Book It, Barrister!

I have been obsessed with barrister bookcases for quite some time. All I kept telling B is how much I love bookcases, barrister bookcases. He must have been listening because he started scouring estate sales for them. He found quite a few.  Sometimes we would even head to one, hoping it would still be there (especially on half off day), but the bookcases were always sold.

Imagine my surprise when I came home one night and found this in the living room casually leaning against the wall:

My beautiful barrister book case

So gorgeous! I asked B about this new addition and he told me he finally found one at an estate sale that hadn't been sold and actually got a good deal on it. He was excited to find out that every piece is removable so you can make it shorter.* However, I like it just the height it is.  Plus, the removed pieces cannot form another bookcase without a bottom, so they would just have to go into storage.

I also told B that I loved the bookcase right where it initially landed. This spot originally held a fish tank as seen here.  Since that tank is no longer with us, that spot has been empty for a while.  I love seeing this in its space.  It seems to complete the room.  

This is one of B's best finds although honestly I love them all.


     

*I later found out that all barrister bookcases have removable pieces hence the beauty of them. When a lawyer ran out of space, they could just order another piece. The more you know...** 

**Thanks for the knowledge, Dad.

That Is Not My Coat, Unless It Is My Coat, Then It May Be My Coat

Sometimes I like to act all wifey and take in B's dry cleaning for him. This is usually after he nags me. A lot.  

This was the case recently when B asked me to take his long formal coat in for a dry cleaning. Okay, maybe he asked me the last time he wore it. That would be in the winter. Yes, that season before spring. Ahem.

So I took it in. Eventually I got it out.  The timing of all that is irrelevant to the story. You know what is relevant?  B claimed I came back with a different coat.

I brought his coat home and hung it on our valet in our closet.  It hung there for weeks.  I asked B what he wanted me to do with the coat and he said to put it in the downstairs closet, which I did.  Two days later, I am outside in the garage (hanging out, not working - let's be real), when B came out wondering what I did with his coat:

B: Where's my coat?

Me: In the front closet.

B: No, it's not.

Me: Yes it is. I put it there myself.

B:  NO, IT'S NOT.

Me: Oh, right. Someone came, broke into our house, left no evidence, AND ONLY STOLE YOUR COAT. I forgot.

Then I stalked to the closet and pulled out his coat with a big triumphant swoosh while saying in my head "Voila!".  B then insisted the coat was not his. We both looked at the coat, and I remarked "Um, what?"

Then B started saying a bunch of words all at once. I recall hearing "small claims court," "expensive," "Ralph Lauren," and "you better do something about this."

Too bad I was going out of town for a couple of days. I left B with the unpleasant task of accusing the dry cleaner of swapping his coat for a shorter, lighter and less expensive coat.

However, before that could happen, we revisited the issue. I had convinced B it might be a girl's coat. This struck me as funny.  He decided to try it on. Guess what?

It fit.

And it looked like his coat.

And when I asked him to check inside for a size, guess what he found?

A Ralph Lauren patch on the inside man's pocket.

Guess who didn't go back to the dry cleaners after all?

   

*B would like to say that this blog don't write itself as if he intentionally created the above scenario.

**This occurred before I started writing the blog again, so yeah.


Three years ago today:  Piss and Pine? Sounds Like a Candy...

Guess Where I Am? Here's a Hint: My Mind Is Mush

I have been missing lately because I am preparing for yet another trial. Seriously. Remember when I had one in March, then there was one in August, and then one in December right before our party? Three in 9 months was not enough. I have another one starting today. This one is a two-fer, meaning when the trial is over, it just starts back up again with the same parties and the same court but fighting over different money.

Who wants to be me?

I didn't think so. In any event, as you read this I will be arguing my butt off.  To commemorate this event, I will share an exchange with the Judge from the first day of the March trial:

Judge: Are you sure you want to proceed with this case?
Me: Yes....
{Later}
Judge (to the other attorney): Are YOU sure you want to proceed with this case?
Him: Um...yes...?

I can only hope today is going half as well.

I Am Not MIA, More Like ITM

source

I am not missing in action, but in trial mode.  You know what that is like. It happens every couple of months and pretty much consumes all of the real estate in my brain. Right now, I can only think about are medical records, EMGs and EEGs.  I can tell you the finer points of determining whether a juror hates opposing counsel and how to try to keep that juror on the panel, but other than that, I am just a sleepy puddle.

This trial was only supposed to be three days.  However, tomorrow is day three and due to the court's schedule, surprise legal issues and general insanity, I think we will be on day 7 before we see anything really happening.  

So I will be pretty quiet.  Although I do hope to pump out some posts this weekend. I have a lot I want to share with you. I just need to formulate some words that are not in legalese or about medical conditions that everyone has or no one has.

Until then...get some stress free sleep for me please!

Crime Watch Wednesday: If You Don't Like That Document, I Have Some Others for You

This week's Crime Watch Wednesday brings us once again a tale of a drunk driver trying to pretend he is anything but drunk. I tell ya, I never can get enough of the drunk tales. Each so wasted. Each with such unique ways of showing it.

Police stopped a man they spotted weaving in the roadway. He smelled of alcohol and admitted to drinking. He then produced an expired registration. When told it was expired, he proceeded to look through all of his documents again and produced the same exact expired registration. He was arrested on the spot.

Now, what is really funny about this story to me is that I had the exact same thing happen to me in a deposition, except the deponent was not drunk. Well, at least I don't think she was. I asked her to produce a copy of the referral letter from the treating physician she received. She flipped through a bunch of papers and confidently handed me one. When I told her that was a copy of a prescription for medication, not a referral letter, she proceeded to again flip through the documents and, again, confidently hand me another one. This time it was a fax cover sheet. Addressed to the attorney sitting next to her.

This game went on for 15 minutes too long at which point she just stopped handing me documents, put the papers down and looked at me like "There. Aren't I a great witness, giving you everything you asked for." I never did get the referral letter.

She might be related to this guy.

Tales From the Courthouse: Presentation is Everything, Until You Forget What You Are Presenting

As I sit here preparing for my court appearance tomorrow, I reminded of the nonsense I witnessed last week.

As usual, we were all crowded on small benches in the dreary hallway, waiting for the almost indiscernible sound of the courtroom door unlocking. Heard only by dogs -- and lawyers, naturally. Although the legal world is large, the world of lawyers that actually go to court are quite small. You see the same people time and time again. Naturally, camaraderie and inside jokes develop.

So when a woman gets wheeled down the hall on a gurney, strapped down, accompanied by two EMS personnel, an attorney says "That's not good" with a cynical chuckle. Another ponders if it is one of our colleague's clients.

However, when the gurney stops at the bathroom, and the woman, immediately after becoming unstrapped jumps off the gurney light as air and runs inside easy as can be, we all stare in disbelief. In fact, I say to the guy across from me "Did she just....", as he answers "Yes. Yes, she did." To think, I thought I have seen it all.

She is then heard yelling in the bathroom "I know law more than you do!" I am going to have to respectfully disagree lady. Presentation is everything and even though the gurney and the neck collar were a good start, the free moving limbs and sprite movements completely destroy the picture you are trying to create.

As she was wheeled away, we heard her mumble "This medication is making me crazy. I need to talk to an attorney about this"

That's not all you need to talk about.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring...

It is Not Medically Professional to Lose a Boob, or to Break One for that Matter

So the hospital lost my Mom's boobs. Well, technically not her ACTUAL boobs. I am pretty sure those are still attached to her chest. They did, however, lose her mammogram. For three months. THREE MONTHS!

You know what else they did? They sent someone else's films to her doctor. Her cousin's films to be exact. Yes they have the same name - spelled differently. You know what they don't have? The same birth date or social security number. Details, I guess.

So when they finally found her boobs, they proceeded to tell her there was a problem. She needed to get checked out again. Good thing there was that three month gap in time when her boobs were lost, right? I mean, if there was something really wrong, wouldn't you want three months worth of TREATMENT and not someone else's films? Mom told me that the hospital was pointing the fingers at the film place and they were pointing their fingers back at the hospital. "Don't worry," I said, "I will point fingers at both of them in my lawsuit." After all, what is the point of having a lawyer in the family, if you can't sue someone?

Then they put my Mom through that tortuous test. You know, the one that makes your boobs turn into pancakes? Again. Except they only had to do one, so she had one pancake and one apple. How's that for a visual? It kept her laughing even days later when she was still in pain and declaring "THEY BROKE MY BOOB."

All's well that ends well. Her boobs are fine. They are still on her chest. And last I heard, they are both apples now.

But I've still got my eye, and my fingers, on that hospital.

Sometimes I Can Only Process One Thing in My Brain. That Makes it Monotastic Time!

One week ago I had a trial. It lasted two and a half days. I spent a week and a half preparing for it. All I could think about that entire time and almost through today, a week later, were the details of the trial. Seriously.

I know every date that woman had treatment. Every doctor with whom she treated. The dates she received care by friends. The dates she missed work. Her alleged injuries. The name of her children.

But that is all I know.

My brain, although I would like to think it is quite large, when it goes into trial function, can only process one subject - TRIAL. In fact, my response to almost everything was screaming "I AM IN TRIAL." It didn't matter what the question was:

"We need to talk about refinancing" : I AM IN TRIAL!

"What kind of new car do you want?" : I AM IN TRIAL!

"Are you going to eat that?" : I AM IN TRIAL!

Special shout out to B who put up with me for those two weeks. I am sure it wasn't easy. Also, a special shout out to Jersey who was quite distracting when I needed it most.

Anyway, I am here to say that now I have put it all behind me and I am ready to use sentences that do not involve the words "trial," "objection," "your honor," and "assholes." Okay, maybe not that last one.

Trial is exhausting.

Tonight while driving home, I stopped at a light and saw a man on the corner with headphones on - dancing away. Actually, he was putting on quite a show for those watching. Huge smile. Crazy moves. Seriously a cross between rap and the robot? Anyway, he made me smile. In fact, he was in the exact spot that the guy told B that he was just "singing a song." This guy was just dancing a dance.

And it reminded me of a conversation earlier today when a colleague asked if I ever wished I was doing something else with my life. Something creative. I told him that I thought about that a lot. Lawyering is exhausting, frustrating and time consuming.

And tonight? Tonight I wanted to be that man on the corner, just dancing a dance with the hugest smile ever. No obvious cares.

Lord knows I shouldn't sing in public.