Happy Pride, Chicago!

"This Won't End Well..."

You look into his/her eyes and you tell him/her that. It's the same warning you've given a hundred times. A thousand times. You've been right every. single. fucking. time. Being right is starting not to matter one. fucking. bit.

This is how it goes:

You smile at each other, eyelids getting heavy. Happy. It's more than a date, less than a relationship. It's not an interview, but not...not an interview. It's not daring to say it, but looking ahead and imagining your future with him/her. Your house. Your kids. Your in-laws. Your finances. Your pets. Your fights. Your compromises. Your secrets. His/her secrets. It all seems...good. You look into the eyes that are staring back at you. What is that look? What does that mean?

Your eyes open up wide again. Then, unfortunately, yet, predictably, you open your mouth. You start talking.

"This won't end well, you know, you see... everything you see about me that you think you like you will stop liking, everything you think is charming you will hate me for, everything adorable becomes painstaking wretched, you see, I can't do this, I am bad at this and it has never worked before and it will never work, everything I give to you I am taking away from me and I have so very little to start with that I can give nothing, not my time, not my space, not to mention I am a freak, I can't get close to people, I scare easily, I startle easily, I don't sleep, I disappear for weeks on end, I don't return phone calls, I cancel plans, I get scared to leave my house, I want to go away on vacations, but I want to go alone, I don't want to talk about my family, all I want to do is talk about work, because it's the only thing I am good at, and I am actually not that good at it, I am just good at faking it, and right now you're going to say it's all fine and that you like your space, too, and you hate those couples who have to be around each other all the time and it's awesome that I'm not like everyone else and if I were like everyone else you wouldn't be interested in me, and you don't like to talk on the phone anyway, and we can do this if I can just have a little faith in you, and I will have a little faith in you, but then in a week, two weeks, three weeks, what I have won't be enough, who I am won't "work for you" and yes although it's true I had given you that warning in advance doesn't mean you have to like it, and you will tell me that every chance you get, and then I stop calling, then you stop calling, then, you move on, I move on, or the other way around, and I am back to where I've started, and you are back to where you've started. So, you see? This won't end well."

He/she looks right back at you. A bemused half-smile on his/her face. Is it confidence? Is it an act? You have no fucking idea. He/she asks "And how many times have you given that little speech?" A lot, you admit. More times than you care to count. But now you've said it. You're now off the hook. You can now continue sabotaging your own life and your own happiness, and now it's all on him/her when this whole thing goes so horribly awry, which it is absolutely going to do.

You can't stop yourself. You're on a roll. You must continue. You tell him/her every bad thing about you. Just so there are no surprises down the road. You fail to disclose even one good thing about you, as if there is nothing ever good to tell. You never say how loyal you are. You never say how you look good in a gown. You never say how hard and often you will make him/her laugh. No. What you say is "this won't end well."

Maybe there's room for change. Maybe next time, you can shorten the speech, or what the fuck? Eliminate it completely. Because what if you're wrong? What if... it could end well?

What if you learned to just shut the fuck up?

Next time, maybe you should try it. Next time, maybe you will.

Unimportant Things That Make Me Happy- A Meme

I saw this meme over at Hot Sauce Redemption, a truly fantastic blog. I love the writing. And I love the name. And I love that she called me a quesadilla. Normally, I don't do memes. Especially happy ones, because I am such a naturally miserable, negative and toxic person, but since today is the most perfect day ever, and it's summer and it's Saturday and it's not raining, and I am going to see fantastic live theatre tonight, and there's a good chance there will be lobster bisque before the live theatre and I just got a manicure and pedicure, I'm just going to go ahead and think happy thoughts.

Here are the rules:
1) List Six Unimportant Things That Make You Happy.
2) Mention and link to the person who tagged you
3) Tag six of your favorite bloggers to play along, and comment on their blog to let them know they've been tagged.


1. Rabbits. I love them. They fascinate and delight me. My landlord informed me that we "have a rabbit problem." I do not understand what the fuck he is talking about. Little furry things with big pointy ears who hop around looking all cute and weird and bewildered? I don't see where the fucking problem is in that. If Salvador Dali was instructed by god or whoever to invent a cute animal, he would have invented the rabbit.

2. New Socks. If I won the lottery, I would never wear the same pair of socks twice.

3. One way hugs. Here's how they work: I stand perfectly still with my hands at my sides. In other words, I do nothing. Someone I love hugs me.

4. The sound of handcuffs going on and locking. Whatever. I'm not ashamed. I'm a prosecutor. And before anybody decides to get all judgy, of course I want them going on only the defendants who deserve it.

5. Jogging outside in the rain. It's the only time I will ever jog outside. It's really fun, and if you make a big point of running through every puddle and splashing up disgusting city water all over yourself, it's fucking awesome. First people look at you like you're batshit-crazy, and then they wish they were doing it too.

6. The sound of my asshole dog contentedly sighing as she sleeps with her head on my thigh in the sun.

Bonus happy thing: Glass eyes. They are so sexy.

I am tagging everyone. Or no one. I might tag myself and come up with six more later.

To All Bartakers Everywhere Who Are Reading This Blog:

Calm the FUCK DOWN.

Did you hear me? I'll say it again.

Calm the FUCK DOWN.

And maybe one final time... CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

Ok? Here's how I know a decent number of you are freaking out. In case you don't know, Sitemeter is this little tool that tells me who comes to my blog, and how they find my blog. Here are some of the searches that have led people to me:

"Bar Exam" & "Freaking out"
"Bar Exam Tips"
"I'm going to fail the bar exam"
"Bar Exam" & "want to die"
"Bar Exam" & "I'm a loser"
"Bar Exam" & "want to set myself on fire"
"Advice to those who failed the bar exam"
"Bar exam" & "can't stop crying"

Ok. Seriously. You need to chill out. I know that's totally unfair of me to say, because when I was studying for the bar, I asked my friend to hit me with his car, not hard enough to kill me, but just hard enough that I wouldn't have to take the bar exam. And I actually thought this was a reasonable request. So I get it. But he told me to calm the fuck down, and I did. And it helped.

I am in no position to offer actual tips on how to pass the bar, because quite frankly, I have no idea how I did it.

Here are just a few things I want to remind you of, even though I know you probably already know this.

Just because someone has all their barbri books tabbed and color coded, organized perfectly, with correlating colored flash cards, does not mean they are in a better position to pass the bar. This is not a method of learning. It's a method of feeling in control. It may not be your way. That's fine.

Most of you will pass.

Everyone feels the exact same way as you do.

Stop feeling guilty every time you catch yourself not studying. You need to take a break.

While I appreciate you reading my blog, YOU WILL FIND NO NEW INFORMATION ABOUT THE BAR BY GOOGLING "BAR EXAM" & "FREAKING OUT"

Right now, walk away from the computer. Take a breath. Take a walk. Have a drink. Have a smoke. Go have sex. Do something ELSE. The fact that you are googling the things you are googling to bring you to my blog is clearly a sign that you need to calm the FUCK DOWN, and take a break.

Just do it.

XO
Grace

My Stolen Lines #5

Tell me, have you ever thought of changing your life?

In the interest of being the biggger person, I am removing my stolen lines.

However, it should be noted that a removal is not necessarily a retraction.

I can come up with something better anyway.

Pause

Rather than feel badly about not posting, I'm just announcing I'll be back in a few days.

In the meantime, write your Stolen Lines.

Or watch this.

I am... life-raft searching...

Stolen Lines #5

Tell me... have you ever thought...of changing your life?

Hopefully this line is more inspiring.

The rules: Start your post with the above line. End your post with "I stole the first line of this post from the play, Betrayal, by Harold Pinter" And maybe link back to me so people can understand the point of the post.

And whatever you put in the middle is up to you.

There's no deadline. Write whenever you feel like it. If you want to have your post included, just leave a comment or send me an email telling me you've posted.

PS. This is open to absolutely anyone. All you have to do is write it.

Here, you can find the previous Stolen Lines.

*Update: Stolen Lines by:

Brita

Butterflyfish
Just Jenn
Vernacular
Jane Know
The Artful Blogger
Fianna Fianna Fianna
Colby in the City
Joy
Miss Foxy

Dear Little Girl Who Lives Below Me,

I heard you and your family outside in the backyard today. I was stuck on my couch all day feeling like shit. I lifted my head long enough to peek out my window into the back yard we share. You all were out there. Having a little family barbecue. Your mom and dad were sitting at the table together. Your little sister was bouncing around a bit, and she seemed pretty happy. Your back was to me, and you were coloring on the walkway in pastel chalk.

At first I was happy for you. You all seemed like such a normal little family. Like a family that didn't scream at each other in the middle of the night every fucking night. For some reason, I just kept watching. I noticed that although your parents were sitting next to each other, they certainly weren't talking. Your mom was staring vacantly into the neighbor's yard. Your dad was tapping his foot impatiently, as if he couldn't WAIT to get the fuck away from her. Your little sister was acting pretty normal. And so were you. you were wearing a cute little green dress with purple stripes. And you were drawing pictures of a little girl wearing a little green dress with purple stripes. And the little chalk girl had a big frowney face. And on her little chalk face were little chalk tears.

Sweetie, that was the saddest thing I'd ever seen. You don't deserve that. I am so sorry. Here are some things that I really want you to know.

1. Honey, your dad is a fucking hick. Really. He's disgusting. There's a reason your mom left him, (even though she took him back). He's an asshole. Just as I was coming back from the store today, he came outside and asked if he could talk to me for a second. I stopped and listened as he apologized for the other night when there was glass breaking, you and your sister crying and he was screaming at your mom. Stupidly, I had actually gone downstairs to intervene. I only did it because I heard you crying. So anyway, your dad apologized. And here's why your dad's an asshole: He said "these things happen, you know?" Well, you know what, honey? No they don't. Not always. And certainly they shouldn't happen in front of you. You don't deserve that. You deserve to have parents who care so much about you that no matter how mad they get, they put it fucking aside. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a parenting expert. I don't have kids. But I have parents. And they got divorced, and they had rocky times. But they NEVER fought in front of me. Why? Because not scaring me was more important than any ugly thing they could possibly scream at each other in front of me. You deserve that. I'm sorry you don't get it.

2. Your mom, honey... well, she's kind of a harpy. And shrill as all get-out. I know this because the sound of her screaming "Get a fucking job you son of a bitch bastard" wakes me up at least twice a week. I could live with that, if I didn't hear you crying, too. ALSO, your mom is bad for yelling at you the way she yells at you. WHO CARES that you didn't pick up all your toys? In the grand scheme of things, Honey, you not picking up your toys, doesn't fucking matter. And here's what really sucks about how she screams at you: She won't remember each and every time she screamed at your throughout your childhood, but I bet you will. She might even later forget altogether that she EVER screamed at you. But you will remember. It's not fair. I hope that when you get older, you can put this into perspective, and realize that's she's the bad one. Not you.

3. Sweetie, it won't always be like this. Someday, you'll be old enough to drink.

4. I don't think your parents think much of themselves. And I don't think they think much of you. It's a shame, because you are a beautiful and precious and funny little person. TRUST ME, when you are older, people will see you for the wonderful extraordinary and sweet person you are. And, worst case scenario, you end up a stripper, you will ROCK that stripper pole like its never been rocked before. I promise you that.

5. I think your parents give your little sister way more positive attention than they give you. I'm sorry for that. But here's something I know. That girl has cankles in her future. Bad ones. You're going to be fine.

6. I don't imagine you are going to live here for long. It's a little too small for your family. And you are just young enough that you probably won't remember me. But I need to tell you that I will never forget you, and your crying chalk self. And for the rest of your life, I will be rooting for you. And I will always hope your future chalk drawings only have smiley faces.

Sincerely,

Grace

Meet Ingrid:

I know what you all are thinking. I have a history. I can't handle another fish. It hasn't been that long since I lost Beth. But I can do it. I am ready to love again.

Ingrid is gentle. There's a quiet wisdom in her fins, yet, a fierce tenacity. I think we can be happy together.

Stolen Lines #5

OK, so the last one didn't go so well. Most people told me they didn't like the line. I'll post a much better line Monday June 1st. And hopefully, people will like it better. Because it's only cool and fun when people participate.

Sorry it's been dead around the blog lately. I just have nothing interesting to say. I have the deposition happening this week. It's going to be fine. I won't die. Or maybe I will. Probably not though. It's weird, all my friends who do criminal law are not at all worried for me. My friends who do civil law, are telling me to expect the worst. We'll see...

Anyway, I just want to remind everyone to take a moment enjoy the beauty that is the best music video of our time. I have watched it 1o times just today. Check it out. Thanks Artful for reminding me that true geniusness really exists.

List

**UPDATE**

Re: #12. The book is entitled "Are You My Husband?" By Rachel Carpenter.

1. Today I am doing one of my very favorite things. I am sitting in my backyard with my asshole dog. I'm wearing a long flowy summer skirt, a tank top, flipflops and sunglasses. I'm drinking a glass of white wine and I've got my laptop. I just bought some flowers for my deck. My backyard overlooks a park, and although there's a fence blocking my view, I can hear the sounds of very good looking people playing softball. It feels like summer.

2. I know how I am going to die. It's going to be in a snow skiing accident. Here's the thing, though: I don't snow ski. I never have, and now, knowing that's how I am going to die, I am not exactly willing to try it. I think that's a sign that my self-preservation skills aren't as bad as I sometimes think they are.

3. Speaking of death on this lovely almost summer afternoon, I have predicted the deaths of three famous people. Just a few days before Luciano Pavarotti, Rosa Parks, and Jerry Garcia died, I had dreamt they had died.

4. I'm really bad at lists. I use them as excuses to not commit to a topic. Lists in the grocery store would be helpful though. I see people who have lists in the grocery store, and they seem to get in and out of there pretty quick. What they do, the list people, that is, is they start at one end, and buy the stuff on their list as they go. they go up one aisle and down the other. I walk to the center of the store, and decide what I want or need the most. Then I get that. Then I go back to the center of the store, and decide what I want second most. And then I go and get that. And so on. And so on. It's not the best system. I know this.

5. There's a small child staring at me through a window right now. She draws me pictures sometimes because, in her words "that's what good neighbors do." She and her parents live below me, and spend the majority of MY sleeping hours screaming things like "GET A JOB YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" and "WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS SUCH A CUNT?" Good times, good times.

6. I don't really talk about relationships and stuff like that on this blog. And I will continue to avoid the topic. But I would like to say that I am really bad at relationships. Like, really really bad. And I have horrible instincts. But in my defense, I always TELL the person upfront how the relationship will end, and I am always dead on. If they choose not to believe me, caveat emptor. I think.

7. I really do think I am the stupidest person ever to pass the bar and become a lawyer.

8. I don't mean this in a braggy way, but I feel very very loved by a lot of people. Which is sort of weird. If I were my friend, I would not love me. I would Facebook de-friend myself.

9. I think the two grossest things in life are bananas and cottage cheese.

10. I gave up meat, dairy and caffeine, but it was supposed to be for only a month. And now, I want to ungive it up. But I can't. Because I am treating these things like cigarettes, which I actually DID have an addiction to. And having a piece of delicious smoked gouda is hardly going to have the repercussions as having a delicious marlboro ultra light, but Ive got the whole thing all twisted up in my head now. Like if I have a piece of cheese, It's just a slippery slope to a two pack a day habit. I don't imagine that makes any sense. It's a control thing. Whatever.

11. I have this new internet friend. She's hilarious. Bagels and Kegels. But don't start liking her so much that you stop reading me. I'm selfish like that. But she is way better. So whatever.

12. My sister just bought me a book entitled "Where Are You, Husband?"

13. Soy wasabi almonds are delicious.

14. I am currently in the middle of a huge argument, where I am being called all sorts of names, via text message.

15. I think I need to move back to Southern California. Scott Rose, if I agree to give up all things PC and devote myself to the Mac way of life, can we just get married and get on with it?

16. I am scared of almost nothing. But I am scared of the ball. And I signed up to be on the office softball team. They needed girls.

17. That's all. I'm bored with myself.

17. Is a really good number.

17. Pinot Grigio is delicious.

17. I have a horrible sense of direction. Anytime I ever arrive anywhere that I am supposed to be, it's coincidence.

17. Happy Almost Summer, Everyone.

My Stolen Lines #4

Feeling both empowered and terrified as I drove into work, I looked up at the sky and started talking.

My name is Grace Law.

FUCKFUCKFUCK. I can’t even get out the beginning lines without fucking up. Ok. Slow down. Start again. MayitpleasetheCourt, MayitpleasetheCourt, Mayitpleasethecourt.

My name is Grace Law.

Oh my GOD. I did it again. I suck. I am an idiot. I am the stupidest person to ever argue in front of the appellate court. How did I ever get into law school? How did I pass the bar? It must have been an error. Why does God hate me so much? Ok. Start again. Don’t be an ass. Just do this.

May it please the Court. Good morning. The Defendant…

Fuck!!! Why can’t I get this right? Good morning is the first fucking thing that I say. Just fucking say it. Try not to suck at everything. “Good morning,” and THEN “may it please the court”.

Good morning, May it please the Court. I took the Which 90210 Character are you, and got Dylan McKay.

How did I get Dylan McKay? He’s the loner bad boy. He rides a motorcycle. I hate motorcycles for God’s sake. I see myself way more as an Andrea. Maybe even a Donna. I’m a Donna with an edge. Or at least a Brandon. Brandon doesn’t dance, I don’t dance. I am a Brandon. I’ll bet Brandon Walsh could do an oral argument. He could have probably done one while he was still at West Beverly! If a high school senior, albeit the class president could do an oral argument, I sure the hell can. Ok go.

Good Morning. May it please the Court. Grace Law on behalf of the people of the state of Illinois.

Wow. That sounded good. Wow. That’s who I am. That’s cool. I can do this. I am meant to do this. I know this case. I know the issues. I know the law. I’ve practiced this. I’m not scared. OK, do it again, and keep on going…

Good Morning. May it please the Court. Grace Law on behalf of the people of the state of Illinois. The defendant was in no way prejudiced by…

MotherFUCKER. Don’t forget the threshold issue! Do NOT forget the threshold issue. Maybe I am a Dylan McKay. He does tend to do his own thing. He’s a loner. I’m a loner. He can’t sustain relationships. I can’t sustain relationships. He’s brooding. He wears a lot of black. He’s got good hair. I’m brooding, well, sometimes I’m brooding. I wear a lot of black. I have good hair. My hair does resemble Kelli’s though. Am I a Kelli? Noooo, I’m no Kelli. At least I am self aware enough to know I’m not a Kelly. That's a good thing, right?

Good Morning. May it please the Court. Grace Law on behalf of the people of the state of Illinois. As a threshold matter, because the defendant failed to preserve the issue by including it in any post-trial motions or objecting at the time, the issue is procedurally barred.

Yeah. That sounded pretty good. That sounded lawyer-ey. Wait, that’s correct, though, isn’t it? Yeah. Yeah, it’s right. Of course it’s right. I know this. Oh my God, I am going to fuck up my first oral argument. And then the justices are going to call my boss, and tell her to fire me because I make a mockery out of the entire legal system. The cabdriver. Was that really just last week? Did that really happen? Stop. You don’t have time for that. Be a Brandon Walsh. Get back to your oral argument, Brandon Walsh.

Good Morning. May it please the Court. Brandon Walsh on behalf of the people of the state of Illinois…

*I Stole the first line of this post from Stay Tuned, by Jenniffer Weigel. This is part of my ongoing Stolen Lines Experiment. Feel free to play along. This one was hard, though! I'll try to pick an easier line to work with next time.

Update: Stolen Lines By:

Brita
The Shire Smarty
The Amazing Jane Know, who I love so much
Brand new blogger, The Rambling Law Student
The Artful Blogger
Colby in the City
Five Tomatoes To Freedom

Sigh... Public Defenders Come Up With The Neatest Stuff!

So, the other day I'm in a courtroom that I'm not usually in. Basically, it's a courtroom for defendants who fuck up the terms of their sentence. Sometimes, it's entertaining. Sometimes it's very sad.

Sometimes, it's just annoying. This is one of those days.

So, this woman comes in, who's represented by the public defender. She's brought her kid. This usually means that she thought that the judge was going to throw her in jail, and if she brings her kid, the judge won't do it. However, judges don't fall for that very often anymore. In fact, I think a lot of judges get pissed off that a defendant would use his or her kid to save their ass.

ANYWAY...so the kid is running all around the courtroom, not really being obnoxious, but definitely being a kid, touching everything etc...

So here's what happened when her case was called:

Public Defender: Judge, this is sort of an odd situation, Ms. Defendant has her child with her today, and normally she would never bring her child to court, but she HAD to bring her child to court today, because her child was thrown out of school because he was (wait for it... wait for it...) suspected of having the SWINE FLU.


Awesome. Just Awesome. I threw a fit.

What to Do.

I have so many things to write about, and absolutely no time lately, so this is going to be messy. Actually, no it's not. I'll stick to this one topic and then write more tomorrow.

So, a couple of people have suggested to me that I should file a civil suit against the cabdriver. I never responded, because... well, I don't know.

But the fact is, I did file a civil suit. I filed it on the last day possible. It took that long to make up my mind. Sometimes, I was just so desperate to have the whole thing put behind me, that I didn't even want to contemplate any further litigation. Then, other times, I felt so exhausted and so tired and so sad and so stripped of my old self because of this that I got pissed off, and wanted to do everything to make anyone responsible pay for the damages they had caused.

I never in my wildest dreams imagined the cabdriver would be acquitted.

And now. I'm faced with this other thing. This lawsuit. I sort of put it in the back of my mind, the idea of having to go through depositions etc.. because all you hear about is how long civil lawsuits take to be resolved. I figured that I wouldn't even have to do a deposition for a year or so. When I was way less actively freaked out by the whole thing. I was wrong.

I got a phone call from my attorney on Friday telling me that my deposition would be in roughly a week.

I'm not ready to go through this again. Like, at all. It's too soon. Right? This might kill me.

Or, should I be happy it's now and suck it up and not be such a baby? Now, when I am still fucked up about the trial, that way, I can heal from it all at once and never ever ever have to look back once it's all done. Unless of course I have to testify in a civil trial. Which apparently rarely happens. But it might. But what if this is the thing that breaks me completely? It hasn't exactly been the best last few months, and anyone who knows me can pretty much attest that I've been more awful than usual to be around. Will this make me worse or better? I don't know if I have the stamina to feel worse than I do now, let alone how I felt three months ago. But, i don't know.

I don't know what to do. Should I go forward with this lawsuit, or should I back down? Someone just tell me what to do.

Oh, and the reason I am not directly asking anyone, is because I want voluntary answers. That's the best thing about blogs. You never have to comment. You can just pretend you never read this.

I have good and funny stuff to write about, too. And Stolen Lines, which apparently no one is digging this month's quote. It's just going to have to wait a day or so.

so anyway. feel free to tell me what to do. i want to know.

Stolen Lines #4

Feeling both empowered and terrified as I drove into work, I looked up at the sky and started talking.

The rules: Start your post with the above line. End your post with "I stole the first line of this post from Stay Tuned, by Jenniffer Weigel" And maybe link back to me so people can understand the point of the post.

And whatever you put in the middle is up to you.

There's no deadline. Write whenever you feel like it. If you want to have your post included, just leave a comment or send me an email telling me you've posted.

PS. This is open to absolutely anyone. All you have to do it write it.

Here, you can find the previous Stolen Lines.


Update: Stolen Lines By:

Colby in the City

Stolen Lines # 4 Announcement and a Very Important Question

I'll post the next Stolen Line on Monday, April 27th.

In the meantime, here's a very important question...

If a judge has a booger, are you supposed to tell her/him?

I Have Protected Myself. From Myself.

I may have had 5 glasses of wine too many yesterday.

Then, I thought it was a good idea to password protect my Blackberry.

I remember picking a very creative password.

One that I hadn't used for anything else.

Then I fell asleep.

Suffice it to say, I can't remember my very creative password.

Fun With In Court Identifications

Grace: Do you see that person in this courtroom today?

Witness: Yes.

Grace: Can you please point her out and describe an article of clothing that she's wearing?

Witness: Sure. Black hair, blue jeans, see-through top.

Grace: (cough cough) let the record reflect (cough cough) the in court identification of the defendant?

Judge: (cough cough) record shall so reflect.

The Dog & Me: A Dialogue: Part VI

Me: Why did you have to eat my entire bag of almonds? It's like the one food I am currently able to eat!

Dog: Because if I eat the one food you are currently able to eat, maybe you will die sooner. Why do you ask questions with such obvious answers, Skank?

Me: You don't even LIKE almonds.

Dog: So? I don't like blueberry jolly ranchers either, but I eat them. Why the fuck would I do something like that? Because the only joy in my life is depriving you of things you like. Oh, and making you clean up dog vomit. Get it, Asshole?

Me: You know, you are really abusive and hostile.

Dog: Fuck off, and take me for a walk. Those almonds are gonna hurt coming out. We're gonna be out there for a while.

Me: Great. And five thousand people are going to come up to you and you're going to act all cute, and they're gonna pet you and you're going to act all adorable, because you NEVER say the shit you say when other people are around.

Dog: Why would I? Other people don't repulse me like you do. And of course people are going to come up to me. I'm a DILF.

Me: WHAT... did you just say?

Dog: A DILF. It's a...

Me: Stop right there! Don't finish that sentence.

Dog: You don't want to know what a DILF is?

Me: Stop! I know what a DILF is.

Dog: Ahh... Of course you do, you naughty little tramp.

Me: No! That's not what I mean. I mean, I know where you're going with this. I mean, there's no such thing as a DILF. That's just wrong.

Dog: You're just wrong.

Me: Can't we just go on our walk and put this unpleasantness behind us?

Dog: DILF DILF DILF.

Me: Can't we please discuss something else?

Dog: OK. How about your flabby and untoned arms?

Me: No.

Dog: The dark circles under your eyes?

Me: No. Let's not talk about me at all.

Dog: Ok. Do you think my poop will be blue from the jolly ranchers or almond shamed from the almonds?

Victim Impact Statement

When a person is found guilty of a violent crime in the state of Illinois, the victim (or the victim's family member) is given the opportunity to submit a victim impact statement. The statement must be written in conjunction with the State's Attorney's Office, and must be given in advance to the state's attorneys, and may be considered in the aggravation/mitigation portion of the sentencing proceedings.

Well, since the cabdriver got acquitted, I never got to do one. I don't even know that I would have done it though. Once I realized that I would have to let someone else help me write it, I kinda thought it sounded lame. Like, I would only be allowed to say things that the State approved of. Well, fuck that. Anyway, it doesn't matter. The point is now moot.

But I can write a victim impact statement here. Because it's my fucking blog. And it's sexual assault awareness month. Thank GOD... I was like, feeling so UNAWARE. Anyway...

Dear Cabdriver,

Over two and a half years ago, our paths crossed. That one night in July, it was a beautiful night. I haven't really thought about how pretty the night was until right now as I write this. It was perfect flip flop, tank top, summer skirt, weather. It was perfect drink outside, enjoy your friends, savor every moment of this glorious city weather.

It was a perfect night for you to cruise the city looking for victims.

The beauty of that night will be forever lost on me, as I am sure will the beauty of any future perfect July nights. That's on you. You took from me summer nights outside.

You took from me unlocked bedroom doors. You took from me open windows. Open blinds.

You took from me the color green. I was never a fan of black denim, but now it gives me flashbacks. Strong, vivid flashbacks.

You took from me my home. I had to move.

You took from me at least 20 minutes during the Illinois bar exam. The fucking bar exam! Something just hit me, and you were in my head. And you wouldn't go away. You took 20 minutes from me during the most important test of my life. All of a sudden I snapped out of it. Thank god I was able to. Sometimes I'm not. Sometimes you take my whole day. Like today. Honestly like, most days. You're always on my mind. Sometimes it's subtle, like a leaky faucet, that just slowly and methodically reminds you that something is not right. Other times, it's like I am stuck in a hurricane while concurrently being the hurricane.

You took from me some friends, and some family. I've never been the best communicator. And what you did that one night in July, was the nail in the coffin of my ability to communicate.

I don't trust myself anymore. I don't trust my decision making skills. You did that. That one night in July.

My great uncle died a week ago. To be fair, you actually had nothing to do with that. He was old and had cancer. I didn't know him very well, but I went to his funeral with my mother. In his eulogy, my cousin stated that my great uncle was the greatest influence on his life. At the luncheon afterward, the conversation turned to who in each of our own lives was the most influential. My mother, awesome lady that she is, said me. I, of course, said her. And there was a time that that was true. She certainly deserves to be called the most influential person in my life. But she's not.

You are. You took that title from her. and you have earned it. Every single thing I do is influenced by you. The way I walk to and from work. The way I talk to people. The way I colored my hair. The way I listen to sounds. The way I listen to nothing. The way I feel about my successes and failures. The way I eat, I sleep, I breathe. The way I hide from people who care about me. It's all about you.

I thought it would be easier after your trial two months ago. But, stupid me... I never contemplated you being acquitted. It's so much harder than I had ever anticipated. I actually cannot decide which was worse, the assault or the trial. Both of which you are responsible for. Maybe I'd be feeling better if I didn't have to see your scumbag defense attorney in my courtroom at least once a week. This week, I did my first jury trial, and won. I wasn't thinking about you. That moment was mine. My boss was IN THE MIDDLE of telling me what a good job I did, and congratulating me, when your scumbag lawyer walked right over and interrupted him to shake my boss's hand. So, by proxy, you stole that moment too.

I used to be someone very different. I used to be way cooler. I miss the person I was before that one night in July. I miss sleeping. I miss dancing at street festivals with awesome women. I miss feeling free and open. I miss my friends.

I try to find something positive out of this. Maybe this will somehow make me a better prosecutor. A stronger advocate. A more compassionate voice for victims.

Or maybe I'll go on, just as I am today. Easily startled and hyper-aware of my own mortality.

We are forever linked, Cabdriver. I will forever be your victim, and you will forever be my perpetrator. The thought of that connection that we will always share makes me want to tear my hair out and set myself on fire.

I hope and wish, Cabdriver, that whatever path your life takes, wherever you choose to go, and whatever you choose to do, you endure much grief and suffering. You and your family. And your sleazy attorney.

You took away the best possible version of me. And you took away summer nights.

Sincerely,

Grace