Isn't it CUTE!?!
The accomodations here are quite luxurious.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
This is, like, some serious Matlock shit up in here
It’s 8:00 am. I have been sitting in the Jury Room of the Superior Court in Santa Ana since 7:20.
I’m bored already.
Looking around, I can’t help but feel that jury service is not unlike cattle herding. One thousand people are sitting around in this room (well… somewhere around that; the max capacity for the room is 850), staring forward at a blank wall and two television screens that have repeated the same 10 slides ad nauseum. Some people continue to read the slides; the rest have abandoned all hope, just as I have. We all await our turn at the branding post. Or, better yet: the slaughter house.
Take us for our meat and blood, bitches! I’m ready!
Several individuals have passed out. What a great idea! Until they miss the orientation information. Perhaps they are heavy sleepers; you never know…
There is a guy across the aisle reading a book by Ann Coulter. I’ve had my eye on him since he came in here; he’s quite attractive. My interest waned when the book surfaced. I can understand and tolerate some conservative ideals (my father is the poster child for staunch republicanism); but Ann Coulter is Satan. Anyone who willingly reads her books makes me wary.
I am irritable as a result of the defunct operation of this jury room. There are tables set up in the back of the room for jurors with laptops. I’m not too concerned about the power supply; my battery will last for quite some time. However, upon attempting to log on to the free wireless internet (woo!), I was accosted by courtroomconnection.com. Apparently I have to obtain some sort of access code from the jury room staff in order to hop on the web.
There isn’t a single staff member in the jury room.
Enter Stephen pet peeve #253: Mandates from people/entities who do not provide the resources necessary to complete them.
I’m tempted to go to the check-in counter to inquire about the access code. I imagine they would not enjoy that; but is that my problem? Honestly, people. Don’t tell me to talk to jury room staff for an access code if there is no one to talk to.
After some reflection (aka a minute or two later), I realized that access to the internet at 8am is pretty pointless. I need to calm it down. I’m already in the courthouse; they might just bypass arresting me and take me directly into a courtroom for sentencing if I go postal in the jury room.
Who am I kidding? Our penal system is about as inefficient as can be. Thank you, Prison-Industrial Complex, for saving my ass today.
I will right more later on. I have been assigned to a jury pool for a case that will last the rest of the month. Maybe I’ll have the opportunity to be one of the 12 angry men. Hot damn!
I am SO going to lobby to be jury foreman.
I’m bored already.
Looking around, I can’t help but feel that jury service is not unlike cattle herding. One thousand people are sitting around in this room (well… somewhere around that; the max capacity for the room is 850), staring forward at a blank wall and two television screens that have repeated the same 10 slides ad nauseum. Some people continue to read the slides; the rest have abandoned all hope, just as I have. We all await our turn at the branding post. Or, better yet: the slaughter house.
Take us for our meat and blood, bitches! I’m ready!
Several individuals have passed out. What a great idea! Until they miss the orientation information. Perhaps they are heavy sleepers; you never know…
There is a guy across the aisle reading a book by Ann Coulter. I’ve had my eye on him since he came in here; he’s quite attractive. My interest waned when the book surfaced. I can understand and tolerate some conservative ideals (my father is the poster child for staunch republicanism); but Ann Coulter is Satan. Anyone who willingly reads her books makes me wary.
I am irritable as a result of the defunct operation of this jury room. There are tables set up in the back of the room for jurors with laptops. I’m not too concerned about the power supply; my battery will last for quite some time. However, upon attempting to log on to the free wireless internet (woo!), I was accosted by courtroomconnection.com. Apparently I have to obtain some sort of access code from the jury room staff in order to hop on the web.
There isn’t a single staff member in the jury room.
Enter Stephen pet peeve #253: Mandates from people/entities who do not provide the resources necessary to complete them.
I’m tempted to go to the check-in counter to inquire about the access code. I imagine they would not enjoy that; but is that my problem? Honestly, people. Don’t tell me to talk to jury room staff for an access code if there is no one to talk to.
After some reflection (aka a minute or two later), I realized that access to the internet at 8am is pretty pointless. I need to calm it down. I’m already in the courthouse; they might just bypass arresting me and take me directly into a courtroom for sentencing if I go postal in the jury room.
Who am I kidding? Our penal system is about as inefficient as can be. Thank you, Prison-Industrial Complex, for saving my ass today.
I will right more later on. I have been assigned to a jury pool for a case that will last the rest of the month. Maybe I’ll have the opportunity to be one of the 12 angry men. Hot damn!
I am SO going to lobby to be jury foreman.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
mismatch.com
Has anyone else noticed that the man in the match.com advertisements online is always the same? He comes in quite a variety: pretty doctor, pretty rocker, pretty nerd.
The common thread though it all is "pretty", of course.
I'm having a difficult time dealing with this as of late. Growing up, we were taught by the people who care about us that looks are only part of the equation. They should be a very small part at that.
And yet, knowing this - knowing that physical beauty is ultimately of little meaning when it comes to knowing and loving a person - is different than living it.
In the process of embarking on my journey of introspection and growth, I've come to realize that I don't value myself like I always thought I did. I have some esteem and confidence issues; and I'm embarrassed to say they are rooted in how physically inadequate I feel.
I am intelligent. I am funny. I am enjoyable to be around. I'm caring, I love to make people smile, I am not afraid of saying how I feel or what I'm thinking; I am genuinely me, even when that means someone may not like who I am (rarely does this happen... of course, people could be lying, ha ha). I am not cocky; rather, I am self-aware, which is much more than most people can say about themselves.
And yet, I lack confidence because I don't feel "pretty." I don't feel like I am appealing on a physical level: I'm scrawny, I have the facial features of a little boy (CHUBBY CHEEKS... BLAH), my glasses always run to the end of my nose and make me look awkward, the love-handles don't seem to quit, my butt is flat/saggy, my smile is crooked and so are some of my teeth, blah blah blah blah blah.... I can keep going and going and going.
That scares me.
We are our own worst critics. What I fear is that my critique has moved from constructive to disparaging. I shouldn't be paralyzed by my dissatisfaction with my physical appearance. But I am. It has stopped me from being bold and approaching guys I find attractive; it has made me timid when I didn't need to be.
People think I'm vain because I'm always looking at myself in mirrors, reflections in windows; what they don't realize is that, when I look at my reflection, I'm fixating on my flaws. I see the awkward/dumpy way that I look. The way I hope to look in the mirror never materializes; I only see the short, chubby, and unattractive 15 year old that never left my head despite puberty's effects.
I think it's good that I've recognized this. Acknowledgement is the first step to recovery. Now is my time to learn to love me as a WHOLE.
If I can't do that, then I hold no hope for the future. Wish me luck.
The common thread though it all is "pretty", of course.
I'm having a difficult time dealing with this as of late. Growing up, we were taught by the people who care about us that looks are only part of the equation. They should be a very small part at that.
And yet, knowing this - knowing that physical beauty is ultimately of little meaning when it comes to knowing and loving a person - is different than living it.
In the process of embarking on my journey of introspection and growth, I've come to realize that I don't value myself like I always thought I did. I have some esteem and confidence issues; and I'm embarrassed to say they are rooted in how physically inadequate I feel.
I am intelligent. I am funny. I am enjoyable to be around. I'm caring, I love to make people smile, I am not afraid of saying how I feel or what I'm thinking; I am genuinely me, even when that means someone may not like who I am (rarely does this happen... of course, people could be lying, ha ha). I am not cocky; rather, I am self-aware, which is much more than most people can say about themselves.
And yet, I lack confidence because I don't feel "pretty." I don't feel like I am appealing on a physical level: I'm scrawny, I have the facial features of a little boy (CHUBBY CHEEKS... BLAH), my glasses always run to the end of my nose and make me look awkward, the love-handles don't seem to quit, my butt is flat/saggy, my smile is crooked and so are some of my teeth, blah blah blah blah blah.... I can keep going and going and going.
That scares me.
We are our own worst critics. What I fear is that my critique has moved from constructive to disparaging. I shouldn't be paralyzed by my dissatisfaction with my physical appearance. But I am. It has stopped me from being bold and approaching guys I find attractive; it has made me timid when I didn't need to be.
People think I'm vain because I'm always looking at myself in mirrors, reflections in windows; what they don't realize is that, when I look at my reflection, I'm fixating on my flaws. I see the awkward/dumpy way that I look. The way I hope to look in the mirror never materializes; I only see the short, chubby, and unattractive 15 year old that never left my head despite puberty's effects.
I think it's good that I've recognized this. Acknowledgement is the first step to recovery. Now is my time to learn to love me as a WHOLE.
If I can't do that, then I hold no hope for the future. Wish me luck.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Neuroses really get in the way
So I was just on a porn site where people can post all sorts of videos. Each one is given a title and a brief description. Now, I'm not so anal as to think that all titles and descriptions need to and will be proof-read. However, some things just aren't okay. Let me explain why.
On the main page, someone had entitled their video: "Me Expoding."
Expoding.
The problem really isn't in the misspelling. As I said before, I hold no expectations for a porn site. The fact that people can even get a pornographic video uploaded onto a page is a miracle. Men tend to degenerate into neanderthals once sex becomes involved. The old adage is true: men have two brains and blood can only be supplied to one at a time. Quite frankly, it's amazing that blood even gets to the brain atop my body at all.
What I actually find disturbing about this typo is its effect on the video's potential to be provocative. Perhaps this is something that only I would think about. Call me crazy, but the video goes from alluring to humorous the second I think about someone saying "expoding" aloud. I think of someone saying it in the middle of sex.
"oh OH OHHHHHH I'm EXPODING! I'M EXPODING!"
Perhaps I've taken a turn toward approaching sex analytically. I made a bet with my friend that I would not have any sort of sexual contact for 6 months (ends October 24: T minus 5 months). For a while I was just horny; now I get off to get it out of the way. When libido becomes a nuisance, I suppose the only way to go is analytical.
Anyway, life is fine. It seems to keep going. And going. And going. And going.
I need a hobby. Other than pornography. I can't really discuss that one while out making friends.
On the main page, someone had entitled their video: "Me Expoding."
Expoding.
The problem really isn't in the misspelling. As I said before, I hold no expectations for a porn site. The fact that people can even get a pornographic video uploaded onto a page is a miracle. Men tend to degenerate into neanderthals once sex becomes involved. The old adage is true: men have two brains and blood can only be supplied to one at a time. Quite frankly, it's amazing that blood even gets to the brain atop my body at all.
What I actually find disturbing about this typo is its effect on the video's potential to be provocative. Perhaps this is something that only I would think about. Call me crazy, but the video goes from alluring to humorous the second I think about someone saying "expoding" aloud. I think of someone saying it in the middle of sex.
"oh OH OHHHHHH I'm EXPODING! I'M EXPODING!"
Perhaps I've taken a turn toward approaching sex analytically. I made a bet with my friend that I would not have any sort of sexual contact for 6 months (ends October 24: T minus 5 months). For a while I was just horny; now I get off to get it out of the way. When libido becomes a nuisance, I suppose the only way to go is analytical.
Anyway, life is fine. It seems to keep going. And going. And going. And going.
I need a hobby. Other than pornography. I can't really discuss that one while out making friends.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Audi-mobile
So here's my coche. Sometimes I look at it and still don't believe that it's my car. It is just so cute and tiny. Unlike me, ha ha.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Life lessons are Ugly
Ugg, I am so Betty Suarez.
I suppose that is both a good and a bad thing. Bad when it comes to the circumstances, good when it comes to the strength and perseverance of character.
Here's to the brace-faced, awkward, poorly-dressed, genuine and determined person in all of us.
*Chugs a six pack*
(But not really. More like ate too many cookies)
I suppose that is both a good and a bad thing. Bad when it comes to the circumstances, good when it comes to the strength and perseverance of character.
Here's to the brace-faced, awkward, poorly-dressed, genuine and determined person in all of us.
*Chugs a six pack*
(But not really. More like ate too many cookies)
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