I used to call them finals…but that would mean I was done with something.  Turns out I have years to go. 

Years.

I decree from now on they will be exams.  Finals shall not be uttered again. 

Let it be done….

UPDATE:

I am truly more amazing than I thought.  California has removed “the word that shall never be spoken” from all of its thousands of pages of code.  Yes exam is there, but “that word which brings death to your family” has actually been removed.  Just think, if I can get “the word that will get you put in pound you in the ass prison” removed from California codes so quickly what else can I do?  Is this like three wishes?  Does that count as my first wish, or was that just to prove I actually had three wishes?

Crap…

Time to move

As supreme law clerk, one of my regular duties is document retrieval.  Yes I know it sounds trivial, but let me assure you the path to court documents is not for the faint of heart. 

Contrary to what you’ve read on the inter-web, electronic documents do not exist in the California Superior Court system.  Occasionally you can pull up a scanned document from a court website, but mostly all you can do online is check to see if they acknowledge the filing of the document.  If you need a copy of the document, then you need to go to the court to get it. 

Yes you can send a letter requesting the documents…smart ass..but it takes 3-4 weeks for a reply.  Most people don’t work on county time, and cant afford to wait around while the clerks office creates paper from pulp and ink from cuttlefish, then uses the slowest method of document transport available…the mail.  Can you fax a document request? NO Can you… call in a request over the phone? NO  You have to either physically walk in and ask, or submit a request through the mail. 

Now that we’ve established you have to go to the court house to get a file, the next question is which court house do you go to.  Well the answer is a riddle, and even the court clerks have no fucking idea.  Normally the court documents are in the court where the case was filed…normally, but only a fool wouldnt call to try and figure out if the court documents are actually in that court house. 

To do that you have to actually call the court house.  Normally not a huge problem.  In San Bernardino County and Los Angeles County they will occasionally pick up the phone…more often then not.  In Orange County, as I type this the County has consolidated all of their court phone numbers to one easy number.  Terrific right? Wrong.

All calls to a Orange county superior court (with the exception of small claims at the Harbor Justice Center Laguna Hills…go figure) get routed to a call center in Santa Ana.  Not that bad you say? Well the neat part is that the call center doesnt actually have enough phone lines to handle the call traffic.  Most of the time when you call you get a message informing you that the circuits are busy and to try back later.  You are better off just driving to the court house…or are you.

Court houses are gems…busy places of public interest with shit for parking.  Everyone will have to go to a court house at some time in their lives, and lots of people go more than they want to, and yet they have enough parking for…none of you. 

If you are lucky enough to go to Los Angeles Superior Court Central Division on Grand Ave off the 101 then you are in luck.  Right across the street is the Dorthy Chandler pavilion…plenty of underground parking…only a measly $17. 

If you are unlucky enough to go to the Riverside county courthouse central where the parking is cheap, you wont be able to find any. 

Now that you’ve gotten there you have to deal with the clerks.  While the DMV has its own special type of employee the court system has them beat.  In the DMV nobody knows what they need, or what they have to do to get it done.  The court system is a little different.  The court has professionals who spend all their time talking to court clerks.  The clerks expect everyone to know exactly what they want when they walk up to their window, and know precisely how to ask for it. 

Clerks are in fact a special breed.  A court clerk has a job, and is not at risk of losing that job…ever…no matter what.  You can just imagine the kind of customer service this type of working situation will breed.  None…it breeds nothing.  The only thing less fertile is a barren dusty 68 yr old hag.  Oh and by the way…shes also who your going to request court documents from. 

Anyway…thought I would share a little of my day.  Next week I’ll talk to you about Archives.  The fun never ends around here.

Time to get dusty

Forgive me father for I have sinned.  I have a boner, and I am having trouble hiding it.  Let me start from the beginning.

I was leaving work today, eyes hazy, after staring at a computer all day, attempting to get a stupid Thompson-West program installed correctly on a paralegals computer.  As I stumpled out into the bright warm afternoon light I caught a glimpse of the infamous side-boob getting into a car in the parking lot.  I started blinking rapidly in an attempt to get the haze out of my eyes and I took one blink too many because as my pants started to erect the haze lifted and I saw what can only be described as the “Boner Butcher of Rancho Cucamonga.”  Armpit hair. 

My mouth went dry, my stomach felt queasy, and I a wave of disgust flowed over me.  

Never have I witnessed such a grotesque tradition of Europeans.  Armpit hair is actually worse than being European…if you can believe that. 

As I was driving to school I couldnt help but get that side boob out of my mind.  The more I thought about it the more the armpit hair faded into the obscurity while the side boob remained planted in my mind.  As I sat in class thinking about the side boob suddenly the armpit hair was no longer there.  I had managed to turn a grotesque image into a parking log fantasy in under an hour.  A true demonstration of my sexual prowess…or low standards.  Take your pick.

Time to be male…and awesome.

My weekend was fantastic.  Im not sure theres a better way to celebrate the birth of a nation, then by participating in the death of my liver. 

We did it all this weekend, drank, screwed, and slept in late.  Yes…you read that right. 

 We slept in late.

Does it get much better?

I contend that it does not.

Time to sleep

Ladies are on their way to “Whales Vagina” today.  Based on the picture above it’s not nearly as exciting as one would imagine….wait what?…yeah I never gave it much thought either…

Well when the mice are away the cats will…sleep…that doesn’t sound right does it?  When the cats away the mice will eat trash and crap in the corner….yeah that sounds better.  The ladies are gone so were gonna eat trash and crap in the corner…why does that not sound like fun?  Why do people use that expression anyway?  I mean we know it happens sometimes, but that’s not usually the main goal of the night.  Eating trash and crapping in the corner is usually the result of an awesome night that you just pushed a little to far. 

Cleaning up crap from the carpet on Sunday can almost always be avoided.  When the night starts to reach the end here are a couple of things to keep an eye out for:

Unfinished Beers- As soon as people start opening beers and only drinking half, before getting another one, or being offered another one and taking it, your night has started to turn downhill.  Nobody whos in a good place intentionally leaves a drink half finished…its just bad manners, and thats the person who’s going to puke first…if your lucky.  If your unlucky he’s just going to keep drinking half a beer at a time, all night, until he thinks your corner is one of those urinals that reach all the way to the floor.

Fewer Articles of Clothing-If you, or anyone with you can only account for fewer articles of clothing then when you started the night it’s time to call it, before someone ends up naked.  Nudity could be the beginning of something magical, but almost always is a dark omen of things to come.  Fantasies about girlsstripping down and wrestling in your living room are just that, a fantasy.  What you should expect is in fact much more terrifying.  Before you start the night take a look around…who’s the last person you would want to see naked?  Yep…thats the guy who’s actually going to get naked.  Put money on it.

If The Music Sounds Too Loud- It probably is, and that means your talking even louder to try and hear the person next to you.  What this should tellyou is there is a breakdown in communication among your friends.  This can lead to terrible results such as; answering questions you haven’t really heard. First someone asks you if you mind that he invited over his “frat” friends, and you say yes because all you heard him say was he invited over some “fat” friends.  Your party buddy could be, but probably is not, a chubby chaser, and he would never admit it to you anyway, so if the question sounds suspicious…just say no.

Tequila + Anything- Equals a bad move.  The minute someone offers you a drink out of the blue that has any parts of tequila or any other alcohol from behind the bar that’s gathering dust..ask them to close your tab.  This will save you a lot of trouble later, because, if your smart…your going home, but if your not…you might make it home with your credit card.  A minor victory I assure you because once the tequila pours, your dignity, self respect, public image, and usually your clothing dont end up leaving the bar that night…even if at some point you do.

Going For a Drive-No sober person decides to get in a car at 4:00AM and go for a drive…that should tell you something.  You are not sober.  In fact no sober person decides to drive, fly, steer, push, pull, ride, or tow anything with a motor.  Miss Daisy wouldn’t be on the road after midnight, and neither should you.  People who are drinking, are out after midnight, everyone else is sleeping…except people who work graveyard, and that includes the police.  The minute someone “has a good idea,” and it involves things that roll think about going to bed…immediately.

Hopefully this should guide you through the weekend.  Now, I actually think there are times when the fun can outweigh the shame of cleaning crap off the carpet, but those are times when your mixing tequila with rumplemintz, running around with no shirt on, answering yes to anything anyone asks, stealing the neighbors BigWheel, and opening a new beer before you finish your tequila.  Only at that time can you make that decision.

Time to Decide

This is a little something for the other bloggers out there…I hate tags.  All kinds.  Tags in my tee shirts, tags attached to dead body’s, tags sticking up from the back of girls pants, and especially….Tags when I’m blogging.

Nothing kills spontaneous, witty, irrelevant writings more than having to add a bunch of tags to it as an attempt to attract traffic to your blog.  Why doesn’t this damn blog just make my text searchable?  Turn each complete sentence into a tag automatically.  I will concede that I fail pretty often to actually write complete sentences.  On the occasion that I do though….wouldn’t that be terrific. 

So from this day forward…no more tags.  If you find my blog…terrific.  If you don’t…keep looking.  Don’t stop looking until you find it. 

Remember if you don’t find it…it will find you!

Time to Get Creepy

PS….seriously no more tags, not even a tag of tag for a post about tags.

Here I sit, sun blazing, fans running, and triple digits registering in my swampy butt crack, but still glad to be a resident of the fine community of Redlands, CA.  Why pictured above are friends of mine dedicated to boosting the local economy, and supporting unwed mothers by hurling crumpled up one dollar bills at them.  Yes fine readers from around the globe, (ie, mom) what started as a simple move to be closer to work and school has brought us closer to our new community. 

Were finally home…at least until our lease is up anyway.

Time to Sentiment

PS…can you actually sentiment at all? 

Seriously are you curious?  Want to taste legal superiority without a mountain of debt?  Here’s your first free taste.  That above, is my Arbitration teacher…honestly.  He doesn’t have a name, he’s the “blue haired lawyer” from The Simpsons.  Im not sure if Matt Groening has taken Arbitration before, but he nailed this one.

I hope that constitutes funny…because I got nothing else.  Yep, nadda.

Time to Move…on

Staring out my window at work…not really working…I began to notice how sweet the life of a construction worker was.

First you can wear whatever the hell you want to work, and it doesn’t have to be clean.  Their clothes look like they roll around in the dirt, and their shoes like they walk through concrete…tacky I know.

Second you leave everyday around 3:00PM, when I leave at 5:00PM.  Don’t tell me they get their earlier than me so they can go home sooner.  We both know getting up before 7:00AM is just a myth…It doesn’t really exist.  It’s a story old people tell young people to make them feel good about themselves.

Third they deliver your lunch to you everyday.  I have to drive around, wait in line, and inhale my food just so I can make it back to work before my hours up.  They have someone show up, play some magical horn song, and serve the food hot right there at work.  With a sweet deal like that you can never be late coming back from lunch because you’re already at work…think about that.

Fourth the entertainment comes to you.  I knew the life of a construction worker was sweet, but I had no idea how sweet until yesterday.  A little red car pulls up outside my office, and a mama-san driving the car waives over a couple of construction workers.  Then I notice their are four other women in the car…four scantily clad other women…four very friendly scantily clad other women. 

There they were…they flirted, they handed out business cards, and they drove off, so they could drum up other business…amazing.

The life a construction worker…is there anything not excellent about what they do?

Time for a career change

PS…Hookers have business cards…simply incredible.  I had no idea Epson was offering a “sucks for bucks”  printer purchase incentive program.  I think we need to go back to a simpler time when everything a hooker owned could be easily stuffed into her zip up boots, but im kinda nostalgic.

Monday…first day of summer school.  Who was it that decided monday was the start of the week.  Monday sucks…cant life wait for Tuesday?  Does monday suck because of Monday, or does Monday suck because everyone wants to start work and school on Monday. 

School started tonight…State and Local Government and Arbitration.  Mind is kinda foggy this evening.  Got called on…survived. 

Time to pick up the pace