model for little pricks and die, having wasted the chance to do the world some good.

(story is over now. transition to blog - ready, set, go.) OK hope you enjoyed story time and the moral of the story is: don't be a Prick.

Broke or gun totin'? You decide.

2008-10-19T01:50:00.000-07:00

Law school was something like having to make dinner while you are actually inside the pressure cooker. Studying for the bar was something like wanting to shoot yourself or someone else, depending on the day. Actually, it was exactly like that, not something like that, who am I kidding?

Now that it's all over, I'm broke. Here's a tip: you know all those student loans? Yeah. You have to pay them back.Post graduation, allow me to present you with your choices in this arena: you can (1) be broke or (2) get a corporate job, be stuffed in a dusty corner writing memos for several years and continue wanting to shoot yourself or someone else, only you won't have time, because you'll sit in that dusty corner 400 hours a week. Really, it's up to you.

So, I've opted for the being broke job, which isn't so bad. Here's an example. I had a lot to do the other morning but a chill afternoon, so I ate some lunch, then took a nap on the futon until the fill-in office guy gently woke me, on one knee, to present me with an ice cream sundae. Seriously, this really happened. We hung out and ate ice cream and watched some you tube and I got hired into some stuff over the phone, then the guy I work for came back, and we all went out back and watched him smoke like it was going to make him tall or something. Here's a tip: smoking is bad for you. It will not make you tall, though it will make you dead, which, on the up side, will enable you to do a fine impression of John McCain's smile.

I think I made the right decision.

McJumpy Bean Loses

2008-10-15T20:20:00.000-07:00

And now, the final debate. Perhaps I am being too harsh on John McCain. There might have been something wrong with his pacemaker. His cyborg insides might have had a few shorts.Maybe he had a live wire up his ass to keep him awake, I don't know. However, the end result is that he looked like a zombie with a manic blink reflex and absolutely no ability to control himself. Ask yourself - is that who you want in tense negotiations with North Korea? A guy with a creepy grin who interrupts, smirks, writhes in his seat and has the composure of a bipolar 9 year old?

"Well, Mr. President, it is important to our country . . . um, are you OK?"
"Yes, yes." (blink blink blink blink blink)
"Well, we feel that the United States should take a greater role. . . "
(Smirk)
"Mr. President, it seems you do not take our country seriously. I need to impress upon you..."
(Interrupting) "I have experience! I can lead this country! I am the only one who knows what to do!" (Pointing and writhing in his seat)
"Well, with all due deference, Mr. President. . . "
(Smirking, making secret grocery list with big pencil)
"This conversation is over."
"I win!"

And I'll say it: what was with the big ass sharpie he had for notes? OK, call me elitist, but I want a president who shows up to Geneva with a nice pen, not a goddamn crayon.

I also hoped for a leader who could remember things that were just said to him. I paraphrase:

Obama: "95% of all Americans will not pay one penny more in taxes under my plan. I will eliminate tax breaks to big oil companies and spend the money on social programs. Every dollar I spend is offset by cuts in other areas, not funded by taxes."

McCan't: "He's raising taxes! He's proposing new spending to be paid for with raised taxes!" (Insert poorly concealed apoplectic rage and jumpiness here.)

Oh, here's a tip: stand next to your wife. Your crazy old ass got some rich sort of hottie, though she looks a robot Stepford wife, but you're supposed to be fucking her. Scoot in, man. That 2 feet of distance makes it look like you can't even get love in your own damn home and wouldn't know what to do if you did.

The sad thing is people buy this load of crap. But maybe a lot of people can't remember what was just said to them, either. Which,if any of them are reading my posts, is probably a good thing.

Stealin' your time: my first post

2008-10-15T16:12:00.000-07:00

I used to have a blog here called caligulawyer but law school ate that shit up with almost everything else in my life, so rather than dig up the dead, here I am, a broke ass graduate with my old law school laptop, entirely new things to bitch about and something else for your lazy ass to do instead of working to make somebody else money like you're poorly paid to do. Yahooooo!

And what an occasion! Tonight is the last of the presidential debates, or should I say, ass whippings for John McCain. Bet he never saw this shit coming. Yes, dude, you're losing to a black guy, and he's smarter than you, cooler than you, better looking than you, and doesn't give a fuck that you probably have fond memories of that segregated school you attended.

The debate starts in about an hour. Obama is a classy guy and will not say what I think he should say. Therefore, allow me to say this for him:

"Dude, really. Run the country? This shit is so far in the ditch after 8 years of your idiot buddy running the joint we need trampolines just to see daylight. You loved the guy until everyone told you they hated him now you're a 'maverick' or some shit because of some crap you ranted about like 15 years ago. Nobody's buying it except people too prejudiced to vote for me. Hell, even they don't buy it, they just ain't voting for a black dude. Oh, incidentally, what the fuck was with stealing my damn slogan? "Change"? All of a sudden? Right in front of everyone? When I'd had that shit on my ads for about a year? Man, that just sucked. Try some imagination in the next life.

But then what do I expect of somebody who picked, from a country full of people, Caribou-Killing Barbie as their running mate? Really? And you didn't know her kid was knocked up and she tried to get her brother in law fired and thinks seeing the coast of Russia in the distance is foreign policy experience? What, did they come to her to arrange moose-fucking expeditions? Let your unmedicated, unbalanced following scream about wanting to kill me at her rallies while she teeters on her 'ho heels. It just makes you look more like an asshole.

By the way, you apoplectic butt, try reading my proposals before talking about them. I am not going to 'raise taxes' and throw small business owners out on the street. I'm just not selling the country out to your rich buddies who people have suddenly noticed are picking their pockets. "Hey!" the country is saying. "That's not just a tickle on my ass! That's some greedy fucker digging for every last penny so he can lay around farting on some gorgeous island where people hate him for a little while longer on vacation from his million dollar home!"

Please, tonight, John, have a little dignity. You got your ass beat. Don't come out wandering the stage like you have alzheimer's and getting all worked up so the EMS guys crank up the defibrillator. Just make a good showing and bow out with a little class. Your great great great grandchildren are worried about you and people aren't going to risk having Debate Team Barbie as president. Cool?"

And now, off to the show. Welcome to my new blog.