Court Stinks

I had to go to court yesterday. It was a mess. My ex-husband was trying to get his child support obligation modified (read - instead of getting a job and paying it, he was hoping to have the amount lowered). I already have a court date set up for the end of April to prove he's in contempt of court on multiple issues. A couple days ago, he dropped off papers stating he had a court date for Thursday. Thanks for the notice, buddy. I tried calling my lawyer many times, but he never returned any of my phone calls. So, I went to court.

I got there half an hour early, went into the court room and had a seat. From 10:30 until after 12:00, I sat there, waiting for my turn. My ex wasn't there. When I was one of the last ones left in the room, the judge called me up. I showed her the papers that my ex had given me and she said that I must have just missed him because he checked in earlier and the case was dismissed. I'm not sure why, but I think it was because he couldn't file a request while I already had a court date set up. I'm really not sure about this. All I know is that I wasted four and a half hours going downtown when I could've been having fun with my kids on their spring break. Ticked me off! And I don't know who I'm more mad at - my ex for wasting my time or my lawyer for not returning my calls about this.

I usually blog about something that has happened during the day that I find amusing. (I amuse easily.) I’ll get a general idea that I think is funny like the kids’ inability to change a roll of toilet paper, or how a five-year-old is incapable of just walking without hopping, skipping, or galloping down an aisle. Then I’ll sit down and just write about it.


Occasionally, however, I’ll take notes so I don’t forget what I want to write about. I don’t really like the note method though because I have horrible handwriting when it comes to taking notes. I have beautiful penmanship if I’m trying to write nicely, but when I scribble out a note it looks like something a blind monkey with a crayon drew. Wait, monkeys have opposable thumbs. My notes look more like something a platypus with a ADD could have drawn. Anyway, you get the picture. When I take notes, I have a hard time deciphering them later, and they don’t usually make much sense.

I had to go to court yesterday. But, for some reason, I took notes while sitting on the L, heading downtown. As far as I can tell, this is what the notes say. . .

The L is empty, but it still smells like pee. Is that a perpetual thing? How have I never noticed that before? And even more importantly, why did this woman sit next to me when the whole car is empty? Does she not have any clue about personal space? Is this the seat she sits in every day, no matter what? Maybe she just likes me. Or maybe she knows the train will fill up with weirdos so she figures if she sits next to me (a totally normal looking person HA!) she’ll avoid having to sit next to an ax murderer later. Or maybe I remind her of her estranged daughter. Maybe they got in a fight twelve years ago because the woman didn’t like her daughter’s fiancé. And the fiancé stole all her daughter’s money and left the country and then she followed him to Greece, but her daughter never knew she went to those lengths for her and she was too proud to tell her daughter and. . . Hmmm, do normal people make up stories about everyone they see?

I wish I could put tickets on the cars that parked over the lines in the parking garage. How stupid, selfish, and oblivious do you have to be to not notice that you’ve taken up enough space for two cars, a bus, a herd of water buffalo, and a pair of Kim Kardashian’s jeans. I don’t even know who Kim Kardashian is, let alone what her butt looks like. I’ve just heard. Whoever she is, I’m sure my butt is at least fifteen times the size of hers. Am I the only one in America who has no clue who this is? Why do I even care? Oh my gosh, the lady next to me is singing. Or chanting. How weird. I hope she’s not reading over my shoulder. Maybe if I write that I’m planning on pushing her off the train at the next stop, she’ll move. Nope, she didn’t move. Either she’s not looking over my shoulder or she just can’t read my writing.

I think the guy across the aisle has the hots for me. Surely he’s looking at me and not the lady singing/chanting next to me. Why IS she chanting? Darn, I wish I had my earbuds with me. He’s looking over here again. I probably have something on my face. Ohmygosh, did I put makeup on?! Why do women (or is it just me) freak out if they think they may have accidentally left the house without makeup? What would I do if I’d actually forgotten? I have a Sharpie in my purse. I could totally use that for eyeliner.
I have mixed feelings about all the graffiti on the walls. It’s kinda cool looking, but I wouldn’t like it if some punks came along and wrote on my house. Why are things always written in bubble letters? Is that a graffiti law?

Hmmm, the guy that just got on has a man bag. I wonder if he’ll get the part. Or a date with a man? “Joey comes with a bag!” I think I might watch too much Friends. Nah.

Oooo, my stop is next!

And this, my friends, is why I don’t generally use any notes that I take.