This is not a city. It is a diaorama of my drunken mistakes and failed relationships.
Two months ago, I started seeing mirages. The mirages alternated between The-Artist-Formerly-Known-as-Priest and his predecessor, MuteButton. The mirages have now become living, breathing ghosts of my drunken mistakes. Driving home (finally!) after what amounted to a quiet day at work and supremely irritating errands, I see, walking down a street he had no business walking down, a guy that I once tounge-wrestled on a beach after downing a pint of vodka. In broad daylight. Then, Chelsea slung me over her shoulder and threw me on the drunk bus. I sometimes think that I am paying now for the awesomeness of my former life. And it was awesome. For reference, please see the time we did margaritas and skinny dipping in my apartment pool on a Thursday afternoon.
Um. He doesn't LIVE here, and as I understand it (since I've not spoken to him in years), he has a kinda-important test to take tomorrow. WHAT IN THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE? Aparently, awesomeness. Over. Universe paying me back. Now.
I know that no matter what my annoyances are, they are nothing compared to the world of pain that those adventurers who are braving the dragon called the bar exam (shudder) are going through. However, for their amusement, some random bitching.
My sleep-in day was cruelly stolen from me. We had an early deposition. Well, not really early. 10 a.m. Which is not terrible. Except Rick wanted me there at 9. Which, again, is not terrible, except I was up all night the day before finishing a Law Review assignment (summa time!) So I got there promptly at 9, dressed and ready, where I proceeded to do my important duties: make a pot of coffee, sneak out for a muffin, and find Spongebob on Hulu. (I can't make this shit up, I had a ten-year-old to occupy. Law offices are not known for their fun play materials)
Interrogatories with Sancho Panza. Who is apparently unable to answer almost any question about himself. Including whether or not he's ever had any major surgeries. He'd cancelled three times before this. The other day, I call and his long-suffering wife picks up. I ask if he is available at 11:00, being retired, I assume so. She sounds affronted "He doesn't get up until noon you know." How dare me, try to wake his majesty before his ladies in waiting have the bluebirds ready to sing to him in his morning bath.
"Have you ever been involved in a lawsuit as a plaintiff or defendant before?"
"Ok, so you've never sued anyone or been sued?"
"Oh, yeah, I sued a guy a few years ago."
We just got a new toner cartridge. I bet I could mix some of it in with my coffee.
Like a fucking idiot, I waited until the last minute to get my dressed hemmed for Nikki's wedding (I fail, Nikki, I just fail). So, instead of getting an appointment at David's, I had to take it to a local tailor that got good reviews. I take off in the direction of the address. I drive for 30 minutes, up and down Grand River. Finally, I punch the address into my GPS. According to the friendly phantom-voice, I am ONE minute away. The little finish flag arrives and disappears. No cleaners. I try again. The screen shows me driving in an actual CIRCLE around the dot. I turn around in the Meijer's parking lot and call the number. "I can't fiiiind you," I whine.
"Do you know where the Meijer's is?" Says helpful tailor.
Are you ready for this?
Yeah, they're IN the Meijer.