1/10/2005 07:09:14 PM|||Amy|||Today has been an odd day, and it seems like it would be a maybe fun thing to write about.

I had jury duty this morning. Jury duty has always seemed to me to be a free "I can do whatever the hell I want" kind of day. Everyone at work assumes you're off doing your civic duty, and everyone at home knows better but won't blame you if you blow off an afternoon of working to go see a movie or get plastered or something. But not for me, at least, not today.

My jury duty day was also attended by the chairman of my department and one of my faculty. I arrived ten minutes late this morning convinced the handcuffs were going to be slapped on me as soon as the court baliff had my name, and I would spend the day in jail for being late - earlier than I would have been if I were going to work, but late nonetheless. So, when I swaggered in to the jurors room with the confidence one has when one realizes that one isn't the latest one to appear, I failed to notice that I seated myself two rows directly in front of the man who funds my paycheck. Not to outdo myself or anything, he practically had to bang on my shoulder to get my attention when he walked by. Finally, just to add a little zing to my already "Oh yeah, I'm getting his respect" performance, I fell asleep in the juror's waiting chair and snored to the tune of Wagner's ring cycle - pretty much the whole thing, the wait was long and I do have a talent for some things.

After the initial interview process (I have to go back in the morning to see if I'm one of the chosen few), I left with a sort of semi knowledge of not having the balls to just go see a movie and not go to work even though it was only noon and ran right smack dab into the chairman himself - wherein I promised that I would indeed go back to work and tell everyone how I saw him there too and that he might be in after his own stint of embracing civic responsibility.

Jury duty does mean a free day off work, doesn't it???

So, I get to work and I'm putzing around doing my job and the million and one things that I have to do to earn a paycheck when I realize that I have a message in my voicemail. When did the phone ring, and where was I?

So, I listen to the message and holy God! It's a guy that I briefly dated when I was a kid calling to tell me he was sorry about Mom. Unfortunately, I think he's married and he sounded a bit like a funeral director or I would seriously suggest that maybe when my new found freedom is on the books that we might do the things we never did as virtuous eighteen year old kids with a fear of the one eyed snake and the rabbit hole. So to speak.

I'm not saying that sounding like a funeral director is a bad thing, but it works better when one is in the wrenching, ass-kicking, emotion-gutting grief of profound loss. If the funeral director we worked with for my mother's funeral had just known what a little arm caress might have gotten him! Maybe he did know, and just had an ethical problem with the idea. Or maybe he wasn't interested. Who knows?! Who cares?! Sex is sex. Sex is sex is sex.

I need to get properly laid.

I sure hope my kids never actually read this. Or maybe, just not this entry. It wouldn't be good for them to realize that their mother, the picture of feminine virtue and uptightness, is really just one pair of leather pants, size 2, away from being a... oh, I don't know... groupie. Yeah, groupie. Lots of drugs. Lots of sex. And zero self-respect. Except my problem is that I have a guilt complex, hold on responsibility and just enough self-respect. There should be another book: Oh, the Things You Could Do (Without Self-Resect)! Fucking self-respect. It will only get you laid... sometimes. If you don't have any of it all, not one tiny smidgen, then the bounty of orgasm is upon you. If you are so lucky to have orgasms that is. Which is a totally different story from the annals of Kangatopia.
|||110540735117648335|||Strange Days Indeed